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They might have gone on forever this way (although Isla suspected she would have burned to a crisp with her own wanting were that the case) except that the countess tried again. Isla had become almost comfortable with her routine and she was careful to be in their bedchamber by nightfall (well, Genevieve's bedchamber), but with the autumn full upon them and the nights getting longer, they didn't always manage to finish in the potting shed before dark. Isla had intended to nip out and check on an experiment while Madame Lefoux took a bath. Unfortunately, the experiment ran longer than expected, and by the time it finished, the sun had set. She hurried up the servants' stairs, avoiding everyone she could. The staff were all mostly frightened of her since Madame Lefoux's display of defensive squeezing. (Witnessed by some, it was thus known by all.) Unfortunately, Isla couldn't stick entirely to the servants' section; there was always the part where she must walk down the main hallway to get to the bedroom door. She hurried along, head down, hand to her cravat pin. Countess Nadasdy flitted before her. Vampires walked so silently, it was impossible to hear them coming. The hive queen was wearing a dinner gown of ruched cream lace with an over-jacket of blue brocade. It was very beautiful and very expensive. It also looked, to Isla's untrained eye, ever so slightly like an undergarment. Isla brandished her cravat pin. "No need for that, my dear child." "Oh, I think there might be." "What are you doing to my inventor?" "Me?" "She has been overly flustered of late. As much as you are protected by Lady Maccon's patronage, so Madame Lefoux is protected by mine. Whether she likes it or not. And I've noticed her to be quite... off lately. Why is that, do you think?" "I've no idea," lied Isla. "I'm sure you don't. Are you two having... difficulties?" The vampire grimaced as if to imply that the affairs of mortals were so trivial, it pained her to enquire. Then she added, "Do you need someone to explain the necessary details? A demonstration, perhaps?" Well, yes. But not you! Isla backed away, edging towards Genevieve's bedroom door. "Kind of you to offer, but I'm sure we don't need your help, ma'am." The queen didn't look convinced. She followed, stalking. Isla found her back against the door. One hand still clutching the cravat pin, she turned the knob with the other. Safety! "Mortals. Everything is so complicated with you." Countess Nadasdy looked even more disgusted. Isla closed the door in her face and leaned back against it, letting out a shaky breath. A dainty fist with supernatural power behind it hit the door from the other side. Isla jumped away, heart racing. Madame Lefoux, who appeared to have fallen asleep in her bath before the fire, was out of it and across the room in a trice, dripping and gloriously naked. "Are you all right, Isla?" "She is quite horrible!" Isla attempted to thread the cravat pin back into her dress collar with shaky hands. Genevieve tutted, took the pin, and did it for her. Isla could hardly breathe, to have a wet, naked Genevieve so close to her. Then, sensing that Isla was reacting to her proximity, the inventor grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself. Isla banged her own head, much less violently, back against the door. "This is ridiculous!" "Did she try with you again?" "She suggested we might need her help in figuring things out. You and I, between us." The statement hung in the air like a damp sponge, dripping with implications. Madame Lefoux closed her eyes in horror. "I am so sorry. I never meant my preferences to impact you. She misconstrues your inclinations because I made you my assistant. That she would even suggest such a thing must offend and shock." Isla marched over and stood with her hands on her hips. She fixed Genevieve's green eyes with her own brown ones. "For goodness' sake! She certainly does not misconstrue my inclinations. The only insult extended is that I might choose her over you! I am not interested in men. I have never been with a man and do not ever intend to be so. For as long as I can recall, I have only ever looked at girls. This is not something you have done to me, nor some insult she has foisted upon me. This is the way I am." Breathless, Isla leaned in. Frankly, she felt some small sympathy for the vampires and their needs after so many months of denial. She pressed her lips to those of the inventor, who was standing, stunned, and still only in a towel. This was absolutely fine by Isla. When Genevieve didn't respond to the impassioned embrace, Isla's heart sank. She backed off and hung her head. Her gaze focused on Genevieve's long legs – still dripping. "Since that first walk in the garden, you are all I have thought of. I'm at a loss. How to convince you? I'm not half good enough, I know, no more than a parlourmaid, and trouble for you with the hive. But I'm also not her. Whoever she was who hurt you so. I'm not! I deserve a chance. I shouldn't be blamed for the sins of some other woman. Unless it is that truly you do not want me. If you don't think we'd suit... if you don't want... then perhaps we should reconsider the terms of my indenture. I don't wish to be an imposition. I—" The inventor kissed her. It became patently obvious that she did indeed have a great deal more experience than Isla. But Isla was a good student, tilting her head, relaxing her mouth, allowing Genevieve's tongue to sweep through. God, her lips were so soft, and she tasted of vanilla too. Sweet, or maybe that was Isla's imagination, her nose playing tricks on her palate. Isla felt her brain seize up, like an engine without oil. All she could feel was that tongue, a wet brand, and those lips, and the inventor's vanilla scent tendrilled about her. When Genevieve would have pulled away, Isla refused to allow it. Desperately she chased her lips, offering hers up again. Her hands were frantic and a great deal more bold than if she'd been thinking about what she was doing. She wanted to touch every piece of skin not covered by the towel. Oh, very well, she wanted to touch under the towel too. Genevieve caught the frenzy driving Isla and molded it. Returning touch for touch, kiss for kiss in a restrained fury. Her cool, callused hands, damp from the bath, seemed just as frantically interested in mapping Isla's body. Stroking over the fabric of her dress, testing the weight of the flesh beneath. If Isla had imagined anything, it had been moving slowly. She'd fantasized about stripping Genevieve of her layers, one masculine piece at a time to show the female body underneath, lean and muscled and sweetly curved. But Genevieve was already stripped and Isla wished for nothing more than to be bare herself. To press her body fully against Genevieve's. But she couldn't unbutton her own dress without stepping away, and if she stepped away, the inventor might come to her senses. Might decide to stop everything so as to save Isla from exploitation. Then, blessedly, Genevieve's fingers were fumbling with those very buttons, working one after another, trembling slightly. The high collar was smoothed back so the inventor might lay reverent little kisses about Isla's neck and down to the swell of her breasts above her chemise. Isla had stopped wearing stays. If Genevieve thought she looked better without her corset, then she would never wear a corset again. And then, horrible stillness. Isla wasn't certain what happened; perhaps the inventor's hand brushed against the cravat pin. A reminder of what had nearly occurred in the hall. Isla's own hands stilled in reaction, tingling with the memory of smooth, damp skin. Genevieve backed away with an expression of horror on her face. Then she whirled and fled the room. Isla wanted to cry. But she was also determined. Genevieve must come back eventually (it was, after all, her room), and Isla would be ready. With quick hands she stripped and, pulling pins from her hair, let it down. Genevieve liked her hair; occasionally, when she wasn't being overly cautious, Isla had caught her touching a loose strand. Moments later, the inventor returned. "I'm only wearing a towel! Merde." She closed the door with a bang and turned to find Isla, now utterly naked, standing before the fire. Isla firmed her lips, narrowed her eyes, and glared. Genevieve Lefoux, famous inventor, generally charming, usually forceful, looked utterly terrified. Isla stalked towards her. "This is not a good idea, choupinette. I am far too old for you." "Good, you've some experience in these matters. So, come to bed with me, Genevieve." "I will corrupt you." "Exactly what I'm hoping for." Isla took her firmly by the hand and began to lead her to the big bed. "You are too much, Isla. You are too exactly what I have always wanted. You are too beautiful, and too good-natured, and too loyal. I cannot trust you." Isla winced at that. "Only one night, Genevieve. I'm not asking you to trust me with anything more." Although of course she wanted that terribly. She released the inventor's hand and lay back. Offering herself, because the only possible way forward was for Genevieve to choose in truth. Choose me, please. I will do the best I can, I promise. "I'm a quick study, Genevieve, you know I am. Just tonight, come to bed." The inventor gave a sigh of acceptance, and relief, and possibly joy, dropped the towel, and came to bed.
Genevieve Lefoux had dimples when she smiled. She also had two little divots above the swell of her bottom that Isla decided were also dimples. Isla got to lick all the dimples. Beneath her tongue, Genevieve writhed and murmured praise or curses – difficult to know as she spoke her native language. Isla wished she could understand French. But she was learning without instruction either way. She memorized the taste and texture of the other woman's skin – where it thinned over the points of hip and elbow, where it plumped over muscles in arms and legs, where it softened into stomach and thighs. She nuzzled into the belly button, the long indentation of spine, the backs of knees. Genevieve's responses were glorious. Little whimpers, the occasional twitch from a ticklish spot, and when Isla chose well, a moan. Isla paid careful attention to those moans, returning for more, to the muscles on Genevieve's upper back, the sides of her neck, the nipples on her small breasts. Nibbles, much to her delight, got louder moans (and even some wiggling). Genevieve grabbed her up and kissed her; out of frustration or a need to participate more, it mattered not. It was a wonderful thing to kiss back, Isla's tongue pressing into a sweet vanilla mouth as she draped her naked curved weight over her inventor's leaner frame. She didn't know skin could tingle so. She didn't know the rush of color behind closed eyes as Genevieve traced a path over her body with firm hands. Hands that were both sure and curious, dipping and stroking and squeezing. Hands that also trembled, with fear or nerves. Isla could do nothing to allay that fear but offer more of herself. Offer up everything on a wish to be trusted. She'd no idea that the awful ache she'd been feeling for months could intensify into something so completely unbearable and then crash over into a pleasure so intense and sweet, she was left shaking. She also didn't realize what an utter joy it could be to bring such pleasure to another person. Not once but several times. "What do you know," she said, looking up from between the inventor's legs with a cheeky grin. "I've found the x." Genevieve laughed. "You're sure you've not done this before?" Then she gasped. Isla had her mouth full and elected not to answer. "I suppose... you do not use that tongue of yours very often... you must have been... saving it... for something." Genevieve's voice was hoarse and stuttering. Isla flicked her tongue over the x. Genevieve switched back to French for a while. Finally, in frustration, she cried, "Why... do you not speak my language? It is so much more suited... to this... Oh!" In answer, Isla twirled her tongue and pressed, and Genevieve splintered under her ministrations, losing all her words, even the French ones. Then Genevieve shifted her over and went on her own equation-solving quest. Less tentative, more driven. Isla blushed to think on the noises she herself made as a result.
Eventually, they were too exhausted to continue. Isla's heart was willing but her body was wrung out. She rose to take to her own bed. She understood their agreement. One night was all Genevieve had promised, and the dawn was coming. The inventor's sleepy voice, rich with a full coloring of French silkiness, said, "Please stay." Isla had noticed that in times of great stress, or excitement, or (apparently) pleasure, Genevieve's accent became more pronounced. So she stayed, and curled against her inventor, feeling sweat-soaked and satisfied. Perhaps if she were very, very good, they might do it again someday.
"That can never happen again, Miss Hale." Isla woke to the voice of her inventor, roughened by sleep, and callused fingers stroking through the long tangle of her hair. They were curled together, legs entwined, but Genevieve had already left the bed, for all her body still resided there. No doubt the inventor had thought it all through and decided that in order to protect Isla, and protect herself, last night had been a horrible mistake. Isla sighed and rolled away into a bright beam of sunlight. It didn't have to be so cheery, did it? I'm back to Miss Hale. How came my own name to sound so sad? She slumped into the mattress in frustration and stared up at the ceiling. "I know, only one night. But it was wonderful, wasn't it?" She was pretty darn certain, now, that the attraction was mutual. "It was glorious," replied the inventor. She was always one to give credit were it was due. "There, see. I'm good for something beyond equations." "Miss Hale, I will not take advantage of you like this." "I think you might call me Isla, at this juncture." Her voice was more sarcastic than she liked. She tried to pull herself back to dourness and reserve. To that place where she kept her secret close, nose up-tilted, and sleepwalked through her own existence. "It is not right." "And I shall call you Genevieve." "You are too young." "No, I'm not. Stop looking for excuses." "You deserve some nice young woman who will give you all her heart, and not some old broken tom with too much history and no ability to love again. I've been sucked dry, choupinette. There's nothing left here but some superficial flirting." Isla would not believe that. "Nonsense, you love your work. You love your son. You even love Lady Maccon, in a strange way." "That is not the same thing." "There must be something left for me. I would settle for very little." For now, but I want all of it. Heart. Body. Skin against skin. Long nights and lazy mornings. But she could never say that. Genevieve would find it terrifying. The inventor sat up and turned away to sit on the edge of the mattress. Her shoulders were hunched in regret. Isla rolled to her side and placed a tentative hand on the small of the other woman's back. "Tell me why, at least?" Isla didn't add that she was owed that courtesy; she wasn't sure she was. After all, she'd pushed and pushed, knowing the other woman must have good reason for her reluctance. "Has no one spoken to you of Quesnel's mother? His blood mother, I mean. Gossip in the servants' hall?" "No. But I haven't asked. It seemed wrong, too painful a subject." "Angelique." Genevieve's voice was tinged with tones Isla had never heard before – flat and blurred. It was like she'd lost all the French off her tongue. "She was very beautiful. Like you. Only all sunlight where you are the moon. She had the biggest eyes you ever saw, pansy violet they were. Quesnel has her eyes. And her hair, all silken blonde. She was French like me, changeable and quick. Had some training as a spy, although not many knew that. We met young, parted ways, then met again when we were old enough to know ourselves better. She was pregnant by then. I adored her. I would have walked through a boiler barefoot for her. She had Quesnel soon after and we were as much a family as women like me..." She paused and tilted her face to one side, glancing at Isla out of the corner of her eye. "Women like us ever get." Isla let out a long breath. Well, that was some victory in acceptance at last. "What happened?" The inventor turned to face her but wasn't seeing her at all. Her green eyes were focused on some memory of pain, as if by watching it again the hurt could be dulled. Only, it seemed to sharpen and cut anew. Isla realized that Genevieve reminded herself of this often. It was a tool she used to slice herself, with guilt or shame, so that she remembered to withdraw from the world. This was a wound she reopened constantly so it never scabbed over, and never healed. She was bleeding ghosts instead of blood. And she did it out of some morbid need to punish herself. Isla's heart sank. She was strong enough to fight for the possibility of now, but a now could never be won, fencing with ghosts. Genevieve continued, "It was not enough. I was not good enough, or strong enough. Family wasn't enough. We weren't enough." Isla shook her head, confused. How could anyone want more than Genevieve? What more was there to want? Except... "Immortality?" The inventor nodded. "She left me for a hive and its queen. And service to both. She was a very fine lady's maid. And a decent spy. She could not take Quesnel with her, you see? Drones are not supposed to have children. Although they found out eventually and tried to take him anyway." Her face was so drawn, Isla thought with horror, that the dimples might never return. "I could not follow her. I'm not good at sharing. And even if I wanted immortality, which I don't, what good would it do us? The odds against either of us surviving are astronomically small, let alone both. And then what? An eternal life apart. Vampire queens cannot share a territory, let alone a house. So, I let her go, because she wanted it more than she wanted me. To love someone is to allow them their dreams, no? Even if you do not share those dreams. And I tried to protect her, mon dieu, I tried. And I tried to protect our son." "What happened?" Isla was almost too scared to ask. "She died. Not trying for metamorphosis. Just some stupid fall, on some stupid assignment in Scotland. And she went to ghost." "Oh, God." Isla blinked. She was crying. Not for this girl she'd never known – how dare anyone break Genevieve's heart – but for the soul-deep hurt in her lover's eyes. "So, she might have made queen?" Genevieve nodded. "She might." "I don't want immortality." "Oh, Isla, it is not that. It is not her. It is me. There are some who drift through life with so much love. They give readily and easily. I think, perhaps, Lady Maccon is one of these. And her husband. And my son. It is a heady thing for them – they are constantly replenished, like a fountain. So, they may give again, and do so generously. And there are some of us who have only a finite amount, like a puddle. I doled out all of mine already. It is stepped in and muddied, splashed away and gone." Isla nodded, understanding. Not accepting, but understanding. "No drops left for me?" "You deserve so much more than drops. You should have a lake spread out before you. You should be the first thing I think of in the morning and the last thing at night. But you are not. I think of her. And I always will." Isla gave a watery smile. "I suspect that sometimes, you may be thinking of inventions. I've seen you get up in the small hours, scribbling notes." "You do not need to be kind about this." Isla had her pride. It wasn't a noble's pride but it was there, keeping her from begging. "You warned me. I came into this with my eyes open. Well, not totally, but enough." She came over mulish, and moved her hand up the other woman's back to the tattoo at the top. A slight raising of skin, another mark. Another sign of something else Genevieve once loved. Isla stroked the divot of her inventor's spine back down to the place where those two dimples rested. "We could still gertrude." "What?" "Well, I figured the opposite of rodgering is gertruding." The inventor let out a puff of surprised laughter. "You are remarkable, you know that?" "No, I'm a perverted parlourmaid whom you have elevated beyond her station. And I shall try to do my best to earn it, regardless of how we proceed from here." "It would be too easy to love you." "But not for you?" "But not for me." Isla's heart sank. Rotten luck for me. Genevieve Lefoux is also too easy to love.
Isla did try to stay optimistic, but she wasn't particularly optimistic by nature. No one would ever call her cheerful. Even-tempered as a compliment, grave as a question, and arrogant as an insult. Heartbroken, Isla fell into all three with a vengeance. She focused hard on her work. Genevieve did the same. And while Isla still loved her job, she was, frankly, miserable. She moped. She hungered. She craved. It was all very melodramatic, which only made her frustrated with herself. Their conversation was not so relaxed as it had once been, their moving together around the potting shed not so easy. The clattering, huffing noises of the laboratory, which Isla had once found comforting, grated on her nerves. The aching tension of need returned. In fact, for Isla, the wanting was worse than before. Now she knew exactly what she was missing. Late at night, she touched herself instead, but it was nowhere near as good. It didn't seem to have much of an effect on the need, either. The more they were in each other's company, the more she battled her desire to kiss and to caress, not for possession but for connection. Isla stopped flirting. It tortured her just as much as it did Genevieve. She still caught the inventor watching her, longing in her gaze. Isla stopped reaching out, despite the ache. She knew Genevieve did the same. Many times the inventor's hand twitched in her direction and then fell back against a trouser leg, unsatisfied. It wasn't fair. To tell her no and then to still look so. Of course, it occurred to Isla to hope that perhaps the inventor was fooling herself. Time had passed. Perhaps she could love again. But she was so very stubborn, and the hurt in her voice had been so fresh. Isla was forced to constantly remind herself – no fencing with ghosts. The human with the sword always ended up looking ridiculous. The only thing that noticeably changed was that they now used each other's first names. Their midday meals were awkward things, scrabbling to find a topic that didn't touch on delicate territory. At one such luncheon, Isla asked something she'd wondered for a while. "Why the potting shed?" Genevieve looked about, startled. "Oh, I suppose it is a little odd. Frankly, it is a traditional place of science. Used to accommodate a professor friend of mine, when the werewolves were here. I had it expanded, of course. He used it for sheep pickling." "Training sheep in how to pickle?" Isla asked, confused. "No, for pickling the sheep themselves." Isla choked and then coughed in surprise. "Werewolf thing. I would not think on it too closely." Genevieve picked at her food. She's not eating very well these days. Isla worried, and subtly tried to push the cheese in her direction. Didn't the French love cheese? The inventor appeared not to see it.
[ In Which Werewolves Meddle ] "She wants a word with us," said Genevieve, coming back from her customary supper with the hive. Isla was sitting at the escritoire, reading a book of poetry. Skoot was curled on her feet. She hadn't registered the time or she would've sent him down. The vampires always looked for him after supper. Genevieve whistled him out and closed the door. Isla had grown to like poetry, now that she understood more of the words. She couldn't handle the heady stuff, like Wordsworth. But then Genevieve pooh-poohed Wordsworth out of hand as overly British. Instead, she'd found Isla a slim volume of someone called Sappho in translation. In fact, she'd made it a gift. Isla was incandescent about it. She'd never before possessed a real live book of her own. Occasionally, when she could work up the courage, they'd discuss one of the poems, long into the evening. Both of them talking a great deal, so that they didn't touch, yearning, until it became unbearable and Isla would flee to her cot, to yearn alone. "Countess Nadasdy?" she asked, as if there could be any other she Genevieve would refer to in that tone of voice. "Yes. And she is unhappy about something." "Isn't she always?" "Good point." "I don't see what she has to complain about. You've had two papers accepted by the Royal Society, and that little throwaway poggle-whizzer gadget is selling extremely well." "We have had two papers." Genevieve insisted on sharing a byline with Isla these days, although Isla protested she was only the assistant. All she did was the sums and maybe a little tinkering with a wrench. "Still, she wants us, even specified you should come with me. You'll be all right?" Isla nodded. "She doesn't scare me like she used to. If anything, I feel a little sorry for her." Unsaid was the fact that, now she knew what it was like to couple with a woman, Isla could see what the vampire queen was after. She understood the thirst. And why a girl could come over tetchy when she was denied. I could never believe any man as skilled with his tongue as Genevieve. Or I, for that matter. Isla praised herself shamelessly. Although I could do with more practice. Countess Nadasdy was holding court in the drawing room, all three of her hive mates with her. "Good, you're here. Come forward." Isla and Genevieve went and stood before her, out of reach, for all the good that did them, given the general strength and speed of the four predators before them. "Something of grave import has been brought to our attention. A report, in the Royal Society bulletin. A patent has been filed for a new sundowner bullet, from a Professor Swern. It is exactly the style and type you were working on, Genevieve. You remember, you showed me the prototype." "Henry," breathed Isla. "No," said the countess, "You, I think." Oh, here we go again. "Don't be preposterous. What motive could Isla possibly have?" Genevieve leapt to her defense. "I need hardly tell you she has very little love for this hive, nor for vampires in general. Her behavior towards us indicates no affection or loyalty. I would suspect a great deal of money was laid on the table to buy her favor. I wanted the technology in order to keep it under control. Professor Swern has no indenture, so he will sell to the highest bidder. I understand the military is interested. I don't like it, don't like it at all. You, my dear little parlourmaid, have quite a motive." "Why would I stay long enough for the theft to be noticed?" Isla defended herself with logic. Logic never worked on vampires. "Perhaps you thought you could lie to us and keep your place, steal more technology for revenge and profit. Perhaps there is something else holding you here." She glanced significantly at Genevieve. The inventor blustered, "This is ridiculous. You are manufacturing the accusation to get rid of her." The countess only sneered, showing a fang. "I have rendered judgment and the judgment of the hive is sacrosanct." She gave a nod and two drones stepped forward, one to either side of Genevieve. Isla reached for her cravat pin. Dr. Caedes grabbed her. His mouth was open wide, his fangs clearly visible. The countess gave a tight smile. "This is for your own good, Genevieve Lefoux. Can't you see this girl is killing you? You've lost a great deal of weight recently, and I suspect poison on top of everything else. You are my indenture, and your work is valuable to this hive. We cannot risk your health or her crafty ways. She is expendable. Doctor, if you would?" The vampire ripped Isla's gown, exposing one whole side of her neck. Isla fought to keep herself from shaking. She fought to find her old faithful friend, that up-tilted nose. Arrogance in death. But she couldn't find it, because she didn't need it anymore; she had given it up for Genevieve. Genevieve struggled futilely against the drones holding her. She arched up, kicking out and back, but they gripped vice-like and she couldn't break free. The Duke of Hematol said, "This is a bad business, my queen. The girl is neither your indenture nor your drone." "But it was my technology! It is my right to control my hive. Doctor, you may proceed." A resounding crash at the front door, a rushing huffing noise, and suddenly the room was filled with dogs. Not dogs, wolves. Werewolves. The biggest and the shaggiest of these stopped in front of Isla, between her and the queen. Lady Alexia Maccon, wearing a very nice plaid carriage dress, jumped off. She'd been riding him. Astride! She raised what looked like an exceptionally ugly and rather frivolous parasol and pointed it at the vampire queen. Her voice was calm and cool. "Now, now, now, Countess. That is my indenture. If you wish to have your house cleaned, I should be happy to do it for you." The parasol waved menacingly. Or it would have been menacing if it hadn't been so frilly. Each vampire in the room was now flanked by two wolves. The largest one, whom Isla had to assume was Lord Maccon, insinuated himself between her and Dr. Caedes, breaking the vampire's grip almost casually. One of the others, a big, beautiful white wolf with icy blue eyes, had separated Genevieve from her captors, knocking both drones down, and was standing over one with a look of wicked delight, growling. Genevieve ran to Isla and wrapped shaking arms about her. "I didn't think they would make it in time." "You summoned the London Pack?" "At supper, the moment the countess said she wished to see you tonight, I excused myself and sent an aetherogram to Lady Maccon." Countess Nadasdy was on her feet. "You have no right to interfere! To invade my hive! Slavering dogs!" Alexia Maccon made a ppttttt noise at the vampire queen. "I am muhjah." She gestured with her parasol at her wolf husband. "And he is head of BUR. I can guarantee that what you are doing to this girl violates both my authority and his. Which one of us would you prefer enacted justice?" Lord Maccon bared his teeth and growled. It was a great deal scarier than when the white wolf did it. Lord Ambrose leapt to protect his queen. "It is my right to punish her. She stole hive secrets." Countess Nadasdy would not drop the false accusation. She was the doglike one at the moment, teeth sunk into an Isla-shaped bone that she refused to let go. Lady Maccon was not impressed. "Oh, yes? Have you proof?" "She is poisoning Madame Lefoux!" "Genevieve?" "It is true, I have not been eating well, but that is..." Lady Maccon finished the sentence for her. "More likely your fault than that poor girl's? Where is your proof, Countess?" The queen only hissed. "But I know she did it. I want her gone!" Lady Maccon sighed. "In the absence of proof, corporal punishment is not permitted, not even within a hive. However, I agree, I should remove Isla from Woolsey for her own protection." "No!" cried Genevieve, as if the word were wrested from her. "That is not what I wanted!" Lady Maccon turned on her friend. "I'm beginning to think you don't know what you want, and poor Isla is suffering for your indecision. Think of her well-being, my dear, do." Genevieve fell silent. The countess gave a truculent pout like a little child and not some centuries-old immortal. "Very well." In an aside, Lady Maccon said to Isla, "I should prefer we put this whole sorry mess to bed at this juncture. So, make your good-byes and we'll be off. Biffy, would you... Channing? You're volunteering? How bizarre." The big white wolf had trotted over and was waiting patiently at Isla's side. Genevieve, much to everyone's surprise (including, apparently, her own) kissed Isla – swift and hard. Then, capturing her face in both callused hands, she said fiercely, "You'll love London." Isla nodded, mute and confused. Except that you won't be there. And the laboratory won't be there. And Skoot, and— "Mount up," said Lady Maccon, not unkindly. "You'll have to ride astride. Grab the ruff like so. Don't worry, pull as hard as you like, you can't hurt him. And in Channing's case, even if you could, he likely deserves it." Isla, much embarrassed, hiked up her skirts as Lady Maccon had demonstrated and slid astride the massive white wolf. She had to tuck up her legs, because she was taller than Lady Maccon, but Major Channing was as rangy a wolf as he was a man and carried her easily. He lolled his tongue at her, delighted by her discomfort. She wrapped her hands in his ruff. "Got a good grip?" Lady Maccon asked. Isla nodded. And they were off.
Isla had never ridden a horse, so she'd no basis for comparison, but it was very fast. Werewolves could move with supernatural speed, and it seemed that in no time at all, they'd left Barking for the fields, then left the fields for the suburbs, then left the suburbs for the city. London was amazing. It was bigger, and louder, and smokier than Isla could've imagined. It was crowded with houses, cheek-to-cheek, and stacked on top of one another, filthy with soot. The streets were filled with all manner of humanity inside all manner of conveyance from carts to matched teams pulling elaborate carriages to steam locomotives to monowheels (she'd seen a sketch in the lab) and beyond. Above the city, the sky seemed positively crowded with dirigibles. Isla had thought the few she'd seen floating about the countryside were remarkable. These were even more impressive. Some were chubby postal carriers while other sleeker airships formed military floatillahs. There were tiny ones privately owned, and massive trans-Channel transports heading east. The pack house was in (what Isla surmised was) a very nice part of town. Oddly, it was connected (by means of a covered bridge behind a holly tree) to the overdressed house next door. Isla wondered if they shared staff; why else build a passage between two homes? Perhaps it was a werewolf thing. Lady Maccon jumped off at the stoop with the ease of long practice. The front door was opened by an efficient-looking butler. She trotted up, waving at Isla to follow. Isla climbed off her ride's fuzzy back. "Thank you very much for the lift, Major Channing." The white wolf wagged his tail at her. "You aren't coming in?" He inclined his head to where Lord Maccon was already leading the rest of the pack away. Lady Maccon said from the doorway, "They're off for a run. Be back in a bit." Inside, the house was humming with activity. Isla got a glimpse of what Woolsey Castle must have been like before the hive took it over. The walls were modestly bare and the furnishings very solid and rather sparse. A few of the receiving rooms were richly decorated in a tasteful masculine style, but there were no claw marks or scratches so far as she could see. Lady Maccon led her upstairs. "You keep daylight hours, I understand?" "Yes, ma'am." "Genevieve said she found it easier in the country. Appalling idea, all that sunlight. We're night folk in this household, obviously. So, I'm afraid we will all be up and about while you sleep. I've a council meeting and Conall has his BUR duties to consider. The pack will return, make an obscene amount of noise, and then be off again. I'm sorry if they wake you." She led Isla to a lovely little guest room in the family section of the house. "Oh, Lady Maccon, this is too much. I'm only a parlourmaid." Lady Maccon frowned. "I thought you were Genevieve's assistant." "Well, yes, now, or until recently. But before that, I was a maid." Lady Maccon shrugged. "Well, this will do either way, won't it? You must be tired. Stop fussing and get some rest. We'll talk later when you've had a chance to orient yourself. I'll check in on you before I go to bed in the morning. Sound good?" She certainly did like to manage things, Lady Maccon. "Yes, ma'am." "Good night, Isla." "Good night, ma'am."
Isla spent a week in the London Pack house. She missed the noises of the lab, and the scent of vanilla, and the sidelong flash of hunger from Genevieve's eyes. But London was an education. Not only because Lady Maccon gave her books to read to occupy her time. ("No, we don't have any poetry, dear, can't see the use in it, myself.") No one found her questions intrusive, so Isla learned a great deal about how wolf packs functioned. The Maccons gave Isla no duties, nor did they impose on her in any way. The rest of the pack and clavigers were polite but didn't know what to make of her. Fortunately, their lives were filled with reacting to the various quirks of Lady Maccon, thus they showed no surprise at Isla's presence – considering it just one more quirk. They accepted her as they accepted all strange things that had come into their lives since their Alpha had married. She met the Maccons' daughter, a cheerful child with her mother's forthright attitude and her father's eyes. No one explained her, and Isla felt it rude to ask how such a creature could come into existence. She was well protected, spending most of her time next door with her guardian. Only Major Channing made any kind of effort, and he seemed motivated by pity. He brought Isla a paper packet of lemon sweets one evening, and roasted chestnuts a few nights later. "Humans enjoy such things, I believe." "You're too kind." Isla had taken to rising before dawn so she could say hello before the pack went to bed. "Well, poor little bite, you had to go and fall in love with that one." Isla wasn't going to deny it. She nibbled on a chestnut. "You know Madame Lefoux?" "Tolerably. Alpha had me track her and Lady Maccon across Europe once, then we had to travel home together. She makes life difficult for herself, I think." Isla nodded, morose. "You're likely right." "I usually am." Major Channing was nothing if not arrogant. Isla didn't mind. She knew arrogance well. Even if he was not about to let her see the cause. His protective walls had been built up for far longer than hers. And mine pretty much crumbled before one spectacular set of dimples. Well, fine, two sets of dimples. Isla flinched. She didn't want to think about Genevieve naked right now. "Any advice on how to manage her?" Isla took another bite. She and Major Channing had settled into a casual almost-sibling relationship in a very short space of time. In any other circumstances, such a quick camaraderie would have felt odd – he had the poshest accent of any man she'd ever met. A werewolf outranked her already, but this one must have started life amongst society's elite. But everything about her current situation was so surreal, Isla accepted his brotherly friendship without worry. If before she'd been sleepwalking, now she was in a dream. The werewolf shook himself. "As if I know anything about women. Nigh on a century and they still confuse me." He seemed to remember that he was supposed to be a cad. "Of course, I know a great deal about one aspect of women, should you ever wish to switch sides." He leered. Isla patted his cheek in a poor-old-wolf kind of way. He went on, "But love? Bah." "Very helpful, thank you." "Have another chestnut."
At the end of the week, Isla was summoned to tea with Lady Maccon. The mistress of the household was spectacularly dressed in a gown of dark green silk split down the bodice in a long V, and slit up the skirt from hem to waist, both slashes showing a quantity of expensive white lace. She'd clearly been visiting someone very important. Her bosoms were well contained, which came as a relief to Isla. "Sit down, dear, do. I'm terribly sorry that I've have taken so long to get around to your problems. But I could hardly spare the time, I've been that busy, and frankly, I think it a good idea to let the countess cool off. And Genevieve stew a little." Isla sat. She herself was in a new dress, Lady Maccon having insisted on supplying her with a whole new wardrobe. Isla refused anything fancy, but the clavigers could be most insistent. Her gown was cream poplin with pink-and-green embroidered flowers about the skirt, a wide sash at the waist, and a full pleated bodice. There was a little muslin ruffle at the neckline (which was lower than anything she would've dared wear at the hive house). It had a robe-like overdress of pink to match. It was prettier than anything she'd ever owned. Lady Maccon smiled. "I'm sure you're accustomed to my forthright ways by now." Isla thought Lady Maccon was being kind to herself. Unless by forthright she meant blunt to the point of rudeness. But she was also a gracious hostess. Lady Maccon continued, "Genevieve is a dear friend. I wish to see her happy." "As do I." "Good. Very good. So, and not to be too direct, but do you love her?" Isla's odd, confusing dream, full of massive wolves and aggressive bosoms, came crashing down to reality. A reality in which she'd run away from Genevieve, left her alone in that horrible hive. A reality where she was torn between a vampire queen who wanted her dead and an inventor who wanted her, but not enough. "It is impossible." "My dear girl, didn't you know? Impossible is my specialty. Well?" "Yes, yes, I do love her. Very much. But she is not interested. Not in the way that matters." The words tumbled out of her. It was nice to talk about it with someone who apparently didn't give two figs for the fact that both parties were female. "She is wonderful and so much..." Just as abruptly, Isla's words dried up. "So much Genevieve. Yes, I know. It can be overwhelming, can't it? She's been waiting for you, though, I think. A long time. You're a balance to her. She's always needed someone to love and love wholly with every part of herself. And you would not make that difficult for her. I think the two of you, together, will suit very well. It's a matter of convincing her, and you, that you're the right woman for the job." Isla, despite herself, felt hope rise in her breast. Everything seemed so practical and easy to solve, when Lady Maccon was quizzing it. And to have an ally was quite unexpected. (Well, an ally besides Skoot. Skoot was always on her side.) The woman rose and began to pace about. "It seems to me that the most immediate problem of the countess's ire could be solved by keeping you out of the hive house at a sufficient distance from the vampires. The countess can't leave the house at all, and her tethered males can't go much beyond the grounds. If we were to place you somewhat beyond the lake – water is often an issue with tethers – that would be extra protection. You could walk to work in the potting shed during the day with no further fang problems. I presume you can cook?" "Well enough, but not for quality." Is she going to insist I camp in a field like a vagrant? Or put me to work in a nearby manor house's kitchen? "You are my indenture. I'll increase your remuneration for work in the lab. Genevieve and I will determine the particulars. That way, you'll have enough income to purchase food at a local market, or wherever it is that one obtains food in the country." "We have a greengrocer's, ma'am, exactly like town." "Do you indeed? How modern. Would that work?" "Admirably. My salary is already sufficiently generous, thank you. But where would I live? The nearest village is too far to walk every day." My village. Isla loathed the idea of returning home. To a life of hiding and being scared all the time. Never again. She'd rather risk her neck and stay with the hive. "I've an idea about that too, but we must also solve the other matter." "What other matter?" "Genevieve herself. How to convince her that fool Angelique was a nasty flibbertigibbet nothing, and that you, my dear, are genuine?" "I am?" "Most definitely." Isla took a breath, found her courage, and confessed the greatest treasure of her heart. "I think she might love me back, if only a little." "Oh, I think she might love you back a great deal. I've never seen her so focused on anyone. Back there at the hive, she never took her eyes off you. And she overreacted. Genevieve only overreacts for the people she loves. We've been in some pretty sticky situations together, she and I, and she was always cool as the proverbial cucumber until Angelique got killed and Quesnel got kidnapped." So, she knew about that, did she? "May I ask something quite impertinent?" The large nose beaked in Isla's direction. She'd been so helpful, Isla felt compelled to say, "Of course, Lady Maccon." "Oh, call me Alexia, do." "Alexia." "Have you two been intimate?' Isla blushed. "Only the once." "Well, that should help." "Should it?" Alexia looked wise. "Yes, I think it generally does. People always say carnal relations complicate matters. I find it quite the opposite – simplifies everything down to its purest form. I take it things went well?" That was a bit too intrusive, but then again, Alexia and Genevieve did flirt an awful lot. So Isla said, "Wonderfully." Alexia looked a tiny bit wistful. "Yes, I always imagined things would with Genevieve." Isla felt an odd combination of jealousy, pride, and superiority. Lady Maccon, who seemed more a force of obtuse nature than anything else, didn't notice. "Not that I regret my choice, mind you. Conall's impossible but highly stimulating, and I've never felt anything lacking in the rough-and-tumble. It's only that I'm one of those people who, at the dinner table, wants to try all the dishes. You see my point?" Isla didn't. Alexia didn't care, continuing blithely on with a, "Too late now, of course." "Um," said Isla. "Now, where was I? Oh, yes. I think you should get Genevieve soused." "What!" "Let me iron out the particulars of getting you back working together, without vampires, and you get her tipsy. Truth in the wine and all that rot. Although, in this case, love in the cognac. Genevieve adores a good cognac. I've got a bottle here. Take it along. Use it wisely." Isla took the proffered bottle, which was likely worth more than all the new dresses in her wardrobe combined. She cradled it like a baby. It was really too much. The pack had already been overly generous. One of them, a charming young blighter named Biffy whom all the others seemed to regard with an unexpected degree of reverence, had taken her shopping three times. And once for nothing but hats! "Oh, but—" "I insist. Now, give me another few days to work things out, and I will see you settled in fine style. Speaking of which, I'll need Biffy for this. And possibly some of Akeldama's drones." She stood, already charging towards the next step in her mysterious plan. Isla took that as a dismissal and, clutching her cognac, made her way out into the hall and up to her room. Behind her, Lady Maccon yelled at the top of her lungs, "Biffy! Interiors are afoot! Oh, where is the boy? Biffy, I need you to design something beautiful!"
[ In Which We Solve All the Equations ] Lady Maccon's grand plan, as it turned out, was a massive gypsy caravan of some modern, technologically expansive design. She had it parked in the fields beyond the Woolsey lake. She'd apparently arranged everything with the hive, swinging her muhjah power about like a very big stick (or should one say parasol?). The pack dug it in and stabilized it in a pretty little meadow with silver birches around three sides and a view of the lake to the front. Lady Maccon, being practical, insisted on a vegetable garden, and the werewolves, being not as practical, thought flower boxes a wonderful idea. The meadow was cheerful with the noises of birds. Bunnies appeared in the early morning, cotton tails twitching, although they fled as soon as they smelled wolf. Isla noticed for the first time how little wildlife had been near the hive house. Vampires, she supposed, had a certain aura that prey animals would find oppressive. She understood the feeling entirely. Biffy had decorated the caravan interior in fine style. It was quite spacious with a large bed, two small wardrobes, and a little pot-bellied stove. It even boasted a tiny desk-meets-dining-table in the kitchen area and a few shelves for Isla's book collection. (Which only amounted to two, but Isla had big dreams.) Isla loved it. The stove was perfect for both cooking and warmth, and there were Carcel lamps for light at night. A number of knobs and levers allowed most of the larger pieces of furniture to shift about as needed – so the bed might flip up, or the stove rotate away, or the table convert into a bench. All in all, it was more luxurious (and adaptive) than anything Isla had ever occupied. The night was full of quiet owl noises and the rustle of wind through the trees. The big bed felt empty, and Isla couldn't help picturing Genevieve nestled next to her, but she slept soundly despite the lack. The next day, Isla returned to work in the potting shed. Genevieve was clearly delighted to see her. Possibly because the laboratory was in utter chaos. How has everything gotten so messy? I've only been gone a week! "Oh, thank heavens you are back. I cannot find anything!" The inventor sounded casual, but her green eyes traced every part of Isla's face. Worryingly, Genevieve was looking even more gaunt. Has she eaten anything while I've been gone? "Are you all right, Isla?" "Lady Maccon has been very kind." "Has she indeed? What does she want?" Isla leaped to Alexia's defense. "She has only your best interests at heart, I'm sure." "Says she!" But there was no malice in it. "She asked me to mention her new parasol order?" "Yes, yes, I know. I have her specifications here somewhere. I suppose we should get started. I do owe her a massive favor." "Oh, and she wanted me to remind you, you'll be seeing her soon." "I will?" "Sunday supper, next month? She wrote a note. Here it is." Isla passed it over. Genevieve cracked the seal and read it, hooting with laughter at the end. She handed it back to Isla. "Go on. Read it yourself." "What's this about cognac?" asked Genevieve. Isla put down the note, avoiding the question, and remarked, "She's kind of like an odd, loud, fierce fairy godmother, isn't she?" She wandered over to the waiting tea-tray and, lifting the lid, found a tempting plate of bacon and eggs. "I'm starved. Come and join me, Genevieve, and I'll tell you what happened." Isla, of course, didn't tell her everything. But she did tell her all about the pack and what she'd learned. "You cannot possibly be implying that you like Channing?" Isla nodded. Pleased to see Genevieve eat a whole plate of eggs and two rashers of bacon. Excellent, the ploy worked. "We are talking about Major Channing Channing of the Chesterfield Channings?" "Why, is there another one?" "Merde. The very idea. Heaven forefend." Isla would not be moved. "He's sweet. He brought me chestnuts." "What has the pack done to you?" Isla only smiled. "Would you like some more bacon?"
Genevieve began eating properly again. She put on a little weight. She was equally solicitous of Isla's well-being. Sometimes overly so. No one from the hive bothered them, not even the gardeners. They both took great pains to break before dark so Isla could walk back to her caravan safely. Genevieve even kissed Isla a few times. Once on the top of her head, when she was bent over a schematic. Then again, a week after her return, right before Isla left for the night. That kiss had been long and deep, pressing her up against the side of the door. Then the inventor had backed away with a muttered apology. That week's separation, it turned out, had indeed worked wonders. Ten days after her return, Isla decided to try again in earnest. "Would you like to see my caravan? It's very nice inside. Has all sorts of gadget-driven functionality – convertible table and a fold-away bed." She said this casually as they were winding down for the evening. The inventor looked elated at the invitation and dropped the device she was disassembling with gratifying alacrity. She was usually not so quick to leave off her work. Since Isla's return, Genevieve had been dressing better than a potting shed really warranted. Each day, she seemed to choose a nicer waistcoat, even donning a cravat, as though she wished to make a good impression. Isla was suitably impressed and hoped she was the one who was meant to be. She imagined unwrapping the length of cravat and gliding it over Genevieve's body. She found herself fascinated by the way Genevieve's shoulders looked under her jacket, which she insisted on wearing every day when they took their afternoon walk about the garden. Isla had been thinking a lot about all of Genevieve's dimples. That particular evening, Genevieve shrugged into a lovely grey morning coat and a top hat. She looked very fine indeed. Isla took the offered arm and they made their way across the garden to the lake. She remembered their first walk together. Her hand was steady now, not nervous or sweaty at all.
Genevieve Lefoux fit perfectly into Isla's caravan. She explored all the gadgets and then sat comfortably at the little table. Her hat rested on a peg near the door, a peg that had confused Isla. There were several of them, which she now realized were clearly meant for gentlemen's hats. She began to understand why there were two wardrobes. Lady Maccon was very crafty indeed. Isla said, hopefully, "They built me a proper privy as well. Although, if I want to bathe, there's really only the lake." "You can come back to the hive house for a proper bath, if you like. During the daytime, it wouldn't be difficult." "I might take you up on that when it gets colder. Would you like a glass of cognac? Alexia gave it to me." "Alexia, is it?" "We've come to an understanding. I like her." "It's rare, those who do. She seems to have done you proud with this caravan." "Yes. Although I think perhaps Biffy had a hand in choosing and decorating it." "Yes, looks like him. Only Biffy would remember hat pegs. Did you say something about cognac?" Isla went to get two small blue mugs, pouring a large measure into one and a lesser amount into the other. Genevieve took the offered mug with a raised eyebrow. "Are you trying to get me drunk, Miss Hale?" "Will it work?" "Very likely. I promise not to put up much resistance." She leaned closer to Isla, sipping the cognac, green eyes bright and intent. "Changed your mind?" They were not talking about cognac. Isla stroked the inventor's hand where it rested on the small table. Genevieve turned it over instantly to lace their fingers together. "I realized something while you were away." Isla held her breath. "That fountain I talked about? It's not as dry as I thought." Isla grinned. "Good. That's very good." Pride held her in check, although she wanted to lean forward and kiss the other woman, taste the cognac on her lips. Better than drinking it straight; it was horrible stuff. Burned all the way down. "You're not pouncing on me. I thought you might pounce. Have I lost my chance with you, then?" Isla decided she had no pride and pounced.
The caravan, as it turned out, was sturdier than it looked. It hardly rocked at all. What had been wonderful the first time around was extraordinary the second. Genevieve was much less tentative. She seemed determined to leave no part of Isla's body unexplored. Isla, of course, felt the same. They took their time, less frantic than that first night. Isla no longer feared that Genevieve might flee at the slightest opportunity. And Genevieve was intent on proving her interest genuine in every way possible. Isla was delighted to have her try. It was a glorious thing, to be wooed. It was an exercise in hedonism. Particularly when Genevieve poured a tiny measure of cognac into Isla's belly button and licked it out. Then kept licking lower, her mouth cool from the alcohol, her tongue teasing. Those callused fingers could do wicked things to Isla's body – firm and sure when required, gentle and stroking the rest of the time. Isla crested and panted and crested again – arching and writhing and whimpering under her touch. She was desperate to touch in return, to sink her teeth (only a little) into Genevieve's white thigh (she yelped, which was wonderful) and to see her writhe in turn. Eventually, they were both mere puddles of joy. Isla remembered the analogy then, and wondered if she were fountain enough for the both of them. If she could give enough love for the little drops that she would get in return. She decided she was. That if this was all they had, an idyllic evening on occasion, it would be enough. It was more than she'd ever hoped for, after all. "I have missed you, choupinette." Genevieve was draped partly over her, naked and satiated. She buried her face in Isla's hair. Isla curled a hand over Genevieve's neck, feeling the slight bumps that formed the octopus tattoo, then threading her fingers up though the short curls above. She inhaled vanilla and hope. "Can't handle the equations without me, hum?" "Yes. Well, no, but that's not what I meant. I missed you. I missed the way you move about the lab. The curve of your cheek when you rest your chin on your hand to think. The weight of your hair. The way you stick the tip of your tongue out when you are concentrating really hard." "I do not!" "Oh, yes, you do. It is adorable. You also mouth words when you are reading. I want to kiss you so badly when you do that." "You've my permission to do so from here on out. Although try not to disturb me too much." She was being coy. "I do love reading. It's such a joy." Genevieve stilled against her. Isla stopped stroking her neck. So, here the rejection comes this time. She took a deep breath, preparing herself. Isla might have predicted many things, but she was not prepared for pleading in her inventor's voice. "May I come live here, with you?" "Yes," said Isla on an exhalation. She didn't even have to think about it. Her skin prickled. "It's made for both of us." "Good. I shall have to barter a longer indenture so they let me move out of the hive. Could be as much as ten additional years." "I'll stay with you as long as is necessary." I'll stay with you forever. Genevieve ran a hand up and down Isla's side. It only tickled a little. "I won't mind as much, being here." Isla tried to keep the mood light. "And I shall have access to all your books." Genevieve sat back and looked around the caravan's interior. "We'll have to store some of them in the potting shed not quite enough shelf space here." Then, all of a sudden, she grinned. Isla sat up at that, driven to nuzzle in against the dimples. Self-consciously, she whispered, "I kept one of my parlourmaid's dresses and a duster." "To wear for me?" "I thought you might like—" A kiss fairly scalded her mouth at that. "Oh, I like." A pause while they both gathered their wits about them. Isla delighted in the effectiveness of the mere mention of that dress. Genevieve drew her in close, petting her, swirling her thumb over Isla's hipbone. "I speak four languages, you know. French, German, English, and Latin." Isla blinked at the change of subject. "I didn't know about the Latin." "I shall teach you to read in all of them." Isla collapsed against her in delight, twisting them around so that Genevieve was on her back and Isla sprawled atop her. She peppered her inventor with tiny kisses until, out of breath, she finally stopped. Genevieve was giggling. Actually giggling. Isla kissed her deeply on the mouth, tongue and everything – glorying in the fact that this roughened Genevieve's breathing, and the restless way she shifted beneath her. Isla stopped long enough to say, "I should like to learn French first, please." "Je t'aime," said Genevieve. "What does that mean?" Isla's eyes were wide, hoping for something quite naughty, perhaps a suggestion or a position? "I love you," said Genevieve. Isla burst into tears. Genevieve tried to calm her with cognac. Then with a long and thorough embrace. Then she told her all the truths of her heart, now filled to bursting. That she'd realized Isla was different and wouldn't betray her. That they might be there together, and that they might be loved, both of them worthy of it. She'd even let Skoot come and visit them in the lab more often. When none of these tactics worked on Isla's (joyful) histrionics, the inventor gave her an equation to solve. Isla solved it, of course. For x, as it turned out, equaled two.
[ POV: Weddin; Time remaining: fifteen hours, twenty-two minutes ] They were dashing through the night at intense speed in a destructive game of tag when four more magical girls appeared from inside the factory, interrupting them. Now there were nine of them in total, some glaring at each other, others smiling foolishly in front of the abandoned factory that had gone bust after the economic bubble burst. The deteriorated landscape, filled with broken streetlamps, crushed asphalt, and twisted fences, clashed with the beautifully decorated girls. Weddin shivered when she saw the four who'd appeared out of that hole. They were decisively different from the magical girls they had seen thus far. When that ninja had nailed her down, Weddin had trembled, fearing she was in for a painful experience. When Bunny Ears had chased her around, she'd felt despondent just thinking about what might be done to her if she were caught, and her yelling at Tepsekemei had been an attempt to alleviate such feelings, even just a bit. Both of those magical girls had been very scary. Weddin was no match for either, and even Tepsekemei and Kuru-Kuru Hime, who were stronger than her, couldn't beat either of the two one-on-one. Seeing the four girls now emerging, Weddin realized her mistake. Her fear of Bunny Ears and the ninja had just been her own cowardice. She'd been needlessly frightened of enemies whom she'd fundamentally had no reason to fear. Bunny Ears and the ninja were firmly within the fantastical realm that encompassed magical girls. There was no raw violence to them. These four were different. They carried nothing but the air of raw violence. Just standing here in front of them made Weddin want to slump down on the spot—or, barring that, grovel at their feet. She resisted the urge to collapse. No matter how she tried to force it down, fear rampaged inside her, ready to burst out if it just had the chance. With the utmost effort, she calmed her feelings, put a lid on it all, and looked over at Bunny Ears. Her face had gone stiff—it wasn't the way you'd look at reinforcements. "I recommend doing your utmost to avoid resisting. You don't want to get hurt, do you?" the fortune-teller told them. It seemed she wasn't Bunny Ears's ally. The enemy of her enemy was also an enemy. The situation was complicated. But being that things weren't simple, there might be something Weddin could do here. "No more games, asshole!" With that juvenile taunt, Grace sliced at the enemy, and the fencer responded leisurely, blocking her attack. The pirate's boorish cutlass and the fencer's magnificent rapier slammed straight into each other, the sound of clashing metal echoing through the narrow back road. Grace pushed at her cutlass and tried to kick her opponent in the stomach, but the fencer slipped away, and the strike missed her body. Grace ripped the twisted chain-link fence out of the ground and threw that, too, but the fencer sliced it into bits with her rapier. Grace's attacks still kept coming. She kicked off the wall of the building to get herself going, then turned back to kick through the cement-block barrier and showered her opponent with rubble. The fencer hopped onto a block of rubble as it flew through the air, then casually landed on the ground. The chunks of cement the fencer had dodged shot through the wall of the building like bullets, destroying it. Weddin was about to go help Grace, but then she stopped herself. She could barely even keep track of how fast Grace was moving, and her enemy was trading blows with her cheerily at a speed no lesser. Any attempt by Weddin to join in the fray would bring about further danger. She should avoid intervening thoughtlessly. Weddin began to ponder what she should do—what move she should make. Her allies didn't move—or no, they couldn't move, could they? Funny Trick was trembling, all the color drained from her face. Tepsekemei's eyes were quite a bit calmer in comparison, the same old vacant expression as she focused her gaze on the remaining enemies. Their enemies were smiling, or smirking, as they watched the fight. They weren't worried. Bunny Ears turned tail and ran. The fortune-teller whispered something to the fencer, who nodded coolly. The musician and fortune-teller jumped over Weddin and the others together, kicking off the building in a wall-jump to chase after Bunny Ears. If Weddin was going to fight, now was the time. But even with the enemy's numbers cut in half, Weddin still didn't feel she and her friends could win. They shouldn't try to win by fighting, in which case, Grace was getting in the way. Thoughts switching dizzyingly fast, in the end, Weddin yelled, "Leave me behind! Get out of here!" Weddin had made everyone agree to listen to their leader's orders if the time came. Even if they hadn't been serious when they'd made that promise, Weddin's magic would not allow them to default on that contract. Grace hopped up atop the building, still brandishing her cutlass at the enemy. Funny Trick leaped away, too; Tepsekemei shot Weddin a brief look, but as she couldn't disobey the order, she floated up into the sky. The last of the enemies—the one covered in patches, stationed at the factory entrance—nodded to the fencer, then rushed up to the top of the building. The fencer didn't follow but instead approached Weddin. Having seen the fencer cross swords with Grace, Weddin knew she was no match for this opponent. Her head was swimming. She had to concentrate, or she couldn't breathe. It was hard to get ahold of herself. Transforming into a magical girl boosted her resistance to the cold, but a chill was running down her spine all the same. She felt she might freeze. A puff of white steam appeared when she exhaled a deep breath before slowly dissipating. The clash between Grace and the fencer had been one of life-and-death, an excuse for Weddin to think she hadn't interfered because they'd moved too quickly. There was no reason any rational human being would have interfered with that tangle of beasts seeking to rip each other's throats out. Calm down, she told herself. Bunny Ears had lured two of their opponents away, so they'd managed to split the enemies up. And since patchwork girl was chasing after three of them solo, at the very least, two of them would be able to escape—while sacrificing one. But Weddin wasn't thinking about this in a sentimental fashion. Her judgments were based on calculation. They were running away from enemies they couldn't beat, so even two out of three being saved was a good deal. And besides, she had to fight one-on-one. The candles on her costume made fizzling sounds as they burned. Don't be timid. Be bold. I'm the leader. I'm not gonna lose. The fencer was approaching, a broad smile on her face. She was refined and aristocratic but also looked like death itself. What would happen if Weddin died? Was there an afterlife? Could it be classified into heaven and hell? And if she died, was that the end? Once you lost your life, was it just eternal nothingness, with no consciousness? The fear of death welled up in her stomach. She clenched her jaw and held back her feelings. Weddin—Mine Musubiya—was egocentric in all respects. She based all her decisions on calculations of profit and loss. When she'd made all the others escape, she'd done it with the overall benefits and drawbacks in mind. Since she knew she was too slow to run anyway, she figured it'd be more beneficial to decisively remain than to flee. Her choice to remain had not at all been a generous one, based on self-sacrifice. She had a chance at winning. Facing the fencer, Weddin raised both her hands. She forced her stiffening face to soften and smiled, as her opponent did. "I've lost. I surrender. I'll fight no more. Please, spare my life." The fencer looked like she didn't quite understand. Weddin then recalled that her opponent spoke a foreign language... She'd talked so fast, it'd been hard to catch, but she most likely spoke English. So Weddin corrected herself: "I surrender." Ten feet away, the fencer stopped in her tracks. She flicked the feather decoration on her head with a fingertip, the corners of her mouth turning up. Was she smiling? She seemed wary, too. Weddin remained tense despite having declared her surrender. She hadn't put her hands up because she'd sincerely given in. In fact, she felt the battle was just beginning. Direct conflict and competitions of physical strength, like the sort Grace engaged in, were not the only ways to fight. Deliberately being captured by the enemy was another. Weddin's powers forced people to keep their promises. The number of promises was unlimited, and even if she broke the promise herself, the other person would still be obligated to keep theirs. Once captured, she would probably be questioned. Weddin felt uneasy about conversing in English, but she'd be fine if there was someone to translate for her. She would draw out the questioning just a little bit, then drag things out as best she could (without getting to the point of torture) and try to create more opportunities for conversation. Bit by bit, she would gather promises from them—it didn't matter how trivial they were. Weddin would win if the enemy assumed verbal promises were meaningless. She'd work from the inside, dragging things out slowly, bit by bit by bit... The fencer came within half a step of Weddin and brandished her sword twice before sheathing it. "Is that so? An admirable attitude." A moment ago, Weddin hadn't been able to catch what the fencer was saying, but now, she could understand it clearly. It wasn't Japanese. She was still speaking in English. Weddin didn't question this, accepting it as if it were natural. She bowed her head. "Thank you very much. I'm grateful for your generous treatment." "By the way..." The fencer smiled properly this time. She didn't look even the least bit cautious. "Though it may not appear so, our occupation is that of an inspector. As one might expect, many liars have come before us." Still unguarded, she calmly approached Weddin and put her hand on her shoulder. "We have encountered such folk over the course of many, many years, you see. And so we've come to understand people, somewhat, simply by looking at their faces. When one is bound to do evil in the future, or lies to us, or attempts to deceive us, or is plotting something, it's all so apparent in their countenance." She gripped Weddin's shoulders with the kind of closeness of an old friend and pulled her rapier four inches from its sheath to show her the blade. "I use this sword on such imprudent folk. This sword is magic. Those cut by it are struck by misunderstanding." "Misunderstanding?" "Yes, misunderstanding. Just the smallest, slightest misunderstanding. For example, the misunderstanding that a foe one should be fighting is, in fact, the master one must protect with one's life. They would not simply become our attendant. They would do anything in our service. Oh-ho, don't you think of it as brainwashing. When we cut someone, their reality changes. Therefore, even one with whom 'twas impossible to communicate is now able to enjoy amicable conversation with us." She slipped her sword back in its sheath with a snap. "Now then, work yet remains... What's your name?" "I'm Weddin." "A good name. So then be of aid to us." Pukin dashed off, with Weddin following cheerfully behind. Weddin had admired Pukin for ten years. She'd always obeyed any order from Pukin, and following her was always the right choice. She had no regrets in betraying her allies for Pukin. Pukin came first, over everything.
[ POV: Captain Grace; Time remaining: fifteen hours, fifteen minutes ] Grace was irritated at her body for running away against her will but also privately relieved that she'd managed to escape—and that feeling made her blood boil. She crossed over buildings and roofs, running, jumping, racing through pitch-black alleyways, but she could still feel the enemy behind her, never leaving. This may have been the first time in Grace's life that she'd hesitated in a fight. Umi Shibahara never wavered in the heat of battle. It was always clear to her what to do. Be it punching, kicking, or grappling into a throw, all she needed was to maintain the will to fight and enact violence as her body commanded it. She'd always scoffed at the average Joe who'd freeze up whenever petty gangsters picked fights with them. If you can win, you should fight. If you can't, then you should run. It was stupid to let them rob you without doing either. When the four magical girls had appeared, it wasn't that Grace had been unable to move. She'd just hesitated. The four girls who had broken through the factory entrance to appear before them were strong. The one with the guitar on her back and the one with the crystal ball were so strong, they might have been on par with Bunny Ears and the ninja. The one with the sword and the patchwork girl were even stronger. Even though they were glaring at each other on equal footing, Grace felt as if she was being looked down on. The situation was bad. Grace could try to fight, caught between these girls and Bunny Ears, but what about the others? Tepsekemei could escape into the air, but if the enemy went for Funny Trick and Weddin, Grace sensed she'd have her hands too full to defend them. These thoughts felt like excuses and angered her. Grace slashed with her sword in an attempt to shake off her weakness. Her plan was to slay the first enemy in one strike, but it had easily been evaded. Her opponent's thin sword looked like it could be bent with the slightest smack, but it was startlingly flexible as it blocked her swing. The fencer and the other three foes who were watching the two battle had all grinned in amusement. They'd been making light of Grace. The simmering in her mind passed the boiling point. Right as Grace abandoned trying to defend herself and was about to strike out with all her might, Weddin gave the order to retreat. Weddin's magic forced her to flee when she didn't want to. It was maddening, but it enabled her to cool her head a bit. At the very least, she could pretend she'd regained her calm. One of the enemy magical girls was chasing her—not the one with the sword but the patchwork one. Her eyes were shining in anticipation as she followed about thirty feet behind. Weddin had ordered the girls to leave her behind and run, so she must have remained there. There would be at least one enemy there with her. Bunny Ears had fled prior to Weddin's command, and Grace had noticed the crystal ball girl and guitar girl following after her. If you did the math, that meant none of the enemies were chasing Funny Trick. Her guess that Funny Trick was escaping without anyone in tow calmed Grace, taking some pressure off. It seemed her partner's life was safe, for the time being. Kayo Nemura had received top marks in the first grade, but that wasn't why Umi had approached her. Umi had used a trick she'd learned from anime—she'd searched for people with similar tastes by looking at the borrowing history on their library cards. In this case, Kayo shared her interests. She'd caught a sidelong glance at Kayo reading The Robber Hotzenplotz in the library at lunchtime, turning pages with an intent look on her face as if she herself were in the middle of an adventure. When Umi poked Kayo's cheek with her pointer finger, she was so focused on the book that she didn't seem to notice at all. Kayo's cheek was soft. Umi took a liking to her. Ever since then, she'd started proactively developing their connection. Umi was good at ignoring all rules or manners to invade people's personal spaces. Kayo and Umi had traversed the whole island of Honshu during summer vacation in fourth grade. In fifth grade, when Umi had beat up the teacher of the karate dojo she'd joined, Kayo had been with her, too. And when Umi had gotten into a spat with the motorcycle gang Love-Life in their first year of middle school, Kayo had been by her side then, too. Kayo's job was to soothe and chide Umi when she tried to barrel on ahead and push on forward. Even when Umi's rational mind was telling her it was best to pull back for the time being, her emotions would move her feet of their own accord. That was the way she was. If she'd been on her own, she would have gone on raging and rampaging forever. She felt having Kayo there as her strategist enabled her to be her strongest. But that was embarrassing, so she didn't say it out loud. That was when Grace sensed something. There wasn't just the enemy pressing in on her from behind—someone else was running alongside her, too. A new enemy? she thought and looked over to see it was a familiar magical girl running with her. Captain Grace kept herself from swearing aloud. It was Funny Trick. Funny Trick put equal distance between herself, Grace, and the enemy, drawing a triangle between the three of them. It wasn't like she had to be attached to Grace at the hip, so what was Funny Trick thinking, following her? They outnumbered the enemy, so if they'd have just run in different directions, then at the very least, one or two of them could have managed to escape safely. Does she get that these new enemies are crazy strong? Grace thought indignantly as she ran, but still, she was a little glad Funny Trick had followed her, and the corners of her lips curved into a smile. She couldn't bring herself to believe the reason Funny Trick wanted to fight was because she couldn't tell the enemies were powerful. She had to give her partner credit for that. As Grace ran atop the roof, she stomped her feet to crack the tiles off, then raked the broken tiles with her toes and tossed them backward. The enemy ignored the shards flying at her, hot on her heels and not slowing even a hair. She didn't seem to be injured or even flinching. Grace was disappointed that the tiles were completely ineffective. But it seemed taking offensive action by tossing tiles backward was possible, and just checking that she could do that was meaningful on its own. Weddin's magic was forcing Grace to flee, but she possessed a degree of discretion on just how she would do so. She tried slowing down. Slackening her legs' pace just a bit made the distance between her and the enemy shrink. It seemed she wasn't compelled to run as fast as she could. She fastened some rope from her pirate ship onto her hook. She'd have liked to tie a marine- or sailor-style knot on it, but unfortunately, she didn't know much about knots. So she just tied it tight, figuring it was okay as long as it held for now. Grace jumped off the roof and tossed the rope and hook out to catch on the bridge of an overpass, swinging over to stand on top of it. The enemy still followed her—but unlike Grace, she lacked any tools. So Grace won herself some distance, even if it was only a few yards. Because of the time of day, there were no cars going by on the overpass. Now, she could do this. The enemy coming after Grace clambered up to the overpass, but then things started flying at her from the air above, booming with impact as they made contact with the asphalt in succession. Grace looked up into the sky. Tepsekemei was attacking while she flew away from the enemy. It seemed the others also intended to attack as they ran away. Grace laughed out loud in delight. She saw Funny Trick coming after the enemy up to the top of the overpass. More air bullets flew, followed by blasting sounds and the pattering of concrete raining down. As Grace fled, she turned to look behind herself. Of course, she slowed a bit, and the enemy got closer. The magical girl wearing the patch-covered costume was smiling gleefully. She was just like a predator opening its mouth the moment before it killed its prey, rejoicing that she was about to sink her teeth into it. Like hell I'll let you, Grace thought, spreading her hands and pushing them out palm-first in front of her. She wasn't at a safe enough distance, but she was prepared to take a certain amount of damage. Captain Grace summoned her pirate ship right before her and her enemy's eyes. It appeared suddenly, completely ignoring the law of conservation of matter to crush the rushing foe. The force of it blew Grace back from where she stood and shattered the road surface. As Grace was blasted back and rolled away, she whooped in joy. The enemy hadn't been able to dodge it. She'd felt that. Funny Trick slowed down, and Tepsekemei gradually descended. The enemy was gone now. There was no more need to run. "All right, now—," Grace started to say but was interrupted. A blob of black haze leaped out from the bow of the ship, cutting through the dust. Though Grace's ship was wooden, it was still a magic ship. It could race across water at subsonic speeds, with durability surpassing the laws of physics enabling it to resist the air and water. It was not so poorly built that it would easily break from a few hits by a magical girl. A mouth like a great, merciless abyss opened up within the pirate ship, Captain Grace's pride and joy. An erosion like a creeping black stain ate into the boat as the enemy leaped forward at a pace just as fast as when she'd started her sprint. As she rushed past, she bumped against Tepsekemei's shoulder, and the part she touched turned to black haze before scattering and vanishing. Tepsekemei's usual vacant visage crumbled, and with an incredulous look in her eyes, she stared at the empty space where that part of her body should have been. The patch-covered magical girl closed the gap between her and Grace in a single bound, reaching out to her. Grace blocked that hand with her dagger, but she didn't even feel like the dagger connected with anything as it was scraped away by the mist, and as the girl stroked Grace's face, her vision went entirely black. Grace couldn't see. She had only ever fought blinded a handful of times—and this time, her opponent was crazy strong, even more powerful than Bunny Ears and the black sphere. What an adventure! When the tales of Grace's exploits were written down one day, this would have to be the climax. She would have to get her partner, Funny Trick, to look over it for her as her chronicler. The role of chronicler was a rather bland one, but following her like she did, it was something of an obligation for her. She really doesn't know how to roll with the punches. That was exactly why Grace had to protect her. As she imagined their shining future, Captain Grace's consciousness plunged deep into darkness.
[ POV: Pythie Frederica; Time remaining: fifteen hours, fifteen minutes ] Bunny Ears had frighteningly fast legs. It was the most Tot Pop and Frederica could do to keep up with her. A magical girl's physical appearance made her nature laughably obvious. This factor was not something to be underestimated. If a girl had wings, that meant she could fly with them; if she had a long tail, she could grab things with it; and if she carried weapons, she was able to wield them. Aside from such straightforward characteristics, it was not uncommon for their overall motif to symbolize their nature. In other words, a magical girl with a rabbit motif would probably be faster than those with a fortune-teller or musician as their motifs. There was a reason why rabbit's feet were said to help you escape from trouble. The girl was putting both her hands and feet on the ground like an actual rabbit, and she was gradually pulling away from them. "This doesn't look good, master," said Tot Pop to Frederica. "She might get away." "If she escapes us now, we're bound to be branded as useless." "That'd suck." "I'd prefer to avoid that, too. Let's do our best, as master and student, and show them we can be useful." Frederica searched her memories. Rabbit ears and a kimono. She seemed to recall such a girl in the Inspection Department named Hana Gekokujou. Of all the people within this barrier, this was the one magical girl she could say for certain was a member of the inspection team, which would make her a valuable hostage. Sonia and Pukin weren't suited to nonlethal capture missions, so Frederica couldn't allow them to give chase, which was why she'd decided to take Tot Pop to chase Hana down with her—but Hana was hopelessly faster than them. "Miss Gekokujou!" Frederica called out. The rabbit's long ears twitched. It was good that she reacted. It was basically proof that this was Hana Gekokujou and also indicated she was fairly honest by nature. Frederica informed Tot Pop of the rabbit's identity. It was best to share information. "Hana Gekokujou. Her magic is to sharpen senses. She'll manipulate your senses if you get too close to her. Be careful." "Nice one, master. You always know everything about magical girls. A real enthusiast." "She's a member of the Inspection Department and is responsible for exposing internal crimes. She uses her ability to sharpen senses to scout for enemies, but even more than that, she's also skilled in hand-to-hand combat. Do not be deceived by her appearance and believe that a direct fight with her is one you can win." "Yeah, yeah. Roger." Frederica continued to dig up even more knowledge on Hana Gekokujou. "Miss Gekokujou! Is Mana doing well?" Long ears swaying left and right, Hana's upper body rose gradually until she came to a halt and turned around. Frederica stopped, too, holding her right arm out to keep Tot Pop back. She looked at Hana, an amicable smile plastered across her face. Hana looked suspicious. Frederica quickly confirmed their positions. They were about thirty feet away from each other, standing in a narrow lane with a drainage ditch running along one side. She could also see a culvert nearby flowing somewhere unknown. It would be difficult to chase Hana down if she were to escape there. Hana must have stopped because she'd calculated this. She was a tough enemy. "We've come from outside the barrier to support you. With quite the amount of enemies around here, you must be having some difficulty, aren't you?" "You can't trick me." Hana's response was cutting. "Trick you? What do you mean?" "You were just talking about me, weren't you? I've got good ears, so I heard everything." "...How amazing." "But even if I hadn't heard you, I wouldn't be fooled by someone as notorious as yourself. Any inspector who doesn't know the name and face of Pythie Frederica is unqualified." "Oh... Well, well... Oh, dear." Frederica cracked a bashful smile. She'd hoped that perhaps Hana would return the favor, but the rabbit's expression remained stiff. Though her posture seemed relaxed, with her arms hanging at her sides, you could tell just by looking that she was ready to dash off immediately. Her guard was flawless. She really was tough. "So then why have you stopped to listen to me?" "How do you know Mana is our team chief? You were imprisoned before she was appointed." Frederica had poked around here and there, at top secret documents and meeting reports. She'd figured that if she came up with people who seemed like they would later be installed in the Inspection Department and named them one after another, she'd find something eventually. She'd only hit bingo on her first guess because the personnel choices in the Inspection Department were proceeding as planned. Anything would have been fine, as long as it achieved her goal of stopping Hana. "Mana and I have something of a relationship." Frederica acted very much as if she were now going to tell Hana what was going on, but as she spoke, as part of a seemingly natural gesture, she put her left hand into her crystal ball and pulled it out again. "What...?" But before Hana's doubt could be resolved, Frederica threw the three hand grenades in her hand. The pins were already removed. They sailed over Hana's head, rolling behind her, and simultaneously, Tot Pop strummed her guitar. Music notes of varying sizes assailed Hana in a cacophonous torrent. The grenades exploded ahead of Hana, sending fragments of concrete flying in all directions. Frederica's hair flew up from the blast's impact. She braced her legs firmly and thrust her left hand into the crystal ball once more. The hair wrapped around her right index finger was a strand she'd received from the subordinate of Tot Pop's with the most beautiful hair. Reflected in her crystal ball was the subordinate's location: the interior of a weapons warehouse. With Frederica's magic, she could pull out whatever weapon she liked, as needed. Even a magical girl would not go unharmed if she were hit by one of the Magical Kingdom's weapons. Hana couldn't escape them. If she kept going to where the grenades lay, she would either be seriously wounded or killed. She couldn't rush straight at them, either. The moment Frederica had thrown the grenades, Tot Pop strummed her guitar, sending her physically manifested music notes flowing out. Even a seemingly decorative weapon like music notes was bound to injure her even more than the grenades, if she were to take a direct hit. So Hana chose the third option. With the wind of the blast at her back, she leaped, kicking off a cement-block wall, then off an electrical pole, attempting to run not forward or back but up. But that was the choice Frederica wanted her to pick. She'd anticipated how Hana would try to escape. Immediately, she changed her crystal ball's channel. Tot Pop's hair was wrapped around her left middle finger, and reflected in her ball was the space occupied by Tot Pop, Frederica, and Hana. Frederica thrust her left hand into the crystal ball to manifest it in Hana's path. She grabbed Hana's ankle in midair and yanked on it, making her lose her balance and fall to the ground. Hana spun three times in the air, but Tot Pop's second assault of music notes flooded into the spot where she landed. The torrent of music notes battered her defenseless back, and Tot Pop ground away on the strings, the eighth notes hitting the concrete wall becoming quarter notes and bouncing to assault Hana's body from every direction. Tot Pop's music notes continued to thrash Hana until Frederica stopped her, saying, "That's enough." The final music note fell on the road with a thud, melting away to vanish. Frederica patted Tot Pop's head as if to say, "Good girl." "What a marvelous student you are. I didn't even have to give you a signal for you to know what I wanted." "Well, I am your number one student, master. I can tell what you're thinking," Tot Pop said with a cheerful grin. Tot Pop stood with her guitar still at the ready as Frederica approached where Hana was curled up. Frederica kicked the side of her stomach with a toe to roll her over onto her back. Hana lay with both arms wrapped around her body, seemingly unconscious. The fact that she remained transformed, despite having passed out, brought Frederica's opinion of her up a few notches. Frederica grabbed Hana by the neck and tossed her into her crystal ball.
[ POV: Archfiend Pam; Time remaining: fourteen hours, fifty-three minutes ] All that remained before the abandoned factory was the battle's aftermath. There was nobody there: no enemies, no allies. Archfiend Pam bit her thumb. She'd been constantly behind, ever since the attack on the apartment building. The Arabian dancing girl had wobbled along through the air, coming to ask Pam for help. Without any wariness or anxiety, she'd come before Archfiend Pam, who had been walking through the town with the two girls, searching for enemies or allies. The dancer remained calm and unbothered despite Pam being on her guard. Pam remembered this opponent. This was the one she'd fought in the sky earlier, the one who had escaped. The Arabian-style dancing girl ignored Archfiend Pam and the questions she attempted to press her with, simply facing Postarie and Rain Pow to say, "They're chasing Weddin. Come help her." And when Pam grabbed her shoulder in an "enough of this" manner to make her turn around, she'd disappeared in a puff of smoke. Pam checked with Rain Pow and Postarie that the magical girl who'd just visited them was their ally. In the end, they had no choice but to try going off in the direction the Arabian dancing girl had come from. Since Archfiend Pam was using two of her four wings as coats for Postarie and Rain Pow and one for her own coat, she only had one remaining wing to use to search for enemies. Making do with just one wing was proving extremely difficult. But still, she couldn't abandon the two girls, either. She needed to meet up with her allies and get 7753 or Mana to take care of them, but since their magical phones were useless right now, locating them would be rather tricky. There were traces of unnatural damage at the factory entrance. This was no uncomplicated act of destruction, like punching, melting, or burning. It was akin to corrosion or oxidation yet subtly different. "Can any of your allies use magic like this?" "...I don't know." "Does 'I don't know' mean you don't want to talk about it?" "N-no! I really don't know!" Pam didn't have to bother using truth serum. The girl didn't seem to be lying. Pam shaved off a trace of the destruction, rubbing it with her fingertip, and it crumbled away. It was clearly something magical, probably the result of extremely strong abilities. This might be too much to handle even for someone like Hana or Ripple, who were both practiced in combat. This was just like what had happened with the apartment building. Pam could tell there was something going on, but she didn't know what. And what's more, she had two tagalongs she didn't know what to do about. Rain Pow still seemed cheerful—if you punched her down, she'd get right back up—but Postarie was mentally exhausted. There was nothing for it but to take breaks to rest as they pushed forward. Archfiend Pam happened to glance behind her and saw Rain Pow and Postarie whispering to each other, so she slapped them across their cheeks. It would've been so much easier if she just could have left them here.
[ POV: Toko; Time remaining: fourteen hours, thirty-two minutes ] I'm part of Rain Pow's body, she told herself silently, staying still. Everything would come crashing down if her presence were to be noticed. Fortunately, it seemed Postarie wasn't telling Pam that Toko was hiding there. Toko had heard the name Archfiend Pam before. It was one that always came up when anyone discussed who the strongest magical girl was. There were whispers that Archfiend's magic could cause destruction on an immense scale, and to Toko, that seemed at the very least unnecessary for a mission involving the search and capture of a criminal. It was like if a cop asked for help and a tank showed up. Shit. They're totally planning to kill us. Toko had considered the possibility of the Department of Diplomacy sending in a powerful magical girl. She knew the two of them were a thorn in the department's side, and the department had the power to erase those who got in their way. But she hadn't anticipated that the department would be willing to deploy personnel who would also cause harm to regular civilians. She'd underestimated them. With these thoughts in mind, Toko had been feeling on edge, but something here seemed quite strange. It looked like Pam was trying to avoid harming the general public. It also seemed as if she was trying to protect Postarie and Rain Pow. She showed slight caution toward the two girls but wasn't treating them like enemies or prisoners. It was proof enough that she hadn't searched or disarmed them. In that case, this was a weakness they could take advantage of. Toko was particularly skilled at taking advantage of people's virtues or ethics. Her partner shared that skill set since she'd taught them what she knew. She would play the victim, pretend to be just a citizen, act like a good person, and in the end, stab them in the back. There couldn't be more than one magical girl of Archfiend Pam's level dispatched here. If they took out Pam, then Toko's ally, the one who meowed at the ends of their sentences, would get them out of here. Archfiend Pam was one of the most exceptionally powerful magical girls Toko had ever seen—not just in the scale of her destruction but also mentally. They had to take out this indomitable foe. If anyone was capable of pulling that off, it was Toko's partner. They were more cunning, underhanded, unfair, calculating, and mean than even Toko herself. She was sure to snatch her chance to take advantage of Archfiend Pam's weakness.
[ POV: Pythie Frederica; Time remaining: fourteen hours, twenty-one minutes ] The wind carried the police sirens to them. The apartment building had to be pretty far from the ruined town factory, but magical girls had far sharper senses than humans. Frederica closed the window and drew the curtains, then turned back to the room. Everything in the fridge that was edible was now deposited in Pukin's and Sonia's stomachs. Pukin was washing down some bread with a bottle of barley tea, while Sonia poured an upturned bag of candy straight into her mouth. Tot Pop was working in the kitchen. Frederica had entrusted all the food that needed cooking to her. This situation felt like the setup for a joke: making a Brit cook a meal. It was a little funny. Recalling that their diners were also Brits, though, it made sense. Tot Pop had smacked her chest as she took the task upon herself, saying, "I haven't lived alone this long for nothing!" But this seemed a bit sad to Frederica. As her master, she hoped Tot Pop could find a good partner. From the state of the apartment, the food, and the furniture and such, Frederica could determine the resident's lifestyle, social position, and class. He was a middle-aged man with a higher-than-average income who lived alone, had a moderate degree of fun, and overall had seemed to live comfortably. Since he was now lying in the shadow of the sofa, all she could see of him were his ankles and the blood flowing from his body. He'd been a scrupulous cleaner, had enough food on hand, and was properly organized, too. Quite praiseworthy for a bachelor. Frederica put her hands together in thanks. Then there were the other three. She'd left the stage magician girl lying on the floor. The girl in the wedding dress was beside Pukin, a soft look on her face as she happily watched Pukin eat. The other one was farther away, tossed alone into a corner of the room. Tot Pop had knocked her around pretty badly, so her face was swollen, and she had a few broken bones. The light of determination that remained in her eyes only made her look even more pitiful. Funny Trick and Hana were both bound with rope. This rope, brought out from the weapons storehouse, was strong enough that even a magical girl couldn't tear it easily. "I don't enjoy pain, so no torture, please. Please tell me if there's anything you want to know. I'll answer anything. It's not as if the Magical Kingdom or my superiors have done enough for me that I feel indebted to them. And I'm not even paid that much, considering how they work me to the bone." Hana babbled along as if she was even willing to tell them things they hadn't asked. Her cheeks were swollen and some of her teeth had to be broken, but she still spoke clearly and made herself easy to understand. Frederica translated every single word, in full, for Pukin, and Pukin wiped her mouth with a napkin and stood from her seat. "You should avoid approaching her too closely, General," said Frederica. "Her magic will activate, even if you don't touch her." "We are aware... You, rabbit." With her left hand, Pukin drew her dagger, pointing it at Hana from ten feet back. "You have quite the amount of strength in your eyes for someone who claims to lack any loyalties to the Magical Kingdom or even her superiors. Yours are not the dull, muddied, and rotten-sick eyes of an apathetic bureaucrat. They are the beautiful, sparkling eyes of a proper magical girl. We like them not." Frederica translated Pukin's words to Hana, who replied, "Maybe my eyes look that way from the eyelid glue." Upon hearing Frederica's translation, Pukin's eyebrows came together in a slight scowl. Frederica was also aware that Hana would never cooperate. Her magical phone's in-box had been empty, and when they'd asked if her group had agreed to some sort of meetup spot for emergencies, she'd insisted they had no such thing. "If I know something, I'll tell you. But I can't answer if I don't know. Right? That's just obvious. I can teach you how to do good eyelid glue, though." When Frederica translated Hana's response, Pukin swung her left hand wordlessly, throwing her dagger to stick into the wall, where it quivered. The rabbit's right ear, which had been between the wall and Pukin, was cut down to about half its length, and a muffled scream escaped from Hana's throat. Frederica grimaced, saying, "Oh, that looks like it hurts," and the magician girl gave a tiny yelp. "I told you... I hate pain..." "You mocked us just now, did you not? We never overlook such affronts." "Owww... It huuurts..." Now Pukin drew her rapier with her right hand and threw it as she had her dagger. Frederica reached out to grab the rapier by its handle, stopping the blade an inch before Hana's chest. "Your Excellency, don't you think it's too soon to eliminate a source of information?" "That one is a staunch professional. She may put on an admirable act of spilling it all to us, but I doubt she has any such intention. 'Twould be inconvenient and dangerous to attempt to make her squeal while being forced to always maintain ten feet of distance from her. Instead, one ought to make an example of her in order to facilitate gathering intel from others. A talented torturer needn't fuss over how many sources of information one has." "Oh, I see. Forgive my impertinence. However, even if she can't be a source of information for us, I think she may make a good hostage. I've heard that there's a certain camaraderie among the Inspection Department's employees." "Hmph. So be it. Then I shall leave her treatment in your hands." Frederica approached Pukin slowly and handed over her rapier with reverence, then spun to the right to face Hana, giving her a look warning her not to anger Pukin. Hana made a sarcastic smile and gave a slight nod. It was clear that even without Pukin's short temper, Hana would be a difficult hostage to deal with. Pukin couldn't enter that ten-foot radius to mind-control her, which meant the better choice would be to knock her out like before. But Hana was now gravely injured; at this point, it would be difficult to hold back and just incapacitate her without dealing a fatal blow. Tot Pop's music notes were not suited to restraint. They'd tried to force information out of Hana using Weddin's magic, but it hadn't gone well, as Hana had only ever spoken to her evasively and vaguely. Hana would also have seen that Weddin had been antagonistic to Frederica's party before, so it would seem odd to expressly make Hana speak only to Weddin. Hana would have had no way to know about Weddin's magic, but she'd figured out that much. Pukin was not wrong to take Hana for a staunch professional. Frederica's eyes wandered back to the remaining girls. The stage magician's teeth were chattering as she trembled violently. Weddin had already told them all they needed to know from her end. Now that she was Pukin's devotee, she told them everything, even things they hadn't asked. Thanks to her, they had found out that Toko had turned a bunch of middle schoolers into magical girls. Weddin had written down each of their physical abilities and even their real human names in her notebook, saying that as the leader, she had to understand all their members. She had informed them that even their teacher and the turtle kept as a pet in the science room had been transformed as well, a fact that Frederica found deeply intriguing. Even more intriguing was the ninja who had attacked Weddin. This girl had been hostile, so Weddin hadn't been able to acquire her personal information. But she knew what the ninja girl had looked like. She was one-armed and one-eyed, with a ninja motif, and Weddin said she had thrown kunai and shuriken with enough control to thread the eye of a needle, at the rapid-fire pace of a machine gun. Weddin told them about how the ninja had nailed her down to the roof of the apartment building by her costume, pinning her there. As far as Frederica knew, there could only be one magical girl that fit that description. It was the closest friend of Frederica's final student, Snow White: the magical girl Ripple. Finding out that Ripple was within this barrier made delight shoot down Frederica's spine. The thought that perhaps it wasn't just Ripple, and maybe Snow White was with her, made her crumple in joy on the spot, falling to her knees. Fate was a mysterious thing. Between magical girls, its effects were even more striking. "Don't you think?" asked Frederica. "Uh-huh..." Was Weddin's noise of agreement so limp because she was a newbie who knew nothing of the subtleties of magical-girl life or because she was under Pukin's control? Weddin said that Sonia had killed the pirate captain, Grace, and Tepsekemei the lamp genie had lost half her body and fled up into the sky. Her survival was probably not purely due to her vitality. Had she compensated for her missing parts by assimilating herself with the wind? Or was it that being made of wind meant losing parts wouldn't be fatal for her? Whatever the case, she seemed quite a bit tougher than the remaining magical girls. Was the assassin among the girls from the middle school Weddin had told them about? Or were they just victims? "Be that as it may..." Pukin swished her rapier. Dots of blood scattered over the azure sofa. "It seems we've largely completed our mission." "What do you mean?" Frederica asked. "Have we not already secured the villain you meant to capture? In other words, well..." Frederica gave the stage magician a sidelong glance. Funny Trick's whole body was trembling, and she was curled up as tight as she could, great beads of sweat covering her skin. She looked so terrified, Frederica felt sorry for her. "You mean she's the assassin we've been looking for?" "We are proud to say we have served as inspector for many a year. We have an eye for people." "I see. I could call that a fairly sound basis for judgment." "You recall there was that pirate girl." "Yes, I recall." She must have been referring to the girl who had died in such a cruel manner that Frederica would never see again, the one whose cheek Sonia had stroked. "And the conjurer over there." Pukin sheathed her rapier and, careful not to step in any blood, walked over to the wall to pull her dagger out, returning it to its sheath as well. "Sonia captured her when she flung herself upon the fallen pirate girl." Sonia looked up and snorted proudly, then immediately returned to her meal. "Isn't that so?" "Aye." "We saw distinctly with our own eyes when Sonia dragged that girl to us—when her own ally had just been killed and she herself was in dire straits, the faint light of glee shone deep in her eyes. Most would not feel joy at their ally's death. If she is indeed the villain in question, then she is the sort of fool who would fear not even God. She may not see her allies as allies and be glad of their deaths. We cannot comprehend such sensibilities, but some villains are of such abnormal nature. We know from experience." "Okeydoke! Sorry for the wait." The air grew thicker with the faint wafting smell of cooking meat, visiting them with a billow of steam. Tot Pop was wearing an apron with a music-note pattern, her hands holding a large plate covered with ham, boned rib, steak, and miscellaneous meats of all sorts cooked up in a pile. It smelled good, but the presentation was sloppy. Frederica felt this meal was a symbol of Tot Pop's personality, in a way. Tot Pop arranged soy sauce, wasabi paste, mayonnaise, mustard, ketchup, shichimi, Worcestershire sauce, yakiniku sauce, salad dressing, and other various sauces on the table. "Pick whatever ones you like. All right, Tot's gonna go make extra." On her way back, Tot Pop noticed Hana had one ear cut off and was quietly startled, saying, "Whoa!" But she didn't question it and instead returned to the kitchen. "Calm down and eat, Sonia. Dead flesh shan't run away." "Yes'm." They resumed their meal in silence, Sonia with her bare hands and Pukin wielding a knife and fork most elegantly. This seemed to not just be an intake of energy for them. They were enjoying the meal, too. Frederica turned back to the magician girl. "I would like to ask one thing." The stage magician was still trembling. Frederica clapped her hands loudly, and the girl's eyes turned to her. "What sort of relationship did you have with the pirate?" Frederica asked her in Japanese so she would understand. She examined Funny Trick closely. Her eyes were swimming all around. She had to be frightened by this situation already, since she was kidnapped, and the other hostage's ear had been cut off, too—but Frederica felt that question in itself had shaken her. "According to Her Excellency the General over there, you were glad of the pirate girl's death." Funny Trick's eyes opened so wide it looked like they might fall out of her head. She must have forgotten she was tied up with rope, as she twisted and flailed on the floor. "No! No! I wasn't!" "But Her Excellency said she was certain of it." "No! I...!" The girl's eyes were pointed at Frederica but weren't looking at her. She seemed to be peering within herself, as if sifting through the depths of her being in search of her own heart. "I... I... I... I..." Frederica watched her silently. This girl wasn't worked up because she'd been falsely accused of something, nor because her connection with the pirate had been sullied. This was the reaction of someone with a truth they didn't want to have hit on forced upon them. Upon reexamining herself, speculating about herself, she didn't like the answer she had derived, and now she was throwing a tantrum about it.
"Silence." Pukin threw the large plate at the stage magician. It hit her in the face, shattered, and fell to the carpet. The girl collapsed on top of the broken plate. "Don't scream to us in a nonsense tongue. We are dining now. Be quiet a moment." "So is she not the criminal, then, Your Excellency?" Pukin had just thrown a plate at her, so she wasn't dead... But, well, even if it was just a plate, depending on where it hit, it could have been dangerous. Pukin had indeed thrown it with the intent to kill. And Frederica had already told Pukin that she wanted to capture the criminal, not kill them. "No, she is not. Seeing her reaction has changed our mind. Do you know the saying, 'A wise man changes his mind, a fool, never'? With each new change, we adapt our evaluation based on that new information. She was abnormal to begin with. One of that little group is a simple, noncriminal, abnormal individual. Indeed the most confounding thing, don't you think?" No matter how Pukin screwed things up, she would always use plausible excuses to make it as if she wasn't wrong. If Frederica were to let her have her way, she would kill every suspect they had. Funny Trick was still shaking, collapsed facedown on the carpet. Frederica couldn't tell from looking at her what she was thinking. "What say you, Frederica?" "The notion that our target may be among those who escaped us is reasonable." Hana Gekokujou was a talented inspector within the Magical Kingdom's Inspection Department and highly competent in both investigation and combat. The only reason she could possibly have come to this town would be to expose the criminal. And her target had to be the same as Frederica's party's: the assassin. Of course, she wouldn't be the assassin herself. It wasn't Funny Trick, either. There may have been some estrangement or conflict in her personal relationship with the pirate, but that wasn't enough basis to call her the criminal. And nothing about her manner when she'd been captured had suggested she was acting. Besides, the idea of a cold-blooded, vicious killer captured while clinging to a dead body was absurd in the first place. That wouldn't happen. Frederica couldn't say anything about Captain Grace. She'd only seen her corpse after Sonia had killed her. It seemed she'd been a good fighter, but did she really fit as the assassin? Weddin had told them of her personality and informed them that Grace had occupied an attention-getting position as one of the most famous people at school, and this did not seem assassin-like to Frederica. "Mmm. We share your opinion. The villain is among those who escaped. And in order to capture her, we need information. Therefore, we must search for tools with which to draw information from her." "Toko, huh?" "Indeed." "If you were to wield your sword for us, Your Excellency, we could not only make her speak but gain another ally, as well." Those cut by Pukin's sword would be compelled into misunderstanding. If made to misunderstand she was their ally, they could get information about their target from her. Sonia and Pukin both reached out for the last piece of meat at the same time before stopping. When Sonia timidly pulled her hand back, Pukin sliced the piece of meat in two and placed one half on Sonia's plate. "We were paid to torture humans, as we were for interrogating magical girls. The Magical Kingdom compensated me for my skills in coin. However. This was not the case for familiars. Ever we heard talk of a fairy familiar that needed questioning, we would rush there immediately, saying, we need no coin! We'll wrest information from them for free! So grant us the honor!" Pukin placed the half piece of meat atop her tongue and chewed it slowly, then swallowed, meat juices dribbling from the corners of her mouth as she grinned. As a magical girl, Frederica had seen many similar smiles; it was the sadistic grin of a girl drunk on violence. "Nothing is more amusing than the torture of a fairy. They scream with such pretty voices—not to mention there is fun to be had afterward, as well. We shan't allow even the benefactor who saved us from prison to steal that pleasure from us." "Why would I possibly steal such a thing from Your Excellency?" "You think we can get it done with most quickly using our magic, don't you?" "Oh no, not at all." "Even our magic is not all-powerful. We can only use it on one person at a time. If we use our blade on a new target, the previous spell will be undone." As Pukin spoke, she stroked the jaw of the wedding dress girl who served at her side. The girl hummed in delight and leaned against Pukin. She'd been an enemy only thirty minutes ago but was now being made to serve as a member of Pukin's harem. She and Sonia glared at each other whenever their eyes happened to meet. It seemed prioritizing Pukin's pleasure would be time-consuming. Would it be faster just to kill all the suspects in B City? But what the antiestablishment factions wanted was the assassin's capture, not her death. Though Frederica had no noble desire to serve the antiestablishment factions to the end, if she were to just start by slaughtering everyone present, they would assume she had no intention of fulfilling their request. She needed a degree of freedom in order to control Pukin, but taking that freedom too far would turn into a rampage. It all depended on how Frederica steered this. If it all seemed to be just too much trouble, it might be best to ignore the interests of the antiestablishment factions and have Pukin go wild, then escape in the chaos. In that case, it would also be best to arrange the appearance of her own death. "Okaaaay! Sorry for the wait!" Tot Pop brought in more food: This time, it was fried fish and salad. The salad was a primitive one, just vegetables chopped up carelessly and served. Sonia grabbed it in her hands, while Pukin put two dried mackerel pike on her plate. The poor fuel economy of this pair was one of their idiosyncrasies. In order to leverage that idiosyncrasy, a certain amount of labor was necessary. Frederica went into the kitchen and said to Tot Pop, "Let's make some boxed lunches. It would be no laughing matter if the two of them became immobile from hunger right when the enemy was in front of us." "Would sandwiches work?" "I was thinking rice balls." "Oh, there's lots of rice here, so that'd be good, too. Maybe the sort that don't use seaweed, since people either love it or hate it. Oh, and no pickled plums in them, either... That's also specific to certain preferences and not so simple to make." When it came to boxed lunches, people had their own individual tastes, as with just about anything. Getting what you wanted was never easy.
[ POV: Funny Trick; Time remaining: thirteen hours, fifty minutes ] For as long as she could remember, Funny Trick—Kayo Nemura—had lived in the shadow of a monster. That monster was her childhood friend, Umi Shibahara. The word fit her far better than it did Miss Nozomi Himeno, who had been nicknamed Monster. Umi rampaged and destroyed. There was no resisting her, no turning her away. The children ranked one another by physical strength. Umi Shibahara's exceptional physical prowess prohibited open resistance, so any complaints about her were whispered in secret and instead dumped on Kayo. Kids said Kayo was using Umi's presence to play the badass, that she was a suck-up to the top dog, that she acted all bossy because she had Umi but couldn't do anything by herself. Of course, people bad-mouthed Umi, too, but more so Kayo. The reality was nothing like that. Kayo never felt being with Umi had brought her anything good. She would've rather not ever hung around her, if possible. She just couldn't fight Umi. Umi wouldn't leave her alone. Opposing her meant you'd get yourself beaten up, and Kayo wouldn't risk that for anything. She didn't even want to imagine getting punched or kicked by someone with the strength and endurance to break the climbing pole in the playground with a kick or swing around the biggest horizontal bar continuously for five minutes. If I could get strong, too, at least, maybe things would be different, Kayo had thought, so she begged her parents to let her take a karate class, swearing she would work hard at it. Kayo's karate instructor had taught her that physical strength wasn't enough to make you a strong person; what was important was strength of the heart. Her circumstances being what they were, Kayo had been impressed to the point of tears. Yes, physical strength alone didn't make you strong. If she were calm and had a strong heart, she wouldn't feel so tormented by Umi. Kayo would never survive being around an outlaw like Umi, who lived for violence. The one she should be looking up to was her karate instructor. Thinking back, he may have been Kayo's first crush. The man had been over forty years old, and Kayo had still just been in elementary school, but even so, Kayo's heart had burned with passion. This was someone she could follow, someone different from Umi, someone she wanted to be with. Umi had pulverized those feelings. Kayo had spurned her one day, saying she was going to the karate dojo after school and wouldn't be able to hang out, to which Umi had given her a disgruntled look. That very day, Umi went to the karate dojo, beat the crap out of the coach and instructor, and made off with the dojo sign before departing, triumphant. Even a real outlaw didn't have to do it like that, right? The next day, there was a FOR SALE sign nailed to the dojo door, and Kayo's despair deepened. Kayo's conviction that she just had to get away from Umi strengthened, and she threw herself into her studies. If she were to move on to a public middle school, Umi would follow her around forever until graduation day. But if she could go to a different school, any previous relationships would be rendered inaccessible. Her new life would be constructed based on her new school. Her and Umi's friendship would naturally weaken before fading away. Wholeheartedly determined, Kayo poured all her time and attention into her schoolwork. She told only her parents and teachers that she was going to take private-school entrance exams and took care not to run into other students when she went for interviews and practice tests. She also impressed upon her parents and teachers not to tell anyone. Even as she was forced to go on Umi's "adventures," she whittled down her sleeping hours to study for entrance exams. She'd always been good at memorization, and with the powerful motivation of wanting to escape from Umi on top of that, the task wasn't at all a struggle. After doing everything she could, Kayo confronted the exams. She took the utmost caution with her health, too, fending off illness with good food and vaccinations. There were a number of students from her school at Namiyama Middle School, where the exams were being held, and they were surprised to see Kayo there, since she'd hidden that she would be taking the exams. But more than that, they were surprised to see Umi there. Kayo was shocked, too. Why was she there? When she ran into her at the exam site, it felt like a bad joke. Nobody was supposed to have told Umi she would be there. So then how did Umi know about Kayo taking the exams, and why was she acting like it was obvious the two of them would take them together? Kayo shook her head vigorously in an attempt to get a grip on herself. Umi's grades were average at best. She'd hardly studied, and even if she'd found out somewhere that Kayo was taking the exams and figured she'd give it a shot, too, there was no way she would get the results she wanted. Namiyama Middle School was one of the top three university-oriented schools in the prefecture. Umi hadn't gone to cram school, nor had she studied for this exam. She'd spent all her time fooling around, so she was bound to fail, and Kayo alone would pass. In which case, there would be no problem. In the end, both of them passed. Umi bragged that she'd stayed awake for three days to cram, but had she actually managed to pass just by doing that? Once Kayo started at her new school, she heard rumors that the Shibahara family was one of the biggest landowners in the area and that they'd donated a large sum to the school. Kayo couldn't withdraw her entrance now. She felt certain that even if she did, Umi would continue to pursue her anyway. She didn't know why Umi was so interested in her. It wasn't as if she enjoyed violence, and she wasn't particularly bold. Physically, she was extremely average. She couldn't squeeze an adult's wrist in one hand until their bones fractured, like Umi could. No matter how Kayo struggled, she couldn't escape. So Kayo resigned herself and accepted it. She couldn't oppose Umi. Everything went just as Umi wanted it. They even ended up becoming magical girls, something that fundamentally shouldn't even exist. It happened because Umi wanted it. No matter how Kayo rejected the idea, no matter how she insisted there was no way something like this could be real, nobody would listen to her. When Umi stirred them all up, urging them all to work together and beat the evil mages, everyone followed her. Umi could be dealing with the class rep or a teacher or the fairy who'd given them their power; it didn't matter to her. She was the neighborhood bully, and no matter what sort of authority or benefactor someone was to her, if she didn't like them, she would punch them and move on. Kayo had thought that maybe things would change a little, once she became a magical girl. But they didn't. Even among magical girls, Umi's—Captain Grace's—strength was a cut above. First of all, she was fantastically strong. She was clearly much more capable than even other magical girls, and Funny Trick, Kayo's magical-girl form, was not at all weak. She may have been strongest, after Captain Grace. But as long as Captain Grace was there, she would never be first. And what was more, she swung around that weapon she'd only acquired that very day to her heart's content and made good use of her magic pirate ship and the equipment in it. Even as a magical girl, the combat experience and fighting spirit Umi had cultivated through many years of violent incidents were useful to Captain Grace. She always stood in the front line to fight their enemies, facing even that formidable Bunny Ears girl without any timidity at all, ignoring the bleeding of her injury, giving chase when Bunny Ears ran away. Kayo grew even more resigned as she watched her go. There was nothing she could do about that creature. It wasn't as if getting magical powers would change her fundamental nature. In fact, she got the feeling that those powers had made her nature all the more apparent. Following this, Captain Grace also fought with the mysterious black sphere and beat it. She took some hits and shed some blood, and her limbs were streaked with it. Without Funny Trick's support, it would have been close. But though it couldn't have been anything you could call an easy victory, Grace looked like she was having fun. She didn't look at all tired as she immediately headed out to the next fight. Seeing this exasperated Funny Trick, as she was sure Grace would never stop moving until she was dead. Was it because of the amazing endurance magical girls had or their superior powers of recovery? Or was it due to Umi's own inborn nature? Captain Grace didn't see her injuries as such, treating her wounds as nothing more than mere scratches as she wandered about in search of even more foes. Funny Trick couldn't understand any of it. She couldn't understand that enemy who spoke in a foreign language. She couldn't understand it when Umi was attacked by that black corroding stuff, got half her head erased, and then fell. She couldn't understand why it had all ended up like this. Still dazed, Funny Trick was tied up and taken somewhere, where an ally of the magical girl who had killed Umi told her, "That pirate's death brought you joy." In less than the time it took to blink, her brain, which had been refusing to work at all, was set ablaze. She was tortured by a fever hot enough to fry her brain as she screamed and denied it. She hadn't been glad about it. She hadn't been there out of joy. She'd been frozen, unable to accept the fact that Umi Shibahara, the girl she'd always wished would go away, was dying so easily before her eyes as she squeezed Umi's hand in hers. Umi couldn't die here. How could that monster die in a place like this? Kayo screamed and wailed, and the fencer threw a plate at her, so she shut her mouth. Inside her heart, she was going berserk, while simultaneously, it was all starting to converge on one point. She would absolutely not forgive these magical girls. She would make them pay an appropriate price. They had denigrated the whole of Kayo's life. In everything, Umi had always been there. So many times, she had felt Umi was an aggravating, bothersome pain in her ass and wished her gone. Umi had taken her into crises and put her in danger but still smiled boldly to say, "That was fun, huh?" Hanging around with Umi made people think of Kayo as nothing more than an errand girl, Umi's attendant, treated as an accessory, and some would talk dirt about her behind her back, and though Umi silenced those people with violence, and eventually, no more people were reckless enough to say anything bad about her, nobody but Umi would ever hang out with Kayo anymore, either. Every day, she'd thought, if only Umi were gone, maybe she would've had lots of friends. Umi had been an arrogant, tyrannical egotist who figured all she needed was to have a good time. Kayo had hated her and wished she would go away, but somewhere in her heart, she really had admired her. Funny Trick clenched her teeth, hard. Now Umi was dead, and these people had killed her. The patchwork magical girl was eating her ham with gusto. The fencer was speaking with the fortune-teller in a foreign language. Weddin was at the fencer's side, waiting on her. It seemed the fortune-teller was trying to rebuke the fencer. The one making those sizzling oil sounds in the kitchen had to be the guitarist. Nobody was looking at Funny Trick. Their eyes were not on her but on Bunny Ears, who was similarly tied up on the floor. The fencer and the fortune-teller both approached Bunny Ears with the sort of respect you showed an opponent you had to be careful with. Compared to her, Funny Trick didn't matter. They figured they could just leave her alone. Umi had always said, "If they underestimate me, that's good for me. Morons who play it like they don't even care are easy to punch right in the face." Funny Trick heard herself swallowing her own spit. If they thought she was nothing, that would make the job easier—or it should. A magical girl's appearance had some connection to her abilities and nature. There had been no exceptions to this among the various girls Funny Trick had encountered thus far. The rabbit was canny and fast. The fencer and the pirate were good at sword fighting. The lamp genie flew through the air. So then what could a stage magician do? Once more, Funny Trick made sure nobody was paying attention to her and then firmly arched her back. She passed her head through the loop of her bound arms, and then, arching like a reversed shrimp, she touched her wrists and ankles behind her, then bent back in the opposite direction to touch her wrists and ankles in front. She twisted her wrists experimentally. The rope was firm and tight, but there was a bit of slack, just enough to create room to move her wrists a little. She quickly returned to her original position, slumped languidly on the floor. The patchwork girl was engrossed in her meal, the fencer and the fortune-teller were deep in conversation, the guitarist was still out of the room, and Weddin was zoned out. Nobody was looking at Funny Trick. Obviously, a stage magician could escape from rope, at least. Funny Trick's joints were flexible and could move around quite freely. But even if she were to escape from here, she wouldn't get anywhere. She'd just get caught right away. She had to choose the right moment, somehow, and hit the enemy hard when she did it. Recalling that Umi had once said, "When you're in trouble, your biggest opportunities are waiting for you," Funny Trick stirred a little.
[ POV: Pythie Frederica; Time remaining: thirteen hours, thirty minutes ] It wasn't that hard to obtain people's personal information. If you ignored the law, didn't mind trying some slightly sketchy things, and topped it off with some violence, it was startlingly easy. First, Frederica had Weddin guide them to Namiyama Middle School so they could break in. She had Weddin and Pukin wait inside their car, parked in front of the school gates, and left Tot Pop there as well to keep an eye on them while Sonia and Frederica headed in. Sonia disintegrated the lock on the staff entrance, and using a rough sketch as her guide, Frederica ransacked the lockers and the teachers' office. Even if there was no night-duty teacher doing rounds, the school would have a contracted security company, so they should assume it was already known that they had broken in. Frederica could deal with ten or twenty security guards by herself and have change to spare, but it was best to keep the ruckus to a minimum. Sonia's original calling had been a highwayman, so she was used to figuring out what was good to grab and quickly gathering it together. Frederica had experience as a sneak thief, gathering hair. Sonia snatched up all the documents that seemed relevant and hauled them away, while Frederica harvested whatever fallen hairs caught her eye. The two experts finished up their work in five minutes, then returned to where the car was parked at the front gates and set off. The homeroom teacher of class 2-A was Nozomi Himeno—Kuru-Kuru Hime. They would go for her first, since she was easier to research than the students. This would be easiest if Frederica could get ahold of some of her hair, but Nozomi Himeno's hair was not among the strands she'd managed to acquire at the school. When Frederica went over the gathered tresses, she discovered it was all from men but wrapped it all away in a slip of paper, just in case. Nozomi Himeno's home address was not written on any of the documents Sonia had gathered, either. But there was some kind of page of contacts. This sheet of paper had names that looked like those of teachers as well as phone numbers printed on it. It seemed they didn't guard teachers' private information as closely as that of students. This was how Frederica acquired Nozomi Himeno's phone number, and then she looked up the number in the directory to get her address. Fortunately, the home phone number of one Miss Himeno was written there. Frederica told the address to Weddin and asked her to show the way. Checking against the city map they got from the school, they made it to Nozomi Himeno's house, where, just as always, they made Sonia break in, and then they killed the elderly man who was there before he could make too much noise. Now, she just had to fish around the place. Weddin had said that Himeno was young, still in her twenties. The man Pukin had killed had been rather old to be her husband. He must have been her father. There were two kinds of hair inside the house: those belonging to that man and those of a young woman. It must have been just the two of them living there. Frederica left the house, tucking only the woman's hair into her slip of paper. With this hair, she could find where Himeno was right now.
[ POV: Ripple; Time remaining: thirteen hours, eleven minutes ] "What's this...?" "Oh, you use it like this." Mana turned away from Ripple, toward the wall. She raised the painted-black wooden stick in her right hand, muttered the few words of an incantation and made a sign with her left, and the stick fired a tiny flame out like a bullet. It was about thumb-sized, and it hit the sink, leaving a black scorch mark. Neither its power not its speed seemed like something to count on. As Ripple looked at the staff, these thoughts in mind, Mana turned back to her, a disgruntled pout on her face. "You were just thinking, oh, is that it? weren't you? I've just turned down the power for indoor use, you know. If you turn it up to max, it's enough to burn a magical girl." "...I wasn't." Ripple wondered if Mana had read her mind, but it seemed that wasn't the case. Ripple didn't believe her manner had given away her thoughts, so Mana must also have been aware that this weapon was nothing much and had been anticipating that reaction. Ripple's friend, the magical girl Snow White, could read minds. Recalling the conversations they had, she cracked a little smile but then noticed Mana glaring at her and stiffened her expression. "...Pardon me." "Hmph. It's fine. It is a shabby weapon. You magical girls could throw harder and faster with your bare hands. But..." Mana adjusted her glasses and shot Ripple a look. "Don't underestimate it." "...All right." "Respect it." "...All right." "Okay, so listen up. I'll explain the next thing to you." They'd taken up quite a bit of time with all the detail-hashing, yelling, attempts at calming, and begging that had gone on during their discussion to decide what they would do. Afterward, they'd had to slow down to Mana's human speed when moving to a new location, which had also been fairly time-consuming. Meanwhile, the clock was ticking, and the moment when the barrier would be undone loomed. Ripple checked the time on her magical phone. At this point, that was all the device was good for. Ripple, Mana, 7753, and Kuru-Kuru Hime had all left the rooftop that had been their designated meeting spot for emergencies to go hide in a seemingly abandoned private residence located about ten minutes away on foot. It was an old bungalow, about 550 square feet, and had no yard. There was a garage, but it was really rusted up, and it required magical girl–level strength just to raise or lower the door. The interior was scattered with blue plastic sheets, empty instant ramen cups, bottles of shochu, and other junk, and a sour odor wafted around. The tatami were terribly rotten—so much so that you'd sink into them unpleasantly if you sat down. It seemed someone did live here—be that legally or not. They'd found traces of occupancy, but no one was around. "It's probably just a squatter anyway," said Mana. "They won't show up when there's more of us. If they come to complain about us, just wave them off." "...All right." 7753 had said that Pukin's magic could control minds. Ripple was surprised and impressed at how informed 7753 was, thinking, I suppose she's capable, after all. It was quite possible that she feigned timidity as she observed their activities during critical situations. I'll have to be careful, thought Ripple. If Hana or Archfiend Pam fell under Pukin's mind-control magic, then their emergency meetup location would be leaked to the enemy. They could just end up standing around waiting for the enemy to attack. So they moved their headquarters. Mana had entrusted the telescope she'd pulled out of her magic bag to 7753, who was spying through the curtains to keep watch on the building roof that had been their previous emergency gathering spot. If Hana or Archfiend Pam arrived—and though Ripple didn't want to think about it much, if the enemy showed up—they would be notified. Kuru-Kuru Hime was back in her human form, turned away from the group to use her smartphone. As she had said herself, the fact that she was a magical girl had already been confirmed through 7753's goggles. Mana was explaining to Ripple about all the items she had on her. Ripple's magic was to throw items with a 100 percent hit rate. At present, all she had were the kunai and shuriken that were accessories to her costume. If there were other magical weapons for her use, those could be more powerful, which would be convenient. So Ripple had told Mana that if she had anything appropriate for throwing, she would like Mana to give it to her. Mana had seemed reluctant but showed her, since this was an emergency situation. "This stick is the staff of fire. You use sigils and incantations to make it shoot flame bullets." That didn't seem particularly useful. "I've also got a magic telescope that has X-ray vision, a hat that amplifies magic power, a magic cape stronger than armor, magic tights that never get runs, and a magical school uniform." The telescope, stockings, and uniform aside, the hat and cape seemed strong. They were both dark colored, and the hat was a three-cornered pointed hat with a sun-shaped decoration. It was a so-called witch's hat. Ripple's old partner had worn something similar. "Oh, the hat and cape are for mages," Mana explained, "so they'd just be regular clothes if a magical girl wore them." So they weren't useful after all. Why had she bothered showing Ripple? "There's a magic bag into which you can shove as much as you want and pull it out when you want, as long as it's of a size you can carry." Ripple possessed a similar sack herself. It couldn't be used for combat directly, but it could be useful for stuffing with throwing weapons. "Sturdy magic rope. It should be hard to tear, even with your magical-girl strength." Ripple tugged it to test it, and it was pretty sturdy. At the very least, Ripple couldn't tear it with her own might. It was about fifty feet long—not long enough to weave into a casting net—but if she were to put a weight on it, it could make a capturing tool to tangle around someone's legs, at least. "And these." Mana rolled out a smooth sphere about two inches wide, with a metal fitting that looked like a lever. Ripple had seen similar objects before—or rather, she'd had them thrown at her before. "...A grenade?" "No, it's a smoke bomb. I'd need permission from the section manager to take lethal weapons like grenades. If I'm going to withdraw something under my authority as team leader, smoke bombs are best." In order for Ripple to use her magic effectively, she had to see where she was throwing. She was fairly accurate if she just threw in the general direction, but ultimately, that was just "fairly accurate." Her magic wasn't very compatible with smoke bombs, since they would block her vision. Whatever she thought of Ripple, who was staring at the smoke bomb in her palm, Mana pouted. "You think smoke bombs are worthless, don't you?" "No, nothing like that..." "You've been like that the whole time. You're undervaluing these weapons as dull. You're not being constructive at all, not even trying to work something out with what we have on hand. Nothing but complaints with you." "No..." "It doesn't just spit out smoke. There's a little explosion when it goes off. It's powerful enough that if you were to hold it in your hand, your fingers would fly off." As far as Ripple knew, no enemy would be so kind as to pick up a ball that for all appearances was so obviously a grenade. Perhaps if she were to time the explosion and throw it at the enemy... But she figured it would be difficult to time the explosion of a weapon she'd only just now seen for the first time. Worst case, Ripple would get her own fingers blown off. "And these." Mana pulled out a pack of ten syringes with attached finger grips. It included ampoules full of dark-green liquid, as well as glass bottles packed with round white tablets. "These tablets stabilize the mind and numb physical pain. The ampoules are used as a set with the syringes to temporarily amplify physical abilities. Using too much will have side effects and aftereffects and such. Neither of these can be used by magical girls, since this medicine is used to gain the physical prowess and mental strength of a magical girl." As medical equipment, the syringes were not made for throwing or stabbing. Considering how delicate they likely were, it would be hard to use them in combat. "Oh, and the car. There's magic in the car we've been using." There was no way Ripple could throw the car. "So was there anything in here you could use?" "I'll take the rope." "What about the smoke grenades?" "...And one of those, too." Mana seemed quite triumphant for whatever reason as she watched Ripple tuck a smoke bomb into her sleeve pocket. Ripple felt morose. It was completely obvious Mana was using showing off her items as a distraction to avoid worrying about Hana. Mana was stubborn and self-important. She would never forgive anyone who humiliated her, she equated loss with death, and her pride was connected to her occupational ethics. She hated being looked down on and hated people to begin with, too, but she was forced to deal with them in order to get by. She was also moody in the sense that, if something happened that she couldn't tolerate, she would lash out thoughtlessly but regret it afterward and make a token effort of kindness toward the victim of her temper. Then she would rationalize this in her mind, thinking, What's wrong with humiliating someone who humiliated me? Ripple had been the same way a few years ago. Having her old self shoved in her face like this felt unbearable. But seeing how Mana expressed her feelings for Hana, she thought maybe Mana was more honest with her feelings than Ripple had once been. That made Ripple want Hana to come back safe. 7753 had mentioned the escaped prisoners were especially dangerous enemies, and what's more, among them was a magical girl Ripple had once fought herself. Pythie Frederica. If Calamity Mary, who had slaughtered passing civilians, was villainous scum, and Cranberry, Musician of the Forest, who had taken out her dissatisfaction with standard examinations on unknowing examinees, was disastrous scum, then Pythie Frederica was the worst scum of all. Ripple had never wanted to run into her, ever again. Ripple had been aware that the Magical Kingdom's observational system for magical girls was full of holes, but they had to do a decent job with their prisons, at least. Rather than letting scum like that run loose in the world again, it would be better to have no prisons at all. One-shot out—execution—was enough. Ripple prayed that Hana was safe and not captured or killed by Pythie. After a moment's pause, she prayed for Archfiend Pam's safety, too. I paused for a moment because they said Archfiend Pam was really strong, she thought, then laughed at herself, since the thought sounded like an excuse she was trying to make to someone. Apparently, Archfiend Pam had been Cranberry's teacher. Ripple had never faced Cranberry directly, but of course, she harbored no fond feelings for her. Lots of people had died at her hand. Ripple, who had survived, had lost an arm and an eye, and Snow White had suffered injuries beyond losing body parts. Ripple figured it might be wrong to place the blame on Pam all because she was Cranberry's master, but she also thought that maybe if Pam had taught Cranberry a little better, things would have turned out differently. She also kind of wanted Pam to tell her about what kind of magical girl her master had been, though she also doubted such knowledge would change anything. Ripple ran her finger along the rotten flooring, pulled out a tuft of the tatami, and blew it away. She felt like these were terribly birdbrained thoughts to have, and once more, she prayed for Hana and Archfiend Pam's safety.
[ POV: Kuru-Kuru Hime; Time remaining: twelve hours, ten minutes ] Kuru-Kuru Hime realized something. For some reason, she couldn't use her magical phone. Ripple and the others said they couldn't use theirs anymore, either. So what about using her normal cell phone? She detransformed, returning to Nozomi Himeno, and pulled her smartphone out from her coat pocket. She called the time to test it out and found it did, in fact, tell it to her. If she could use her cell phone, then that meant two cell phones could make contact. It seemed Ripple and her allies had not brought any other methods of contact but magical phones to begin with. But this wasn't the case for Nozomi's group, since they hadn't even known the term "magical phone" until ten hours ago. The school rule of no cell phones was famously not enforced, and the majority of students secretly carried them. This was an open secret that even the teachers were aware of. So if any one of them who had phones could be contacted... Nozomi had lots of things to tell them. That she was safe. That Toko was suspect. That the people they'd taken to be enemies, the ones they'd been fighting, didn't seem to be all that bad. When Ripple had suddenly grabbed her by the lapels, Kuru-Kuru Hime had frozen up and wondered what was happening to her. But once they talked, she discovered Ripple was not a bad person at all. In fact, it seemed she was on the side of those trying to get the bad guys under control. Mana had a temper, 7753 was jumpy, and Ripple was curt, but they seemed more trustworthy than that fairy who had twisted her arm and tried to take her students hostage. She also wanted to tell the others that some serious criminals had escaped from prison to lurk in this city. Also, where she was now. She wanted to join up with the others first thing. There were things she wanted them to tell her, too. Most of all, she wanted to know that they were safe. She could use her cell phone to call them, but she didn't know their numbers. Nozomi considered how she might find out and came up with the idea to ask their mutual connections. The kids would have friends, and those friends should know their numbers. She would get the address list for the students in class 2-A, which was at her house, and contact the kids from class A to see if anyone knew the cell numbers of Mine Musubiya in class D, Kayo Nemura and Umi Shibahara in class C, or the first-years, Tatsuko Sakaki and Kaori Ninotsugi. Normally, calling students at this hour was out of the question, but now was not the time for reservations. The students' lives and her own life were hanging in the balance. Nozomi called home. The sky was starting to grow light. Her fingertips trembled, and she couldn't dial the numbers right. She pressed her hand against her chest. Putting her phone down on the tatami, she held her right hand in her left to stop the trembling and carefully pushed each number one by one. It rang. Mana and Ripple were both looking at her. 7753 put down her telescope, too, turning around to look, until Mana glared at her, and she quickly returned to her earlier position. Nozomi counted the rings, and after fifteen tones, it connected to the voice mail service and hung up. She called one more time, but it connected to voice mail, just as before. No one was picking up. Her father was at home, probably sleeping, but he wasn't at all a deep sleeper. He'd woken up over a level-two earthquake more than a few times, coming to knock on the door to Nozomi's room when she was still fast asleep. Every time there was an earthquake at night, he'd worried about Nozomi, who slept like a rock. Her father wasn't only sensitive to vibrations but to noises as well. He was the one to take emergency calls at night, because Nozomi wouldn't wake up. Did I call the wrong number? she wondered, rattled. She could have easily misdialed a number when it was a full ten digits, including the area code. Oh, wait—she didn't have to dial in the whole number. It was registered in her phone. She always just went for autodial when she called home, so why had she dialed up the number when she didn't have to? Her chest hurt so much she felt like it would explode from the inside. No matter how Nozomi tried to restrain the pounding, it wouldn't settle. She could even feel nausea welling up inside her. Nozomi withdrew her hand from her phone and transformed into a magical girl. Her heartbeat quieted. The unbearable pain in her chest calmed. It seemed Toko hadn't been lying when she explained how turning into a magical girl made you mentally stronger. From the list of registered numbers, Kuru-Kuru Hime selected HOME and pushed it. The phone rang fifteen times, then connected to voice mail. She hugged her phone to her chest. She didn't understand why her father wasn't answering the phone. Unease built inside her. Suddenly, she felt a shock. It hit her in the chest, knocking her over onto her back. Ripple had pushed her down. Kuru-Kuru Hime couldn't understand what had happened, and before she could shoot out any ribbon, Ripple spun around and threw a kunai. A hand floating in the air disappeared right before the kunai hit it, and without a target, the kunai stuck in the ceiling, sending dust pattering down. "That's Pythie Frederica's magic! She has hair from one of us!" Ripple yelled. 7753's trembling voice followed with, "There's a red car coming straight for us!"
[ POV: Pythie Frederica; Time remaining: eleven hours, fifty minutes ] She'd forgotten Ripple was there. Ripple knew all about Frederica's magic. After all, she'd fought with her before. Despite nothing being around her, Ripple would always stay cautious, even indoors. She had reacted instantly when that hand had appeared out of thin air. It was all because of Kuru-Kuru Hime's hair. It had been so beautiful as Frederica had looked down on it from behind, she couldn't help but reach out to it. The adorably styled ringlets in her hair were so gorgeous that even inside that run-down old shack, they had stimulated Frederica's appetites of the flesh. But still, she'd resisted the urge once. Frederica checked in the room, seeing the number of people occupying it, and found 7753 from Magical Girl Resources, and just as Hana had said, there was Mana, too. A smirk blossomed on Frederica's face when she spotted Ripple. Though magical girls didn't physically age, Ripple now looked more intense. She'd lost her former naïveté—and to good effect. Frederica could see no useless pride or stubbornness in her. She'd become flexible. Even now that she'd fled from her enemies to cram with her allies into an abandoned building, she wasn't getting emotional, and she moved with grace and softness. Frederica had resisted temptation the second time she saw them, too. When she told Weddin she could see a tall building out the window, Weddin replied with the general area that building might be in, and they'd sped off in that direction in their car. The third time, Frederica had been unable to resist. They were able to triangulate the building's location from a street sign and the placard of a candy shop visible from the window of the abandoned building where their targets were hiding. The moment before their arrival, Frederica reached her hand out, and Ripple responded immediately. Frederica just barely avoided getting skewered. If her wrist had been stabbed during her distance manipulation, she wouldn't have been able to retract her arm, which would have handicapped her terribly. The last time that had happened, her ankle had been seriously wounded as well, and literally unable to lay even a finger on her opponent, she'd been beaten to a pulp. I refuse to let that happen again. She wavered for a moment but then decided this was something she should be honest about. "I'm sorry. I tried to attack them but failed." "Oh-ho. Then it seems this foe is not to be underestimated," said Pukin. "There." Weddin pointed ahead. A compact car broke through the garage door to flee the scene. Its windows were all gray, and Frederica couldn't see into it. The windows weren't tinted, but rather, the inside of the car was filled with something. It made a sharp turn, practically drifting, then raced straight down the road. Frederica looked at her crystal ball. Her vision was entirely blocked by gray—it appeared to be a smoke screen of some kind. Ripple had probably given the orders to block Frederica's view. But now they're in trouble, too, being inside that smoke screen, thought Frederica with a chuckle. Her crystal ball couldn't transmit sound, but she could practically hear them coughing and spluttering. Ripple was bound to suck it up, though. "Well then, why don't we have ourselves a game of tag?" Frederica suggested. Pukin smiled. "A car chase would be a fine diversion! We've always wanted to give one a go!" Frederica didn't think they had to bother chasing down this car, but she also figured it was best to let Pukin do what she wanted—especially since she'd just screwed up. Arguing at this point would only sour Pukin's mood. "Can you do a car chase?" "Ha-ha-ha! Tot's not so bad at this sorta thing, y'know." At a glance, a car chase seemed like a good time, but Frederica considered where issues might come up. If Ripple were to attack the car tires with her projectiles, they would have a hard time dodging. "Please make sure we can abandon the vehicle if needed. This car isn't as sturdy as we are. I doubt it will hold up if it's hit by an enemy attack." "So be it." "Right." "Roger!" Gray smoke rose out from the cracks of the car windows. Even more smoke lingered within, and they couldn't see through the rear window to what was going on inside. Ripple and the others had to be hobbling themselves by prioritizing blocking Frederica's vision. Frederica's party was struggling a bit, too. She tapped her right middle finger on her temple. Was there nothing else she should be considering? Following Pukin's whims was amusing enough, but this also meant Frederica had that many more things to take into consideration. It turned out she didn't have to worry about Tot Pop's driving skills. She drove well—if too fast. What about vehicle performance? Compared to this car, the Fury was faster, even if it was an older vehicle. However, they had a lot of people crammed in there: Tot Pop in the driver's seat, Frederica riding shotgun, and Pukin crammed in the middle back seat, Weddin leaning coquettishly against her. And then there was Sonia, sitting and holding Hana, who was completely tied up and blindfolded and even had her ears covered. If Hana knew the general position of her target, then she would use her magic on them. Only by covering her eyes with a magic blindfold that didn't let any light through and using magic earmuffs that didn't let any sound through could they finally lug her around. What's more, Frederica had also explained explicitly to Sonia that if Hana did anything funny, she was to kill her immediately, and she had ensured Hana heard this as well. Hana's magic could disable an opponent but was not suited to anything lethal. So Frederica had informed Hana that if she were to use her magic on Sonia when she couldn't even resolve her fundamental quandary, she would die for nothing. Hana had that much value as a hostage to use against the inspection team. They had a strong sense of group unity, and that meant they cared for their allies. Funny Trick lay on the floor of the back seat. She was tied up with her hands behind her back but was treated with less care—the reality of the difference in treatment between an amateur and an expert expressed most plainly. In total, there were seven magical girls in one car, and although it was a large one, this many occupants made things a bit cramped. The faint, sweet smell of each person's breath mingled in the air, filling the vehicle. Frederica inhaled deeply through her nose, her lungs filling with the scent along with sheer bliss, then slowly breathed out again. They were gradually approaching the other car. As long as they weren't competing over tight turns or fuel consumption, they would naturally catch up. The other car was not venturing into back roads and seemed to choose major avenues as it raced along. Wait. Deliberately choosing major roads? If they're going to flee, couldn't there be a better way for them to do it? As soon as the thought crossed Frederica's mind, the compact car, speeding down the middle of the four-lane highway at over sixty miles per hour, suddenly crashed. Before she could even think about what had just happened, her body moved. Pukin, Sonia, and Frederica all acted at once, kicking open the doors or breaking the window glass from the inside to jump out. Tot Pop moved a heartbeat behind the others, holding on to the wheel in the driver's seat until the very last minute. The Fury swerved to avoid the crushed vehicle and plunged into the shoulder of the road. It crashed right into a telephone pole, snapping it in half and crushing a vending machine, before finally coming to a stop as it hit the flank of a thick gatepost. American cars were just more sturdily made. Even after all of that, it still maintained its original shape. All the occupants aside from Tot Pop had leaped out the sides of the car and were fine. Since Tot Pop had turned the car before leaping out, she was tossed toward the compact car. She sandwiched her guitar between her body and the vehicle, hit something invisible with a heavy crash, and went flying once again. That was when Frederica finally remembered: the barrier. Frederica put her crystal ball away inside her skirt and approached Tot Pop. She grabbed her by her sides and lifted her up. She didn't seem to be injured. "Are you all right?" "Just barely okay...I guess." Tot Pop was staggering but could stand on her feet even without support. She patted the dirt off her guitar, sighed, and grumbled, "What a mess." Sonia tossed Hana down onto the road and approached the wreckage. She put her hand on its body, corroded it until it turned black, and peeled it off. All that came out was smoke—there was no one inside. "...It was remote controlled?" Frederica murmured. "Master, they lured us here, didn't they?" Pukin looked over at Frederica, who was beside Weddin. It seemed when she'd busted out of the car, she'd grabbed the girl by the collar or something to escape together. "Just what is going on?" Frederica could tell from Pukin's expression that she was in a less than favorable mood. The original cause of this situation was her choice to engage in a car chase to appease Pukin's whim, but if Frederica were to point that out, Pukin's already sour mood was bound to get worse. In as apologetic a tone as possible, Frederica replied, "I'm terribly sorry. It seems we've been had." The barrier here prevented anything magical from passing through. Since the car had suddenly crashed on a road which, at a glance, looked quite empty. That meant the barrier was here and also that the car itself was magical in nature. Their opponents had set this remote-controlled car running off toward the barrier and escaped while Frederica and company were busy chasing it. They had confused Frederica's magic by setting off two smoke bombs: one in the room, one inside the car. That's quite smart, Frederica thought, impressed. "What shall we do now?" Pukin was not in a good mood, after all. "This is no issue. As long as we have Nozomi Himeno's hair, we can trace their whereabouts." This trick had ultimately just bought them time. Their own party was all magical girls, while their opponents had Mana, who was not a magical girl, among them. In a game of tag, their own side was superior in both endurance and speed. Frederica was about to pull out her crystal ball again when she noticed something wasn't right. She ran her finger under her skirt, and then when her finger touched the belt where her crystal ball was supposed to be, she confirmed her suspicion. What she pulled out from under her skirt was not her crystal ball. It was a fist-sized rock. Frederica approached the smoking Fury. All four of its doors were open. Of course they were—everyone had escaped. Frederica peered inside the car. What on earth...? The rope was just lying in there. It hadn't been cut or torn up. It was as it had been, knots included. Funny Trick, who should have been tied up there, was gone. The crystal ball, which should have been tucked under her skirt, was also gone. Funny Trick may have been able to use her magic to switch the two items. "Frederica! Whatever is the matter?" Pukin cried.
[ POV: Postarie; Time remaining: eleven hours, thirty-eight minutes ] Tatsuko Sakaki was a truly, hopelessly withdrawn coward, down to the very depths of her soul. She was scared to talk to anyone outside her own family. The more she thought about how she didn't want people to hate her, the more her lips would falter; she'd get tongue-tied, her voice would grow quieter, she would get harder to hear; then she would start stuttering, too, and whoever she was talking to would respond with disappointment or anger or taunts before finally leaving. She had been like that since before she could even remember. When the other children had gathered to play tag, she'd merely watched them but never tried to approach. When others had come to tug on her hand, trying to get her to play together, they would see her uneasy, shy squirming and, gradually, had stopped inviting her. The preschool had called her parents about her behavior every day out of concern. But Tatsuko wasn't averse to preschool, and she could talk normally enough with her parents and seemed to enjoy chatting about her day. So her mother and father concluded that since she didn't appear to hate school itself, things should be okay. Based on their own experiences, Tatsuko's parents decided that although she might be alone right now, it wasn't as if she'd never make any friends. Tatsuko's parents were naive. Some people just couldn't make friends. Until kindergarten, just being adrift from the group was as bad as it got, but once she was in elementary school, she found her classmates had formed a tiny society—one that Tatsuko was alien to. Since all it took was someone talking to her to leave Tatsuko stuttering, it wasn't long before she became the subject of ridicule within the class. They would giggle at her, stick signs on her back, and throw erasers at her in class. Such mild pranks happened practically every day. With each passing grade, the mischief escalated, bit by bit. It turned into the sort of minute harassment that teachers wouldn't find out about: She would be kicked in her backpack from behind, or her pencils and textbooks would be hidden. Tatsuko was seen as a rank lower within the social hierarchy, and so no one held back when dealing with her. She moved on to a private middle school and used the most important period of the new semester, April, on herself. She never spoke with anyone, and all she did was read books or manga as the social relationships within the class were established. As expected, she ended up alone. She'd heard that bullying in middle school was far nastier than in elementary school, so to defend herself, she started gathering information. She would make search after search, refining results, tracking down her classmates' social media accounts, and she would check those accounts twice a day, morning and evening. She would also check the entries of those classmates who had blogs or websites once a day, looking to see if there were any "let's bully Tatsuko" trends. There was nobody in the position to advise Tatsuko that she was investing her efforts in entirely the wrong direction. Tatsuko never came up in their conversations. Every day, she was disappointed but also relieved. Maybe it was because this was a private school. The teachers and students were classier—or rather, quieter, and it didn't seem there was any talk of wanting to bully people, even in other classes in her grade year. But still, checking the Internet had become part of her routine, so she kept doing it—and then it was June. That month, Tatsuko made the first friend in her life. "Hey, you were reading that manga before, weren't you?" She'd assumed they weren't talking to her. The classroom was hardly ever quiet at lunch hour, but generally, no one would ever talk to Tatsuko. Though she still didn't perceive it as someone talking to her, the voice had been close, so she lifted her head. When students nearby were chattering, it was hard to read, even more so when other girls did the chattering. Tatsuko's eyes left the page and turned toward the voice to see someone's face very close to her and looking straight in her direction. Tatsuko recoiled and just about fell from her chair. "I like that one, too." Whether or not the girl noticed Tatsuko freaking out so much she'd clung to her desk, she smiled as if nothing at all had happened. Tatsuko panicked, then made it worse and started acting weird. As she was freaking out, the bell rang, signaling that break was over, and the other girl returned to her seat. With math class going in one ear and out the other, Tatsuko thought about what had just happened. It wasn't as if she had no interest in her classmates. She was more wary than interested, but she was careful to the degree that she would check class rumors and mutterings online. Kaori Ninotsugi; it was a strange name. She was about an average student, and she didn't stand out all that much athletically, nor was she exceptional in music or home economics. Kaori wasn't particularly pretty, but she wasn't exceedingly ugly, either. Basically, she was average. You could call her cautious; you could say nothing about her really stood out. She was essentially like "Classmate D." Of course, unlike Tatsuko, she had friends. She seemed to enjoy herself during break time, and other girls would always accompany her to the bathroom. In gym class, she never got skipped over when kids picked teams, and she never paired with the teacher during stretching exercises. —Friends. Maybe this was one of those "opportunities to become friends." People who weren't Tatsuko would use these sorts of opportunities to "make friends." Even if Tatsuko couldn't come up with quick, witty responses, if she could just respond a little better, maybe she could have made a friend, too. But oh well. It'd just be a bother anyway. Coming to the conclusion that she was fine with her life this way, Tatsuko turned her attention to the math class. But it didn't end there. After that day, Kaori started proactively coming to talk to Tatsuko. From Tatsuko's perspective, this was beyond what she could take. It felt less like this girl was talking to her and more like she was being dragged into an altercation. Her actions came across more like some scrappy kid bumping into your shoulder and making it out to be your fault. She tried to force Tatsuko into her group of friends. Give me a break! Tatsuko thought. Leave me alone! I'm fine by myself! But despite all these thoughts, of course she couldn't say any of this out loud. Tatsuko assumed the girls would chatter on about this new lipstick or some model's clothing or things of that nature, but contrary to her expectations, Kaori and her cheery friends enjoyed talking about anime and manga. The classmates that had until now seemed to Tatsuko to be the terribly glamorous residents of another world were, once she actually tried talking to them, actually the sort who just did things like wear cute socks with little embroidery detailing, or shape their eyebrows with tweezers, or use fruity lip balm to make their lips shine—attempts to be fashionable without crossing the line where scary teachers would get mad at them for it. Though clumsily, Tatsuko gradually started joining in on conversations, and before she knew it, she was saying hello to the others and being the one to greet them and getting called by a nickname. Though she'd thought this would never be a part of her life, now that it was done, it was simple. And she would always be grateful to Kaori, who had started it all for her. Even now, Kaori was by Tatsuko's side as they followed Archfiend Pam. Maybe it was more accurate to say that Tatsuko was with Kaori. Kaori wanted to continue being the magical girl Rain Pow. Tatsuko didn't mind quitting being Postarie. Getting back to her safe life was more important to her than being a magical girl. They still disagreed on this, but they remained together despite that because Tatsuko couldn't abandon Kaori. She really wanted to discuss this with Rain Pow, but whenever she tried, she was met with a slap in the face from Archfiend Pam. Judging from how Toko never came out of hiding, Postarie understood that she must have been Archfiend Pam's enemy. But even knowing this, she didn't get the feeling that Archfiend Pam was one of those evil mages Toko had talked about. Pam was clearly an unpleasant person to deal with. The way she dealt with people by hitting them and then criticizing them was frightening, and sometimes what she said afterward was even crueler than the physical abuse itself. But even so, Postarie thought perhaps that wasn't the same thing as evil. A really passionate and intense gym teacher could be someone you didn't like and yet not be a bad person. Archfiend Pam didn't seem like a bad person, either. She spoke with such self-righteousness, and Postarie doubted the stuff she talked about—like battles between magical girls—would be of much use to either her or Rain Pow. But she still got the feeling that Pam was more or less saying it with consideration for them in mind. And besides, Postarie felt like Pam was showing them consideration, too, in ways that were less explicit. Before, she'd been walking so quickly, it had been the most Postarie could do to keep up, but now she'd slowed her pace. Not knowing what the coats Archfiend Pam had given them were made of had been frightening, but when Postarie actually pushed her arms through the sleeves, she found the coat fit perfectly and was warm. It made her feel safe, like things would be okay if she wore this coat. From behind, Postarie couldn't read what Archfiend Pam, striding ahead of them, had on her mind. She walks so brazenly, thought Postarie. People with confidence and clear consciences could walk like that. As a person, Pam seemed like the polar opposite of Postarie. Postarie glanced at Rain Pow beside her. She looked bored. The thought crossed Postarie's mind that it might be better to tell Pam about everything, including Toko. But Rain Pow wouldn't want that. In the end, their discussion never got anywhere, and still without reaching a conclusion, the two of them walked side by side. What do I do? What should I do? Postarie worried. That was when Archfiend Pam's feet stopped. "What...?" she muttered, turning her gaze into the distance. "A car accident...?" Just what the heck was Archfiend Pam doing? Postarie was confused by such an incomprehensible remark but nevertheless hesitated, as she was sure that Pam would slap her if she were to ask about it. In the meantime, Archfiend Pam's expression turned to shock. "There are magical girls there!" Instantly, her dress coat transformed, turning into a black square to rise into the sky. She pulled off her sunglasses and Panama hat to reveal sharp horns on her head. "One, two, three, four... And Gekokujou... Those bastards." Postarie was startled—not by the two horns but by the costume under Pam's dress coat. It was so revealing, it would be no exaggeration to describe her as half-naked. It was practically just string and strips of cloth. "One with a guitar on her back, a fencer, one in a patch-covered costume, a fortune-teller-style magical girl, and one wearing an outfit that looks like a wedding dress... Are any of these girls familiar to you?" "I think the wedding dress girl is probably our friend Weddin." Rain Pow turned to Postarie for affirmation, saying, "Right?" and Postarie nodded. Their friends were a pirate, a stage magician, an Arabian dancer, a ballerina, and a girl in a wedding dress. The ninja and Bunny Ears were enemies. The magical girls Pam had just described were all ones they had never seen or even heard of. Archfiend Pam smiled with glee. "So they're strangers to you, too... Interesting."
[ POV: Rain Pow; Time remaining: eleven hours, twenty minutes ] She shaded her eyes with her hand under a graying sky that had not yet fully reached dawn. Archfiend Pam had transformed the coats she'd loaned to Postarie and Rain Pow back into black wings. Finally released from its tight restraints, Rain Pow was struck with the urge to roll her neck around, but she held back. Any more slaps and her cheeks would be cut open. Archfiend shoved Postarie and Rain Pow between a building and a row of three vending machines, ordered them to not leave under any circumstances, and flew away. The moment she didn't have to worry about Archfiend Pam's gaze on her, Toko popped her head out from Rain Pow's shirt. "She said there was an accident, huh?" "Sounds like it. I couldn't hear it, so I think it happened pretty far away, though." "I guess she found it with one of those wings she sent flying off." "Those wings... It looked like she could really change them into just about anything, but could they do that, too?" "Hey...," Postarie interrupted Toko and Rain Pow. "What are we gonna do?" "What do you mean, what're we gonna do? About what?" Postarie shot a glance at Toko, then dropped her tone a bit and continued. "Are we gonna tell Archfiend Pam...everything?" "No way! You've gotta be kidding me!" Toko flailed her arms and legs, tickling Rain Pow and making her scrunch up her face, until Rain Pow gently restrained Toko from over her clothing. "C'mon, Toko, stop flailing around when you're in my shirt." "Do you get what'll happen if we tell someone like her everything? The heck? Are you thinking about selling me out? Are you the sort of magical girl who bites the hand that feeds her, Postarie?" "I'm not...biting the hand that feeds me... It's just..." Postarie looked down, hesitated just a bit, and instead asked, "Is it true what Archfiend Pam said? That you did something bad, Toko, and they're chasing you down for it?" Toko's eyebrows flew up, then down. With spread palms, elbows bent, she shrugged her shoulders. "That's 'cause they're bad people. They're just trying to justify their actions while they talk nasty about me. You can't take them seriously. She was slap-slap-slapping your cheeks like crazy, too, right, Postarie? She's the sort of bad person who uses violence to try to keep you in line. But I'm a good fairy, so I don't do that sort of thing." Still looking down, Postarie closed her mouth. Repeating that no way were they talking to Pam, Toko added, "What we should be thinking about now is not following her but running away posthaste. How long are we gonna have to hide out in a place like this?" "But she told us not to run." "And why do we have to obey her like good little girls?! C'mon, ignore her. She and those wings of hers are gone, so this is our best shot, right? If we don't escape now, then when will we?" While Postarie seemed uncertain, for some reason, she didn't back down. Toko opposed her stubbornly, saying that if Archfiend Pam were to find them, who knew what would happen to them. "What should we do, Kaori?" Postarie asked, tugging on her friend's sleeve. Toko squirmed inside Rain Pow's shirt, saying, "I'm not wrong here, right?" With the two of them pressing her for an opinion, Rain Pow closed her eyes for about thirty seconds to contemplate, then offered her opinion.
[ POV: Kuru-Kuru Hime; Time remaining: ten hours, fifty-three minutes ] Their plan to use the vehicle as bait did not go as they'd anticipated. This strategy had been conceived in semidesperation: When the enemy was chasing the vehicle, they would use that as their opportunity to launch a surprise attack from behind. But for some reason, since the enemy nonsensically used their vehicle to chase the other vehicle, the plan changed to using the remote control to make the car crash into the barrier, praying they'd get lucky and the enemy would crash into the barrier, too. Ripple and the others would have escaped by now. Kuru-Kuru Hime had separated from them. They'd tried to convince her this was too dangerous and she shouldn't go, but she'd ignored them, shaking them off to run by herself in the opposite direction. Whose hair had Frederica used for her magic? Mana, 7753, and Ripple all said Frederica would have had no opportunity to steal their hair, and Ripple had said she'd confiscated Frederica's original massive collection of magical-girl tresses. In other words, they could assume Frederica had acquired this hair while inside the barrier—so then the most likely one of them was Kuru-Kuru Hime. So then how had Frederica stolen Kuru-Kuru Hime's hair? Her description said she had a crystal ball, wore a veil with star decorations on it and a long skirt open boldly in the front, and long black hair that flowed down her back to her ankles. Kuru-Kuru Hime did not recall any such person. In other words, she should assume they had never met. So how did someone she had never met have her hair? She had a very bad feeling about this. Tears in her eyes, Kuru-Kuru Hime had insisted she wanted to check what was going on at home and ended up separating from the others. If Kuru-Kuru Hime was the only one of them being watched by Frederica, if she separated from them, she would no longer burden the others. It was the clearest, most logical option. Ripple, 7753, and Mana ought to understand. As long as Kuru-Kuru Hime was with them, Frederica would always be watching them. They just didn't say this out of kindness. Even though it would be best for them to sacrifice Kuru-Kuru Hime, whom they'd only just met, they couldn't suggest it. Besides, there was something Kuru-Kuru Hime wanted to do, even if it meant she'd end up alone. She'd given them her civilian cell phone number. Ripple had advised her to watch her back. If Frederica's hand were to kidnap her, that would be checkmate. Kuru-Kuru Hime did as Ripple told, keeping an eye out as she rushed over to the Himeno residence. It wasn't long before she arrived. Returning to human form, she pulled out her house key but immediately discovered she didn't need it. The front door was open, the whole space around it blackened. Nozomi yelled out something so incoherent even she herself couldn't understand and opened the front door. Seeing red fluid flowing down the hallway to her feet, she let out a scream.
[ POV: Pythie Frederica; Time remaining: eleven hours, twenty minutes ] Frederica nearly cried out when she saw the magical girl in black who appeared in the sky above them. Her voluptuous body was covered only in the slightest scraps of cloth. Her long, black, thin tail was pointed like a spearhead at the tip and decorated with a red ribbon. A set of black horns adorned the girl's head. She had crimson eyes, just like Hana Gekokujou, but this girl's were a deeper red. To put it succinctly, they were the kind of eyes that sucked you right in. And then there were her four black wings, although someone unfamiliar with this girl and her abilities might not see them as such. The four black squares were held in reserve at her back. They floated in the sky, their buoyancy making not just them but the girl float, as well. It was Archfiend Pam. Her name was well-known even to those who were not magical-girl enthusiasts like Pythie Frederica. She had been master to Cranberry, Musician of the Forest, Frederica's greatest magical-girl obsession, one she had investigated and researched the most. There had been many opportunities for Frederica to speak Pam's name with awe, hate, jealousy, or worship. Finally, Frederica took note of her hair. It was a dull blond pixie cut that didn't quite reach her shoulders, and her bangs seemed to have a bit of a cowlick to them. Her style was plain, artless, and lacked any sense that she was particular about it. Frederica heaved a deep sigh. How could such plain, simple, and short hair look so glossy, so vibrant, so sparkly? She wanted to pet it, stroke it, and rub her cheek against it. She wanted to put it in her mouth and taste it. She wanted to lick clean those horns that poked out of her hair. "Master, you're drooling." "Whoops, pardon me." Frederica took the handkerchief decorated with the two-hundred-and-fifty-sixth-note pattern Tot Pop handed her and wiped the corner of her mouth. Archfiend Pam's incredible power was overwhelmingly attractive to her. Pukin had already drawn her sword, while Sonia stood before her, on guard. This was the first time since their escape from prison that Frederica had seen Pukin look serious. She wasn't smirking, scoffing, or narrowing her eyes in displeasure. She examined Archfiend Pam with a cautious gaze. Archfiend Pam's expression was practically a mirror image of Pukin's. They were evaluating each other, drawing conclusions about their opponent. They both recognized each other as powerful foes. Without a sound, Archfiend Pam slowly alighted on the ground, her four wings guarding her body. In a low voice, Frederica prompted caution. She could sense that even though she spoke quietly, Pam could hear her, but she still couldn't bring herself to be loud. "That's Archfiend Pam. She's with the Department of Diplomacy and is widely known as the most powerful magical girl." "Oh-ho. The most powerful, eh? Aside from ourselves." "She's the most powerful magical girl of the present day—not of all time." Archfiend Pam was looking at them as if she could see straight through them. Frederica couldn't believe she was imagining that. It felt like the temperature here had dropped by two or three degrees. Tot Pop shivered. Archfiend Pam's gaze shifted over to Hana, who lay at Sonia's feet. She eyed her for a few seconds before quickly looking away again. "Who are you?" Pam spoke in English. She'd heard them talking, after all. She spoke with impeccable pronunciation, and most of all, her voice carried well. Mysteriously, she reminded Frederica of Cranberry, though she was not at all similar in tone or expression. Maybe Frederica just wanted to think that. Not at all overawed by Archfiend Pam, Pukin retorted boldly, "Is it not proper manners to introduce oneself before asking another's name?" "My name is Archfiend Pam. Are you the assassins?" "Our name is Pukin. Assassin! How rude." The air between them was grating. Tot Pop grabbed the end of the rope that bound Hana, attempting to drag her away toward the Fury's wreckage and hide in the shadow of the car. But the rope was cut, and Hana's body rose in the air. Stuck holding the end of the rope, Tot Pop's expression stiffened in shock as she looked up at Hana. One of the square wings had transformed into a human shape to scoop up the limp Hana, and it was now floating in the air. Pam had not only been fast—her trick of turning their attention to herself as she used her magic elsewhere was also magnificent. "You don't need a hostage." Pukin was not at all bothered by what Archfiend Pam had done...or, at the very least, not from what Frederica could see. The corners of Pukin's lips twisted in disdain for her enemy as she brandished her sword at Pam. "How insolent, to steal our prisoner without paying ransom." "I don't want to hear that from the sort of insolent character who would torture a prisoner." Pukin made to advance, but Sonia held her back, taking one step forward. With her right hand, Sonia pinched the fingertips of her left glove, sliding it off her hand to toss it at Archfiend Pam. Blown in the wind, the white glove flew toward Pam and landed softly at her feet. Putting her hands to her waist in a bold pose, Sonia yelled, "Duel me proper, fair and square!" They were in the numerically superior position with four people on their side. Frederica couldn't understand why Sonia would abandon that advantage and deliberately propose a one-on-one duel. Baffled by the purpose of this sudden declaration, Frederica looked over at Pukin. Pukin retreated half a step and whispered quietly, "When Sonia fights in earnest, she sees no friend or foe. She's saying she means to duel this girl, so if you value your safety, then stand back. Sonia! We entrust this to you!" It would be foolish to be caught in the cross fire of such a fight. So Frederica followed Pukin and backed away. "It's truly, truly been such a long time since a magical girl has challenged me to a one-on-one duel!" Archfiend Pam shouted back. Her expression was no longer calm as it had been. Her whole face, from the tip of her chin to her hairline, was twisted in joy, her expression one of elation. "Your name?" "...Sonia Bean." The black human shape that held Hana grew great wings that beat in the air, flying away. Archfiend Pam looked down on Sonia, who was crouched in a low fighting stance. How can the act of looking down on someone be so picturesque? Frederica wondered privately, basking in delight. "I accept, Sonia Bean! Have at me!" Sonia raced toward her, and Archfiend Pam's wings sliced through the air.
[ POV: Archfiend Pam; Time remaining: ten hours, fifty-three minutes ] She didn't feel she could hold back. Her mission wasn't to kill the assassin, and she was supposed to prevent others from killing her, too, so it was really not a good thing to have an opponent she couldn't hold back with. But exhilaration was rising within her. She had to fight with the intent to kill, lest she be killed herself. Her opponent was just that strong. Pam had all four of her wings in tow when she arrived on the scene, and there she had confirmed it was no car accident at all. The fencer and patches were stronger opponents than she'd ever encountered in her life. The one-on-one fight, the introduction, the fencer saying patches couldn't distinguish enemy or ally, so it was best for her to fight alone—all of this excited Archfiend Pam. Her professionalism had long since come undone. She'd saved Hana first not out of a desire to save an ally, but based on the calculation that it would be disadvantageous for her to be a hostage. Her brain was overwhelmed with the selfish desire to enjoy this battle. Sonia scraped at the road with her toe, like a fighting bull, and Pam could sense in it her roiling urge to fight. The other three quickly took shelter. They hadn't fled—they were watching from somewhere. Pam had to keep an eye on them, too, or she would be in danger. As Sonia Bean raced toward her, Archfiend Pam muttered, "Hadraniel." Using one of her wings as an enveloping wall, Pam unfurled it between herself and the enemy, while simultaneously—"Longinus." She transformed her other two wings into spears to attack Sonia from either side. In battles between magical girls, much depended on compatibility. It was always best to choose a strategy that sought to prevent the outcome from depending on compatibility. You read your enemy's attacks. If you could react instantly to your opponent's intent to strike, they would never be able to strike first and leave you in an awkward position. Archfiend Pam used the wall to block Sonia's vision, and with that as her defense, she deployed two spears in her blind spots to skewer her. Pam gave both the walls and the spears the power of sight. The advantage of being able to see her opponent while the enemy's line of fire was obstructed was always useful. Right now, it was important to read the enemy's intentions based on her eye movements and her slightest gestures. At this point in a fight, she would start getting a feeling when magical girls with a counter-style magic were planning something. In this case, it was best to see how things went, first, and not just directly stab her with the spears. Sonia just kept running, running forward. She didn't try to avoid the spears. It wasn't that she couldn't avoid them, but rather, it seemed she simply had no intention of doing so. Observing this, Pam figured she must have some kind of defensive magic. Either she would repel the spears, or it didn't matter if she was stabbed. Her response was very similar to that of the Arabian dancing girl Pam had fought in the sky. The aim of the two Longinus was true, striking Sonia's body from either side, but their tips were erased as if they were as fragile as charcoal. Hadraniel, too, which was specialized for defense, was no hindrance to her, and Sonia simply tore a human-shaped hole in it. Sonia was energetically running for Archfiend Pam. It seemed Sonia's magic could scatter away whatever she touched. Pam's prediction that hers was a defensive magic had only been half-correct—it was both offensive and defensive. Longinus was sharp enough to easily pierce through several layers of bedrock, and Hadraniel could resist a nuclear attack at close range. The moment Sonia had touched them, they had disappeared with no resistance at all. Her touch had ignored all their powers of attack and durability, scattering them like dregs, and that was it. Sonia had broken through the three wings Pam had used, expending them. Her remaining wing was busy saving Hana. There was nothing to come between Sonia and Pam. Sonia's movements were easily readable. She wasn't just running toward Pam, trying to get close to her. She meant to slam right into her and tackle her. Pam could tell from the way her muscles moved. Could Pam stop her? Even if she wanted to, she couldn't bear down on Sonia from above, couldn't counter in some way, like with a knee to the face. Archfiend Pam's body was surely no exception to Sonia's magic. The moment Sonia touched her, Pam would turn to dust and disappear. So she just had to crush her before Sonia even made contact. Archfiend Pam raised her right foot four inches and wound up to stomp down. The asphalt cracked out from the center point where Pam's foot came down, shattering, caving in, and sharpening into a fine split. The sudden cave-in of the path before Sonia made her stumble, and her stance fell apart. Archfiend Pam's greatest strength in battle was using her transforming wings, but that didn't mean the body those wings protected was fragile. Pam firmly believed that if pride in the power of her magic were to ever cause her to avoid direct hand-to-hand combat, then she would be over as a magical girl. Archfiend Pam took a step back to gain some distance, then commanded her spears and wall to regenerate. It would be about five seconds until they reappeared. She would endure until then. Sonia dashed right, then left, then barreled toward Pam. She wasn't just charging straight at her—she weaved feints and steps into her movements. At ground level, Pam flew like an acrobat, jumping, leaping, and spinning to evade Sonia's fingertips. The few strands of hair that her touch did catch turned black and crumbled away. Pam's evasions still weren't tight enough, so she kicked it up a notch. In general, opponents whose magic required physical contact in order to work were comparatively easy to fight. If they didn't have the ability to fly, then Archfiend Pam just had to get up in the air and fire shots at them endlessly. But they were in a bad location. Pam put some distance between herself and Sonia as she scanned the area. At a glance, the four-lane highway was wide, but it was too narrow for Pam to unleash her full power. With terrain like this, if Pam were to escape to the skies where the enemy couldn't touch her, then they'd probably escape to the nearby city. And if that happened, giving chase would be difficult. If Sonia were to rampage through the city, that would amplify the amount of needless damage. Archfiend Pam had not been sent here to get innocent civilians slaughtered. Fortunately, they were on the city's outskirts. Only street signs, vending machines, grasslands, farmland, and guardrails filled this area. The only place where it seemed there might be people was a building that looked like some kind of museum or record office, which must have been empty since no one had shown up even after a car had crashed into one of its gateposts. Therefore, if she finished this battle before any ambulances and police cars came, she could avoid causing needless casualties. Sonia was the only one in her view. From where were the other three watching their fight? Her wings finished regenerating, and she immediately directed them to attack. With this opponent, there was no point in defense. "Gehenna." Pam turned one wing to flame to engulf Sonia whole, and it scattered to pieces, starting with the corner that touched her. It didn't leave a single burn on Sonia's body. "Logos." She turned another wing into destructive sound waves vectored toward Sonia, but they, too, vanished, completely ineffective. "Lucifer." She focused light to try attacking with high temperature. But the formation of rays rotted soot-black in the places Sonia touched them. Even to Pam, who called herself Archfiend, the spectacle was hellish. Sonia ran around with energy, seemingly not even slightly blinded by the light. "Minos." Pam couldn't blow her away with wind, either. Sonia's spread hand shielded her from the blast, and the air turned into black dregs that scattered behind her. "Echidna." She didn't even think this would work, but she created poisonous air anyway, and it had no effect, as expected. "Cocytus." If adding energy was pointless, then what about removing energy? Pam wondered. She attempted to freeze Sonia by lowering the air temperature, but this didn't work at all, and when Sonia touched the air, it scattered. And even as Pam tried one attack after another, Sonia's assault never let up, so Pam was forced to keep dodging her—though it was less dodging and more fleeing. In this game of tag, Sonia was "it." Pam would die if Sonia touched her. With a limited arena for their fight, Archfiend Pam couldn't run wherever she pleased. Fleeing somewhere unwise would only bring further damage. This four-lane highway was the only place she could move around in.
[ POV: 7753; Time remaining: ten hours, forty-eight minutes ] Hana was flying through the air. Mana pointed and cried out, and Ripple ran after her, giving chase. Nothing but incomprehensible things had been happening, one after another. 7753 was constantly at the mercy of passing events, and it was the most she could do to keep up. Before long, Ripple returned with Hana in her arms. Hana had been beaten all over, and half her ear had been cut off, too. She had undergone horrible torment. Mana wailed again. Hana opened her eyes a crack, and her lips moved slightly. She was smiling. "I didn't imagine...I'd live to see you again." "You shouldn't push yourself too hard, Hana." "That wasn't my intention... Oh, I really can't believe I managed to get out of that alive." With her eyes and ears covered, Hana would have had no way of knowing who had saved her, but by process of elimination, she was able to narrow it down to one. "You're all here... So that means... Um... Did Archfiend Pam save me?" "A black sphere brought you back here... Then it turned into a square wing and went back. If my eyes weren't mistaken, that was Archfiend Pam's wing... I think." "Oh, then it was her, after all. She really did...save me." "Who did this to you? Was it Frederica's crew?" Ripple raced out in the direction Hana had flown in from. If her information was correct, there were multiple enemies. Ripple had to be going out to support Archfiend Pam. 7753 hesitated, wondering if she should follow. However, she figured she wouldn't be of any use even if she were to accompany Ripple, so she stayed with Hana. Instructions from her boss came in her goggles. Hana was incredibly battered. 7753's boss said to choose a place out of sight where they could settle down, go there, and have Mana heal Hana. This was a reasonable order. Hana was weakened. She needed to be healed someplace where they wouldn't gather attention. So 7753 told Mana this and carried Hana through three alleyways into the shadow of a vending machine. Her boss would have a map of the town. Her specific choice of going through three alleyways to hide in the shadow of a vending machine to rest was precise. 7753 was grateful for her specific direction. Referencing a memo in one hand, Mana drew out a magic sigil, laid Hana down in its center, took up her staff, and began reciting the spell. She probably meant to use healing magic. Whether Hana was aware of this or not, she smiled faintly as she lay there. 7753 squeezed her hand.
[ POV: Archfiend Pam; Time remaining: ten hours, thirty-nine minutes ] Pam tried slicing her with blades, igniting gunpowder to make her explode, burying her in piles of sediment, and crushing her under a giant press, but nothing worked. Sonia's eyes sparkled like those of a child with a new toy as she pressed closer to Archfiend Pam. Ha-ha. So I'm the toy, huh? This is a bit too bloody to be made into magical-girl merchandise. She laughed at herself, well aware that she, too, was like a child with a new toy. Archfiend Pam continued to observe Sonia Bean as she ran from her. Everything that touched Sonia turned to black dregs and scattered away. Pam could continue for a hundred years, but normal attacks wouldn't win this. She had to change the way she was thinking about this. "Mastema." She arranged three of her wings in a drill shape and propelled them over the road. She wasn't aiming for Sonia but rather the road at Sonia's feet. Rotating rapidly, the drill carved into the road, blowing up dust. Pam wasn't just trying to destroy the asphalt. She tore up the earth underneath the pavement, too, not only ripping it apart but shoveling down. Dust and concrete pieces billowed up. Sonia seemed confused by how the wings weren't attacking her and came for Pam. Not yet. Pam kept digging. Focusing only on carving away at the ground, Pam dug a hole. The ground under Sonia's feet crumbled, and she tumbled down. Pam made the hole deep—very deep. If you were to look down on it from the sky, it would look like a circle gouged out of the earth. Pam transformed one black wing into the shape of a suit to cover her whole body, leaving nothing exposed. The dust here was thick, so she couldn't go in without the suit. Archfiend Pam went to stand at the bottom of the hole, and beyond the clouds of dust, she saw a form moving. Sonia ran. This space was limited, just a little over a hundred feet wide, so there wasn't anywhere to escape. In this battlefield, the attacker would be at an advantage. Archfiend Pam raised black films between herself and Sonia. These films, which could be described as gently moving, thin walls, stood as obstructions all over the hole. They weren't there to prevent Sonia from getting around. No matter in existence could stop Sonia from going where she wanted to. These were for obstructing her vision. Pam gave these membranes the ability to be her eyes, then circled back around the films and away from Sonia. At that exact moment, her fourth wing returned. It was the wing she'd used to send Hana to safety and free her from her restraints. Pam placed it over the hole, transformed it into a sticky, flammable liquid, and then scattered it inside. "Gehenna." She ignited the wing, making the entire hole go up in flames. Unlike her earlier Gehenna, the goal here was not to burn Sonia directly. Heat didn't work on this enemy. Archfiend Pam set the wing alight as she continued to produce flammable liquid to keep the fire going, taking special care not to touch Sonia. And no matter how many of the films Sonia erased, Pam produced more, confusing Sonia with their maze. Gradually, Sonia slowed down, and Pam along with her. She never let Sonia give up. She always made Sonia feel that she was there, maintaining a close enough distance to make Sonia feel she had almost reached her. As she made the flames blaze higher and higher, she also took care in where she placed them, making sure they would never come in direct contact with Sonia. Sonia staggered, her steps unsteady, and she looked ready to fall at any moment. But she still never lost the hope, the sense that she could almost reach Archfiend Pam, coming for her. Sonia thrust through a film, tongue hanging from her mouth as she gasped in pain. Illuminated by the blazing flames, her face shone red. Good. It was working. Sonia Bean possessed a power that would protect her from and allow her to attack external threats. No matter how Archfiend Pam attacked her from the outside, she would never be able to break through Sonia Bean's magic. So then, she thought, what if, rather than attacking Sonia Bean herself, she were to steal an ally from her? All magical girls breathed, unless they had some particular equipment or magic. Without oxygen, no matter how sturdy a magical girl was, she couldn't do anything. Archfiend Pam had been continuously burning up the oxygen within the restricted space of this hole to hinder Sonia's breathing. Even a magical girl's superior lungs could not guarantee infinite activity. Of course, in anticipation of this, Pam had stored some air for herself inside her suit. By the time Sonia realized she couldn't breathe, it was already too late. She was too absorbed in the fight. Sonia tried to yell something, but her voice wouldn't come out. She could use her magic to dig at the walls and ground to expand the hole. But Archfiend Pam would still continue to surround her with fire, sending it after her without ever letting it touch her. Sonia was out of options. She tried to climb up the irregular spots in the wall in order to escape the hole, but Pam instantly erased all protrusions. A tentacle extended from one of her wings to destroy Sonia's footholds, and Sonia pitched forward, tottering. Archfiend Pam cleared away her films. Once Pam had revealed herself, Sonia spun around to glare at her. Sonia Bean, who had fought with such excitement and glee, was now pared down to only hatred. Sonia fell to her knees, both hands hitting the ground, her rear rising in the air. She was not collapsing, however. By the time Pam realized that she was crouching to sprint, Sonia was already charging for her. A magical girl's fluctuations in emotion affected her strength. Sonia Bean was near her end, and this mad dash probably took everything she had left. Just as a candle blazed strongest right before it flickered out, a magical girl displayed her hidden strength when she was cornered. Bursting through the flames, Sonia was instantly there, embracing Pam—having failed to notice what she held was a dummy. She pitched forward. Archfiend Pam never let her guard down, even before an opponent on the brink of death. The wing that she'd been using as the films, she had transformed into a statue that resembled herself, placing it in front of Sonia for her to snap at with her dying gasp. Sonia, her consciousness dimming from lack of oxygen, had completely fallen for it. The wing statue of Pam destroyed, Sonia collapsed and fell still. Pam pulled away from the wall and undid her suit. She now focused the flammable fluid and the flames with which she'd filled the hole around Sonia to finish her off completely as she transformed the suit to a shield at her arm to block the torrent of music notes firing at her from outside the hole. Despite how this crew had placed specific emphasis on challenging her to a one-on-one duel, she had known they would interfere at some point. She wouldn't curse them as cowardly or rude. This was simply what battle was. Her suit had been protecting her from the heat, and undoing it meant she was immediately scorched all over. A magical girl could withstand it, but she didn't want to stay here long. Each and every one of the music notes hit hard enough to beat flesh and break bone. I can't let them hit me, she thought, and that was when she sensed a menace behind her: the fencer and the fortune-teller. She'd turned one of her wings into flammable liquid. One more was the flame. Sonia had destroyed the one she'd made to look like herself, and she wasn't yet able to regenerate it. Her remaining wing had been her suit, and now it acted as a shield against the music notes. The enemy must have been calculating that Pam would have to rely on only her physical strength to deal with any further attacks, so two-on-one, they had to be able to kill her. Of course, Archfiend Pam had taken all of this into consideration. At most, Pam could control four wings with her magic—but she also had another two. They were her original two wings, essentially an extension of her costume and body, and she could neither separate them from herself nor turn them into something else. Normally, they were small, and she hid them from view. She only restored them when she truly needed them. And now was one of those times. Archfiend Pam spread the wings on her back wide, turning aside the sword thrusting toward her with one as she blocked the fortune-teller's kick with the other. Surprised, her opponents were slow to react. The fortune-teller hesitated, but not the fencer. So then the fencer was the one to prioritize. With a flap of her wings, Pam slammed the fortune-teller in the side. The fortune-teller guarded properly but couldn't absorb the force of it entirely, and she was blown sideways about thirty feet to hit the wall of the hole. Pam put some distance between herself and the fortune-teller to face her one-on-one. She wouldn't let her opponents flee. She'd end this contest here. The wing she'd turned into flammable liquid, she now transformed into a humanoid shape and sent it toward the fortune-teller in order to buy some time. It could be on automatic control. The wing she'd turned to flame, she couldn't yet undo. She would leave it as is until Sonia was completely dead. Pam focused everything else on the fencer, sending two of her wings to strike from either side in an embracing attack. The fencer magnificently sidestepped the strike from the right and made to parry the left wing with her rapier. Archfiend Pam canceled the attack by shrinking the wing a bit, refusing to let the rapier touch it. The enemy seemed to be deliberately choosing to use a very thin rapier to block Pam's strikes. The fencer's aim was strange. She moved as if all she needed to do was touch Pam. There was a good chance that rapier was a magic weapon, so Pam needed to avoid touching it carelessly. The fencer thrust her rapier out. Pam leaped back from the first attack, and the second, a further stab, she twisted to avoid, while the third, she ducked under. Meanwhile, Archfiend Pam sent two of her wings crawling along the ground, using them to leap into the air and unleash a diversionary kick. She pulled back her leg before the fourth stab could touch her shin, and next, she swung out with her pivot leg, aiming to kick the fencer's right arm, but was intercepted by an elbow that sent numbness running along the top of her foot. Then the fifth attack. Archfiend Pam was in an awkward stance, making it difficult for her to evade—or so she made it seem. Using the two wings crawling along the ground, she lifted a giant slab of concrete at their feet and pushed it up the moment of the enemy's attack. The rapier stuck into the concrete slab, and Archfiend Pam dashed around behind it. Circling clockwise, she attacked the enemy from behind the concrete slab. The fencer abandoned her stuck rapier, swinging for Pam's face with her fist, but Pam caught the punch in her left palm, stopping it. She squeezed, meaning to crush it, but the fencer's fist was hard. The fencer stomped on one of the wings Pam had used on the concrete slab, while Pam grabbed her wrist to stop her from attacking with her dagger. She tried to attack with her second wing, but the fencer had it pressed under the concrete slab with her foot. The fencer's feet held her wings in check. Their hands were locked in a grapple. Another foot, then, thought Pam, but right before she could release a kick, the fencer forced her back. The fencer's left hand, holding the dagger, and her right fist both increased pressure, pushing toward her. Gradually, Archfiend Pam was being pushed back. If she were to kick, she'd be bowled over. The fencer was stronger. Pam had assumed a rapier user would focus on technique and speed, but this one was also exceptionally strong. Interesting! The fencer pushed even harder, and right as she did, Pam swung her head down, smashing the fencer's nose with her forehead, but even then, the fencer's pushing didn't let up. Instead, she smashed Pam's chin with her forehead. Without even flinching, Pam head-butted her, crushing the fencer's nose with the crown of her head. Blood spurted from the fencer's nose, skin ripping, and that blood mixed with the blood from her nose as Pam head-butted her one more time, but the enemy intercepted the strike with her own forehead, and both their heads were flung away from each other. The enemy would still not let up in her pushing. Pam could only inch her wings out, and the enemy's hands were gradually nearing her. Head-butting wouldn't get her anywhere. Should I bite at her neck? Pam thought and looked at the fencer—and noticed her expression. Her forehead was cut up and her nose was crushed, but that wasn't the issue. It was the look on her face. She had a strange expression on her face, as if she were looking upon something incomprehensible—her gaze wasn't on Archfiend Pam. She was looking past Pam's face, at something behind her. What's she looking at? The instant after the thought popped into Pam's mind, something stabbed her from behind, straight through her abdomen, and she coughed up blood. Something sparkled under the shining red flames, splattered crimson with Archfiend Pam's own blood. It was more distinct right here than it ever was in the sky after the rain: a multicolored rainbow. Pam hadn't felt it coming. She'd felt no heat, no sound. A rainbow? Why? The rainbow that pierced Pam's body pushed on through her to rip open the fencer's stomach, too. The fencer lost her balance and pitched forward, diagonally, jerking out to grab her rapier, which was stuck in the concrete slab. But the sword couldn't support her body weight, and the rapier ripped out of the slab. The fencer let go of Pam's hands and rolled along the ground. Archfiend Pam tried to pull herself off the rainbow, somehow, but her arms were too weak. She couldn't give chase or turn around. The rainbow was supporting her body. A second and third rainbow struck. She couldn't evade them. Sliced to shreds by the Technicolor rainbows, Archfiend Pam breathed her last.
[ POV: Pythie Frederica; Time remaining: ten hours, twenty minutes ] When Pukin had insisted they go save Sonia, Frederica had agreed—in form. She had no sincere desire to save Sonia. What she wanted to do was defeat Archfiend Pam. Frederica judged that in order to eliminate Archfiend Pam, the most powerful magical girl within the barrier and also the greatest obstacle in their current situation, it was best Sonia be their noble sacrifice. So Frederica should not butt in to save Sonia but rather aim for the moment when Pam was finishing Sonia off, when Pam's attention would be most focused, to catch the Archfiend by surprise. If the three of them were to attack all at once, they'd have a chance at winning. Leave the timing to me, Frederica had assured Pukin, and she'd deliberately held off the attack. Then, under the pretext of saving Sonia, she'd rushed in, knowing it was too late. It had all worked out perfectly—or it should have. With perfect timing, they had caught their opponent unawares and prevented Archfiend Pam from using all four wings to the fullest, so that even if she blocked the first attack, she would be short two wings—or in other words, she would have to physically evade their two attacks and succeed at it both times. All Frederica had to do was attack as a diversion, while Pukin's strike only had to skim her to be fatal. But Pam had been ahead of Frederica. Even with all Frederica's vast knowledge, she had been unaware of Pam's fifth and sixth wings. An ace in the hole for when the need arose, Frederica supposed. Pam avoided Frederica's and Pukin's attacks with her hidden wings, then set the black humanoid on Frederica, which prevented her from helping Pukin. But even as the situation deteriorated into further desperation, Frederica was rapturous. This plan, conceived by a dirty magical girl like Frederica, which involved sacrificing an ally in order to take down an opponent, had been demolished. This was exactly what made Pam the Archfiend. Even as she was thrown back by Pam's wing and slammed into the wall of the hole, Frederica was intoxicated—and then she saw it: that suddenly appearing rainbow. For some reason, sharp, material rainbows were stabbing through Archfiend Pam. Her intoxication evaporated, and she was yanked back to reality. Archfiend Pam's body, arms, legs, head, and hair! All of them scattered with a massive gush of blood. The flames vanished, and Sonia was already less than ash. Pukin was gone, leaving traces of her blood behind. Frederica blinked. She had no time to be dazed. Rushing up out of the hole, she emerged to find three girls there. One was dressed in a manner reminiscent of a postal delivery girl and was holding her knees, trembling. One, who carried a rainbow on her back, wore a smirk on her face. The last one...was lying in a puddle of blood. Her transformation was undone, and her trademark brutish guitar was also gone. Frederica figured out what had just happened. Her party had been clams. While all of them had been scrabbling around in the mud in the sandpiper's bill, the fisherman had come. While the clams and the sandpiper were locked in struggle, the fisherman harvested all of them. A tiny fairy flew out from the rainbow girl's clothing. What should have been such a cute face was instead twisted into an ugly smirk, surprisingly similar to the one on the rainbow girl's face. "We did iiit! Archfiend Pam and some other girl are dead! I dunno who she was, but she must've been strong if she was fighting Archfiend Pam. That means we got rid of two strong girls! All right!" "I'm not sure she's actually dead. But at least I took out Archfiend Pam." "Yeah, yeah, you sure did! That was a super underdog victory. Now you're number one in my mental ranking of magical girls I want to get hugs from, Rain Pow!" "I'd rather not hug you, Toko." The two of them held their stomachs and cackled. "Now there's just that one who ran off. And one of Cranberry's children was there, right?" "Oh, I don't think she'll be much of a problem. I fought her a bit, and she wasn't that strong." The rainbow girl gave the postal delivery girl a rough shove with her foot. The postal girl fell over, looking up with frightened eyes. "I even managed to beat this dead weight all on my own." "I'd expect nothing less of you, Rain Pow! So there's no problems, eh?" "If anything's a problem, I guess it'd be the one who ran away and this other one." The two of them looked over at Frederica, who was now out of allies. She had no crystal ball with which to use her magic, so she'd have to do things using her words. She had to escape this pinch, be it through negotiation or wheedling. "I have a suggestion." "And I won't hear it." The moment Frederica opened her mouth, she was shot down. "I'll kill you. That's all. I'll get it done quick, then kill the one who ran, too." This was not someone who could be convinced. And judging by the situation, it seemed fleeing would be difficult, too. Without her crystal ball, the rainbow girl was too much for Frederica to handle. She was too spent to turn around and continuously avoid rainbows as she ran, and besides, she was fairly wounded. Frederica looked at the girl who was collapsed in a puddle of blood. It was her student. She'd been Pythie Frederica's number one student, someone who could make friends with anyone. Realizing that Frederica was looking at the body, the rainbow girl's smile got bigger. "It would've saved me some time if you'd been the one outside the hole. That was my bad." The fairy smiled in tandem. "I never would've thought I'd end up killing Pythie Frederica. Why're you here? Weren't you arrested? Hey, Rain Pow, this one's pretty famous." Frederica observed herself objectively and was surprised. She was angry Tot Pop had been killed. Pythie Frederica would use anyone for the sake of her goals and her pleasure; ethics and compassion were less than trash to her, and at the end of it all, she'd been imprisoned for this but had still never changed her ways. She had freed two monsters, Pukin and Sonia, and basked in self-satisfaction over it, too. Another, calmer part of her was watching her own anger and hatred from a distance. How surprising that even someone like me can feel anger, she coolly observed as she edged forward, her feet never leaving the ground. The two opponents' smiles vanished, and rainbows of various sizes, lots of them, floated all around the magical girl. They seemed to fill every space. Frederica already knew just how sharp they were. The rainbow girl whistled. "Look, Toko. She's gonna fight for serious." "That's disappointing. I was looking forward to seeing how that escaped convict would beg for her life." "You'd think someone with a name like Pythie would be more pitiful, huh? She doesn't seem to get the picture, does she?" Frederica moved forward, having resigned herself to the fact that she couldn't win this without her crystal ball. The rainbow girl grabbed the postal girl by the collar and whispered in her ear, "Hey, Tsuko, you're gonna be my hostage later. So I won't kill you, for now. But if you try to run, I'll kill you first thing—before I even take care of that old hag over there. You got that?" She wasn't really trying to keep her voice down. She probably just wanted to threaten the girl. That even Frederica could hear her proved as much. Face pale, the postal girl jerked her head up and down a few times. The rainbow girl smirked and tossed the postal girl back.
[ POV: Hana Gekokujou; Time remaining: ten hours, fifteen minutes ] The pain in her body was easing up, albeit slowly. She understood that her wounds were healing faster than her natural recovery capabilities would have. She was gradually gaining more energy, too. Hana pushed herself into a sitting position and brought her hand up to her right bunny ear. It was quite splendidly cut in half. "You should stay down." "No, I'm okay. And more to the point, lying down on concrete at this time of year is freezing cold. That's enough to suck my energy all on its own." She laughed a "ha-ha." It felt like it had been a really long time since she'd last laughed out loud. She had been quite sincerely ready for death, privately thinking heroically grim thoughts of either dying in a way that wouldn't cause problems or ending it herself if she was captured. If rescue from that situation was possible, then anything was. Hana touched her right bunny ear again. It really was severed after all. Will this grow back? If it wasn't coming back, that might make things a little difficult. A half cut-off ear had way too much punch. Making people wary of her on first meeting would limit her work, like it did with Ripple. Hana was sure Ripple was a pretty good person, but she looked intimidating, and it made for a pretty extreme impression. Well, pushing the contrast between her appearance and personality to the foreground could be an option. She'd have kind of liked to ask Ripple about that. As Hana wondered what had happened with Ripple, she glanced in the direction she'd run off. The alley emerged into a big road, coming to a dead end at a clock shop with its shutters down. Hana couldn't see anything beyond that. She still believed Archfiend Pam would resolve things by herself. She felt an absolute sense of security on that point, such as a fetus feels toward its mother. But what about Ripple? She hadn't gotten involved in that attack, had she? With her wounds healing, Hana was starting to feel good enough that she could worry about others. She sharpened her hearing, focused her attention on the direction Ripple had headed, and picked up on footsteps racing fast toward them. It wasn't Ripple—her single-toothed geta made her footsteps sound unique. By the time the thought hit her, she could already see the enemy. It was the fencer magical girl who had been with Frederica, the one she'd called "Your Excellency." In her right hand, she held a naked rapier, and in her left, she held her stomach. She was bleeding horribly from the face, and her orange hair was dyed red. Her nose was crushed into ugliness, and her expression was that of a demon, her clenched teeth bared. Hana stood and shoved Mana and 7753 to the ground. Pukin looked surprised. It seemed she hadn't expected to meet them here. From her expression and her wounds, Hana could tell she was fleeing something. Archfiend Pam? Or Ripple? In which case, they could corner her. Pukin was desperate. She didn't have the spare energy to kill them, and running would be her number one priority. But if Hana were to just stand in front of her, she would be struck aside. Hana wasn't fully prepared, either. She thought about what she should do. A crisis lay before her. Could she make herself move? Though her wounds had healed a bit, she was still far from fully recovered. She still couldn't put up a decent fight. So once Pukin entered her range, Hana would crank up her senses. With those wounds, if Hana were to sharpen Pukin's sense of pain, she would collapse, incapacitated by the agony. Then Hana could let Archfiend Pam or Ripple finish her off. Hana watched Pukin close in with a single motion. She shattered the concrete, leaving a clean footprint in her wake. Both her stab and her step were frighteningly fast. But if this was a contest of speed, then Hana was no lesser. The very moment the enemy stepped into her area of effect, Hana activated her magic. One-on-one and against Pukin, there was no need or reason for her to hold back. She sharpened Pukin's sense of pain to the limit—but Pukin's thrust didn't stop. Hana slipped under Pukin's sword, taking a shallow slice to her rabbit ear, but somehow managed to avoid a direct hit. She knew she'd activated her magic. But Pukin hadn't reacted, just stabbing straight forward with her sword. Next, Pukin spun around with another thrust, and the unexpected attack sliced open Hana's right shoulder, and she fell to her knees. Pukin's left hand reached out to her dagger in its sheath. When it was halfway drawn, Hana rose one step faster, smacking her enemy in the jaw with the heel of her palm. Pukin fought it, but Hana put her whole body's weight behind it to slam the back of Pukin's head into the wall. Pukin gave a soft moan as she slid down the wall. Hana pressed the center of her own chest with a hand and warm blood gushed through her fingers. Pukin's dagger was thrust hilt-deep into her. Hana dropped her hand from her chest, and the blood poured out even more dramatically, dyeing her kimono red, dripping down inside her clothes all the way to her thighs. Tightening her fist, she brought it in front of her face. She glared at Pukin as if to say, "Now, it's serious." She couldn't fall yet. Archfiend Pam or Ripple would come soon. She had to hold on somehow, until then. Looking at Pukin's face, she noticed the faint cut running across her cheek. Hana was fairly certain that a cut from Pukin's sword would cause her magic to do something to that person. Considering how the wedding dress girl had been acting, it was probably brainwashing or subordination. Pukin had known what Hana's magic was and so had cut herself with her own sword before charging in to give herself something that would resist it. She'd forced herself to believe the pain was something else. It had to be something like that. Hana was beyond using her magic now, but she didn't let it show on her face. With a composed expression that said, "This blood is nothing," she took a step forward. Pukin pointed her sword at Hana, but when she heard a sound like a crashing car coming from the direction she'd run, she grimaced. With a click of her tongue, Pukin left, cape fluttering behind her as she ran off. The entire event passed in only a few seconds of time. Hana leaned back against the wall of the building in the alley. 7753 and Mana got up and clung to her, the two of them crying. The heat burning in her chest gradually faded. Cold spread through her whole body, infecting her thoughts, and her mind went hazy, too. They had failed to corner Pukin. But if Mana and 7753 were safe, then she'd managed to fulfill her role as their guard, at least, and with this she was mildly satisfied as her consciousness faded.
[ POV: Toko; Time remaining: ten hours, thirteen minutes ] If Archfiend Pam would just die, there would no longer be any magical girls here capable of beating Rain Pow. Even if the middle school group were to all get together, Rain Pow would still be able to defeat them easily—and none of the others would get together in the first place. After coming to this conclusion, Toko corrected herself. That wasn't quite true. Archfiend Pam had not been beyond Rain Pow's ability to deal with. Rain Pow had managed her by cutting into the battle between Pam and the unknown magical girls, and as a result, Rain Pow had killed Archfiend Pam. She'd totally gotten back at her for all those slaps. "Dealing with" someone didn't always mean doing it through direct force. Rain Pow had tricked Pam by making her think she was just a harmless middle school kid, purely a victim, an innocent new magical girl. Even Archfiend Pam, with her long career, immense combat experience, and wealth of magical-girl knowledge, could be deceived. That was the magical girl Toko had raised: She would betray and deceive, and she would trust nobody. Toko trusted Rain Pow, but even she didn't know if Rain Pow trusted her. The magical girl before them...was Pythie Frederica. Why was this scoundrel who was supposed to have been in jail right here? Rain Pow would get her. "Now finish her, Rain Pow!" "Got it." Toko dived into Rain Pow's shirt. It was warm here and the easiest place to be. Rain Pow extended her rainbows toward Frederica, all of which were equally sturdy, regardless of size. They were hard enough for magical girls to run on and sharp as razors—and Rain Pow was capable of deploying far more than just one or two at a time. Frederica slipped under the first rainbow and sidestepped the second. She charged forward, empty-handed. Frederica dodged rainbow after rainbow. The third rainbow, she mounted and leaped off, and the fourth, she repelled with her right hand without noticing it was a feint. The fifth rainbow appeared in the shadow of the fourth, aiming right between her eyes. But the moment before it could connect, a shuriken came flying, repelling it. The rainbow's trajectory changed, instead just skimming Frederica's forehead. "Hmm?" A shuriken? Whose? It hadn't been Frederica's. There was a ninja—a ninja whose left eye was crushed, her left arm missing—standing atop the guardrail, red scarf fluttering. You've gotta be kidding me, thought Toko.
[ POV: Ripple; Time remaining: ten hours, twelve minutes ] Ripple immediately regretted throwing that shuriken. She'd ended up saving someone whom she'd rather see dead. Ripple believed there were some people the world would be better off without. Some might say there was no justification for killing, no matter who it was, and that even criminals should be judged in a court of law rather than killed, but once that criminal escaped and killed some more, that shot those arguments down, didn't it? If saving this one person resulted in the one she'd saved killing ten or twenty, then saving her wasn't worth it. Ripple had raced here with the intent to back up Archfiend Pam, but now that she'd arrived, she didn't see her. There was a perfectly circular hole in the center of the road that looked like it had been carved out by some sort of machine, and at its edge was Pythie Frederica, a human collapsed in a puddle of blood, a small, trembling postal delivery–style magical girl, another girl with a rainbow on her back, and a little fairy. There was also a crushed compact car and a foreign car run up on the shoulder of the road. The former was familiar to Ripple. It was the one they'd used earlier to lead the enemy away from them. It seemed Frederica and the rainbow magical girl were fighting. Whose side had that dead girl been on? The hole was deep, and Ripple couldn't see the bottom. If Archfiend Pam was around, she had to be down there. She'd met the girl with a rainbow on her back last night. But she seemed completely different now. She smiled just like the fairy popping out of her shirt did, and under her cuteness lay something dreadful and repulsive. She looked at Ripple not with the eyes of a girl in flight but with the eyes of a girl coming to capture and devour. The cowboy-style magical girl who had worn a tilted ten-gallon hat rose in her mind, and Ripple's mental evaluation of this girl changed from "someone who seems antagonistic" to "definitely an enemy." Ripple tossed a kunai to repel the rainbow that arced toward her. That girl was using her rainbows differently today, too—not as a running surface but as weapons. The strength she'd used as a foothold before now became the hardness of the weapons that extended toward Ripple. The rainbows moved in a linear fashion. The flip side of their strength was simplicity. Ripple read them and dodged them easily. She sank her mind a level deeper into the space between herself and her enemy. Her concentration heightened. The sounds of sirens in the distance, approaching them, quieted. All other thoughts, like about how she'd saved Frederica, disappeared. She focused all her five senses on the fight, and now, there was nothing else.
[ POV: Rain Pow; Time remaining: ten hours, ten minutes ] Kaori Ninotsugi was good at hiding her true feelings. If not, she probably wouldn't have survived her mere thirteen years. Kaori lived together with her sister, who was significantly older than her. Her sister said their parents had died in an accident, but Kaori didn't know if that was true or not. She didn't even know if her sister was actually related to her in the first place. She called herself Kaori's sister, and the people in the neighborhood, who had known her for a long time, acknowledged her as the oldest girl of the Ninotsugi family, but despite this, Kaori didn't feel they were related. The story went that after their parents' accident, her noble sister had been forced to drop out of college and work herself to the bone in order to take care of her little sister. Kaori, however, just couldn't accept that as the truth. Maybe she'd dropped out of college because it didn't suit her or because she didn't have enough credits. Maybe their parents' death had been planned. Maybe she'd taken in Kaori because she wanted a toy she could treat however she liked. Kaori couldn't help but think these things. Her sister put up a good front, but inside the home, she was a tyrant. If anything displeased her, she would take it out on Kaori. If something unpleasant happened at work, she would take it out on Kaori, and even if nothing in particular was wrong, she would find fault with Kaori. Her outer demeanor meant she didn't let anything leak out. She never did anything that would show on her face. She would stab Kaori with sewing needles, since they were small enough that they wouldn't leave a mark, make her take cold baths in the middle of winter, pull her hair, smother her with pillows and not release her until she'd just about suffocated, persistently torment her in a quiet voice, grab her tongue with pliers and tug at it, withhold meals, or beat her just gently enough that it wouldn't leave visible bruises. This sort of thing went on two or three times a week, and when it was bad, every day. It all depended on her sister's mood. She had to put her sister in a good mood. If anything annoyed her, it would all come back at Kaori. So she couldn't fall behind in her studies. She couldn't be bullied. She had to get through school without a hitch, but she couldn't be too exceptional, either. Her sister was very jealous and didn't like it if Kaori was too highly esteemed. When Kaori won special selection at an art competition, her sister ripped up the certificate and rewarded her with a fist, telling her not to get too full of herself, ordering her to pretend she'd lost the certificate. The only certificates Kaori was allowed to have were "no cavities" and "perfect attendance." With everything else, she would be barely safe at third or fifth place, but depending on her sister's mood, even that was out. Acclaim was a threat to her sister, so it was best not to accept any. Kaori hid what she felt inside and made sure no one knew the truth. It was no simple feat to evade her deeply suspicious and observant sister's gaze, but she acquired this skill in hiding who she was in order to survive. Never making it too blatant, she would placate her sister, avoiding standing out in school while simultaneously maintaining a status there where she would not be tyrannized—and it was no exaggeration to call her position at school a "status." She'd made an effort to win it—and in the position she'd won, she cleaved to the majority, showing few faults but also few virtues, taking care not to look like she was just following the crowd or doing whatever it took to get ahead. She spoke in a muted tone when greeting her neighbors. Her sister wanted to be the competent elder sister and for Kaori to be the somewhat lacking younger one. Kaori's efforts continued into the second semester of her fifth year of elementary school—and ended there. "You have magical talent. I'm gonna make you into a real magical girl!" The fairy Toko made Kaori into the magical girl Rain Pow. Before long, a chance "accident" caused her sister to fall down the stairs and twist her ankle, and she missed three days of work. Following that, she never touched Kaori again. She didn't even talk to Kaori at home. She always looked at her little sister with terror in her eyes, and every time Kaori felt that frightened gaze on her, she basked in joy. Kaori was free. She bought the clothing she wanted, bought video game consoles, bought accessories with real gemstones, and went to a private middle school, and there was no one who would attack her for it anymore. Toko said Kaori could become her ideal magical girl. "Sly, dirty, mean, unfair, and calculated. That's the magical girl I've always wanted." "That doesn't sound like a compliment. You're totally dissing me, aren't you? Like, are you trying to start a fight with me?" "That's a compliment, for real! I'm saying I've got mad respect for you!" Sly, dirty, mean, unfair, and calculated. Those are all words that fit Toko, she thought. Toko was two-faced—in fact, she could easily pull three or four faces. She made sloppy reports to the Magical Kingdom with nothing but praise for the magical girls she scouted and lived a life in service of her own benefit. Unsurprisingly, she had a terrible reputation. After doing job after job for Toko, Kaori came to realize something. She was smiling and joking around naturally. Was this what having fun felt like? Toko lied to everyone. The one exception was Kaori—Rain Pow. She revealed everything to her, be it her fraudulent modus operandi or the foul way she conducted herself. Toko seemed to enjoy herself, and Kaori was enjoying herself, too. Just conning people on its own wouldn't be this fun. It was having someone with you to enjoy it that made it great. Toko's ideal magical girl was someone similar to herself, maybe because that was the sort of partner Toko wanted. Toko's training made Rain Pow stronger. Through many scams and battles and much practice, she polished her skills and cultivated her strategic intuition. Archfiend Pam had conveniently finished off the magical girl who had been fighting one-on-one with her, and Rain Pow had killed Archfiend Pam. She'd also killed the girl who'd been spraying music notes from outside the hole, and Frederica would follow her soon enough. Her one mistake had been letting the fencer escape, but if her weapon was a sword, she wouldn't be someone Rain Pow couldn't fight due to poor compatibility. That fencer could swing her sword all she wanted, but Rain Pow would do fine just shooting rainbows at her from a distance. And everyone left were either allies, or wounded, or enemies who weren't a threat. She would kill this ninja first. She was one of those cooperating with the inspection team—Ripple, huh? Rain Pow pointed five rainbows at the ninja, extending them in straight lines, then manifested three more behind her and four more above.
[ POV: Weddin; Time remaining: ten hours, nine minutes ] She ran from alley to alley, fleeing. She didn't know what had happened in that hole or why Pukin had undone her magic—she just kept on running. The haze that had clouded her mind had cleared even more suddenly than it had appeared. Violence never seeks permission to begin or end. Though she'd been in a vaguely dazed state of mind, as if her mind were filled with fog, she could remember everything clearly. She'd waited upon Pukin—revered her, never questioning it, feeling it was an honor to be by her side. She'd been proud of it. Now that the magic was undone, she couldn't understand English anymore, but she still remembered what she'd seen and heard in Japanese. The memories were very bitter. She'd never tried to stop that group from killing, and whenever Pukin's sword had stabbed someone's chest, she'd trembled with the joy of serving someone so great. It was nauseating. If she weren't a magical girl, she would have puked right there. Weddin was self-interested and calculated and was satisfied as long as she had something to gain in the end, and she liked that she operated based on such ideas. Even when she'd become a magical girl, an ally of justice, she'd figured she could use her magic for her own purposes. She'd thought that it was no big deal, as long as she didn't get found out. You obeyed the law because people in power made you obey it. If there was no overwhelmingly powerful figure to punish you—if you were an overwhelmingly powerful figure yourself—then you stood outside the law, and you could live more comfortably. Looking back on those thoughts now, she knew she'd just been putting on a tough act. Being thrown in among those who actually did crush the weak, for the first time, Weddin had come to know her own ethics. Even this cynical middle school student did in fact hold justice in her heart. She never wanted to experience something like that, ever again. Once the spell was undone, Weddin's immediate priority was to protect herself, so she quickly escaped to an alleyway. Her sense that she had to meet up with some others intensified. Spending time with Pukin's party had earned her a lot of information. Their party had infiltrated the city in order to capture an assassin. There was also a legitimate inspection team aside from Pukin's group, and they were chasing after the assassin, too. And the assassin's cooperator was the fairy, Toko. That meant that Toko had been using them all. The assassin was either one of their own or it was someone else. Pukin and her allies had come to the conclusion that it wasn't Funny Trick. They'd also said Captain Grace was dead. Weddin clenched her fists. Her nails dug into her palms, but she kept squeezing, hard. In her mind, Weddin had looked down on Umi Shibahara, famous at school for being a problem child. Even after they'd become magical girls, they'd clashed more than once. They'd competed over the vote to be leader. Weddin had been averse to Grace, and Grace probably hadn't felt very positively about her, either. But thinking about Grace now filled her with frustration and regret. Grace had been the strongest of all their allies. Weddin had made light of her, seeing her as ultimately just a muscle-brain and not leader material, but she now felt like, in the end, she had relied on Grace. It had been the same back when Bunny Ears had been chasing them. Captain Grace had been the one to come save Weddin and Tepsekemei, who had just kept running. Oh. Bunny Ears. And the ninja. They were the official inspection team Pukin's group had talked about, weren't they? They had been different from Pukin's crowd. And there was Archfiend Pam, too. She'd saved Bunny Ears, who'd been beaten to a pulp. So those two had to be allies. From the way the ninja had pinned her down using her kunai, Weddin could tell she hadn't meant to kill. And Bunny Ears had tied her up, too, and Weddin had never feared for her life. They were different from Pukin's group. Their side was different from those who killed for their own benefit, enjoying it and smiling over it all the while. She would be able to cooperate with them. She should not only be meeting up with her allies. There might be other people on that inspection team, aside from Archfiend Pam, Bunny Ears, and the ninja. If she were to cooperate with people like that—Weddin thought as she ran, and nearly got hit by a car. Startled, she dodged it and darted back into the alley. She was breathing a sigh of relief when she raised her head and her eyes met with someone else's. It was a magical girl wearing a stage magician–style costume. She must have been following Weddin, because when Weddin suddenly turned around, they were face-to-face. "Funny Trick?" Weddin called out to her questioningly without a second thought, but Funny Trick spun around and tried to run away. Panicking, Weddin called out to stop her. "Funny Trick! Wait!" Funny Trick stopped suddenly, right on the spot. Her knees were shaking. Was she perhaps trying to run but couldn't? Now Weddin knew her magical ability to compel people to keep promises was still active. The promise they'd all made before to obey their leader's orders when the time came was keeping Funny Trick from moving. "That magical girl Pukin had me under her control. Either she's dead, or she cast her magic on someone else. Either way, I don't know, but I'm no longer under her spell. You don't have to worry. Also, um, I was personally unwilling about it all, though that does rather sound like I'm making excuses. I'm sorry I didn't save you." She bowed her head. She spent several seconds staring at a weed growing from a crack in the concrete, then lifted her head again. Funny Trick was still facing the opposite direction, but her knees weren't shaking anymore. "I know this is all quite sudden, but I'd like to ask you a question. Please tell me the truth. Are you the assassin Pukin's party is chasing?" Funny Trick's head moved. She shook it. Weddin had ordered her to tell the truth, so this meant Funny Trick wasn't the assassin. She turned around, and Weddin held her breath. Tears were pouring from her eyes, running down her cheeks to drip off her chin. Taking one firm step after another, Weddin approached her, spread both arms, and wrapped her in a tight hug. Weddin heard a tiny sob—Funny Trick was crying, too. The two of them continued to sob as they embraced each other. "It's not going to end like this... I won't let it end like this," Weddin declared—to herself as much as the other girl.
[ POV: Rain Pow; Time remaining: ten hours, seven minutes ] She was at a loss as to how to continue. This really wasn't good. Ripple had dodged the rainbows that came at her from behind with a leap and kicked the ones that appeared from the ground before smacking away with her sword the ones that shot out from above. Meanwhile, Rain Pow kept handling incoming kunai and shuriken with her rainbows. Countless rainbows and shuriken crisscrossed every which way—so many that they buried the space between them, knocking into one another. The two magical girls maintained a fixed distance from each other as they continued the two-way barrage, either preventing the other from approaching. Rain Pow had fought this ninja once before, during the attack on the apartment. Rain Pow had been fleeing atop her rainbow and burdened with Postarie, too. Back then, the ninja had thrown plenty of kunai at her and she'd kicked them all down, but now, the throwing weapons were coming much harder and faster. Before, Ripple must have just seen Rain Pow as a middle school kid who had been deceived by Toko, but now, she was a dangerous criminal. She wasn't at all humiliated that Ripple had held back with her. She was angry at herself for being so naive as to assume that was the enemy's full strength. Her opponent was handicapped. She was missing an arm and an eye. Rain Pow had seen her not as a victor but as a survivor. She beat down the kunai that flew at her with her rainbows, which couldn't be chipped. Their strength was absolute. Their stability, however, was proportionate to the size of the rainbow. Smaller rainbows would waver just by being hit by kunai, but the larger ones she used to defend herself would block her field of vision, so she had no choice but to use multiple thinner ones. And since Ripple's kunai flew along extremely irregular trajectories, Rain Pow couldn't block them all just by placing static shields. She had to generate a continuous stream of multiple rainbows and always be moving them around. The two of them ran around the giant hole that Archfiend Pam had created, firing rainbows, throwing kunai, always in motion and never stopping, going so fast it was hard to breathe, never mind getting any time to rest. Some forms of magical-girl weapons were unlimited: bows that would always have more arrows in the quiver, no matter how many you fired; sunflower seeds that never disappeared, no matter how many you ate; or throwing knives that were never exhausted, no matter how many you threw. Ripple's shuriken and kunai had to be like that. Although she kept throwing more and more of them, there was no sense at all that she would run out. The trajectories of her shuriken and kunai were infinite in variation, too, and all Rain Pow could do was block them manually. Rain Pow's rainbows did not manifest suddenly in their completed form, so in order to use them to attack or defend, they had to be stretched out. That caused a delay. Her rainbows could only extend in a mostly straight line or at most a gentle curve, but they couldn't make sharp curves or turn at a right angle, all of which made their movements easy to read. They emitted no heat or sound, and that lack of a giveaway was their strength, making them the best weapon for assassination, but it was harder to make good use of them when fighting head-to-head. Rain Pow was gradually being pushed back, and Ripple's movements grew fiercer. Rain Pow had assumed Ripple's left side would be a blind spot, but when Ripple dodged attacks from that side just the same as she had from the right, that assumption was torn apart. Ripple flawlessly compensated for her blind spots with her speed. The way her vision caught sight of everything around her was phenomenal. Her left arm was missing, which basically meant that she had only one or two ways of guarding, maybe even fewer. She was compensating for it by using shuriken thrown from her right hand. Right when a rainbow aiming for her left side manifested, she would throw a shuriken at it to slow its generation. Ripple had clearly been dealing with this handicap for many years and had devised a way of fighting based around her capabilities. The road was being buried in shuriken and kunai. At this rate, Rain Pow would be outpushed. The number of her rainbows was unlimited, but the brain that controlled them only had finite capacity. Ripple's shuriken put her on the defensive, forcing her to let up on offense. Doing this gradually drove her into a vicious cycle where even more shuriken came flying at her. She couldn't run. Rain Pow was willing to sell her stubbornness or pride at half price, but she wanted to avoid flight, since she could well be chased down into a constricted space like a residential or urban area. The easiest place for her to use her rainbows was an open space. It was better to fight here than to be pursued by homing shuriken in a more complex environment. Toko stirred, and Rain Pow gently pushed her down from over her clothing. It was okay. She still had options. If Ripple was a good magical girl, then Rain Pow would still have a card to play. Rain Pow would drag someone in—it didn't matter who. It could be an ambulance, or a police car, or some rubberneckers coming to see what was going on. If some normal person came strolling along, Rain Pow would attack them. If that upset Ripple's assault, then Rain Pow would have this. She could also push someone into the hole. Ripple would have to jump into the hole in order to save the good citizen, and Rain Pow would be free to use that moment to attack or flee—whatever she wanted. Toko stirred again. "Rain Pow, this is strange. It's been quite some time, but there are no police cars or ambulances coming." Rain Pow had assumed the fight had thrown off her sense of time, when in fact, it seemed time had indeed passed. Quite a lot of it, actually, even since she'd first thought someone should be coming soon. Rain Pow realized that Pythie Frederica was gone. She'd figured Frederica didn't matter. It had seemed she wasn't going to use her magic, and she wasn't on Ripple's side, either, so she'd let her be. But would she have just run and left it at that? Crooked recognized crooked. Someone had figured Ripple would hold back if regular civilians arrived, and so this person was getting in their way, making sure police, ambulances, and civilians would not come. That someone was the crooked type who didn't mind killing people as long as it would get in Rain Pow's way. They would probably do anything to slow her down. Rain Pow realized her mistake. She should have finished off Frederica immediately. Unlike Ripple, she'd had no way to deal with so many rainbows flying at her simultaneously, from all directions. Rain Pow should have dealt with her quickly to prepare for a one-on-one fight with Ripple. She had been arrogant. After Sonia died, Rain Pow had killed Pam and badly wounded Pukin. She'd become drunk on her own strength. She'd not taken Ripple seriously, and she'd taken the ability she'd seen when they'd fought at the apartment at face value. Now she could accept it: Ripple was a notch above Rain Pow. She was another who, like Archfiend Pam and Sonia, Rain Pow would have to set up, perfectly and properly, before finishing her off. Ripple flew through the air. —No, that wasn't right. It was her kunai. She'd changed the trajectory of her kunai so they flew like boomerangs, throwing them to return to her and then hopping atop the kunai as they came back to move through the air in order to dodge rainbows. What sort of training did you have to do to be able to pull something like that? Toko had said Rain Pow could become her ideal magical girl—not that she was currently her ideal magical girl. In other words, it still wasn't enough. Rain Pow manifested a rainbow shield, but the shuriken traced a V-shaped trajectory to avoid it. Instantly, Rain Pow shot a rainbow from her other palm to smack them down. All the while, her feet were constantly in motion as she ran atop another rainbow. Suddenly, she saw something creeping along the ground in the corner of her eye, and while running, she gave it a glance. It was Postarie. She wasn't trying to run away. She was moving around the hole, crawling like a worm to avoid the shuriken and rainbows that crisscrossed over her head. Rain Pow had assumed that even if she could use Postarie as a hostage against the middle school group, she couldn't do that with Ripple, so she'd just left Postarie alone. What was she trying to do? Postarie was streaming tears as she wailed out loud, crawling along pathetically with a huge pile of shuriken and kunai in her arms. Ripple gave her a puzzled look. At that moment, every one of the shuriken and kunai that Postarie held grew wings. Ripple had seen this magic more than once. She must have realized what Postarie was trying to do. Ripple threw three shuriken and five kunai all at once in Postarie's direction, but her bewilderment made her throw weak. Her tools were repelled by rainbows and never reached their target. The winged kunai and shuriken flew for their owner all at once. Holding her ninja sword in her mouth, Ripple grabbed and threw shuriken with her right hand, and even tried to throw her geta in an attempt to intercept them, but there were just too many shuriken and kunai flying back in her direction. Those winged shuriken and kunai, which wove through the ninja's net of interception, pierced her cheeks, jaw, shoulders, sides, and chest, one after another. One stuck in her throat, making her stagger wildly. She was no longer able to intercept or avoid any more attacks; her whole body was decorated like a pincushion. Finally, her transformation evaporated, and she turned back into a girl in a coat, falling into the pit.
[ POV: 7753; Time remaining: nine hours, fifteen minutes ] Mana restarted the healing magic ritual they'd been in the middle of. However, it didn't succeed. The hand in 7753's grasp gradually grew cold. She squeezed it, rubbed it, and called out to the girl, but the warmth did not return. 7753 tried looking through her goggles, to see if she could find some kind of hint, but couldn't bear to see every number value falling before her eyes and turned them off. Hana was too badly wounded, had lost too much blood. No longer able to withstand it, she returned to human form and quietly passed away. 7753 sobbed, still holding Hana's hand. Hana had been wounded, but in spite of that, she'd gotten to her feet. Judging that 7753 and Mana wouldn't be able to escape, she'd resisted as best she could and focused the enemy's attack on herself. If not for her, both 7753 and Mana would've been killed. The instructions from 7753's boss had backfired. Who could have predicted that the place they'd carried her to where they could safely heal her would be somewhere Pukin would coincidentally come by? It was too cruel. In death, Hana's face was peaceful. She had to be in her early teens. There was a calmness to her, even as a magical girl. She'd supported them all in various ways, going through all the members of the inspection team—soothing the emotional Mana and showing consideration to 7753 and Ripple, the outside help who'd come butting in. 7753 wiped her tears with her sleeve. She wasn't in the sort of position where she would be allowed to just sit there and cry. Mana would obviously be grieving more than 7753, who had only just met Hana the day before. Mana had cried and gotten emotional simply over losing contact with Hana. So now, 7753 had to support her. 7753 turned back to Mana, ready to try to soothe her, even a little, and she wouldn't even mind getting punched if that was what it came to—and discovered Mana was suddenly in her underwear. Her long, faint-pink camisole was bare of ornaments aside from a small ribbon. It was wholesome and cute, and it made the bizarre image of a girl undressing in a back alley stand out all the more particularly. 7753 reached out a hand, about to ask just what she was doing, and stopped. Mana's face was serious. She wasn't grumpy. She wasn't angry. She wasn't even grieving. Her expression said she was thinking seriously about what she was about to accomplish. From her bag, Mana pulled out her magical school uniform and black cape, silently fastening the buttons and hooks, then put on the large three-cornered hat, and finally took up the twisted staff. 7753 watched without a word until Mana was done getting changed. 7753 was spellbound. It was so natural for a mage to be putting on a mage's costume, but this felt truly right. The phrase "dressed to kill" popped into her mind, and then she realized that in this case, that may have literally been the goal, and her voice shook. "U-um... Mana... Where are you—?" "I'm gonna kill her." 7753 didn't need to ask who. She just spread her arms and stood in front of Mana. "Didn't you see how good she was? Even with my help, we'd just get killed regardless." "Move." Mana's eyes were glassy. The inspection team chief who'd said she wouldn't let them kill the criminal, that they would ensure she was judged under the law, was gone. All that stood there was a girl who meant to get revenge for her friend through vigilantism. Mana pointed her staff at 7753 and, overwhelmed, 7753 staggered back. Mana was muttering something under her breath. Her free left hand was forming a series of complicated sigils. Was she going to remove what stood in her way by force? 7753 placed her trembling right hand on the end of the staff and gently moved the tip away from her. Her hand wasn't the only thing trembling. Her voice was, too. But she had to say this. "Why do you think Hana volunteered for this job?" Mana was more stubborn than rock, and 7753 had assumed she wouldn't listen to a word she said, but now, she gulped. That interrupted her spell, and 7753 blew a rather deep sigh. "How did you know about that?" "Hana told me, when you went to go shopping at the convenience store." This was a lie. Hana hadn't said anything like that. This information was all brought from her boss and displayed in her goggles. Hana had not originally been assigned to this job. When she'd found out that Mana, who had only three inspections' worth of experience, would be in charge, she had volunteered. Mana's father had been the examiner who oversaw Hana's magical-girl exam, and she'd had a connection with their family ever since becoming a magical girl. It was also Mana's father who had given Hana her magical-girl name, Hana Gekokujou. So he was like a godfather to her. 7753 could see it, somehow. They must have been like sisters. The elder went to help, unable to abandon her inexperienced younger sister, who was irritated but, privately, also glad. From how he had given her the name Hana, a name so similar to Mana's, 7753 could tell how Mana's father had seen Hana. "If you try to kill her, you'll be the one who ends up dead. You can't win." "So I can't win. So what?" "If you can't win, then you're dying for nothing. It would make Hana's...sacrifice meaningless. She tried to protect you. That was why she volunteered for this, wasn't it?" Mana opened her mouth and started to say something but then closed it again without a word. She scrunched her big triangle hat in her fist, then threw it on the ground. She cast her gaze downward, shoulders trembling. 7753 was taking advantage of Mana's feelings for Hana. But she just had to convince her. She honestly didn't want Mana to die. Hana had tried to keep Mana alive. 7753 wanted to make sure that, at the very least, her attempt didn't go to waste. 7753 was about to continue when she saw a message displayed in her goggles, and the words died in her mouth. Archfiend Pam is deceased. An impact ran from her head to her toes, as if she'd been beaten with a hammer. Her knees felt ready to crumple, but she stiffened them and endured it, somehow. Her death was confirmed by a recording device installed on her person by the Department of Diplomacy. Trends within the department are leaning to treating this as a level-one magical crime. I've also heard tell that there is a proposal to deploy a weapon of mass destruction once the barrier falls in order to bring the situation under control. A weapon of mass destruction. If they were to use something like that, it wouldn't just be the magical girls in the city—even normal citizens would be indiscriminately slaughtered. Was something like that even allowed? They were counting on Archfiend Pam, and now that she's dead, the Department of Diplomacy is running off the rails. They're bound to act recklessly and in desperation. I want you to do whatever it takes to resolve the incident before the barrier falls. If you can just subdue the assassin and the prisoners, then the department will be unable to see their plan through. If you don't have enough combatants with you right now— Combatants... Oh, that's right. Ripple. She had gone to save Archfiend Pam. If Archfiend Pam was dead, then what had happened to Ripple? If Ripple was in danger, 7753 wanted to save her. But just how much help would she and Mana be? 7753's thoughts were swimming. She didn't know what she should do or think. She was just obeying the instructions displayed in her goggles. "Just the two of us alone can't win. It'd be impossible for us to catch the assassin or defeat Frederica's party. We should propose a united front with the middle school group Toko tricked...with Kuru-Kuru Hime and the others."
[ POV: Kuru-Kuru Hime; Time remaining: nine hours, forty-five minutes ] Since she couldn't call for an ambulance and had no way of resuscitating him, Nozomi did nothing. She just sat in front of her father. She could tell by looking that either choice would be pointless anyway. Her father's head had been severed from his body. He was in his pajamas, his body collapsed right outside the bedroom, facing the front door. Maybe he'd noticed a noise and had gone to see what was up, figuring Nozomi must have come home. He had been taciturn and unsociable, and Nozomi had never really known what he was thinking, even though she was his daughter. He'd never proactively tried to communicate. Whenever Nozomi spoke to him, he would give the minimum necessary response. He'd been curt in everything. Even when they had gone on outings together to tourist spots or amusement parks or other places to spend "family time," her father had never particularly seemed as if he were enjoying himself, dispassionate at all times. When Nozomi and her mother waved at him from the merry-go-round, he would turn to look but nothing more. By contrast, her mother had been a lively person. She was the one who'd encouraged Nozomi when she had shown no indication of growing, despite being the age she was. Her mother was the one who had watched TV with her and laughed together with her. Her mother had been close with their neighbors and had worked on the neighborhood association, since apparently nobody else wanted to do it. When Nozomi came home from school, it was commonplace for a neighbor to be in the living room, chatting with her mother. Her father never brought over anyone from work. As their daughter, Nozomi couldn't have helped but be concerned about whether her parents were getting along, as a couple. How had they ended up married? At the very least, she thought it couldn't have been an arranged marriage. Or had either of them—or both of them—been faking it up until they'd said their vows? It wasn't like they had any big fights, but they didn't seem like passionate lovebirds, either. The two of them had led very normal lives with no great mishaps, until eventually her mother became bedridden with illness. That was when, finally, Nozomi discovered that her father did love her mother, and she was able to reaffirm that she loved her parents, too. It was ironic that she only found that out once her mother was so sick. She'd assumed that next, it would be time to take care of her father. But now, that time would never come. The blood soaking her knees was already cold. The light flowing in through the window told her that night was turning to dawn. Kuru-Kuru Hime forgot Pythie Frederica might be after her and just sat there in front of her father, not keeping an eye out for a hand that might suddenly appear from behind. Just how much time had passed? Her smartphone, which she'd wrapped in her ribbons, rang. She answered out of habit. "This is 7753. Kuru-Kuru Hime, is that you? Are you all right?" "My father was...murdered." On the other end, 7753 was shocked silent. Saying it out loud finalized it, and now Kuru-Kuru Hime was struck by the feeling that she couldn't put things back the way they had been. She closed her eyes. She didn't want to look at anything. "I'm sorry..." 7753 seemed to be forcing the words out. Kuru-Kuru Hime squeezed her eyes shut even harder. Everything about this had been awful. Not a single good thing. It would be so easy if I could close my ears as well as my eyes, she thought. "Has Frederica attacked since then?" Kuru-Kuru Hime shook her head, then realized 7753 wouldn't be able to see that and replied, "No."
[ POV: Pythie Frederica; Time remaining: nine hours, thirty-five minutes ] Frederica was the most trustworthy ally as far as she was concerned. She was servant, master, comrade, and friend. Frederica always worked in service of her own desires, and she understood herself best. Frederica understood herself and commanded her. In her search for the ideal magical girl, the first one to catch her eye had been Frederica herself, the closest magical girl at hand. Through continuous research, Frederica had sucked herself dry and had quickly bored of her. Frederica had given up on Frederica. Although she'd always viewed herself through a dispassionate, objective eye, she could not become the ideal magical girl in her own mind. That led her to seek out her ideal image of a magical girl in someone else. Sonia had been killed, Archfiend Pam murdered; Pukin had fled; Ripple had been stabbed a hundred times over and fallen into the pit; and Rain Pow and Postarie, who had survived, had also fled, leaving just Frederica, who finally emerged from hiding. She searched all over, checking to see if her crystal ball had been dropped somewhere, but it was nowhere to be found. She even searched Tot Pop, but all she noticed that was different about her was that her magical phone had been equipped with a camera. She must have been using that to continuously provide images to her financial backers. Nothing else here seemed useful, so in the end, Frederica departed the battlefield. But even in dire straits and fleeing a battlefield—a rare experience for her—Frederica's cheeks were flushed and her heart was pounding. Her excitement laid bare, she jumped from the roof of the hospital. As Frederica ran along the tiled roofs of private residences, she was racked with excitement. Maybe this could be a revival of her plans of happiness, once abandoned, believing that was not to be for her. The emotions she'd felt when facing off against that rainbow magical girl had opened new possibilities to her. She'd been unable to control herself, neither fleeing nor deceiving but attempting to fight, even without her crystal ball! Lost in the anger! That had never happened to her before. Enraged over her student's death as she faced a powerful opponent... That was just like a good magical girl. The anger she'd felt over Tot Pop's death was already gone, now transformed into joy. She had thought of this job only as a springboard to freedom, but it could become a major turning point. This job might change Frederica. She had to get out of this alive, no matter what. First, she would retrieve her crystal ball. Without it, she was essentially helpless. She couldn't perform any reconnaissance, orchestrate any kidnappings, get backup from the outside, and most of all, escape this town. Funny Trick had to be the thief. Frederica could retrieve her crystal ball by negotiation or theft, as long as she got it back. Frederica descended from a tiled roof to a parking lot, ran up the wall of the apartment they'd used as their base, and clambered up to the veranda of one of its rooms. Curtains covered the window. It should be open, since she hadn't locked it when they'd left before. She reached out to it, then stopped. She retreated by half a heel, then pushed aside a planter overgrown with weeds. "Are you well, Your Excellency?" she called through the curtains. After a full thirty-second pause, there was a reply. "Why did you hold back?" "Hold back? Whatever are you talking about?" "You didn't use your crystal ball against Archfiend Pam. Why not?" Frederica could sense her anger through the window glass and curtains. The room was filled with a murderous air. She was aware of the tendencies of Pukin's character. No matter how she herself might fail, she would find some external source of blame. And on this occasion, Frederica was not in the position to make much of an excuse. If she were honest and revealed that her crystal ball had been stolen, Pukin would attack her for not having mentioned it before, and that would also inform Pukin that they could no longer escape the city. Would Pukin forgive that now? Most likely not. And since Tot Pop and Sonia were dead, Frederica no longer had anyone to take her side. If Frederica were to say she'd chosen not to use her crystal ball, that would be an acknowledgment of her sabotage. That would give Pukin no reason at all to forgive her. Frederica had anticipated either comforting Pukin over Sonia, or swearing revenge, as fellows who'd both had their partners killed, or reworking their strategy, taking their diminished numbers into account. But Frederica's supposition that she would choose how to start this conversation based on how things looked in the moment had been naive. If Pukin was beginning by questioning why Frederica hadn't used her crystal ball, that essentially meant Pukin was not going to forgive her. Was Pukin angry over having lost Sonia? No. She was angry at herself for having run away. It had been the best option at the time, yet in spite of that, it was incompatible with Pukin's pride. She was angry at her own choice and looking for a lamb to be her sacrifice—a lamb that could be used for her excuse, to say, "It's her fault." Frederica cleared her throat. "There was a reason for that," she said, then instantly jumped backward over the railing of the veranda and down, as simultaneously, the glass of the window was shattered. On the other side of the tattered curtain was that handsome face—though her nose was horribly crushed—Pukin, twisted in rage. Frederica's calculations had been correct. Pukin's position in the room, her distance from Frederica, the speed of her thrust, the timing: Frederica had read every single element, and she evaded the attack. Pukin's lust for blood was laid bare, and her motions were rougher than when she'd beheaded those two gas-masked girls in the prison. The additional force and speed behind her thrust made it just that much easier to read where she was going. Faster than Pukin could lean out from the veranda and look over it, Frederica slipped down onto a different balcony, two floors below. From here on out, she was on her own. At this point, even that seemed fun.
[ POV: Weddin; Time remaining: nine hours, three minutes ] "Please calm down and listen to me. First, take some deep breaths," Weddin ordered, forcing Funny Trick to inhale and exhale deeply. Funny Trick's eyes focused properly again, and the color returned to her cheeks. Her voice regained some feeling as well. This promise, which she'd bullied them into making with the impure motive of possibly using them once the evil mages were driven back, was turning out to be useful. But the only one who could calm Weddin's heart was Weddin herself. Thinking, considering, and guiding was her role as leader. It was nothing like being the class representative. This role was heavy and painful, and she would've thrown it away if she could. If she'd have discarded it ten hours ago, then Captain Grace would gladly have become the leader. But Captain Grace was gone now. Weddin couldn't get rid of her responsibility. Weddin took the lead, running toward the mountain, and once they were in a thicket at the mountain's foot, she slowed down. She tied her bouquet to the end of a tree branch about as thick as a human arm and thrust it out ahead of them as she walked. After about fifty-odd yards of walking, the bouquet bumped up against empty space. This was the barrier. Tepsekemei had said she'd touched it, too. To test it, Weddin picked up a rock and tried tossing it underhand. It rolled without any particular resistance beyond the copse of cedar trees. The barrier blocked anything magical—in this case, the bouquet, which was a part of Weddin's costume. Funny Trick pulled out the plastic bag she'd brought. It wasn't one of the municipal garbage bags, the see-through kind, but an opaque white plastic bag with a supermarket logo on it. Inside was just an empty can, and the bag was firmly tied shut. Funny Trick threw the bag. Since it had no magical properties, it went through the barrier with no interference to fall atop the dead leaves. Next, Weddin handed over her bouquet. Funny Trick took off her cape to cover up the flowers. Now the bouquet was hidden from view. The empty can had been out of their view in the first place, in the plastic bag. Funny Trick knew its contents and its position. This fulfilled the conditions for her magic's use. When she whipped away her cape, what had been a bouquet was now an empty can. And from what they could see of what was inside the plastic bag, the can had transformed, too. It was the bouquet now. The experiment had been a success. Weddin offered a handshake while Funny Trick held out her hand for a high five, and coming up with mismatched reactions in their hastily constructed partnership, the two of them hugged joyfully instead. Using Funny Trick's magic, they could even get magical things through the barrier. They'd already proven with Postarie that this ability could be used on a magical girl, so now they could escape from the barrier. The joy of we can escape safely! was reduced to the galling realization that they would have to leave Pukin's party behind in order to escape. Funny Trick herself didn't know if they could escape via this method until they tried, and there was still something they were missing. "The question is, how do we get in contact with the others?" "Yeah... The magical phones aren't getting through, are they?" If Weddin were to calculate the profit and loss as she always did, she would get the answer easy enough. As her leader, all Weddin had to do was order Funny Trick to place her outside the barrier with magic. That would guarantee her own safety. She could do it, but she didn't feel like it. Captain Grace was still in her mind, kicking up a big fuss and saying, "We don't need that kinda irresponsible leader! If you're gonna be like that, then let me be leader!" And even as she thought Grace had been such an aggravating person, when the faces of the other magical girls rose in her mind, she just couldn't bring herself to want to escape alone—even though she understood that, considering in terms of what was most beneficial to her, running would unquestionably be the more advantageous choice. She bitterly regretted that they'd never decided on a meetup spot in case of emergencies—though even if they had picked one, that in itself could have been disastrous. If Weddin had spilled that to Pukin, all of them may have been rounded up at once. Captain Grace had been killed. Remaining were Rain Pow, Postarie, Tepsekemei, Kuru-Kuru Hime, and Toko. The whereabouts of Rain Pow and Postarie had been unknown since the attack on the apartment building, and Frederica had said Kuru-Kuru Hime had been captured by Bunny Ears and was now working with the inspection team. Frederica had some of Kuru-Kuru Hime's hair, so she would spy on her or kidnap her as she pleased, which was also concerning. And Funny Trick told Weddin that when Pukin's party had attacked them, Sonia had attacked Tepsekemei, too. "Is she...all right?" "It looked as if she got away..." "Mei is strong." Weddin looked toward the voice, immediately wary. In the corner of her eye, she saw Funny Trick doing the same thing. Theirs was a hastily constructed partnership, but it wasn't as if they couldn't work together smoothly. The Arabian dancer magical girl was there, sitting upside down underneath the thick branch of a cedar tree. "Tepsekemei!" "What?" "Don't what me. Just where have you been? What have you been doing?" "Watching lots of things from the sky." Tepsekemei spun around on the branch, using the pull of gravity to turn right side up. "It's very hard." "Hard...? What's hard?" "Mei doesn't really understand who's an enemy and who's a friend." That much Weddin could agree with.
[ POV: Rain Pow; Time remaining: eight hours, thirty-seven minutes ] She'd sliced up Archfiend Pam and cut down the magical girl whose name she didn't know, but the fencer and Frederica had escaped her. The naïveté of her expectations had led to Ripple cornering her, but with some unexpected help, Ripple had been turned into a pincushion. That unexpected help was now kneeling on the roof of the building where they'd moved to keep out of sight, hanging her head. It wasn't as if Rain Pow had ordered her to sit on her knees. Though night had turned to dawn, even just looking at her kneeling there on a roof in November made Rain Pow feel cold, but the girl had taken up that position of her own volition, so there was no helping it. Looking down at Postarie, Rain Pow quietly asked Toko, "What's she thinking?" "Don't ask me. Ask her." Postarie had saved the very one who'd nastily threatened her, saying, "You're gonna be my hostage later, so I'll let you live for now," and had killed the righteous ninja who had been fighting to save her. Rain Pow couldn't understand it. She couldn't understand the meaning of this, nor could she get a read on what Postarie wanted, and frankly, it was a little scary. "Hey, Tsuko. Why'd you save me?" Postarie glanced up at Rain Pow before immediately looking down again. "...'Cause." "Hmm? What?" "'Cause...we're friends." Postarie said she'd saved Rain Pow because they were friends. Earlier, Rain Pow and Toko had spoken with provocation, a challenging edge to their words. Objectively speaking, Rain Pow thought they would clearly have looked like bad guys. And on top of that, "I'll let you live now so I can use you as a hostage later" was not something an ally of justice would say. Even the protagonist of some picaresque novel wouldn't do that sort of thing. In other words, it was obvious Rain Pow was a villain and that the ninja who'd fought her had been one of the good guys. With her intent to make Postarie her hostage, there would be no reason Postarie would want Rain Pow to win. About six months earlier, Toko and Kaori had figured they should get themselves another magical girl who would back up Kaori if the time came. Another student from Kaori's school was preferable, if possible. Rain Pow would use her as a shield, keeping their real business a secret and treating her kindly as a normal magical-girl friend, while in emergencies, she could use her as cover. This had been the idea when Toko had begun surveying girls, and she'd found about five people in the school with magical talent. Tatsuko had been one of those. Of all the people whom Toko deemed to have talent, Tatsuko was the only one who had seemed like she would refuse to be a magical girl. Kayo Nemura was rather logical by nature, but Kaori could easily see Umi Shibahara dragging her into it. As for Nozomi Himeno, if Kaori were to make a request as a student, having a sense of teacher's responsibility, Nozomi would accept. But Tatsuko would be the easiest for Kaori to use, since she was the only one in her same grade and class. And so Kaori had approached Tatsuko Sakaki, deciding to befriend her before making her a magical girl. However, Tatsuko had been even more introverted than she'd imagined, and it had taken time to build their friendship. Right when Tatsuko had finally opened up to her, Toko and Rain Pow's pursuers had caught up to them. And so Toko and Kaori had ended up kick-starting their plans while still in the half-organized stage. Even if Tatsuko did feel Kaori was her friend, Kaori revealing her true nature would have exposed that befriending Tatsuko had all been an act to use her. Rain Pow gazed down at Postarie, who looked embarrassed, somehow. Did she really understand why things had ended up like this? Rain Pow gave Toko a look as if to ask "What should we do?" and Toko shook her head, a complicated expression on her face. The way Toko dumped responsibility for things on others was such a pain. Rain Pow waffled for a while, but no matter how she looked at Tatsuko, she didn't seem to be plotting anything. Rain Pow concluded that although she didn't understand it, it seemed Postarie was just an idiot. Rain Pow reached out to Postarie and pulled her to her feet. "Yeah... Thanks, Tsuko. You saved me." It was best just to leave it at that. She didn't get what was on Tatsuko's mind, but it was clear that Kaori could use it. She just had to suck her dry and throw her away. She could still use Postarie.
[ POV: Tepsekemei; Time remaining: seven hours, ten minutes ] Mei didn't know who was an enemy and who was a friend. It should have been Weddin and Kuru-Kuru Hime and Rain Pow and Postarie and Captain Grace and Funny Trick and Toko who were her friends, but Weddin was with people she'd thought were enemies, then escaped from the people she'd thought were enemies, and Tepsekemei didn't really understand what was going on. Other magical girls might understand, she figured, but when she asked Weddin and Funny Trick, she didn't get a clear reply. Nor did she get a clear reply when she asked why Weddin had been with the enemy. She understood she was asking very difficult questions. "Let's meet up with someone first." Tepsekemei went into the air to scout someone out. But she just couldn't tell who was an ally and who was an enemy. If they were going to meet up with someone, then who would it be? Funny Trick's and Weddin's faces were different from usual. When Tepsekemei asked why, they told her, "This is what people look like when they're worried." Tepsekemei didn't really understand worrying, either. It was nothing but difficult things, and she didn't like it. "Pukin, Sonia, Frederica, and Tot Pop—those four are enemies, no matter what." "And rabbit ears and the ninja?" "If what Frederica and the others discussed is true, they're the inspection team. I really doubt they hold us in high regard, but still, they might cooperate... In fact, I think perhaps we should cooperate with them." "And Toko?" "She's out. From what Frederica's party said, she tricked us." "But... Can we believe what they said?" "Hmm... Good point... But back then I was being controlled, and Funny Trick, you were tied up. Would they go to the trouble to lie in that situation? It's not out of the question, but I believe it's unlikely. Right now, rather than chasing unlikely possibilities, we should think about what's most plausible." "So then all that's left is Kuru-Kuru Hime, Rain Pow, and Postarie... Right?" "Do you think Toko's partner is one of us? Or do you think she's someone else?" "Who knows...?" Tepsekemei listened to Weddin's explanation. Bunny Ears and the ninja were allies. They had been enemies, but for now they were allies. The one who had killed Captain Grace plus her three allies were all enemies. Weddin had been friends with them, but now they were enemies. Toko was an enemy. Postarie, Rain Pow, and Kuru-Kuru Hime were tricky but allies. Tepsekemei didn't quite understand the meaning of the word "tricky," but when she asked, the reply she got was hard to understand. For anyone else, they would decide if they were friend or foe based on who they were with. "Who are the enemies?" "The one who killed Captain Grace, the other three who are with her, and Toko." "And our allies?" "Bunny and the ninja. And it's tricky, but Postarie, Rain Pow, and Kuru-Kuru Hime." "Do you know what sort of magical girl Postarie is?" "She moves ribbons." Weddin and Funny Trick heaved deep, long sighs. In the end, they decided that if Tepsekemei caught sight of a magical girl, she was to remember their location and characteristics and then return to the mountain where Weddin and Funny Trick would be. Also, she needed to be careful not to touch the barrier. Tepsekemei had thought that becoming human would give her more freedom. She'd thought that a magical girl, which was stronger than a human, would be even freer than that. But in actuality, it was nothing but restrictions. She had to help her allies, and she had to follow the leader's instructions. And their enemies were powerful. These enemies wouldn't run away if you snapped at them. The black-winged magical girl she had fought in the sky above was strong. Tepsekemei had nearly been frozen. If she'd continued fighting, she would have been killed. The magical girl who had killed Captain Grace was strong, too. Anyone but Tepsekemei would have died, and even she would have died if she'd taken one more hit. Tepsekemei decided she would not fight either of those two ever again. No matter what Weddin said, or even if Weddin got mad at her, Tepsekemei would absolutely not fight them. If it came to that, she would carry Weddin and run away. Tepsekemei thinned out her body, making her appear fainter. Gliding through the sky, it became harder for enemies to find her. If she made herself too thin, she would be blown away in the wind, so she modulated it, flying high in the air as she observed the world below. There were disturbances happening all over. People were gathering; "cars" were gathering, talking, listening, moving, not moving. There were no magical girls. Where were they? Tepsekemei flew toward the school. On the way, she saw a road with a circle carved out of it. There were quite a lot of people there and a rope that ran all the way around the hole. No magical girls there. As she flew, she checked all the places visible from above: the tops of buildings, on top of an iron tower, atop roofs. It just made her eyes tired, and she didn't find anything special. There was no one on the roof of the school, either. Some humans were running on the sports oval. No magical girls there. Tepsekemei landed on the roof and sat down, leaning against the wall. She pinched the spot between her eyes in her fingers and rubbed lightly. She'd been using her eyes this whole time, and they were tired. There wasn't much difference between doing nothing in the air and doing nothing while sitting, so Tepsekemei just sat there and gazed up at the gray clouds. They were no different than they had been the day before. They were thick, and she couldn't see any higher in the sky. They hid the sun, making it cold. As she looked at them, thinking, The wind won't blow away the clouds, will it? something that was not a cloud flew toward her. It looked like a bird but wasn't one. It was something small that moved its wings to fly but was not a bird. As she looked hard at it, it seemed as if it was flying toward her, and it was more interesting to watch than the clouds. As Tepsekemei continued to observe the flying thing, she realized that it really was headed toward her. Gradually, the outline of the thing became clearer. It was a lamp, which had sprouted birdlike wings, flying toward her. She knew that lamp. It was the one Captain Grace had given her. Come to think of it, she'd lost it at some point. She didn't know what made a lamp useful, but being inside it had been calming, so she'd figured that's what it was for. Slowly and steadily, the flying lamp came closer until it fell lightly into Tepsekemei's hand. The bird wings melted into the air and disappeared. She poked the lamp in her hand, then tried sniffing it. There was no mistaking it. It was that lamp, after all. It still smelled like Tepsekemei. "Oh, so you came back to the school." Two magical girls appeared, hopping over the iron fence. Tepsekemei confirmed they were not enemies. However, their names were rather vague in her mind, and she couldn't remember them. She'd just split up with Funny Trick and Weddin. So then one of these was Rain Pow, and the other was Kuru-Kuru Hime? "Do you know where the other girls are?" A tiny fairy poked her head out from one of the girl's chests. Tepsekemei wouldn't forget this: Toko. Toko was an enemy. "Toko is an enemy." Tepsekemei voiced her thoughts out loud. When she did this, others would correct her when she was mistaken, and someone would explain to her about what she didn't understand. That was the correct course of action this time, too. The two girls reacted to Tepsekemei's statement, and that told Tepsekemei that her statement wasn't wrong. Rainbows scissored Tepsekemei from in front and behind, slicing her in half, and Tepsekemei blew a gust of wind, attempting to blast the enemy over the iron railing. Tepsekemei abandoned her lower body and her upper half fled into the sky, from where she shot wind at the two girls and Toko one more time. The more colorful of the girls braced herself in the wind, but the other one couldn't resist it and was tossed backward. Right before the plain magical girl flew over the iron railing, the fancy-looking one reached out to her, grabbing her friend's arm with her left hand as she gripped the railing with her right, holding on. The sudden motion caused Toko's tiny frame to spill out of her top, and so Tepsekemei focused her wind on Toko, blowing the fairy away until she couldn't see her anymore. Tepsekemei left both magical girls as they yelled and cried out, before rising high, high into the sky.
[ POV: Postarie; Time remaining: six hours, thirty-five minutes ] Since Toko couldn't come back on her own, it took quite the effort to search for her after she got blown away. She ended up caught on the branch of a cherry blossom tree, which had been planted in one corner of the schoolyard to commemorate some graduation, wailing shrilly. Postarie reverted to her human form so as not to be noticed by the students out with their sports clubs, approached the tree quietly, instantly transformed again in order to climb the tree and retrieve Toko, then came down and detransformed once more. She checked all around and saw that nobody was paying attention to her. They were focused on running hard. She was relieved. On top of the roof, Toko and Rain Pow argued. "Now everyone knows that you're a bad guy, Toko." "Huh? Why're you saying that like it's my fault?" "'Cause it is your fault. Everyone's all cautious of us because they know you're the bad guy!" "But you're the bad guy, too, Rain Pow." "I haven't been found out, though." "Why d'you have to make it like I'm the only one at fault here?" "I mean, this is all your fault. Now we can't meet up with any of the others." Though it seemed like they were trying to blame this on each other and shouting each other down, they weren't seriously angry. You could tell that much easily, just watching them. As they argued, their facial expressions and tones of voice clearly never left the realm of good humor. They were enjoying it. This had to be what friends were. Toko and Rain Pow were friends. So what did they think of Postarie? Rain Pow had said she thought of her as a friend. Postarie had decided not to think about whether or not she really felt that way. Never once before had a classmate needed Tatsuko Sakaki. She'd been alone from preschool to elementary school to middle school. When they'd gone on school outings, she'd eaten the rice balls her mother made for her all by herself. When they were deciding groups for school field trips, after everyone else had settled in groups, she would be assigned to whichever group didn't have enough people. She'd taken it for granted that things would be this way and felt it was easier to spend time alone. Solitude formed the foundation, while being in groups took effort. It was a pain having to take care not to end up isolated, to smile to flatter people, to be forced to watch popular TV shows she didn't care about in order to keep up with the conversation. If people weren't going to bother with her, Tatsuko took no issue with that. As long as it didn't develop into bullying, that was fine. If they just laughed at her sometimes, like, "She's always alone, huh?" then she could suck it up. After befriending Kaori, Tatsuko concluded that friends really were a bother, after all. Talking, smiling, hanging out, and doing things together was all more troublesome than being alone—but it was really fun. Friends were a curse. Tatsuko didn't want Kaori to abandon her. Before, she'd taken it for granted that she wouldn't have friends. It had been normal for her. But now, having friends was normal and something she took for granted. She'd say hi like it was normal, eat lunch together like it was normal, and they'd invite each other over to each other's houses after school like it was normal. Without Kaori, she would lose that normalcy. Toko was a liar, and Rain Pow was her accomplice. Rain Pow had said she wouldn't kill Postarie for now, since she was going to make her a hostage. That wasn't the sort of thing you'd say to a friend. But Postarie had gone and saved Rain Pow. She sort of understood that the ninja had probably been on the right side of things and that Rain Pow and Toko were probably the real "evil mages," but she'd saved Rain Pow anyway. When she'd seen that ninja trying to defeat her, Postarie had taken action. She hadn't wanted Rain Pow to die. As a result, Postarie had killed the ninja. She'd killed the one doing the right thing. Postarie didn't feel much shock over the fact of having killed her. She was actually a little gleeful at having done something bad, the same sort of thing Rain Pow and Toko, the villains, did. And she was shocked at herself for being glad about it. Postarie was clinging to the possibility that Rain Pow saying she'd make Postarie her hostage had just been a convenience for use in that moment. It had to have been just something she'd blurted out in order to ensure the ninja wouldn't attack Postarie. She was clinging to Rain Pow so hard, she was even trying to deceive herself with these implausible fantasies. She wanted to believe that she'd not made the wrong choice, at least. Toko and Rain Pow were arguing about who was at fault. Feeling and hoping strongly that she was part of their group, Postarie smiled.
[ POV: 7753; Time remaining: six hours, seventeen minutes ] "Whatever unbending convictions or principles you may have, bend them, just this once," Mana told her. She said this as someone who had abandoned her own convictions and principles. And she wasn't wrong in that. "This is an order from the team chief. Use your goggles on everyone, no matter who they are." "...Understood." "Even if it's someone you've seen before, don't let your guard down. We don't know how the situation may have changed. Some people might mean well but do crazy things. Don't make an exception for even a single person." "Yes, ma'am." "Not even for me." "Wait, but—" "You can't trust me just because I'm me. Don't forget that there's someone here with mind-control abilities. Nobody's gonna commend you for getting stabbed in the back." "Yes, ma'am... I understand." 7753 couldn't look at herself through her own goggles. In other words, if she were to lie in her reports, then nobody could nail her for it. Mana knew that and was still ordering her to use her goggles without exception. It was no different from saying she intended to die together with 7753. Mana was telling her that she would take the leap of faith that 7753 was not an informant, so she should handle things in the easiest way possible. Mana had been antagonistic, mean, and angry, had grabbed her by the collar, and had yelled at 7753 and Ripple, the outsiders, but in spite of all that, she was now saying she would trust 7753. If the reason for that was that Hana had told 7753 about her relationship with Mana, then this basically meant 7753 was deceiving her. Her boss had given her that information, and she'd been ordered to say that and had done so. That was all. Hana had never trusted 7753 to the point where she would talk about her personal relationships. In contrast with 7753's sinking feelings, Mana was moving briskly. Pukin had killed Hana, and after 7753 had stopped Mana from immediately seeking revenge, Mana had become restrained. She'd made the calculated judgment that if 7753 were to betray her, then she would lose, no matter how she struggled, so she'd decided to trust 7753 and was aiming to use her powers to the fullest. Hana had died in battle, and her trust in 7753 had to be a big part of this. 7753 couldn't help but feel miserable. Mana was not a magical girl. She hadn't had a wink of sleep, so she had to be exhausted, but she didn't show it. Her hair was a mess, she was covered in dust, and her glasses were cracked, but she was still standing firmly. When she gave orders to 7753, there was drive in her voice, and 7753 could see no hesitation in her. 7753 would even have preferred that Mana not trust her. She wasn't actively betraying Mana, but she was essentially passively betraying her. 7753 had received orders from her boss, and she was hiding that fact. She was hiding that Archfiend Pam was dead, she wasn't telling them that Pam's death was driving the Department of Diplomacy into chaos, and she wasn't saying anything about the weapon of mass destruction that might hit the town. She was trying to keep Mana, the team chief, in the dark about it all. She wanted to talk to Mana. She wanted to tell her. But her boss's instructions remained firm: "don't talk to her" and "don't tell her." No matter how 7753 tried to convince her, her boss wouldn't listen. Mana and her boss were similar in that they both believed they were doing the right thing. At this point, just what was 7753 trying to protect? They met up with Kuru-Kuru Hime again on the roof of the radio station, and 7753 didn't even have to look through her goggles to know she was haggard. 7753 knew about what had happened. She couldn't think of what to say. Kuru-Kuru Hime held out a smartphone to her. "I got a call. She said to call back..." "A phone call? From who? A student?" Kuru-Kuru Hime silently shook her head and pushed the phone toward her again. It was as if she was saying she didn't want it. When 7753 checked the call history, she saw that there had just been a call from another cell phone. Was this the one she was meant to call back? 7753 pressed redial, and before the first ring was even over, they picked up. "Is this Kuru-Kuru Hime?" It was a girl with a sonorous voice. She sounded young, but there was something mature about her tone, too. She was either a magical girl who was an adult, pretransformation, or one who was still a child but had had a long career. Those conditions applied to none of Kuru-Kuru Hime's allies. 7753 gave Mana a look. Eyes narrowing, Mana listened carefully. After a moment of hesitation, 7753 replied, "No, this is 7753." "7753? The one from Magical Girl Resources?" "...Yes. I'm with the inspection team now." This girl knew about 7753. Her voice was unfamiliar. She'd managed to call Kuru-Kuru Hime's smartphone. 7753 couldn't think of anyone to whom all this could apply. "Who might this be?" "My name is Pythie Frederica." 7753 drew her face away from the phone and closed her eyes. This brand-name phone now looked to her like some abominable magical artifact. She looked over at Mana and saw an expression of sincere disgust on her face, one eye scrunched. Mana stole the phone from her. "Just what the hell do you want with us, Frederica?" "Who is this?" "Mana, the team chief." "Oh, so this is Chief Mana? That works out perfectly." If Frederica was the one talking, that explained why Kuru-Kuru Hime didn't want to touch the phone. "Might you and I cooperate?" Frederica's voice was inappropriately sunny. "Cooperate? What d'you mean by that?" "Archfiend Pam is dead. I've also checked Ripple's body. I know what she looks like, pretransformation, so there's no mistaking it." Ripple was dead. What should she feel? What should she think? Though 7753 had anticipated this, her thoughts and feelings were all in disarray. She closed her eyes. "Is Hana Gekokujou well?" 7753 hurriedly placed her hand on Mana's shoulder, figuring it'd be bad if Mana were to get emotional, toss the phone on the ground, and break it. But Mana instead breathed a deep sigh. "Pukin killed Hana." Even standing beside her, listening, 7753 could tell that Mana was doing her utmost to restrain her tone of voice. Frederica's tone lowered slightly as well. "We've also suffered severe losses. The assassin—the rainbow user of the middle school group—killed Tot Pop, and Archfiend Pam killed Sonia Bean. Pukin is alive, but...she attacked me. She's like a cat who's been sprinkled with cold water. She's out of control." That was some pretty incredible stuff to be saying so casually. The assassin was the rainbow user from the middle school group. Had she let that information slip to show off how useful she could be, or was she trying to confuse them with lies? Or maybe she didn't even see it as important information. Without revealing any upset, Mana prompted her, "...So?" "So would you cooperate with me? Both our parties came to this town with the goal of capturing the assassin. Being that our goals are the same, shouldn't we be able to cooperate? Personally speaking, I would have no complaints, as long as the individual in question faces proper judgment. I did intend to be the one to stand as witness to her injustice, but I shall compromise. If what needs be punished is punished through fair trial, that's all I ask." "But...the antiestablishment faction got you out of prison, right? In other words, you're a hired hand. Can you decide something important like that on your own judgment?" "Unfortunately, I am alone. In absence of command, the lone soldier must take the lead." "You can get in contact with the outside, can't you? Using your magic." "With regards to that—that's the reason I would request your cooperation. The truth is—though this is embarrassing to say—a magical girl named Funny Trick has stolen my crystal ball. If possible, I would hope that perhaps you might have Kuru-Kuru Hime tell her to return it." 7753's hand on Mana's shoulder shook. This scum had killed Kuru-Kuru Hime's father and was now brazenly asking a favor from her. "I can use my magic to have all of you escape the city, but I'll need my crystal ball back no matter what it takes. So I request your aid." Mana told Frederica, "We'll discuss it," then hung up. She was far calmer than 7753. "Can I hold on to your phone?" Holding the phone raised at a diagonal, Mana asked permission, and Kuru-Kuru Hime weakly nodded. 7753 realized her hand was still on Mana's shoulder and hurriedly pulled it away. Her hand, her legs, and her lungs were all tenser than they had to be. She exhaled the breath she'd been holding in. Mana put the phone in her bag, then took out a clear glass bottle. She turned it over and shook out the tablets inside into her palm, then tossed them into her mouth, crushing them with her teeth. 7753 was not going to ask what sort of medicine it was. That was when the phone rang. Mana dropped the bottle, and 7753's hand shot out to catch it. Mana pulled the phone out of her bag again, looked at the display, and narrowed her eyes. 7753 peeked in from the side. Displayed on the screen was an unregistered cell number different from the one that had just called. Mana stared at the phone as one whole ring passed by before accepting the call. "...Hello?" "Is this Kuru-Kuru Hime? This is Weddin and Funny Trick. We went back through a friend of a friend of a friend and somehow managed to get your number, Miss Himeno. Though we should have figured that out a little earlier. So what's happened with you? Are you safe? Tepsekemei was with us, but she went out to scout and hasn't come back. But Tepsekemei being who she is, I don't think we have to worry, although... Hello? Can you hear me?" Mana handed the phone to Kuru-Kuru Hime.
[ POV: Pukin; Time remaining: five hours, forty minutes ] Time calmed her anger. Or rather, to be more precise, hunger, brought about by the passage of time, quieted Pukin's anger and brought her appetite back. Being angry made her hungry, and hunger settled her anger. So she headed out to a small shop near the apartment building to nab some ready-made food: stuffed bread, chocolate candy, jerky, Chinese buns, fried chicken, and fries. When the rude staff tried to call her to task for it, she cut them down with a single slice, then returned to the apartment building to indulge in her meal. Eating alone was quite wearisome and made her feel Sonia's loss most keenly. And since Pukin had used her magic again, Weddin had escaped, too. Tot Pop was dead, and Frederica had run off. Pukin was the only one left. She sucked on the chicken bones, snapped them apart with her teeth, and sucked out the marrow. She hardly even chewed the chocolate or the pastries, instead shoving them down her throat like drinks. It gave her energy. She needed energy in order to get angry. And she would need more energy after that, too, in order to do anything. Packages and crumbs scattered all about, she took a break. She leaned against the sofa and rubbed her nose, looking at her face in a hand mirror. Her nose was beautiful again. Magical girls' bodies had powerful recovery abilities. Bones would heal cleanly, even if they weren't set. Wounds that caused a fatal amount of blood loss to a normal human would be repaired with food and rest. And stronger magical girls like Pukin had particularly potent healing abilities, with a very short amount of time needed for self-recovery. So quite conveniently, before you knew it, not only your physical injuries but even the damage to your costume would be repaired. The fracture caused by Archfiend Pam's head-butt was gone, and she'd stopped bleeding, but the wound in her stomach from the rainbow had yet to heal entirely. Pukin still didn't have enough energy to fix it yet. Pukin more or less avoided thinking. However, when she was alone like this, she was forced into it. Before moving into action, she considered how she would express her anger. Frederica was one of her attendants. Her laziness was unforgivable, and she had to be punished, but dealing with attendants wasn't a high priority. Archfiend Pam was the most unforgivable of all her enemies. She'd killed Sonia and caused Pukin fear, leading her to that unsightly flight. Pukin had to dispel this humiliation quickly. But Pam had already been killed. Toying with her corpse was a fine idea but quite a bit lower on the list of priorities. There were the more trifling characters, with Weddin on the top of the list. She deserved certain death for so insolently defying Pukin. Hunting down just one single rabbit wouldn't satisfy Pukin. But trifles were trifles. She could put them off until later. That left the fairy, Toko, and the rainbow magical girl. Those two were Pukin's top priorities. She'd been wounded too badly to continue fighting them and judged in that moment that it was best to make a temporary retreat. She was confident in her decision. But even so, the humiliation of having fled enraged Pukin. She got up off the sofa, twisted the sink faucet, and put her mouth straight under it to drink. The nutrients she'd absorbed through her stomach and intestines made their way around her body, blood pumping hard to circulate it. She pulled her lips away from the faucet to run water over her hair instead, and once she'd had enough, she shook her head, shaking the water off. She saw herself reflected in the mirror that hung at the kitchen entrance. Satisfied by the beauty and nobility communicated in her reflection, she stuck her waterfowl feather in her hair. She'd replenished her energy, and she'd also settled on which enemy she should prioritize hunting. Once the barrier was undone, she would make contact with the antiestablishment faction or something to that effect, and until then, she could just do as she pleased. Pukin loved fairies; they were the best subjects for torture. They were so tiny, you had to be so very careful that they not die from blood loss when pulling out their nails, peeling off their skin, and cutting open their stomachs. A fairy's reaction once she realized what horrible, irreversible things were happening to her was always more interesting than that of humans or magical girls. The stark difference between their regular expressions and their faces when twisted in pain were so far and above anything either humans or magical girls would do. There was more variety in mascots these days, and Pukin had heard some of them didn't even have physical forms anymore. It was difficult for her to understand why they would create something so boring. Simple and classic familiars like Toko were best. In Pukin's day, she had even paid to participate in the torture of fairies, to torment them, slice them up, and dissect them. In order to keep them alive when hurting them, it had been necessary for Pukin to study the biology and anatomy of fairies in earnest, to become familiar with them as a scholar, and so Pukin had become more knowledgeable about fairies than anyone. Fairies were filled with energy. They were the ultimate medicine of healing, a tonic, and a pain killer. A fairy would heal Pukin's wounds completely and would grant her greater power than what she had currently. In order to heal her wounds, in order to vent her anger, Pukin needed Toko.
[ POV: Rain Pow; Time remaining: five hours, fifteen minutes ] She'd originally returned to the apartment building to gather information. Rain Pow had eliminated the enemy she'd known would be the greatest threat and had shattered the enemy's fighting line. Doing this had made the town much less dangerous for her. But since now even Tepsekemei had found out that Toko was a crook, her plan to meet up with Weddin and the others to shore up her safety even further had failed. So she'd gather intel instead. They didn't know from where or via what route Toko's misdeeds had been exposed. It was also possible there was a network of information exchange going on in this city which Rain Pow had been excluded from. As they sought to collect information, they discussed a plan to stay in hiding until the barrier's time limit was up—or rather, Toko and Rain Pow discussed that, keeping an eye out for enemies as they returned to the apartment building. When the three of them searched inside the apartment, Postarie discovered a smartphone. Rain Pow snatched the phone away from her. Postarie seemed nervous and uneasy, but she muttered in a somehow accusatory manner, "Should we be looking through other people's phones like that...?" "It's fine. Now's not the time to be worrying about manners. So whose is it, huh...? Shibahara? She's got a message." "What kind of message? Show me, show me!" "It's nothing. It's from her parents, saying to call them... Oh. So that's it." "What is it, Rain Pow?" "We can't use our magical phones. But it's not like we can't use normal phones." She undid her transformation, returning to Kaori Ninotsugi to stick her hand in her coat pocket and pull out her phone. There was a message on her phone, too, but not from family. Her sister wouldn't do something so ill-advised as to attempt to restrict her behavior—not anymore. "It's some kinda weird e-mail." The sender's name was listed as anonymous. It was blatantly suspicious. The message contained no attachments. The subject line said Urgent Business. "Spam?" "It looks like it, but I don't really know... Might as well just take a look." She opened the e-mail and immediately knew who it was from. I contacted your magical phone but got no response, so I'll e-mail this phone, too, meow. I also heard about how you got rid of Archfiend Pam, meow. Good job, meow. I'll give you a nice pet for that, meow. And a special bonus for it, meow. However, this doesn't mean the problem is gone, meow. I hear a radical faction within the Department of Diplomacy is saying the two people Pythie Frederica broke out of jail—the fencer, Pukin, and the patchwork girl, Sonia—should be terminated by whatever means necessary, meow. I'm also hearing rumors they might use weapons of mass destruction to get rid of the escaped prisoners, meow. I'll promise you a special bonus to deal with that, just like with Archfiend Pam, meow. I look forward to seeing good results, meow. With all those meows, and given what the message was about and that they knew Kaori's e-mail, it could be none other than her employer. "A bonus! That sounds wonderful!" "As usual, you love it when things work to your advantage, huh, Toko?" "Sonia's been dealt with, so that means Pukin's the only one left. 'Cause of what they said about the radical faction and stuff, I think it might be best to make sure we get rid of her." "You just want that bonus, Toko." "Tee-hee." "Don't tee-hee me! Ugh, honestly." So they were forced to change their plans to hide until the barrier was undone. Rain Pow would eliminate Pukin. If there were any other powers who would further interfere with this situation, it was best to erase the reason for their interference. Postarie was wringing her hands in worry. Now that it had come to this, she'd have to stick with Rain Pow until the end. Rain Pow smacked Postarie on the back. "Don't worry, Tsuko. When the time comes, I'll protect you," she encouraged her. She wasn't lying. She did mean to keep her safe. Postarie was a useful pawn and her hostage for whenever she needed it.
[ POV: Weddin; Time remaining: four hours, forty-five minutes ] Now that Tepsekemei was back and Kuru-Kuru Hime and the two inspection team girls were there, with six magical girls packed into the tiny observatory, it felt cramped. Kuru-Kuru Hime was so relieved to see her students again, she burst into tears. Funny Trick was surprised to see a teacher crying, but since Weddin knew part of the reason for her tears, she furrowed her brows heavily. Frederica's party were, without a doubt, real villains, bad enough to make even calculated and selfish Weddin learn righteous indignation. And now it was less about righteous indignation and had guilt mixed in there, too. Even if she had been under Pukin's control, Weddin had been with them when they'd gone out to Miss Nozomi Himeno's house. Just remembering it made her want to vomit. She didn't know what sort of people the inspection team were. But if they were against Frederica's group, then surely, they had to be better people. From the way Bunny Ears had seemed to have a silly side to her, and the ninja had been exceptionally skilled but had avoided killing and nailed Weddin to the roof instead, Weddin could surmise they operated within a comprehensible set of rules. So she should be able to work with them, unlike with Frederica's party, who had been incomprehensible and without rules. The two girls from the inspection team introduced themselves as 7753, who wore a boys' school uniform, and Mana, who wore a pointed hat. Mana was more like a witch, and the elements like the goggles made 7753 more like an action heroine. Both of them were far from the archetypal magical girls of Weddin's imagination. 7753 was slightly absentminded, and Mana, who popped a pill from a bottle she had about once every five minutes and chewed it up, didn't seem quite entirely trustworthy, either—they both seemed fishy. But still, they had to be better than Frederica and Pukin. The inspection team's explanation of events backed up what Frederica's party had talked about before: that they'd come to town in order to capture an assassin who had been going around killing people affiliated with the Magical Kingdom and that the assassin was Toko's partner. They all shared the information they had. "Our friend Captain Grace was killed by Sonia Bean." Weddin regretted saying it as soon as the words left her mouth. She could have at least phrased things a bit more delicately. Kuru-Kuru Hime looked at her with wide eyes. Her tears hadn't even dried. She hadn't yet known Captain Grace was dead. Funny Trick must have wanted to help, as she followed up after Weddin—even though Grace's death had to be a shock for her, too. "Um, the assassin is the magical girl named Rain Pow... Or so I hear. Tepsekemei here said Rain Pow cut her in half." "Postarie made Mei's lamp fly." "And the one named Postarie is an assassin, too... Is that right?" "I don't know if they were in cahoots from the beginning or if Postarie is being threatened, but right now it seems clear that the two of them are working together. Rain Pow creates rainbow bridges, and Postarie uses her magic to make wings grow on things and send them back to their owners." "Oh, so she's the one who made the van fly at us..." "Yeah, that's right..." "Let's be ready so we can dodge any desks or lockers that may come flying at us." "Mei's lamp is pretty." Mana spoke next. "There are rumors in the town of cosplay murderers—probably because of Pukin's group going nuts. There've been deaths all over the place, and apparently there aren't enough police cars, the hospital is full of wounded, and emergency services have been late responding." "So if people see us in these outfits, we'll be instantly reported?" "Come to think of it, Frederica contacted us, too. She said Pukin's dumped her and she's on her own. She also said if we return her crystal ball, she'd like to cooperate with us... Do any of you have it?" "Oh, yes. I have it. I stole it when I escaped." "So? Do we cooperate with her?" Mana asked them all, and Funny Trick and Kuru-Kuru Hime hung their heads. "...I would rather not, if possible." "Me neither..." Weddin was no different. She didn't want to see Frederica ever again. She didn't want to call her an ally—not even temporarily. "I don't want to, either. Possible benefits aside, I never want to see her face again." "Mei is fine either way." "And besides, returning her crystal ball is quite out of the question. That would more or less be like giving her hostages, wouldn't it?" "She also said she could let us out of the barrier if she had her crystal ball. What about that?" "We don't need to borrow Frederica's powers for that. We've already confirmed that we can use Funny Trick's magic to get out of the barrier. Funny Trick won't be able to get herself out, so we can't all escape, but... Couldn't we get outside and notify someone to have them help us or something?" "So then for the time being, we can get out of the city to seek help, huh...? Either way, it would be best for civilians to be somewhere safe. We've lost most of our combat personnel. We can hardly do anything, and we can't protect you. We need to get some firepower and not fuss over how long it is until the barrier runs out. Though with Archfiend Pam dead, I think getting backup will be pretty hard..." Weddin wondered who she meant by civilians and then realized it was themselves. She heaved a sigh. It had only been a day since she'd become a magical girl, and she'd already forgotten she was a civilian.
[ POV: Pythie Frederica; Time remaining: four hours, nineteen minutes ] She stared at her phone, fiddled with it, and spun it around, but no matter how she waited, no calls came. She'd been aware they would see her request for her crystal ball's return as a threat to their safety. Her idea had been to present that most difficult request first thing to make them think about it and then start negotiation from that point, but it had failed, likely because they hated Frederica more than she'd anticipated. Frederica had never imagined she would be popular, but as things stood now, she might be more despised than even rats or cockroaches. Pukin had killed Kuru-Kuru Hime's father; Sonia Bean had killed Captain Grace; Pukin had mind-controlled Weddin; and Tot Pop had been the one in charge of the whole operation, but it seemed nobody was going to take that into consideration. She was all on her own with no allies; everyone was an enemy. What a thrilling situation. This is the sort of thing befitting the hero of a story, isn't it? Though hanging up a blue plastic sheet over the roof of this mixed-residential building and resting under it was less heroic and more pathetic. She was at an impasse. Should she make up with Pukin somehow or bow her head to the inspection team, saying, "I don't need my crystal ball, so please let me be of help to you"? Whichever she chose, without her crystal ball or combat support, there was a limit to what she could do on her own. Just then, her cell phone vibrated. Will I be able to negotiate with them, somehow? she wondered, but when she looked at the display, she saw it was an unknown number calling. Was it a call for the phone's original owner? She was disappointed but chose to accept it just in case and picked up. "Are you Pythie Frederica?" A high-pitched voice addressed her, and Frederica pressed her middle finger to her temple. It was either synthesized or altered via a voice changer. It wasn't unthinkable that it might be an electronic fairy-type mascot, either. "Yes, this is Pythie Frederica. Who might this be?" "An ally." Who was it? How did they know this number? A mysterious voice that skipped all preamble to whisper that they were a friend. It was so suspicious and so the sort of thing Frederica loved. "I'm about to give you some instructions on what you should do, where you should go, and how you should do it. However, I will lead you to do something illegal." "...Are you Tot Pop's sponsor?" "Maybe, maybe not." If they were a patron of the revolutionary faction, then they would just order her around in a more straightforward manner. They had the right to do that. And what's more, Frederica didn't know just how they'd figured out this cell phone's number. She'd just stolen it from a passerby. How could they have possibly come to know about it? This patron had to be the sort who was fond of the eccentric and the theatrical. Frederica could understand that. Frederica loved the eccentric and the theatrical, too. "Well, either way, I'm at the end of my rope. I don't have that many options." "Are you ready, then? Hurry up." "Please, don't rush me so. I was just trembling in the joy of having finally found an ally." This person was trying to use her. Not only did she have no right to refuse, being that she was utterly cornered, she was gradually coming to feel it would be interesting to be manipulated by this person. "Must I obey you indefinitely?" "I won't say indefinitely. I just want your help for a little while." "Hmm." "Another thing. Those who refused will surely want to be your friend, too."
[ POV: 7753; Time remaining: three hours, eighteen minutes ] She thought her hairdo was coming undone, so she put her hand to her head and instead touched cloth. It felt different from her hat. Stuck in her hair were the remnants of a scarf—the scarf she'd borrowed from Ripple was already in tatters. She couldn't give it back. 7753 wasn't fully attentive as she listened to the others engage in serious discussion. Having lost Hana, Mana seemed to have actually become calmer. She was no longer pressing for her own team to capture the criminal, with their reputation staked on it. She was leaning toward the idea of letting the middle schoolers go, since they were just victims here, and calling for support—even if that took more time and even if she wasn't the one to make the arrest. The middle school group, who had to have been just ordinary kids until the other day, were bravely discussing with one another. There was the girl whose friend had been killed in front of her, and the Japanese teacher whose father had been killed. They'd been deceived by Toko, with a traitor in their midst. There was another girl there who'd been captured by the escaped prisoners and could have been killed at any time. Even though they could so understandably have been crushed just by their own circumstances, they were talking together, saying, how about we do this, how about we do that. They were discussing over it all, not just for their own sakes but for everyone. Hana had been murdered, stabbed in the chest. Although it had been clear to 7753 even without looking through her goggles that Hana had already reached her limit, she'd still tried to fight, right up until the moment she collapsed. Archfiend Pam had helped Hana escape, and then she'd been killed. If she'd only ever had herself in mind, she wouldn't have considered Hana's safety, too. She'd acted in consideration of another person and had gotten killed. 7753 squeezed the scrap of scarf in her palm tightly. Ripple was dead, now, too. 7753 was alive. She'd been diligently obeying her boss's instructions in anything and everything. She was locking information she should be sharing in her heart, keeping silent, never telling anyone. Because that was what her boss had told her to do. Why was she obeying her boss? She was selling her soul for a paycheck. That was the nature of labor. She couldn't fight that. 7753 tightly clenched the tatters of Ripple's scarf. Messages displayed in her goggles one after another. Even the other departments are whispering about the Department of Diplomacy going off the rails. Furthermore, there are rumors they've already arranged for the weapon of mass destruction and they mean to use it while the barrier is still up. If Funny Trick says she'll help you escape, then do it. Staying put won't accomplish anything. You're Magical Girl Resources staff, not a fighter, an inspector, or an assassin. Who would blame a noncombatant for running? I'm about to go to an emergency meeting, so I won't be able to reply for a while. At the meeting, I'll be ascertaining whether it's true they intend to use a weapon of mass destruction. If it is, I'll do my best to stop it, but I can make no guarantees. So then your top priority must be to escape. Escaping via Funny Trick's magic. The Department of Diplomacy meant to use a weapon of mass destruction. So then what would happen to B City? They would leave nothing left. The Magical Kingdom would destroy the whole town in order to kill one assassin. They were sure to make it out to be a natural disaster and use magic to alter memories and records of the event in order to make that the truth. That was what the Magical Kingdom did. If 7753 were to say nothing, then nobody would have to know. Nobody would blame her. From the observatory, she could see out over the town. This was only a part of B City, but even so, it was too much for 7753 to encompass in her field of vision. It's a lot of people, for a rural area, she thought. Were old men hanging their fishing lines down in the pond again, today? How was the catch? She'd wanted to try going to the beauty salon. Was the reason there were so many tangled back alleys here because it had once been a castle town? There were a lot of shops downtown with their shutters down. The pachinko parlor in front of the station was particularly large. There were streetlights left broken, asphalt left cracked, and guardrails left bent. She had nothing but bad memories here in this shabby, depressed, declined town, where everything was broken. Her boss's order to flee couldn't be wrong. They no longer had anyone here who could fight. There was the mage, Mana, the Magical Girl Resources specialist, 7753, and the four newbies who had only just become magical girls. No matter how they fought, they weren't going to win. It was best to escape this town, to abandon it. 7753 squeezed the scrap of cloth hard and brought her fist to her forehead. What should she do? She should stop thinking about these things and just do what she'd been told. If she were to oppose her boss, she would no longer be safely employed. She would never receive another paycheck, and she would be tossed out into the world with no magic, no nothing. If she were to continue obeying orders, she could remain in this easy position where nobody would blame her. The cloth touched her forehead and fluttered in the wind. When had her life become this? How could she consider staying silent for the sake of her next paycheck when so many people would be killed? This wasn't what magical girls were about. This wasn't about being an employee, either. This was about being rotten garbage. Kotori Nanaya had admired Cutie Healer back in elementary school. She'd declared to everyone that she, too, would become a cute, strong-hearted magical girl of justice, just like Cutie Healer. 7753 took off her goggles. "Everyone... There's something I haven't been telling you about." Steeling herself, she gripped the scarf. She couldn't go back to how she was. So then, at least, she wanted to be a magical girl who wouldn't be ashamed of Ripple, or Hana, or Archfiend Pam. "People are saying the Department of Diplomacy is running rampant now that they've lost Archfiend Pam, who was supposed to be their ultimate weapon. There are whispers that...if we can't catch the criminals before the barrier is undone, they might unleash a weapon of mass destruction on this town." Everyone was looking at her. She was now past the point of no return. She looked back at them all. Somewhere, a pheasant was calling. Before its long, long cry ceased, Mana slowly stood. "Our magical phones are broken. How did you find this information out?" "I received the message from my boss, through my goggles." "...What?" "When I told you that information about Pukin's party, when I told you to be vigilant about Archfiend Pam, and when I suggested we work together, all of this was done on my boss's orders." Mana lunged forward and grabbed 7753 by the collar. Someone smothered a cry. "You're a real piece of shit! Hana died trusting you, and it was all a waste!" 7753 gazed back at Mana, who still grasped her by her collar. This was the angriest 7753 had ever seen her. "I'm sorry." "I don't want to hear apologies!" Following Mana, the girl in the wedding dress stood. "Hold on, what do you mean? A weapon of mass destruction?" "Their plan is to destroy the whole town and the assassin with it." "Please, don't be absurd! Just what kind of nonsense are you getting at?! What on earth?! Just who do you think you are?!" A look on her face like she was caught between crying and laughing, or maybe she really was crying, after all, Funny Trick muttered, "I don't get what this means," holding her head. Kuru-Kuru Hime was pale, stunned to silence. Weddin yelled, "Isn't this supposed to be the Magical Kingdom?! Isn't it about dreams and fantasy?! How stupid are all of you?! How can you drag us all in, then blow it all up when it doesn't work out?! The ones getting dragged into it wouldn't agree to any of that! We're magical girls, aren't we?! Magical girls! We're supposed to be kinder and cuter than anyone! All of you are scum! Pukin, and Frederica, and the Magical Kingdom, too! I should never have become a magical-girl fan! You're nothing but genuine trash!" Halfway through her speech, Weddin starting crying and shaking with sobs. Mana, who'd been so furious, bit her lip and looked down. 7753 squeezed the scrap of scarf harder. Mana slowly released 7753's collar. "You're right. We're all trash. Me and all of you... I already figured the outside help were all working for the benefit of their own departments. If you want to play nasty politics, then go right ahead." Mana's words were self-deprecating and also resigned. She was saying that she had been an idiot herself for ever having trusted 7753. That hit a lot harder than being yelled at. "I'd thought you were oddly informed, but I didn't imagine you had a gadget like that." "...I'm sorry." "I told you not to apologize. I resent that you never said anything until now, but it wasn't as if your advice was disadvantageous. And it frankly did help us in some ways. So I'll say we're even." "...Okay." "But don't get in my way again. From here on out, it is my job. 7753, take the middle school crowd and get out of this town. I'll take out the bad guys." 7753 stared back at her as if asking, "What are you talking about?" Mana was looking straight at 7753, her eyes full of determination. She seriously intended to manage this somehow—even though there was no way she possibly could. "There's no way you can do it!" "We don't have any more time. Even if we were to call for backup now, we don't know if they'd make it before the barrier is undone. I'll ask Frederica to cooperate. Then I'll get everyone out, including Funny Trick. And then I'll lure Frederica in, and the two of us'll figure something out. I'll pull it off somehow, even if I have to die in the process."
[ POV: Pythie Frederica; Time remaining: three hours, forty-five minutes ] "All right. Are you ready?" "I'm ready, but... What's the point of this?" "You don't need to worry about that." "There's a reason I've come all the way out here, isn't there?" "As I said, you don't need to worry about that." Frederica looked down on the world below from the roof of the business hotel. It was already past noon, so there wasn't as much foot traffic now as there was during peak hours. In comparison, there were somewhat more cars going by. It seemed they were doing construction in front of the station, like working on a gas pipe or something, as traffic was restricted to one lane with alternating flow, and it was making the street a little congested. Frederica put her cell phone down on a corner of the roof. Considering the job she was about to do, it was best not to take it with her. It would be a bother if she were to break it by accident. But anyway, just who on earth was it talking to her through this phone? They'd known the number of the cell phone Frederica had only just stolen and had also been quite aware Frederica was the one using it. They had to be using some kind of magic to do this, but Frederica couldn't think of anyone applicable. As the one being used, she wanted to know who was using her and for what reasons, at least. "Don't worry. I won't hurt you." It was as if they were reading her mind, and it gave her the creeps, which was also a little fun. Frederica's shoulders shook with her chuckles. If she was going to be used regardless, it was best if it was done by someone like this. "That's reassuring. I'm quite hopeful." Frederica ended the call, then ran down the wall of the building. Maintaining speed, she bent the trajectory of her sprint at a right angle, then kicked a middle-sized truck waiting at the light to knock it on its side. She ripped the door off the compact car behind it and yanked out the driver from inside, tossing him aside. The driver of the taxi in front of the compact car that had also been waiting for the light tumbled out of his vehicle and ran away. Frederica got a good hold on the compact car and lifted it into the air, winding it up to slam it into the taxi. Its glass shattered into a million shards, scattering in every direction. Frederica just attacked and destroyed every car that caught her eye. She twisted bumpers, smashed windshields, and ripped off doors. Running, she kicked three vehicles in a row in their sides, knocking them over, and the fourth vehicle, a company truck, she sent tumbling over sideways into the entrance of a convenience store. She was particularly thorough about destroying an expensive foreign car with a fancy emblem on it. Screams, yells, and the sounds of shattering glass flew every which way. Cars swerved, and people abandoned their vehicles to run, all of them fleeing Frederica as fast as possible. Going on a monstrous rampage like this felt incredible. But she couldn't hang around long. If it were the police or the SDF or whatnot, then well, if they came, they came, but if something else were to arrive— Oh, so that's it. Causing a scene would bring magical girls coming to see what was going on. Then nearby dangerous magical girls might encounter one another. Understanding the reason she'd been made to go on a rampage, she was now aware of what a nasty character the one who'd given her that order was. Joy in her heart, Frederica left the scene, knocking over three more cars right before she departed.
[ POV: Rain Pow; Time remaining: three hours, thirty minutes ] Rain Pow heard the ruckus, and by the time she'd rushed up to the top of a hotel there, the culprit was already gone, with only the results of their deeds laid out in the world below. Someone had clearly gone berserk. A number of cars had been knocked over and slammed, and some had even been tossed into stores. Only a magical girl could have done something like this. But still, it wasn't the sort of thing the inspection team nor the middle school group would have pulled. The only plausible culprits here were Pukin or Frederica. This style of destruction was very emotional, like a wailing child's temper tantrum. Frederica was known to have a crafty and cunning personality, so such methods of venting or temper tantrums weren't like her. Pukin, then? A car burst into flames with a whoosh, likely ignited by some leaking gasoline. "Postarie, you keep an eye on our rear. Toko, keep watch above us." According to her information, even a single hit from Pukin would spell game over. Even though Pukin had been injured after Rain Pow had killed Pam, persisting in pursuit of her would have been dangerous. Rain Pow went on the alert, sharpening her senses and readying herself to deal with an attack from any direction. This spectacle seemed to indicate that Pukin was furious. If that fury was directed at Rain Pow, then she absolutely couldn't let her guard down. She was back-to-back with Postarie, with Toko above their heads. Neither of the two could be trusted all that much in combat, but they could have some use as lookouts. Rain Pow slowly leaned over the roof's edge, gazing down. There was no sign of any people. So that meant they'd all run? It should take a bit longer for police or fire trucks to arrive. Since there had been so many magical girls running wild elsewhere, emergency services had just that much more work to do. They could request support from outside the city, but it wouldn't come immediately... Just like with the Magical Kingdom— Rain Pow leaped to the side, then turned around. There was a fencer-style magical girl behind Postarie, glaring murderous daggers at them. Postarie slumped to the ground. The force of Pukin's malice was like being pierced through the heart. It was more than a freshly debuted newbie could handle. Over her head, Toko fled in the opposite direction. She understood what she had to do. Rain Pow turned her rainbows on Pukin and formed a wall of multiple rainbows on top of the building. Unlike Ripple, Pukin wasn't going to throw homing projectiles at her. No matter how fast she was, she always attacked directly with her sword. It was worthwhile enough to just inhibit her movements. The rainbows raced toward Pukin from every angle, and she dodged them, knocking them aside with the rapier in her right hand and the dagger in her left. When Rain Pow caught a glimpse of her mouth through the veil of her hair, flowing in the wind, she saw Pukin was grinning. Rain Pow was ready. Though she was wary of Pukin's smile, she never let up with her attacks. An assassin never made an ineffective strike. Pukin turned aside one rainbow with sharp swordsmanship, slammed into another, kicked aside the rainbow that grew from below, then turned in midair to leap from the roof railing before vanishing. Unease rose in Rain Pow again, just like when she'd seen that smile, and something about this felt harsher. It was often wise to weigh feelings over thoughts. If there was a reason Pukin had caused a scene, could it be that she wanted to lure Rain Pow here? Absolutely do not let your guard down. Never let your guard down. No matter what happens, don't let your guard down, she told herself, and she grabbed Postarie's collar to force her to her feet. Pukin was mainly a close-quarters fighter, and Rain Pow was fairly compatible with that. No matter how swift she was or how sharp her sword, Rain Pow could prevent her from getting close. But Pukin would be aware of that, too. So if she'd lured Rain Pow here well aware of that, then she may have arranged some kind of trap—for example, Frederica. She had yet to reveal herself, but it may be that she and Pukin were looking to corner her together. Pukin might well have set a bomb or something on the roof of the hotel to go off at just the right moment. Rain Pow often taunted her enemies verbally. But she would never actually take them lightly. Holding the trembling Postarie under her arm, Rain Pow leaped from the roof of the hotel over to the cram-school building, then dashed up a rainbow. She ran a micron-sized rainbow, thinner than a string, all around the area to alert her of any attacks. If the time came, she would give a signal to Postarie, toss out the welcome mat wrapped around her middle, and they would grab hold of that to escape. But she would prefer to finish Pukin off now rather than running, if possible. It wasn't just about the special bonus—it was best for both Pukin and Frederica to be gone. Rain Pow focused all her senses on detecting attacks. Alert and ready to deal with anything, no matter from what direction, she heard Toko cry out from the sky above, and her concentration was broken. Looking up, she saw Toko being attacked by a black swarm. It was crows. They poked her with their beaks and scratched her with their claws, and Toko was wailing and trying to escape them. Rain Pow was about to drive them away with a rainbow but was unsure, worried she might hurt Toko instead. In that brief moment of hesitation, a figure leaped into the swarm of crows, grabbed Toko, and landed on the edge of the building. "When fighting an opponent who uses projectiles, you keep the fairy under your clothing. When your opponent lacks projectiles or means to fly, you let the fairy escape into the air. It's a logical strategy, but that only makes it simple to read." Toko in her grasp, Pukin looked down at Rain Pow. With the sun at her back, Rain Pow couldn't see the look on her face, but from the tone of her voice, Rain Pow could tell she was smiling. She spoke a little on the slow side, perhaps to make it easier for Rain Pow to understand her English. "To control a murder of crows, one need only target the dominant bird. Simple, isn't it?" Rain Pow mentally clicked her tongue but didn't let that show on her face or in her voice, sneering back at Pukin instead. It was harder than she'd thought to mentally translate into English and then insult her back. Postarie, held under her arm, was trembling. But her trembling conversely made Rain Pow calmer. "What's the point of taking someone like her captive? If the Villainous and Vile Pukin the Mighty is gonna take a hostage, I think you could make better choices. Just saying." "Hey! Rain Pow! After all I've done for you!" "Have you really done all that? Honestly, I've been thinking you were kinda a pain in the ass." "Stop it! Don't pull anything! I don't wanna die yet! Do what Pukin says!" "No way. C'mon, Toko. At least yell something like, 'Don't mind me—kill her!' Eh?" Rain Pow had no intention of actually abandoning Toko. Toko understood that, and she was going along with her act. Pukin flourished the sword in her right hand, pointing it at Toko's stomach as she held the fairy in her left. She smiled gleefully. "My, my! Isn't this grand! We have seen so many giving in to torture and selling out their comrades that it's simply tiresome, but this is the first we've ever been witness to such lovely friendship!" Pukin held her stomach and laughed as if this were sincerely hilarious to her. This sort of real laughter also meant she was letting her guard down just that much. Toko argued with Rain Pow loudly, and then, mouth open wide, she bit down onto Pukin's gloved fingertip. Pukin let out a muffled cry and jerked to cover her left hand, and Toko used the moment when her grip loosened and slipped out from between her fingers, flying for Rain Pow at full speed. Pukin's sword stabbed toward the fairy, but either the pain or the lack of preparedness made her move too slowly. Rain Pow sent out a rainbow to block the sword and cover Toko, then followed up with another one to attack. Pukin rolled to a position on the hotel roof that was out of sight from Rain Pow's position. If she was going to finish off Pukin, now was the time. Rain Pow dashed onto a rainbow, meeting Toko halfway, and tucked the fairy into her shirt. "Man, getting attacked by crows sounds like something out of a horror game." "I never wanna go through that ever again." With Toko in her clothing and Postarie held under her arm, Rain Pow dashed along the rainbow back to the roof of the hotel. Pukin was standing on the railing on the opposite side. Was she planning to jump down again? Rain Pow wouldn't let her escape a second time. She sent a rainbow through the air to hold Pukin down and was about to generate more when she felt a prick of pain at her chest and froze. It was a very mild pain, as if she'd been pricked with the tip of a needle. She looked down at her chest where Toko should have been. But a hand was there instead. A hand? It wasn't someone reaching out to her with their hand. There was just a disembodied left hand at her chest. It hadn't been cut off, it wasn't bleeding, and it wasn't cold. It had heat; it was warm—in fact, it was trying to move, so she grabbed it and struck it. Frederica, huh? This was Frederica's magic—Toko had told her about it. Without a moment's hesitation, Rain Pow shot out a rainbow to slice the hand in two. A spray of blood flew from it, and it spasmed. Rain Pow crushed it under her heel. Toko had told her that when Frederica put her hand into her crystal ball, she could meddle with the location reflected within the crystal ball. So in other words, did that mean she'd kidnapped Toko using that method? Rain Pow hadn't noticed Frederica at all, and by the time she did, Toko had already been gone, and the left hand was there. She turned to Postarie to warn her to be careful, then guarded herself and sent out her rainbows. Postarie wasn't there. Standing there was not Postarie but Pukin, sword drawn. Rain Pow made a rainbow wall and sent rainbows toward her from all directions. But even though Rain Pow was completely within her stabbing range, for some reason, Pukin just stood there, neither evading nor attacking, as all the rainbows hit her, slicing her to pieces, and she fell to the ground. Bafflement visited her before gladness or elation. Pukin had taken Rain Pow from behind. She could have killed her at any time, if she'd wanted to, right? Why hadn't she attacked? Why had she just stood there until Rain Pow noticed her? And after she'd been discovered, why hadn't she tried to move? Why had she just allowed herself to be killed? And where had Postarie gone? Rain Pow focused her nerves on the movements around her. She placed her hands on the roof. She sensed vibration, humidity, warmth, and the movements of the air—everything. Even if Frederica had kidnapped Toko, Postarie wouldn't go anywhere on her own. If Pukin had been the one up to something here, that wouldn't have caused her death. Was someone besides Pukin or Frederica attacking her? "Perhaps you should have been more cautious about a hostage who escaped on her own." Pukin's voice reached her ears, and Rain Pow turned around, but Pukin was still lying there, not even twitching. She'd been hacked up by rainbows and continued to bleed out. "By the time we captured your precious fairy, we had already wounded her and made her our own. When she argued with you loudly and bit our finger to escape, all that was done under our command. We sent a spy to your breast to land a strike under your tight guard. We broke the tiniest piece off the tip of our sword and gave it to Toko to hold. Under my order, the fairy pricked your chest, and next, you were magicked, your perception distorted." I've been stabbed? By Toko? What's she talking about? "We mean to say that our magic has caused your perception to err. Look properly at what you've done, what has just come to pass, from the correct perspective." She heard a sound like a snap in her ears, and her vision twisted, then cleared. Pukin, torn to shreds, became Tatsuko Sakaki. The volume of blood and position of wounds were identical. Frederica's hand was now Toko, sliced clean in two. Very calmly, Rain Pow thought, Oh, so that was how I was seeing it wrong. She reassessed things, and she was puzzled at herself for being so strangely composed. When she wiped her cheek with her finger, she found there was blood on it. "We've cast it again on you. Now, you are our vassal." I see, she thought, accepting it. That explained why she could be so calm. Pukin was standing close by, leaning against the iron fence. Pukin's magic had also prevented her awareness of her presence. Pukin broke into a cheery smile and brushed back her bangs. "Now then, for our first order—slice those two up in as brutal a manner as possible." Rain Pow shot out her rainbows. She didn't even consider opposing Pukin's command. Of course she would obey. Calmly, she sent forth her rainbows, pointing their sharp tips at Tatsuko's and Toko's corpses. Rain Pow thought about the two of them. Heart cold and crisp, she properly understood now exactly how she'd felt about them. Without Toko, she would probably have continued to be her sister's slave. The selfish, villainous, and egotistical fairy had joyfully told her, "With your talent, we can take on the world!" It was because of Toko she'd made it this far. She could never thank her enough. Toko had been the first person in her life she could smile and feel happy with. And as Postarie had saved Rain Pow, Rain Pow had also been unable to kill Postarie. She should have killed her early on, before even attacking Archfiend Pam, since she couldn't know what Postarie might do. But Rain Pow just hadn't been able to do it, creating the excuse for herself that she was making her a hostage, and had kept her alive. She just hadn't been able to bring herself to think about killing Postarie. But now it's all over. Rain Pow sliced up the two corpses with her rainbows, chopping them up finely to Pukin's satisfaction. Pukin smiled. "Don't you worry. Once matters have settled, we'll return your mind to normal. You'll hold the memory of how you murdered your friends in your heart as we kill you. That shall be the first forgiveness you'll ever receive, drudge."
[ POV: Weddin; Time remaining: three hours, forty minutes ] "Even if it's impossible, I just have to do it." 7753 took Mana's hand. "I'll stay, too." "I thought I told you not to get in my way again." Mana immediately shook her off. "I won't get in the way." "You'll get in the way just by being here." Mana was serious. She was entirely sincere in her intention to finish this all by herself. Weddin's thoughts and feelings swirled around in an endless vortex. Just a moment ago, she'd been wailing pathetically, blaming the Magical Kingdom, 7753, and Mana. But even venting all her rage had not cleared the hesitation she still felt. And Weddin knew all of it would just come back to her. If a magical girl wasn't something worth aspiring to, then she had to make herself the model of one—because she was a magical girl, too. "So then... Please, let us help, at least." The words escaped Weddin's mouth. She was being entirely sincere, but even so, saying it out loud made her break into a cold sweat. Mana shook her head. "You're all newbies with almost zero experience. No matter how many of you we scrape together, you'll just be a burden." "Don't belittle me." "I'm not belittling you. I'm only giving you the truth." The town would be destroyed. The ten-odd years of her life would all disappear. The classmates who'd helped her with school, the homeroom teacher who'd held Mine in high esteem, the kids who had called her a suck-up behind her back, the school—all of it would be gone. The old lady in the neighborhood who had given her the same compliment ever since preschool: "It's so nice how you always say hello so cheerfully"; the kids' park with the monkey bars where she'd once hit her head when she was little and had wailed on about it; the library with the cubicles she'd used when she wanted to be alone; her house. It would all be gone. Knowing what should be done, what she was capable of, and running anyway, was not the act of a leader and not something the magical girls Mine had always admired would do. Even now that she was in middle school, she'd never stopped watching anime—because of the magical girls. And there were still magical girls, now—right here. Weddin turned around. Funny Trick's shoulders were shaking with sobs. Kuru-Kuru Hime merely stood there, struck dumb. Weddin could give them orders. She could tell them, "Follow me! Let's fight together! We magical girls are the only ones who can save this town!" But that was the same as telling them to die with her, wasn't it? That was just like telling them to follow her to hell. Death. Dying. Killing. Being killed. Weddin lifted her head, and her eyes connected with Tepsekemei's. Tepsekemei was the only one there who was expressionless, as she always was, arms and legs folded as she floated in the air. "Weddin." "Wh-what is it?" "No orders yet?" They were all looking at her, listening for what she would say. She pressed her hand against her chest. It hurt. She wanted to tear it out. What should a leader do? She didn't want to die. She was scared. She didn't want the town to be destroyed, and she really didn't want to lose the people and things she cared about. I'm scared. Help. Emotions, both strong and weak, rose within her, then disappeared. She felt as if something were pressing the back of her throat. What did she have to do to be released from this pain? She opened her mouth. "First, cool your heads, please. Not physically but mentally. If we lose our calm, we won't be able to come up with any good ideas. And then please decide for yourselves—I won't give you any orders." She looked at Kuru-Kuru Hime, Funny Trick, and Tepsekemei in turn. "I've—made up my mind. No matter how you may oppose it, Mana, I will stay here and fight."
[ POV: Funny Trick; Time remaining: three hours, thirty-two minutes ] Kayo was all alone, crying in impenetrable darkness. Nobody would save her. Nobody would call out to her. She was sad and hurting and didn't want to do anything. If she just plugged her ears and closed her eyes and cried, it had to all pass, like a storm. That talk about the town disappearing was a lie. She didn't want to hear anything. She didn't want to see anything. She'd never even wanted to be a magical girl in the first place. The others had celebrated it, and she'd just been dragged into it. She could never believe in magical girls. They shouldn't exist. That talk about a weapon of mass destruction was a pack of lies. As she rejected everything, held her head in her hands, and trembled, inside her, Umi Shibahara was yelling. "How stupid are you? There's no time to hesitate." Kayo grew angry at Umi's brash remark. She argued back. "You always say stuff like that, Umi. But things are actually horrible right now." "So what if it's horrible?" "You're reckless!" "There's no such thing as reckless when you're a magical girl—only excitement!" "Excitement?" Honestly, this isn't some..." "Listen, don't go acting like just 'cause you found a good moment to escape means that was enough, okay? Just don't." "Umi..." "Don't you wanna beat me? If you beat someone I couldn't, that means you beat me." Kayo, who had always walked behind Umi. Beating Umi. "But..." "No buts! Pull yourself together!" She spoke bluntly, giving Funny Trick a good kick in the rear. When Funny Trick opened her eyes, she saw Weddin there. Still holding her head, Funny Trick muttered, "I want to fight, too." She got the feeling that somewhere, someone was grumbling, "You could try to act a little more badass about it."
[ POV: Kuru-Kuru Hime; Time remaining: three hours, thirty-two minutes ] She no longer wanted to think about anything. Problems just kept bubbling up one after another, and before one was solved, the next one appeared. Her pride as a teacher or whatever was long gone. If nobody could fix things, there was no way a teacher could fix things, either. Her father was gone. She had no one. The home she could return to would soon be destroyed. All their homes would be: the neighbor who struggled with a baby that cried so much at night; the house across the street where that husband lived, the one who'd been looking for a job since the factory where he'd worked had closed; and Nozomi's own house, now without her father. There would be no struggling. She would just wait until it had passed. As a teacher, she'd failed to take care of her students; as a daughter, she hadn't been able to take care of her father; and as a magical girl, she hadn't managed to take care of the town. She hadn't been able to do anything. And she wouldn't be able to do anything, either. There was no longer any point. Did she have to do something? Kuru-Kuru Hime, not anyone else. What for? She had no family anymore. She'd lost the desire to be a teacher. And no way did she want to be a magical girl. For some reason, she recalled her father—that time when she had gone to pick him up at the station, an umbrella in hand, she'd been able to find him so quickly in the crowd. His face wasn't the sort that stood out, and he wore only the sort of ordinary suit you saw on any office worker, but she'd found him quickly, like, "Oh, he's over there." It was then that Nozomi realized she'd gotten her baby face from him. She'd giggled over this old man with a childlike face, and her father had given her a baffled look. Nozomi never made barley tea, but the barley tea in the fridge never ran out. Whenever there wasn't much left, her father would put a pack of it into the kettle and boil some. It wasn't as if he'd been asked to do it. He just knew she liked it, so he'd always refilled it for her. He was gone now. He'd been murdered, taken from her. She had averted her eyes from the absurdity of it, repeating "I'm helpless, I can't do anything" as if chanting a mantra. Anger, like thick, oozing magma, threatened to well up from the pit of her stomach. Why did her father have to die? Why did the town have to be destroyed? There was no longer anyone alive who would silently push her from behind. Kuru-Kuru Hime stood, with her own strength. "I'll do it, too. Please let me do it."
[ POV: Mana; Time remaining: three hours, thirty-two minutes ] Weddin had made her announcement, Funny Trick agreed to it, and Kuru-Kuru Hime asked to be a part of it. Tepsekemei drifted around, the look on her face saying she would of course join in. What should Mana do? She still felt she couldn't take regular people to do this. "...You can't. I can't use brand-new magical girls to fight with me." 7753 took Mana's hand one more time. This time, Mana didn't shake her off. "My boss said to me... 'You're Magical Girl Resources staff, not a fighter, or an inspector, or an assassin. You're not combat personnel, so come back,' she told me. But Magical Girl Resources can fight in a Magical Girl Resources way. Please give me one hour. In one hour, I can use my goggles to uncover all of everyone's potential." "Potential?" "From the moment you become a magical girl, you have a vague understanding of what your magic is. But ultimately, that's just a vague understanding. Normally, you learn the restrictions, limits, and applications of your magic through practice. None of the magical girls here have that experience." "So..." "I'll use my goggles to analyze their magic and make them all veteran-level." Mana just couldn't shake off 7753's hand. Weddin, Kuru-Kuru Hime, Funny Trick, and Tepsekemei were not going to back down. Mana looked away from them all and kicked the dirt at her feet. "...I have a few items left. We'll split those." Smoke bombs, her staff, and various other items rolled out of her bag. Mana raised her head and pointed at Weddin. "You negotiate with Frederica. Use your magic...your promises, to manipulate her. Even trash like her is strong in a fight. Stronger than any of us."
[ POV: Pythie Frederica; Time remaining: two hours, fifty-six minutes ] Those who refused will surely want to be your friend, too. The suspicious voice who made a request to Frederica had told her that. Strangely, Frederica believed it. She thought it might be that person emphasizing their own usefulness. It was their own way of trying to appeal to Frederica, show her they would not only give her orders, but would also give her information. Though the voice had been electronic, Frederica could surmise what intentions had lurked behind it. It hadn't been trying to deceive Frederica, and neither had that been meant as a weak consolation. Not long after Frederica fled the scene, the voice told her the results of her actions. Namely, the present situation: Pukin had won, Postarie and Toko had been killed, and Rain Pow was under Pukin's control. This part was probably not an attempt to appeal to her but rather a reward for her cooperation. These results were within the scope of her own predictions, so she believed the voice was telling the truth. The phone did not ring again. Frederica waited patiently by the cell phone. She sat cross-legged in front of her plastic sheet, ignoring the passage of time, just focusing on waiting. The moment her cell phone vibrated, she took it in her hands. It was from Kuru-Kuru Hime. "Pythie Frederica speaking. Is this Kuru-Kuru Hime?" "It's Weddin." Oh-ho. "What might your business be?" "Continuing our earlier conversation. You intend to cooperate, don't you?" "Well, well... Have the winds changed?" "It's no use making some bungling attempt to take advantage of this. We've heard news that if we fail to capture the criminal before the barrier is undone, the Department of Diplomacy will send a weapon of mass destruction into the barrier. If that happens, you won't survive, either." The Department of Diplomacy? They'd use a weapon of mass destruction? Was it possible? It was clearly ridiculous. But Frederica got no sense from Weddin's voice that she was lying. Had there been some mistake, somewhere along the line? Were mistakes happening in the continuous tense, right that moment? Frederica had been cut off from outside information, so it was difficult for her to judge. "I see... It seems we're in quite the pickle, hmm? Thank you very much for sharing this valuable information with me." "I'm not particularly interested in thanks from you." "Well then, I'll share something with you, too. Pukin and Rain Pow engaged in combat. Toko and Postarie were killed, and now it seems Rain Pow is Pukin's puppet." She was met with silence on the other end. After about thirty seconds' pause, Weddin spoke again. "How do you know that?" "Because I happened to be present. I ran before I was discovered, though." She was aware that was a suspicious statement to make. But Weddin would have no way to confirm her suspicions. "So there's no reason for me to refuse your proposal to cooperate, since I'd be helpless against Rain Pow and Pukin together. If you could tell me where you all are right now, then I'll immediately fly to you." "We can't have you coming to us right away. First, you're going to make some promises to me, please." "Promises?" "We can't trust you. And we don't want to be stabbed in our backs once this battle is over, either. We're returning a powerful weapon to you, so we must have you do this much for us."
[ POV: 7753; Time remaining: two hours, thirty minutes ] Pythie Frederica arrived. Her style was star-spangled, with a star-decorated veil, a star choker, stars painted on her face, and star-patterned stockings, with her long, long hair flowing over her long skirt. When she pointed that pleasant smile at you, it made one feel almost able to blindly trust her. But if she was the sort of person rumors said her to be, 7753 wouldn't take that smile at face value. A volatile air wafted in together with Frederica. 7753 could tell even without looking through her goggles that this impression she had was neither vague nor unfounded. All at once, everyone—Funny Trick, who had been her prisoner; Kuru-Kuru Hime, whose father had been killed; Mana, who'd watched Hana die; Weddin, who had been mind-controlled; and Tepsekemei, who was just joining in on the bandwagon—glared at Frederica as she put her hand to the back of her head and made up an excuse: "All these things were done either by Pukin herself or on her orders... But I do regret my actions." Regardless of whether or not Frederica seriously regretted everything, she was now no longer a fully harmful presence to their party. Among the promises she had made to Weddin, the three most pivotal ones were "don't do anything antagonistic toward the magical girls or mage," "don't lie," and "even after the barrier is undone, don't make the magical girls or mage the target of your magic." The first one was obvious; the second was so that they wouldn't be deceived in the realm of something else Frederica hadn't promised to them; and the third was a preventative measure, so that after this incident was resolved, they would not be spied on. They wanted to restrict her as much as possible, and Frederica wanted to avoid as many restrictions as possible, and so they discussed. "If I'm forced to make such promises, it will affect my lifestyle even after this incident is over." "And we have no desire to cooperate with someone who poses a threat to us." Both parties came up with points of concession and compromise. They discussed "the order of priorities in emergency situations," "threats to one's right to life," "for averting present danger," and "a firm grasp on the system of orders," and came to an agreement. Further, separate from that, Frederica also made promises with Mana. "I'd rather not have you arrest me once this is over, so for that I would request a plea bargain. Essentially, extrajudicial measures." "You mean to let you go?" "Well, simply reducing my crimes somewhat would still mean the Magical Kingdom would try to arrest me. Rather, it would make both you and I happier if you were to pretend you've never seen me. Come now, I won't do any more evil deeds. I simply don't want to go back to prison." Frederica was bound to continue to be a crook. But at this point, they needed her help to prevent a weapon of mass destruction from being launched in this town. And since she'd promised not to lie, then she shouldn't do anything to betray or deceive them. "Hmph... Then first, we'll have you search for Pukin. This is you we're talking about. You'll have some of her hair, of course?" "If I could just have my crystal ball back, I could do that immediately. However, I ask that you please not make me put my hand into it. If I were to stick my fingers in there, I'm sure I would quite literally be caught red-handed." They discussed how they would integrate Frederica into their strategy, and then 7753 returned to her own task. She examined the new magical girls, who were not yet completely using their magic to the fullest. Looking at them through her goggles, she checked their magic's effect range, use criteria, speed, and accuracy—every heading available to research how they might be used in practice. 7753 had seen more than just a couple hundred magical girls in her time. Making use of all her experience in Magical Girl Resources, she considered what these girls were capable of. 7753's job had been to search out negative traits and report them. This required her to get an accurate grasp of the target. She hadn't been writing out reports, lately, but it wasn't as if she'd lost that experience.
[ POV: Pukin; Time remaining: one hour, twenty-five minutes ] Pukin bit into the ham, devouring it. This is just like Sonia, she thought, laughing at herself, but remembering Sonia made her chest ache. No matter how she ate and ate, it still wasn't enough. Was it that she lacked enough food? Or was it stimulation she was lacking? She'd just absorbed the ultimate nutrition, a fairy, so she should have no complaints regarding quality, at least. Taste and texture aside, fairies were more nutritious than just about anything. "Bring us more. It's still not enough." "Yes, ma'am." Rain Pow was obedient and easy to use. She obeyed anything, no matter what the order. Pukin had made her that way, but it was lacking in interest. She'd prioritized ease of use, so it made sense she would end up like this. Pukin could order her to do something interesting or say something interesting, but she doubted Rain Pow could entertain her. She would loyally attempt to carry out such orders, but it was sure to go poorly. Pukin considered summoning Frederica back, under the strict instruction to never slack off again, but she had no means with which to call her. Both thinking about Sonia and thinking about Frederica felt unpleasant. She was just going on eating like this without any form of distraction because those she awaited weren't coming. If the inspection team, which meant to capture Rain Pow, were to come, that would be entertainment enough for Pukin. She couldn't understand why it was taking them so long to do their job. Pukin had sliced up the walls, floor, ceiling, and furniture of the room in an attempt to vent her aggression. But despite how she let it out, there was still no target for her to attack. This led to her spinning her wheels fruitlessly, and the walls, floor, ceiling, and furniture were made sacrifices. It wasn't interesting. It wasn't good that the inspection team was so incompetent. How dare they make Pukin wait this long? But if her opponents were incompetent, then she would have to accommodate that. Pukin was generous and tolerant. She treated not just her retainers but even her enemies with kindness. When Rain Pow came back through the window with foodstuffs in her arms, Pukin ordered her, "Go outside and begin killing every human you encounter. Destroy buildings and vehicles, too—and not only that but set them on fire, too. Once there is rising smoke, they'll be forced to take notice." "Yes, ma'am." Before long, Pukin heard screams and sounds of destruction coming from outside. If she could hear the cries of children, the shrill sounds of women screaming, men yelling, and some begging for their lives, too, that would be perfect. A lump of ham in one hand, Pukin stood and gazed out from the veranda as she bit into the meat. "Swine. Their squeals are unexpectedly pleasant." This made her dull meal a little more interesting. She should have ordered this earlier.
[ POV: Rain Pow; Time remaining: one hour, five minutes ] Pukin's orders were absolute. Rain Pow had no choice. She did as she was told. She let fly her rainbows at the elderly couple sitting side by side on the bench at the bus stop, fired them at the incoming cars, and used more to cut down road signs and traffic lights. She raced through the middle of the commercial district, using her rainbows on shop after shop, splattering red liquid on the show windows from the insides until you could no longer see within. She kicked up clouds of dust as she raced along the road, spurts of blood following her, dyeing her path red. Rain Pow lacked any powers of judgment—no I wanna do this or I don't wanna do that. And not only had she been ordered to kill and destroy, but to set fires, too. She went into a miscellaneous goods store and fished around, but found no matches. She headed for a convenience store not too far away, and found an employee there, so she tried asking, "Where are the matches?" The employee just kept on screaming and didn't make to answer, so she cut them up, then recalled a shop for Buddhist articles might have matches. Running along the road, she used her rainbows to destroy everything in sight. She had to do just as Pukin had ordered. Making use of her many rainbows, she could accomplish that easily. She sliced open a police car, cut down an officer, cut up a dump truck, and slashed the giant Buddha statue on the roof of the Buddhist goods store into three pieces. The Buddha statue collapsed with a shudder, and it crushed the roof of the building it fell onto. Rain Pow just carried out the orders she'd been given. She took an economical ten-pack of matches from the Buddhist goods store. With this, she would be able to set as many fires as she wanted. Surely, this would satisfy Pukin. "What are you doing?" she heard suddenly from behind, and with a leap backward, she turned around, sending out rainbows. Those seven rainbows total all soared true, hitting the source of the voice, but even so, the target did not fall. "You're an enemy, after all." Tepsekemei gathered together the pieces of her shredded form and looked down at Rain Pow. If Tepsekemei was here, that meant the others had to be here, too. The names rose in her mind one after another: Kuru-Kuru Hime, Weddin, and Funny Trick.
[ POV: Weddin; Time remaining: fifty-eight minutes ] Weddin's magic forced someone to keep the promises they'd made. According to 7753's analysis, she was unlimited in both her number of promises received and number of promises a single individual could make to her. A contract could be overwritten. If contradicting promises were made to her, the newer promise would have stronger powers of compulsion. She could compel a target to act but could not restrict their thoughts or feelings. A contract could be made even without her meeting someone and speaking to them directly. This was also true for her communicating her desire to her target. Also, the foundation of this ability was Weddin's subjective view. Reflected in Frederica's crystal ball, Rain Pow's expression was vacant as she engaged her destructive activities. She looked clearly as if she'd lost her mental equilibrium. It was clear she was being controlled by Pukin's magic. You didn't have to be Weddin, with her experience of having been under Pukin's control, to be able to tell that. The question was: Would Weddin's magic work on someone who was under Pukin's control? Rain Pow's promise had been worded as "to obey the leader's decisions." Obviously, Rain Pow didn't acknowledge Weddin as her leader at the moment, but 7753 had said that whether the magic worked depended on Weddin's perception of Rain Pow. As long as Weddin believed that even if a person was brainwashed or had lost their memories or their personality had fallen apart, she still held the right as their leader, then her magic would work. "What incredible carnage," Frederica said cheerfully as she watched Tepsekemei in her crystal ball. No matter what a master of self-deception Frederica might be, as long as Weddin kept it together, Frederica would never be able to oppose her magic. "She must be destroying things like that in order to show us where she is, to lure us to her." "Quiet, please. You'll distract me." Rain Pow and Tepsekemei were about twenty yards apart, engaging in an ongoing long-range fight. Tepsekemei's body had been sliced to ribbons by rainbow blades, while Tepsekemei's attacks were blocked by walls of rainbows. I see, so that's how she uses them. Rain Pow's attention was focused on Tepsekemei, who was fulfilling her role as decoy. "All right, then do it, please." "Yes, yes, understood." Frederica grabbed Weddin by the collar and shoved her face into the crystal ball. That hurts, Weddin thought, and an instant later, she was somewhere else. Rain Pow and Tepsekemei were fighting right close by. Weddin leaped out from cover and yelled, "Stop, Rain Pow! You're not allowed to hurt anyone!" Rain Pow turned around. Her expression was still vacant. "I'm the leader! Rain Pow, don't use your magic! No kicking or hitting! Don't hurt any living things! Don't break things! No evil deeds! You're not allowed to do anything ba—" A streak of light. By the time Weddin realized it was a rainbow, there was a yank on her collar and she was dragged back. Tepsekemei and Rain Pow both vanished, and there was Frederica beside her. "How come it didn't work?!" "It seems her ears are plugged. From the way she's moving, it seems she can't hear anything." "Her ears are plugged... That's it?" Their strategy—wherein Tepsekemei would play decoy, and while she had Rain Pow distracted, they'd take her by surprise with Frederica's magic—should have worked out. The sounds of destruction were gradually approaching. Weddin bit her lower lip hard.
[ POV: Rain Pow; Time remaining: fifty-five minutes ] She'd never let her guard down around Weddin's magic, not from the moment they'd first become allies. One promise to Weddin alone was bound to bring it all crashing down. But still, one of the group refusing a promise would have made her look suspicious. So she'd come up with a way she could hide her presence in the group while also resisting Weddin's magic. It was a very simple solution. Tepsekemei dived toward Rain Pow with her mouth open. It looked like she was trying to say something, but Rain Pow couldn't hear her right now. When they'd started fighting, she'd filled her ears with rainbows to shut out any sound. Neither Weddin's orders nor Tepsekemei's yelling would reach her. She'd figured out a way to deal with Tepsekemei. Rain Pow raised a wall of rainbows to block her, then put up more rainbows, which she plated with even more. She kept shooting out rainbows, manifesting them, making layer upon layer, burying rainbows with more rainbows. If Tepsekemei had been calm, she would've realized Rain Pow's goal before she could accomplish it and would have managed it somehow. But she wasn't trying to avoid the attacks, now. She was trying so hard to fulfill her role as decoy, she was making no effort to avoid anything, just taking it all. Rain Pow surrounded Tepsekemei with rainbows, and in the end, she had a rainbow sphere the size of a basketball with Tepsekemei inside it. Even Tepsekemei, made of wind as she was, couldn't escape an airtight sphere. The multiple layers of rainbows were incredibly strong against brute force, and they were impossible to destroy unless you used some unique magic on it—which Tepsekemei would not have.
[ POV: Pukin; Time remaining: fifty minutes ] The sounds of screams and destruction gradually grew distant. Rain Pow must have been trying to further the commotion by keeping up the carnage as she moved. Her passion for the job was wonderful, but now that Pukin could no longer hear the background music, her dinner didn't taste quite so good anymore. She heard the sound of something falling with a clunk from the kitchen. "Sonia? Frederica? Rain Pow?" There was no reply. Pukin drew her rapier, making her way to the kitchen with silent footsteps, then somersaulted in the air to avoid the score of ribbons breaking through the window to fly at her. "Ha-ha-ha! That's a good diversion! Not a bad strategy!" The ribbons made to run outside, so she followed them, jumping out the window. She confirmed the enemy's position. The ribbon magical girl was making to rush down the wall. There were no others. She could sense no one else around. Had the ribbon girl come to confront Pukin all alone? She was running too fast for that. Then she raced down the wall and set off in the opposite direction from where Rain Pow had headed. Pukin gave chase but didn't catch up. Pukin's legs were faster, but the ribbon girl could use her ribbons to grab buildings and street signs, tugging at them to swing through the air. She would also use them to make wheel-like shapes, landing on them to maintain her forward momentum. Though she surely could move fast enough to leave Pukin behind if she felt like it, she maintained a speed where she would neither escape nor be caught. Does she intend to lure us somewhere? If so, then she is underestimating us. Pukin snorted. There were few pedestrians on the street as they ran down it, leaping over a cluster of police cars and jetting along a raised path between rice fields to come out to a mountain trail. Was the ribbon girl simply choosing a place with fewer people, or had she set up a trap here? They arrived in a clearing in the forest about fifty-odd yards wide. There was a wooden arrow direction sign. Pukin couldn't read the characters, so she didn't know what it said. To her right there was a pile of logs; to her left, three figures: a girl in goggles, a girl wearing a pointed hat, and a stage magician. There was nothing particularly unusual about the ground below. They weren't trying to pull something with a pit or land mines. So then why had they lured her here? The town's outskirts... Oh, the barrier, eh? So they meant to use the barrier to knock her out? It wasn't a bad plan—if they could actually pull it off. Whatever their plan is, we merely need to crush it. The magical girl in the goggles yelled, "Please, be careful! She's more powerful than I thought! The number of her strength hearts is unusually high, compared to when she fought Hana... How are there so many?!" Fairies were the greatest nutrients. They brought out magical girls' strength. If only they had tasted good, Pukin would have no complaints.
[ POV: Weddin; Time remaining: forty-eight minutes ] Weddin's magic didn't work, and now that Tepsekemei was locked up in that rainbow ball, basically every part of their strategy had fallen apart. The exhaust duct of the fried chicken shop kept on going, rattling like it was on the edge of breaking, and Frederica and Weddin, who were hiding under the sheet they'd put up there, fell silent, gazing into the crystal ball. Rain Pow jumped off a building with the shrunken rainbow sphere in her arms. Leaving the ruined town behind her, she raced atop the buildings along the road. The scene in the crystal ball was reflected using Tepsekemei's hair, so it changed as her position moved. "Where is she going...?" "If she's taking the sphere with her, then that must mean she intends to do something with Tepsekemei inside it. For example... Ah yes. Even Tepsekemei wouldn't go unscathed if Rain Pow were to shove her at the barrier or something, now, would she?" "No...! So then, please, hurry and steal that sphere from her!" "Yes, yes, roger that." Frederica plunged her left hand into the crystal ball, and it came out behind Rain Pow as she ran. Frederica's hand stopped just behind Rain Pow's back, but the moment she was about to touch the sphere, a rainbow arced toward her fingers. Frederica instantly yanked back her hand. Blood spurted from the back of her hand, dripping a red stain onto her cheek. "An assassin's intuition is a frightening thing. Even with her ears plugged, this is what you get. You're at quite a disadvantage when your opponent expects you. With things like this, even if I try to make contact with her through my crystal ball, she'll only shoot me down." Rain Pow paused a moment and looked around before seemingly judging there wouldn't be another attack, then dashed off again, hopping from building to building. "Might I suggest something?" Frederica suggested with some reserve. Weddin couldn't stand her courteous attitude. "Rain Pow isn't running at full speed. She's telling us to pursue her, as if saying, 'At this rate, Tepsekemei's gonna die, so if you don't like it, come at me.'" Within the crystal ball, Rain Pow was running, occasionally stopping to look at thin air. She knew she was being observed through the crystal ball. Was she challenging them? "What shall we do? Give chase? Or shall we remain here?" Without a word, Weddin dashed off. Skirts fluttering, Frederica followed after her. "You're a little slow, Weddin. Couldn't you perhaps run a little faster?" "This is the second time today someone's told me that." Weddin would give everything she had to do this right. She was not going to have regrets about this. She would save Tepsekemei and the town. As the leader, she had to do that much.
[ POV: Kuru-Kuru Hime; Time remaining: forty-five minutes ] 7753 gave her the lecture. Kuru-Kuru Hime could control a maximum of two hundred and sixty ribbons. She could adjust the width of each individual ribbon within a range of the smallest fraction of an inch to twenty inches. The speed of her ribbons' release was faster than Kuru-Kuru Hime could move her own body. 7753 had explained that she'd be able to block Pukin's attacks if she focused purely on defense alone. And right that very moment, a fierce thrust came toward her from behind, and just as she had been told, she turned it aside with her ribbons as her feet hit the ground. Pukin landed after her, a foul expression on her face. Was she displeased her attack had been avoided by someone she'd assumed she could take down in one strike, or was she suspicious? Pukin did a full windup and attacked again, and this time, Kuru-Kuru Hime formed a shield of her ribbons to block it. She couldn't manage to counter. Pukin moved frighteningly fast, and Kuru-Kuru Hime had her hands full just keeping up. She signaled to the girls behind her by touching her middle and pointer fingers together and bending them twice. If it seemed she could lock Pukin down by force, then she would request their cooperation. If not, she was to tell them to stay back. She had signaled the latter instruction. If the other girls were to come help, she wouldn't be able to defend them. If Pukin were to attack them instead, they would get hit. Kuru-Kuru Hime guarded with her shield, and even as Pukin strung her along with a series of feints, she managed to avoid the chain of attacks and leap backward. Pukin was stronger than 7753 had anticipated. Kuru-Kuru Hime caught, blocked, and turned aside her attacks, but Pukin was so strong, even blocking just one strike rattled her to her bones. This wasn't going to work. Her ribbons were fast enough, but her body couldn't keep up. Eventually, she would be outpushed. Kuru-Kuru Hime undid some of her ribbons and sent them sliding all over her body. She thinned them out and pointed their tips, stabbing every part of her body with them. A red droplet dripped from her hand. Blood flowed from some punctured vein. Her face was wet, too, and probably not with sweat. It was blood. Not because any of Pukin's hits had connected. She knew that if she were to get hit even once, that would be game over. Pukin leaped from a tree, kicking off the one with the thickest trunk to go for Kuru-Kuru Hime's back. Kuru-Kuru Hime followed that movement. Now, instead of her muscles, she used her ribbons to move every part of her body. She smacked Pukin's thrust with a whip of ribbons and blocked with her ribbon shield. The bones of her legs made an unpleasant creaking noise. They had not yet broken. Pain racked her body. But still, she could keep up with Pukin now. She had to resist the pain. She absolutely couldn't stop moving. She had to do this. There was no other magical girl in their group who could keep up with Pukin's speed. They'd confirmed the position of the barrier beforehand. In a normal fight, leading her toward it would be an option. But they couldn't have a normal fight, not in this situation. All Kuru-Kuru Hime was doing was just barely managing to avoid being killed. Her vision was tinged red. Had blood gotten in her eyes, or were her eyes bleeding? Her body didn't have what it took to keep up with the speed. Pukin paused. Her eyebrows knit together as she stared at Kuru-Kuru Hime. Was she suspicious of her for wounding herself? She said something to Kuru-Kuru Hime in English, but it was too fast, and she couldn't understand it. But even if she couldn't understand it, she was grateful Pukin had spoken. It gave her a break. She gathered the ribbons on her left arm into a cone shape and made it spin at high speed. She could repel Pukin's sword with this drill. She swung it at Pukin but then stumbled, and the drill bored into the ground. Pukin let out a battle cry. Kuru-Kuru Hime was on her knees with Pukin's sword thrusting toward her. Using all her strength, Kuru-Kuru Hime yanked at the ribbon she'd tied to a tree behind her beforehand, leaping back to it to avoid the sword. But her stance was still a mess. Pukin readied her rapier for another strike, and Kuru-Kuru Hime tripled the size of her shield, swinging it hard. Kuru-Kuru Hime wasn't going to be the attacker here. She was the decoy and the assist. Dug up by the drill and fanned by the giant shield, fine dirt billowed into the air.
[ POV: Pythie Frederica; Time remaining: forty-one minutes ] The moment Rain Pow noticed Frederica and Weddin, she stopped running, turned around, and headed in their direction. Frederica's prediction that she'd been running in order to make them follow had not been wrong. Atop a building, the three magical girls clashed. Frederica evaded several rainbows, then stuffed Weddin into her crystal ball, yanked her out again, and tossed her in one more time—all to save her from the rainbows. Weddin's presence was preventing Frederica from fighting. With Weddin in her arms, Frederica leaped down from the building and kicked in a window to break inside. She cut past the stunned, silent residents, passing through the room to leap out the window on the other side and slip between the rainbows that arced toward her. Frederica had witnessed Rain Pow's attacks a number of times now, and she was gradually starting to figure out how she operated. She manifested rainbows, sending them running through the sky with speed and force. Since their use as weapons necessitated a time lag, Rain Pow couldn't generate them for instant attacks, and that meant Frederica could evade them. The problem was that there were just so many of them, and since they came at her from every direction, it was quite the task just to avoid all of them. On top of that was the additional burden of holding on to Weddin, which forced Frederica into a situation from which there would be no escape. If all she had to do was flee, she could manage that. But there was no way she could attack. She'd be killed if she did. If she wanted to fight with Rain Pow, she would need Ripple-level projectiles. Frederica could only ever use one hand since she always had her crystal ball in the other—she wouldn't last even five seconds against Rain Pow. "I'd like to ask you something, Weddin." "Wh-what is it?" "Which is your greater priority: saving your life or defeating the enemy?" "The enemy," Weddin answered instantly. This was the sort of answer Frederica liked to hear. Her cheeks relaxed into a smile. "In order to defeat her, I must lead you somewhere dangerous. Are you all right with that?" "I am." "In order to defeat her, you must trust me. You must surely hate me by now, don't you?" "I hate you, but I'll trust you." "How can you trust me? I'm not the sort of person you should trust. You're sure to suffer for it. I will not endorse that decision at all." "You can't lie to me, right? You promised," Weddin replied, grinning boldly.
[ POV: Funny Trick; Time remaining: thirty-eight minutes ] For Funny Trick to activate her magic and move something, both objects had to be out of everyone's line of sight, even if only for the slightest instant. She had to know the positions of both items to be exchanged beforehand. I think it's there or it should be there were not enough. The range of her magic was about fifty yards. However, one of the items had to be close at hand, at a distance no greater than three feet. Funny Trick had been watching the whole time. She wasn't allowed to blink. She followed the sword fight between Kuru-Kuru Hime and Pukin with her eyes, waiting for her cue. Underneath her cape, she hid a smoke bomb she'd received from Mana. She just had to use this at the right time. This idea for using her magic, which 7753 had instructed her on, was frankly horrific, but after having seen the destroyed town, the dead people, and Pukin looking so gleeful about it, that horror had dissipated. Kuru-Kuru Hime was being pushed back. She couldn't manage to counter any of Pukin's blows. Plus, she was bleeding. She was spewing blood, even though she hadn't taken a hit, and her ballerina costume was soiled red. Both figures were moving so fast, it was the most Funny Trick could do just to keep up. She absolutely could not look away. Her eyes had to be fixed on Pukin's face. Pukin said something to Kuru-Kuru Hime, and Kuru-Kuru Hime made her ribbons into a pointed shape and spun them. She carved at the ground, and right when Pukin attacked, she used that moment to fan hard at the ground she'd dug up. Funny Trick was watching Pukin's face. Pukin blinked reflexively to protect her eyes from the dust wafting up around her. Now. The moment Pukin blinked, Funny Trick activated her magic. She switched what was behind Pukin's eyelid with the smoke bomb in her hands. Funny Trick flipped up her cape, and Pukin's eyeball rolled out from underneath it to the ground. Pukin screamed and pressed her hand to her eye, and immediately, that spot on her face exploded. Smoke billowed up from her head. The white feather decoration fluttered down from Pukin's hair, blown in the wind, and fell away. It was just a smoke bomb, but it packed enough punch to blow off your fingers. If you were to set it off in a person's eye socket... In other words, by the brain, it would be fatal, even for a magical girl. Even for Pukin. "We did it... We did it!" Funny Trick cried out in exultation, and Kuru-Kuru Hime fell with a thump onto her rear, her shoulders heaving. Arms dangling loosely at her sides, Pukin fell to her right knee—then immediately stood up, thrusting forward with her sword. Kuru-Kuru Hime hadn't been anticipating the attack. The rapier stabbed her in her undefended throat, and Funny Trick failed to dodge the dagger thrown at her, which ended up hitting her in the chest. What happened? Blood—and something more important—was flowing out from where the dagger stuck in her. Pukin yanked her rapier out of Kuru-Kuru Hime's throat, showering herself with the splatter. That was when Funny Trick saw it—Pukin's face, the area around her right eye, was indeed blown away. It was completely gone. —Why...? How...?! Funny Trick grasped the dagger. The blood wouldn't stop. She tottered on unsteady legs and, unable to regain her lost balance, fell back onto the ground. Was this it? Would it end like this? No. It wasn't over. Umi Shibahara would never give up. So then her partner never would, either. Clutching her chest, Funny Trick crawled along the ground.
[ POV: Rain Pow; Time remaining: thirty-seven minutes ] Carelessly, flippantly, Frederica dodged Rain Pow's attacks. Or rather than saying she dodged the rainbows, it was more like she was using the structure of buildings and the terrain to prevent Rain Pow from merging them together to make effective use of them, cutting off her waves of attacks. She was doing quite well, carrying around the burdensome Weddin. She was hardly recognizable from the last time they had fought—the presence of her crystal ball aside. Rain Pow chased Frederica and attacked her. When she landed on the roof of a building, she found a grenade rolling toward her, pin out, and so she used a rainbow wall to shield herself, then sliced at the hand that manifested in the air to strike at her the moment the smoke grenade went off. These sorts of moves were what were keeping Rain Pow at a distance. The two magical girls continued their chase from there to a department store, from the department store to the train station, darting past moving police cars and ambulances at a speed humans couldn't even perceive visually. —Two? At some point, Weddin had vanished. Had Frederica left her behind somewhere, judging her to simply be a burden? With Frederica's magic, she could send Weddin to escape someplace safe at any time. She was the type of person who would sacrifice Weddin to get away herself, but they had to have made some sort of contract on that point. It would have been too dangerous to make an ally of Frederica with no restrictions placed on her. It was true that with Rain Pow's ears plugged, Weddin would be nothing but a burden. However, even unburdened, Frederica wasn't anything to worry about. Rain Pow would press closer to her. She could do it slowly. Pukin's orders were absolute. She would lead Frederica somewhere she couldn't escape and then finish her off. Frederica went into the train station, jumping over the ticket gates, then slid through the train doors as they were closing. Rain Pow didn't hesitate. She would do whatever it took to fulfill Pukin's orders. Following Frederica, she leaped into the train—and discovered it was a trap. Weddin was on the train. Rain Pow had boarded an empty car, and Weddin alone was standing there imposingly, holding up a piece of paper about three feet wide. On it was written, Stop moving! Don't hurt anyone! in large writing, and once Rain Pow saw that, she obeyed Weddin's directions—her magic. The train began to move. Rain Pow couldn't get out. Frederica was gone. She had been lured here. Frederica had sent Weddin somewhere to go set things up, following which she had come to wait in this train, and then Frederica had run into the car to lead Rain Pow to Weddin. Weddin tossed aside the piece of paper to reveal another. It read, Make it so you can hear and obey my orders. Rain Pow couldn't oppose her. She dissipated the rainbows in her ears, and the sounds of the train resonated louder through her body. "All right, so now you're absolutely forbidden to defy me. Release Tepsekemei from that ball, and come with me out of the—" Before Weddin could finish her order, she fell. The disembodied hand that had tripped her vanished, and immediately, Weddin's body smacked into something invisible, sending her flying. The next instant, Rain Pow hit the invisible thing, too. The impact shot through her, all the way to the crown of her head, but she couldn't move, and she dropped the rainbow ball, then hit the invisible thing again. A heartbeat later, the rear door of the train approached them, and Rain Pow was unable to fulfill Pukin's orders.
[ POV: Pythie Frederica; Time remaining: thirty-five minutes ] Even from so far away, she could feel the rumbling and tremors coming to her through the ground. The empty can lying at her feet rattled and clattered. The train would have derailed around the point where it left the city limits, and it wasn't difficult to imagine just what sort of wreck it had turned into. Someone was running to the station, yelling. Were they just a rubbernecker, or were they concerned about someone? My, Frederica thought, such energy, despite everything that has happened today alone. Frederica got on top of the vending machine standing in the alleyway, and from there, she kicked off a window frame to climb up to the roof of the building. Black smoke was rising from the direction of the train station. All the dense clusters of rainbows around faded, then disappeared. Weddin had ordered Frederica to prioritize eliminating the enemy, and as if clicking into place, that had switched away the promises worked into Frederica. She had obeyed Weddin's commands. The best way to defeat Rain Pow with certainty in such a situation had been for Weddin to sacrifice her life. She'd lured Rain Pow into the narrow confines of the train car, where she'd had her confront Weddin. Frederica had instructed Weddin to flee the car quickly after that, but if Rain Pow were to chase after her, that would have pushed them further from the goal of defeating Rain Pow. So Frederica had made Weddin fall, and the train had left the city. Weddin and Rain Pow had been crushed in between the barrier and the train, and the train had gone off the rails. Frederica had seen so many magical girls die out of this sort of sense of their own mission, that they had to do it, they had to carry this out, no matter what, causing them to misjudge their own abilities. This is why I said not to trust someone like me. She had killed Rain Pow. Weddin, who had been her shackles, was dead, too. One more major task remained to Frederica. She couldn't flee the city until she got ahold of that. "...Hmm?" When she focused her eyes, she could see a faint figure flying through the air. "Rather impressive to survive a thing like that," she said, somewhat astonished.
[ POV: 7753; Time remaining: thirty-three minutes ] Pukin was missing her face. Gray smoke spewed off from where the chunk had been blasted out of it. Even a magical girl couldn't survive that. 7753 looked through her goggles at Pukin. There was something strange about her status. She was in an unusual state. Pukin had used her technique of deception on her own life. There was a red line running across Pukin's face. She'd cut herself with her own sword to cast her magic on herself the instant before the smoke bomb had exploded. She'd made herself believe she had taken no damage. Her brain had to have been damaged. There was no way she could do this by the power of belief alone... No, this wasn't just belief. In addition to the belief bestowed by her magic, Pukin's parameters displayed unusual values. She simply had too many heart marks on her vitality. "This is getting rather amusing! Right?!" Pukin swung her rapier, and dots of blood flicked off it. Kuru-Kuru Hime lay on the ground, her hand pressed to her throat. Funny Trick had been hit in the chest. Both of them were gushing blood through their fingers. 7753's goggles indicated that both of them had been mortally wounded. Even knowing it was useless, 7753 raised the staff that could shoot fire bullets and stepped forward. She wasn't all that afraid. She felt she had to take responsibility. Of course she wouldn't be able to do that. She would be killed. But even so, she would fight until the end. Up until this point, she had constantly kept herself frozen with ad hoc lies. She wanted to be a proper magical girl at the end, at least. 7753 was about to take one more step forward when she was hit from behind and thrown to the ground. "Wh-what are you doing?!" "You're in my way. Run. Now." Mana smacked 7753 aside with the end of her staff. "Don't start thinking you can take responsibility by fighting and dying here. You do the most important job you can right now—get out of here, on your own. I'll fight. This is for Hana." There were three syringes stuck in the back of Mana's neck, already emptied. Mana stuck another three syringes in, then trembled, spasming. "Come get me, you fucking fencer!" "Insolent cad." Pukin acquiesced to Mana's demand, about to step forward, but Mana made the rush first. Using her staff like a spear, she showered Pukin with stabs, taking Pukin by surprise. Pukin blocked with her rapier, no lesser in speed or strength. Rapier and twisted staff struggled for domination. Just how long would Mana's doping last? Fifteen seconds, by the calculations 7753 read from her goggles. With that much time, 7753 might indeed be able to run. She understood that she couldn't even afford to hesitate. She dashed off. Martyring herself was a stupid idea. It seemed like a good one up until the moment Mana had smacked her aside. But Mana was right. Even if she did die, it wasn't as if she would earn forgiveness from it. 7753 went to leap on Pukin's left arm and held it down. Mana was putting everything she had into it, but that was just Pukin's right arm vying against Mana's whole body. So 7753 restrained Pukin's left arm from its attempt to stab Mana in the side and was rewarded with her own arm getting slashed, blood spurting from it. "I thought I told you to run! You're naive if you think you can take responsibility with your death! I won't let you do this!" "I apologize! I'm sorry! You're right that it's naive to try taking responsibility through death! I'll never consider something like it ever again! Never again, I swear!" The slice on 7753's arm ripped wider, spraying blood. She wasn't strong enough to resist Pukin. "Then run! You idiot! Dumbass! Stupid! The hell are you doing?! Come on!" "I'm taking responsibility! We just have to beat her, right?!" Pukin strained harder. She was trying to get out of 7753's armlock. 7753 looked up at the sky, and spitting, she yelled, "Now!" Faster than the spittle sprayed from 7753's mouth fell, Kuru-Kuru Hime's ribbon moved. The light of Kuru-Kuru Hime's life was starting to fade. She couldn't have been able to twitch even a fingertip, never mind her arm. But she was still conscious. In the look she gave Pukin, you could see the roiling rage and resentment toward Pukin that simmered in her stomach, her grudge and tenacity holding her on the brink of death. Kuru-Kuru Hime's ribbons slithered along, reaching their maximum width of twenty inches to wrap around Pukin, who was locked in this pushing match. 7753 fell backward, pulling away, and at the same time, the ribbons limply fluttered down to the ground. From within the ribbons, a stone fell to the ground with a thump, rolled, hit the thick root of a tree, and stopped. Kuru-Kuru Hime wasn't the only one who had remained conscious. When Pukin was wrapped in ribbon and concealed from view, Funny Trick, who had been coming toward them at a crawl, leaving a trail of blood behind her, had used her magic on her. Her doping worn off, Mana fell, and 7753 curled in on herself, holding her arm. She couldn't believe she was still alive. Funny Trick and Kuru-Kuru Hime... The display in her goggles told her they were already dead. With that final move, with the most modest magics, they had overcome Pukin. Even with death before their eyes, fueled by pure determination, they had struggled, and even a master as great as Pukin had failed to finish them off. She had misjudged their lives' strength, their spirits' strength, the strength of their resentment toward the one who'd killed their parents, their friends. 7753 looked over at the pile of lumber leaking blood. This had really and truly been their final move. They had left a rock inside that pile of lumber, about the size of a child's head—just a very ordinary rock. There had been no magic cast on it. That was exactly why it had been able to touch the barrier. They had placed it on the boundary line of the barrier, half in, half out. Kuru-Kuru Hime had hidden Pukin, while Funny Trick had switched the positions of Pukin and the rock. Pukin had been transferred to the location of the barrier, and as for what had happened to her as a result—that was clear from the volume of blood that flowed out from within the pile of lumber. This plan could only be executed if they locked Pukin in place. 7753 breathed a sigh, thinking, I suppose I was a little useful. She grimaced from the pain in her arm and was about to stand up when the lumber tumbled down. An arm stretched out from within the toppled pile of wood, and then something crawled out, dragging itself. 7753, who had been trying to get to her feet, fell again, landing on her rear. "My, my... What a foolish little trick you've pulled." Pukin's face was gone. Her whole body was dyed crimson with her own blood, and she was covered in wood chips. Only her upper body moved along, dragging, sliding, sloshing along the ground, while her lower body remained on the other side of the barrier. She had been cut clean in half. Pukin crawled out, unconcerned about the innards that trailed behind her. Even with her body in this state, she kept a firm grip on the rapier in her right hand, pointing it at 7753. Just how could Pukin be enjoying this? She was smiling. "So you're the last one, eh? So be it. We shall finish you off now." With her one remaining eye, she glared at 7753, frozen in place. Her determination and will to fight had evaporated, and all that remained in her heart now was terror. She looked up at the sky. "Ah..." Tepsekemei was coming toward them. She'd thinned out her body in order to speed up, making her literally faster than the wind. But even so, she would not make it in time to prevent Pukin, who teetered on the brink of death, from swiping her sword one last time. However, the moment Pukin was about to stab 7753 in the face with her rapier, suddenly, a hand appeared in empty space and made a fist to smack down on Pukin's wrist from above. There was the crack of bones breaking, and Pukin dropped her rapier. Without missing a beat, she reached out for it again in an underhanded grip, but before she could, the hand picked up the rapier and disappeared. Pukin's left hand cut through air and Tepsekemei floated down. Pukin was immobile. Tepsekemei's form slithered into the great hole opened in Pukin's face. Pukin's expression stiffened, and after not even a second, her body ruptured from the inside. Her clothes were turned to scraps, her ruff flew into the bushes, and her organs decorated every inch of their surroundings. Amid the rain of blood, 7753 thought, I have to thank her, at least. She looked up at Tepsekemei to see her crying. Her lips were in a tiny pout, and tears fell from her eyes that seemed to say she didn't enjoy crying. "Um... What about Rain Pow?" "She's dead. And Weddin is dead, too. Everyone's dead." Everyone was dead. Rain Pow and Weddin and Kuru-Kuru Hime and Funny Trick. Pukin's and Rain Pow's deaths would have been communicated to her boss, who may have still been in that meeting. So now there was no longer any reason for the Department of Diplomacy to bring out that weapon of mass destruction. Was this for the best? Was this really how things should end? "Is Mei smiling now?" "No... You're crying." "Mei can cry without practicing. Why's that?" "I wonder..."
A cold wind blew through the courtyard as soon as she entered it. Looking up, she saw the gray sky stretch on and on. It would be cold even with leggings, never mind hose. In this season, a merry Christmas was close at hand, and in a few more sleeps, it would be New Year's. She thought having tea out in the courtyard on a day like this was rather stupid but couldn't say it out loud. At the very least, not in this household. Mamori Totoyama slipped through the complex courtyard without losing her way. It was a strange thing, to call a courtyard complex, but the courtyard of this estate really was horribly complex. The manager had abdicated responsibility for the garden, and the daughter, who had taken over in his place, planted whatever trees she liked and pruned them into whatever shapes she wanted—thus the result was chaos. A large stuffed bear stood upright with its arms spread, a giant chess pawn blocked the path, an open book laid there so conspicuously, and the Winged Victory of Samothrace loomed headlessly over them. Once Mamori had made it through this maze of shrubs, with its lack of all consistency but "to the miss's taste," she came to a little round white table. There, the master of this courtyard—Kanoe Hitokouji—was operating a panel connected to a magical phone. "You're late, Mamori." "I did, in fact, come as fast as I could." Mamori set down the plate, black tea, and snacks beside the panel in that order and, once Kanoe indicated she had permission, took the seat opposite her. The rattan chair, worth as much as a full year's worth of Mamori's allowance, had been left underneath the cold sky and mercilessly chilled her rear. Kanoe picked up the cup and took a sip, and then, without a word, slid a manila envelope across the table toward her. "What's this?" "Your reward. It was quite a while ago, but you did some work for me. A few related projects have reached a certain stage of completion." "Did I do something?" At a rate that went from once every few days to a few times every day, Mamori was forced into various labors. She was made to participate in mischief, made the target of mischief, worked like a dog, blatantly lied to, deceived, and made to carry the young miss's favorite black tea out to the stupidly cold courtyard, but she'd never received a reward for any of it. Kanoe would say, "It would be incredibly boorish to give cash as thanks for your goodwill." Mamori didn't give a damn if it was boorish, but loudly arguing as much had incurred wrath from the Hitokouji family authorities. "I thought you would never give me cash for my goodwill, miss." "I see, so your usual activities are indeed out of goodwill?" "I'm sure in your mind, all of it is, miss." Though there was no way Kanoe would not have noticed her sarcasm, Kanoe smiled as if she didn't. "This reward isn't from myself. It's official compensation from the Magical Kingdom." "Does the Magical Kingdom pay money?" "To be precise, I am giving you a portion for your labor from the salary I receive from them." From the way Kanoe had emphasized the word "I" twice, she may have intended to make Mamori feel obligated. Simply living with the Hitokouji family in their service as her parents did, Mamori was already inescapably obligated, so she felt it was kind of crazy she would have more unnecessary obligation pushed on her. There were some people in the world who, if you were indebted to them, would turn it into something that could never be undone. She didn't even have to think about it to know what sort of person Kanoe was. Mamori took the envelope Kanoe'd given her in hand and opened the mouth of it, confirming its contents with narrowed eyes. "...Forty thousand?" "No, it's forty-five thousand yen." I think I'm okay with this, she found herself thinking, possibly a result of feeling frozen up. "By the way, about that conversation. What kind of work did I do, again? I'm scared to take money without knowing what I did." "You modified those goggles for me, didn't you?" "Oh...that? That was a while back, wasn't it?" The transmission function was one thing, but Mamori had detected the stench of criminality in both the log-erasure function and the transmission function that interfered with magical-phone reception. She recalled she'd been uneasy and wondered just what Kanoe meant to do with it. "Your magic has grown, Mamori. It's helped me make progress in various respects." "You won't use that for anything bad, right?" "Just what do you take me for?" "I'm concerned because this is you, miss." "Why would you believe a good magical girl like myself would do something bad? Oh, these macaroons are rather good. You have some, too, Mamori." Mamori ate one of these recommended macaroons in one bite. It was grating that it did taste good. "What are you reading, miss?" "A report from a subordinate." "That reminds me—you were promoted again last month, right? So is this a new subordinate?" "No, this is a report regarding a prior subordinate. She was working under my direct supervision." "Huh." "I had to do some restructuring. She helped me with that." "Even the Magical Kingdom does that sort of thing, huh? It's a rough world out there." "It definitely involved some cuts to our staff, but there was no reduction in the organization in the operational sense. It was a restructuring in the original sense of the word. She was very useful to the Magical Girl Resources Department in the past, but once I took over, her role became unnecessary. A fairy exiting across a rainbow... Isn't that poetic?" "Is it?" "All of a sudden there's so much more to be done. It's quite the struggle." "You don't seem like you're having a hard time at all." "But I am. In my current position, I must handle the balance of power between departments quite delicately." "Oh, really?" "For example, there's the Department of Diplomacy. Why must they be so rough? I don't know if it's tradition or what, but I really must have them stop rather soon with these old-fashioned techniques of sending in a violence specialist to put pressure on other departments." "Right." "Although recently it seems the tables have turned, what with that ace the Inspection Department's criminal investigations managed to muscle in... The diplomacy team shouldn't have been thinking about trying to get a hold on the other departments' weak points. They even put up a giant barrier in order to capture the culprit alive, and what great losses we all suffered for it! I'm told they were manipulated by fake intel an informant leaked to them. What foolishness. Well, I'm sure things will be quiet with them for a time." "I see." "Oh, yes, and speaking of incidents, there was also that major prison break. That's led to a certain department being exposed for the vile deed of using convicts for their dirty work." "Wooow." "That was also, in fact, a department that's been antagonistic toward us at Magical Girl Resources. So a lot of things have gotten easier, as a result." "That sounds good— What happened to the escaped convicts, though? They were serious criminals, weren't they?" "The Inspection Department's inspection team dealt with two of the three without incident. That is to say, they killed them. They were unable to simply detain the criminals, but it seems the pair were incredibly notorious villains of historical fame, so I would say the inspection team did a fine job there. It seems their team chief is soon to be publicly commended for it." "And the other one?" "It seems the last one managed to escape. Though, well, I hear she was the least significant of the three." "Oh, really?" Did Kanoe realize that Mamori's replies were deliberately monotone? "Mamori, you're not listening to me, are you?" Apparently she did. "You're speaking in such vague terms, miss, I have no idea what you're talking about. It's basically going in one ear and out the other, and none of it is staying in my head." "I know that. I'm telling you precisely because you're like that." "Why bother?" "I couldn't talk about this to someone who understands what I'm saying and will remember it, can I, now?" "Please do talk about this to someone who will understand what you're saying and will remember it." "I do hope the day comes when I can talk to someone like that. Once the Magical Kingdom becomes a bit more decent, and once I get into the position where I can enact reforms, and once magical girls are more than just people to be used." Mamori was about to say, "This talk again?" But when she saw the look on Kanoe's face, she closed her mouth. Her expression was serious, not teasing—a look Kanoe rarely showed on her face. "...What is it?" "Oh, nothing." Kanoe shook her head, and she was her usual detached self again. "Of course, I haven't been sitting here waiting for a windfall. I position myself where it seems things will work, then I work things moderately, I tamper, I connect, I galvanize, I urge into action by deliberately attempting to prevent, and I adjust things well for good results. And even after accomplishing my goals, I don't let go, making sure to deal with the aftermath..." A water droplet bounced off the round table with a plop. Raindrops hit her nose, her hands. "Agh, geez. Let's go inside now. We'll catch cold if we get rained on in this chill," Mamori said. "Right then, let's go in, meow." "Why do you have to end your sentences with that? It's creepy." "Creepy! That's a fine thing to say. I think it's cute." The floor was concrete, and water damage stains marked the ceiling. The ceiling would drip during heavy rain, making the room damp, even on sunny days. You couldn't really call it an environment appropriate for a wounded person, but being a fugitive, she was in no position to ask for luxuries. The room was stark, and the furnishings could be counted on your fingers: a bed, desk, blinds, sink, bookshelf, and the residents. The rusted steel desk stood in the center of the room, and opening the largest drawer revealed lines of little bottles. Inside them were packed colorful powders. She pulled an old scale from the second drawer down, a smaller one, and put it on top of the desk. Grasping tiny weights with tweezers, she placed them on one side, and next, she poured medicine from one of the little bottles out on the other, adjusting the scale until it was even. She checked the scale, then poured the powder into a mortar and pestle. She repeated the process a few more times. From the third drawer down, she pulled out a plastic bottle with no label and poured the translucent fluid within it into the mortar. Slowly, taking care not to spill, she ground and ground the contents of the mortar with the pestle until she felt no more friction from the rough powder. After about an hour, a thick liquid medicine that shone metallic green was ready. "Come on, it's time for your medicine," she sweetly addressed the girl who lay on the bed. The girl shook her head, her expression unmoving. "I hate medicine." "Now, now, don't act so stubborn. This is for your health." Frederica narrowed her eyes and sat down on the bed. The girl was covered in bandages. Frederica moved them aside to check the girl's wounds and smiled, seeing that she was doing better than the day before. Even if this place was unsanitary and she lacked proper medical facilities, magical girls were strong and tenacious. They were made that way. The one flaw of this deluxe medicine Frederica made was that it was, by nature, difficult to swallow. So Frederica dipped a dropper into the mortar to suck up some medicine, then pushed the girl's jaw up and hung the dropper over it to stick it into her mouth. She administered it slowly, drop by drop, so that it wouldn't get stuck in her throat. Once she was done with the first day's amount, she continued over a second and third day until the contents of the mortar were gone. The girl was so cute with her mouth open like a baby bird waiting to be fed. "You may close your mouth now." "Yes, master." Frederica lifted the girl's torso, threaded her fingers through her hair, and combed through it. Her long black hair was glossy and smooth. It felt so good sliding between her fingers, and it reflected the glow of the fluorescent lights so beautifully. As she ran her right hand through the girl's hair, with her left, she stroked the girl's left eye. "That tickles." "Of course it does. I'm doing it to tickle you." The girl's left eye was closed by a large, deep sword scar, and her left arm was missing below the elbow. Those parts weren't going to be healed by Frederica's special medicine. Well, that's fine. With her two-hundred-and-fifty-sixth-note handkerchief, Frederica wiped the medicine off the girl's lips for her. The girl—Ripple—was lucky. Her opponent's magic hadn't intended to kill from the get-go, and their attack hadn't been aiming for Ripple's vitals. When she'd lost consciousness and fallen into the hole, she'd returned to human form, so her collar had caught on a jutting spot on the wall of the hole partway down, and she'd been saved from falling to the bottom. What's more, Frederica, who had originally meant to flee right away, had turned her attention to watching how the battle would end instead and so had been able to retrieve Ripple quickly and give her emergency treatment. She was lucky to be alive. Without any one of these factors, Ripple would have died. Frederica had taken Ripple, hovering between life and death, to the local hospital, saying she was another casualty. She'd then acquired Pukin's sword and used it on Ripple, to make her believe she had incredible vitality and recovery ability in order to call her back from death's door, and then had spirited her away with her crystal ball. Ripple had been under Frederica's care ever since. Ripple had grown immensely since the last time they had met, quite some time ago. Frederica assumed Ripple had less potential than Snow White, but she exceeded her expectations to become a fine magical girl who would make anyone proud. She was surely something close to Frederica's ideal. Frederica had obtained the sword she'd stolen from Pukin, and she'd obtained Ripple, unconscious. Combine those two things, and she could create her ideal magical girl. Frederica smiled at her. "Your wounds have largely closed. Come tomorrow, you'll be able to get out of bed." "Really? I'm so glad." Her expression didn't change, and her voice was monotonous, too. Frederica was using another magical girl's tool, so perhaps she'd adjusted it poorly. It seemed Ripple wasn't lying about being glad, though, and it was cute, for what it was. "You'll be doing a little studying to become a magical girl." "What's a magical girl?" "Oh, well... It's someone like me, I suppose." "Can I become like you, master? I'd be so glad." "And I'm glad you would say that. Let's work together to make you the ideal magical girl."
I hear the crack of his skull before the spattering of blood reaches me. I gasp and take a quick step back onto the sidewalk. One of my heels doesn't clear the curb, so I grip the pole of a No Parking sign to steady myself. The man was in front of me a matter of seconds ago. We were standing in a crowd of people waiting for the crosswalk light to illuminate when he stepped into the street prematurely, resulting in a run-in with a truck. I lunged forward in an attempt to stop him—grasping at nothing as he went down. I closed my eyes before his head went under the tire, but I heard it pop like the cork of a champagne bottle. He was in the wrong, looking casually down at his phone, probably a side effect of crossing the same street without incident many times before. Death by routine. People gasp, but no one screams. The passenger of the offending vehicle jumps out of the truck and is immediately on his knees near the man's body. I back away from the scene as several people rush forward to help. I don't have to look at the man under the tire to know he didn't survive that. I only have to look down at my once-white shirt—at the blood now splattered across it—to know that a hearse would serve him better than an ambulance. I spin around to move away from the accident—to find a place to take a breath—but the crosswalk sign now says walk and the thick crowd takes heed, making it impossible for me to swim upstream in this Manhattan river. Some don't even look up from their cell phones as they pass right by the accident. I stop trying to move, and wait for the crowd to thin. I glance back toward the accident, careful not to look directly at the man. The driver of the truck is now at the rear of the vehicle, wide-eyed, on a cell phone. Three, maybe four, people are assisting them. A few are led by their morbid curiosities, filming the gruesome scene with their phones. If I were still living in Virginia, this would play out in a completely different manner. Everyone around would stop. Panic would ensue, people would be screaming, a news crew would be on scene in a matter of minutes. But here in Manhattan, a pedestrian struck by a vehicle happens so often, it's not much more than an inconvenience. A delay in traffic for some, a ruined wardrobe for others. This probably happens so often, it won't even end up in print. As much as the indifference in some of the people here disturbs me, it's exactly why I moved to this city ten years ago. People like me belong in overpopulated cities. The state of my life is irrelevant in a place this size. There are far more people here with stories much more pitiful than mine. Here, I'm invisible. Unimportant. Manhattan is too crowded to give a shit about me, and I love her for it. "Are you hurt?" I look up at a man as he touches my arm and scans my shirt. Deep concern is embedded in his expression as he looks me up and down, assessing me for injuries. I can tell by his reaction that he isn't one of the more hardened New Yorkers. He might live here now, but wherever he's from, it's a place that didn't completely beat the empathy out of him. "Are you hurt?" the stranger repeats, looking me in the eye this time. "No. It's not my blood. I was standing near him when... " I stop speaking. I just saw a man die. I was so close to him, his blood is on me. I moved to this city to be invisible, but I am certainly not impenetrable. It's something I've been working on—attempting to become as hardened as the concrete beneath my feet. It hasn't been working out so well. I can feel everything I just witnessed settling in my stomach. I cover my mouth with my hand, but pull it away quickly when I feel something sticky on my lips. More blood. I look down at my shirt. So much blood, none of it mine. I pinch at my shirt and pull it away from my chest, but it sticks to my skin in spots where the blood splatters are beginning to dry. I think I need water. I'm starting to feel light-headed, and I want to rub my forehead, pinch my nose, but I'm scared to touch myself. I look up at the man still gripping my arm. "Is it on my face?" I ask him. He presses his lips together and then darts his eyes away, scanning the street around us. He gestures toward a coffee shop a few doors down. "They'll have a bathroom," he says, pressing his hand against the small of my back as he leads me in that direction. I look across the street at the Pantem Press building I was headed to before the accident. I was so close. Fifteen—maybe twenty—feet away from a meeting I desperately need to be in. I wonder how close the man who just died was from his destination? The stranger holds the door open for me when we reach the coffee shop. A woman carrying a coffee in each hand attempts to squeeze past me through the doorway until she sees my shirt. She scurries backward to get away from me, allowing us both to enter the building. I move toward the women's restroom, but the door is locked. The man pushes open the door to the men's restroom and motions for me to follow him. He doesn't lock the door behind us as he walks to the sink and turns on the water. I look in the mirror, relieved to see it isn't as bad as I'd feared. There are a few spatters of blood on my cheeks that are beginning to darken and dry, and a spray above my eyebrows. But luckily, the shirt took the brunt of it. The man hands me wet paper towels, and I wipe at my face while he wets another handful. I can smell the blood now. The tanginess in the air sends my mind whirling back to when I was ten. The smell of blood was strong enough to remember it all these years later. I attempt to hold my breath at the onset of more nausea. I don't want to puke. But I want this shirt off me. Now. I unbutton it with trembling fingers, then pull it off and place it under the faucet. I let the water do its job while I take the other wet napkins from the stranger and begin wiping the blood off my chest. He heads for the door, but instead of giving me privacy while I stand here in my least attractive bra, he locks us inside the bathroom so no one will walk in on me while I'm shirtless. It's disturbingly chivalrous and leaves me feeling uneasy. I'm tense as I watch him through the reflection in the mirror. Someone knocks. "Be right out," he says. I relax a little, comforted by the thought that someone outside this door would hear me scream if I needed to. I focus on the blood until I'm certain I've washed it all off my neck and chest. I inspect my hair next, turning left to right in the mirror, but find only an inch of dark roots above fading caramel. "Here," the man says, fingering the last button on his crisp white shirt. "Put this on." He's already removed his suit jacket, which is now hanging from the doorknob. He frees himself of his button-up shirt, revealing a white undershirt beneath it. He's muscular, taller than me. His shirt will swallow me. I can't wear this into my meeting, but I have no other option. I take the shirt when he hands it to me. I grab a few more dry paper towels and pat at my skin, then pull it on and begin buttoning it. It looks ridiculous, but at least it wasn't my skull that exploded on someone else's shirt. Silver lining. I take my wet shirt out of the sink and accept there's no saving it. I toss it in the trashcan, and then I grip the sink and stare at my reflection. Two tired, empty eyes stare back at me. The horror of what they've just witnessed have darkened the hazel to a murky brown. I rub my cheeks with the heels of my hands to inspire color, to no avail. I look like death. I lean against the wall, turning away from the mirror. The man is wadding up his tie. He shoves it in the pocket of his suit and assesses me for a moment. "I can't tell if you're calm or in a state of shock." I'm not in shock, but I don't know that I'm calm, either. "I'm not sure," I admit. "Are you okay?" "I'm fine," he says. "I've seen worse, unfortunately." I tilt my head as I attempt to dissect the layers of his cryptic reply. He breaks eye contact, and it only makes me stare even harder, wondering what he's seen that tops a man's head being crushed beneath a truck. Maybe he is a native New Yorker. Or maybe he works in a hospital. He has an air of competence that often accompanies people who are in charge of other people. "Are you a doctor?" He shakes his head. "I'm in real estate. Used to be, anyway." He steps forward and reaches for my shoulder, brushing something away from my shirt. His shirt. When he drops his arm, he regards my face for a moment before taking a step back. His eyes match the tie he just shoved in his pocket. Chartreuse. He's handsome, but there's something about him that makes me think he wishes he weren't. Almost as if his looks might be an inconvenience to him. A part of him he doesn't want anyone to notice. He wants to be invisible in this city. Just like me. Most people come to New York to be discovered. The rest of us come here to hide. "What's your name?" he asks. "Lowen." There's a pause in him after I say my name, but it only lasts a couple seconds. "Jeremy," he says. He moves to the sink and runs the water again, and begins washing his hands. I continue to stare at him, unable to mute my curiosity. What did he mean when he said he's seen worse than the accident we just witnessed? He said he used to be in real estate, but even the worst day on the job as a realtor wouldn't fill someone with the kind of gloom that's filling this man. "What happened to you?" I ask. He looks at me in the mirror. "What do you mean?" "You said you've seen worse. What have you seen?" He turns off the water and dries his hands, then faces me. "You actually want to know?" I nod. He tosses the paper towel into the trashcan and then shoves his hands in his pockets. His demeanor takes an even more sullen dive. He's looking me in the eye, but there's a disconnect between him and this moment. "I pulled my eight-year-old daughter's body out of a lake five months ago." I suck in a rush of air and bring my hand to the base of my throat. It wasn't gloom at all in his expression. It was despair. "I'm so sorry," I whisper. And I am. Sorry about his daughter. Sorry for being curious. "What about you?" he asks. He leans against the counter like this is a conversation he's ready for. A conversation he's been waiting for. Someone to come along and make his tragedies seem less tragic. It's what you do when you've experienced the worst of the worst. You seek out people like you... people worse off than you... and you use them to make yourself feel better about the terrible things that have happened to you. I swallow before I speak, because my tragedies are nothing compared to his. I think of the most recent one, embarrassed to speak it out loud because it seems so insignificant compared to his. "My mother died last week." He doesn't react to my tragedy like I reacted to his. He doesn't react at all, and I wonder if it's because he was hoping mine was worse. It isn't. He wins. "How did she die?" "Cancer. I've been caring for her in my apartment for the past year." He's the first person I've said that to out loud. I can feel my pulse throbbing in my wrist, so I clasp my other hand around it. "Today is the first time I've stepped outside in weeks." We stare at each other for a moment longer. I want to say something else, but I've never been involved in such a heavy conversation with a complete stranger before. I kind of want it to end, because where does the conversation even go from here? It doesn't. It just stops. He faces the mirror again and looks at himself, pushing a strand of loose dark hair back in place. "I have a meeting I need to get to. You sure you'll be okay?" He's looking at my reflection in the mirror now. "Yes. I'm alright." "Alright?" He turns, repeating the word like a question, as if being alright isn't as reassuring to him as if I'd said I would be okay. "I'll be alright," I repeat. "Thank you for the help." I want him to smile, but it doesn't fit the moment. I'm curious what his smile would look like. Instead, he shrugs a little and says, "Alright, then." He moves to unlock the door. He holds it open for me, but I don't exit right away. Instead, I continue to watch him, not quite ready to face the world outside. I appreciate his kindness and want to say more, to thank him in some way, maybe over coffee or by returning his shirt to him. I find myself drawn to his altruism—a rarity these days. But it's the flash of wedding ring on his left hand that propels me forward, out of the bathroom and coffee shop, onto the streets now buzzing with an even larger crowd. An ambulance has arrived and is blocking traffic in both directions. I walk back toward the scene, wondering if I should give a statement. I wait near a cop who is jotting down other eyewitness accounts. They aren't any different from mine, but I give them my statement and contact information. I'm not sure how much help my statement is since I didn't actually see him get hit. I was merely close enough to hear it. Close enough to be painted like a Jackson Pollock canvas. I look behind me and watch as Jeremy exits the coffee shop with a fresh coffee in his hand. He crosses the street, focused on wherever it is he's going. His mind is somewhere else now, far away from me, probably on his wife and what he'll say to her when he goes home missing a shirt. I pull my phone out of my purse and look at the time. I still have fifteen minutes before my meeting with Corey and the editor from Pantem Press. My hands are shaking even worse now that the stranger is no longer here to distract me from my thoughts. Coffee may help. Morphine would definitely help, but hospice removed it all from my apartment last week when they came to retrieve their equipment after my mother passed. It's a shame I was too shaken to remember to hide it. I could really use some right about now. When Corey texted me last night to let me know about the meeting today, it was the first time I'd heard from him in months. I was sitting at my computer desk, staring down at an ant as it crawled across my big toe. The ant was alone, fluttering left and right, up and down, searching for food or friends. He seemed confused by his solitude. Or maybe he was excited for his newfound freedom. I couldn't help but wonder why he was alone. Ants usually travel with an army. The fact that I was curious about the ant's current situation was a clear sign I needed to leave my apartment. I was worried that, after being cooped up caring for my mother for so long, once I stepped out into the hallway I would be just as confused as that ant. Left, right, inside, outside, where are my friends, where is the food? The ant crawled off my toe and onto the hardwood floor. He disappeared beneath the wall when Corey's texts came through. I was hoping when I drew a line in the sand months ago, he'd understand: since we no longer have sex, the most appropriate method of contact between a literary agent and his author is email. His text read: Meet me tomorrow morning at nine at the Pantem Press building, floor 14. I think we might have an offer. He didn't even ask about my mom in the text. I wasn't surprised. His lack of interest in anything other than his job and himself are the reasons we're no longer together. His lack of concern made me feel unjustly irritated. He doesn't owe me anything, but he could have at least acted like he cared. I didn't text him back at all last night. Instead, I set down my phone and stared at the crack at the base of my wall—the one the ant had disappeared into. I wondered if he would find other ants in the wall, or if he was a loner. Maybe he was like me and had an aversion to other ants. It's hard to say why I have such a deeply crippling aversion to other humans, but if I had to wager a bet, I'd say it's a direct result of my own mother being terrified of me. Terrified may be a strong word. But she certainly didn't trust me as a child. She kept me fairly secluded from people outside of school because she was afraid of what I might be capable of during my many sleepwalking episodes. That paranoia bled into my adulthood, and by then, I was set in my ways. A loner. Very few friends and not much of a social life. Which is why this is the first morning I've left my apartment since weeks before she passed away. I figured my first trip outside of my apartment would be somewhere I missed, like Central Park or a bookstore. I certainly didn't think I'd find myself here, standing in line in the lobby of a publishing house, desperately praying whatever this offer is will catch me up on my rent and I won't be evicted. But here I am, one meeting away from either being homeless or receiving a job offer that will give me the means to look for a new apartment. I look down and smooth out the white shirt Jeremy lent me in the bathroom across the street. I'm hoping I don't look too ridiculous. Maybe there's a chance I can pull it off, as if wearing men's shirts twice my size is some cool new fashion statement. "Nice shirt," someone behind me says. I turn at the sound of Jeremy's voice, shocked to see him. Is he following me? It's my turn in line, so I hand the security guard my driver's license and then look at Jeremy, taking in the new shirt he's wearing. "Do you keep spare shirts in your back pocket?" It hasn't been that long since he gave me the one off his back. "My hotel is a block away. Walked back to change." His hotel. That's promising. If he's staying in a hotel, maybe he doesn't work here. And if he doesn't work here, maybe he isn't in the publishing industry. I'm not sure why I don't want him to be in the publishing industry. I just have no idea who my meeting is with, and I'm hoping it has nothing to do with him after the morning we've already had. "Does that mean you don't work in this building?" He pulls out his identification and hands it to the security guard. "No, I don't work here. I have a meeting on the fourteenth floor." Of course he does. "So do I," I say. A fleeting smile appears on his mouth and disappears just as quickly, as if he remembered what happened across the street and realized it's still too soon to not be affected. "What are the chances we're heading to the same meeting?" He takes his identification back from the guard who points us in the direction of the elevators. "I wouldn't know," I say. "I haven't been told exactly why I'm here yet." We walk onto the elevator, and he presses the button for the fourteenth floor. He faces me as he pulls his tie out of his pocket and begins to put it on. I can't stop staring at his wedding ring. "Are you a writer?" he asks. I nod. "Are you?" "No. My wife is." He pulls at his tie until it's secured in place. "Have you written anything I would know?" "I doubt it. No one reads my books." His lips turn up. "There aren't many Lowens in the world. I'm sure I can figure out which books you've written." Why? Does he actually want to read them? He looks down at his phone and begins to type. "I never said I write under my real name." He doesn't look up from his phone until the elevator doors open. He moves toward them, turning in the doorway to face me. He holds up his phone and smiles. "You don't write under a pen name. You write under Lowen Ashleigh, which, funny enough, is the name of the author I'm meeting at nine thirty." I finally get that smile, and as gorgeous as it is, I don't want it anymore. He just Googled me. And even though my meeting is at nine, not nine thirty, he seems to know more about it than I do. If we really are headed to the same meeting, it makes our chance meeting on the street seem somewhat suspicious. But I guess the odds of us both being in the same place at the same time aren't all that inconceivable, considering we were headed in the same direction to the same meeting, and therefore, witnessed the same accident. Jeremy steps aside, and I exit the elevator. I open my mouth, preparing to speak, but he takes a few steps, walking backward. "See you in a few." I don't know him at all, nor do I know how he relates to the meeting I'm about to have, but even without being privy to any details of what's happening this morning, I can't help but like the guy. The man literally gave me the shirt off his back, so I doubt he has a vindictive nature. I smile before he rounds the corner. "Alright. See you in a few." He returns the smile. "Alright." I watch him until he makes a left and disappears. As soon as I'm out of his line of sight, I'm able to relax a little. This morning has just been... a lot. Between the accident I witnessed and being in enclosed spaces with that confusing man, I'm feeling so strange. I press my palm against the wall and lean into it. What the hell— "You're on time," Corey says. His voice startles me. I spin around, and he's walking up to me from the opposite hallway. He leans in and kisses me on the cheek. I stiffen. "You're never on time." "I would have been here sooner, but... " I shut up. I don't explain what prevented me from being early. He seems disinterested as he heads in the same direction as Jeremy. "The actual meeting isn't until nine thirty, but I figured you'd be late, so I told you nine." I pause, staring at the back of his head. What the hell, Corey? If he'd told me nine thirty rather than nine, I wouldn't have witnessed the accident across the street. I wouldn't have been subjected to a stranger's blood. "You coming?" Corey asks, pausing to look back at me. I bury my irritation. I'm used to doing that when it comes to him. We make it to an empty conference room. Corey closes the door behind us, and I take a seat at the conference table. He sits next to me at the head of the table, positioning himself so that he's staring at me. I try not to frown as I take in the sight of him after our months-long hiatus, but he hasn't changed. Still very clean, groomed, wearing a tie, glasses, a smile. Always such a stark contrast to myself. "You look terrible." I say it because he doesn't look terrible. He never does, and he knows it. "You look refreshed and ravishing." He says it because I never look refreshed and ravishing. I always look tired, and maybe even perpetually bored. I've heard of Resting Bitch Face, but I relate more to Resting Bored Face. "How's your mother?" "She died last week." He wasn't expecting that. He leans back in his chair and tilts his head. "Why didn't you tell me?" Why haven't you bothered asking until now? I shrug. "I'm still processing." My mother had been living with me for the past nine months—since she was diagnosed with stage four colon cancer. She passed away last Wednesday after three months on hospice. It was difficult to leave the apartment in those last few months because she relied on me for everything—from drinking, to eating, to turning her over in her bed. When she took a turn for the worse, I wasn't able to leave her alone at all, which is why I didn't step foot outside of my apartment for weeks. Luckily, a Wi-Fi connection and a credit card make it easy to live life completely indoors in Manhattan. Anything and everything a person could possibly need can be delivered. Funny how one of the most populated cities in the world can double as a paradise for agoraphobics. "You okay?" Corey asks. I mask my disquiet with a smile, even if his concern is only a formality. "I'm fine. It helps that it was expected." I'm only saying what I think he wants to hear. I'm not sure how he'd react to the truth—that I'm relieved she's gone. My mother only ever brought guilt into my life. Nothing less, nothing more. Just consistent guilt. Corey heads for the counter lined with breakfast pastries, bottles of water, and a coffee carafe. "You hungry? Thirsty?" "Water's fine." He grabs two waters and hands one to me, then returns to his seat. "Do you need help with the will? I'm sure Edward can help." Edward is the lawyer at Corey's literary agency. It's a small agency, so a lot of the writers use Edward's expertise in other areas. Sadly, I won't be needing it. Corey tried to tell me when I signed the lease on my two-bedroom last year that I wouldn't be able to afford it. But my mother insisted she die with dignity—in her own room. Not in a nursing home. Not in a hospital. Not in a hospital bed in the middle of my efficiency apartment. She wanted her own bedroom with her own things. She promised what was left in her bank account after her death would help me catch up on all the time off I had to take from my writing career. For the past year, I've lived off what little advance I had left over from my last publishing contract. But it's all gone now, and apparently, so is my mother's money. It was one of the last things she confessed to me before she finally succumbed to the cancer. I would have cared for her regardless of her financial situation. She was my mother. But the fact that she felt she needed to lie to me in order for me to agree to take her in proves how disconnected we were from one another. I take a sip of my water and then shake my head. "I don't really need a lawyer. All she left me was debt, but thanks for the offer." Corey purses his lips. He knows my financial situation because, as my literary agent, he's the one who sends my royalty checks. Which is why he's looking at me with pity now. "You have a foreign royalty check coming soon," he says, as if I'm not aware of every penny coming in my direction for the next six months. As if I haven't already spent it. "I know. I'll be fine." I don't want to talk about my financial issues with Corey. With anyone. Corey shrugs a little, unconvinced. He looks down and straightens up his tie. "Hopefully this offer will be good for both of us," he says. I'm relieved the subject is changing. "Why are we meeting in person with a publisher? You know I prefer to do things over email." "They requested the meeting yesterday. Said they have a job they'd like to discuss with you, but they wouldn't give me any details over the phone." "I thought you were working on getting another contract with my last publisher." "Your books do okay, but not well enough to secure another contract without sacrificing some of your time. You have to agree to engage in social media, go on tour, build a fan base. Your sales alone aren't cutting it in the current market." I was afraid of this. A contract renewal with my current publisher was all the financial hope I had left. The royalty checks from my previous books have dwindled along with my book sales. I've done very little writing this past year because of my commitment to my mother, so I have nothing to sell to a publisher. "I have no idea what Pantem will offer, or if it's even something you'll be interested in," Corey says. "We have to sign a non-disclosure agreement before they'll give us more details. The secrecy has me curious, though. I'm trying not to get my hopes up, but there are a lot of possibilities and I have a good feeling. We need this." He says we because whatever the offer is, he gets fifteen percent if I accept. It's the agent-client standard. What isn't the agent-client standard would be the six months we spent in a relationship and the two years of sex that followed our breakup. Our sexual relationship only lasted as long as it did because he wasn't serious about anyone else and neither was I. It was convenient until it wasn't. But the reason our actual relationship was so short-lived is because he was in love with another woman. Never mind that the other woman in our relationship was also me. It has to be confusing, falling in love with a writer's words before you meet the actual writer. Some people find it difficult to separate a character from the individual who created them. Corey, surprisingly, is one of those people, despite being a literary agent. He met and fell in love with the female protagonist of my first novel, Open Ended, before he ever spoke to me. He assumed my character's personality was a close reflection of my own, when in fact, I couldn't be more opposite from her. Corey was the only agent to respond to my query, and even that response took months to receive. His email was only a few sentences long, but enough to breathe life back into my dying hope. I read your manuscript, Open Ended, in a matter of hours. I believe in this book. If you're still looking for an agent, give me a call. His email came on a Thursday morning. We were having an in-depth phone conversation about my manuscript two hours later. By Friday afternoon, we had met for coffee and signed a contract. By Saturday night, we had fucked three times. I'm sure our relationship broke a code of ethics somewhere, but I'm not sure that contributed to how short-lived it was. As soon as Corey figured out that I wasn't the person my character was based on, he realized we weren't compatible. I wasn't heroic. I wasn't simple. I was difficult. An emotionally challenging puzzle he wasn't up for solving. Which was fine. I wasn't in the mood to be solved. As difficult as it was being in a relationship with him, it is surprisingly easy being his client. It's why I chose not to switch agencies after our breakup, because he's been loyal and unbiased when it comes to my career. "You look a little frazzled," Corey says, breaking me out of my thoughts. "Are you nervous?" I nod, hoping he'll accept my behavior as nerves because I don't want to explain why I'm frazzled. It's been two hours since I left my apartment this morning, but it feels like more has happened in that two hours than in the entire rest of this year. I look down at my hands... my arms... searching for traces of blood. It's no longer there, but I can still feel it. Smell it. My hands haven't stopped shaking, so I keep hiding them under the table. Now that I'm here, I realize I probably shouldn't have come. I can't pass up a potential contract, though. It's not like offers are pouring in, and if I don't secure something soon, I'll have to get a day job. If I get a day job, it'll barely leave me time to write. But at least I'll be able to pay my bills. Corey pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes sweat from his forehead. He only sweats when he's nervous. The fact that he's nervous is now making me even more nervous. "Do we need a secret signal if you aren't interested in whatever the offer is?" he asks. "Let's listen to what they have to say, and then we can request to speak in private." Corey clicks his pen and straightens in his chair as though he's cocking a gun for battle. "Let me do the talking." I planned to anyway. He's charismatic and charming. I'd be hard-pressed to find someone who could categorize me as either of those things. It's best if I just sit back and listen. "What are you wearing?" Corey is staring down at my shirt, perplexed, just now noticing it despite having spent the last fifteen minutes with me. I look down at my oversized shirt. For a moment, I forgot how ridiculous I look. "I spilled coffee on my other shirt this morning and had to change." "Whose shirt is that?" I shrug. "Probably yours. It was in my closet." "You left your house in that? There wasn't something else you could have worn?" "It doesn't look high fashion?" I'm being sarcastic, but he doesn't catch it. He makes a face. "No. Is it supposed to?" Such an ass. But he's good in bed, like most assholes. I'm actually relieved when the conference room door opens and a woman walks in. She's followed, almost comically, by an older man walking so closely behind her, he bumps into the back of her when she stops. "Goddammit, Barron," I hear her mumble. I almost smile at the idea of Goddammit Barron actually being his name. Jeremy enters last. He gives me a small nod that goes unnoticed by everyone else. The woman is dressed more appropriately than I am on my best day, with short black hair and lipstick so red, it's a little jarring at nine thirty in the morning. She seems to be the one in charge as she reaches for Corey's hand, and then mine, while Goddammit Barron looks on. "Amanda Thomas," she says. "I'm an editor with Pantem Press. This is Barron Stephens, our lawyer, and Jeremy Crawford, our client." Jeremy and I shake hands, and he does a good job of pretending we didn't share an extremely bizarre morning. He quietly takes the seat across from me. I try not to look at him, but it's the only place my eyes seem to want to travel. I have no idea why I'm more curious about him than I am about this meeting. Amanda pulls folders out of her briefcase and slides them in front of Corey and me. "Thank you for meeting with us," she says. "We don't want to waste your time, so I'll cut right to the chase. One of our authors is unable to fulfill a contract due to medical reasons, and we're in search of a writer with experience in the same genre who may be interested in completing the three remaining books in her series." I glance at Jeremy, but his stoic expression doesn't hint at his role in this meeting. "Who is the author?" Corey asks. "We're happy to go over the details and terms with you, but we do ask that you sign the non-disclosure agreement. We would like to keep our author's current situation out of the media." "Of course," Corey says. I acquiesce, but I say nothing as we both look over the forms and then sign them. Corey slides them back to Amanda. "Her name is Verity Crawford," she says. "I'm sure you're familiar with her work." Corey stiffens as soon as they mention Verity's name. Of course we're familiar with her work. Everyone is. I hazard a glance in Jeremy's direction. Is Verity his wife? They share a last name. He said downstairs that his wife is a writer. But why would he be in a meeting about her? A meeting she isn't even here for? "We're familiar with the name," Corey says, holding his cards close. "Verity has a very successful series we would hate to see go unfinished," Amanda continues. "Our goal is to bring in a writer who is willing to step in, finish the series, complete the book tours, press releases, and whatever else is normally required of Verity. We plan to put out a press release introducing the new co-writer while also preserving as much of Verity's privacy as possible." Book tours? Press releases? Corey is looking at me now. He knows I'm not okay with that aspect. A lot of authors excel in reader interaction, but I'm so awkward I'm afraid once my readers meet me in person, they'll swear off my books forever. I've only done one signing, and I didn't sleep for the week leading up to it. I was so scared during the signing that it was hard for me to speak. The next day, I received an email from a reader who said I was a stuck-up bitch to her and she'd never read my books again. And that's why I stay at home and write. I think the idea of me is better than the reality of me. Corey says nothing as he opens the folder Amanda hands him. "What is Mrs. Crawford's compensation for three novels?" Goddammit Barron answers this question. "The terms of Verity's contract will remain the same with her publisher and, understandably, won't be disclosed. All royalties will go to Verity. But my client, Jeremy Crawford, is willing to offer a flat payment of seventy-five thousand per book." My stomach leaps at the mention of that kind of payout. But as quickly as the excitement lifts my spirits, they sink again when I accept the enormity of it all. Going from being a nobody writer to co-author of a literary sensation is too much of a jump for me. I can already feel my anxiety sinking in just thinking about it. Corey leans forward, folding his arms over the table in front of him. "I'm assuming the pay is negotiable." I try to catch Corey's attention. I want to let him know that negotiations aren't necessary. There's no way I'm accepting an offer to finish a series of books that I'd feel too nervous to write. Goddammit Barron straightens up in his chair. "With all due respect, Verity Crawford has spent the past thirteen years building her brand. A brand that wouldn't exist otherwise. The offer is for three books. Seventy-five thousand per book, which comes to a total of two hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars." Corey drops a pen on the table, leaning back in his chair, appearing to be unimpressed. "What's the time frame for submission?" "We're already behind, so we're looking to have the first book submitted six months from the contract signing date." I can't stop staring at the red lipstick smeared across her teeth as she speaks. "The timeline for the other two is up for discussion. Ideally, we would like to see the contract completed within the next twenty-four months." I can sense Corey doing the math in his head. It makes me wonder if he's calculating to see what his cut would be or what my cut would be. Corey would get fifteen percent. That's almost thirty-four thousand dollars, simply for representing me in this meeting as my agent. Half would go to taxes. That's just under one hundred thousand that would end up in my bank account. Fifty grand per year. It's more than double the advance I've received for my past novels, but it's not enough to convince me to attach myself to such a successful series. The conversation moves back and forth pointlessly, since I already know I'll be declining. When Amanda pulls out the official contract, I clear my throat and speak up. "I appreciate the offer," I say. I look directly at Jeremy so he'll know I'm being sincere. "Really, I do. But if your plan is to bring in someone to become the new face of the series, I'm sure there are other authors who would be a much better fit." Jeremy says nothing, but he is looking at me with a lot more curiosity than he was before I spoke up. I stand up, ready to leave. I'm disappointed in the outcome, but even more disappointed that my first day outside of my apartment has been a complete disaster in so many ways. I'm ready to go home and take a shower. "I'd like a moment with my client," Corey says, standing quickly. Amanda nods, closing her briefcase as they both stand. "We'll step out," she says. "The terms are detailed in your folders. We have two other writers in mind if this doesn't seem like it would be a good fit for you, so try to let us know something by tomorrow afternoon at the latest." Jeremy is the only one still seated at this point. He hasn't said a single word this entire time. Amanda leans forward to shake my hand. "If you have any questions, please reach out. I'm happy to help." "Thank you," I say. Amanda and Goddammit Barron walk out, but Jeremy continues to stare at me. Corey looks back and forth between us, waiting for Jeremy to exit. Instead, Jeremy leans forward, focusing on me. "Could we possibly have a word in private?" Jeremy asks me. He looks at Corey, but not for permission—it's more of a dismissal. Corey stares back at Jeremy, caught off guard by his brazen request. I can tell by the way Corey slowly turns his head and narrows his eyes that he wants me to decline. He's all but saying, "Can you believe this guy?" What he doesn't realize is that I'm craving to be alone in this room with Jeremy. I want them all out of this room, especially Corey, because I suddenly have so many more questions for Jeremy. About his wife, about why they reached out to me, about why she's no longer able to finish her own series. "It's fine," I say to Corey. The vein in his forehead protrudes as he attempts to hide his irritation. His jaw hardens, but he yields and eventually exits the conference room. It's just Jeremy and me. Again. Counting the elevator, this is the third time we've been alone in a room together since we crossed paths this morning. But this is the first time I've felt this much nervous energy. I'm sure it's all mine. Jeremy somehow looks as calm as he did while he was helping me clean pieces of a pedestrian off of myself less than an hour ago. Jeremy leans back in his chair, dragging his hands down his face. "Jesus," he mutters. "Are meetings with publishers always this stiff?" I laugh quietly. "I wouldn't know. I usually do these things over email." "I can see why." He stands and grabs a bottle of water. Maybe it's because I'm sitting now and he's so tall, but I don't remember feeling this small in his presence earlier. Knowing he's married to Verity Crawford makes me feel intimidated by him even more than when I was standing in front of him in my skirt and bra. He remains standing as he leans against the counter, crossing his legs at the ankles. "You okay? You didn't really have much time to adjust to what happened across the street before walking into this." "Neither did you." "I'm alright." There's that word again. "I'm sure you have questions." "A ton," I admit. "What do you want to know?" "Why can't your wife finish the series?" "She was in a car accident," he says. His response is mechanical, as if he's forcing himself to detach from any emotion right now. "I'm sorry. I hadn't heard." I shift in my seat, not knowing what else to say. "I wasn't on board with the idea of someone else finishing out her contract at first. I had hope she would fully recover. But—" He pauses. "Here we are." His demeanor makes sense to me now. He seemed a little reserved and quiet, but now I realize all the quiet parts of him are just grief. Palpable grief. I'm not sure if it's because of what happened to his wife, or what he told me in the bathroom earlier—that his daughter passed away several months ago. But this man is obviously out of his element here as he's challenged with making decisions heavier than anything most people ever have to face. "I'm so sorry." He nods, but he offers nothing further. He returns to his seat, which makes me wonder if he thinks I'm still contemplating the offer. I don't want to waste his time any more than I already have. "I appreciate the offer, Jeremy, but honestly, it's not something I'm comfortable with. I'm not good with publicity. I'm not even sure why your wife's publisher reached out to me as an option in the first place." "Open Ended," Jeremy says. I stiffen when he mentions one of the books I've written. "It was one of Verity's favorite books." "Your wife read one of my books?" "She said you were going to be the next big thing. I'm the one who gave her editor your name because Verity thinks your writing styles are similar. If anyone is going to take over Verity's series, I want it to be someone whose work she respects." I shake my head. "Wow. I'm flattered, but... I can't." Jeremy watches me silently, probably wondering why I'm not reacting as most writers would to this opportunity. He can't figure me out. Normally, I would be proud of that. I don't like being easily read, but it feels wrong in this situation. I feel like I should be more transparent, simply because he showed me courtesy this morning. I wouldn't even know where to start, though. Jeremy leans forward, his eyes swimming with curiosity. He stares at me a moment, then taps his fist on the table as he stands. I assume the meeting is over and start to stand as well, but Jeremy doesn't walk toward the door. He walks toward a wall lined with framed awards, so I sink back into my chair. He stares at the awards, his back to me. It isn't until he runs his fingers over one of them that I realize it's one of his wife's. He sighs and then faces me again. "Have you ever heard of people referred to as Chronics?" he asks. I shake my head. "I think Verity might have made up the term. After our daughters died, she said we were Chronics. Prone to chronic tragedy. One terrible thing after another." I stare at him a moment, allowing his words to percolate. He said he'd lost a daughter earlier, but he's using the term in plural form. "Daughters?" He inhales a breath. Releases it with defeat. "Yeah. Twins. We lost Chastin six months before Harper passed. It's been... " He isn't detaching himself from his emotions as well as he was earlier. He runs a hand down his face and then returns to his chair. "Some families are lucky enough to never experience a single tragedy. But then there are those families that seem to have tragedies waiting on the back burner. What can go wrong, goes wrong. And then gets worse." I don't know why he's telling me this, but I don't question it. I like hearing him speak, even if the words coming out of his mouth are dismal. He's twirling his water bottle in a circle on the table, staring down at it in thought. I'm getting the impression he didn't request to be alone with me to change my mind. He just wanted to be alone. Maybe he couldn't stand another second of discussing his wife in that manner, and he wanted them all to leave. I find that comforting—that being alone with me in the room still feels like being alone to him. Or maybe he always feels alone. Like our old next-door neighbor who, from what it sounds like, was definitely a Chronic. "I grew up in Richmond," I say. "Our next-door neighbor lost all three members of his family in less than two years. His son died in combat. His wife died six months later of cancer. Then his daughter died in a car wreck." Jeremy stops moving the water bottle and slides it a few inches away from him. "Where's the man now?" I stiffen. I wasn't expecting that question. The truth is, the man couldn't take losing everyone that meant anything to him. He killed himself a few months after his daughter died, but to say that out loud to Jeremy, who is still grieving the deaths of his own daughters, would be cruel. "He still lives in the same town. He remarried a few years later. Has a few stepkids and grandchildren." There's something in Jeremy's expression that makes me think he knows I'm lying, but he seems appreciative that I did. "You'll need to spend time in Verity's office going through her things. She has years of notes and outlines—stuff I wouldn't know how to make sense of." I shake my head. Did he not hear anything I said? "Jeremy, I told you, I can't—" "The lawyer is lowballing you. Tell your agent to ask for half a million. Tell them you'll do it with no press, under a pen name, with an ironclad non-disclosure. That way, whatever it is you're trying to hide can stay hidden." I want to tell him I'm not trying to hide anything other than my awkwardness, but before I can say anything, he's moving toward the door. "We live in Vermont," he continues. "I'll give you the address after you sign the contract. You're welcome to stay for however long it takes to go through her office." He pauses with his hand on the door. I open my mouth to object again, but the only word that comes out is a very unsure "Alright." He stares at me a moment, as if he has more to say. Then he says, "Alright." He opens the door and walks out into the hallway where Corey is waiting. Corey slips past him, back into the conference room where he closes the door. I look down at the table, confused by what just happened. Confused as to why I'm being offered such a substantial amount of money for a job I'm not even sure I can do. Half a million dollars? And I can do it under a pen name with no tour or publicity commitment? What on earth did I say that led to that? "I don't like him," Corey says, plopping down in his seat. "What did he say to you?" "He said they're lowballing me and to ask for half a million with no publicity." I turn in time to watch Corey choke on air. He grabs my bottle of water and takes a drink. "Shit." I had a boyfriend in my early twenties named Amos, who liked being choked. It's why we broke up—because I refused to choke him. But sometimes I wonder where I'd be had I entertained his urge. Would we be married now? Would we have children? Would he have moved on to even more dangerous sexual perversions? I think that's what worried me the most with him. In your early twenties, vanilla sex should satisfy a person without the need to introduce fetishes so early on in a relationship. I like to think about Amos when I find myself disappointed with the current state of my life. As I stare at the pink eviction notice in Corey's hand, I remind myself that it could be worse—I could still be with Amos. I open my apartment door farther, allowing Corey to step inside. I wasn't aware he was coming over, or I would have made sure there were no eviction notices taped to my door. It's the third day in a row I've received one. I take it from him and shove it into a drawer. Corey holds up a champagne bottle. "Thought we could celebrate the new contract," he says, handing me the bottle. I'm appreciative he doesn't mention the eviction. It's not as dire now that I have a paycheck on the horizon. What I'll do until then... I'm not sure. I might have enough money for a few days in a hotel. I can always pawn what's left of my mother's things. Corey has already taken off his coat and is loosening his tie. This used to be our routine, before my mother moved in. He'd show up and begin losing pieces of his clothing until we were under the covers in my bed. That came to a complete halt when I found out through social media that he had been on a few dates with a girl named Rebecca. I didn't stop our sexual relationship out of jealousy—I stopped it out of respect for the girl who wasn't aware of it. "How's Becca?" I ask as I open the cabinet to find two glasses. Corey's hand pauses on his tie, as if he's shocked I'm aware of what's going on in his love life. "I write suspense novels, Corey. Don't be so surprised that I know all about your girlfriend." I don't watch for his reaction. I open the bottle of champagne and pour two glasses. When I go to hand one to Corey, he's seated at the bar. I stay on the opposite side and we raise our glasses. But I lower mine before he can make a toast. I stare down at my champagne flute, finding it impossible to think of anything to toast about other than the money. "It's not my series," I say. "They aren't my characters. And the author responsible for the success of these books is injured. It feels wrong to toast to this." Corey's glass is still paused mid air. He shrugs and then downs his entire glass in one sip, handing it back to me. "Don't focus on why you're playing the game. Just focus on the finish line." I roll my eyes as I set his empty glass in the sink. "Have you ever even read one of her books?" he asks. I shake my head and turn on the water. I should probably do dishes. I have forty-eight hours to be out of this apartment, and my dishes are something I want to take with me when I go. "Nope. Have you?" I pour dish soap into the water and grab a sponge. Corey laughs. "No. She's not my style." I look up at him, just as he realizes that his words double as an insult to my own writing, considering I was offered this job because of our supposed similar writing styles, according to Verity's husband. "Not what I meant," he says. He stands up and walks around the bar, standing next to me at the sink. He waits for me to finish scrubbing a plate, and then he takes it from me and begins rinsing it off. "It doesn't look like you've packed anything. Have you found a new apartment yet?" "I have a storage building and plan to have most of it out by tomorrow. I've put in an application at a complex in Brooklyn, but they won't have anything for two weeks." "The eviction notice says you have two days to be out." "I'm aware of that." "So where are you going? A hotel?" "Eventually. I'm leaving Sunday for Verity Crawford's house. Her husband says I'll need to go through her office for a day or two before I start the series." Immediately upon signing the contract this morning, I received an email from Jeremy with directions to their house. I requested to come on Sunday, and luckily he agreed. Corey takes another dish from me. I can feel him staring at me. "You're staying at their house?" "How else am I supposed to get her notes for the series?" "Have him mail them to you." "She has thirteen years' worth of notes and outlines. Jeremy said he wouldn't even know where to begin, and it would be easier if I sorted through it myself." Corey doesn't say anything, but I can sense he's biting his tongue. I slide the sponge down the length of the knife in my hand and then hand it to him. "What aren't you saying?" I ask. He rinses the knife in silence, sets it in the strainer, then grips the edge of the sink and turns his head toward me. "The man lost two daughters. Then his wife gets injured in a car wreck. I'm not sure I'm all that comfortable with you being in his home." The water suddenly seems too cold for me. Chills run down both arms. I turn off the water and dry my hands, leaning my back against the sink. "Are you suggesting he had something to do with any of it?" Corey shrugs. "I don't know enough about what happened to suggest anything. But has that thought not crossed your mind? That maybe it's not the safest thing to do? You don't even know them." I'm not ignorant. I've been digging up as much as I can find about them online. Their first child was at a sleepover fifteen miles away when she had an allergic reaction. Neither Jeremy nor Verity was there when it happened. And the second daughter drowned in the lake behind their home, but Jeremy didn't arrive home until the search for her body was already in place. Both were ruled accidents. I can see why Corey is concerned, because I was, too, honestly. But the more I dig, the less I can find to be concerned about. Two tragic, unrelated accidents. "And what about Verity's car wreck?" "It was an accident," I say. "She hit a tree." Corey's expression suggests he isn't convinced. "I read there weren't any skidmarks. Which means she either fell asleep or she did it on purpose." "Can you blame her?" I'm irritated that he's making baseless claims. I turn around to finish the dishes. "She lost both of her daughters. Anyone who suffers through something like that would want to find a way out." Corey dries his hands on the dish towel and then grabs his jacket off the barstool. "Accidents or not, the family obviously has shit luck and a hell of a lot of emotional damage, so you need to be careful. Get in, get what you need, and leave." "How about you worry about the contractual details, Corey? I'll worry about the research and writing part of it." He slips on his jacket. "Just looking out for you." Looking out for me? He knew my mother was dying, and he hasn't checked in with me in two months. He's not looking out for me. He's an ex-boyfriend who thought he was going to get laid tonight, but instead, was quietly rejected right before finding out I'll be staying in another man's home. He's disguising his jealousy as concern. I walk him to the door, relieved he's leaving this soon. I don't blame him for wanting to escape. This apartment has had a weird vibe in it since my mother moved in. It's why I haven't even bothered fighting the lease, or informing the landlord that I'll have the money in two weeks. I want out of this place more than Corey does right now. "For what it's worth," he says, "congratulations. Whether you created this series or not, your writing led you to it. You should be proud of that." I hate it when he says nice things at the height of my irritation. "Thank you." "Text me as soon as you get there Sunday." "I will." "And let me know if you need any help moving." "I won't." He laughs a little. "Okay, then." He doesn't hug me goodbye. He salutes me as he backs away, and we've never parted more awkwardly. I have a feeling our relationship is finally as it should be: Agent and author. Nothing more. I could have chosen anything else to do on this six-hour drive. I could have listened to "Bohemian Rhapsody" over sixty times. I could have called my old friend Natalie and played catch-up, especially since I haven't even spoken to her in over six months. We text occasionally, but it would have been nice to hear her voice. Or maybe I could have used the time to mentally prep myself for all the reasons I'm going to stay far away from Jeremy Crawford while I'm in his home. But instead of doing any of that, I chose to listen to the audiobook of the first novel in Verity Crawford's series. It just ended. My knuckles are white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly. My mouth is parched from forgetting to hydrate on the drive over. My self-esteem is somewhere back in Albany. She's good. Really good. Now I'm regretting having signed the contract. I'm not sure I can live up to that. And to think she's already written six of these novels, all from the villain's point of view. How can one brain hold that much creativity? Maybe the other five suck. I can hope. That way, there won't be much expectation for the final three books in the series. Who am I kidding? Every time one of Verity's novels releases, it hits number one on the Times. I just made myself twice as nervous than when I left Manhattan. I spend the rest of the drive ready to go back to New York with my tail between my legs, but I stick it out because thinking I'm not good enough is part of the writing process. It's part of mine, anyway. For me, there are three steps to completing each of my books. 1) Start the book and hate everything I write. 2) Keep writing the book despite hating everything I write. 3) Finish the book and pretend I'm happy with it. There's never a point in my writing process where I feel like I've accomplished what I set out to accomplish, or when I believe I've written something everyone needs to read. Most of the time, I cry in my shower and stare at my computer screen like a zombie, wondering how so many other authors can promote their books with so much confidence. "This is the greatest thing since the last book I wrote! You should read it!" I'm the awkward writer who posts a picture of my book and says, "It's an okay book. There are words in it. Read it if you want." I'm afraid this particular writing experience will be even worse than I imagined. Hardly anyone reads my books, so I don't have to suffer through too many negative reviews. But once my work is out there with Verity's name on it, it's going to be read by hundreds of thousands of readers with built-in expectations for this series. And if I fail, Corey will know I failed. The publishers will know I've failed. Jeremy will know I've failed. And... depending on her mental state... Verity may know I've failed. Jeremy didn't clarify the extent of Verity's injuries when we were in the meeting, so I have no idea if she's injured beyond the point of communication. There was very little online about her car wreck other than a couple of vague articles. The publisher released a statement shortly after the wreck stating Verity received non-life-threatening injuries. Two weeks ago, they released another statement that said she was recovering peacefully at home. But her editor, Amanda, said they wanted to keep the extent of her injuries out of the media. So, it's a possibility they downplayed it all. Or, maybe, after all the loss she's experienced over the past two years, she simply doesn't want to write again. I guess it's understandable they'd need to ensure the completion of the series. The publishers don't want to see their biggest source of income crash and burn. And while I'm honored I was asked to complete it, I don't necessarily want to be thrown into that kind of spotlight. When I started writing, it wasn't my goal to become famous. I dreamt of a life where enough people would buy my books and I could pay my bills and never be propelled into a life of riches and fame. Very few authors reach that level of success, so it was never a concern that it would happen to me. I realize attaching my name to this series would boost sales of my past books and ensure more opportunity in the future, but Verity is extremely successful. As is this series I'm taking over. By attaching my real name to her series, I would be subjecting myself to the kind of attention I've spent most of my life fearing. I'm not looking for my fifteen minutes of fame. I'm looking for a paycheck. It's going to be a long wait for that advance. I spent most of the rest of my money renting this car and putting my things in storage. I paid a deposit for an apartment, but it won't be ready until next week, or maybe even the week after, which means what little I have left will need to go to a hotel once I leave the Crawford home. This is my life. Sort of homeless, living out of a suitcase just one and a half weeks after the last of my immediate family members passes away. Can it get worse? I could be married to Amos right now, so life could always be worse. "Jesus, Lowen." I roll my eyes at my inability to realize how many writers would kill for this kind of opportunity, and here I am thinking my life has hit rock bottom. Ungrateful, party of one. I have to stop looking at my life through my mother's glasses. Once I get the advance on these novels, everything will start looking up. I'll no longer be between apartments. I took the exit for the Crawford home a few miles back. The GPS is leading me down a long, windy road flanked by flowering dogwood trees and houses that keep getting bigger and more spread apart. When I finally reach the turn-in, I put the rental in park to stop and admire the entrance. Two tall brick columns loom on both sides of the driveway—a driveway that never seems to end. I crane my neck, trying to see the length of it, but the dark asphalt snakes between the trees. Somewhere up there is the house, and somewhere inside of that house lies Verity Crawford. I wonder if she knows I'm coming. My palms start to sweat, so I lift them off the steering wheel and hold them in front of the air vents to dry them. The security gate is propped open, so I put the car in drive and slowly amble past the sturdy wrought iron. I tell myself not to freak out, even as I notice that the repetitive pattern on top of the iron gate resembles spider webs. I shiver as I follow a curve, the trees getting denser and taller until the house comes into view. I spot the roof first as I climb the hill: slate gray like an angry storm cloud. Seconds later, the rest of it appears, and my breath snags in my throat. Dark stone works its way across the front of the house, broken only by the blood red door, the only relief of color in this sea of gray. Ivy covers the left side of the house, but instead of charming, it's threatening—like a slow-moving cancer. I think of the apartment I left behind: the dingy walls and too-small kitchen with the olive green refrigerator circa 1970. My entire apartment would probably fit into the entrance hall of this monster. My mother used to say that houses have a soul, and if that is true, the soul of Verity Crawford's house is as dark as they come. The online satellite images did not do this property justice. I stalked the home before showing up. According to a realtor website, they purchased the home five years ago for two and a half million. It's worth over three million now. It's overwhelming and huge and secluded, but it doesn't have the typical formal vibe of homes of this caliber. There isn't an air of superiority clinging to the walls. I edge the car along the driveway, wondering where I'm supposed to park. The lawn is lush and manicured, at least three acres deep. The lake behind the house stretches from one edge of the property to the other. The Green Mountains paint a picturesque backdrop so beautiful, it's hard to believe the awful tragedy its owners have experienced. I sigh in relief as I spot a concrete parking area next to the garage. I put my car in park and then kill the engine. My car doesn't fit in with this house at all. I'm kicking myself for selecting the cheapest car I could possibly rent. Thirty bucks a day. I wonder if Verity has ever sat in a Kia Soul. In the article I read about her wreck, she was driving a Range Rover. I reach to the passenger seat to grab my phone so I can text Corey to let him know I made it. When I put my hand on the driver's side door handle, I stiffen, stretching my spine against the back seat. I turn and look out my window. "Shit!" What the fuck? I slap my chest to make sure I still have a heartbeat as I stare back at the face staring into my car window. Then, when I see that the figure at my door is only a child, I cover my mouth, hoping he's heard his fair share of curse words. He doesn't laugh. He just stares, which seems even creepier than if he'd have scared me on purpose. He's a miniature version of Jeremy. The same mouth, the same green eyes. I read in one of the articles that Verity and Jeremy had three children. This must be their little boy. I open the door, and he takes a step back as I get out of the car. "Hey." The child doesn't respond. "Do you live here?" "Yes." I look at the house behind him, wondering what that must be like for a child to grow up in such a home. "Must be nice," I mutter. "Used to be." He turns and begins walking up the driveway, toward the front door. I instantly feel bad for him. I'm not sure I've given much thought to the situation this family is in. This little boy, who can't be more than five years old, has lost both of his sisters. And who knows what that kind of grief has done to his mother? I know it was apparent in Jeremy. I save my suitcase for later and shut my door, following the little boy. I'm only a few feet behind him when he opens the front door and walks into the house, then closes the door in my face. I wait a moment, wondering if maybe he has a sense of humor. But I can see through the frosted window of the front door, and he continues through the house and doesn't come back to let me in. I don't want to call him an asshole. He's a little kid, and he's been through a lot. But I think he might be an asshole. I ring the doorbell and wait. And wait. I ring the doorbell again but get no answer. Jeremy put his contact information in the email he sent me, so I pull up his number and text him. "It's Lowen. I'm at your front door." I send the text and wait. A few seconds later, I hear steps descending the stairs. I can see Jeremy's shadow through the frosted glass grow larger as he approaches the door. Right before it opens, I see him pause like he's taking a breath. I don't know why, but that pause reassures me that maybe I'm not the only one nervous about this whole situation. Weird how his potential discomfort brings me comfort. I don't think that's how it's supposed to work. He opens the door, and although he's the same man I met a few days ago, he's... different. No suit or tie, no air of mystery about him. He's in sweatpants and a blue Bananafish T-shirt. Socks, no shoes. "Hey." I don't like the buzz rushing through me right now. I ignore it and smile at him. "Hi." He stares for a second and then steps aside, opening the door wider, waving me in with his arm. "Sorry, I was upstairs. I told Crew to get the door. Guess he didn't hear me." I step into the foyer. "Do you have a suitcase?" Jeremy asks. I spin around to face him. "Yeah, it's in my back seat, but I can get it later." "Is the car unlocked?" I nod. "Be right back." He slips on a pair of shoes next to the door and walks outside. I spin in a slow circle, checking out my surroundings. Not much is different from the pictures I saw of the home online. It feels odd because I've seen all the rooms in the house already, thanks to the realtor website. I feel like I already know my way around, and I'm only five feet into the house. There's a kitchen to the right and living room to the left. They're separated by an entryway with a staircase that leads to the second floor. The kitchen in the pictures was trimmed with dark cherry cabinetry, but it's been updated, and all the old cabinets have been ripped out, replaced mostly by shelves and a few cabinets above the countertop that are a blonder wood. There are two ovens, and a refrigerator with a glass door. I'm staring at it from several feet away when the little boy comes bounding down the stairs. He runs past me and opens the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of Dr. Pepper. I watch as he struggles to twist open the lid. "Want me to open it for you?" I ask him. "Yes, please," he says, looking up at me with those big green eyes. I can't believe I thought he was an asshole. His voice is so sweet and his hands are so tiny, they can't even open a bottle of soda yet. I take it from him and twist open the bottle with ease. The front door opens as I'm handing the soda back to Crew. Jeremy narrows his eyes in Crew's direction. "I just told you no sodas." He leaves my suitcase against the wall and walks over to Crew, pulling the soda out of his hands. "Go get ready for your shower. I'll be there in a minute." Crew rolls his head and stalks back toward the stairs. Jeremy cocks an eyebrow. "Never trust that kid. He's smarter than both of us put together." He takes a sip of the soda before returning it to the refrigerator. "You want something to drink?" "No, I'm fine." Jeremy grabs my suitcase and carries it down the hallway. "I hope it's not weird, but I'm giving you the master bedroom. We all sleep upstairs now, and I thought it would be easier because it's the closest room to her office." "I'm not even sure I'm staying the night," I say as I follow behind him. The place gives me an eerie vibe, so it would be nice if I could grab what I need and find a hotel. "I was planning to check out her office and assess the situation." He laughs, pushing the bedroom door open. "Trust me. You'll need at least two days. Maybe more." He lays the suitcase on a chest at the foot of the bed, then opens the master closet and points to an empty area. "I made some space in case you need to hang anything." He points toward the bathroom. "Bathroom is all yours. I'm not sure if there are toiletries, so let me know if you need anything. I'm sure we have it." "Thank you." I look around the room, and this all feels so bizarre. Especially that I'll be sleeping in their bed. My eyes are pulled to the headboard—specifically to the teeth marks bitten into the top edge of the headboard in the center of the bed. I immediately tear my eyes away before Jeremy catches me looking. He'll probably see all over my face that I'm wondering which one of them had to bite the headboard in order to keep quiet during sex. Have I ever had sex that intense? "You need a minute alone in here, or would you like to go ahead and see the rest of the house?" Jeremy asks. "I'm good," I say, following him. He walks into the hallway, but I pause, eyeing the bedroom door. "Does this door lock?" He takes a step back inside the bedroom, looking at the door handle. "I don't know that we've ever locked it." He jiggles the handle. "I'm sure I can find a lock if it's important to you." I haven't slept in a bedroom without a lock since I was ten. I want to beg him to find a lock, but I also don't want to be even more intrusive than I already am. "No, it's fine." He lets go of the door, but before stepping back out into the hallway, he says, "Before I take you upstairs, do you know what name you'll be writing this series under?" I hadn't thought about it since finding out Pantem agreed to the demands Jeremy told me to make. I shrug. "I haven't really thought about it." "I'd like to introduce you to Verity's nurse using your pen name, in case you never want anyone attaching you to the series." Her injuries are bad enough that she needs a nurse? "Okay. I guess... " I'm clueless as to what name I should use. "What street did you grow up on?" Jeremy asks. "Laura Lane." "What was the name of your first pet?" "Chase. He was a Yorkie." "Laura Chase," he says. "I like it." I tilt my head, recognizing that pattern of questioning from Facebook quizzes. "Isn't that how people figure out their pornstar name?" He laughs. "Pen name, pornstar name. Works across the board." He motions for me to follow him. "Come meet Verity first, and then I'll take you to her office." Jeremy takes the stairs two at a time. There's an elevator that looks newly installed right past the kitchen. Verity must be in a wheelchair now. God, the poor woman. Jeremy is waiting for me when I reach the top of the stairs. The hallway splits, with three doors on one end and two on the other. He turns left. "This is Crew's bedroom," he says, pointing toward the first room. "I sleep in that room." He points to the door next to Crew's. Across the hall from those two bedrooms is another room. The door is shut, so he taps on it gently and then pushes it open. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but I certainly wasn't expecting this. She's on her back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, her blonde hair spilled over her pillow. A nurse in blue scrubs is at the foot of her bed, putting socks on her feet. Crew is lying next to Verity on the bed, holding an iPad. Verity's eyes are vacant, uninterested in her surroundings. She's unaware of the nurse. Unaware of me. Of Crew. Of Jeremy as he leans over and brushes hair from her forehead. She blinks, but there's nothing else there. No recognition that the man she had three children with is trying to be affectionate with her. I try to cover the chills that have appeared on my arms. The nurse addresses Jeremy. "She seemed tired, so I thought I'd put her to bed early tonight." She pulls a blanket over Verity. Jeremy moves to the window and closes the curtains. "Did she take her after-dinner meds?" The nurse lifts Verity's feet, tucking the blanket beneath them. "Yeah, she's good until midnight." The nurse is older than Jeremy, maybe in her mid-fifties, with short red hair. She glances at me, then back at Jeremy, waiting for an introduction. Jeremy shakes his head like he forgot I'm even here. He waves toward me while looking at the nurse. "This is Laura Chase, the author I was telling you about. Laura, this is April, Verity's nurse." I shake April's hand, but feel her judgment as she eyes me up and down. "I thought you'd be older," she says. What do I even say to that? Coupled by the way she looks at me, her comment feels like a dig. Or an accusation. I ignore it and smile. "It's good to meet you, April." "You too." She grabs her purse off the dresser, directing her attention to Jeremy. "I'll see you in the morning. Should be an easy night." She reaches down and pinches Crew's thigh. He giggles and scoots away from her. I step aside as April exits the bedroom. I glance at the bed. Verity's eyes are still open, connecting with nothing. I'm not sure she's even aware her nurse left. Is she aware of anything? I feel terrible for Crew. For Jeremy. For Verity. I don't know that I'd want to live in this condition. And knowing Jeremy is tied to this life... It's all so depressing. This house, the tragedies in this family's past, the struggles in their present. "Crew, don't make me do it. I told you to shower." Crew looks up at Jeremy and smiles, but fails to get off the bed. "I'm gonna count to three." Crew sets his iPad beside him, but continues to defy Jeremy. "Three... two... " And then, at the count of one, Jeremy lunges at Crew, gripping his ankles and pulling him up in the air. "Upside down night it is!" Crew is laughing and squirming. "Not again!" Jeremy looks over at me. "Laura, how many seconds can a kid hang upside down before their brain flips over and they start talking backward?" I laugh at their interaction. "I heard twenty seconds. But it could be fifteen." Crew says, "No, Daddy, I'll go shower! I don't want my brain to be upside down!" "And you'll clean out your ears? Because they clearly weren't working before when I told you to take a shower." "I swear!" Jeremy tosses him over his shoulder, turning him right side up before placing him back on his feet. He ruffles his hair and says, "Go." I watch as Crew rushes out the door and into his bedroom across the hall. Watching Jeremy interact with Crew makes the house seem a little more welcoming. "He's cute. How old is he?" "Five," Jeremy says. He reaches down to the side of Verity's hospital bed and raises it a bit. He grabs a remote off the table next to her bed and turns on the TV. We both exit the bedroom, and he pulls the door slightly shut. I'm standing in the middle of the hallway when he faces me. He slides his hands into the pockets of his grey sweatpants. He acts like he wants to say more—explain more. But he doesn't. He sighs and looks back at Verity's bedroom. "Crew was scared to sleep up here by himself. He's been a trooper, but nights are rough for him. He wanted to be closer to her, but he didn't like sleeping downstairs. I moved us both up here to make it easier on him." Jeremy makes his way back down the hallway. "Which means you have the run of the downstairs at night." He flips off the hallway light. "Want to see her office?' "Of course." I follow him downstairs, to the double doors near the stairwell landing. He pushes open one of the double doors, revealing the most intimate part of his wife. Her office. When I step inside, it feels like I'm rummaging around her underwear drawer. There are floor-to-ceiling bookshelves with books tucked into every vacant crevice. Boxes of papers line the walls. The desk... My God, her desk. It extends from one end of the room to the other, stretching along a wall lined with huge window panes overlooking the entirety of the backyard. There isn't an inch of desk that isn't covered with a stack of pages or files. "She's not the most organized person," Jeremy says. I smile, recognizing a kinship with Verity. "Most writers aren't." "It'll take time. I would attempt to organize it myself, but it's all Greek to me." I walk to one of the shelves closest to me and run my hand over some of the books. They're foreign editions of her work. I pluck a German copy from the shelf and examine it. "She has her laptop and a desktop," Jeremy says. "I wrote the passwords on sticky notes for you." He picks up a notebook next to her computer. "She was constantly taking notes. Writing down thoughts. She'd write ideas down on napkins. Dialogue in the shower on a waterproof notepad." Jeremy drops the notepad back onto the desk. "She once used a Sharpie to write down character names on the bottom of Crew's diaper. We were at the zoo, and she didn't have a notepad." He does a full, slow circle as he looks around at her office like it's been a while since he's stepped foot in here. "The world was her manuscript. No surface was safe." My insides warm at the way he seems to appreciate her creative process. I spin in a circle, taking it all in. "I had no idea what I was getting into." "I didn't want to laugh when you said you might not need to stay the night. But in all honesty, this might take you more than two days. If it does, you're welcome to stay as long as you need. I'd rather you take your time and make sure you have everything you need than go back to New York unsure of how to tackle this." I look at the shelves containing the series I'm taking over. There are to be nine total books in the series. Six have been published, and three are still to be delivered. The series title is The Noble Virtues, and each book is a different virtue. The three that are left up to me are Courage, Truth, and Honor. All six books are on her shelves, and I'm relieved to see extras. I pull a copy of the second novel off the shelf and skim through it. "Have you read the series yet?" Jeremy asks. I shake my head, not wanting to reveal I listened to the audiobook. He might ask me questions about it. "I haven't yet. I didn't have time between signing the contract and coming here." I place the book back on the shelf. "Which is your favorite?" "I haven't ready any of them, either. Not since her first book." I spin and look at him. "Really?" "I didn't like being inside her head." I hold back my smile, but he sounds a little bit like Corey right now. Unable to separate the world his wife creates from the one she lives in. At least Jeremy seems to be a little more self-aware than Corey ever was. I look around the room, slightly overwhelmed, but I'm not sure if it's because Jeremy is standing here or because of the chaos I'm about to have to sort through. "I don't even know where to start." "Yeah, I'll let you get to that." Jeremy points to the office door. "I should probably go check on Crew. Make yourself at home. Food... drinks... the house is yours." "Thank you." Jeremy closes the door, and I settle in at Verity's desk. Her desk chair alone probably cost more than a month's rent in my apartment. I wonder how much easier writing is for someone who has money to burn on things I've always dreamt of having at my disposal while I write. Comfortable furniture, enough money to have an on-call masseuse, more than one computer. I imagine it would make the writing process a lot easier and a lot less stressful. I have a laptop with a missing key and Wi-Fi when a neighbor forgets to password protect theirs. I sit on an old dining room table chair at a makeshift desk that's really just a plastic folding table I ordered from Amazon for twenty-five bucks. Most of the time, I don't even have enough money for printer ink and computer paper. I guess being here in her office for a few days will be one way to test my theory. The richer you are, the more creative you're able to be. I take the second book of the series off the shelf. I open it, only intending to glance at it. See how she picked up from where book one left off. I end up reading for three hours straight. I haven't moved from my spot, not even once. Chapter after chapter of intrigue and fucked up characters. Really fucked up characters. It's going to take me time to work myself into that mindset while writing. No wonder Jeremy doesn't read her work. All her books are from the villain's point of view, so that's new to me. I really should have read all these books before arriving. I stand up to stretch out my spine, but it doesn't even really hurt; the desk chair I've been sitting in is the most comfortable piece of furniture my ass has ever pressed against. I look around, wondering if I should go through computer files next or printed files. I decide to check out her desktop. I browse several files in Microsoft Word, which seems to be the program she prefers. All the files I find are related to books she's already written. I'm not too worried about those yet. I want to find any plans she had for the books yet to be written. Most of the files on her laptop are the same as the files on her desktop. Maybe Verity was the type of author who hand-wrote her outlines. I turn my attention to the stacks of boxes on the back wall, near a closet. A thin layer of dust coats the tops of them. I go through several boxes, pulling out versions of manuscripts at various stages in the writing process, but they're all versions of books in her series that she's already written. Nothing hinting at what she planned to write next. I'm on the sixth box, rummaging through the contents, when I find something with an unfamiliar title. This one is called So Be It. I flip through the first few pages, hoping I'll get lucky and find that it's an outline for the seventh book in the series. Almost immediately, I can tell that it isn't. This seems... personal. I flip back to the first page of chapter one and read the first line. I sometimes think back on the night I met Jeremy and wonder, had we not made eye contact, would my life still end the same? As soon as I see Jeremy's name mentioned, I scan a little more of the page. It's an autobiography. It's not at all what I'm searching for. An autobiography isn't what the publishers are paying me to turn in, so I should just move on. But I look over my shoulder to make sure the door is shut because I'm curious. Besides, reading some of this is research. I need to see how Verity's mind works to understand her as a writer. That's my excuse, anyway. I carry the manuscript to the couch, make myself comfortable, and begin reading. I sometimes think back on the night I met Jeremy and wonder, had we not made eye contact, would my life still end the same? Was it my destiny from the beginning to suffer such a tragic end? Or is my tragic end a result of poor choices rather than fate? Of course, I haven't met a tragic end yet, or I wouldn't be able to recount what led to it. Nevertheless, it's coming. I can sense it, just as I sensed Chastin's death. And just as I embraced her fate, I will embrace my own. I wouldn't say I was lost before the night I met Jeremy, but I had certainly never been found until the moment he laid eyes on me from across the room. I'd had boyfriends before. One-night stands, even. But I'd never come close to imagining life with someone else until that moment. When I saw him, I pictured our first night together, our wedding, our honeymoon, our children. Until that moment, the idea of love had always felt very manufactured to me. A Hallmark ploy. A marketing scheme for greeting card companies. I had no interest in love. My only goal that night was to get drunk on free booze and find a rich investor to fuck. I was already halfway there, having downed three Moscow Mules. And judging by the look of Jeremy Crawford, I was going to leave that party an overachiever. He looked rich, and it was a charity event, after all. Poor people don't show up to charity events unless they're serving the rich. Present company not included. He was talking with a few other men, but every time he'd glance in my direction, I felt like we were the only two people in the room. Every now and then, he would smile at me. Of course he did. I had on my red dress that night, the one I stole from Macy's. Don't judge me. I was a starving artist and it was ridiculously expensive. I intended to make up for the theft when I had the money. I'd donate to a charity or save a baby or something. The good thing about sins is they don't have to be atoned for immediately, and that red dress was too perfect for me to pass up. It was a fuckable dress. The kind of dress a man can easily bypass when he wants between your legs. The mistake women make when they choose their clothes for events like the one I was at, is that they don't think about them from the man's perspective. A woman wants her breasts to look good, her figure to be hugged. Even if that means sacrificing comfort and wearing something impossible to remove. But when men look at dresses, they aren't admiring the way it hugs the hips or the cinch at the waist or the fancy tie up the back. They're sizing up how easy it will be to remove. Will he be able to slip his hand up her thigh when they're seated next to each other at a table? Will he be able to fuck her in a car without the awkward mess of zippers and Spanx? Will he be able to fuck her in the bathroom without having to remove her clothes completely? The answers to my stolen red dress were yes, yes, and hell yes. I realized, with that dress on, there was no way he would be able to leave the party without approaching me. I chose to stop paying attention to him. It made me seem desperate. I was not the mouse, I was the cheese. I was going to stand there until he came to me. He did, eventually. I was standing at the bar, my back to him, when he put his hand on my shoulder and leaned forward, motioning for the bartender. Jeremy didn't look at me in that moment. He simply kept his hand on my shoulder, as if he were laying claim to me. When the bartender approached, I watched in fascination. Jeremy nudged his head toward me and said, "Make sure you only serve her water for the rest of the evening." I hadn't been expecting that. I turned, leaning an arm on the bar, and faced him. He dropped his hand from my shoulder, but not before his fingers grazed all the way down to my elbow. A flicker of electricity flashed through me, mixed with a surge of anger. "I'm perfectly capable of deciding when I've had enough to drink." Jeremy smirked at me and even though I hated the arrogance behind that smirk, he was good-looking. "I'm sure you are." "I've only had three drinks all evening." "Good." I stood up straight and called the bartender back over. "I'll have another Moscow Mule, please." The bartender glanced at me, then Jeremy. Then back at me. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I've been asked to serve you water." I rolled my eyes. "I heard him ask you to serve me water, I'm standing right here. But I don't know this man, and he doesn't know me, and I'd like another Moscow Mule." "She'll take a water," Jeremy said. I was definitely attracted to him, but his looks were quickly fading with that chauvinistic attitude. The bartender lifted his hands and said, "I don't want to get involved in whatever this is. If you want a drink, go order it from the bar over there." He pointed to the bar across the room. I grabbed my purse, tipped my chin up in the air, and walked away. When I reached the other bar, I found a stool and waited for the bartender to finish with his customer. In that time, Jeremy appeared again, this time leaning his elbow across the bar. "You didn't even give me a chance to explain why I'd like you to have water." I rolled my head in his direction. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize I owed you my time." He laughed, moving until his back was against the bar, and stared at me with a tilted head and a crooked smile. "I've been watching you since the moment I walked through the door. You've had three drinks in forty-five minutes, and if you keep going at that rate, I won't feel comfortable asking you to leave with me. I'd much rather you make that choice while you're sober." His voice sounded like his throat was coated in honey. I held eye contact with him, wondering if it was an act. Could a man that good looking and presumably rich also be considerate? It felt more presumptuous than anything, but I was drawn in by his gall. The bartender approached with impeccable timing. "What can I get for you?" I straightened up, breaking eye contact with Jeremy. I turned and faced the bartender. "I'll have a water." "Make it two," Jeremy said. And that was that. It's been years since that night, and it's difficult to recall every detail, but I do remember being drawn to him in those first few moments in a way I'd never been drawn to a man. I liked the sound of his voice. I liked his confidence. I liked his teeth, perfect and white. I liked the stubble on his jaw. It was the perfect length to scratch my thighs. Maybe even scar them if he stayed down there long enough. I liked that he wasn't afraid to touch me while we talked, and every time he did, the graze of his fingers made my skin tingle. After we both finished our waters, Jeremy led me to the exit, his hand on my lower back, his fingers caressing my dress. We walked to his limousine, and he held the back door open for me as I climbed inside. He took the seat across from me rather than next to me. The car smelled like a bouquet, but I knew it was perfume. I quite liked it, despite knowing another woman had been in this limousine tonight. My eyes fell to a bottle of champagne that was half empty next to two wine glasses, one lined with red lipstick. Who is she? And why did he leave the party with me and not her? I didn't care to ask those questions out loud, because he was leaving with me. That's really all that mattered. We sat in silence for a minute or two, staring at each other with anticipation. He knew he had me in that moment, which is why he felt confident enough to reach forward and lift my leg, draping it across the seat next to him. He left his hand on my ankle, caressing it, watching as my chest began to rise and fall in response to his touch. "How old are you?" he asked. The question made me pause because he looked older than I was, maybe late twenties, early thirties. I didn't want to scare him off with the truth, so I lied and said I was twenty-five. "You look younger." He knew I was lying. I kicked off my shoe and ran my toes across the outside of his thigh. "Twenty-two." Jeremy laughed and said, "A liar, huh?" "I stretch truths where I see fit. I'm a writer." His hand moved to my calf. "How old are you?" "Twenty-four," he said with as much truth as I'd given him. "So... twenty-eight?" He smiled. "Twenty-seven." His hand was on my knee at this point. I wanted it even higher. I wanted it on my thigh, between my legs, exploring me from the inside. I wanted him, but not here. I wanted to go with him, see where he lived, judge the comfort of his bed, smell his sheets, taste his skin. "Where's your driver?" I asked. Jeremy glanced behind him, toward the front of the limousine. "I don't know," he replied, looking back at me. "This isn't my limousine." His expression was mischievous, and I couldn't tell if he was lying. I narrowed my eyes, wondering if this man had really led me to a limousine that didn't even belong to him. "Whose limousine is this?" Jeremy's eyes had left mine and were focused on his hand. The one tracing circles over my knee. "I don't know." I expected my desire to wane at the realization that he may not be rich, but instead, his admission made me smile. "I'm an entry-level scrub," he said. "I drove my car here. Honda Civic. Parked it myself because I'm too cheap to pay the ten bucks for valet." I was surprised by how much I loved that he had brought me to a limo that wasn't even his. He wasn't rich. He wasn't rich, yet I still wanted to fuck him. "I clean office buildings in the city," I admitted. "I stole an invitation to this party out of a trash can. I'm not even supposed to be here." He smiled, and I've never wanted to taste a grin like I wanted to taste the one that spread across his face. "Aren't you resourceful?" he asked. His hand slipped behind my knee and he pulled me toward him. I slid across the seat and onto his lap because that's what dresses like mine were for. I could feel him growing hard between my legs as he pressed a thumb against my bottom lip. I swiped my tongue across the pad of his thumb, and it made him sigh. Not groan. Not moan. He sighed, like it was the sexiest thing he'd ever felt. "What's your name?" he asked. "Verity." "Verity." He said it twice. "Verity. That's really pretty." His eyes were on my mouth, and he was about to lean in and kiss me, but I pulled back. "What's yours?" His eyes flickered back to mine. "Jeremy." He said it fast, like it was a waste of his time, an inconvenient interruption to our kiss. As soon as the word left his mouth, his lips touched mine, and as soon as they touched mine, the interior light kicked on above our heads and we both froze, our lips grazing, our bodies suddenly stiff as someone climbed into the driver's seat of the limousine. "Shit," Jeremy whispered against my mouth. "What an untimely return." He pushed me off of him and opened the door. He ushered me out of the car just as the driver realized someone else was in the car with him. "Hey!" he yelled into the backseat. Jeremy grabbed my hand and began to pull me after him, but I needed out of my shoes. I tugged on his arm, and he stopped as I slipped my shoes off my feet. The driver started heading in our direction. "Hey! What the hell were you doing in my car?" Jeremy grabbed my shoes in one hand, and we ran down the street, laughing in the dark, out of breath when we finally reached his car. He hadn't been lying about it. It was a Honda Civic, although it was a newer model, so that counted for something. He pushed me against the passenger door, dropped my shoes on the concrete, and then swept a hand into my hair. I looked over my shoulder at the car we were leaning against. "Is this really your car?" He smiled as he reached into his suit pocket and pulled out his key fob. He unlocked the doors to prove it was his, which made me laugh. He stared down at me, our mouths thisclose, and I could swear he was already imagining what life with me would be like. You can't look at someone the way he looked at me—with the entirety of his past—without also imagining the future. He closed his eyes and kissed me. The kiss was full of both desire and respect—two things a lot of men didn't seem to know could go hand in hand. His fingers felt good in my hair, and his tongue felt good in my mouth. I felt good to him, too. I could feel how good I felt to him in the way he kissed me. We knew very little about each other in that moment, but it was almost better that way. Sharing a kiss that intimate with a stranger was like saying, "I don't know you, but I believe I would like you if I did." I liked that he believed he could like me. It almost made me believe I was likeable. When he pulled away from me, I wanted to go with him. I wanted my mouth to follow his, my fingers to stay wrapped around his. It was torture remaining in the passenger seat of his car as we drove. I was burning inside for him. He had lit a fire in me, and I was determined to make sure it didn't go out. He fed me before he fucked me. Took me to a Steak 'n Shake, and we sat on the same side of the booth, eating French fries and sipping chocolate shakes between kisses. The restaurant was mostly empty, so we were in a quiet corner booth, far enough away that no one noticed when Jeremy's hand slid up my thigh and disappeared between my legs. No one heard me when I moaned. No one cared when he pulled his hand away and whispered that he wasn't going to give me an orgasm in a Steak 'n Shake. I wouldn't have minded. "Take me to your bed, then," I said. He did. His bed was in the middle of a studio apartment in Brooklyn. Jeremy wasn't rich. He could barely afford the Steak 'n Shake he had bought me. But I didn't care. I was on his bed, lying on my back, watching him undress, when I realized I was about to make love for the first time. I'd had sex before, but never with more than just my body. There was so much more of me invested in that moment than my body. My heart felt full—of what, I don't know. But my heart had felt empty with the men who came before Jeremy. It was amazing how different sex felt when a person used more than their body. I involved my heart and my gut and my mind and my hope. I fell in that moment. Not in love. I just... fell. It was as if I'd been standing on the edge of a cliff my whole life, and finally, after meeting Jeremy, I felt confident enough to jump. Because—for the first time in my life—I felt confident that I wouldn't land. I would keep flying. Looking back, I realize how crazy it is that I fell for him so fast. But it was only crazy because it never stopped. Had I woken up the next morning and slipped out of his apartment, it would have ended as a fun one-night stand, and I wouldn't even be recalling any of this all these years later. But I didn't leave the next morning, so it became more. With every day that passed, that first night with him was further validated. And that's what love at first sight is. It isn't really love at first sight until you've been with the person long enough for it to become love at first sight. We didn't leave his apartment for three days. We ate Chinese takeout. We fucked. We ordered pizza. We fucked. We watched TV. We fucked. We both called in sick to work that Monday, and by Tuesday, I was obsessed. I was obsessed with his laugh, with his cock, with his mouth, with his skill, with his stories, with his hands, with his confidence, with his gentleness, with a new and intense need to please him. I needed to please him. I needed to be what made him smile, breathe, wake up in the mornings. And for a while, I was. He loved me more than he loved anything or anyone. I was his sole reason for living. Until he discovered the one thing that meant more to him than I did. It's like I have surpassed opening Verity's underwear drawer, and now I'm rummaging around among the silk and lace. I am well aware that I shouldn't be reading this. This is not why I came here. But... I slide the manuscript onto the couch next to me, and I stare at it. I have so many questions about Verity. Questions I can't ask her and questions Jeremy probably doesn't feel like answering. I need to get to know her better to see how her mind works, and you can't get more answers from any other source like you can from an autobiography. One this brutally honest. I can see myself getting sidetracked by this, and I really shouldn't. I'm here to find what I need and get out of this family's hair. They've been through enough and don't need an intruder touching their underwear. I walk over to the monster desk and pick up my phone. It's already after eleven. I arrived around seven this evening, but I didn't expect it to be this late already. I didn't even hear anything outside of this office. Like it's soundproof. Hell, it probably is. If I could afford to work in a soundproof office, I would. I'm hungry. It's an awkward feeling, being hungry in a house you aren't familiar with. I know Jeremy said to help myself, so I head for the kitchen. I don't make it far. I pause right when I open the office door. The office is definitely soundproof, or I would have heard this noise. It's coming from upstairs, and I have to still myself completely to focus on it. To pray it's not at all what it sounds like. I move quietly and cautiously to the foot of the stairs, and sure enough, the sound seems to be coming from the direction of Verity's room. It's the creaking of a bed. Repetitive creaking, like the sound a bed would make if a man were on top of a woman. Oh, my God. I cover my mouth with unsteady fingers. No, no, no! I read an article about this once. A woman was injured in a car wreck and was in a coma. She lived in a nursing facility and her husband came to visit her every day. The staff became suspicious that he was having sex with her despite her being in a coma, so they set up hidden cameras. The man was arrested for rape because his wife was unable to give consent. Much like Verity. I should do something. But what? "It's noisy, I know." I gasp and spin around, coming face to face with Jeremy. "I can turn it off if it bothers you," he says. "You scared me." My voice is full of breath. I blow out a sigh of relief, knowing that whatever I'm hearing is not at all what I thought it was. Jeremy looks over my shoulder, up at where the noise is coming from. "It's her hospital bed. It's on a timer every two hours to lift different parts of her mattress. Takes weight off her pressure points." I can feel the embarrassment creeping up my neck. I pray to God he doesn't know what I thought that noise was. I cover my chest with my hand to hide the redness I know is there. I'm fair skinned, and anytime I get nervous or worked up or embarrassed, my skin tells on me, erupting in angry red splotches. I wish I could sink into the lush, rich-people carpet and disappear. I clear my throat. "They make beds like that?" I could have used one when my mother was on hospice. It was hell trying to move her on my own. "Yeah, but they're obscenely expensive. Several thousand for a brand new one, and insurance wouldn't even cover it." I choke on that price. "I'm heating up leftovers," he says. "You hungry?" "I was just on my way to the kitchen, actually." Jeremy walks backward. "It's pizza." "Perfect." I hate pizza. The microwave timer goes off right when Jeremy reaches it. He pulls out a plate of pizza and hands it to me, then makes himself another plate. "How's it going in there?" "Good," I say. I grab a bottle of water out of the fridge and take a seat at the table. "You were right, though. There's a lot. It's gonna take me a couple of days." He leans against the counter as he waits for his pizza to finish. "Do you work better at night?" "Yeah. I stay up pretty late and then sleep in most mornings. I hope that's not an issue." "Not at all. I'm actually a night owl, too. Verity's nurse leaves in the evenings and comes back at seven in the morning, so I stay up until midnight and give Verity her nighttime medications. Nurse takes over when she gets here." He grabs his plate from the microwave and sits across from me at the table. I can't even make eye contact with him. All I can think of when I look at him is the part of Verity's manuscript I read where she mentioned his hand was between her legs at the Steak 'n Shake. God, I shouldn't have read that. Now I'll be blushing every time I look in his direction. He has really nice hands, too, which doesn't help the situation. I need to change the direction of my thoughts. Like now. "Did she ever talk with you about the series she was writing? Like what she had planned for the characters? The ending?" "If she did, I can't remember," he says, looking down at his plate. He absentmindedly moves around a slice of pizza. "Before her car wreck, it had been a while since she'd written anything. Or even talked about writing." "How long ago was her wreck?" I already know the answer, but I don't want him to know I Googled his family's history. "Not long after Harper died. She was in a medically induced coma for a while, then went into an intense rehabilitation center for several weeks. She's only been home for a few weeks now." He takes another bite. I feel bad for talking about it, but he doesn't seem put off by the conversation. "Before my mother died, I was her only caregiver. I don't have any siblings, so I know it isn't easy." "It isn't easy," he says in agreement. "I'm sorry about your mother, by the way. I'm not sure I said that when you told me about it in the coffee shop bathroom." I smile at him, but say nothing else about it. I don't want him to ask about her. I want the focus to remain on him and Verity. My mind keeps going back to the manuscript, because even though I know very little about the man sitting across from me, I almost feel as though I know him. At the very least, I know him the way Verity described him. I'm curious to know what kind of marriage they had, and why she ended the first chapter with the sentence she chose. "Until he discovered the one thing that meant more to him than I did." The sentence is ominous. It's almost as if she were setting up the next chapter to reveal some terrible, dark secret about this man. Or maybe it was a writing strategy, and she's going to say he's a saint and that their children mean more to him than she did. Whatever it means, I'm dying to read the next chapter now that I'm staring at him. And I hate that I have so many other things that should be my focus right now, but all I want to do is curl up and read about Jeremy and Verity's marriage. It makes me feel a little pathetic. It's probably not even about them. I know a writer who admitted she uses her husband's name in every manuscript until she can come up with a name for her character. Maybe that's what Verity does. Maybe it was just another work of fiction, and Jeremy's name was only there as a placeholder. I guess there's only one way to find out if what I read was true. "How did you and Verity meet?" Jeremy pops a pepperoni in his mouth and grins. "At a party," he says, leaning back in his chair. Finally, he doesn't look sad for once. "She was wearing the most amazing dress I'd ever seen. It was red, and so long that it dragged on the floor a little bit. God, she was beautiful," he says with a hint of wistfulness. "We left the party together. When I walked outside, I saw a limousine parked out front, so I opened the door and we climbed inside and talked a little. Until the driver showed up and I had to admit the limousine wasn't mine." I'm not supposed to know any of this, so I force a laugh. "It wasn't yours?" "No. I just wanted to impress her. We had to make an escape after that because the driver was pretty pissed." He's still smiling, like he's right back in that night with Verity and her fuckable red dress. "We were inseparable after that." It's hard for me to smile for him. For them. Seeing how happy they seemed back then, and then looking at what their life turned into. I wonder if her autobiography explains in detail how they got from point A to point B. At the beginning of it, she mentions Chastin's death. Which means she wrote it, or at least added to it, after that first huge tragedy. I wonder how long she's been working on it? "Was Verity already an author when you met her?" "No, she was still in grad school. It was later, when I had to take a temporary position in Los Angeles for a few months, that she wrote her first book. I think it was her way of passing the time until I came back home. She was passed up by a couple of publishers at first, but once she sold that first manuscript, everything just... It all happened so fast. Our lives changed practically overnight." "How did she handle the fame?" "I think it was harder for me than it was for her." "Because you like being invisible?" "Is it that obvious?" I shrug. "Fellow introvert, here." He laughs. "Verity isn't your typical author. She loves the spotlight. The fancy events. It all makes me uncomfortable. I like being here with the kids." There's a very subtle shift in his expression when he realizes he spoke of his girls in the present tense. "With Crew," he says, correcting himself. He shakes his head and then clasps his hands behind his neck, leaning back like he's stretching. Or uncomfortable. "It's hard sometimes—remembering they aren't here anymore." His voice is quiet, and he's staring past me, at nothing. "I still find their hairs on the sofa. Their socks in the dryer. Sometimes I yell out their names when I want to show them something, forgetting they aren't going to come running down the stairs." I watch him closely, because not all of me is convinced yet. I write suspense novels. I know when there are suspicious situations, suspicious people almost always accompany those situations. I'm torn between wanting to find out more about what happened to his girls, and getting out of here as fast as I can. But right now, I'm not looking at a man who is putting on a show to garner sympathy. I'm looking at a man who's sharing his thoughts out loud for the first time. It makes me want to do the same. "My mother hasn't been gone that long, but I know what you mean. Every morning that first week, I'd get up and make her breakfast, only to remember she wasn't there to eat it." Jeremy drops his arms to the table. "I wonder how long it lasts. Or if it'll always be this way." "I think time will definitely help, but it probably wouldn't hurt to entertain the idea of moving. If you're in a house they've never been in, the reminders of them might fade. Not having them around would become your new normal." He runs a hand across the stubble on his jaw. "I'm not sure I want a normal where there aren't traces of Harper and Chastin." "Yeah," I say in agreement. "I wouldn't either." His eyes remain on me, but it's quiet. Sometimes a look between two people can last so long, it shakes you. Forces you to look away. So I do. I look at my plate and run my finger along the scalloped edge of it. His stare felt like it was going far past my eyes, into my thoughts. And even though he doesn't mean for it to, it feels intimate. When Jeremy's eyes are on mine, it feels like an exploration of the deepest parts of me. "I should get back to work," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. He's unmoving for a few seconds, but then sits up straight, quickly scooting back his chair as if he just broke out of a trance. "Yeah," he says, reaching for our plates as he stands. "I should get Verity's meds ready." He walks our plates to the sink, and as I'm exiting the kitchen, he says, "Goodnight, Low." When I hear him call me that, my goodnight gets stuck in my throat. I release a flicker of a smile and then walk out of the kitchen, in a hurry to get back to Verity's office. The more time I spend in Jeremy's presence, the more eager I am to dive back into that manuscript and get to know him even better. I grab it from the couch, turn off the lights in Verity's office, and take the manuscript to the bedroom with me. There isn't a lock on the door, so I push a wooden chest from the foot of the bed all the way to the door, blocking it off. I'm exhausted after traveling the entire day, and I still need to shower, but I can fit in at least one more chapter before I sleep. I have to.
I could write entire novels about the first two years we dated, but they wouldn't sell. There wasn't enough drama between Jeremy and me. Hardly any fighting at all. No tragedies to write about. Just two years of saccharine love and adoration between the two of us. I. Was. Taken. By. Him. Addicted to him. I'm not sure it was healthy—how codependent I was. Still am, really. But when a person finds someone who makes all the negativity in their lives disappear, it's hard not to feed off that person. I fed off Jeremy in order to keep my soul alive. It was starving and shriveled before I met him, but being in his presence nourished me. Sometimes I felt if I didn't have him, I couldn't function. We had been dating almost two years when he was temporarily transferred to Los Angeles. We had recently moved in together, unofficially. I say unofficially because there was a point when I just stopped going back to my place. Stopped paying the bills, the rent. It wasn't until two months after I'd completely moved out that Jeremy found out I didn't have my own apartment anymore. He had suggested I move in with him one night, during sex. He does that sometimes. Makes huge decisions about our lives together while he's fucking me. "Move in with me," he said, thrusting slowly into me. He lowered his mouth to mine. "Break your lease." "I can't," I whispered. He stopped moving and pulled back to look down on me. "Why not?" I lowered my hands to his ass and made him start moving again. "Because I broke my lease two months ago." He stilled inside me, staring down at me with those intense green eyes and lashes so black, I expected to taste licorice when I kissed them. "We already live together?" he asked. I nodded, but realized he wasn't reacting the way I'd hoped he'd react. He seemed blindsided. I needed to fix things—to take over and sidetrack him. Make him realize it wasn't that big of a deal. "I thought I told you." He pulled out of me, and it felt like a punishment. "You did not tell me we're living together. That's something I would have remembered." I sat up and positioned myself so that I was on my knees right in front of him, face to face with him. I ran my fingernails across both sides of his jaw and brought my mouth close to his. "Jeremy," I whispered. "I haven't spent a night away from you in six months. We've lived together for a while now." I grabbed his shoulders and then pushed him onto his back. His head met the pillow, and I wanted to lie on top of him and kiss him, but he seemed a little angry with me. Like he wanted to talk about this subject I considered closed. I didn't want to talk anymore. I just wanted him to make me come. So, I straddled his face and lowered myself onto his tongue. When I felt his hands grip my ass, pulling me closer to his mouth, my head rolled back for a delicious moment. This is why I moved in with you, Jeremy. I leaned forward, gripped his headboard, and then bit down on it, stifling my screams. And that was that. I was happier than I'd ever been until he was transferred. Sure, it was only temporary, but you can't take away someone's only means of survival and expect them to function on their own. That's how I felt, anyway—like the only nourishment for my soul had been ripped from me. Sure, I got small bouts of replenishment when he'd call me or FaceTime me, but those nights alone in our bed were grueling. Sometimes, I would straddle my pillow and bite down on the headboard while I touched myself, pretending he was beneath me. But then, after I came, I'd fall back onto an empty bed and stare up at the ceiling, wondering how I'd survived all the years of my life that he hadn't been a part of. Those were thoughts I couldn't admit to him, of course. I might have been obsessed with him, but a woman knows if she wants to keep a man forever, she has to act like she could get over him in a day. And that is when I became a writer. My days were filled with thoughts of Jeremy, and if I didn't figure out how to fill them with thoughts of something else until he returned, I was afraid I wouldn't be able to hide how much his absence gutted me. I created a fictional Jeremy and called him Lane. When I was missing Jeremy, I'd write a chapter about Lane. My life over those next few months became less about Jeremy and more about my character. Who was, in a sense, still Jeremy. But writing about it instead of obsessing about it felt more productive. I wrote an entire novel in the few months he was gone. When he showed up at our front door to surprise me with his return home, I had just finished editing the final page. It was kismet. I congratulated him with a blowjob. It was the first time I swallowed. That's how happy I was to see him. I acted like a lady after I swallowed, smiling up at him. He was still standing by the front door, fully clothed, other than the jeans that were now down to his knees. I stood up and kissed him on the cheek and said, "Be right back." When I got to the bathroom, I locked the door, turned on the water in the sink, and then puked in the toilet. When I let him come in my mouth, I had no idea how much there would be. How long I would have to continue swallowing. Keeping my composure was tough while his dick was in my throat, drowning me. I brushed my teeth and then returned to the bedroom, where I found him sitting at my desk. He had a couple of pages of my manuscript in his hands. "Did you write this?" he asked, spinning in my desk chair to face me. "Yes, but I don't want you to read it." I could feel my palms beginning to sweat, so I wiped them across my stomach and walked toward him. He stood up as I launched myself forward to snatch the pages from him. He held them over his head, too high for me to reach. "Why can't I read it?" I jumped, trying to pull his arm down so I could reach the pages. "It needs work." "That's fine," he said, backing up a step. "But I still want to read it." "I don't want you to read it." He gathered the rest of the manuscript and tucked it to his chest. He was going to read it, and all I could think about was stopping him. I didn't know if it was any good, and I was scared—terrified—that it would make him love me less if he thought I was a bad writer. I dove across the bed to try and reach him faster, but he slipped into my bathroom and locked the door. I beat on it. "Jeremy!" I yelled. No answer. He ignored more for ten minutes as I tried to pry open the door with a credit card. A bobby pin. Promises of another blowjob. Fifteen more minutes went by before he made a noise. "Verity?" I was on the floor at this point, my back pressed against the bathroom door. "What?" "It's good." I didn't respond. "Really good. I am so proud of you." I smiled. It was my first taste of what it felt like for a reader to enjoy what I had created for them. That one comment—that sweet, simple comment—made me want him to finish reading it. I left him alone after that. I went to our bed, crawled under the covers, and fell asleep with a smile on my face. He woke me up two hours later. His lips were skimming my shoulder, his fingers tracing an invisible line down my waist, over my hip. He was behind me, curved around me, molded to me. I had missed him so much. "Are you awake?" he whispered. I made a soft moaning sound to let him know I was. He kissed a spot below my ear, and then he said, "You're fucking brilliant." I don't think I've ever smiled so big. He rolled me onto my back and swept my hair out of my face. "I hope you're ready." "For what?" I asked. "Fame." I laughed, but he didn't. He pulled off his pants and removed my panties. After he pushed into me, he said, "Do you think I'm kidding?" He kissed me, then continued. "Your writing is going to make you famous. Your mind is incredible. If I could fuck it, I would." My laughter was mixed with a moan as he continued to make love to me. "Are you saying that because you believe it? Or because you love me?" He didn't answer right away. His moves became slow and deliberate. His stare was intense. "Marry me, Verity." I didn't react, because I thought maybe I had misheard him. Did he really just ask me to marry him? I could tell by the intensity in his expression that he was more in love with me in that moment than he'd ever been before. I should have said yes immediately, because that's where my heart was. But instead, I said, "Why?" "Because," he said, grinning. "I'm your biggest fan." I laughed, but then his smile disappeared and he started to fuck me. Hard, fast thrusts that he knew would drive me crazy. The headboard was slapping against the wall, and the pillow beneath my head was slipping. "Marry me," he pleaded again, and then his tongue was in my mouth, and it was the first real kiss we'd shared in months. We needed each other so badly in that moment, our bodies were making it difficult for our mouths to stay aligned, so the kiss was sloppy and painful and "Okay," I whispered. "Thank you," he said in the middle of a sigh, his words full of more breath than voice. He continued to fuck me, his fiancée, until we were covered in sweat, and I could taste blood in my mouth where he had accidentally bitten my lip. Or maybe I'd bitten his. I wasn't sure, but it didn't matter because his blood was my blood now. When he finally came, he did it inside me, without a condom, while his tongue was in my mouth and his breath was sliding down my throat and my eternity was entwined with his. When he was finished, he reached to the floor for his jeans. He crawled back on top of me and lifted my hand, then slipped a ring on my finger. He'd planned to ask me all along. I didn't even look at the ring. I brought my hands up over my head and closed my eyes, because his hand was between my legs and I knew he wanted to watch me come. So I did. For two months, we looked back on that night as the night we got engaged. For two months, I would grin every time I looked at my ring. For two months, I would tear up when I thought about what our wedding would be like. What our wedding night would be like. But then the night we got engaged became the night we conceived. And here is where it gets real. The guts of my autobiography. This is the point when other authors would paint themselves in a better light, rather than throw themselves into an X-ray machine. But there is no light where we're going. This is your final warning. Darkness ahead. The upside to Verity's office is the view from these windows. The glass starts at the floor and rises all the way up to the ceiling. And there aren't any obstructions. Just huge panes of solid glass, so I can see everything. Who cleans these? I study the panes of glass for a spot, a smudge—anything. The downside to Verity's office is also the view from these windows. The nurse has parked Verity's wheelchair on the back porch, right in front of the office. I can see her entire profile as she faces west of the back porch. It's a nice day out, so the nurse is sitting in front of Verity, reading her a book. Verity is staring off into space, and I wonder, does she comprehend anything? And if so, how much? Her fine hair lifts in the breeze, like the fingers of a ghost are playing with the strands. When I look at her, my empathy magnifies. Which is why I don't want to look at her, but these windows make it impossible. I can't hear the nurse reading to her, presumably because these windows are as soundproof as the rest of this office. But I know they're there, so it's hard to concentrate on work without glancing up every few minutes. I've had issues finding any notes so far for the series, but I've only been able to wade through a portion of the stuff in here. I decided my time would be better spent this morning skimming the first and second books, making notes about every character. I'm creating a filing system for myself because I need to know these characters as well as Verity knows them. I need to know what motivates them, what moves them, what sets them off. I see movement outside the window. When I look up, the nurse is walking away, toward the back door. I stare at Verity for a moment, wondering if she'll react now that the nurse has stopped reading to her. There's no movement at all. Her hands are in her lap, and her head is tilted to the side, as if her brain can't even send a signal to let her know she needs to straighten up her posture before it causes her neck to ache. The clever and talented Verity is no longer in there. Was her body the only thing that survived that wreck? It's as if she were an egg, cracked open and poured out, and all that's left are the tiny fragments of hard shell. I glance back down at the desk and try to focus. I can't help but wonder how Jeremy is handling all this. He's a concrete pillar on the outside, but the inside has to be hollow. It's disappointing, knowing this is his life now. Caring for an egg shell with no yolk. That was harsh. I'm not trying to be harsh. I'm just... I don't know. I feel like it would have been better for everyone if she hadn't survived the wreck. I immediately feel guilty for thinking that, but it reminds me of the last few months I spent caring for my mother. I know my mother would have preferred death over being as severely incapacitated as the cancer made her. But that was just a few months of her life... of my life. This is Jeremy's whole life now. Caring for a wife who is no longer his wife. Tied to a home that's no longer a home. And I can't imagine this is how Verity would want him to live. I can't imagine this is how she would want to live. She can't even play with or speak to her own child. I pray she isn't in there, for her own sake. I can't imagine how difficult it would be if her mind were still there, but the brain damage had left her with no physical way to express herself, robbing her of any ability to react or interact or verbalize what she's thinking. I lift my head again. She's staring straight at me. I jump up, and the desk chair moves backward across the wood floor. Verity is looking right at me through the window, her head turned toward me, her eyes locked on mine. I bring my hand up to my mouth and step back; I feel threatened. I want out of her line of sight, so I creep to my left, toward the office door. For a moment, I can't escape her gaze. She's the Mona Lisa, following me as I move across the room. But when I reach her office door, we're no longer making eye contact. Her eyes didn't follow me. I drop my hand and lean against the wall, watching as April walks back outside with a towel. She wipes Verity's chin and then takes a small pillow from Verity's lap and lifts her head, placing it between her shoulder and her cheek. With her head adjusted, she's no longer staring into the window. "Shit," I whisper to no one. I'm scared of a woman who can barely move and can't even speak. A woman who can't willingly turn her head to look at someone, much less make intentional eye contact. I need water. I open the office door, but let out a yelp when my cell phone rings behind me on the desk. Dammit. I hate adrenaline. My pulse is racing, but I blow out a breath and try to calm down as I answer the phone. It's an unknown number. "Hello?" "Ms. Ashleigh?" "This is she." "This is Donovan Baker from Creekwood apartments. You put in an application a few days ago?" I'm relieved to have a distraction. I walk back over to the window, and the nurse has moved Verity's chair so that I'm only looking at the back of her head now. "Yes, how can I help you?" "I'm calling because the application you submitted was processed today. Unfortunately, there was a recent eviction that showed up in your name, so we can't approve you for the apartment." Already? I just moved out a couple of days ago. "But my application was already approved with you guys. I'm supposed to move in next week." "Actually, you were only pre-approved. Your application wasn't fully processed until today. We can't approve applications with recent evictions. I hope you understand." I squeeze the back of my neck. I won't get my money for another two weeks. "Please," I say to him, trying not to sound as pathetic as I feel right now. "I've never been late on my rent until now. I was just hired for another job, and in two weeks, if you let me move in now, I can pay you an entire year's rent. I swear." "You can always appeal the decision," he says. "It might take a few weeks, but I've seen applications get approved due to extenuating circumstances." "I don't have a few weeks. I already moved out of my last apartment." "I'm sorry," he says. "I'll email you our decision, and at the bottom of the email, contact that number for an appeal. Have a good day, Ms. Ashleigh." He ends the call, but I still have the phone pressed to my ear as I squeeze my neck. I'm hoping I'll wake up from this nightmare any second now. Thank you, Mother. What the hell am I going to do now? There's a soft knock on the office door. I spin around, startled again. I can't deal with today. Jeremy is standing in the office entryway, looking at me with a face full of empathy. I left the door open when my phone rang. He probably heard that entire conversation. I can tack mortified onto the list of adjectives that describe today. I set my phone on Verity's desk, then fall into her desk chair. "My life wasn't always this much of a hot mess." He laughs a little, stepping into the room. "Neither was mine." I appreciate that comment. I look down at my phone. "It's fine," I say, spinning my phone around in a circle. "I'll figure it out." "I can loan you money until your advance is processed through your agent. I'll have to pull it from our mutual fund, but it can be here in three days." I have never been this embarrassed, and I know he can see it because I practically curl into myself as I lean forward on the desk and drop my face into my hands. "That's really sweet, but I'm not taking a loan from you." He's quiet for a moment, then chooses to take a seat on the couch. He sits casually, leaning forward, clasping his hands in front of him. "Then stay here until your advance hits your account. It'll only be a week or two." He looks around the office, seeing how much progress I haven't made since I arrived yesterday. "We don't mind. You aren't in the way at all." I shake my head, but he interrupts. "Lowen. This job you've taken on is not easy. I'd rather you spend too much time in here prepping for it than get back to New York tomorrow and realize you should have stayed longer." I do need more time. But two weeks in this house? With a woman who scares me, a manuscript I shouldn't be reading, and a man I know way too many intimate details about? It's not a good idea. None of it is good. I start to shake my head again, but he holds up a hand. "Stop being considerate. Stop being embarrassed. Just say alright." I look past him, at all the boxes lining the walls behind him. The things I haven't even touched yet. And then I think about how, with two weeks in here, I would have time to read every book in her backlist, make notes on each of them, and possibly outline the three new ones. I sigh, conceding with a little bit of relief. "Alright." He smiles a little, then stands up and walks toward the door. "Thank you," I say. Jeremy turns back around and faces me. I wish I had let him walk out the door, because I swear I can see a trace of regret in his expression. He opens his mouth, like he wants to say, "You're welcome," or "No problem." But he just closes his mouth and forces a smile, and then shuts the door behind him when he leaves.
Jeremy told me earlier this afternoon that I needed to be outside before the sun disappeared behind the mountains. "You'll see why Verity wanted an unobstructed view from her office." I brought one of her books with me to read on the back porch. There are about ten chairs to choose from, so I take a seat at a patio table. Jeremy and Crew are down by the water, tearing old pieces of wood out of their fishing dock. It's cute, watching Crew grab the pieces of wood Jeremy's handing to him. He carries them to a huge pile, then grabs another from his dad. Jeremy has to wait for him each time, because it takes Crew longer to dispose of the wood than it does for Jeremy to rip it out of the wooden frame. It proves how much patience he has as a father. He reminds me a little of my father. He died when I was nine, but I'm not sure I ever saw him angry. Not even at my mother, with her prickly comments and frequent hot temper. I grew to resent that about him, though. Sometimes I perceived his patience as weakness when it came to her. I watch Crew and Jeremy a little longer, in between attempts at finishing my chapter. But I'm finding it hard to comprehend anything because Jeremy took his shirt off a few minutes ago and, while I've seen him take his shirt off before, I've never seen him without an undershirt. His skin is slick from the sweat he's worked up over the past two hours of being down at the dock. When he yanks at the wood with the hammer, his muscles stretch across his back, and I immediately recall the last chapter Verity wrote. There were so many intimate details about their sex life, and from what I read, it was very active. More so than any of my relationships have been. It's hard looking at him and not thinking about sex now. Not that I want to have sex with him. And not that I don't. It's just that, as a writer, I know he was her inspiration for several of the men in her books. And it makes me wonder if I need to view him as my inspiration as I tackle the rest of this series. I mean... it's not the worst thing. Being forced to step into Verity's shoes and visualize Jeremy for the next twenty-four months as I write. The back door slams shut, and I tear my eyes away from Jeremy. April is standing on the patio, staring at me. Her gaze follows the path of mine, and then she cuts her eyes back to me. She saw. She saw me eyeing my new boss. Pathetic. How long was she watching me stare at him? I want to cover my face with this book, but instead, I smile like I was doing nothing wrong. I mean, I wasn't. "I'm heading out," April says. "I put Verity in bed and turned on her television. She's had dinner and her meds, in case he asks." I don't know why she's telling me this, since I'm not in charge. "Okay. Have a good night." She doesn't tell me to have a good night in return. She walks back into the house and lets the door fall shut again. A minute later, I hear the hum of her engine as her car pulls out of the driveway, disappearing between the trees. I glance back at Jeremy and Crew, and Jeremy is ripping up another piece of wood. Crew is staring at me, standing near the pile of discarded fishing dock. He smiles and waves. I lift my hand to wave back, but curl my fingers into a soft fist when I realize Crew isn't waving at me. He's looking above me, to the right. He's looking up at Verity's bedroom window. I spin around and look up, just as her bedroom curtain falls shut. I drop her book onto the patio table, knocking over my bottle of water in the process. I stand up and take three steps farther back to get a better look at the window, but there's no one there. My mouth falls open. I look back at Crew, but he's retreating back to the dock to grab another piece of wood from Jeremy. I'm seeing things. But why was he waving at her window? If she wasn't there, why was he waving? It doesn't make sense. If she was looking out her window, Crew would have had a much bigger reaction, considering she hasn't been able to speak or walk on her own since her wreck. Or maybe he doesn't understand that his mother walking to her window would be a miracle. He's only five. I look down at the book, now covered in water, and pick it up and shake the liquid from it. I blow out an unsteady breath because it feels like I've been on edge all day. I'm sure I'm still a little shaken from thinking she was staring at me earlier, and that's why I assumed I saw the curtain move. Part of me wants to forget it and lock myself in the office and work the rest of the night. But I know I won't be able to if I don't check on her. Make sure I didn't see what I thought I saw. I lay the book open on the patio table to dry and make my way into the house, toward the stairs. I'm quiet. I'm not sure why I feel the need to be quiet as I work to sneak a peek at her. I know she probably can't process much, so what would it matter if I made my approach known? Even still, I remain quiet as I make my way up the stairs, down the hallway, and to her bedroom door. It's slightly ajar, and I can see the window that overlooks the backyard. I press my palm to the door and begin to open it. I'm biting my bottom lip as I peek my head in. Verity is in her bed, eyes closed, hands to her sides on top of the blanket. I breathe a quiet sigh of relief, and then feel even more relief when I open the door a little wider, revealing an oscillating fan moving back and forth from Verity's bed to the window overlooking the backyard. Every time the fan points toward the window, the curtain moves. My sigh is louder this time. It was the damn fan. Get a grip, Lowen. I turn off the fan because it's a little too chilly in here for it. I'm surprised April left it on to begin with. I cut my eyes toward Verity again, but she's still asleep. When I get to the door, I pause. I look at the dresser—at the remote sitting on top of it. I look up at the TV mounted to the wall. It isn't on. April said she turned on the TV before she left, but the TV is not on. I don't even look back at Verity. I pull the door shut and rush down the stairs. I'm not going back up there again. I'm scaring myself. The most helpless person in this house is the one I'm the most afraid of. It doesn't even make sense. She wasn't staring at me through the office window. She wasn't standing at her window, looking at Crew. And she didn't turn off her own TV. It's probably on a timer, or April accidentally hit the power button twice and assumed she turned it on. Regardless of the fact that I'm aware this is all in my head, I still walk back to Verity's office, close the door, and pick up another chapter of her autobiography. Maybe reading more from her point of view will reassure me that she's harmless and I need to chill the fuck out.
I knew I was pregnant because my breasts looked better than they had ever looked. I'm very aware of my body, what goes into it, how to nourish it, how to keep it toned. Growing up watching my mother's waistline expand with her laziness, I work out daily, sometimes twice a day. I learned very early on that a human is not merely comprised of only one thing. We are two parts that make up the whole. We have our conscious, which includes our mind, our soul, and all the intangible parts. And we have our physical being, which is the machine that our conscious relies on for survival. If you fuck with the machine, you will die. If you neglect the machine, you will die. If you assume your conscious can outlive the machine, you will die shortly after learning you were wrong. It's very simple, really. Take care of your physical being. Feed it what it needs, not what the conscience tells you it wants. Giving in to cravings of the mind that ultimately hurt the body is like a weak parent giving in to her child. "Oh, you had a bad day? Do you want an entire box of cookies? Okay, sweetie. Eat it. And drink this soda while you're at it." Caring for your body is no different from caring for a child. Sometimes it's hard, sometimes it sucks, sometimes you just want to give in, but if you do, you'll pay for the consequences eighteen years down the road. It's fitting when it comes to my mother. She cared for me like she cared for her body. Very little. Sometimes I wonder if she's still fat—if she's still neglecting that machine. I wouldn't know. I haven't spoken to her in years. But I'm not interested in speaking about a woman who chose never to speak of me again. I'm here to discuss the first thing my baby ever stole from me. Jeremy. I didn't notice the theft at first. At first, after we found out that the night we got engaged became the night we conceived, I was actually happy. I was happy because Jeremy was happy. And at that point, other than my breasts looking better than ever, I didn't realize how detrimental the pregnancy was going to be to the machine I had worked so hard to maintain. It was around the third month, a few weeks after I found out I was pregnant, that I started to notice the difference. It was a small little pooch, but it was there. I had just gotten out of the shower, and I was standing in front of the mirror, looking at my profile. My hand was flat on my stomach and I felt something foreign, and my stomach was slightly protruding. I was disgusted. I vowed to start working out three times a day. I'd seen what pregnancy could do to women, but I also knew most of the damage was done in that last trimester. If I could somehow figure out how to deliver early... maybe around thirty-three or thirty-four weeks, I could avoid the most detrimental part of pregnancy. There have been so many advances in medical care, babies born that early are almost always fine. "Wow." I dropped my hand and looked at the doorway. Jeremy was leaning against the doorframe, his arms folded over his chest. He was smiling at me. "You're starting to show." "I am not." I sucked in. He laughed and closed the distance between us, wrapping his arms around me from behind. He placed both hands on my stomach and looked at me in the mirror. He kissed my shoulder. "You've never looked more beautiful." It was a lie to make me feel better, but I was grateful. Even his lies meant something to me. I squeezed his hands and he spun me around to face him, then he kissed me, walking me backward until I reached the bathroom counter. He lifted me onto it, then stood between my legs. He was fully clothed, just returning from work. I was completely naked, fresh from the shower. The only thing between us were his pants and the pooch I was still trying to suck in. He started fucking me on the counter, but we finished in bed. His head was on my chest, and he was tracing circles over my stomach when it rumbled loudly. I tried to clear my throat to hide the noise, but he laughed. "Someone's hungry." I started to shake my head, but he lifted off my chest to look at me. "What's she craving?" "Nothing. I'm not hungry." He laughed again. "Not you. Her," he said, patting my stomach. "Aren't pregnant women supposed to get weird cravings and eat all the time because of the babies? You barely eat. And your stomach is growling." He sits up on the bed. "I need to feed my girls." His girls. "You don't even know if it's a girl yet." He smiled at me. "It's a girl. I have a feeling." I wanted to roll my eyes, because technically, it was nothing. Not a boy, not a girl. It was a blob. I wasn't that far along yet, so assuming the thing growing inside me was actually hungry or craving any particular type of food was absurd. But it was hard for me to state my case because Jeremy was so ecstatic about the baby, I didn't really care if he treated it like it was more than it was. Sometimes his excitement excited me. For the next few weeks, his excitement helped me cope. The more my stomach grew, the more attentive he became. The more he would kiss it when we were in bed together at night. In the mornings, he would hold my hair while I puked. When he was at work, he would text me potential baby names. He became as obsessed with my pregnancy as I was with him. He went to my first doctor's visit with me. I'm thankful he was at the second doctor's visit, too, because that was the day my world shifted. Twins. Two of them. I was quiet when we left the doctor's office that day. I had already feared becoming the mother of one baby. Being forced to love the one thing Jeremy loved more than me. But when I found out there were two, and that they were girls, I was suddenly not okay with being the third most important thing in Jeremy's life. I tried to force my smile when he'd talk about them. I would act like it filled me with joy when he rubbed my stomach, but it repulsed me, knowing he was only doing it because they were in there. Even if I delivered early, it didn't matter. Now that there were two of them, my body would suffer even more damage. I shuddered daily at the thought of them both growing inside me, stretching my skin, ruining my breasts, my stomach, and god forbid the temple between my legs where Jeremy worshipped nightly. How could Jeremy still want me after this? During the fourth month of my pregnancy, I started hoping for a miscarriage. I prayed for blood when I went to the bathroom. I imagined how, after losing the twins, Jeremy would make me his priority again. He would dote on me, worship me, care for me, worry for me, and not because of what was growing inside me. I took sleeping pills when he wasn't looking. I drank wine when he wasn't around. I did anything I could to destroy the things that were going to push him away from me, but nothing worked. They kept growing. My stomach continued to stretch. In my fifth month, we were lying on our sides in the bed. Jeremy was fucking me from behind. His left hand gripped my breast, and his right hand was against my stomach. I didn't like it when he touched my stomach during sex. It made me think of the babies and ruined my mood. I thought maybe he had reached orgasm when he stopped moving, but I realized he'd stopped moving because he'd felt them move. He pulled out of me and then rolled me onto my back, pressing his palm against my stomach. "Did you feel that?" he asked. His eyes were dancing with excitement. He wasn't hard anymore. He was excited for reasons that had nothing to do with me. He pressed his ear to my stomach and waited for one of them to move again. "Jeremy?" I whispered. He kissed my stomach and looked up at me. I reached down and teased at strands of his hair with my fingers. "Do you love them?" He smiled because he thought I wanted him to say yes. "I love them more than anything." "More than me?" He stopped smiling. He kept his hand on my stomach, but he scooted up, sliding an arm under my neck. "Different from you," he said, kissing my cheek. "Different, yes. But more? Is your love for them more intense than your love for me?" His eyes scanned mine, and I was hoping he would laugh and say, "Absolutely not." But he didn't laugh. He looked at me with nothing but honesty and said, "Yes." Really? His reply crushed me. Suffocated me. Killed me. "But that's how it should be," he said. "Why? Do you feel guilty because you love them more than me?" I didn't answer. Did he really think I loved them more than I loved him? I don't even know them. "Don't feel guilty," he said. "I want you to love them more than you love me. Our love for each other is conditional. Our love for them isn't." "My love for you is unconditional," I said. He smiled. "No, it isn't. I could do things you would never forgive me for. But you'll always forgive your children." He was wrong. I didn't forgive them for existing. I didn't forgive them for forcing him to put me third. I didn't forgive them for taking the night we got engaged from us. They weren't even born yet, but they were already taking things that had once belonged to me. "Verity," Jeremy whispered. He wiped a tear that had fallen from my eye. "Are you okay?" I shook my head. "I just can't believe how much you already love them and they aren't even born yet." "I know," he said, smiling. I didn't mean it as a compliment, but he took it that way. He laid his head back on my chest and touched my stomach again. "I'll be a fucking mess when they're born." He's going to cry? He had never cried for me. Over me. About me. Maybe we haven't fought enough. "I have to go to the bathroom," I whispered. I didn't have to go, I just needed to get away from him and all the love he was aiming in every direction but mine. He kissed me, and when I climbed off the bed, he rolled over, his back to me, and forgot we'd never even finished fucking. He fell asleep while I was in the bathroom, attempting to abort his daughters with a wire hanger. I tried for half an hour, until my stomach started to cramp and blood was running down my leg. I was certain more would follow. I climbed into bed, waiting for the miscarriage. My arms were shaking. My legs were numb from the squatting. My stomach hurt and I wanted to puke, but I didn't move because I wanted to be in the bed with him when it happened. I wanted to wake him up, frantic, and show him the blood. I wanted him to panic, to worry, to feel bad for me, to cry for me. To cry for me. I drop the last page of the chapter. It flutters to the polished wood floor and disappears under the desk, like its trying to get away from me. I immediately drop to my knees, searching for it, arranging it back into the pile of pages I'm determined to hide. I'm... I don't even... I'm still on my knees in the middle of Verity's office when the tears come. They don't spill; I hold them off with deep breaths, focusing on the grinding pain in my knees to distract my thoughts. I don't even know if it's sadness or anger. I only know this was written by a very disturbed woman—a woman whose house I currently inhabit. Slowly, I lift my head until my eyes are fixed to the ceiling. She's there right now, on the second floor, sleeping, or eating, or staring blankly into space. I can feel her lurking, disapproving of my presence. Suddenly, I know, without a doubt, that it's true. A mother wouldn't write that about herself—about her daughters—if it weren't the truth. A mother who never had those feelings or thoughts would never even dream of them. I don't care how good of a writer Verity is; she would never compromise herself as a mother by writing something so horrid if she didn't actually experience that. My mind begins to spin with worry, sadness, fear. If she did that—if she actually tried to take their lives over a streak of maternal jealousy—what else was she capable of? What actually happened to those girls? After a while of processing it, I put the manuscript in a drawer, beneath a slew of other things. I don't ever want Jeremy to come across that. And before I leave here, I will destroy it. I can't imagine how he would feel if he read that. He's already grieving the deaths of his daughters. Imagine if he knew what they endured at the hands of their own mother. I pray she was a better mother after they were born, but I'm honestly too shaken to continue reading. I'm not sure if I want to read more at all. I want a drink. Not water or soda or fruit juice. I walk to the kitchen and open the refrigerator, but there's no wine. I open the cabinets above the refrigerator, but there's no liquor. I open the cabinet below the sink and it's bare. I open the refrigerator again, but all I see are small boxes of fruit juice for Crew and bottles of water that aren't going to help me shake this feeling. "Are you okay?" I spin around, and Jeremy is sitting at the dining room table with papers strewn out in front of him. He looks concerned for me. "Do you have anything alcoholic at all in the house?" I plant my hands firmly on my hips, attempting to hide the trembling in my fingers. He has no idea what she was truly like. Jeremy studies me for a moment, then heads for the pantry. On the top shelf is a bottle of Crown Royal. "Sit down," he says, concern still embedded in his expression. He watches me as I take a seat at the table and drop my head in my hands. I hear him open a can of soda and mix it with the liquor. A few moments later, he sets it in front of me. I bring it to my lips so fast, a few drops spill onto the table. He's back in his chair now, watching me closely. "Lowen," he says, watching as I try to swallow the Crown and Coke with a straight face. I squint because it burns. "What happened?" Oh, let's see, Jeremy. Your brain-damaged wife made eye contact with me. She walked to her bedroom window and waved at your son. She tried to abort your babies while you were asleep in your bed. "Your wife," I say. "Her books. I just... There was a scary part and it freaked me out." He watches me for a moment, expressionless. Then he laughs. "Seriously? A book did this to you?" I shrug and take another sip. "She's a great writer," I say, setting the glass on the table. "I'm easily spooked, I guess." "Yet you write in the same genre as her." "Even my own books do this to me sometimes," I lie. "Maybe you should switch to romance." "I'm sure I will once this contract is over." He laughs again, shaking his head as he begins gathering the papers in front of him. "You missed dinner. It's still warm if you want some." "I do. I need to eat." Maybe that will help me calm down. I carry my drink to the stove, where there's a chicken casserole covered in tinfoil. I make myself a plate and grab a water out of the refrigerator, then take a seat at the table again. "Did you make this?" "Yep." I take a bite. "It's really good," I say with a mouthful. "Thanks." He's still staring at me, but now he looks more amused than concerned. I'm happy to see the amusement take over. I wish I could find this entertaining, but everything I just read makes me question Verity. Her condition. Her honesty. "Can I ask you a question?" Jeremy nods. "Just tell me if I'm being too nosey. But is there a chance Verity could make a full recovery?" He shakes his head. "The doctor doesn't believe she'll ever walk or talk again since she hasn't already made that kind of progress." "Is she paralyzed?" "No, there wasn't any damage to her spinal cord. But her mind... it's similar to the mind of an infant now. She has basic reflexes. She can eat, drink, blink, move a little. But none of it is intentional. I'm hoping with continued therapy, she'll be able to improve a little, but—" Jeremy looks away from me, toward the kitchen entryway, when he hears Crew coming down the stairs. Crew rounds the corner in his footed Spiderman pajamas and then jumps onto Jeremy's lap. Crew. I forgot about Crew while I was reading. If Verity actually despised those girls after they were born as much as she despised them in utero, there's no way she would have agreed to have another child. That can only mean she must have bonded with them. That's probably why she wrote what she wrote, because in the end, she fell just as in love with them as Jeremy was. Maybe writing about her thoughts during pregnancy was like a release for Verity. Like a Catholic going to confession. That thought calms me, along with Jeremy's explanation of her injuries. She has the physical and mental capabilities of a newborn. My mind is making all of this more than it is. Crew leans his head back against Jeremy's shoulder. He's holding his iPad, and Jeremy is scrolling through his phone. They're cute together. I've been so focused on the negative things that have happened in this family, I need to remember to focus more on the positive that still remains. And that is definitely Jeremy's bond with his son. Crew loves him. Laughs around him. He's comfortable with his dad. And Jeremy isn't afraid to show him affection, because he just kissed the side of Crew's head. "Did you brush your teeth?" Jeremy asks. "Yep," Crew says. Jeremy stands up and lifts Crew with him, effortlessly. "That means it's bedtime." He throws Crew over his shoulder. "Tell Laura goodnight." Crew waves at me as Jeremy rounds the corner and disappears with him upstairs. I take note of how he calls me by the pen name I'll be using in front of everyone else, but he calls me Lowen when it's just us. I also take note of how much I like it. I don't want to like it. I eat the rest of my dinner and wash the dishes in the sink while Jeremy remains upstairs with Crew. When I'm finished, I feel somewhat better. I'm not sure if it was the alcohol, the food, or the realization that Verity probably wrote that horrific chapter because a much better one follows it up. One where she realizes what a blessing those girls were to her. I walk out of the kitchen, but my eye is drawn to several family photos that hang on the hallway wall. I pause to look at them. Most of them are of the kids, but a few of them have Verity and Jeremy in them. They bear a striking resemblance to their mother, while Crew takes after Jeremy. They were such a beautiful family. So much so that these photos are depressing to look at. I take them all in, noticing how easy it is to distinguish the girls from each other. One of them has a huge smile and a small scar on her cheek. One of them rarely smiles. I lift my hand to touch a photo of the girl with the scar on her cheek and wonder how long she'd had it. Where it came from. I move down the line of pictures to a much older photo of the girls when they were toddlers. The smiling one even has the scar in that picture, so she got it at a young age. Jeremy walks down the stairs as I'm looking at the photos. He pauses next to me. I point at the twin with the scar. "Which one is this?" "Chastin," he says. He points to the other one. "This is Harper." "They look so much like Verity." I'm not looking at him, but I can see him nod out of the corner of my eye. "How did Chastin get that scar?" "She was born with it," Jeremy says. "The doctor said it was scarring from fibrous tissue. It's not uncommon, especially with twins because they're cramped for room." I look at him this time, wondering if that's actually where Chastin's scar came from. Or if maybe—somehow—it was a result of Verity's failed abortion attempt. "Did both the girls have the same allergy?" I ask. As soon as I ask it, I bring a hand up and squeeze my jaw in regret. The only way I know one of them even had a peanut allergy is because of what I read about her death. And now he knows I was reading about the death of his daughter. "I'm sorry, Jeremy." "It's fine," he says quietly. "And no, just Chastin. Peanuts." He doesn't elaborate, but I can feel him staring at me. I turn my head, and our eyes meet. He holds my gaze for a moment, but then his eyes drop to my hand. He lifts it with delicate fingers, flipping it over. "How'd you get this one?" he asks, running his thumb over the scar across my palm. I make a fist, not because I'm trying to hide it. It's faded, and I rarely think about it anymore. I've trained myself not to think about it. But I cover it because of how my skin felt when he touched it, like his finger burned a hole right through my hand. "I can't remember," I say quickly. "Thank you for dinner. I'm gonna go shower." I point past him, toward the master bedroom. He steps out of my way. When I get to the room, I open the door quickly and close it just as fast, pressing my back against the door, willing myself to relax. It's not that he makes me uncomfortable. Jeremy Crawford is a good man. Maybe it's the manuscript that makes me uncomfortable, because I have no doubt that he would have shared his love equally with his three children and his wife. He doesn't hold back, even now. Even when his wife is virtually catatonic, he still loves her selflessly. He's the sort of man a woman like Verity could easily become addicted to, but I don't think I'll ever understand how Verity could be so consumed and obsessed with him, to the point that creating a child with him would ignite that kind of jealousy in her. But I do understand her attraction to him. I understand it more than I want to. When I push off the door, something pulls my hair, and I end up back against it. What the hell? My hair is tangled in something. I pull at my hair until I break free, and then turn around to see what I got hung up in. It's a lock. He must have installed it today. He really is considerate. I reach up and lock the door. Does Jeremy think I wanted a lock on the inside of this bedroom door because I don't feel safe in this house? I hope not because that's not why I wanted the lock at all. I wanted a lock so they would all be safe from me. I walk to the bathroom and turn on the light. I look down at my hand, trailing my fingers across the scar. After the first few times my mother caught me sleepwalking, she became concerned. She put me in therapy, hoping it would help more than the sleeping pills did. My therapist said it was important to unfamiliarize myself with my surroundings. He said it would help if I created obstacles that would be hard for me to move past while I was sleepwalking. A lock on the inside of my bedroom door was one of those obstacles. And, while I'm almost certain I locked it before I fell asleep all those years ago, it doesn't explain why I woke up the next morning with a broken wrist and covered in blood. I choose not to read more of Verity's manuscript. It's been two days since I read about the attempted abortion, and the manuscript is still at the bottom of her desk drawer, hidden and untouched by me. I can feel it, though. It exists with me in Verity's office, breathing shallowly beneath the junk I covered it with. The more I read, the more unsettled I become. The more unfocused I become. I'm not saying I'll never finish it, but until I make progress on what I'm here to do, I can't get sidetracked by it again. I've noticed, now that I've stopped reading it, being in Verity's presence doesn't creep me out as much as it did a few days ago. I actually came up for air after working all day yesterday in the office to find Verity and her nurse seated at the dinner table with Crew and Jeremy. In the first couple of days I was here, I was in the office while they had dinner, so I wasn't aware that they brought her to the table when they ate together. I didn't want to intrude, so I went back to my office. There's a different nurse today. Her name is Myrna. She's a little older than April, round and cheerful with two rosy spots on her cheeks that make her look like an old-fashioned Kewpie doll. Right off the bat, she's a lot more pleasant than April. And honestly, it's not that April is unpleasant. But I get the vibe she doesn't trust me around Jeremy. Or Jeremy around me. I'm not sure why she dislikes my presence, but I can see how being protective of her patient would mean judging another woman who is staying in her invalid patient's home. I'm sure she thinks Jeremy and I lock ourselves in the master bedroom together after she leaves every evening. I wish she were right. Myrna works on Fridays and Saturdays, while April takes the rest of the week. Today is Friday and, while I expected to be moving into my apartment today, I'm relieved it's all worked out the way it has. I would have left here unprepared. The extra time I've been given has been a lifesaver. I've knocked out reading two more books in the series in the past two days, and I actually enjoyed them a lot. It was fascinating, seeing how Verity always writes from the antagonist's point of view. And I have a good sense of the direction I need to take with the series. But just in case, I still search for notes now that I know what I'm actually looking for. I'm on the floor, digging through a box when Corey texts me. Corey: Pantem did a press release this morning, announcing you as the new co-author of Verity's series. Sent a link to your email if you want to take a look. As soon as I open my email, there's a knock on the door of the office. "Come in." Jeremy opens the door, peeking his head in. "Hey. I'm headed to Target to get a few groceries. If you make me a list, I can grab whatever you need." There are a few things I need. Tampons being one of them, even though I only have a day or two left of my period. I just wasn't expecting to be here this long, so I didn't pack enough. I'm not sure I want to tell Jeremy that, though. I stand up, dusting off my jeans. "Actually, do you mind if I go with you? Might be easier." Jeremy opens the door a little wider and says, "Not at all. Leaving in about ten minutes."
Jeremy drives a dark grey Jeep Wrangler with jacked-up tires, covered in mud. I've never actually seen it because it's been in the garage, but it's not what I expected him to drive. I assumed he'd drive a Cadillac CTX or an Audi A8. Something a man in a suit would drive. I don't know why I keep picturing him as the professional, clean-cut businessman I met that first day. The man wears jeans or sweatpants every day, is always outside working, and has a rotating stock of muddy boots he leaves by the back door. A Jeep Wrangler actually fits him better than any other vehicle I've been picturing him in. We're out of his driveway, about half a mile down the road, when he turns down his radio. "Did you see Pantem's press release today?" he asks. I grab my phone from my purse. "Corey sent me the link, but I forgot to read it." "It's only one sentence long in Publishers Weekly," Jeremy says. "Short and sweet. Just how you wanted it." I open the email and read the link. It's not a link to Publishers Weekly, though. Corey sent me a link to the announcement made on Verity Crawford's social media page, via her publicity team. Pantem Press is excited to announce that the remaining novels in The Virtue Series, made successful by Verity Crawford, will now be co-written with author Laura Chase. Verity is ecstatic to have Laura on board, and the two are looking forward to the co-creation of an unforgettable conclusion to the series. Verity is ecstatic? Ha! At least I know never to trust another publicity announcement. I start reading the comments below the announcement. -Who the heck is Laura Chase? -Nope. Nope, nope, nope. -That's how it usually works, right? Mediocre author gets successful, hires shittier author to do her job? I set down my phone, but it's not enough. I turn off the ringer and put it in my purse, then zip it shut. "People are brutal," I mutter under my breath. Jeremy laughs. "Never read the comments. Verity taught me that years ago." I've never really had to deal with comments because I've never really put myself out there. "Good to know." When we arrive at the store, Jeremy hops out of the Jeep and runs around to open my door for me. It makes me uneasy because I'm not used to this kind of treatment, but it would probably make Jeremy even more uneasy if he allowed me to open the door myself. He is just the type of guy Verity describes him to be in her autobiography. This is the first time I've ever had a guy open a door for me. Dammit. How messed up is that? When he grabs my hand to help me out of the Jeep, I tense up because I can't prevent my reaction to his touch. I want more of it when I shouldn't want any of it. Does he feel the same around me? Sex for him has been out of the picture for quite a while now, which leads me to wonder if he misses it. That has to be a hard adjustment. To have a marriage that seemed to revolve around sex in the beginning, only to have sex ripped out of the marriage overnight. Why am I thinking about his sex life as we're walking into Target? "Do you like to cook?" Jeremy asks. "I don't dislike it. I've just always lived alone, so I don't make meals very often." He grabs a shopping cart, and I go with him to the produce section. "What's your favorite meal?" "Tacos." He laughs. "Simple enough." He grabs all the vegetables he'll need to make tacos. I offer to make spaghetti for them one night. It's really the only thing I cook that I can honestly say I'm good at. He's on the juice aisle when I tell him I'll be back, that I need a few things outside of the grocery department. I get the tampons, but grab other things to throw in the cart with them, like shampoo, socks, and a few shirts since I didn't really bring any with me. I have no idea why I'm embarrassed to buy tampons. It's not like he's never seen them. And, knowing Jeremy, he's probably purchased them for Verity a few times. He seems like the type of husband who wouldn't think twice about it. I find Jeremy in the grocery section, and as I walk toward him, I notice he's flanked by two women who have abandoned their carts to talk to him. His back is pressed against the ice cream cooler, giving the impression that he wishes he could melt right into it and escape. I can only see the backs of their heads as I approach, but when Jeremy's eyes meet mine, an attractive blonde turns around to see what he's looking at. The brunette seems more my speed, but only until she looks at me. Her glare changes my mind instantly. I approach the cart as if it's a wild animal, cautiously, timidly. Do I place my items into the cart or will that make this awkward? I decide to set my things in the upper basket, a clear line in the red-cart sand: We are together but not together. The women both look at me, simultaneously, their eyebrows climbing higher with each item I set in the basket. The one standing closest to Jeremy, the blonde, is staring at my tampons. She looks back up at me and tilts her head. "And you are?" "This is Laura Chase," Jeremy answers. "Laura, this is Patricia and Caroline." The blonde looks like she's been handed a warm cup of gossip tea. "We're friends of Verity's," Patricia says. She gives me a very noticeable condescending look. "Speaking of, Verity must be feeling better if she's got a friend in town." She looks at Jeremy for more explanation. "Or is Laura your friend?" "Laura is here from New York. She's working with Verity." Patricia smiles at the same time she makes an mhm sound and looks back at me. "How does one work with a writer, exactly? I assumed it would be more of a solitary job." "That's usually what non-literary people assume," Jeremy says. He nods at them, dismissing us from the conversation. "Have a good afternoon, ladies." He begins to move the shopping cart, but Patricia places her hand on it. "Tell Verity I said hello and we hope she's recovering well." "I'll share the message," Jeremy says, walking past her. "Give my best to Sherman." Patricia makes a face. "My husband's name is William." Jeremy nods once. "Oh. That's right. I get them confused." I hear Patricia scoff as we walk away. When we make it to the next aisle, I say, "Um. Who is Sherman?" "The guy she fucks behind her husband's back." I look at him, shocked. He's smiling. "Holy shit," I say, laughing. When we get to the register, I can't stop smiling. I don't know that I've ever seen that kind of epic burn in person. Jeremy begins placing things on the conveyor belt. "I probably shouldn't have stooped to her level, but I can't stand hypocrites." "Yes, but without hypocrites, there would be no epic karmic moments like the one I just witnessed." Jeremy grabs the rest of the things from the cart. I try to keep mine separate, but he refuses to let me pay for it myself. I can't stop staring at him as he runs his credit card. I feel something. I'm not sure what. A crush? That would make complete sense. I would develop a crush on a man who is so devoted to his ailing wife that he's too blind to see anyone or anything else. He's too blind to even see who his own wife was. Lowen Ashleigh, falling for an unavailable man with more baggage than even she has. Now that's karma. I only arrived here five days ago, but it seems like longer. The days here drag, whereas in New York, well, New York minute. I heard Myrna tell Jeremy this morning that Verity had a fever, which is why she didn't bring Verity down at all today before she left for the evening. I wasn't sad about that. It meant I didn't have to be in her presence, or look at her from my office window during their outdoor breaks. I'm looking at Jeremy, though. He's sitting alone on the back porch, staring out at the lake, leaning back in a rocking chair that he hasn't rocked in over ten minutes. He's sitting completely still. Every now and then, he remembers to blink. He's been out there for a while now. I wish I knew what thoughts were going through his head right now. Is he thinking of the girls? Of Verity? Is he thinking about how much his life has changed in the past year? He hasn't shaved in a few days, so his stubble is getting thicker. It looks good on him, but I'm not sure much could look bad on him. I lean forward on Verity's desk and drop my chin in my hand. I immediately regret moving, because Jeremy notices. He turns his head and looks at me through the window. I want to look away, force myself to appear busy, but it's obvious I've been staring at him, now that I'm leaned forward on the desk with my head propped on my hand. It would look worse if I tried to hide it at this point, so I just smile gently at him. He doesn't return the smile, but he doesn't look away. We hold eye contact for several seconds, and I feel his stare stirring things up inside me. It makes me wonder if it does anything to him when I look at him. He inhales a slow breath and then lifts up from his chair and walks away, toward the dock. When he reaches it, he picks up his hammer and begins ripping at the remaining few slabs of wood. He was probably craving a moment of peace, without Crew or Verity or a nurse or myself invading his privacy. I need a Xanax. I haven't taken one in over a week. It makes me groggy, which makes it difficult for me to focus on writing or research. But I'm tired of the moments in this house that send my pulse racing like it is right now. Once the adrenaline kicks in, I can't seem to reel it in. Whether it's Jeremy, Verity, or Verity's books, there's always something wreaking havoc on my anxiety levels. My reaction to this house and the people in it are more distracting than a little grogginess would be. I walk to the bedroom to sift through my bag for the Xanax. As soon as I get the bottle open, I hear a scream come from upstairs. Crew. I drop my unopened bottle of pills on the bed and rush out of the room and up the stairs. I can hear him crying. It sounds like it's coming from Verity's room. As much as I want to turn around and run in the other direction, I also realize he's a little boy who might be in trouble, so I keep walking. When I reach the door, I push it open without knocking. Crew is on the floor, holding his chin. There's blood on his hands and fingers. A knife next to him on the floor. "Crew?" I reach down and pick him up, then rush him to the bathroom down the hall. I set him on the counter. "Let me see." I pull his shaky fingers from his chin to assess the injury. It's seeping blood, but it doesn't look to be very deep. It's a cut right underneath his chin. He must have been holding the knife when he fell. "Did you cut yourself with the knife?" Crew is wide-eyed, looking up at me. He shakes his head, probably trying to hide that he had a knife. I'm sure Jeremy wouldn't approve of that. "Mommy said I'm not supposed to touch her knife." I freeze. "Your mommy says that?" Crew doesn't respond. "Crew," I say, grabbing a washcloth. It feels like my heart is stuck in my throat as I speak to him, but I try to hide my fear as I wet the washcloth. "Does your mommy talk to you?" Crew's body is rigid, and the only thing that moves is his head when he shakes it. I press the washcloth to his chin right before I hear Jeremy's footsteps bounding up the stairs. He must have heard Crew scream. "Crew!" he yells. "We're in here." Jeremy's eyes are full of worry when he reaches the door. I step out of his way while still holding the washcloth to Crew's chin. "You okay, buddy?" Crew nods, and Jeremy takes the washcloth from me. He bends down and looks at the injury on Crew's chin and then at me. "What happened?" "I think he cut himself," I say. "He was in Verity's bedroom. There was a knife on the floor." Jeremy looks at Crew, his eyes full of more disappointment than fear now. "What were you doing with a knife?" Crew shakes his head, sniffling as he tries to stop crying. "I didn't have a knife. I just fell off the bed." Part of me feels bad, like I tattled on the poor kid. I try to cover for him. "He wasn't holding it. I saw it on the floor and assumed that's what happened." I'm still shaken from what Crew said about Verity and the knife, but I remind myself that everyone talks about Verity in present tense. The nurse, Jeremy, Crew. I'm sure Verity told him not to play with knives in the past, and now my imagination is turning it into more than it is. Jeremy opens the medicine cabinet behind Crew and grabs a first-aid kit. When he closes the mirror, he's staring at my reflection. "Go check," he mouths, motioning toward the door with his head. I leave the bathroom, but pause in the hallway. I don't like going in that room, no matter how helpless Verity is. But I also know Crew doesn't need to have access to a knife, so I trudge forward. Verity's door is still wide open, so I tiptoe in, not wanting to wake her. Not that I could. I round the bed, to where Crew was on the floor. There's no knife. I turn around, wondering if maybe I kicked it somewhere when I picked him up. When I still don't see it, I lower myself to the floor to check under the bed. It's completely empty beneath the frame, other than a thin layer of dust. I slide my hand beneath the nightstand next to the hospital bed, but find nothing. I know I saw a knife. I'm not going crazy. Am I? I put my hand on the mattress to lift myself up off the floor, but immediately shift backward onto my palms when I catch Verity watching me. Her head is in a different position, turned to the right, her eyes on mine. Holy shit! I choke on my fear as I scoot myself backward, away from her bed. I end up several feet away from her, and even though her head is the only thing different about her from when I walked into the room, my fear is telling me to run for my life. I pull myself up, using the dresser for support, and keep my eyes fixated on her as I move back toward the door, facing her the whole time. I'm trying to suppress my terror, but I'm not convinced she isn't about to lunge at me with the knife she picked up from the floor. I close her door behind me and stand there, gripping the doorknob, until I can control my panic. I breathe in and out, steadily, five times, hoping Jeremy doesn't see the terror in my eyes when I walk back to tell him there was no knife. But there was a knife. My hands are shaking. I don't trust her. I don't trust this house. As much as I know I need to stay in order to do the best job, I'd much rather sleep in my rental car on the streets of Brooklyn for the next week than sleep in this house another night. I squeeze the tension from my neck as I return to the bathroom. Jeremy is bandaging up Crew's chin. "You're lucky you don't need stitches," Jeremy says to Crew. He's helping Crew wash the blood from his hands, and then tells him to go play. Crew brushes past me and returns to Verity's room. I find it odd that sitting on her bed while he plays his iPad is fun for him. But then again, I'm sure he just wants to be near his mother. Have at it, buddy. I don't want to be near her at all. "Did you grab the knife?" Jeremy asks, drying his hands on a towel. I try to refrain from sounding as scared as I still feel. "I couldn't find it." Jeremy eyes me for a second and then says, "But you saw one?" "I thought I did. Maybe I didn't. It wasn't there." Jeremy brushes past me. "I'll look around." He walks toward Verity's room, but turns around and pauses as he reaches her door. "Thanks for helping him." He smiles, but it's a playful grin. "I know how busy you've been today." He winks at me before walking into Verity's room. I close my eyes and allow the embarrassment to sink in. I deserved that. He probably thinks all I do is stare out that office window. I should probably take two Xanax at this point. When I get back to Verity's office, the sun is beginning to set, which means Crew will shower and go to bed soon. Verity will remain in her room for the night. And I'll feel somewhat safe, because for whatever reason, I'm only scared of Verity in this house. And I don't have to be around her at nighttime. In fact, nighttime has become my favorite time around here because it's when I see the least of Verity and the most of Jeremy. I'm not sure how much longer I can try to convince myself that I don't have a serious crush on that man. I'm also not sure how much longer I can try to convince myself that Verity is a better person than she really is. I think, after reading every book in her series, I'm beginning to understand the reason her suspense novels do so well is because of how she writes them from the villain's point of view. Critics love that about her. When I listened to her first audiobook on the drive over, I loved that her narrator seemed a little psychotic. I wondered how Verity got in the mind of her antagonists like she did. But that was before I knew her. I still don't technically know her, but I know the Verity who wrote the autobiography. It's apparent that the way she wrote the rest of her novels wasn't a unique approach for her. After all, they say write what you know. I'm beginning to think Verity writes from a villainous point of view because she's a villain. Being evil is all she knows. I feel a little evil myself as I open the drawer and do exactly what I swore to myself I wouldn't do again: read another chapter.
They were determined to live, I'll give them that. Nothing I tried worked. The attempted self-abortion, the random pills, the "accidental" fall down a flight of stairs. The only thing any of my attempts resulted in was a small scar on one of the baby's cheeks. A scar I'm sure I'm responsible for. A scar Jeremy couldn't shut up about. A few hours after they brought me to the room after their birth—cesarean, thank god—their pediatrician came by to check on the girls. I closed my eyes, pretending to nap, but really I was just scared to interact with their pediatrician. I feared he would see right through me and know I had no idea how to be a mother to these things. Jeremy asked the doctor about the scar before he left the room. The doctor brushed it off, said it's not uncommon for identical twins to accidentally scratch each other in utero. Jeremy disagreed. "It's too deep to be a simple scratch, though." "Could be scarring from fibrous tissue," the doctor said. "No worries. It'll fade with time." "I'm not worried about the way it looks," Jeremy said, almost defensively. "I'm worried it could be something more serious." "It's not. Your daughters are perfectly healthy. Both of them." Figures. The doctor left and the nurse was gone and it was just Jeremy, the girls, and me. One of them was asleep in the glass bed thing—I don't know what it's called. Jeremy was holding the other one. He was smiling down at her when he noticed my eyes were open. "Hey, Momma." Please don't call me that. I smiled at him anyway. He looked good as a dad. Happy. Never mind that his happiness had little to do with me. But even in my jealousy, I could appreciate him. He was probably going to be the type of dad to change their diapers. To help with feedings. I knew I'd appreciate that side of him even more with time. I just needed to get used to this. To being a mother. "Bring me the scarred one," I said. Jeremy made a face, indicating he was disappointed in my choice of words. I guess that was a weird way to put it, but we hadn't named them yet. The scar was her only identifier. He carried her to me and placed her in my arms. I looked down at her. I waited for the flood of emotions, but there wasn't even a trickle. I touched her cheek, ran my finger down the scar. I guess the wire hanger wasn't strong enough. I probably should have used something that didn't give so easily under pressure. A knitting needle? I'm not sure it would have been long enough. "The doctor said the scarring could be a scratch." Jeremy laughed. "Fighting before they were even born." I smiled down at her. Not because I felt like smiling, but because it's probably what I was supposed to do. I didn't want Jeremy to think I wasn't in love with her like he was. I took her hand and wrapped it around my pinky. "Chastin," I whispered. "You can have the better name since your sister was so mean to you." "Chastin," Jeremy said. "I love it." "And Harper," I said. "Chastin and Harper." They were two of the names he had sent me. I liked them okay. I chose them because he mentioned them both more than once, so I gathered they were at the top of his list. Maybe if he could see how much I was trying to love him, he wouldn't notice the two areas in which my love lacked. Chastin started to cry. She was wriggling in my arms, and I wasn't sure what to do about that. I started bouncing her, but that hurt, so I stopped. Her cries continued to grow louder. "She might be hungry," Jeremy suggested. I was so sold on the thought of them not actually surviving their birth with all I had put them through, what I would do beyond that wasn't given much thought. I knew breastfeeding them would be the best choice, but I had absolutely no desire to do that kind of damage to my breasts. Especially since there were two of them. "Sounds like someone is hungry," a nurse said as she pranced into the room. "Are you breastfeeding?" "No," I said immediately. I wanted her to prance right back out of there. Jeremy looked at me, concerned. "Are you sure?" "There are two of them," I replied. I didn't like the look on Jeremy's face—like he was disappointed in me. I hated to think this was how it was going to be. Him taking their side. Me not mattering anymore. "It's not any more difficult than bottle-feeding them," Prancing Nurse said. "It's actually more convenient. Do you want to try it? See how it goes?" I couldn't take my eyes off Jeremy as I waited for him to dismiss me of that kind of torture. It killed me to know that he wanted me to breastfeed them when there were so many other perfectly adequate alternatives. But I nodded and pulled the sleeve of my gown down because I wanted to please him. I wanted him to be happy that I was the mother of his children, even though I wasn't happy about it. I removed my breast and brought Chastin toward my nipple. Jeremy was watching the whole thing. He saw her latch on to my nipple. He saw her head move back and forth, her little hand press into my skin. He watched her begin to suck. It felt wrong. This infant, sucking on something Jeremy had sucked on before. I didn't like it. How would he find my breasts attractive after seeing babies feed from them every day? "Does it hurt?" Jeremy asked. "Not really." He put a hand on my head and brushed back my hair. "You look like you're in pain." Not in pain. Just disgusted. I watched as Chastin continued to feed from me. My stomach clenched as I tried my hardest not to show him how repulsed I was. I'm sure some mothers found this beautiful. I found it disturbing. "I can't do it," I whispered, my head falling back against the pillow. Jeremy reached down and pulled Chastin from my breast. I sighed with relief when I was free of her. "It's fine," Jeremy said reassuringly. "We'll use formula." "Are you sure?" the nurse asked him. "She seemed to be taking to it." "Positive. We'll use formula." The nurse conceded and said she'd grab a can of Similac as she left the room. I smiled because my husband still supported me. He had my back. He put me first in that moment, and I reveled in it. "Thank you," I said to him. He kissed Chastin's forehead and then sat down on the edge of my bed with her. He stared at her and shook his head in disbelief. "How can I already feel so protective over them, and I've only known them a couple of hours?" I wanted to remind him that he's always been protective of me, but it didn't feel like the right moment. I almost felt as if I were intruding on something I wasn't a part of. This father-daughter bond I was never going to be included in. He already loved them more than he had ever loved me. He was eventually going to take their side, even if I wasn't in the wrong. This was so much worse than I had imagined it would be. He lifted a hand to his face and wiped away a tear. "Are you crying?" Jeremy snapped his head in my direction, shocked at my words. I panicked. Recovered. "That came out weird," I said. "I meant it in a good way. I love how much you love them." His sudden tension disappeared with my quick recovery. He looked back down at Chastin and said, "I've never loved anything this much. Did you think you were capable of loving someone so much?" I rolled my eyes and thought to myself, I have loved someone this much, Jeremy. You. For four years. Thanks for noticing. I don't know why I'm surprised when I set the manuscript back in the drawer. The contents of the drawer rattle as I slam it shut angrily. Why am I angry? This isn't my life or my family. I'd trolled Verity's reviews before coming here, and in nine out of ten of them, the reviewer referenced wanting to throw their Kindles or books across the room. I kind of want to do the same with her autobiography. I was hoping she'd have seen the light with the birth of the girls, but she didn't. She only saw more darkness. She seems so cold and hard, but I'm not a mother. Do a lot of mothers feel this way about their children at first? If so, they certainly aren't honest about it. It's probably similar to when a mother claims she doesn't have a favorite child, but they probably do. It's an unspoken thing between mothers. One I suppose you don't become aware of until you are one. Or maybe Verity just didn't deserve to be a mother. I think about having children sometimes. I'll be thirty-two soon and I'd be lying if I said I didn't worry the opportunity might never present itself. But if I ever do find myself in a relationship with a man I'd want to father my child, it would be someone like Jeremy. Rather than appreciate the wonderful father he seemed to be, Verity resented him. Jeremy's love for his girls seemed genuine from the very beginning. It still seems genuine. And it hasn't been that long since he lost them. I keep losing sight of that. He's still probably moving through the stages of grief, while dealing with Verity and being there for Crew and ensuring the income they've gotten used to as a family doesn't come to a complete halt. Just a fraction of what he's been through would be too much for some people. But he's dealing with all of it at once. I found boxes of pictures in Verity's office closet this week as I was rummaging through her things. I pulled a box down, but haven't gone through the pictures yet. It seems like another invasion of privacy on my part. This family, at least Jeremy, has entrusted me to finish this series, and I keep getting sidetracked by my obsession with Verity. But if Verity is putting so much of herself into her series, I really do need to get to know her as well as possible. This really isn't snooping. It's research. There you go. Justification complete. I take the box of pictures to the kitchen table, pry open the lid, and then pull a handful of the pictures out, wondering who had them developed. People don't really have a lot of physical pictures on hand nowadays, thanks to the invention of smartphones. But there are so many pictures of the kids in here. Someone went through the trouble of making sure every picture they took was in physical form. My bet is on Jeremy. I pick up a picture of Chastin. A close-up. I stare at her scar for a moment. I couldn't stop thinking about it yesterday, so I Googled to find out if attempted abortions could actually cause damage in utero. That's something I'll never Google again. Sadly, a lot of babies survive the attempts and are born disfigured in much worse ways than just a small scar. Chastin was really lucky. She and Harper both were. Well... until they weren't. Jeremy's footsteps approach the stairs. I don't try to hide the pictures, because I'm not sure he would mind that I'm down here looking at them. When he walks into the kitchen, I smile at him and continue sorting through them. He hesitates on his way to the refrigerator, his eyes falling to the box on the table. "I feel like getting to know her helps put me in her headspace," I explain. "Helps with the writing." I look away from him, down at a picture of Harper, the one who rarely smiles in pictures. Jeremy takes a seat next to me and picks up one of the pictures of Chastin. "Why did Harper never smile?" Jeremy leans over, taking the picture of Harper from my hand. "She was diagnosed with Asperger's when she was three. She wasn't very expressive." He runs a finger over her picture and then puts it aside, pulling another from the box. This one is of Verity and the girls. He hands it to me. The three of them are dressed alike, in matching pajamas. If Verity didn't love the girls in this photo, she was certainly good at faking it. "Our last Christmas before Crew was born," he says, explaining the photo. He pulls a handful out and begins flipping through them. He pauses every now and then on pictures of the girls, but flips past pictures of Verity. "Here," he says, pulling one out of the stack. "This is my favorite picture of them. A rare smile from Harper. She was obsessed with animals, so we had a zoo come in and set up in the backyard for their fifth birthday." I smile down at the picture. But mostly because Jeremy is in the photo with a rare look of joy spread across his face. "What were they like?" "Chastin was a protector. A little spitfire. Even when they were young, she could sense Harper was different from her. She mothered her. She'd try to tell me and Verity how to parent. And God, when Crew came along, we thought we were going to have to hand him over to her. She was obsessed." He puts a picture of Chastin in the pile of pictures he's already looked at. "She would have made a great mother someday." He picks up a picture of Harper. "Harper was special to me. Sometimes I'm not sure Verity understood her like I did, but it's almost as if I could sense her needs, you know? She had trouble expressing her emotions, but I knew what made her tick, what made her happy, what made her sad, even when she didn't quite know how to reveal that to the world. She was mostly happy. She didn't have an immediate interest in Crew, though. Not until he turned three or four and could actually play with her. Before that, he might as well have been another piece of furniture." He picks up a picture of the three of them. "He hasn't asked about them. Not even once. Hasn't even mentioned their names." "Does that worry you?" He looks at me. "I don't know if I should be relieved or worried." "Probably both," I admit. He picks up a picture of Verity and Crew, right after Crew's birth. "He went to therapy for a few months. But I was scared it was just a weekly reminder of the tragedies, so I pulled him out. If he shows signs that he needs it when he's older, I'll take him back. Make sure he's okay." "And you?" He looks at me again. "What about me?" "How are you?" He doesn't break eye contact. Doesn't skip a beat. "My world was turned upside down when Chastin died. And then when Harper died, it ended completely." He looks back down at the box of pictures. "When I got the call about Verity... the only thing left in me to feel was anger." "Toward who? God?" "No," Jeremy says, his voice quiet. "I was angry at Verity." He looks back at me, and he doesn't even have to say why he was angry at her. He thinks she hit the tree on purpose. It's quiet in the room... in the house. He's not even breathing. Eventually, he scoots back in his chair and stands. I stand up with him because I feel like that's the first time he's ever admitted this to anyone. Maybe even to himself. I can tell he doesn't want me to see what he's thinking, because he turns away from me and clasps his hands behind his head. I place my hand on his shoulder, and then I move so that I'm standing in front of him, whether he wants me to or not. I slip my arms around his waist and press my face against his chest and I hug him. His arms clasp around my back with a heavy sigh. He squeezes me, tight, and I can tell it's a hug he's needed for no telling how long. We stand like this longer than a hug should last, until it's obvious to us both that we shouldn't still be clinging to each other. The strength in his hug eases, and at some point, we're no longer hugging. We're holding each other. Feeling the weight of how long it's been since either of us has probably felt this. It's quiet in the house, so I hear it when he tries to hold his breath. I feel all of his hesitation as his hand moves slowly up to the back of my head. My eyes are closed, but I open them because I want to look at him. There's a pull in me, tilting my head back into his hand as I lift my face from his chest. He's looking down at me now, and I have no idea if he's about to kiss me or pull away, but either way, it's too late. I feel everything he's been trying not to say in the way he holds me. In the way he's stopped inhaling. I can feel him bringing me closer to his mouth. But then his eyes flicker up and his hand falls. "Hey, buddy," Jeremy says, looking over my shoulder. Jeremy steps back. Releases me. I grip the back of the chair, feeling as if I weigh twice as much now that he's let go of me. I glance at the doorway, and Crew is staring at us. No expression. He looks a lot like Harper right now. His eyes fall to the box of pictures on the table and he rushes toward them. Lunges, almost. I step back in a hurry, shocked by his movements. He's picking up the pictures, angrily slamming them back into the box. "Crew," Jeremy says, his voice gentle. He tries to grab his son's wrist, but Crew pulls away from him. "Hey," Jeremy says, leaning down closer to him. I can hear the confusion in Jeremy's voice, as if this is a side of Crew he's never seen before. Crew starts crying as he's slamming all the pictures back inside the box. "Crew," Jeremy says, unable to hide his concern now. "We're just looking at pictures." He tries to pull Crew to him, but Crew rips himself out of Jeremy's arms. Jeremy grabs Crew again, pulling him to his chest. "Put them back!" Crew yells toward me. "I don't want to see them!" I grab the rest of the pictures and shove them into the box. I put the lid on it and pick it up, clutching it to my chest as Crew tries to wrangle himself from Jeremy's grip. Jeremy picks him up and rushes out of the kitchen with him. They go upstairs, and I'm left standing in the kitchen, shaken, concerned. What was that? It's quiet upstairs for several minutes. I don't hear Crew putting up a fight or yelling, so I think that's a good sign. But my knees feel weak and my head feels heavy. I need to lie down. Maybe I shouldn't have taken two Xanax tonight. Or maybe I shouldn't have brought family pictures out and put them on display in front of a family who still hasn't recovered from their loss. Or maybe I shouldn't have almost kissed a married man. I rub at my forehead, suddenly feeling the urge to bolt—flee—and never come back to this house of sadness. What am I still doing here? Even at the height of day, when the sun is keeping watch over this part of the world, it still feels eerie inside this house. It's four o'clock in the afternoon. Jeremy is working on the dock again, and Crew is playing near him in the sand. An unsettling energy buzzes throughout the house. It's always here, and I can't seem to shake it. It seems to be getting worse at night, nocturnal and intense. I'm sure it's mostly in my head, but that doesn't put me at ease, because the things lurking around inside the mind can be just as dangerous as tangible threats. I woke up last night to use the restroom. I thought I heard a noise in the hallway—footsteps lighter than Jeremy's and heavier than Crew's. Then, shortly after, it sounded as though the stairs were creaking, one at a time, as if someone were creeping up them with a deliberately light foot. It took me a while to go to sleep after that because in a house this size, noises are inevitable. And with the imagination of a writer, every noise becomes a threat. My head jerks toward the office door. I'm jumpy, even now, and all I hear is April in the kitchen talking to someone. She uses the same calming tone when she speaks to Verity, like she's trying to coax her back to life. I've never heard Jeremy speak to his wife. But he did admit to being angry at her. Does he still love her? Does he sit in her room and tell her how much he misses the sound of her voice? That seems like something he would do. Or would have done. But now? He cares for her, helps feed her sometimes, but I've never actually seen him speak directly to her. It makes me wonder if he doesn't believe she's in there at all anymore. As if the person he cares for is no longer his wife. Maybe he's able to separate his anger and disappointment toward Verity from the woman he cares for, because he no longer feels they're the same person. I go to the kitchen because I'm hungry, but also because I'm curious to watch April as she interacts with Verity. I'm curious to see if Verity has any sort of physical response to her interaction. April is seated at the table with Verity's lunch. I open the refrigerator and watch as she feeds her. Verity's jaw moves back and forth, almost robotically, after April feeds her a spoonful of mashed potatoes. It's always soft foods. Mashed potatoes, apple sauce, blended vegetables. Hospital foods, bland and easy to ingest. I grab a cup of Crew's pudding and then sit at the table with April and Verity. April acknowledges me with a fleeting glance and a nod, but nothing else. After eating a few bites of the pudding, I decide to try making small talk with this woman who refuses to interact with me. "How long have you been a nurse?" April pulls the spoon out of Verity's mouth and dips it back into the potatoes. "Long enough to be in the single-digit countdown to retirement." "Nice." "You're my favorite patient, though," April says to Verity. "By far." She's directing her answers at Verity, even though I'm the one asking the questions. "How long have you worked with Verity?" Again, April answers toward Verity. "How long have we been doing this now?" she asks, as if Verity is going to answer her. "Four weeks?" She looks at me. "Yeah, I was officially hired about four weeks ago." "Did you know the family? Before Verity's accident?" "No." April wipes Verity's mouth and then places the tray of food on the table. "Can I speak with you for a moment?" She nudges her head toward the hallway. I pause, wondering why we need to leave the kitchen in order for her to have a conversation with me. I stand up, though, and follow her out. I lean against the wall and spoon another bite of pudding into my mouth as April shoves her hands into the pockets of her scrub top. "I don't expect you to know this, especially if you've never been around someone in Verity's condition. But it's not respectful to discuss people like her as though they aren't right in front of you." I'm gripping my spoon, about to pull it out of my mouth. I pause for a moment, then shove the spoon back into the pudding cup. "I'm sorry. I wasn't aware that's what I was doing." "It's easy to do, especially if you believe the person can't acknowledge you. Verity's brain doesn't process like it used to, obviously, but we don't know how much she does process. Just watch how you word things in her presence." I stand up straight, pulling away from my casual position against the wall. I had no idea I was being insulting. "Of course," I say, nodding. April smiles, and it's actually genuine for once. Luckily, our awkward moment ends thanks to Crew. He runs through the back door, cupping something in his hands. He rushes between me and April, into the kitchen. April follows him. "Mom," Crew says, excitedly. "Mom, Mom, I found a turtle." He stands in front of her, holding the turtle up for her to see. He runs his fingers over its shell. "Mom, look at him." He's holding it up higher now, trying to get Verity to make eye contact with the turtle. Of course she doesn't. He's only five, so he probably can't even process all the reasons she can no longer speak to him or look at him or react to his excitement. I immediately hurt for him, knowing he's probably still waiting for her to fully recover. "Crew," I say, walking over to him. "Let me see your turtle." He turns and holds it up for me. "He's not a snapping turtle. Daddy said those kind have marks on their necks." "Wow," I say. "That's really awesome. Let's go outside and find something to put him in." Crew jumps with excitement, then brushes past me. I follow him out of the house and help him search around the property until he finds an old red bucket to put him in. Then Crew plops down on the grass and brings the bucket onto his lap. I sit down next to him, partly because I'm starting to feel really bad for this kid, but also because we have a clear view of Jeremy from this spot in the yard as he works on the dock. "Daddy said I can't have another turtle because I killed my last turtle." I swing my head toward Crew. "You killed him? How did you kill him?" "Lost him in the house," he says. "Mommy found him under her couch and he was dead." Oh. Okay. My mind was going somewhere much more sinister with that. For a second, I thought he'd murdered the turtle intentionally. "We could let him go right here in the grass," I tell him. "That way you can watch and see which direction he crawls. He might lead you to his secret turtle family." Crew picks him up out of the bucket. "Do you think he has a wife?" "He might." "He could have babies, too." "He could." Crew puts him down in the grass, but naturally, the turtle is too scared to move. We watch him for a while, waiting for him to come out of his shell. I can see Jeremy approaching out of the corner of my eye. When he's closer, I look up at him, shielding the sun from my eyes with my hand. "What'd you two find?" "A turtle," Crew says. "Don't worry, I'm not keeping him." Jeremy shoots me an appreciative smile. Then he sits down next to Crew in the grass. Crew scoots closer to him, but when he grabs Jeremy's arm, Crew pulls away. "Gross. You're sweaty." He is sweaty, but I don't really think it's gross. Crew pushes off the grass. "I'm hungry. You promised we could go out to eat tonight. We haven't been to a restaurant in years." Jeremy laughs. "Years? It's only been one week since I took you to McDonald's." Crew says, "Yeah, but we used to go out to eat all the time before my sisters died." I watch Jeremy's shoulders tense with that comment. He said himself that Crew hasn't mentioned the girls since they died, so this moment feels significant. Jeremy breathes deeply and then pats Crew on the back. "You're right. Go wash your hands and get ready. We'll need to be back before April leaves tonight." Crew rushes toward the house, forgetting all about the turtle. Jeremy watches him for a while, his eyes full of thoughts. Then he stands up and reaches out a hand to help me up. "Wanna come?" he asks. He's asking me to a friendly dinner with his child, but my wistful heart responds like I was just asked out on a date. I smile as I brush off the backs of my jeans. "I'd love that."
I haven't had a reason to make an effort with my physical appearance since I arrived at Jeremy's house. Even though I still didn't make much of an effort before we left, Jeremy must have noticed the mascara, the lip gloss, and the fact that my hair is down for the first time. When we arrived at the restaurant and he was holding the door for me, he said quietly, "You look really nice." His compliment settled in my stomach, and I can still feel it, even though we're finished eating. Crew is sitting on the same side of the booth as Jeremy. He's been telling jokes since he finished eating his dessert. "I have another one," Crew says. "What is E.T. short for?" Jeremy doesn't attempt to answer Crew's jokes because he says he's heard them a million times. I smile at Crew and pretend I don't know the answer. "Because he has little legs," Crew says, falling back into his seat with laughter. His reaction to his own jokes make me laugh more than the jokes themselves. And then, "Why don't they play poker in the jungle?" "I don't know, why?" I say. "Too many cheetahs!" I don't know that I've stopped laughing since he started telling us jokes. "Your turn," Crew says. "Mine?" I ask. "Yeah, it's your turn to tell a joke." Oh, God. I'm feeling pressure from a five-year-old. "Okay, let me think." A few seconds later, I snap my fingers. "Okay, I've got one. What is green, fuzzy, and if it fell out of a tree, it could kill you?" Crew leans forward with his chin in his hands. "Ummmm. I don't know." "A fuzzy green piano." Crew doesn't laugh at my joke. Neither does Jeremy. At first. Then, a few seconds later, Jeremy releases a burst of laughter that makes me smile. "I don't get it," Crew says. Jeremy is still laughing, shaking his head. Crew looks up at Jeremy. "How is that funny?" Jeremy puts his arm around Crew. "It's not," he says. "It's funny because it's not funny." Crew looks at me. "That's not how jokes are supposed to work." "Okay, I have another one," I say. "What's red and shaped like a bucket?" Crew shrugs. "A blue bucket painted red." Jeremy squeezes his jaw, trying to hold back his laughter. Seeing him laugh is probably the best thing that's happened since I showed up here. Crew scrunches up his nose. "You aren't very good at telling jokes." "Come on. Those were so funny." Crew shakes his head, disappointed. "I hope you don't try to make jokes in your books." Jeremy leans back in his seat and grips his side, trying to hold back his laughter as the waitress approaches with the check. Jeremy takes it from her. "My treat," he manages to say. When we return to the house, Crew makes it inside before we do. "Run upstairs and let April know we're back," Jeremy calls after him. Jeremy closes the door that leads into the garage, and we both pause before moving farther into the house. We're tucked away into an unlit corner near the stairs, but a stream of light from the kitchen streaks across his face. "Thank you for dinner. That was fun." Jeremy pulls off his jacket. "It was." He's smiling as he hangs his jacket on a coat rack next to the door. He looks different tonight, like he's less weighed down by his life than he usually is. "I should get Crew out more often." I nod in agreement, slipping my hands into my back pockets. The next few seconds fill with thick silence. It almost feels like that moment at the end of real dates when you can't decide between a kiss or a hug. Of course, neither would be appropriate in this case because it wasn't a date. Why did it feel like one? Our eye contact is broken when Crew begins to descend the stairs. Jeremy's gaze diverts to his feet for a moment, but before he walks away, I see him release a quick breath, as if Crew interrupted something Jeremy was about to regret. Something I'm not sure I would have regretted. I sigh heavily and then go straight to Verity's office and close the door. I need to distract myself. I feel an emptiness—an ache in my stomach that I don't think is going to go away. Like I need more moments with him. Moments I can't get. Moments I shouldn't get. I flip through the pages of Verity's manuscript, hoping to find an intimate scene with Jeremy. I'm not sure what kind of person that makes me in this moment, because reading this is wrong on so many levels, but it isn't as wrong as crossing that line with him physically would be. I can't have him in real life, but I can learn what he's like in bed to aid in all my fantasies I'm probably going to have about him.
I was about to have a breakdown. I could feel it. Or at least a meltdown. A temper tantrum. A hissy fit. Any of them would have been inappropriate, though. I just couldn't take it anymore. If one of them wasn't crying, the other one was. If one of them wasn't hungry, the other one was. They rarely slept at the same time. Jeremy was a big help and did half the work with them, but if we'd only had one child, I'd at least have gotten a break. But there were two, so it was as if we each were full-time single parents of an infant. Jeremy was still selling real estate at the time the girls were born. He took two weeks off to help me with the girls, but his two weeks were up, and he needed to go back to work. We couldn't afford a nanny because the advance I had recently received for the sell of my first manuscript was small. I was terrified of being left alone with the babies while he was away from the house for nine hours every day. However, once Jeremy returned to work, it ended up being the best thing that ever happened to me. He would leave at seven in the morning. I would wake up with him so he could see me caring for the girls. After he was gone, I would put them back in their cribs, unplug their monitors and go back to bed. From the day he started back to work, I began getting more sleep than I think I'd ever gotten. We were in a corner apartment, and their room didn't butt up to any other apartment, so no one could hear them cry. I couldn't even hear them when I put my earplugs in. After three days of Jeremy being back at work, I felt like my life was returning to normal. I was getting so much sleep during the day, but before Jeremy would come home, I'd feed them, bathe them, and start on dinner. Every night when he would walk in the door, the babies would be calm from finally being tended to, the smell of dinner would be coming from the kitchen, and he'd be blown away by how well I was tackling life. Nighttime feedings didn't even bother me at that point, because my sleep schedule had shifted. I was doing most of my sleeping while Jeremy was at work. And the girls would sleep fairly well at night due to the exhaustion from crying all day. But the crying was probably good for them. I was able to write most nights while everyone slept, so I was even ahead career-wise. The only place I was lacking was in the bedroom. I hadn't been cleared to have sex from my doctor yet, as it had only been four weeks since their births. But I knew if I didn't keep that part of my marriage alive, it could quickly spread into other areas of our marriage. A terrible sex life is like a virus. Your marriage can be healthy in all other aspects, but once the sex dies out, it starts to infect all the other parts of your relationship. I was determined not to let that happen to us. I had tried the night before to have sex with him, but Jeremy was worried he would hurt me. Even though it had been a cesarean, he still worried about the incision. He had read online that he couldn't even so much as finger me until we got the okay from my doctor, and that appointment was still two weeks away. He refused to have sex with me until a medical professional approved it. I didn't want to wait that long, though. I couldn't. I missed him. I missed that connection with him. Jeremy woke up that night at two in the morning because my tongue was sliding up his dick. I'm almost positive his dick was rock hard before he was even fully awake. The only reason I knew he was awake is because his hand moved to my head and his fingers snaked through my hair. That's the only movement he made. He didn't even lift his head off his pillow to look at me, and for some reason, I liked that. I'm not even sure he opened his eyes. He remained still and silent while I drove him mad with my tongue. I licked him, teased him, touched him for fifteen minutes without ever putting him inside my mouth. I knew how much he wanted me to, because he was growing restless and needed that relief, but I didn't want him to get relief from my mouth. I wanted him to get it by fucking me for the first time in weeks. His hand was impatient, squeezing the back of my head, pressing me down on his dick as he silently begged me to take him in my mouth. I refused and continued to fight against the pressure of his hand as I kissed and licked him, when all he wanted to do was shove it into my mouth. When I was certain I had driven him so crazy that his desire outweighed his concern for me, I moved away from him. He followed. I fell onto my back, spread my legs, and he was inside me without a second thought about whether or not it was too soon for him to be there. He wasn't even gentle. It was as if my tongue had driven him to a point of madness, because he was pounding into me so hard, it actually did hurt. It lasted almost an hour and a half because as soon as he finished, I sucked him off until he was hard again. Both times we fucked, we never said a word. And even after it was all over and I was crushed beneath the weight of his exhausted body, we still didn't speak. He rolled off me and wrapped himself around me. Our sheets were covered in sweat and semen, but we were too consumed with sleep to care. I knew then that it was okay. We would be okay. Jeremy still worshipped my body as much as he always had. The girls might have taken a lot from us by then, but his desire was the one thing I knew would always be mine. This chapter has been the most difficult to continue reading by far. How a mother could sleep soundly down the hall from her crying infants baffles me. She's callous. I've been under the impression that Verity might have been a sociopath, but now I'm leaning more toward psychopath. I put the manuscript away and use Verity's computer to refresh my memory of the exact definition for psychopath. I scroll through every personality trait. Pathological liar, cunning and manipulative, lack of remorse or guilt, callousness and lack of empathy, shallow emotional response. She displays every characteristic. The only thing about her that makes me question if she was a psychopath is her obsession with Jeremy. Psychopaths find it more difficult to fall in love, and if they do, it's difficult for them to retain that love. They tend to move on quickly from one person to the next. But Verity didn't want to move on from Jeremy. He was Verity's entire focus. The man is married to a psychopath, and he has no idea because she did everything she could to hide it from him. There's a soft knock on the office door, so I minimize the screen on the computer. When I open the door, Jeremy is standing in the hallway. His hair is damp and he's wearing a white T-shirt with a pair of black pajama bottoms. This is my favorite look on him. Barefoot, casual, easygoing. It's sexy as hell, and I hate how attracted to him I am. Would I even be attracted to him if it weren't for the intimate details I've read about him in that manuscript? "Sorry to bother you. I need a favor." "What's up?" He motions for me to follow him. "There's an old aquarium somewhere in the basement. I just need you to hold the door open for me so I can bring it upstairs and clean it out for Crew." I smile. "You're gonna let him have a turtle?" "Yeah, he seemed excited today. He's a little older now, so hopefully he'll remember to feed this one." Jeremy reaches the basement door and opens it. "The door was installed backward. It's impossible to come up the stairs with your hands full or you can't open the door to get out." Jeremy flips on a light and begins to descend the stairs. The basement doesn't feel like an extension of the house. It feels abandoned and uncared for, like a neglected child. Creaky steps and dust on the handrail attached to the wall. Normally, I would have zero desire to walk into a basement this unwelcoming. Especially in a house that already terrifies me. But their basement is the only place in this house I've yet to see, and I'm curious what's down there. What kind of things could Verity have packed away? The stairwell leading into the basement is dark because the light switch at the top of the stairs only powered a light that was inside the actual basement. When I reach the bottom step, I'm relieved to see the room isn't at all as eerie as I had expected. To the left is an office desk that looks to have gone unused for quite some time. There are stacks of files and papers all over the desk, but it looks more like a corner used for storage than a place where a person could actually sit and get work done. To the right are boxes of things accumulated over the years they've been together. Some with lids, some without. There's a baby video monitor sticking out of one of the boxes and I cringe, thinking about the chapter I just read and how Verity admitted to unplugging it during the day so she couldn't hear them crying. Jeremy is sorting through a collection of things behind and in between the boxes. "Did you used to work down here?" I ask him. "Yeah. I owned a realty firm and brought a lot of work home most days, so this was my office." He lifts a sheet and tosses it aside, revealing an aquarium that's covered in a layer of dust. "Bingo." He begins to rummage through the contents inside the aquarium to ensure he has all the pieces. I'm still thinking about the career he casually mentioned giving up. "You owned your own firm?" He lifts the aquarium and walks it to the desk on the other side of the room. I make room by pushing papers and files out of the way so he can set it down. "Yep. Started it the same year Verity started writing books." "Did you love it?" He nods. "I did. It was a lot of work, but I was good at it." He plugs the lid to the aquarium into an outlet, checking to see if the attached light still works. "When Verity's first book released, we both thought it was more of a hobby than an actual career. When she sold it, we still didn't take it very seriously. But then word started to get out, and more copies of her books were selling. After a couple of years, her checks started to make mine look cute." He laughs, as if it's a fond memory and not one that bothers him at all. "By the time she got pregnant with Crew, we both knew I was only working for the sake of working. Not because my income had a real impact on our lifestyle. It was the only choice, really. For me to quit, since the job required so much of my time." He unplugs the light to the aquarium, and when he does, there's a popping sound behind us, followed by the escape of the only light we had in the basement. It's pitch black now. I know he's right in front of me, but I can no longer see him. My pulse quickens, and then I feel his hand on my arm. "Here," he says, bringing my hand to his shoulder. "Must have flipped a breaker. Walk behind me, and when we make it to the top of the stairs, just slip around me and open the door." I feel his shoulder muscles contract as he lifts the aquarium. I keep my hand on his shoulder, following closely behind him as he makes his way toward the stairs. He takes each step slowly, probably for my benefit. When he stops, he moves so that his back is against the wall. I slip around him and feel around for the doorknob. I pull the door open and a flood of light pours in. Jeremy walks out first, and as soon as he's out of my way, I pull the door shut quickly, causing it to slam. He laughs when I release a shaky breath. "Not a fan of basements, huh?" I shake my head. "Not a fan of dark basements." Jeremy walks the aquarium to the kitchen table and looks at it. "That's a lot of dust." He picks it up again. "Do you mind if I wash it in the master shower? It'd be easier than trying to do it in the sink." I shake my head. "Not at all." Jeremy carries the aquarium to the master shower. Part of me wants to follow him and help, but I don't. I go back to the office and do my best to focus on the series I'm supposed to be working on. Thoughts of Verity continue to distract me like they do every time I finish a chapter in her autobiography. Yet, I can't stop reading it. It's like a train wreck and Jeremy doesn't even realize he was mangled in the wreckage. I choose to work on the series rather than read more of the manuscript, but I've gotten very little done by the time Jeremy finishes up in the master bath. I decide to call it a night and head back to the bedroom. After I've washed my face and brushed my teeth, I stare at the handful of shirts I brought with me that are hanging in the closet. I have no desire to wear any of them, so I begin to rummage through Jeremy's shirts. The shirt he lent me smelled like him the entire day I wore it. I thumb through them until I find a T-Shirt of his that's soft enough to sleep in. In small print over the left breast, it reads, "Crawford Realty." I pull the shirt on over my head and then walk over to the bed. Before climbing into it, I focus on the bite marks on the headboard. I walk closer to them, running my thumb over them. I look down the length of the headboard and notice there is more than one imprint of teeth. There are five or six areas where Verity bit the headboard, some not as noticeable as the others until you're up close. I crawl onto the bed and lift up onto my knees as I face the headboard. I straddle a pillow and imagine being in this position—sprawled over Jeremy's face as I grip the headboard. I close my eyes and slide a hand up into Jeremy's T-shirt, imagining it's his hand that drags up my stomach and caresses my breast. My lips part and I suck in air, but a noise above me breaks me out of the moment. I look up at the ceiling and listen to the sound of Verity's hospital bed as it begins to hum and move. I pull the pillow out from under me and lie on my back as I stare up at the ceiling, wondering what—if anything—goes through Verity's mind. Is it complete darkness in there? Does she hear what people say to her? Does she sense the sunshine when it's on her skin? Does she know whose touch is whose? I put my arms at my sides and lie still, imagining what it would be like not to be able to control my movements. I remain in the same position on the bed, even though I'm growing more and more restless with each passing minute. I need to scratch my nose, and it makes me wonder if that bothers Verity, not being able to lift a hand to scratch an itch. Or if her condition even allows her to feel an itch. I close my eyes and all I can think about is that Verity possibly deserves the darkness, the stillness, the quiet. Yet for a psychopath, she certainly has so many still wrapped around her immobile finger. The smell is different when I open my eyes. So are the noises. I'm not confused about where I am. I know I'm in Jeremy's house. I just... I'm not in my room. I'm staring at a wall. The wall in the master bedroom is light grey. This wall is yellow. Yellow, like the walls in the upstairs bedrooms. The bed beneath me begins to move, but it isn't because someone in the bed is moving. It's different... like it's... mechanical. I squeeze my eyes shut. Please, God. No. No, no, no, please don't tell me I am in Verity's bed. I'm trembling all over now. I open my eyes, slowly, and turn my head at the slowest pace possible. When I see the door and then the dresser and then the TV mounted to the wall, I roll out of the bed, falling to the floor. I scramble to the wall and slide up it with my back against it. I squeeze my eyes shut. I can hardly hold myself up I am so hysterical. My body is shaking so badly, I can hear it when I breathe. Whimpers at first, but as soon as I open my eyes and see Verity on her bed, I scream. Then I slap my hand over my mouth. It's dark outside. Everyone is asleep. I have to be quiet. It's been so long since this has happened. Years, probably. But it's happening and I am terrified and I have no idea why I ended up here. Was it because I was thinking about her? "Sleepwalking is patternless, Lowen. It has no meaning. It is unrelated to intention." I hear my therapist's words, but I don't want to process them. I need to get out of here. Move, Lowen. I slide across the wall, keeping as far from that bed as I can while I make my way to Verity's bedroom door. I'm flat against the door, tears streaming down my cheeks as I turn the handle and open it, then flee the bedroom. Jeremy flings his arms around me, pulling me to a stop. "Hey," he says, turning me to face him. He sees the tears on my face, the terror in my eyes. He loosens his grip, and as soon as he does, I run. I run down the hall, down the stairs, and I don't stop until I slam the bedroom door and I'm back on my bed. What the fuck? What the fuck? I curl up on top of the covers, facing the door. My wrist begins to throb, so I grip it with my other hand and tuck it against my chest. The bedroom door opens and then closes behind Jeremy. He's shirtless, in a pair of red flannel pajama bottoms. It's all I see, a blur of red plaid as he rushes toward me. Then he's on his knees, his hand on my arm, his eyes searching mine. "Lowen, what happened?" "I'm sorry," I whisper, wiping at my eyes. "I'm sorry." "For what?" I shake my head and sit up on the bed. I have to explain it to him. He just caught me in his wife's bedroom in the middle of the night, and his head is probably swarming with questions. Questions I don't really have answers to. Jeremy takes a seat next to me on the bed, lifting a leg so he can face me. He puts both his hands on my shoulders and lowers his head, looking at me very seriously. "What happened, Low?" "I don't know," I say, rocking back and forth. "Sometimes I walk in my sleep. I haven't in a long time, but I took two Xanax earlier and I think maybe... I don't know... " I sound just as hysterical as I feel. Jeremy must sense that, because he pulls me to him, putting pressure around me with his arms, trying to calm me. He doesn't ask me anything else for a couple of minutes. He runs a comforting hand over the back of my head and as good as it feels to have his support, I feel guilty. Undeserving. When he pulls back, I can see his questions practically spilling from his mouth. "What were you doing in Verity's room?" I shake my head. "I don't know. I woke up in there. I was scared and I screamed and... " He grabs my hands. Squeezes them. "You're okay." I want to agree with him, but I can't. How am I supposed to sleep in this house after that? I can't count how many times I've woken up in random places. It used to happen so often, I went through a period where I had three locks on the inside of the bedroom door. I'm not unfamiliar with waking up in strange rooms, but why, out of all the rooms in this house, did it have to be Verity's? "Is this why you wanted a lock on your door?" he asks. "To stop yourself from getting out?" I nod, but for whatever reason, my response makes him laugh. "Jesus," he says. "I thought it was because you were afraid of me." I'm glad he finds levity in the moment, because I can't seem to. "Hey. Hey," he says gently, tilting my chin up so that I'll look at him. "You're okay. It's okay. Sleepwalking is harmless." I shake my head in profound disagreement. "No. No, Jeremy. It's not." I hold my hand up to my chest, still clutching my wrist. "I've woken up outside before, I've turned on stoves and ovens in my sleep. I even... " I blow out a breath. "I broke my hand in my sleep and didn't even feel it until I woke up the next morning." A rush of adrenaline surges through my body as I think about how I can now add what just happened to the list of disturbing things I've done in my sleep. Although unconscious, I still walked up those stairs and crawled into that bed. If I'm capable of doing something that disturbing, what else am I capable of? Did I unlock the door in my sleep or did I forget to lock it? I can't even remember. I push off the mattress and head for the closet. I grab my suitcase and the few shirts I brought with me that are hanging up. "I should go." Jeremy says nothing, so I continue to pack my things. I'm in the bathroom gathering my toiletries when he appears in the doorway. "You're leaving?" I nod. "I woke up in her room, Jeremy. Even after you put a lock on my door. What if it happens again? What if I scare Crew?" I open the shower door to grab my razor. "I should have told you all this before I ever stayed the night here." Jeremy takes the razor out of my hand. He places my bag of toiletries back on the counter. Then he pulls me to him, wrapping a hand around my head as he tucks me into his chest. "You sleepwalk, Low." He presses a comforting kiss into the top of my hair. "You sleepwalk. It's not that big of a deal." Not that big of a deal? I laugh halfheartedly against his chest. "I wish my mother would have felt that way." When Jeremy pulls back, there's worry in his eyes. But is he worried for me or because of me? He walks me back into the bedroom, where he motions for me to sit down on my bed while he begins to hang up the shirts I shoved into my suitcase. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asks. "Which part, exactly?" "Why your mother thought it was a big deal." I don't want to talk about it. He must see my expression change because he pauses as he's reaching for another shirt. He drops it back into the suitcase and sits on the bed. "I don't mean to sound harsh," he says, pegging me with a firm stare. "But I have a son. Seeing you this worried about what you're capable of is starting to make me worry. Why are you so scared of yourself?" A small part of me wants to defend myself, but there's nothing to defend. I can't tell him I'm harmless, because I'm not sure that I am. I can't tell him I'll never sleepwalk again, because it just happened twenty minutes ago. The only thing I could probably say to defend myself is to tell him I'm not nearly as horrific as his own wife, but I'm not even sure if I believe that. I'm not horrific yet, and I don't trust myself enough to say that I never will be. I drop my eyes to the bed and swallow, preparing to tell him all about it. My wrist begins to throb again. When I look down at it, I trace the scar over my palm. "I didn't feel what happened to my wrist when it happened," I say. "I woke up one morning when I was ten. As soon as I opened my eyes, I felt this intense pain shoot up from my wrist to my shoulder. And then it was like a bright light exploded in my head. I screamed because it hurt so bad. My mother ran into my bedroom, and I remember lying on the bed in the most pain I'd ever been in, but in that second I realized my door had been unlocked. I knew I had locked it the night before." I look up from my hand, back at Jeremy. "I couldn't remember what had happened, but there was blood all over my blanket, my pillow, my mattress, myself. And dirt on my feet, as if I'd been outside during the night. I couldn't even remember ever leaving my room. We had security cameras that monitored the front of the house and several of the rooms inside it. Before my mother checked them, she took me to the hospital because the cut on my hand needed stitches and my wrist needed an X-ray. When we got home later that afternoon, she pulled up the security footage of our front yard. We sat on the couch and watched it." I reach to the nightstand and grab my water to ease the dryness in my throat. Before I continue, Jeremy places a hand on my knee, his thumb rubbing back and forth reassuringly. I stare at it as I finish telling him what happened. "At three o'clock that morning, the footage showed me walking outside, onto the front porch. I climbed up on the thin porch railing and stood there. That's all I did at first. I just... stood there. For an hour, Jeremy. We watched the entire hour, waiting, hoping to see if the footage was broken because no one should be able to remain balanced for that long. It was unnatural, but I never moved. I never spoke any words. And then... I jumped. I must have hurt my wrist in the fall, but in the footage I showed no reaction. I pushed off the ground with both hands and then walked up the porch steps. You could see the blood already coming from my hand and dripping onto the porch, but my expression was dead. I walked straight back to my room and I fell asleep." My eyes return to his. "I have no recollection of that. How can I inflict that much pain on myself and not be aware of it? How can I stand on a railing for an entire hour without swaying, not even a little bit? The video frightened me more than the injury did." Again, he hugs me, and I am so grateful that I cling to him tightly. "My mother sent me away for a two-week psychiatric evaluation after that," I say into his chest. "When I returned home, she had moved farther down the hall, into a spare bedroom where she placed three locks on the inside of her bedroom door. My own mother was terrified of me." Jeremy buries his face in my hair and sighs heavily. "I'm sorry that happened to you." I squeeze my eyes shut. "And I'm sorry your mother didn't know how to handle it. That had to have been hard for you." Everything about him is exactly what I needed tonight. His voice is calm and caring, and his arms are protective, and his presence is comforting. I don't want him to let go of me. I don't want to think about waking up in Verity's bed. I don't want to think about how much I don't trust my own mind in my sleep, and even when I'm awake. "We can talk more tomorrow," he says, releasing me. "I'll try to come up with a plan to make you feel more comfortable. But for now, just try to get some sleep, okay?" He squeezes my hands reassuringly and then goes to the door. I feel panicked by the thought of him leaving me alone in here. Of going back to sleep. "What do I do about the rest of tonight? Just lock my door?" Jeremy looks at the alarm clock. It's ten minutes to five. He stares at the clock for a moment and then walks back to me. "Lie down," he says, lifting the covers. I crawl into the bed and he scoots in behind me. He wraps his arm around me, tucking my head under his chin. "It's almost five, I won't go back to sleep. But I'll stay until you do." He's not rubbing my back or soothing me in any way. If anything, the arm that's holding me is stiff, like he doesn't want me to misconstrue our position on this bed in any way. But even with how uncomfortable he is right now, I appreciate he's making an effort to make me comfortable. I try to close my eyes and sleep, but all I see is Verity. All I hear is the sound of her bed upstairs, moving. It's after six when he assumes I'm asleep. His arm moves and his fingers end up in my hair for a moment. It's quick, as quick as the kiss he plants on the side of my head, but his actions linger long after he leaves the bedroom and closes the door. I never fell back asleep, which is why I'm pouring my second cup of coffee and it's just after eight in the morning. I stand at the sink, staring out the window. It started raining around five o'clock this morning while I was in my bed with Jeremy, pretending to be asleep. April's car pulls up into the muddy drive as I'm staring out the window. I wonder if Jeremy will tell her what happened. I haven't seen him this morning. I assume he's upstairs, where he usually remains until April arrives. I don't want to be in the kitchen when April walks in, so I turn to head toward my office. I unexpectedly bump into Jeremy, but he cushions the blow by taking a step back and grabbing my shoulders. Thank goodness because it saves my precious coffee from spilling. He looks tired, but I can't judge him for that since it's my fault. "Good morning," he says it like it's anything but. "Morning." I'm whispering. I don't know why. He moves so that he's right next to me, leaning in as if to shield anyone from hearing what he's about to say. "How would you feel if I put a lock on your bedroom door?" His question confuses me. "You already did." "On the outside of the door," he clarifies. Oh. "I can lock it after you go to sleep. Open it before you wake up. If you ever need out, you can text me, call me, and I'll open it in two seconds. But I think you'll sleep better, knowing you can't leave the room." I'm not sure how I feel about that. I don't know why it feels more drastic than a lock on the inside of the door, when they'd both be used for the same purpose: to keep me in my room. Even though the thought of it makes me uncomfortable, I'd be more uncomfortable knowing I could possibly get out of the room again. "I'd like that. Thank you." April enters the house, pausing when she passes the kitchen. Jeremy is still looking at me, ignoring her presence. "I feel like you need to take a break today." I look away from April, back to Jeremy. "I'd rather stay busy." He regards me for a silent moment before nodding in understanding. "Good morning," April says, kicking her muddy shoes off at the door. "Morning, April." Jeremy says it so casually, as if he has nothing to hide. He walks past her, toward the back door. She doesn't move. She stares at me with her glasses at the tip of her nose. "Morning, April." I don't look as innocent as Jeremy. I head back to Verity's office and start my day, despite not being able to get over what happened last night. I spend the morning online, catching up on emails. Corey has forwarded a few interviews, something that's never been requested of me. A lot of the questions are similar, wanting to know why Verity hired me, what I plan to bring to the table, how my past experience has put me in the position to write for her. I copy and paste a lot of the answers. After lunch, I focus on developing an outline for the seventh book. I've given up on finding one, so I work on building the novel from scratch. It's hard because I'm exhausted from last night. I'm unsettled. But I try not to think about last night. It's afternoon when I smell tacos. It makes me smile, knowing he's making them because I requested them. I'm sure he'll save me a plate like he always does. I'm just not in a position where I feel comfortable eating dinner with them when April has Verity at the table. I spend the next several minutes thinking about Verity, wondering why I'm so scared of her. I stare down at the drawer that contains her manuscript. One more chapter and I'll stop. That's it.
It had been six months since they were born, and I still wished they didn't exist. But they did, and Jeremy loved them. So I tried. Sometimes I wondered if it was worth it. Sometimes I wanted to pack my bags and leave and never look back. He was the only thing stopping me from going through with it. I knew a life without Jeremy was not a life I wanted to live. I had two options: Live with him and the two girls he loved more than me. Live without him. They were a package deal at that point. I hate myself for not using birth control. For thinking I could do this and everything would be alright. Everything was not alright. Not with me anyway. It was like my family existed in a snow globe. Inside, everything was cozy and perfect, but I wasn't a part of them; I was just an outsider looking in. It was snowing outside that night, but the apartment was warm. Even still, I woke up with chills. Or tremors, really. I couldn't stop shaking. The nightmare I'd had was so vivid, I felt the effects of it for hours after I woke up. A nightmare hangover. I dreamt of the future, of the girls and Jeremy and me. They were eight or nine years old. I wasn't sure because I didn't know a lot about kids and what they look like at each stage. I just remember waking up and feeling like they were eight or nine. In the dream, I was walking by their bedroom. I peeked inside and couldn't understand what I was seeing. Harper was on top of Chastin, covering her head with a pillow. I rushed over to the bed, terrified that it was too late. I pushed Harper off her sister and pulled the pillow away. I looked down at Chastin and then slapped my hand over my mouth with a gasp. There was nothing there. The front of Chastin's face was smooth, like the back of a bald head. No scar. No eyes, no mouth. Nothing to smother. I glanced at Harper, taking in her sinister expression. "What did you do?" And then I woke up. My reaction wasn't to the dream. It was to how much it felt like a premonition. And how much it gutted me. I hugged my knees, rocking back and forth on the bed, wondering what this feeling was. Pain. It was pain. And... heartache. I had felt heartache in my dream? When I thought Chastin was dead, I wanted to fall to my knees and weep. It's exactly how I felt when I thought of the possibility of Jeremy dying. I would lose all function. I sat there and cried, the feeling was so overwhelming. Had I finally connected to them? To Chastin, at least? Was this what it felt like to be a mother? To love something so much, the thought of it being ripped away from you causes physical pain? It was the most I had ever felt since the girls had been conceived. Even if I only felt it for one of them, it still counted for something. Jeremy rolled over in the bed. He opened his eyes and saw me sitting up, hugging my knees. "You okay?" I didn't want him to ask me that because Jeremy was good at getting my thoughts out. Most of them, anyway. I didn't want him to know this one. How could I admit that I'd finally fallen in love with one of our daughters without also admitting I had never loved either of them to begin with? I had to do something. Preoccupy him so he wouldn't ask too many questions. I knew from experience that Jeremy couldn't get the truth out of me if I had his dick in my mouth. I crawled down him, and by the time I was positioned over him, my mouth ready to work, he was already hard. I took as much of him as I could take. I loved it when he moaned. He was a quiet lover, but sometimes, when I really caught him off guard, he wasn't so quiet. In that moment, he was euphoric. And I wondered, before I came along, how many other women had coaxed noises out of him? How many other pairs of lips had been wrapped around his dick? I let him slide out of my mouth. "How many women have sucked your dick?" He lifted up onto his elbows and looked down at me, perplexed. "Are you serious?" "More like curious." He laughed, dropping his head back to the pillow. "I don't know. I've never counted." "That many?" I teased. I climbed up his body and straddled him. I liked it when he jerked beneath me and gripped my thighs. "If it's not an immediate answer, that means it's more than five." "Definitely more than five," he said. "More than ten?" "Maybe. Possibly. Yes." It's odd how that didn't make me jealous, but two infants could leave me seething. Maybe it was because the girls were currently in his life, but all his past whores were just that... in the past. "More than twenty?" He raised his hands to my breasts and cupped them. Squeezed them. He was getting that look on his face that was my cue I was about to be fucked. Hard. "That's probably a good estimate," he whispered, pulling me to him. He brought his lips close to mine and stuck a hand between us, rubbing me. "How many guys have licked your pussy?" "Two. I'm not a whore like you." He laughed against my lips and then rolled me onto my back. "But you're in love with a whore." "A former whore," I clarified. I had been wrong about the look he had gotten in his eye. He didn't fuck me that night. He made love to me. Kissed every inch of my body. Made me lie still while he teased me and tortured me, when all I wanted to do was suck his dick. Every time I tried to move, to take over, he would stop me. I don't know why I got so much pleasure out of pleasing him, but I liked it more than being pleased. That's probably defined in the love languages or some bullshit. My love language was acts of service. Jeremy's love language was getting his dick sucked. We were a perfect match. He was moments from climax when one of the girls started crying. He groaned, and I rolled my eyes, and we both reached for the monitor. Him to look at them. Me to turn it off. I could feel him growing softer inside me, so I pulled the plug out of the back of the monitor. We could still hear the cries coming from down the hallway, but I was certain I could drown them out if he'd just resume where we left off. "I'll go check," he said, trying to roll off me. I pulled him back to the bed and climbed on top of him. "I'll go when you finish. Let her cry for a few minutes. It's good for them." He didn't seem comfortable with that, but once my mouth was back on his dick, he accepted it. I'd gotten so much better at swallowing compared to the first time I attempted it. I could feel him ready to come, so I pretended I was gagging. I don't know why, but that always set him off, thinking I was choking on his cock. Men. He groaned, and I forced him farther down my throat with another gurgling sound, and then it was over. I swallowed, wiped my mouth, and then stood up. "Go to sleep. I can deal with it." I actually wanted to deal with it this time. It was the first time I'd ever felt anything other than irritation at the thought of having to feed them. But I wanted to feed Chastin. Hold her, cuddle her, love her. I was excited when I approached their bedroom. But that excitement turned to irritation as soon as I saw that it was Harper who was crying. How disappointing. Their cribs were head to head, and I was surprised Chastin was sleeping through Harper's screams. I walked past Harper and looked down at Chastin. It hurt how much I felt for her in that moment. It hurt how much I wanted Harper to shut up. I lifted Chastin out of her crib and carried her to the rocking chair. When I sat down with her, she stirred in my arms. I thought about my dream and how terrified I was to see Harper trying to hurt her. I thought I might cry just from the thought of losing her someday. At the thought of it all one day possibly coming true. Maybe what I felt was mother's intuition. Maybe, deep down, I knew something terrible was going to happen to Chastin, and that's why I had been given that immense and sudden love for her. What if it was the universe's way of telling me to love that baby girl as much and as hard as I possibly could, because I wouldn't have her for as long as I would have Harper? Maybe that was why I felt nothing for Harper yet. Because Chastin was the one whose life was going to be cut short. She would die, and then Harper would be the only one left. I knew, somewhere inside me, I must have been burying the love I had for Harper. Saving it for after my time with Chastin. I squeezed my eyes shut, getting a headache from Harper's screaming. Shut the fuck up! Crying, crying, crying! I'm trying to bond with my baby! I tried to ignore it for a few more minutes, but I was afraid it would concern Jeremy. I eventually put Chastin back in her bed, surprised she was still asleep. She really is a good baby. I moved to Harper's crib and looked down at her, filling with anger. It somehow felt like her fault that I'd had the dream. Maybe I was misinterpreting my dream. Maybe it wasn't a premonition. Maybe it was a warning. If I didn't do something about Harper before it was too late, Chastin would die. I suddenly had this overwhelming urge to rectify what I knew was going to happen. Never in all my life had a dream been that vivid to me. I felt if I didn't do something about it in that moment, it would come true any day. For the first time, I couldn't bear the thought of losing Chastin. It hurt almost as much as the thought of losing Jeremy. I didn't know anything about ending a life, much less the life of an infant. The one time I'd tried, it resulted in nothing more than a scratch. But I'd heard of SIDS. Jeremy had made me read about it. It's not uncommon, but I didn't know enough about it to know if they would be able to tell a difference between suffocation and SIDS. I'd heard of people choking in their sleep on their own vomit, though. That would probably be harder to declare an intentional act. I touched my finger to Harper's lips. Her head moved back and forth quickly, thinking it was a bottle. She latched on and began sucking the tip of my finger, but she wasn't satisfied. She released my finger and started screaming again. Kicking. I shoved my finger farther into her mouth. She was still crying, so I continued to shove. She made a gasping sound, but was somehow still crying. Maybe one finger wasn't enough. I pushed two fingers into her mouth and throat, until my knuckles were pressed against her gums and she was no longer crying. I watched her for a moment, and soon, her arms began to stiffen between each violent jerk of her little body. Her legs locked up. This is what she would have done to her sister if I hadn't done it to her first. I'm saving Chastin's life. "She okay?" Jeremy asked. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I pulled my fingers out of Harper's mouth and picked her up, pressing her face into my chest so Jeremy couldn't hear her gasping for air. "I don't know," I said, turning to him. He was making his way across the room. My voice was frantic. "I can't make her happy. I've tried everything." I was petting the back of her head, attempting to show him how concerned I was. That's when she puked on me. As soon as she puked, she screamed. Wailed. Her voice sounded hoarse, and she was gasping between screams. It was a cry like neither of us had ever heard before. Jeremy quickly grabbed her, pulling her from me so he could try to soothe her. He didn't even care that she had puked on me. He didn't even look up at me. He was full of concern, his eyebrows drawn together, his forehead wrinkled as he inspected her. But out of all that concern he held, none of it was for me. It was only pointed in Harper's direction. I held my breath and walked straight to the bathroom, afraid to breathe in the smell. It was the one thing I hated most about being a mother. All the fucking vomit. While I was in the bathroom, Jeremy made Harper a bottle. By the time I got out of the shower, she'd already fallen back to sleep. He was in our bed, plugging the video monitor back in. I froze as I was climbing into bed. I stared at the video monitor, at the perfect view right into Harper and Chastin's cribs. How did I forget the fucking monitor? If he had seen what I was doing to Harper, he would have ended it with me. How could I have been so careless? I slept very little that night, wondering what Jeremy would have done to me had he caught me trying to save Chastin from her sister. Oh, my God. I double over in my chair, clutching my stomach. "Please... please... " I say out loud. Though I don't know why or to whom I'm saying it. I need to get out of this house. I feel like I can't breathe. I should go sit outside and attempt to clear my head of everything I just read. Every time I'm reading her manuscript, my stomach cramps from all the time I spend clenching it. I skimmed several more chapters beyond chapter five, but none were as horrifying as the chapter that detailed how she tried to choke her infant daughter. In the subsequent chapters, Verity focused mainly on Jeremy and Chastin, rarely mentioning Harper at all, which grew more disturbing with each paragraph. She talked about the day Chastin turned one, and she talked about when Chastin spent the night at Jeremy's mother's house for the first time at the age of two. Everything that had initially been "the twins" in her manuscript eventually dwindled down to just "Chastin." If I didn't know any better, I would think something had happened to Harper long before it did. It wasn't until the girls were three that she wrote about both of them again. But as soon as I start the chapter, there's a sharp rapping on the office door. I open the desk drawer and quickly shove the manuscript inside it. "Come in." When he opens the door, I have one hand on the mouse and the other resting casually in my lap. "I made tacos." I smile at him. "Is it time to eat already?" He laughs. "It's after ten. It was time to eat three hours ago." I look at the clock on the computer. How did I lose track of time? I guess that happens when you're reading about a psychotic woman abusing her children. "I thought it was eight." "You've been in here for twelve hours," he says. "Take a break. There's a meteor shower tonight, you need to eat, and I made you a margarita." Margaritas and tacos. Doesn't take much.
I ate on the back porch while we sat in rocking chairs and watched the meteor shower. There weren't very many at first, but now we're seeing one every minute, at least. At one point, I moved from the porch to the yard. I'm on my back in the grass, staring up at the sky. Jeremy finally gives in and positions himself next to me. "I forgot what the sky looked like," I say quietly. "I've been in Manhattan for so long now." "That's why I left New York," Jeremy says. He points to the left, at the tail end of a meteor. We watch it until it disappears. "When did you and Verity buy this house?" "When the girls were three. Verity's first two books had released by then and were doing really well, so we took the plunge." "Why Vermont? Do either of you have family here?" "No. My father died when I was in my teens. My mother died three years ago. But I grew up in New York State, on an alpaca farm, if you can believe that." I laugh, turning to look at him. "Seriously? Alpacas?" He nods. "How, exactly, does one make money raising alpacas?" Jeremy laughs at this question. "They don't, really. Which is why I got a degree in business and went into real estate. I didn't have any interest in taking over a debt-ridden farm." "Do you think you'll go back to work soon?" My question gives Jeremy pause. "I'd like to. I've been waiting on the right time so it won't be a huge adjustment to Crew, but it never feels like the right time." If we were friends, I would do something to comfort him. Maybe grab his hand and hold it. But there's too much inside me that wants to be more than his friend, which means we can't be friends at all. If an attraction is present between two people, those two people can only be one of two things. Involved or not involved. There is no in-between. And since he's married... I keep my hand on my chest and I don't touch him at all. "What about Verity's parents?" I ask, needing the conversation to keep flowing so that he doesn't hear how exaggerated he makes my every breath. He lifts his hands from his chest in an I-don't-know gesture. "I barely know them. They weren't around much before they cut Verity out of their lives." "They cut her out? Why?" "It's hard to explain them," he says. "They're strange. Victor and Marjorie, insanely religious to their core. When they found out Verity was writing thriller and suspense novels, they acted like she was suddenly denouncing her religion to join a satanic cult. They told her if she didn't stop, they would never speak to her again." That's unbelievable. So... cold. For a second, I empathize with Verity, wondering if her lack of maternal instinct was inherited. But my empathy evaporates when I remember what she did to Harper in her crib. "How long did their estrangement last?" "Let's see," Jeremy says. "She wrote her first book thirteen years ago. So... thirteen years." "They still haven't spoken to her? Do they even know about what's happened?" Jeremy nods. "I called them after Chastin passed. Left them a voicemail. They never called back. Then, when Verity had her wreck, her father actually answered the phone. When I told him what had happened, to the girls and to Verity, he grew quiet. Then said, 'God punishes the wicked, Jeremy.' I hung up on him. Haven't heard from them since." I pull a hand to my heart and stare up at the sky in disbelief. "Wow." "Yeah," he whispers. We're quiet for a stretch. We see two meteors, one to the south and one to the east. Jeremy points at them both times, but says nothing. When there's a lull in both the conversation and the meteors, Jeremy lifts up beside me, onto his elbow, and looks down at me. "Do you think I should put Crew back into therapy?" I tilt my head so that I'm staring at him. We're only a foot apart with him positioned like this. Maybe a foot and a half. It's so close, I can feel the heat coming from him. "Yes." He seems to appreciate my honesty. "Alright," he says, but he doesn't lower himself back to the grass. He continues to stare at me, as if he wants to ask me something else. "Did you go to therapy?" "Yes. It was the best thing that ever happened to me." I look back up at the sky, not wanting to see the expression on his face after my next sentence. "After watching the footage of myself on that railing, I was worried that deep down, it meant I wanted to die. For weeks I tried to fight my sleep. I was afraid I'd hurt myself intentionally. But my therapist helped me realize that sleepwalking is unrelated to intention. And after several years of being told that, I finally believed it." "Did your mother go to therapy with you?" I laugh. "No. She didn't even want to talk to me about my own therapy. Something happened that night, when I broke my wrist, and it changed her. Our relationship, anyway. We always felt disconnected after that. My mother actually reminds me a lot of—" I stop speaking because I realize I was about to say Verity. "Reminds you of who?" "The main character in Verity's series." "Is that bad?" he asks. I laugh. "You really haven't read any of them?" He lies back down on the grass, breaking eye contact with me. "Just the first one." "Why'd you stop?" "Because... it was hard for me to fathom that it all came from her imagination." I want to tell him he's right to be concerned, because his wife's thoughts are eerily similar to her character's thoughts. But I don't want him to have that impression of her at this point. After all he's been through, he deserves to at least be able to preserve a positive memory of his marriage. "She used to get so angry with me because I didn't read her manuscripts. She needed that validation from me, even though she got it from everywhere else. Her readers, her editor, her critics. For some reason, my validation seemed to be the only validation she wanted." Because she was obsessed with you. "Where do you get your validation?" he asks. I turn my head toward him again. "I don't, really. My books aren't popular. When I do receive a positive review or get an email from a fan, I never feel like they're talking to me. Probably because I'm such a recluse and never do signings. I don't put my image out there, so even though there are readers who love what I do, I still haven't had the experience of being told to my face that what I do matters to someone." I sigh. "That would feel good, I imagine. For someone to look me in the eye and say, 'Your writing matters to me, Lowen.'" As soon as I finish that sentence, a meteor shoots across the sky. We both follow it and watch as it streaks across the water, reflecting in the lake. I stare at the lake, framing Jeremy's head. "When are you going to start on the new dock?" I ask him. He finally finished tearing the old one down completely today. "I'm not building a new dock," he says, matter-of-fact. "I just got sick of looking at that one." I would make him expand more on that, but he doesn't seem to want to. He's watching me. Even though Jeremy and I have been making eye contact a lot tonight, it feels different in this moment. Heavier. I notice his eyes flicker toward my lips. I want him to kiss me. If he tried, I wouldn't stop him. I'm not even sure I would feel guilty. He sighs heavily and lets his head roll back in the grass until he's looking at the stars again. "What are you thinking?" I whisper. "I'm thinking it's late. And I should probably lock you in your room now." I laugh at his choice of words. Or maybe I laugh because I've had two margaritas. Whatever the reason, my laugh makes him laugh. And what almost became a moment he'd probably end up regretting turns into a moment full of relief. I go to the office to grab the laptop so I can work in the bedroom after he goes to sleep. When he's turning out the lights in the kitchen, I open the desk drawer and grab a small handful of the manuscript to take to my room with me. I tuck the pages between the laptop and my chest. There's a new lock on the outside of the bedroom door that I haven't seen. I don't want to examine it or figure out if it could somehow be unlocked from the inside, because I'm sure my subconscious would remember that, and I would somehow get past it. Jeremy is behind me as I walk into the room and set my things on the bed. "You have everything you need?" he asks from the doorway. "Yep." I walk back to the door so I can lock it from the inside after I shut it. "Alright, then. Goodnight." "Alright," I repeat with a smile. "Goodnight." I go to shut the door, but he puts his hand up, stopping me from closing it all the way. I pull it open again, and in the split second since I almost closed it, his expression has changed. "Low," he says, his voice quiet. He leans his head against the doorframe and looks down at me. "I lied to you." I try not to look too concerned, but I am. His words rush through me, and I think back to our conversation tonight, the conversations that came before it. "You lied about what?" "Verity never read your book." I want to take a step back, to mask my disappointment in the darkness. But I stay put, squeezing the doorknob with my left hand. "Why would you say that if it wasn't true?" He closes his eyes for a brief moment while inhaling. When he opens them, he stands up straight through his exhale. He raises his arms and grips the top of the doorframe. "I'm the one who read your book. And it was good. Phenomenal. Which is why I suggested your name to her editor." He lowers his head a little, looking me firmly in the eye. "Your writing matters to me, Lowen." He lowers his arms, grips the doorknob, and closes the door. I hear him latch the lock before his footsteps disappear upstairs. I fall against the door, pressing my forehead against the wood. And I smile, because for the first time in my career, someone outside of my agent has given me validation. I cozy up in the bed with the chapter I brought with me. Jeremy made me feel so good just now, I don't even mind being a little disturbed by his wife before I fall asleep.
It was the fifth meal I cooked after living in our new house for two weeks. It's the only meal Jeremy ever threw against the dining room wall. I'd known for several days that he was upset with me. I just didn't know why. We were still having sex almost every day, but even the sex felt different. Like he was disconnected. Fucking me because it was our routine and not because he craved me. That's the reason I decided to cook the goddamn dumplings in the first place. I was trying to be nice by making one of his favorite meals. He was having a hard time adjusting to his new job. To make matters worse, he was upset with me for putting the girls in daycare without consulting him first. Back in New York, we hired a nanny as soon as my books started selling. She would show up every morning when Jeremy left for work so that I could retreat to my office and write every day. Then she'd leave when Jeremy came home, and I'd come out of my office and we'd cook dinner together. It was a great setup, I'll admit. I never had to care for them when Jeremy wasn't around because we had the nanny. But out here, in the middle of nowhere, nannies are hard to come by. I tried watching them myself the first two days, but that was beyond exhausting, and I wasn't getting any writing done. So, one morning last week, I was so fed up, I drove them into town and enrolled them into the first daycare I came across. I knew Jeremy didn't like it, but he realized we had to do something if we both wanted to continue to work. I was more successful than he was, so if anyone was going to stay home and care for them during the day, it certainly wasn't going to be me. But the girls being in daycare wasn't what was bothering him. He seemed to like the interaction they were getting with other children, because he couldn't shut up about it. But we had discovered a few months earlier that Chastin had a severe allergy to peanuts, so Jeremy was cautious. He didn't want anyone caring for her but us. He was afraid the daycare would be careless, even though Chastin was the kid I actually liked. I wasn't stupid. I made sure they knew all about her allergy. Whatever it was that had him irritated with me, I was positive it was something a bowl of dumplings and a good fuck would help him forget. I intentionally started dinner late that night so the girls would be in bed when we ate. They were only three, so luckily, they were tucked in by seven. It was almost eight when I set the table and called Jeremy to come and eat. I tried to make it as romantic as possible, but it's hard to make chicken and dumplings sexy. I lit candles on the table and set up my playlist through the wireless speakers. I had on clothes, but underneath them, I was wearing lingerie. Something I didn't do often. I tried to make small talk with him as we ate. "I think Chastin is fully potty trained now," I said to him. "They've been working with her at daycare." "That's good," Jeremy said, scrolling through his phone with one hand and eating with the other. I waited a moment, hoping whatever it was on his phone would take a back seat to us. When it didn't, I adjusted myself in my seat and attempted to grab his attention again. I knew conversation about the girls was his favorite subject. "When I picked them up today, the teacher said she's learned seven colors this week." "Who?" he said, finally making eye contact with me. "Chastin." He stared at me, dropped his phone flat on the table, and took another bite. What the fuck is his problem? I could see the anger he was trying to stifle, and it made me nervous. Jeremy never got upset, and when he did, I almost always knew why he was. But this was different. It was coming out of left field. I couldn't take it anymore. I sat back in my chair and dropped my napkin on the table. "Why are you mad at me?" "I'm not mad." He said it too fast. I laughed. "You're pathetic." He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. "Excuse me?" I leaned forward. "Just tell me, Jeremy. Enough of this bullshit silent treatment. Be a man and tell me what your problem is." His fists clenched and then unclenched. Then he stood up and slapped his bowl, sending it across the table and all over the dining room wall. I had never seen him lose his temper. I stiffened, wide-eyed, as he stomped out of the kitchen. I heard him slam our bedroom door. I looked at the mess and knew I'd have to clean it up after we made up so he'd know how much I appreciated him. Even if he was being a major fucking douche. I shoved my chair under the table and walked to the bedroom. He was pacing back and forth. When I closed the door behind me, he looked up and paused. He was trying so hard in that moment to put his words in order—everything he needed to say to me. As angry as I was at him for throwing the meal I had worked so hard making for him, I felt bad that he was upset. "It's constant, Verity," he said. "You talk about her constantly. You never talk about Harper. You never tell me what Harper learned in school or how Harper's doing with potty training or all the cute things Harper said. It's Chastin, all the time, every day." Shit. Even with how much I try to hide it, he still sees it. "That's not true," I said. "It is true. And I've tried to keep my mouth shut, but they're getting older. Harper's going to notice that you treat them differently. It isn't fair to her." I wasn't sure how to get out of that predicament. I could have gotten defensive, accused him of something I didn't like. But I knew he was right, so I needed to find a way to make him think he was wrong. Luckily, he turned away from me, so it gave me a moment to think. I looked up, like I was turning to God for advice. Stupid, girl. God won't help you out of this one. I stepped forward, cautiously. "Baby. It's not that I like Chastin more. She's just... smarter than Harper. So she accomplishes things first." He spins around, angrier than before I even opened my mouth. "Chastin isn't smarter than Harper. They're different. But Harper is very intelligent." "I know that," I said, taking another step toward him. I kept my voice low. Sweet. Unoffended. "That's not what I meant. I meant... it's easier for me to have a reaction to what Chastin does because Chastin likes that. She's animated, like me. Harper isn't. I give her silent affirmation. I don't make a show of it. She's like you in that way." His stare was unwavering, but I was almost certain he was buying it, so I continued. "I don't push Harper when she's in those moods, so yes, I do talk about Chastin more. Sometimes I focus on her more. But only because I realize they're two different children with two different sets of needs. I have to be two different mothers to each of them." I was good at spewing bullshit. It's why I became a writer. Jeremy's anger was slowly melting away. His jaw wasn't as tense as he ran a hand through his hair, taking in what I had just said. "I worry about Harper," he said. "More than I should, I'm sure. I don't think treating them differently is the right thing to do going forward. Harper might notice the difference." A month earlier, one of the daycare workers had expressed concern to me about Harper. It wasn't until that moment—when Jeremy was expressing his concern for her—that I remembered her mentioning it to me. She said she thinks we should have her tested for Asperger's. I had forgotten all about it until that moment during my fight with Jeremy. And thank God I remembered because it was the perfect way to back up my defense. "I wasn't going to mention this because I didn't want you to worry," I said to him. "But one of their daycare teachers told me she thinks we should have Harper tested for Asperger's." Jeremy's concern grew tenfold in that moment. I tried to subdue that concern as quickly as possible. "I've called a specialist already." At least I will put a call in tomorrow. "They're going to call back when they have an opening." Jeremy pulled out his phone, becoming sidetracked by the potential diagnosis. "They think Harper is on the autism spectrum?" I took his phone from his hands. "Don't. You'll worry yourself sick until the appointment. Let's speak to the specialist first because the internet isn't the place we need to seek out answers for our daughter." He nodded and then pulled me in for a hug. "I'm sorry," he whispered against the side of my head. "It's been a shitty week. I lost a big client at work today." "You don't have to work, Jeremy. I make enough money for you to spend more time at home with the girls if that would make it easier." "I would go insane if I didn't work." "Maybe so, but it's going to be really expensive putting three kids through daycare." "We can afford... " He paused, pulling back. "Did you say... three?" I nodded. I was lying, of course, but I wanted the mood of the night to disappear. I wanted him to be happy. And he was so happy after I told him I was pregnant again. "Are you sure? I thought you didn't want more." "I was sloppy with the pill a couple of weeks ago. It's still early. Really early. I found out this morning." I smiled. Then I smiled even bigger. "You're happy about it?" "Of course I am. Are you?" He laughed a little, then he kissed me, and all was back to normal. Thank God. I gripped his shirt in my fist and kissed him back with everything in me, wanting him to forget all about the fight we were having. He could tell by my kiss that I wanted more than just a kiss. He took off my shirt, then took off his own. He kissed me as he backed up to the bed. When he removed my pants, he saw the bra and panties I had put on for him. "You're wearing lingerie?" he asked. He dropped his head into my neck. "And you made my favorite meal," he said, disappointed. I wasn't sure why he sounded disappointed until he pulled back, brushed hair from my face, and said, "I am so sorry, Verity. You were trying to make tonight special and I ruined it for you." What he doesn't understand is that he could never ruin a night for me when it ends with him loving me. Focusing on me. I shook my head. "You didn't ruin it." "I did. I threw my food, I yelled at you." He brought his mouth to mine. "I'll make it up to you." And he did. He fucked me slowly, kissing me the whole time, taking turns with each nipple as he sucked them. Had I breastfed, would he be enjoying my breasts as much? I doubted it. Even after twins, my body was nearly perfect. Aside from the scar on my abdomen, the most important parts of me were still in tact. Still fairly firm. And Jeremy's temple between my legs was still nice and tight. When he had me close to the edge, he pulled out of me. "I want to taste you," he said, moving down my body until his tongue was spreading me apart. Of course you want to taste me, I thought. I kept things in tact for you down there. You're welcome. He stayed between my legs until I came for him. Twice. When he began to crawl back up my body, he paused at my stomach and kissed me there. Then he was inside of me again, his mouth on mine. "I love you," he whispered between kisses. "Thank you." He was thanking me for being pregnant. He made love to me with so much care, with so much compassion. It was almost worth faking the pregnancy just to have him love me like that again. To get our connection back. If there was one good thing the girls brought to our life, it was that Jeremy seemed to love me the most when I was pregnant. Now that he thought I was about to give him a third child, I could already feel his love multiplying again. There was a small part of me that was concerned about faking the pregnancy, but I knew I had options if I didn't get pregnant that week. Miscarriages were just as easy to fake as pregnancies. It's been another week of reading Verity's manuscript, and I'm bored. I'm finding it repetitive. Chapter after chapter of detailed sex with Jeremy. Very little to do with her children. She wrote two paragraphs about Crew's birth, but then went on to talk about the first time they were able to fuck after Crew was born. It got to a point where I started feeling jealous. I don't like reading about Jeremy's sex life. I skimmed a chapter this morning, but finally tossed it aside to get back to work. I finished the outline for the first book today and submitted it to Corey for feedback. He said he'd forward it to the editor at Pantem, because he still hasn't read any of Verity's books and wouldn't know if the outline is sufficient. Until I hear back from them, I don't really want to start on the second outline. If they come back wanting changes, it will have been work wasted. I've been here almost two weeks now. Corey says they processed my advance and it should hit my account any day now. Once I get the feedback from Pantem, it'll likely be time for me to move on. I've done all I can do in Verity's office. If it weren't for not having anywhere to go until that money hits my account, I'd have already left. I hit a wall today. I'm burnt out from working so much these past two weeks. And I could read more of Verity's autobiography, but I'm really not in the mood to read about all the ways Verity can suck her husband's dick. I miss television. I haven't stepped foot in their living room since I arrived here almost two weeks ago. I leave the confines of Verity's office and make myself a bag of popcorn, then sit on the living room sofa and turn on the television. I deserve to be a little lazy because tomorrow is my birthday, but I'm not planning on telling Jeremy that. I keep glancing at the top of the stairs because I have the perfect view of it from the couch, but Jeremy is nowhere. I haven't seen much of him over the last couple of days. I think we both know how close we came to kissing the other night, and how inappropriate that would have been, so we've been avoiding each other. I turn the channel to HGTV and settle into the couch. I've watched about fifteen minutes of a house remodel when I finally hear Jeremy coming down the stairs. He pauses mid-step when he sees me in the living room. Then he descends the rest of the stairs and makes his way over, joining me on the couch. He sits in the middle, close enough to reach over and grab a few pieces of my popcorn, but far enough away that we aren't in danger of touching. "Research?" he says, propping his feet up on the coffee table in front of him. I laugh. "Of course. Always working." He grabs more popcorn this time, cupping some in his hand. "Verity would binge-watch TV when she had writer's block. She said it sometimes sparked new ideas." I don't want to talk about Verity, so I change the subject. "I finished an outline today. If it gets approved tomorrow, I'll probably leave in a couple of days." Jeremy stops chewing and looks at me. "Yeah?" I like that he doesn't seem happy about the thought of me leaving. "Yes. And thanks for letting me stay longer than I should have." He holds my stare. "Longer than you should have?" He starts chewing again and faces the television. "I don't think it's been long enough." I don't know what he means by that. If he thinks I didn't do enough work while I was here, or if he's saying it selfishly, like he didn't get to spend enough time with me. Sometimes, especially right now, I feel how much he's drawn to me, but then other times it seems like he works so hard to deny whatever attraction there might be between us. And I get that. I do. But is this how he's going to spend the rest of his life? Giving up huge parts of himself to care for a woman who is just a shell of the person he married? I understand he made vows, but at what cost? His entire life? People get married assuming they'll live long, happy lives together. What happens when one of those is cut short, but the other is expected to live out those vows for the rest of their life? It doesn't seem fair. I know if I were married and my husband were in Jeremy's predicament, I wouldn't want my husband to feel like he could never move on. But I'm not sure I'll ever be as obsessed with a man as Verity was with Jeremy. The show ends and another one begins. Neither of us speaks for several minutes. It's not that I have nothing to say—I have a lot to say. I just don't know that it's my place. "I don't know very much about you," Jeremy says. His head is against the back of the couch and he's looking at me, casually. "Have you ever been married?" "Nope," I say. "Came close a couple of times, but it never worked out." "How old are you?" Of course, he would ask me that when my age will expire in just over an hour. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." Jeremy laughs. "Why wouldn't I?" "Because I'll be thirty-two. Tomorrow." "Liar." "I'm not lying. I'll show you my driver's license." "Good, because I don't believe you." I roll my eyes and then go to the master bedroom to grab my purse. I bring back my driver's license and hand it to him. He stares at it, shaking his head. "What a shitty birthday," he says. "Hanging out with people you barely know. Working all day." I shrug. "If I wasn't here, I'd just be alone in my apartment." He stares at my driver's license a moment longer. When he runs his thumb over my picture, I get actual chills. He didn't even touch me—he touched my fucking driver's license—and it turned me on. I am pathetic. He hands it back to me and stands up. "Where are you going?" "To make you a cake," he says, walking out of the living room. I smile and then follow him to the kitchen. Jeremy Crawford baking a cake is something I don't want to miss.
I'm sitting on the island in the middle of the kitchen, watching him put icing on the cake. In all the days I've been here, this is only the second time I've actually had fun. We haven't talked about Verity or our tragedies or the contract for the past hour. While the cake was baking, I sat on the bar, my legs dangling off the edge of it. Jeremy leaned against the counter in front of me and we talked about movies, music, our likes and dislikes. We've actually started getting to know each other outside of everything that ties us together. He was relaxed the night we went out to dinner with Crew, but I haven't seen him this at ease inside these walls since I arrived. I can almost—almost—understand Verity's addiction to him. "Go back to the living room," he says as he pulls the candles from a drawer. "Why?" "Because. I have to walk in with your cake and sing you 'Happy Birthday.' Give you the full effect." I roll my head and jump off the bar, then go back to the couch. I mute the television because I want to hear him singing me happy birthday without interruptions. I keep hitting the information button on the remote, checking the time. He's waiting for it to turn midnight to make it official. Right when it hits midnight, I can see the flicker of candles as he makes his way around the corner. I laugh when he starts to sing quietly so he doesn't wake up Crew. "Happy birthday to you," he whispers. He's cut a single slice of cake and stuck a candle in the top of it. "Happy birthday to you." I'm still laughing when he reaches the couch, slowly kneeling down on it so he doesn't spill the cake or risk the candle being blown out when he sits next to me. "Happy birthday, dear Lowen. Happy birthday to you." We're facing each other on the couch so I can make a wish and blow out the candle, but I'm not sure what to wish for. I've been lucky enough to land a really great job. I'm about to get more money than I've ever had in my bank account at one time. The only thing in my life that I feel like I want right now that I don't have is him. I look him in the eye, then blow out the candle. "What'd you wish for?" "If I tell you, it won't come true." The way he smiles at me seems heavily flirtatious. "Maybe you can tell me after it comes true." He doesn't hand me the cake. He makes a show of it, slicing into it with a fork. "Do you know what the secret ingredient is to making such a moist cake?" He ho lds out the fork and I take it from him. "What is it?" "Pudding." I take a bite of the cake and smile. "It's really good," I say with a mouthful. "Pudding," he says again. I laugh. He holds the plate, and I take another bite, then offer him the fork. He shakes his head. "I had a bite in the kitchen." I don't know why, but I wish I had seen that. I also wish I knew if he tasted like chocolate. Jeremy lifts a hand. "You have icing on your... " He points at my mouth. I brush at it, but he shakes his head. "Right here." He slides his thumb across my bottom lip. I swallow the bite of cake. His thumb doesn't leave my lip. It lingers there. Fuck. I can't breathe. I'm aching everywhere because he's so close, but I don't know what I'm allowed to do about it. I want to drop my fork, I want him to drop the plate of cake, I want him to kiss me. But I'm not the married one here. I don't want to make the first move and he shouldn't make the first move, but I'm desperate for him. He doesn't drop the cake. Instead, he leans across me and places it on the end table. In the same fluid movement, he brings his hand to my head and presses his lips to mine. Even after all the anticipation I've held for this moment, it still feels completely unexpected. I close my eyes and drop the fork on the floor, leaning back into the arm of the couch. He follows me, crawling on top of me, our lips never disconnecting. I part my lips, and he sweeps his tongue inside my mouth. The slowness of the kiss doesn't last long. As soon as we get our first tastes of each other, the kiss becomes manic. It's everything I imagined kissing him would feel like. Radiation, explosives, dynamite. Anything and everything dangerous. We taste like chocolate as we trade kisses, back and forth, push and pull. His hand is tangled in my hair, and with every second this kiss continues, we become infused with the couch beneath us, him relaxing into me as I melt into the cushions. His mouth leaves mine in search of other parts of me he seems eager to taste. My jaw, my neck, the tops of my breasts. It's as if he's been starving himself of me. He's kissing me and touching me with the hunger of a man who's been fasting his whole life. His hand is sliding up my shirt and his fingers are warm, trickling over my skin like drops of hot water. He's back at my mouth, but only momentarily. Long enough to find my tongue before he pulls back and takes off his shirt. My hands go to his chest like they belong there, pressed against the curves of his abdomen. I want to tell him this is what I wished for when I blew out my candle, but I'm afraid any conversation will lead him to think about what we're doing and how we shouldn't be doing it, so I remain quiet. I lean my head back against the arm of the couch, wanting him to explore even more of me. He does. He pulls off my shirt and sees that I'm not wearing a bra beneath my pajamas. He groans, and it's beautiful, and then he takes my nipple into his mouth, forcing a whimper to escape my lips. I lift my head to watch him, but my blood runs cold when my eyes are pulled to the figure standing at the top of the stairs. She's just standing there, watching her husband as his mouth roams over my breast. My entire body stiffens beneath Jeremy. Verity's fists clench at her sides before she rushes back in the direction of her room. I gasp, shoving him, pushing him. "Verity," I say, breathless. He stops kissing me and then lifts his head, but he doesn't move. "Verity," I say again, wanting him to understand that he needs to get the fuck off me. He lifts up onto his arms, confused. "Verity!" I say again, but with more urgency. It's all I can say. My fear has taken hold of me and I struggle to inhale, to exhale. What the fuck? Jeremy is on his knees now, gripping the back of the couch as he moves away. "I'm sorry." I pull my knees up and scoot to the far end of the couch, away from him. I cover my mouth. "Oh, God." The words crash against my trembling fingers. He tries to touch my arm reassuringly, but I flinch. "I'm sorry," he says again. "I shouldn't have kissed you." I'm shaking my head because he doesn't understand. He thinks I'm upset and feel guilty that he's married, but I saw her. Standing. She was standing. I point to the top of the stairs. "I saw her." I whisper it, quietly, because I'm terrified to say it louder. "She was standing at the top of the stairs." I can see the confusion cross his face as he turns to look at the stairs. He looks back at me. "She can't walk, Lowen." I'm not crazy. I stand up and back away from the couch, covering my bare chest with my arm. I point at the stairs again, finding my voice this time. "Your fucking wife was standing at the top of the fucking stairs, Jeremy! I know what I saw!" He sees in my eyes that I'm telling the truth. Two seconds pass before he's off the couch and running up the stairs, toward her bedroom. He's not leaving me down here alone. I grab my shirt, pull it on over my head, and then run after him. I refuse to be alone in this house for another second. When I reach the top of the stairs, he's standing in her doorway, staring into her room. He hears me approaching. And then he just... leaves. He brushes past me without making eye contact and stomps down the stairs. I take several steps until I'm close enough to peek into her room. I only glance in there for one second. It's all the time I need to see that she's in bed. Under the covers. Asleep. I shake my head, feeling my knees wanting to buckle. This can't be happening. I somehow make it to the stairs, but I only make it halfway down them before I have to sit. I can't move. I can barely draw a breath. My heart has never beat this fast. Jeremy is at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at me. He probably doesn't know what to think about what just happened. I don't know what to think. He walks back and forth in front of the stairs, looking at me every now and then, I'm sure because he's waiting for me to start laughing at my tasteless joke. It wasn't a joke. "I saw her," I whisper. He hears me. He looks at me, not with anger, but with apology. He walks up the stairs and helps me up, then keeps his arm around me as he leads me back down. He takes me to the bedroom and closes the door, then wraps himself around me. I bury my face in his neck, wanting the image of her out of my head. "I'm sorry," I tell him. "I just... Maybe I haven't been getting enough sleep... Maybe I... " "It's my fault," Jeremy says, interrupting me. "You've been working for two weeks without a break. You're exhausted. And then I—we—it's paranoia. Guilt. I don't know." He pulls back, holding my face with both hands. "I think we both need about twelve hours of solid sleep." I'm convinced by what I saw. We can blame it on exhaustion or guilt, but I saw her. I saw everything. Her fists clenched at her sides. The anger in her expression before she rushed away. "Do you want some water?" I shake my head. I don't want him to leave. I don't want to be alone. "Please don't leave me alone tonight," I beg. His expression doesn't reveal what he's thinking at all. He nods, just a little, then says, "I won't. But I need to turn off the TV and lock the doors. Put the cake in the fridge." He heads for the door. "I'll be back in a few minutes." I go to the bathroom and wash my face, hoping the cold water will help calm me. It doesn't. When I return to the bedroom, Jeremy is sliding the lock across the top of the door. "I can't stay all night," he says. "I don't want Crew to get scared if he wakes up and can't find me." I climb into the bed and face the window. Jeremy climbs in behind me, then wraps himself around me. I can feel his heartbeat, and it's almost as fast as mine. He shares the pillow with me, finds my hand, and slides his fingers through mine. I try to mimic his pattern of breathing so that mine will slow down. I'm breathing through my nose because my jaw is clamped too tight to take in normal breaths. Jeremy presses a kiss to the side of my head. "Relax," he whispers. "You're okay." I try to relax. And maybe I do, but it's only because we both lie here for so long, it's hard for muscles to retain that much tension after a while. "Jeremy?" I whisper. He runs a thumb across my hand to let me know he hears me. "Is there a chance... Could she be faking her injuries?" He doesn't answer right away. Almost as if he has to give the question some thought. "No," he finally says. "I saw the scans." "But people get better. Injuries heal." "I know," he says. "But Verity wouldn't fake something like this. No one would. It would be impossible." I close my eyes, because he's trying to reassure me that he knows her well enough to know that she wouldn't do something like that. But if there's one thing I know that Jeremy doesn't... it's that he doesn't know Verity at all. I went to bed convinced I had seen Verity at the top of the stairs last night. I woke up full of doubt. I've spent most of my life not trusting myself in my sleep. Now I'm starting to not trust myself when I'm awake. Did I see her? Was it a hallucination because of stress? Did I feel guilty for being with her husband? I lay in bed for a while this morning, not wanting to leave the room. Jeremy left my bed sometime around four this morning. I heard him lock the door, then he texted me a minute later and told me to text if I needed him again. Sometime after lunch today, Jeremy knocked on the door to the office. When he came inside, he looked like he hadn't slept. He hasn't slept much this week at all because of me. From his point of view, I'm a hysterical mess of a woman who wakes up in his wife's bed in the middle of the night and then claims I see his wife standing at the top of the stairs after he finally kisses me. I thought he had come to the office to ask me to leave, and honestly, I'm more than ready to go, but the money still hasn't hit my account. I'm kind of stuck here until it does. He had come to my office to let me know he got another lock. For Verity's door this time. "I thought it might help you sleep. Knowing there's no way she could leave the room if that were even possible." If that were even possible. "I'll only lock it at night, when we're asleep," he continues. "I told April her door comes open at night because of drafts in the house. I don't want her to think it's there for any other reason." I thanked him, but after he'd gone, I didn't feel reassured at all. Because part of me worried that he'd put the lock there because he was worried. Of course I wanted him to believe me, but if he believed me, that meant it might be true. In this case, I would rather be wrong than right. I'm struggling with what to do with Verity's manuscript now. I want Jeremy to understand his wife in the way that I now understand her. I feel like he deserves to know what she did to his girls, especially since Crew spends so much time up there with her. And I'm still full of suspicion since he spoke of Verity talking to him. I know he's only five, so there's a chance he was confused, but if there's even a remote possibility that Verity could be faking it, Jeremy deserves to know. But I haven't worked up the courage to give the manuscript to him yet because it is just a remote possibility that she's faking it. It would be more plausible to believe I was seeing things due to exhaustion and sleep deprivation than it would be to think a woman could fake a disability of that extent for months on end. Without any apparent reason. There's also the fact that I haven't finished it yet. I don't know how it ends. I don't know what happened to Harper or Chastin, or if the timeline of this manuscript even covers those events. There isn't much left to read. I'll probably only be able to digest one chapter before needing to take a break from the horror of this manuscript. I make sure the door to the office is closed, and I start the next chapter and decide to skip it, along with several others. I don't even want to read about a simple kiss, much less more sex. I don't want to ruin the kiss we shared by reading about him doing that with another woman. When I've skipped yet another intimate scene and reach the chapter I feel may be an explanation for Chastin's death, I double-check the office door again before starting it.
I got pregnant with Crew within two weeks of lying to Jeremy about my pregnancy. It's as if fate were on my side. I thanked God with a prayer, even though I don't believe he had a hand in it. Crew was a good baby (I'm assuming). By that point, I was making so much money, I was able to afford a full-time nanny at our new house. Jeremy was staying home with the kids after quitting his job and didn't think a nanny was really necessary, so I called the nanny our housekeeper, but she was a nanny. She enabled Jeremy to work on the property every day. I had new windows installed in my office so I could watch him from almost every angle. Life was good for a while. I did all the easy parts of mothering and Jeremy and the nanny did all the hard parts. And I traveled a lot. I had book tours and interviews, which I didn't really like leaving Jeremy for, but he preferred to stay home with the kids. I grew to appreciate those breaks, though. I noticed when I was gone for a week, the attention Jeremy gave me when I returned home was like the attention he used to pay me before the kids came along. Sometimes I would lie and say I was needed in New York, but I would hole up in an Airbnb in Chelsea and watch television for a week. Then I'd go home, and Jeremy would fuck me like I was his virgin. Life was great. Until it wasn't. It happened in an instant. It was like the sun froze and darkened on our lives, and no matter how hard we tried, the rays couldn't reach us after that. I was standing at the sink, washing a chicken. A fucking raw chicken. I could have been doing anything else... watering the lawn, writing, knitting, anything else. But I will forever think of that fucking disgusting raw chicken when I think about the moment we were told we lost Chastin. The phone rang. I was washing the chicken. Jeremy answered it. I was washing the chicken. He raised his voice. Still washing the fucking chicken. And then the sound... that guttural, painful sound. I heard him say no and how and where is she and we'll be right there. When he ended the call, I could see him in the reflection of the window. He was in the hallway, gripping the doorframe like he was going to fall to his knees if he didn't. I was still washing the chicken. Tears were streaming down my cheeks, my knees were weak. My stomach began to lurch. I vomited on the chicken. That's how I'll always remember one of the worst moments of my life. On our entire drive to the hospital, I was wondering how Harper had done it. Had she smothered her like in my dream? Or had she come up with a more clever way to murder her sister? They had been at a sleepover at their friend Maria's house. They'd been there several times before. And Maria's mother, Kitty—what a silly name—knew all about Chastin's allergies. Chastin never traveled without her EpiPen, but Kitty had found her unresponsive that morning. She dialed 9-1-1, and then called Jeremy as soon as the ambulance took her. When we arrived at the hospital, Jeremy still had that faint hope that they were wrong and that Chastin was okay. Kitty met us in the hallway and kept saying, "I'm sorry. She wouldn't wake up." That's all she told us. She wouldn't wake up. She didn't say, She's dead. Just, She wouldn't wake up, like Chastin was some kind of spoiled brat who wanted to sleep in. Jeremy ran down the hall, into the patient hallway of the E.R. They escorted him out and told us we needed to wait in the family room. Everyone knows that's the room where they put the surviving members after someone has died. That's when Jeremy knew she was gone. I'd never heard him scream like that. A grown man, on his knees, sobbing like a child. I'd have been embarrassed for him if I wasn't right there with him. When we finally got to see her, she'd been dead less than a day, but she didn't smell like Chastin. She already smelled like death. Jeremy asked so many questions. All the questions. How did it happen? Did they have peanuts in the house? What time did they go to sleep? Was her EpiPen taken out of her bag at all? All the right questions, all the devastatingly right answers. It was over a week before her cause of death was confirmed. Anaphylaxis. We were hyper vigilant about her peanut allergy. No matter where they went or who they were left with, Jeremy spent half an hour telling the mother their routine, explaining how to use the EpiPen. I always thought it was overkill since we'd literally only had to use it once in her entire life. Kitty was well aware of her allergy and kept nuts out of their reach when the girls were there. What she wasn't aware of was that the girls had snuck into the pantry and grabbed a handful of snacks to take back to their room in the middle of the night. Chastin was only eight; it was late at night and dark when the girls decided they wanted a snack. Harper said they didn't realize anything they were eating contained peanuts. But when they woke up the next morning, Chastin wouldn't wake up. Jeremy went through a period of denial, but he never questioned that Chastin unknowingly ate the nuts. But I did. I knew. I knew. Every time I looked at Harper, I could see her guilt. I had been waiting on this to happen for years. Years. I knew, from when they were six months old, that Harper would find a way to kill her. And what a perfect murder she committed. Even her own father would never suspect her. Her mother, though. I was a little harder to convince. I missed Chastin, obviously, and I was saddened by her death. But there was something unpleasant in how hard Jeremy took it. He was devastated. Numb. After she'd been dead for three months, I was growing impatient. We'd only had sex twice since her death, and he hadn't even kissed me with tongue either time. It's like he was disconnected from me, using me to get off, to feel better, to get a quick rush of something other than agony. I wanted more than that. I wanted the old Jeremy back. I tried one night. I rolled over and put my hand on his dick while he was asleep. I rubbed my hand up and down, waiting for it to grow hard. It didn't. Instead, he brushed my hand away and said, "It's okay, Verity. You don't have to." He said it like he was doing me a favor. Like he was turning me down for my reassurance. I didn't need reassurance. I didn't. I've had over eight years to accept it. I knew it was coming—I had dreamt about it. I gave Chastin all the love I had every minute she was alive because I knew it would happen. I knew Harper would do something like that to her. Not that it could ever be proven that Harper had any involvement. Even if I had tried to prove it to him, Jeremy would never believe me. He loves her too much. He'd never believe such an atrocious thing—that a twin could do that to her own sister. Part of me felt responsible. Had I just tried choking her again as an infant, or leaving an open bottle of bleach near her as a toddler, or ramming the passenger side of my car into a tree while she was unbuckled with the airbag turned off, all of it could have been avoided. So many potential accidents I could have staged. Should have staged. Had I stopped Harper before she acted, we would still have Chastin. And then maybe Jeremy wouldn't be so fucking sad all the time. Verity is in the living room. April brought her down in the elevator right before she left for the evening. An unusual change in their routine that I'm not sure I like. April said, "She's wide awake this evening. I thought I'd let Jeremy put her to bed tonight." She left her in front of the television, her wheelchair parked near the sofa. Verity is watching Wheel of Fortune. Or... staring in that direction, anyway. I'm standing in the doorway to the living room, looking at her. Jeremy is upstairs with Crew. It's dark outside, and the living room light isn't on, but there's enough light from the television that I can see Verity's expressionless face. I can't imagine anyone going to such great lengths to fake an injury for this long. I'm not even sure how someone could pull it off. Would she startle at a loud noise? Next to me, near the entryway to the living room, is a bowl full of decorative glass balls mixed in with wooden ones. I look around, then pluck one of the wooden ones out of the bowl. I toss it in her direction. When it hits the floor in front of her, she doesn't flinch. I know she's not paralyzed, so how does she not even flinch? Even if her brain damage is too severe to understand the English language, she'd still be alarmed by noise, right? Have some kind of reaction? Unless she's trained herself to not react. I watch her for a little longer before I start to creep myself out with my own thoughts again. I return to the kitchen, leaving her alone with Pat Sajak and Vanna White. There are only two chapters left of Verity's manuscript. I'm praying I don't find a part two anywhere before I leave here because I can't take the ups and downs of it all. The anxiety I get after every chapter is worse than the anxiety I get after I sleepwalk. I'm relieved she had nothing to do with Chastin's death, but disturbed by her thought process during all of it. She seemed so detached. Two-dimensional. She'd lost her fucking daughter, yet all she thought about was how she should have killed Harper, and she was fed up with waiting for Jeremy to get over his grief. Disturbing is putting it mildly. Luckily, it's coming to an end soon. Most of the manuscript details things that happened years ago, but this last chapter was more recent. Less than a year ago. Months before Harper's death. Harper's death. It's the thing I plan to get to next. Maybe tonight. I don't know. I haven't slept well the last few days, and I'm worried after I finish the manuscript, I won't be able to sleep at all. I'm making spaghetti for Jeremy and Crew tonight. I try to focus on dinner and not at all on Verity's lack of a soul. I purposely timed this meal so that April would be gone before dinner was ready. And I'm hoping Jeremy takes Verity up to bed before it's time to eat. My birthday is almost over, and I'll be damned if I eat my birthday meal seated next to Verity Crawford. I'm stirring the pasta sauce when I realize I haven't heard the television in a few minutes. I carefully loosen my grip on the spoon, placing it on the stove next to the pan. "Jeremy?" I say, hoping he's in the living room. Hoping he's the reason there's no sound coming from the television anymore. "Be down in a second!" he calls from upstairs. I close my eyes, already feeling the quickening of my pulse. If this bitch turned off that goddamn television, I'm walking out that front door without shoes on and I'm never coming back. I clench my fists at my sides, growing really tired of this shit. This house. And that fucking creepy-ass, psychotic woman. I don't tiptoe into the living room. I stomp. The television is still on, but it's no longer making noise. Verity is still in the same position. I walk over to the table next to her wheelchair and snatch up the remote. The television is now on mute, and I am over this. I'm over this. Televisions don't just mute themselves! "You're a fucking cunt," I mutter. My own words shock me, but not enough to walk away. It's as if every word I read of her manuscript fans the flames inside of me. I unmute the television and drop the remote on the couch, out of her reach. I kneel down in front of her, positioning myself so that I'm directly in her line of sight. I'm shaking, but not from fear this time. I'm shaking because I am so angry at her. Angry at the type of wife she was to Jeremy. The kind of mother she was to Harper. And I'm angry that all this weird shit keeps happening and I'm the only one who is witnessing it. I'm tired of feeling crazy! "You don't even deserve the body you're trapped in," I whisper, staring straight into her eyes. "I hope you die with a throat full of your own vomit, the same way you attempted to kill your infant daughter." I wait. If she's in there... if she heard me... if she's faking it... my words would reach her. They would make her flinch or lash out or something. She doesn't move. I try to think of something else to say that would make her react. Something she wouldn't be able to keep her composure after hearing. I stand up and lean into her, bringing my mouth to her ear. "Jeremy is going to fuck me in your bed tonight." I wait again... for a noise... for a movement. The only thing I notice is the smell of urine. It fills the air. My nostrils. I look down at her pants right when Jeremy begins to descend the stairs. "Did you need me?" I back away from her, accidentally kicking the wooden ball I tossed toward her earlier. I motion toward Verity while bending down for the ball. "She just... She needs to be changed, I think." Jeremy grabs the handles of her wheelchair and pushes her out of the living room, toward the elevator. I bring a hand to my face, covering my mouth and nose as I exhale. I don't know why I've never been curious about who bathes her or changes her. I assumed the nurse took care of most of that, but she obviously doesn't do it all. That Verity is incontinent and has to wear diapers and be bathed makes me feel even sorrier for him. Jeremy is now taking her upstairs to do both of those things and it makes me angry. Angry at Verity. Surely her current state is a result of the terrible human she's been to her children and to Jeremy. Now, for the rest of his life, Jeremy will have to suffer the consequences of Verity's karma. It isn't right. And even though she flinched at nothing I said, the fact that I seemed to scare her has me convinced she's in there. Somewhere. And now she knows I'm not afraid of her.
I ate dinner at the table with Crew, who played on his iPad the whole time. I wanted to wait for Jeremy, but I knew he didn't want Crew to eat alone and it was getting past his bedtime. While Jeremy was tending to Verity, I put Crew to bed. By the time Jeremy got her showered, changed, and put to bed, the spaghetti was cold. Jeremy finally comes downstairs as I'm washing the dishes. We haven't talked much since our kiss. I'm not sure what the vibe will be between us, or if we're going to be awkward and go our separate ways after he eats. I can hear him behind me, munching on garlic bread as I continue to wash the dishes. "Sorry about that," he says. "What?" "Missing dinner." I shrug. "You didn't miss it. Eat." He takes a bowl out of the cabinet and fills it with spaghetti. He puts it in the microwave and then leans into the counter next to me. "Lowen." I look at him. "What's wrong?" I shake my head. "Nothing, Jeremy. It's not my place." "It is now that you said that." I don't want to have this conversation with him. It really isn't my place. This is his life. His wife. His house. And I'm only going to be here for another two days at the most. I dry my hands on a towel just as the microwave beeps. He doesn't move to open it because he's too busy staring at me, attempting to coax more out of me with that look. I lean against the island and sigh, dropping my head back. "I just... I feel bad for you." "Don't." "I can't help it." "You can." "No. I can't." He opens the microwave and pulls out his bowl. He sets it on the counter to cool off and then faces me again. "This is my life, Low. And I can't do anything about it. You feeling sorry for me doesn't help." I roll my head. "But you're wrong. You can do something about it. You don't have to live like this, day in and day out. There are facilities, places that can take much better care of her. She'll have more opportunity. And you and Crew won't be tied to this house every day for the rest of your lives." Jeremy's jaw hardens. I knew I shouldn't have said anything. "I appreciate that you think I deserve better. But put yourself in Verity's shoes." He has no idea how far I've walked in Verity's shoes over the past two weeks. "Believe me, I have been." I make a frustrated fist and tap it on the counter, trying to find a better way to word it all. "She wouldn't want this for you, Jeremy. You're a prisoner in your own home. Crew is a prisoner in this home. He needs to get away from this house. Take him on vacations. Go back to work and put her in a facility where she can receive full-time care." Jeremy is shaking his head before I even get the sentence out. "I can't do that to Crew. He's lost both of his sisters. He can't go through another loss like that. At least if she's here, Crew can still spend time with her." He didn't indicate his own desire to have her here. Only Crew's. "Take moments, then," I tell him. "You can put her in a facility part time so it's not weighing you down. Bring her home on the weekends, when Crew is out of school." I walk over to him and take his face in my hands. I want him to see how much I worry for him. Maybe if he sees that someone actually cares about his well being, he'll take this conversation more seriously. "Take moments for yourself, Jeremy," I say quietly. "Selfish moments. You deserve to live a life where you have moments that have nothing to do with her and everything to do with you and what you want." I feel his teeth clench beneath my palms. He pulls away from me and presses his hands into the granite, dropping his head between his shoulders. "What I want?" he says quietly. "Yes. What do you want?" His head falls backward and he laughs, once, like that was a stupid question. Then he says one word, like it's the easiest question he's ever answered. "You." He pushes off the counter and marches toward me. He grips my waist with both hands and presses his forehead to mine, looking into my eyes with nothing but need. "I want you, Low." My relief is met with a kiss. It's different from our first kiss. This time he's patient as his lips move lazily against mine and his hand curves around the back of my neck. He's savoring the taste of me, drawing up my desire with every motion of his tongue. He bends a little, lifting me, and then he wraps my legs around his waist. We're leaving the kitchen, but I don't want to open my eyes until we're alone behind a locked door. Verity isn't ruining it for me this time. Once we're in the master bedroom, he releases his grip on me and I slide down him, our lips slipping apart. He leaves me standing next to my bed as he walks toward my bedroom door. "Take off your clothes." He says it without facing me, as he's locking my bedroom door. It's a command. One I'm eager to follow now that the door is locked. We watch each other undress. He takes off his jeans as I'm taking off my shirt, and then his shirt comes off with my jeans. I remove my bra as his eyes move over me. He's not touching me, not kissing me, just watching me. So many emotions flood me as I remove my panties: fear, excitement, irritation, desire, trepidation. I slide my panties down my hips, over my legs, and then kick them off. When I stand up straight, I am on full display. He soaks me up with his eyes as he removes the last of his clothing. Something inside me shifts, because no matter how accurate Verity's physical descriptions of him were, I wasn't prepared for the full magnitude of his body. We're both standing there, naked, our breaths exaggerated. He takes a step closer, his eyes on my face and nowhere else. His warm hands slide up my cheeks and through my hair as he brings his mouth down on mine again. He kisses me, soft and sweet, with just a tease of his tongue. His fingers trickle down the length of my spine and I shiver. "I don't have a condom," he says as he cups my ass and pulls me against him. "I'm not on the pill." My words don't prevent him from lifting me and lowering me to the bed. His lips circle my left nipple, briefly, then brush across my mouth as he hovers over me. "I'll pull out." "Alright." The word makes him smile. He whispers, "Alright," against my lips as he begins to push into me. We're both so focused on connecting, we aren't even kissing. Just breathing against each other's mouths. I squeeze my eyes shut as he tries to fit his entire length inside me. It hurts for a few seconds, but when he starts to move, the pain is replaced by a pleasurable fullness that makes me moan. Jeremy's lips meet my cheek, and then my mouth again before he pulls back. When I open my eyes, I see a man who, for once, isn't thinking about anything other than what's right in front of him. There's no distant look in his eyes. It's just him and me in this moment. "Do you have any idea how many times I've thought about being with you?" It's a rhetorical question, I'm assuming, because his kiss that immediately follows prevents me from answering it. He cups my breast while he kisses me. After about a minute of this position, he pulls out of me and rolls me flat onto my stomach. He enters me from behind, lowering his mouth to my ear as he pulls out. "I'm going to take you in every position I've imagined us in." His words feel as though they settle in my stomach and catch fire. "Please," is all I say. With that, he places a palm against my stomach and pulls me onto my knees, pressing my back against his chest without slipping out of me. His breath is warm against the back of my neck. I snake a hand up and grip his head, pulling his mouth against my skin. That position lasts about thirty seconds before his hands slip to my waist. He rotates me so that we're facing each other and then slides me back onto him. I feel weak against his strength, his arms effortlessly moving me around the bed every few minutes. I realize, in all the times I've read about his intimacy with his wife, she always had to have some form of control over him. I relinquish all my control to him. I let him take me however he wants me. And he does, for over half an hour. Every time he seems close to release, he pulls out of me and kisses me until he takes me again, kisses me, repositions me, takes me, kisses me, repositions me. It's a cycle I never want to end. Eventually, we're in what I'm assuming is one of his favorite positions, him on his back, his head on a pillow, my thighs on either side of his head. But I'm not sure if we ended up in this position because of him or because of me. I've yet to lower myself onto his mouth because I'm staring at the teeth marks on his headboard. I close my eyes because I don't want to see them. His palms are sliding up my stomach, to my breasts. He cups my breasts in his hands, and then he begins to slowly part me with his tongue. I let my head fall back and I moan so loud, I have to cover my own mouth. He seems to like the noise because he does the exact same thing with his tongue again, and the ecstasy that surges through me propels me forward until I'm gripping the headboard. I open my eyes, my mouth inches away from the headboard. Inches away from the bite marks Verity left behind from all the times he had her in this same position. When Jeremy's fingers slide down my stomach and accompany his mouth, I have nowhere for my screams to go. With the position he has me in, I'm compelled to lean forward and stifle the sounds of my climax. I bite down on the wood in front of me. I can feel Verity's teeth marks beneath mine. Different. Unaligned with my own. I bite harder into the wood as I come, determined to leave deeper marks than she ever did. Determined to think only of Jeremy and me every time I look at this headboard in the future. Verity is mostly confined to one room, but her presence looms in almost every room in this house. I no longer want to think about her when I'm in this bedroom. After I come, I pull away from the headboard and open my eyes, seeing the fresh marks I've left behind. Just as I run my thumb over them to wipe away my saliva, Jeremy pushes me onto my back and I'm suddenly beneath him again. He doesn't even need to enter me to reach his climax. He presses himself against my stomach and I feel the warmth spilling onto my skin as his mouth finds mine. I can tell by his frantic kiss that this is going to be a long night. Our second round happened in the shower half an hour later. Our hands were all over each other, our mouths were one, and then he was inside me again, my palms flat against the shower wall as he thrust into me beneath the spray of the water. He pulled out and came on my back before washing me clean. We're in the bed again, but it's almost three in the morning, and I know he's going to go back to his room soon. I don't want him to. Being with him in this way is everything I imagined it would be and, somehow, I feel okay being inside this house when I'm also wrapped in his arms. He makes me feel safe from the things he doesn't even realize are dangerous. He has me tucked against him, an arm wrapped around me as I lie against his chest. His fingers are tracing up and down my arm. We've been fighting sleep, asking each other questions. The questions have taken a more personal turn because he just asked me what my last relationship was like. "It was shallow." "Why?" "I'm not sure it was even a relationship," I say. "We defined it that way, but it only revolved around sex. We couldn't figure out how to fit into each other's lives outside of the bedroom." "How long did it last?" "A while." I lift up and look at him. "It was with Corey. My agent." Jeremy's fingers pause on my arm. "The agent I met?" "Yes." "And he's still your agent?" "He's a great agent." I lay my head back down on his chest, and Jeremy's fingers resume their movement down my arm. "That just made me a little jealous," he says. I laugh because I can feel him laughing. After it's quiet for a beat, I ask him a question I've been curious about. "What was your relationship like with Verity?" Jeremy sighs, and my head moves with his chest. Then he positions us so that I'm on the pillow and he's on his side, making eye contact with me. "I'll answer your question, but I don't want you to think bad of me." "I won't," I promise, shaking my head. "I loved her. She was my wife. But sometimes I wasn't sure we really knew each other. We lived together, but it's as if our worlds weren't connected." He reaches up and touches my lips, tracing over them with the tips of his fingers. "I was insanely attracted to her, which I'm sure you don't want to hear, but it's true. Our sex life was great. But the rest of it... I don't know. I felt like there was something missing in the beginning, but I stayed and I married her and we started our family because I always believed that deeper connection was within reach. I thought I'd wake up one day and look her in the eyes and then it would click, like that mythical puzzle piece had finally snapped into place." It's not lost on me that he mentioned loving her in the past tense. "Did you eventually find that connection?" "No, not like I had hoped. But I've felt something close to it—a fleeting intensity that proved a deeper connection can exist." "When was that?" "Several weeks ago," he says quietly. "In a random coffee shop bathroom with a woman who wasn't my wife." He kisses me as soon as that sentence escapes him, like he doesn't want me to respond. Maybe he feels guilty for saying it. For momentarily feeling a connection with me after trying to feel that connection with his wife for so many years. Even if he doesn't want me to react to that admission, I feel something grow inside me, like his words sink into me and expand in my chest. He pulls me against him and I close my eyes, tucking my head against his chest. We don't speak again before we fall asleep. I wake up about two hours later to his voice in my ear. "Shit." He sits up and most of the covers go with him. "Shit." I rub my eyes as I roll onto my back. "What is it?" "I didn't mean to fall asleep." He reaches to the floor and then begins pulling on his clothes. "I can't be in here when Crew wakes up." He kisses me, twice, and then walks toward the door. He unlocks it, then pulls on it. The door doesn't budge. He jiggles the handle as I sit up in bed, pulling the covers over my exposed breasts. "Shit," he says again. "The door is stuck." Something drops inside me, and I'm abruptly ripped from the pleasure of last night. I'm back in the moment, in yet another scenario where I feel desolate inside this eerie house. I shake my head, but Jeremy is facing the door so he can't see me. "It isn't stuck," I say quietly. "It's locked. From the outside." Jeremy turns his head and looks at me, his face giving way to concern. Then he tries pulling the door with both hands. When he realizes I'm right and that the door is latched on the outside, he starts beating on it. I remain where I am, scared of what he might find when he finally gets that door open. He tries everything to open it, but then he resorts to calling out Crew's name. "Crew!" Jeremy yells, beating on the bedroom door. What if she took him? I'm not sure she would have. She doesn't even like her kids. But she likes Jeremy. Loves Jeremy. If she knew he was in this room with me last night, she'd probably take Crew out of spite. Jeremy's mind hasn't gone there yet. In his head, Crew is playing a prank on us. Or the lock somehow accidentally latched itself when he closed the door last night. Those are the only plausible explanations to him. Right now, he merely sounds annoyed. Not at all concerned. Jeremy glances toward the alarm clock on the nightstand and then beats on the door again. "Crew, open the door!" He presses his forehead against it. "April will be here soon," he says quietly. "She can't find us in here together." That's where his head is? I'm thinking his wife kidnapped his son in the middle of the night, and he's worried he's going to be caught fucking the houseguest. "Jeremy." "What?" he says, beating against the door again. "I know you think it isn't plausible. But... did you lock Verity's door last night?" Jeremy's fist pauses against the door. "I can't remember," he says quietly. "If by some bizarre chance it was Verity who locked us in here... Crew probably isn't here anymore." When he looks at me, his eyes are full of fear. Then, in one swift movement, he stalks across the bedroom and unlocks the window. He lifts it, but there are two panes of glass. The second one isn't giving way as easily as the first. Without hesitation, he reaches to the bed and pulls a pillow case off of a pillow. He wraps his hand in the case, punches through the glass, kicks it, and then crawls out the window. Several seconds later, I hear him unlock my bedroom door as he passes it and heads for the stairs. He's already in Crew's bedroom before I make it out of the master. I hear him run across the hall to Verity's room. When he makes it back to the top of the stairs, my heart is in my throat. He shakes his head. He bends over, clasping his knees, out of breath. "They're asleep." He squats, as if his knees were about to give way, and he runs his hands through his hair. "They're asleep," he says again, with relief. I'm relieved. But I'm not. My paranoia is starting to reach Jeremy. I'm not doing him any favors by bringing up my concerns. April walks through the front door moments later. She looks at me, then at Jeremy squatting at the top of the stairs. He glances up and sees April staring at him. He stands and walks down the stairs, not looking at me or April as he heads to the door, pulls it open, and walks outside. April looks from me to the front door. I shrug. "Rough night with Crew." I don't know if she buys it, but she walks up the stairs like she doesn't give a shit if I'm telling the truth or not. I go to the office and close the door. I pull the rest of the manuscript out and begin to read. I have to finish this today. I need to know how it ends, if it even has an ending. Because I'm at the point now where I feel like I need to show this manuscript to Jeremy. He needs to know that he was right when he felt they never really connected. Because he didn't really know her. Things aren't right in this house, and until he mistrusts that woman upstairs as much as I do, I have a feeling something else is going to happen. The other shoe is going to drop. After all, this is a house full of Chronics. The next tragedy is already long overdue.
It's easy to remember everything about the morning Harper died because it only happened a few days ago. I remember how she smelled. Like grease. She hadn't washed her hair in two days. What she was wearing. Purple leggings, a black shirt, and a knitted sweater. What she was doing. Sitting at the table with Crew, coloring. The last thing Jeremy said to her that day. I love you, Harper. Chastin had been gone six months that day. To the day. Which meant I had spent one hundred eighty-two and a half days building resentment for the child responsible. Jeremy had slept upstairs the night before. Crew cries for him almost every night, so for the last two months, he's been sleeping in the guest bedroom upstairs. I tried to tell him it's not good for Crew. He's spoiling him. But Jeremy doesn't listen to me anymore. His primary focus are his two remaining children. It's strange how we have one less child for him to focus on, yet that somehow turned into requiring more of his focus. We've had sex four times since Chastin died. He can't seem to get it up anymore when I try. Not even when I suck his dick. The worst part is that it doesn't even seem to bother him. He could take Viagra, but he refuses. He says he just needs more time to adjust to life without Chastin. Time. You know who didn't need time? Harper. She didn't even go through an adjustment period after Chastin's death. She never cried. Not even a single tear. It's weird. It isn't normal. Even I cried. I guess it makes sense that Harper wouldn't cry. Guilt can do that to a person. Maybe guilt is why I'm writing it all down. Because Jeremy needs to know the truth. Someday, somehow, he'll find this. And then he'll realize how much I fucking loved him. Back to the day Harper got what was coming to her. I was standing in the kitchen, watching her color. She was showing Crew how to color on top of another color to make a third color. They were laughing. Crew's laugh was understandable, but Harper's? Inexcusable. I was tired of holding in my anger. "Are you even upset that Chastin is dead?" Harper lifted her eyes to meet my gaze. She was pretending to be afraid of me. "Yes." "You haven't even cried. Not once. Your twin sister died and you act like you don't even care." I could see the tears welling up in her eyes. Funny how the kid Jeremy believes can't express emotion can bring on the tears when she's being called out. "I do care," Harper said. "I miss her." I laughed at her. My laughter brought on the actual tears. She scooted her chair back and ran up to her bedroom. I looked at Crew and flicked a hand in Harper's direction. "Now she cries." Figures. Jeremy must have passed her upstairs, because I could hear him knocking on her door. "Harper? Sweetie, what's wrong?" I mimicked him, using a squeaky child-like voice. "Sweetie, what's wrong?" Crew giggled. At least I'm funny to the four-year-old. A minute later, Jeremy walked into the kitchen. "What's wrong with Harper?" "She's mad," I lied. "I wouldn't let her go play by the lake." Jeremy kissed me on the side of my head. It felt genuine and it made me smile. "It's a nice day out," he said. "You should take them to the shore." He was behind me, so he didn't see me roll my eyes. I should have thought of a better lie to excuse Harper's tears, because now he wanted me to take them outside and play with them. "I wanna go to the water," Crew said. Jeremy grabbed his wallet and his keys. "Go tell Harper to get her shoes on. Your mom will take you. I'll be back before lunch." I turned around and faced him. "Where are you going?" "Groceries," he said. "I told you this morning." He did say that. Crew ran upstairs, and I sighed. "I'd rather do the shopping. You stay and play with them." Jeremy walked up to me, wrapping an arm around me. He pressed his forehead to mine, and I felt that gesture go straight to my heart. "You haven't written in six months. You don't go outside. You don't play with them." He pulls me in for a hug. "I'm getting worried about you, babe. Just take them outside for half an hour. Get some Vitamin D." "Do you think I'm depressed?" I said, pulling back. That was laughable. He was the depressed one. Jeremy set his keys on the counter so he could hold my face with both of his hands. "I think we're both depressed. And we will be for a while. We need to look out for each other." I smiled at him. I liked that he thought we were in this together. Maybe we were. He kissed me then, and for the first time in a long time, he kissed me with tongue and very little grief. It felt like old times. I pulled him to me and lifted onto my toes, deepening the kiss. I felt him harden against me, without coercion this time. "I want you to sleep in our room tonight," I whispered. He smiled against my lips. "Okay. But there won't be much sleeping." His tone of voice, his heated eyes, that grin. There you are, Jeremy Crawford. I've missed you. After Jeremy left, I took his damn children to play by the water. I also took the last book I'd written in my series. Jeremy was right, it had been six months since I'd written anything. I needed to get back in the groove. I already missed a deadline, but Pantem was lenient, thanks to the tragic "accidental" loss of Chastin. They'd probably be even more lenient on my deadline if they knew what had really happened to her. Crew walked out onto the dock toward the canoe. I tensed, because the dock is old and Jeremy didn't like them being on it. But Crew didn't weigh much, so I relaxed a little. I doubted he could fall through. He sat down at the edge of the dock and stuck his feet in the canoe. I was surprised it hadn't floated away yet. It was hanging by a threadbare rope. Crew doesn't know it, and maybe he'll find out one day, but he was conceived in that canoe. The week I lied and told Jeremy I was pregnant was the most prolific week of sex we'd had to date. But I'm pretty sure it was the canoe that did the trick. It's why I wanted to name him Crew. I wanted a nautical-themed name. I missed those days. There were a lot of things I missed, actually. Mostly I missed our lives before we had children. The twins, anyway. Sitting on the shore that day, watching Crew, I wondered what it would be like to only have him. It would be another adjustment if Harper were to pass, but I figured we'd get through it. I wasn't much help after Chastin died because for a while, I was grieving too. But if Harper were to pass, I could be more help to Jeremy during his recovery. This time, there would be very little grief on my part since all my grief was reserved for Chastin. Maybe most of Jeremy's grief was reserved for Chastin, too. It was a possibility. I used to assume that the individual deaths of a person's children would be equally difficult for them. Losing a second or even third child would hurt just as much as the first experience. But that was before Jeremy and I lost Chastin. Her death made us swell with grief. It filled every crevice inside of us, every limb. If the canoe were to capsize with the children in it—if Harper were to drown—Jeremy might not have room for more grief. Maybe he was at full capacity. When you've already lost one child, you might as well have lost them all. With no room for more grief and Harper no longer around, the three of us could become the perfect family. "Harper." She was several feet from me, playing in the sand. I stood up and wiped the back of my jeans. "Come on, sweetie. Let's go for a ride in the canoe with your brother." Harper jumped up, unaware as she stepped foot onto the dock that she'd never know what the earth felt like beneath her feet again. "I get front," she said. I followed her to the edge of the dock. I helped Crew climb in first, then Harper. Then I sat down and carefully lowered myself into the boat. I used the paddle to push away from the dock. I was in the back of the boat, and Crew was in the middle. I paddled us out to the middle of the lake as they leaned over the edge, running their fingers in the water. The lake was calm as I looked around. We lived in a cove with 2,000 feet of shoreline, so we didn't get much of the lake traffic out here. It was a quiet day. Harper sat up straight in the canoe and wiped her hands on her leggings. She turned around, her back to me Crew and me. I leaned forward, close to Crew's ear. I covered his mouth with my hand. "Crew. Sweetie. Hold your breath." I gripped the edge of the canoe and leaned all my weight to the right. I heard a small yelp. I wasn't sure if it came from Crew or Harper, but after the yelp and the initial splash, I heard nothing. Just pressure. The silence pressed against my ears as I kicked my arms and legs until I broke through the surface. I could hear splashing. Harper's scream. Crew's scream. I swam toward Crew and wrapped my arms around him. I looked toward the house, hoping I could make it back to shore with him. We were farther out than I'd realized. I started swimming. Harper was screaming. Splashing. I continued to swim. She continued to scream. Nothing. I heard another splash. More nothing. I kept swimming and refused to look back until I could feel the mud seep between my toes. I gripped at the surface of the lake like it was a life vest. Crew was gasping and coughing, bobbing up and down, clinging to me. It was harder than I thought it would be to keep him afloat. Jeremy would thank me for this. For saving Crew. He'd be devastated, of course, but thankful, too. I wondered if we'd sleep in the same bed that night. He would be exhausted, but he would want to sleep in the same bed as me, hold me, make sure I was okay. "Harper!" Crew yelled as soon as he cleared his lungs of water. I covered Crew's mouth and dragged him to the shore, plopping him down on the sand. His eyes were wide with fear. "Mommy!" he cried, pointing behind me. "Harper can't swim!" Sand was all over me, stuck to my hands, my arms, my thighs. My lungs felt like fire. Crew tried to crawl back toward the water, but I pulled his hand and made him sit down. The ripples from the commotion of the water were still lapping at my toes. I looked out at the lake, but there was nothing. No screaming. No splashing. Crew was growing more and more hysterical. "I tried to save her," I whispered. "Mommy tried to save her." "Go get her!" he screamed, pointing out at the lake. I wondered then how it would look if he told anyone I didn't go back out into the water. Most mothers wouldn't leave the water until they'd found their child. I needed to get back in the water. "Crew. We need to save Harper. Do you remember how to use Mommy's phone to call Daddy?" He nodded, wiping tears from his cheeks. "Go. Go to the house and call Daddy. Tell him Mommy is trying to save Harper and he needs to call the police." "Okay!" he said, running up to the house. He was such a good brother. I was cold and out of breath, but I trudged back out into the lake. "Harper?" I said her name quietly, afraid if I called too loudly, she'd get a second wind and pop up out of the water. I took my time. I didn't want to go too far and risk touching her, bumping into her. What if there was still life in her and she clung to my shirt? Tried to pull me under? I was aware I needed to be out here when Jeremy showed up. I needed to be crying. Cold. On the verge of hypothermia. Bonus points if I was taken away in an ambulance. The canoe was upside down, closer inland than when it flipped. Jeremy and I had flipped the canoe a couple of times before, so I was aware there were air pockets when it was positioned like it was. What if Harper had swam to it? What if she had clung to it and was hiding under it? Waiting to tell her daddy what I had done? I worked my way to the canoe. I moved carefully, not wanting to touch her. When I reached the capsized boat, I held my breath and went under the water. I popped up inside the canoe. Oh, thank God, I thought. She wasn't there. Thank God. I heard Crew calling my name from far away. I ducked under the water and popped up outside the canoe. I screamed Harper's name, full of panic, like an actual devastated mother would. "Harper!" "Daddy is coming!" Crew yelled from the shore. I started screaming Harper's name even louder. The police would be here soon, before Jeremy. "Harper!" I went under several times so that I'd be out of breath. I did that, over and over, until I could barely stay afloat. I screamed her name and didn't stop until a police officer was pulling me out of the water. I continued to scream her name, throwing in the occasional, "My daughter!" and "My baby girl!" One person was in the water looking for her. Then two. Then three. Then I felt someone fly past me, onto the dock. He ran to the end and jumped in head first. When he popped up, I saw that it was Jeremy. I can't describe the look on his face as he yelled for her. It was a look of determination mixed with horror mixed with psychosis. I was crying real tears at that point. I was hysterical. I wanted to smile at how appropriately hysterical I was, but I didn't because part of me knew I had messed up. I could see it in Jeremy's face. This one would be even harder for him to recover from than Chastin. I didn't anticipate that. She'd been under water for over half an hour when he finally found her. She was tangled in a fishing net. I couldn't tell if it was green or yellow from where I sat on the beach, but I remembered Jeremy losing a yellow fishing net last year. What are the odds that I tipped the canoe in the exact spot it was tangled beneath the surface? Had the fishing net not been there, she probably would have made it to shore. After she was untangled, the men helped Jeremy lift her onto the dock. Jeremy tried to perform CPR until the paramedic made it to the edge of the dock. And even then, he wouldn't stop. He wouldn't stop until he had no choice. The dock began to cave in, and Jeremy rolled right off the edge of it, catching Harper in his arms. Three other men remained on the dock, reaching for her body. I wondered if that moment would haunt him. Having to catch his dead daughter's body as she fell on top of him in the water. Jeremy wouldn't let go of her. He found his footing in the water and carried her, all the way to the shore. When he reached the sand, he collapsed, still holding her. He pressed his face into her sopping wet hair, and I heard him whispering to her. "I love you, Harper. I love you, Harper. I love you, Harper." He said it over and over as he held her. His sadness made me ache for him. I crawled to him, to her, and I wrapped my arms around them both. "I tried to save her," I whispered. "I tried to save her." He wouldn't let go of Harper. The paramedics had to pry her from his arms. He left me there, with Crew, while he climbed into the back of the ambulance. Jeremy didn't ask me what had happened. He didn't tell me he was leaving. He didn't look at me at all. His reaction wasn't quite what I had planned, but I realized he was in shock. He'd adjust. He just needed time. I'm gripping the toilet as I vomit. I was sick before I even finished the chapter. I'm shaking, as if I had been there. Like I witnessed firsthand what that woman did to her daughter. To Jeremy. I press my forehead against my arm, struggling with what to do. Do I tell someone? Do I tell Jeremy? Do I call the police? What would the police even be able to do with her? They'd lock her up somewhere. A mental institution. Jeremy would be free of her. I brush my teeth, staring at my reflection. After I rinse my mouth out, I stand up straight and wipe my mouth. As my hand moves across my face, I can see the scar in the mirror. I never thought this scar would become insignificant to me, but it's starting to feel that way. What I went through with my mother is nothing compared to this. What happened between us was a disconnect. A broken bond. This was murder. I grab my bag and search for my Xanax. The pill is clenched in my fist as I walk to the kitchen. I pull a shot glass out of the cabinet and pour Crown Royal into it, all the way to the top. I pick up the shot glass, just as April rounds the corner. She pauses, staring at me. I stare right back as I pop the pill into my mouth and down the shot. I go back to my room and close my door, locking it. I pull the blinds down over the hole in the window to block out the sun. I close my eyes and pull the covers over my head as I wonder what the hell I should do.
I wake up sometime later, feeling a warmth travel down my body. Something touches my lips. My eyes flick open. Jeremy. I sigh against his mouth as he lowers himself on top of me. I welcome the comfort of his lips. Little does he know that every ounce of sadness his kiss is eliminating is sadness I feel for him. For a situation he knows nothing about. I adjust the covers, pulling them out from between us so there's no barrier. He's still kissing me as he rolls onto his side, pulling me against him. "It's two o'clock in the afternoon," he whispers. "You feeling okay?" "Yes," I lie. "I'm just tired." "Me too." He feathers his fingers down my arm, then grabs my hand. "How did you get in here?" I ask, knowing the door was locked from the inside. He smiles. "The window. April took Verity to the doctor, and Crew won't be home from school for another hour." The rest of the tension built up inside me somehow seeps out with that news. Verity isn't in this house, and I'm at instant peace. Jeremy lays his head on my chest, facing my feet as his fingers explore my panty line. "I checked the lock. It appears, if you slam a door hard enough, it could latch into place." I don't respond to that because I'm not sure I believe it. I'm sure there's a chance, but I think the chance that it was Verity is greater. Jeremy lifts my T-shirt—another one that belongs to him. He kisses a spot between my breasts. "I like it when you wear my shirts." I run my fingers through his hair and smile. "I like it when they smell like you." He laughs. "What do I smell like?" "Petrichor." He's dragging his lips down my stomach. "I don't even know what that means." His voice is a mumble against my skin. "It's a word that describes the smell of fresh rain after warm weather." He moves until his mouth is close to mine. "I had no idea there was a word for that." "There's a word for everything." He kisses me briefly, then pulls back. His eyebrows draw together as he contemplates. "Is there a word for what I'm doing?" "Probably. What are you referring to?" He traces my jaw with a finger. "This," he says quietly. "Falling for a woman when I shouldn't." My heart sinks, despite his admission. I hate that he feels guilty for how he's feeling. I understand it, though. No matter the condition of his marriage or his wife, he's sleeping in their bed with another woman. There's not much justification for that. "Do you feel guilty?" I ask him. "Yes." He regards me silently for a moment. "But not guilty enough to stop." He lays his head on the pillow next to me. "But it will stop," I say. "I need to go back to Manhattan. And you're married." His eyes seem to be protecting thoughts he doesn't want to speak out loud. We're both quiet as we stare at each other for a while. He eventually leans in to kiss me before saying, "I thought about what you said in the kitchen last night." I don't speak in fear of what he's about to say. Was he open to everything I had to say? Does he agree that the quality of his life is just as important as Verity's? "I called a nursing facility who will take her during the week, starting Monday. She'll come home three weekends a month." He waits for my reaction. "I think that's the best thing for all three of you." As if I see it happen in real time, the grief begins to evaporate. From him, from this house. The wind is blowing through the window, the house is quiet, Jeremy looks at peace. It's in this moment I decide what to do about the manuscript. I'm not going to do anything. Proving that Verity murdered Harper wouldn't make Jeremy feel better. It would make him feel worse. It would open up so many wounds. It would rip the fresh wounds open even wider. I'm not convinced that Verity is safe to be around, but there are ways to uncover that with time. I think Jeremy just needs better security. A monitor in Verity's room, connected to a motion sensor on the weekends she's here. If she really is faking her injuries, he'll find out. And if he does find out, he'll never allow her around Crew again. And now that she's going to a facility, she'll be monitored even more closely. Right now, things feel okay. Safe. "Stay another week," Jeremy says. I was planning on leaving in the morning, but now that I know Verity will be gone soon, I'm excited about the idea of being here with him all week, without April, without Verity. "Okay." He raises an eyebrow. "You mean alright." I smile. "Alright." He presses his mouth to my stomach, kisses me, and then climbs back on top of me. He doesn't remove the shirt I'm wearing as he slides into me. He makes love to me for so long, my body grows lithe against his movements. When I feel the muscles of his arms begin to tense beneath my fingertips, I don't want it to end. I don't want him to leave my body. I wrap my legs tightly around him and bring his mouth to mine. He groans, sinking into me even deeper. He's kissing me when he comes, his lips rigid, his breaths shallow, making no attempt to pull out. He collapses on top of me, still inside me. We're quiet, because we both know what we just did. We don't discuss it, though. After Jeremy catches his breath, he slips out of me and lowers his hand, sliding his fingers between my legs. He watches me as he touches me, waiting for me to reach my climax. When I do, I'm not worried about how loud I am because we're the only ones here, and it's bliss. When it's over and I relax against the bed, he kisses me one last time. "I need to sneak out now before everyone gets home." I smile at him, watching as he dresses. He presses a kiss to my forehead before walking across the room to climb back out the window. I don't know why he didn't use the door, but it makes me laugh. I pull a pillow over my face and smile. What has come over me? Maybe this house is fucking with my head, because half the time I'm ready to get the hell out of here and half the time I never want to leave. That manuscript is definitely fucking with my head. I feel like I'm falling in love with the man, and I've only known him for a few weeks. But I'm not only falling in love with him in real life. I've fallen in love with him because of Verity's words. Everything she revealed about him has given me insight into the kind of person he is, and he deserves better than what she gave him. I want to give him what she never did. He deserves to be with someone who will put her love for his children before anything else. I pull the pillow off my face and I place it under my hips, lifting them so that everything he just left inside me doesn't seep out. I dreamt about Crew when I fell back asleep. He was older, about sixteen. Nothing significant happened in my dream, or at least, if it did, I can't remember it. I only remember the feeling I had when I looked into his eyes. Like he was evil. It was as if everything Verity had put him through and everything he'd seen was embedded into his soul, and he had carried that with him through childhood. It's been several hours since then, and I can't help but wonder if keeping silent about the manuscript is in Crew's best interest. He saw his sister drown. He saw his mother do very little to help her. And while he is very young, there's a possibility that memory will stay with him. That he'll always know she told him to hold his breath before she tipped the canoe over on purpose. I'm in the kitchen with him, just Crew and myself. April left about an hour ago, and Jeremy is upstairs, putting Verity to bed. I'm seated at the kitchen table, eating Ritz crackers and peanut butter, staring at Crew as he plays on his iPad. "What are you playing?" I ask him. "Toy Blast." At least it's not Fallout or Grand Theft Auto. There's hope for him yet. Crew glances up at me, seeing me take a bite of my cracker. He sets down his iPad and crawls onto the table. "I want one," he says. It makes me laugh, watching him crawl across the table to reach the peanut butter. I hand him the butter knife. He spreads a huge glob onto a cracker and takes a bite, sitting back on his knees. His eyes fill with excitement. "It's good." Crew licks the peanut butter off the knife and I scrunch up my nose. "Gross. You aren't supposed to lick the knife." He giggles, like it's funny. I lean back in my seat, admiring him. For all he's been through, he's a good kid. He doesn't whine, he's quiet, he still somehow finds humor in the small things. I don't think he's an asshole, anymore. Not like the first day I met him. I smile at him. At his innocence. And again, I begin to wonder if he has any recollection of that day. I wonder if Crew's memories would determine which therapeutic program is best for him. Since his own father doesn't know the extent of what he's been put through by Verity, I feel like that's on me. I'm the one with the manuscript. I'm the one with the responsibility to tell Jeremy if I think his son has been damaged more than he thinks. "Crew," I say, reaching down to the jar of peanut butter, spinning it with my fingers. "Can I ask you a question?" He gives me one exaggerated nod. "Yup." I smile, wanting him to feel comfortable with my line of questioning. "Did you used to have a canoe?" He pauses in the middle of licking the butter knife again. Then he says, "Yes." I scan his face for clues that I should stop, but he's not giving me any. "Did you ever play in it? Out on the water?" "Yes." He licks the knife again, and I feel a little relief that he doesn't seem too disturbed by my conversation. Maybe he doesn't remember anything. He's only five; his perception of reality as it happens is different from an adult's. "Do you remember being in the canoe? With your mother? And Harper?" Crew doesn't nod or say yes. He stares at me, and I can't tell if he's scared to answer the question or if he just doesn't remember. He glances down at the table, breaking eye contact with me. He sticks the knife into the jar again and puts it in his mouth, closing his lips over it. "Crew," I say, scooting closer to him, placing a gentle hand on his knee. "Why did the boat tip over?" Crew's eyes flick back to mine and he pulls the knife out of his mouth for a moment, long enough to say, "Mommy said I shouldn't talk to you if you ask me questions about her." I feel the color drain from my face as he casually licks the knife again. I grip the edge of the table, my knuckles white. "She. . . Your mother talks to you?" Crew stares at me for a few seconds without giving me an answer, and then he shakes his head with a look in his eye that makes me feel like he's about to backtrack. He realizes he shouldn't have said that. "Crew, does your mommy pretend she can't talk?" Crew's teeth clench down while the butter knife is still in his mouth. I see the knife slip up between his teeth, into his gums. Blood begins to slide down his front teeth, onto his lips. I shove my chair back hard enough that it hits the floor as I grab the handle of the butter knife and pull it out of Crew's mouth. "Jeremy!" I cover Crew's mouth with my hand, looking around for a towel that might be within reach. There's nothing. Crew isn't crying, but his eyes are full of fear. "Jeremy!" I'm screaming now, partly because I need him to help me with Crew and partly because what just happened terrified me. Jeremy is here now, in front of Crew, tilting his head back, looking inside his mouth. "What happened?" "He... " I can't even say it. I'm gasping for air. "He bit the knife." "He needs stitches." Jeremy scoops him up. "Grab my keys. They're in the living room." I rush to the living room and swipe Jeremy's keys from the table. I follow them to the garage, to Jeremy's Jeep. Crew has tears in his eyes as if the pain is setting in. Jeremy opens the back door and puts Crew in his booster seat. I open the front door to climb into the Jeep. "Lowen," Jeremy says. I turn around just as he closes Crew's door. "I can't leave Verity here alone. I need you to stay." My heart plummets deep into the pit of my stomach. Jeremy is helping me down from the Jeep before I can object. "I'll call you after they see him." He grabs his keys from my hand, and I'm frozen in one spot as I watch him back out of the garage. He turns his Jeep around and peels out of the driveway. I look down at my hands, covered in Crew's blood. I don't want to be here anymore, I don't, I don't, I hate this job. A few seconds pass before I realize it doesn't matter what I want. I'm here, and so is Verity, and I need to make sure her door is locked. I rush back into the house, up the stairs to her room. Her door is wide open, probably because Jeremy rushed downstairs in a hurry. She's in her bed. The covers are halfway off her body, and one of her legs is dangling, as if Jeremy heard me screaming before he could get her all the way in the bed. Not my problem. I slam the door shut and lock it, then think about what I can do next to ensure my own safety. I rush downstairs when I remember seeing the baby monitor in the basement. The last place I want to be is in the basement, but I power through my fear, using the light on my cell phone, and walk down the stairs. When I was down here with Jeremy, I didn't give the basement much of an inspection. But I know some of the boxes that were stacked up were closed. As I shine my light around the room, I notice almost all of the boxes have been moved and opened, as if someone were rummaging through them. The thought that it might have been Verity makes my mission more urgent. I don't want to be down here longer than I need to be. I head for the area where I saw the baby monitor sticking out of a box. It was right on top when I noticed it the first time—in one of the only unopened boxes. It's been moved. Right when I'm about to give up my search out of fear of being down here, I see the box on the floor a few feet away. I grab the monitor and the receiver and head back for the stairs, my heart heavy in my feet as I try and ascend the steps. Relief spreads through me when the door opens and I escape. I untangle the cords, then plug the dusty monitor into an outlet next to Verity's computer. I rush back upstairs, but before I reach the top, I stop. I turn around. I go to the kitchen and grab a knife. When I've reached Verity's room again, I clutch the knife in my hand and unlock her bedroom door. She hasn't moved. Her leg is still dangling off the bed. I keep my back to the wall as I move to her dresser and set the other half of the monitor on the dresser. I point it at her bed and plug it in. I walk back to the door and hesitate before exiting her room. I step forward, still clutching the knife, then lift her leg as fast as I can and drop it on the bed. I throw the covers over her, lift the bed rail, and then slam her door shut when I'm back out in the hallway. I lock it. Fuck this shit. I'm panting by the time I make it to the kitchen sink. I wash the blood off my hands, which has dried to my skin. I spend a few minutes cleaning it off the table and floor. Then I go back to the office and sit down in front of the monitor. I make sure my cell phone camera is on video mode in case she moves. If she moves... I want Jeremy to see it. I wait. For an entire hour, I wait. I watch my phone for Jeremy's call. I watch the monitor for Verity's lies. I'm too scared to leave the office and do anything other than wait. The tips of my fingers grow sore from the constant tapping against the desk. When another half an hour goes by, I realize I've resorted to doubting myself again. She would have moved by now. Especially since she hasn't even opened her eyes. She didn't see me set up the monitor because her eyes were closed, so she wouldn't even know it was there. Unless she opened them as I was running down the stairs. If that's the case, she saw the monitor and knows I'm watching her. I shake my head. This is driving me insane. There's one chapter left of her manuscript. I need to put this all to rest if I'm going to stay in this house for another week. I can't continue with the back and forth of thinking I'm in danger and thinking I'm crazy. I grab the last several pages and keep my chair pointed at the video monitor. I'll read as I keep an eye on her movements.
It's only been a few days since Harper died, but I feel my world has shifted more in those few days than in all my years on this earth. The police took my report. Twice. It's understandable that they'd want to ensure there weren't any holes in my story. It's their job. Their questions were simple enough. Easy to answer. "Can you explain to us what happened?" "Harper leaned over the edge of the canoe. It tipped over. We all went under, but Harper never came up. I tried to find her, but I was running out of breath and needed to get Crew to safety." "Why were your children not in life vests?" "We thought we were in shallow water. We were so close to the dock at first, but then... we weren't." "Where was your husband?" "He was at the grocery store. He told me to take the kids to the water before he left." I answered all their questions amidst bouts of sobs. Occasionally I would double over, as if her death were physically affecting me. I think my performance was so good, it made them uncomfortable to ask me more questions. I wish I could say the same for Jeremy. He's been worse than the detectives. He hasn't let Crew out of his sight since Harper passed. The three of us have been sleeping downstairs together in the master—Crew in the middle, Jeremy and me separated by yet another child. But tonight was different. Tonight I told Jeremy I wanted him to hold me, so he put Crew on the other side of him and Jeremy lay in the middle. I clung to him for half an hour, hoping we could fall asleep that way, but he wouldn't stop with the fucking questions. "Why did you take them in the canoe?" "They wanted to go," I said. "Why weren't they in life jackets?" "I thought we were close to the shore." "What was the last thing she said?" "I can't remember." "Was she still above water when you made it to the shore with Crew?" "No. I don't think so." "Did you know the canoe was about to tip over?" "No. It all happened so fast." The questions stopped for a while, but I knew he was still awake. Finally, after several minutes of silence, he said, "It just doesn't make sense." "What doesn't make sense?" He pulled back, putting space between my face and his chest. He wanted me to look at him, so I lifted my head. He touched my cheek, gently, with the backs of his fingers. "Why did you tell Crew to hold his breath, Verity?" That's the moment I knew it was over. That's the moment he knew it was over. For a man who thought he knew his wife... That was the first time he'd ever really understood the look in my eyes. And I knew, no matter how hard I tried to convince him... he would never believe me over Crew. He wasn't that kind of man. He put his kids first before his own wife, and that's the one thing I dislike the most about him. I tried, though. I tried to convince him. It's hard to be convincing when tears are streaming down your cheeks and your voice is shaking when you say, "I said that as we were tipping. Not before." He watched me for a moment. And then he released me. Pulled away from me for what I knew would be the very last time. He rolled over and wrapped his arms around Crew, like he was his own personal body of armor. His protector. From me. I tried to lie still with no reaction so that he'd think I fell asleep, but all I did was cry quietly. When my tears began to increase, I walked to my office and I closed the door before Jeremy could hear me sobbing. When I got to my office, I opened my manuscript and began to type. It feels as though there's nothing left to say. No future to write about. No past to redeem. Am I at the end of my story? I don't know what happens next. Unlike my prediction of Chastin's murder, I don't know how my life will end. Will it be at the hands of Jeremy? Or will it be by my own hand? Or maybe it won't end at all. Maybe Jeremy will wake up tomorrow and see me sleeping next to him. Maybe he'll remember all the good times, all the blow jobs, all the swallowing. And he'll realize how much more time we'll have to do those things now that we only have one child. Or... maybe he'll wake up convinced that Harper's death was not an accident. Maybe he'll report me to the police. Maybe he'll want to see me suffer for what I did to her. If that's the case... so be it. I'll just drive my car into a tree.
I don't even have time to absorb that ending before I hear Jeremy's Jeep pulling into the garage. I stack the pages together into a pile and then glance at the monitor. Verity still hasn't moved. He suspected her? I squeeze my neck, trying to ease all the tension that last chapter infused into my muscles. How could he still take care of her? Bathe her and change her for the rest of his life? Feel like he owes her the promise of his vows? If he truly thought she killed Harper, how could he stand to be in the same house as her? I hear the garage door open, so I walk to the office door and step out into the hallway. Jeremy is holding Crew in his arms at the foot of the stairs. "Six stitches," he whispers. "And a lot of pain meds. He's out cold for the night." He walks Crew upstairs to put him to bed. I don't hear him check on Verity before he begins to make his way back down again. "Want some coffee?" I ask him. "Please." He follows me into the kitchen, where he hugs me from behind, sighing into my hair as I start a pot of coffee. I lean my head against his, full of so many questions. But I say nothing because I don't even know where to start. I spin around while the coffee brews and wrap my arms around him. We hold each other in the kitchen for several minutes. Until he releases his hold on me and says, "I need to shower. I have dried blood all over me." I notice it then. The drops on his arms, the smears on his shirt. It's starting to be our thing, being covered in blood. I'm glad I'm not superstitious. "I'll be in the office." We kiss, and then he runs upstairs. I wait for the coffee to finish brewing so I can make myself a cup. I'm still not sure how to approach him with all my questions, but after reading that last chapter, I have so many. I think it might be a long night. I hear his shower start when I finish pouring myself a cup of coffee. I carry it back to the office with me and then spill it all over the floor. The cup shatters. The hot liquid splashes my legs and begins to seep under my toes, but I can't move. I am frozen in place as I stare at the monitor. Verity is on the floor. On her hands and knees. I lunge for my phone at the same time I scream Jeremy's name. "Jeremy!" Verity's head tilts to the side, as if she heard my scream from upstairs. Before I can open my camera app with unsteady fingers, she crawls back into her bed. Gets back into position. Stills herself. "Jeremy!" I yell again, dropping my phone. I run to the kitchen and grab a knife. I run up the stairs, straight to Verity's room. I unlock her door and swing it open. "Get up!" I yell. She doesn't move. Doesn't even flinch. I rip the covers off her. "Get up, Verity. I saw you." I'm full of rage as I lower the side of her hospital bed. "You aren't getting away with this." I want Jeremy to see her for who she really is before she has an opportunity to hurt him. To hurt Crew. I grab her by the ankles and pull on her legs. I have her halfway out of the bed when I feel someone rip me from her. I'm swung around, carried to the door. He plants my feet on the floor of the hallway. "What the hell are you doing, Lowen?" Jeremy's face and his voice are so full of anger. I step forward, pressing my hands against his chest. He pulls the knife away from me and grips my shoulders. "Stop." "She's faking it. I saw her, I swear, she's faking it." He steps back into her room and slams the door in my face. I open the door, and he's lifting Verity's legs back onto the bed. When he sees me entering the room again, he tosses the covers over Verity and shoves me out into the hallway. He turns and locks her door, then grabs me by the wrist and pulls me behind him. "Jeremy, no." I'm grabbing at his wrist that's locked tightly around mine. "Don't leave Crew up here with her." My voice is pleading, but he can't hear the worry. He can only see what he thinks he knows, what he walked into. When we reach the stairs, I back up, shaking my head, refusing to descend them. He needs to take Crew downstairs. He grabs me by the waist and lifts me over his shoulder and carries me down the stairs, straight to my room. He sets me down onto the bed, gently, even in the midst of his anger. He walks to my closet. Grabs my suitcase. My things. "I want you to leave." I lift up onto my knees and move to the foot of the bed, where he's shoving all my things into the suitcase. "You have to believe me." He doesn't. "Goddammit, Jeremy!" I point toward the upstairs. "She's crazy! She's been lying to you since the day you met her!" I've never seen so much distrust and hatred pouring out of a human. The way he's looking at me has me so terrified, I scoot away from him. "She's not faking it, Lowen." He tosses his hand in the air, toward the direction of the stairs. "That woman is helpless. Practically brain-dead. You've been seeing things since you got here." He shoves more clothes into my suitcase, shaking his head. "It's impossible," he mutters. "It isn't. And you know it isn't. She killed Harper and you know it. You suspected it." I climb off the bed and rush to the door. "I can prove it." He follows after me as I run to Verity's office. I grab the manuscript, every page of it, and I turn around just as he reaches me and I shove it against his chest. "Read it." He catches the pages. Looks down at them. Looks back up at me. "Where did you find this?" "It's hers. It's all there. From the day you met her up until her car wreck. Read it. At least read the last two chapters, I don't care. Just, please, read it." I'm exhausted, and I have nothing else in me but pleas. So I beg him. Quietly. "Please, Jeremy. For your girls." He's still looking at me like he doesn't trust a single word coming out of my mouth. He doesn't have to. If he would just read those pages—see what his wife was truly thinking in the moments she was with him—he'll know I'm not the one he needs to worry about. I can feel the fear welling up in me. The fear of losing him. He thinks I'm crazy—that I was trying to hurt his wife. He wants me to leave his home. He wants me to walk out of here and he never wants to see me again. My eyes sting as the tears begin to fall down my cheeks. "Please," I whisper. "Please. You deserve to know the truth." I expect it to take him a while to read the entire thing. I'm sitting on my bed, waiting. The house is quieter than it's ever been. Unsettling, like the calm before a storm. I stare at my suitcase, wondering if he's still going to want me to leave after this. The entire time I've been here, I've been holding on to that manuscript, keeping it a secret from him. He may never forgive me for it. I know he'll never forgive Verity. My eyes flick up to the ceiling when I hear a crash. It wasn't loud, but it sounded like it came from the room Jeremy is in. He hasn't been up there for very long, but it's enough time to at least skim the manuscript and know that Verity was not at all the woman he thought she was. I hear a cry. It's low and quiet, but I hear him. I fall onto my side and hug the pillow as I squeeze my eyes shut. It kills me to know how much he's hurting right now as he reads page after page of a truth so harsh, it never should have been written. Footsteps are above me now, moving around upstairs. He hasn't been up there nearly long enough to read the entire thing, but I can understand that. If I were him, I would have skipped to the end to see what really happened to Harper. I hear a door open. I run across the hall to the office and look at the monitor. Jeremy is standing in Verity's doorway, looking at her. I can see both of them from the monitor. "Verity." She doesn't answer him, obviously. She doesn't want him to know she's a threat. Or maybe she's been faking it because she's afraid he'll turn her into the police. Whatever her reason, I have a feeling Jeremy isn't going to walk away from the room until he gets his answer. "Verity," he says, stepping closer to her. "If you don't answer me, I'm calling the police." She still doesn't answer him. He walks over to her, reaches down, and pulls one of her eyelids open. He stares at her for a moment, then walks toward the door. He doesn't believe me. But then he pauses, like he's questioning himself. Questioning what he read. He turns around and walks over to her. "When I walk out of this room, I'm taking your manuscript straight to the police. They'll put you away and you'll never see me or Crew again if you don't open your eyes and tell me what's going on in this house." Several seconds pass. I'm holding my breath, waiting for her to move. Hoping she moves so that Jeremy will know I'm telling the truth. A whimper escapes my throat when she opens her eyes. I slap my hand over my own mouth before it turns into a scream. I'm afraid I'll wake Crew, and this is not something he needs to walk into. Jeremy's whole body tenses, and then he grabs his head in both hands as he backs away from her bed. He meets the wall. "What the fuck, Verity?" Verity begins to shake her head adamantly. "I had to, Jeremy," she says, sitting up on the bed. She's getting into a defensive pose, as if she's terrified of what he might do. Jeremy is still in disbelief, his face full of anger and betrayal and confusion. "This entire time... you've been... ." He's trying to keep his voice down, but he looks like he's about to explode into a rage. He turns and releases his anger with a fist against the door. It makes Verity flinch. She holds up her hands. "Please, don't hurt me. I'll explain everything." "Don't hurt you?" Jeremy spins around, taking a step forward. "You killed her, Verity." I can hear the anger in his voice, and it's just over the monitor. But Verity has a front row seat to it. She tries to jump off the bed to escape him, but he doesn't allow it. He grabs her by the leg and yanks her back onto the bed. When she starts to scream, he covers her mouth. They struggle. She's trying to kick him. He's trying to hold her down. Then his other hand forms a circle around her throat. No, Jeremy. I run straight up to Verity's room and stop short when I reach the doorway. Jeremy is on top of her. Her arms are trapped beneath his knees, her legs are kicking at the bed, her feet are digging into the mattress as she wheezes. She's trying to fight back, but he overpowers her in every way. "Jeremy!" I rush to him and try to pull him off of her. All I can think of is Crew and Jeremy's future and how his anger is not worth a life. His life. "Jeremy!" He isn't listening. He refuses to let go of her. I try to get in his face, to calm him, to talk sense into him. "You have to stop. You're crushing her windpipe. They'll know you killed her." Tears are streaming down his cheeks. "She killed our daughter, Low." His voice is full of devastation. I grab his face, try to pull him to me. "Think about Crew," I say, my voice low. "Your son will not have a father if you do this." I see the slow change in him as my words sink in. He eventually pulls his hands from her throat. I double over, gasping for as much breath as Verity is right now. She's sputtering, trying to inhale. She tries to speak. Or scream. Jeremy covers her mouth and looks at me. There's a plea in his eyes, but it's not a plea for me to call for help. It's a plea for me to help him figure out a better way to end her. I don't even argue with him. There is not a single cell in her body that deserves to live after all she's done. I step back and try to think. If he chokes her, they'll know. His handprints will be on her throat. If he smothers her, particles from the pillow will be in her lungs. But we have to do something. If he doesn't, she'll get away with it somehow because she's manipulative. She'll end up hurting him or Crew. She'll kill him just like she killed her daughter. Just like she tried to kill Harper as an infant. Just like she tried to kill Harper as an infant. "You have to make it look like an accident," I say, my voice quiet, yet loud enough to be heard over the noises she's making beneath the palm of his hand. "Make her vomit. Cover her nose and mouth until she stops breathing. It'll look like she aspirated in her sleep." Jeremy's eyes are wide as he listens to me, but there's understanding there. He pulls his hands from her mouth and then shoves his fingers down her throat. I turn my head. I can't watch. I hear the gagging, and then the choking, and it feels like it goes on forever. Forever. I sink to the floor, my whole body wracked with tremors. I press my palms against my ears and attempt to ignore the sounds of Verity's last breaths. Of her last movements. After a while, the sound of three people's lungs turns into two. It's only Jeremy and me breathing right now. "Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God... " I can't stop whispering it over and over as the enormity of what we've just done begins to register. Jeremy is quiet, other than the cautious breaths he's releasing. I don't want to look at her, but I need to know it's over. When I turn my body to face her, she's staring at me. Only this time, I know she isn't in there, hiding behind that vacant stare. Jeremy is on his knees by the bed. He checks her pulse, then his head collapses between his shoulders. He sits, his back to the bed as he catches his breath. He brings both hands to his face, cradling his head. I don't know if he's about to cry, but I would understand it if he did. He's been hit with the reality that his daughter's death wasn't an accident. That his wife—the woman he devoted so many years of his life to—was not at all the person he believed her to be. That she was manipulating him the entire time. Every good memory he's ever had with his wife died right along with her tonight. Her confessions ripped him apart, and I can see it in the way he's doubled over now, attempting to process the last hour of his life. The last hour of Verity's life. I slap my hand over my mouth and I start to cry. I can't believe I just helped him kill her. We just killed her. I can't stop looking at her. Jeremy stands and then lifts me into his arms. My eyes are closed as he carries me out of the room and down the stairs. When he lays me on the bed, I want him to crawl in with me. Wrap his arms around me. But he doesn't. He starts pacing the room, shaking his head, muttering under his breath. We're both in shock, I think. I want to reassure him, but I'm too scared to speak or move or accept that this is real. "Fuck," he says. And then, louder. "Fuck!" And there it is. Every memory, every belief, everything he thought he knew about Verity is sinking in. He looks at me and then strides over to the bed. His trembling hand pushes back my hair. "She died in her sleep," he says, his words both quiet and rigid. "Okay?" I nod. "In the morning... " His voice is mixed with so much breath as he tries to stay calm. "In the morning, I'll call the police and tell them I found her when I went to wake her up. It'll look like she aspirated in her sleep." I haven't stopped nodding. He's looking at me with concern, with empathy, with apology. "I'm sorry," he says. "I'm so sorry." He leans down and kisses me on the top of my head. "I'll be right back, Low. I need to go straighten up the room. I need to hide the manuscript." He kneels down so that he's eye to eye with me, as if he wants to make sure I'm getting it. That I understand him. "We went to bed like normal. Both of us, around midnight. I administered her meds, and then, when I woke up at seven to get Crew ready for school, I found her unresponsive." "Okay." "Verity died in her sleep," he repeats. "And we're never going to discuss this again after tonight. After this moment... right now." "Alright," I whisper. He blows out a slow breath. "Alright." After he leaves the room, I can hear him moving things around, walking back and forth, first to his room, then Crew's room, then Verity's room, then the bathroom. He walks to the office and then the kitchen. Now he's back in bed with me. Holding me. He holds me tighter now than he ever has before. We don't sleep. We only fear what the morning will bring. Seven months later Verity died in her sleep seven months ago. Crew took it hard. So did Jeremy, publicly. I left the morning she died and went back to Manhattan. Jeremy had a lot to deal with that week, and I'm sure it would have been even more suspicious had I stayed in his home following the death of his wife. My outline was approved, as well as the two subsequent outlines. I turned in the first draft of the first novel two weeks ago. I've requested an extension on the deadline for the next two novels. It's going to be hard working on them with a newborn. She hasn't arrived yet. She's not due for another two and a half months. But I'm confident, with Jeremy's help, I'll be able to catch up on any work I fall behind on. He's great with Crew, and he was great with the girls, so I know he'll be great with our baby girl when she arrives. We were shocked at first, although not surprised. Things like this happen when you aren't careful. I worried how Jeremy would take it, becoming a father again after losing two children so close together. But I realized after seeing his excitement that Verity was wrong. Losing one child, or even two, doesn't mean you've lost them all. Jeremy's grief over the deaths of his daughters is separate from his joy over the impending birth of a new one. Even after all he's been through, he's still the best man that has ever entered my life. He's patient, attentive and a much better lover than Verity could have possibly described him to be. After her death, when I had to go back to Manhattan, Jeremy called me every day. I stayed away for two weeks—until everything began to settle. When he asked me to come back, I was there that same night. I've been with him every day since then. We both knew we were rushing things, but it was hard being apart. I think my presence brought him comfort, so we didn't worry about the timing or if our relationship was too much, too soon. In fact, we didn't even discuss it. The definition of our relationship was unspoken. It was organic. We were in love and that's all that mattered. He decided to sell the house shortly after we found out I was pregnant. He didn't want to remain in the same town where he and Verity had lived. And honestly, I didn't want to remain in that house with all those terrible memories. We started fresh three months ago in North Carolina. With the advance and Verity's life insurance, we were able to pay cash for a home right on the beach in Southport. Every evening, the three of us sit on the deck of our new home and watch the waves crash against the shore. We're a family now. We aren't made up of all the members of the family Crew was born into, but I know Jeremy is appreciative that Crew has me in his life. And he'll be a big brother soon. Crew seems to be adjusting well. We did put him in therapy, and Jeremy sometimes worries it'll do more harm than good, but I reassure him of all the good therapy did for me as a child. I have faith that Crew will easily forget the bad memories if we give him enough good ones to cover them up with. Today is the first time we've stepped foot in their old house in months. It's eerie, but necessary. I'm getting too close to my due date to travel again, so we're using this opportunity to clear out the house. Jeremy has received two offers on it already, and we don't want to have to drive back up here during my last month of pregnancy to empty it out. The office was the hardest room to clear out. There was so much stuff that probably could have been salvaged, but Jeremy and I spent half the day putting everything through the shredder. I think we both just want that part of our lives to be over. Gone. Forgotten. "How are you feeling?" Jeremy asks. He walks into the office and places a hand on my stomach. "I'm good," I say, smiling up at him. "You almost finished?" "Yep. A few more boxes on the porch and we'll be done." He kisses me, just as Crew runs into the house. "Stop running!" Jeremy calls out over his shoulder. I push myself out of the desk chair and follow Jeremy with it as I roll it toward the door. He grabs one of about ten boxes left on the porch and begins to carry it to the car. Crew slips around me to run outside, but pauses, then comes back into the house. "I almost forgot," he says, rushing toward the stairs. "I have to get my stuff out of mom's floor." I watch as he runs upstairs, toward Verity's old bedroom. It was empty last time I checked. But a moment later, Crew comes walking downstairs with papers in his hand. "What are those?" I ask him. "Pictures I drew for my mom." He shoves them in my hands. "I forgot she used to keep them in the floor." Crew runs outside again. I look down at the pictures in my hands. The old familiar feeling I carried around with me while staying in this house has returned. Fear. Everything starts flashing through my head. The knife that was on the floor in Verity's room. The night I saw her on the monitor, on her hands and knees, like she was digging at the floor. Crew's passing words just now. I forgot she used to keep them in the floor. I rush up the stairs. And even though I know she's dead and isn't in there, I'm still terrified as I walk down the hallway to her room. My eyes fall to the floor, to a piece of wood Crew failed to put back in place after he took out his pictures. I kneel down and pick up the loose piece of flooring. There's a hole in the floor. It's dark, so I reach my hand inside and feel around. I pull out something small. A picture of the girls. I pull out something cold. The knife. I reach in again and feel around until I find an envelope. I open it and pull out a letter, then drop the empty envelope to the floor next to me. The first page is blank. I blow out a steady breath and lift it, revealing the second page. It's a handwritten letter to Jeremy. Fearfully, I begin to read. Dear Jeremy, I hope it's you who finds this letter. If it isn't you, I hope it will get to you somehow because I have a lot to say. I want to start off with an apology. I'm sure by the time you read this, I'll have left in the middle of the night with Crew. The thought of leaving you alone in the home where we shared so many memories together makes me ache for you. We had such a good life with our children. With each other. But we're Chronics. We should have known our heartache wouldn't end with Harper's death. After years of being the perfect wife to you, I never expected this career that I love and devote most of my time to would ultimately be what ended us. Our lives were perfect until we somehow flipped into an alternate dimension the day Chastin died. As much as I try to forget where it all started to go wrong, I was cursed with this mind that never forgets a single thing. We were in Manhattan having dinner with my editor Amanda. You were wearing that thin grey sweater I loved—the one your mother bought you for Christmas. My first novel had just released and I signed the new two-book deal with Pantem, which is why we were at that dinner. I was discussing my next novel with Amanda. I don't know if you tuned this part of the conversation out, but I'm guessing you did because writer talk always bored you. I was expressing my concerns to Amanda because I wasn't sure which angle to take with the new book. Should I write something completely different? Or should I stick to the same formula of writing from the villain's point of view that made my first novel so successful? She suggested I stick to the same formula, but she also wanted me to take even more risks with the second book. I told her it was difficult for me to make a voice in my novel sound authentic when it wasn't at all how I think in my everyday life. I was worried I wouldn't be able to improve my craft with the next book. That's when she told me to try an exercise she learned in grad school called antagonistic journaling. This would have been a great time for you to be paying attention at that dinner, but you were on your phone, probably reading an eBook that wasn't mine. You caught me staring and you looked up at me, but I just smiled at you. I wasn't mad. I was happy you were there with me and being patient while I received advice from my new editor. You squeezed my leg under the table, and I directed my attention back to Amanda, but my focus was on your hand as it trailed circles around my knee. I couldn't wait to get back to our place that night because it was our first night away from the girls together, but I was also very interested in the advice Amanda was giving me. She said antagonistic journaling was the best way to improve my craft. She said I needed to get into the mind of an evil character by writing journal entries from my own life. . . things that really happened. . . but to make my inner dialogue in the journal entry be the opposite from what I was actually thinking at the time. She told me to start by writing about the day you and I met. She said I should write down what I was wearing, where we met and what our conversation was that night, but to make my inner dialogue more sinister than it actually was. It sounded simple. Harmless. I'll give you an example from a paragraph I just wrote above. I look over at Jeremy, hoping he's paying attention. He isn't. He's staring down at his fucking phone again. This dinner is a huge deal for me. I realize this isn't Jeremy's scene—these fancy dinners and meetings in Manhattan—but it's not like I force him to do this all the time. Instead, he's reading someone else's eBook, being completely disrespectful to this entire conversation. He reads all the time, yet he doesn't feel comfortable reading MY books? It's an insult in the highest form. I'm so embarrassed by his audacity, but I know I need to mask my embarrassment. If Amanda notices the irritation on my face, she might notice Jeremy's disrespect. Jeremy looks up at me, so I force a smile. I can save my anger for later. I give my attention back to Amanda, hoping she doesn't notice Jeremy's behavior. A few seconds later, Jeremy squeezes my leg, right above my knee, and I stiffen beneath his touch. Most of the time, I crave it. But in this moment the only thing I crave is a husband who supports my career. And that's how easy it is for a writer to pretend to be someone they aren't. As soon as we got back to our place, I went straight to my laptop and wrote about the first night we met. I pretended my red dress was stolen in my alternate version. I pretended I was there to hopefully fuck rich men, which was absolutely not true. You should know me better than that, Jeremy. I wasn't very good at making myself much of a villain the first time I tried it, so I made it a habit of writing down our milestone moments. I wrote about the night you proposed to me, the night I found out I was pregnant, the day I gave birth to the girls. Every time I wrote about a new milestone, I got better and better at being inside the mind of a villain. It was exhilarating. And it helped. It helped immensely, which is why I was able to create such realistic, terrifying characters in my novels. It's why they sold, because I was good at it. By the time I had finished my third novel, I felt I had mastered the craft of writing from a point of view that wasn't at all mine. The exercises had helped me so much, I decided to combine all of my journal entries into an autobiography that could be used to teach other authors how to master their craft. I needed to tie the chapters together with an overall storyline so that the autobiography was more cohesive, so I pushed the envelope with every scene to make it more jarring. More disturbing. I don't regret writing it because my only intention was to eventually help other writers, but I do regret writing about Harper's death just days after it happened. My mind was in such a dark space though, and sometimes, as a writer, the only way to clear your mind is to let the darkness spill out onto a keyboard. It was my therapy, no matter how hard that may be for you to understand. Besides, I never thought you would read it. Beyond that first manuscript, you never read anything I wrote. So why... why did you choose to read that one? It was never meant for anyone to read and believe. It was an exercise. That's it. A way to tap into the dark grief that was eating at me and eliminating it with every stroke of the keyboard. Putting all the blame onto this fictional villain I had created in that autobiography was one of the ways I coped. I know this letter is hard for you to read, but it can't be any harder than the manuscript was to read the night you found it. And if we're ever going to come to a place of forgiveness, you need to keep reading so you'll know the absolute truth about that night. Not the version you discovered days after Harper died. When I took Harper and Crew out on the lake that day, I was trying to be good for them. That morning, you mentioned how I didn't play with them anymore, and you were right. It was so hard because I missed Chastin so much, but I also had these two beautiful children who still needed me. And Harper really did want to go to the water that day. It's why she ran upstairs crying, because I had told her no. I never scolded her for her lack of emotions like I stated in the manuscript. I was using artistic freedom to further the plot. It's an insult that you believe I would speak to one of our children that way. It's an insult that you believe any of that manuscript—or that I was capable of harming them. Harper's death was an accident. Her death was an accident, Jeremy. They wanted to go in the canoe, and it was so beautiful that day. And yes, I should have put life vests on them, I realize that. But how many times had we gone in that boat without them? The water wasn't that deep. I had no idea the fishing net was beneath the surface. If it weren't for that fucking fishing net, I would have found her and helped her to shore and we all would have laughed about the day the boat tipped over. I can't even tell you how sorry I am for not doing everything, anything differently that day. If I could go back, I would, and you know I would. When you got there and pulled her out of the water and held her, I wanted to rip my heart out and feed it to you because I knew you no longer had one of your own. I didn't want to live for another second after seeing your anguish. My God, Jeremy. To lose both of them. Both of them. I watched your suspicion come to a head a few nights after Harper passed. We were in bed when you started asking me all those questions. I couldn't even believe you would think I would do something like that on purpose. And even if it was a fleeting thought, I saw the love you had for me leave your body and flitter away like it was never even there. Our entire past... all the great moments we shared together. It just left. Because, yes, I did tell Crew to hold his breath. I told him to hold his breath as the canoe was tipping over. I was trying to help him. I thought Harper would be fine because we've played in that lake many times before, so my focus was on Crew after we fell into the water. I grabbed him and he was panicking, so I tried to make it back to the dock as fast as I could before he caused us both to drown. Not even thirty seconds had passed before I realized Harper wasn't right behind us. To this day, I blame myself. I was her mother. Her protector. And I assumed she'd be fine, so I focused on Crew for thirty seconds too long. I immediately tried to swim back and find her, but the canoe had shifted farther out because of the commotion of the water. I couldn't even find where she'd gone under, and Crew was still fighting me—panicking. I knew if I didn't get him to the shore in that exact moment, all three of us would drown. I searched for her with everything in me, Jeremy. You have to believe me. Every part of me drowned in that lake with her. I didn't blame you for suspecting me. I probably would have allowed my mind to explore every possible scenario if the roles had been reversed and she drowned under your supervision. It's natural, to assume the worst in people, even if that assumption is only for a split second. I thought you'd wake up the next day after our conversation in the bed and you would realize how ridiculous your indirect accusation had been. I didn't even try to change your mind that night because I was too full of grief to care. To argue. It had only been days since she passed, and I honestly just wanted to die. I wanted to walk out into the lake that night and join her, because her death was my fault. It was an accident, yes. But if I'd made her wear a vest, if I'd been able to grab her and Crew together, she'd still be alive. I couldn't sleep, so I went to my office and opened my laptop for the first time in over six months. Imagine it for a moment. A mother, grieving the loss of both of her daughters, writing a fictional work-up that accused one of them of murdering the other. It was beyond disturbing. I realize that, which is why I cried the entire time I typed. But I thought, maybe, if I released my guilt and my grief onto this fictional villain I had created, it would somehow help me in a twisted way. I wrote all about Chastin's death. I wrote all about Harper's. I even went back to the beginning of the manuscript and added foreshadowing so the entire thing would match our new grim reality. And in a way, it did help ease a small fraction of my guilt and pain, being able to blame this fictional version of myself rather than accept the blame in real life. I can't explain the mind of a writer to you, Jeremy. Especially the mind of a writer who has been through more devastation than most writers combined. We're able to separate our reality from fiction in such a way that it feels as if we live in both worlds, but never both worlds at once. My real world had grown so dark that I didn't want to live in it that night. It's why I escaped from it and spent the night writing about a world darker than the one I was living in. Because every time I worked on that autobiography, I found relief in closing the laptop. I found relief in walking out of my office and being able to close the door on the evil I created. That's all it was. I needed for the imaginary version of my world to be darker than my real world. Otherwise, I would have wanted to leave them both. After spending the entire night and some of the morning working on the manuscript, I finally reached the last page. I felt the manuscript was done at that point because, really, what more could I have added? It felt as though our world was over. The end. I printed it out and stuffed it away in a box, thinking one day in the future I'd get back to it. Maybe add an epilogue. Maybe I would burn it. Whatever the plan was, I was not expecting you to somehow read it. I was not expecting you to believe it. After being up all night writing, I slept most of the day. When I finally woke up that night, I couldn't find you. Crew was already asleep, but you weren't up there with him. I was standing in the hallway wondering where you had disappeared to when I heard a noise in my office. The noise was you. I'm not sure what kind of sound you had made, but it was worse than either of the days we found out the girls had died. I walked toward my office to console you, but I stopped short before opening the door because your cries had turned into rage. Something crashed against the wall. I jumped back—wondering what was happening. That's when I remembered the laptop. The autobiography was the last file I had opened. I swung open the door to explain what I knew you had just read. I'll never forget the look on your face as you stood there and looked at me from across the room. It was complete and utter... misery. Not like the sadness of someone who just found out one of their children died. It was a consuming sadness, like every happy memory we had ever had as a family was erased with every new word of that manuscript you had read. Gone. There was nothing left inside you but hatred and destruction. I shook my head, tried to speak. I wanted to say, "No. It's not true, Jeremy. It's okay, it's not true." But all I could get out was a fearful and pathetic, "No." The next thing I knew, you were dragging me by my throat to the bedroom. I was no match for your strength as you held my arms down with your knees and squeezed my throat even tighter. If you'd given me five seconds. Just five seconds to explain, I could have saved us. I tried so hard to say, "Just let me explain," but I couldn't breathe. I'm not sure what the sequence of events was after that. I know I passed out. Maybe you panicked because you realized you had almost killed me. If I had died on that bed, you would have been arrested for my murder. Crew wouldn't have a father. I woke up in the passenger seat of my Range Rover and you were behind the wheel. There was tape on my mouth, and my hands and feet were bound together. Again, I just wanted to explain that what you read wasn't true—but I couldn't talk. I looked down and realized I didn't have on a seatbelt. And in that moment, I knew what you were doing. It was one simple sentence in my manuscript, about how I should turn off the passenger airbag and drive my car into a tree while Harper was unbuckled so her death would look like an accident. You were going to kill me and make my death look like an accident. I had unknowingly written my own death in the last two sentences of my manuscript. "So Be It. Maybe I'll just drive my car into a tree." I realized in that moment, if you were ever suspected of my death, all you had to do was provide the manuscript. Had I died, it would have been the perfect suicide letter. Of course, we both know how that part of the story ended. I'm assuming you removed the tape from my hands and feet, placed me into the driver's side of the vehicle, and walked back home where you waited for the police to come notify you that I had died. Your plan didn't quite work out, though. I'm not sure I'm relieved that it failed. It would almost be easier if I had died in that wreck because pretending to be injured has been difficult. I'm sure you're wondering why I've been deceiving you for so long. I have very little memory of that first month after Harper's death. I'm assuming I was in a medically induced coma because of the swelling on my brain. But I remember the day I came out of it very clearly. I was alone in the room, thank God, which gave me time to process what needed to happen next. How would I explain to you that every negative word you read was a lie? You wouldn't believe me if I tried to deny that manuscript, because I wrote it. Those words were mine, no matter how untrue they were. Because who would believe it was a lie? Certainly not someone who didn't understand the writing process. And if you were aware that I had recovered, you would turn me in to the police, if you hadn't already. I'm sure an investigation would have followed Harper's death had I not had that wreck. And with my own husband against me, I have no doubt that I would be convicted of her murder because it would be my own words used against me. For three days I pretended to still be in a coma when anyone would enter my room. Doctors, nurses, you, Crew. But I was careless one day and you caught me with my eyes open as you walked into the hospital room. You stared at me. I stared back. I saw your fists clench, as if you were pissed that I had woken up. As if you wanted to walk over and wrap your fingers around my throat again. You took a few steps toward me, but I decided not to follow you with my eyes because your rage terrified me. If I pretended not to be aware of my surroundings in that moment, there was a chance you wouldn't try to end my life again. A chance you wouldn't go to the police and tell them I had recovered. So I pretended for weeks because I felt it was my only means of survival. I was going to fake the extent of my brain injuries until I could figure out how to fix the situation I was in. Don't think it wasn't hard. It was humiliating at times. I wanted to give up. Kill myself. Kill you. I was so angry at where our lives had ended up, and after all those years of marriage you could even, for one second, believe any of that manuscript to be true. I mean seriously, Jeremy. Do men really believe women are that obsessed with sex? It was fiction! Of course I loved making love to you, but most of the time it was to please you because that's what couples do for each other. It wasn't because I couldn't live without it. You were a good husband to me and whether you believe it to be true, I was a good wife to you. You're still a good husband to me. You believe in your heart that I murdered our daughter, yet you still ensure I'm taken care of. Maybe it's because you think I'm no longer in here—that all the evil parts of me died in that wreck and I'm merely someone you feel sorry for now. I think that's why you brought me home because with all Crew has been through, your heart is too good to keep him away from me. You knew after losing both of his sisters, the complete loss of his mother would do even more damage to him. Despite what my manuscript stated, your love for our children is the thing I've always cherished most about you. There have been moments throughout these past few months when I've wanted to tell you I'm here. That it's me. That I'm okay. But it would be a waste of breath. We can't get past two murder attempts, Jeremy. And I know if you find out I'm faking this before I'm able to leave, your third attempt at killing me will be successful. I'm not going through all this effort in hopes that I'll eventually change your mind and prove to you how wrong you were. You will never fully trust me again. Everything I'm doing is for Crew. All I can think about is my little boy. Everything I've done from the day I woke up in that hospital has been for Crew. As much as I don't want to take Crew away from you, I have no choice. He's my child and he needs to be with me. He's the only one who knows I'm still in here—that I still have thoughts and a voice and a plan. It feels safe, being myself with him, because he's only five. I know if he told you I speak to him, you would pass it off as an active imagination, or even trauma from all he's been through. He's the reason I searched so hard for that manuscript. I know, if you ever find us after I leave here, you'll try to use it against me. You'll want him to believe it as you believed it. The first night after you brought me home, I snuck to the office to delete the manuscript from the laptop, but you had already deleted it. I tried to find the one I had printed, but I couldn't remember where it was. There were blank spots in my memory after the wreck, and that was one of them. But I knew I needed to get rid of both of them so you couldn't use it against me. I searched everywhere, any chance I got for that manuscript, as quietly as I could. My office, the basement, the attic. I even searched around the bedroom a few times while you were asleep on your bed. I just knew I couldn't leave with Crew until I had destroyed the proof you would use against me. I also had to wait until I could get my hands on money but I wasn't quite sure how to do that since I couldn't very well drive to the bank. When I overheard your conversation with Pantem Press about their brilliant idea of continuing the series with a new author, I knew that was my way out. When you hired an overnight nurse and left for your meeting with them in Manhattan, I snuck into my office and opened a new checking account online. Within days of that meeting, the new co-author was moving into the house to start on the series. Which means it will only be a matter of time before the money for the remaining three books will finally be in the account and I'll be able to transfer the funds to my new account and get Crew out of here. All I have to do is bide my time, but the new co-author has been making it difficult. She somehow got her hands on the printed manuscript I've been searching for. I'm sure you thought by deleting the file, you were ridding the house of it. But you didn't. Now it's two against one. I don't even care about destroying the manuscript at this point. I only care about getting out of here. I admit, it's my fault she's growing suspicious. I know it freaks her out when she catches me looking at her, but you can't blame me. This woman has entered your life, is taking over my career, is falling in love with you. And from what I can tell, you're falling in love with her, too. I heard you fucking her in our bedroom a couple of hours ago. As much as I'm hurting, I'm equally as angry. However, you're so occupied with her right now I feel it's the safest time to write this letter. I locked the door to the master bedroom so I'll be able to hear you trying to get out. It'll provide me with enough time to hide this letter and get back in place before you can make it upstairs. It's been tough, Jeremy. Not gonna lie. All of it. Knowing you believed my words more than you believed my actions over the course of our marriage. Knowing I've had to resort to this level of deceit to save myself from being convicted of one of the most atrocious things a mother could do. Knowing you're falling in love with another woman while I spend day after day pretending to be unaware of what our lives have turned into. But I keep pushing through because I'm confident that I'll get out of here as soon as that money comes, which is why I'm leaving you this note. Maybe you'll find it, maybe you won't. I hope you do. I really hope you do. Because even after you tried to choke me to death and crash my car into a tree, I can't find it in myself to hate you. You have always been fierce in your protection of our children, which is exactly how parents should be. Even if that means eliminating the parent who has become a threat to them. You truly believe in your heart that I am a threat to Crew, and even though it kills me to know you believe that, it also gives me life knowing how much you love him. When Crew and I finally get out of here, I'll call you someday and I'll tell you where to find this letter. After you read it, I hope you'll find it in you to forgive me. I hope you'll find it in you to forgive yourself. I don't blame you for what you've done to me. You were a wonderful husband until you couldn't be. And you were the best father in the world. Hands down. I love you. Even still. Verity I drop the letter to the floor. I grip my stomach as a pain seers through it. She didn't do it? I don't want to believe anything I just read. I want to believe Verity is cruel and deserves what we did to her, but I'm not sure she did. Oh, God. What if it's true? This woman lost her daughters and then her husband tried to kill her and then... we did kill her. I sit back, staring at the letter as if it's a weapon that harnesses the power to destroy the life I've recently built with Jeremy. So many thoughts are running through my mind, I press against my temples because my head is pounding. Jeremy already knew about the manuscript? Had he really already read it before I gave it to him? Did he lie to me? No. He never denied knowing it existed. In fact, now that I think back on that moment, his exact words were, "Where did you find this?" It's too much to take in. I can't process everything she said and everything that's happened. I stare at the letter for so long, I forget where I am and that Jeremy and Crew are downstairs and that any minute, he'll come looking for me. I crawl forward and grab the pages. I shove the knife and picture back into the floor, then cover the hole with the wood. I take the pages to the bathroom and I lock the door behind me. I kneel in front of the toilet and I start ripping each page into tiny shreds. I flush some of the paper and eat as many pieces of the letter I can find with Jeremy's name. I want to make sure no one ever reads a word of this. Jeremy would never forgive himself. Never. If he found out the manuscript wasn't real and that Verity never harmed Harper, he wouldn't be able to survive that kind of truth. The truth that he murdered his innocent wife. That we murdered his innocent wife. If it even is the truth. "Lowen?" I flush the rest of the pieces of paper in the toilet. I flush again for good measure, just as Jeremy knocks on the door. "You okay?" he asks. I turn on the water and try to calm my voice. "Yes." I wash my hands, then take a sip of water to ease the dryness in my mouth. I look in the mirror and recognize the terror in my eyes. I close them, attempting to push it back. All of it. Every terrible thing I've witnessed in my thirty-two years. The night I stood on the railing. The day I saw the man being crushed beneath the tire. The manuscript. The night I saw Verity standing at the top of the stairs. The night she died in her sleep. I push it all back. I swallow it like I swallowed her letter. I blow out a breath and then open the door and smile at Jeremy. He reaches up and runs a hand down the side of my head. "You okay?" I swallow my fear, my guilt, my sadness. I cover it all up with a convincing nod. "I'm alright." Jeremy smiles. "Alright," he says quietly, threading his fingers through mine. "Let's get out of here and never come back." He holds my hand throughout the house and doesn't let go until he opens my door and helps me into his Jeep. As we're driving away, I watch the house grow smaller in the rearview mirror until, finally, it disappears. Jeremy reaches across the seat and rubs my stomach. "Ten more weeks." There's an excitement in his eyes. One I know I was able to put there, even after all he's been through. I brought light into his darkness, and I will continue to be that light so he'll never be lost in the shadows of his past. He will never know what I know. I'll make certain of that. I will take this secret to my grave with me so Jeremy doesn't have to. I have no idea what to believe, so why put him through more anguish? Verity could have written that letter as a way to try and cover her tracks. It could have been another ploy at manipulating the situation and everyone involved. And even if Jeremy really was the reason for her wreck, I can't blame him. He believed Verity maliciously murdered his child. I can't even blame him for ultimately following through with her murder when he found out she had been deceiving him about her injuries. Any parent in his position would have done the same. Should have done the same. We both believed in our hearts that she was a threat to Crew. To us. No matter which way I look at it, it's clear that Verity was a master at manipulating the truth. The only question that remains is: Which truth was she manipulating?
Jogging towards Yutu's cabin Ava wished she could have taken Ella with her or somehow physically manifested her tiger separate from herself so she could leave it behind to guard Ella. At least she'd done the next best thing and left Ella with someone she trusted. She felt a little bad she'd put Oswald in the position of having to guard an avian against his own people but she couldn't leave Ella unprotected after what happened with the wolf-bitch. Despite how he might feel about avians she knew Oswald would keep Ella safe. He was solid as a rock and if he said he would do something he would. Having him near should deter any of the wolves from nipping at Ella literally or figuratively as he was a respected high-ranking clan member. He wasn't one to look for trouble but he was no submissive. Once provoked he was a vicious fighter who went for the throat, definitely not someone to challenge lightly. She had to think of an appropriate way to thank Oswald for agreeing to protect Ella. He'd let slip the last time they talked that he had a new lover in Porta Belua. Apparently, she had expensive tastes and complained he never took her anywhere nice when he came to visit. She'd heard the new five-star hotel had a couple's package that came with a luxury suite and an all-you-can-eat buffet. She would buy him a voucher for that. Oswald was a man of earthly pleasures who'd appreciate that. Ava heard Nesa running hard behind her so she slowed to allow her to catch up. She noticed a large tent being erected in the central clearing to their right and the bustle of activity around it. Pointing toward it she asked, "Is someone getting married in the big tent again?" Nesa glanced at the tent and quickly away. "No. It's for clan business." They continued on in silence for a little while. Nesa must have realized how short her answer sounded because she added almost apologetically, "It is being set up for a gathering of the clan followed by a shared feast tonight. There are things that must be discussed. The traders will be confined because we don't want outsiders eavesdropping." "That sounds serious. As soon as I'm done talking to your grandfather I'll take Ella and go. Fewer outsiders for you to worry about." "No! Please stay. The clan leaders want to talk to you before the gathering starts." Ava schooled her face not to show her dismay at this development. She now had confirmation that the undercurrent she felt since they arrived wasn't her imagination. She'd considered staying the night so Ella could sleep in a proper bed but now she would complete her business quickly so they could leave. She had no desire to get caught up in clan politics. Her dealings with clan Swift Foot had been mostly low key. She would stop to trade at their general store, say hello to a few people she knew, catch up on clan gossip with Oswald if he was around and go see Yutu. Even though Yutu and his life-mate were so much older than her she had found it easier to be around them then the younger wolves with their constant yipping and posturing. She found their company undemanding and filled with thoughtful conversation. The shrewd old wolf would never have tried to make her the center of a surprise gathering as he understood she hated being put on display or feeling cornered. Trying to haul her in front of a meeting of clan leaders like she was a wayward pup was not only insulting, it reeked of ambush. In her experience when a group of people ganged up to ask her for something, they were too invested in the outcome to take it well when she said no. Ava sighed inwardly. When she woke this morning the only thing she wanted from the day was to get a solid lead on her father's fang from Yutu. At the rate things were going he would probably have nothing concrete to offer her and she would spend the rest of the day trying to leave without offending the wolves. "You need to tell me what is going on, Nesa. I don't like surprises. It gets my hackles up." Nesa hesitated for a moment then said, "We want you to join our clan." "That's...a surprise. Whose idea was that?" "Mine but the others agreed with me." "Why? I'm not a wolf-shifter and you're all wolves. Your clan has always been adamant about keeping it that way." "It's time for change. It's all well and good for the puritans to say we should stick to our own kind but we are losing curious young wolves who find the old ways too stifling. Some come back once they've sated their curiosity but many don't. My best friend fell in love with one of the tree-folk and wanted to bring her home but couldn't so they settled in a mixed community on the coast. They have three children now with a fourth on the way and I've missed out on being a godmother. It didn't have to be like that." Nesa sighed regretfully. "Clan Swift Foot would have been so much stronger if we'd allowed mixed couples and invited powerful shifters like you to join us over the years. If we had we would not be scraping the bottom of the barrel now trying to add to our fighting strength by bringing in troublemakers like Tania." Ava gave Nesa a curious look. "What's happened that you're in such a hurry to add fighters?" "Black Paw has been encroaching onto our hunting grounds, poaching stock and attacking our people." "Black Paw? But their base is on the other side of the mountains, closer to Porta Belua. What are they doing all the way out here? I'm sure they have a few good hunters among them but they don't hold to the old ways and they mainly make their living selling out as mercenaries and muscle for hire to the highest bidder. Are you sure it is them?" "We're sure." "How bad is it?" "At first they took only a few deer. We had a talk to them about that and thought it was settled. I think they were just testing to see what we would do and scouting our territory. Then a month ago we got hit with full raiding parties, hard and fast. They broke into the hunting cabins and carried away the meat we'd been gathering for winter. We use the whole animal so nothing is wasted and we sell what we don't need to buy the things we can't make or grow ourselves. They are threatening our livelihood, Ava. Now we have to hunt and fish more to replace what they have stolen before winter comes which will put stress on our stock. Fishing here is good but only because we have been careful over the years not to take more than we had to. The same with our hunting grounds. It has been carefully tended and we cull out the older animals and weaker males so the females and their young can flourish. Those Black Paw fuckers slaughtered indiscriminately and left good meat to rot. What they did is as good as a declaration of war." "I get why you want to recruit more fighters but why me?" "Oh, come on, Ava...you don't know why we want you? You need me to spell it out? You are a descendant of the Old Bloods. They are the only ones who can shift parts of the body at will, the rest of us have to be either in human skin or animal fur. I know you can do the mixed human-beast warrior form too, just like the Old Bloods could. That is very rare now. Then there is your reputation... Everyone knows when you unleash your beast there will be carnage on a grand scale. Whenever Oswald gets drunk he still goes on about how you tore through those reinforced walls and fucked up that den of cutters that grabbed Eddie. The way he tells it when you were done the walls that were still standing ran red with the blood of your prey." Ava grimaced and said, "When I saw what they did to Eddie and the others I lost my temper. Those were evil people and I don't regret killing them but your wolves shouldn't have displayed their bodies like that. Their families didn't deserve to see that." Nesa shrugged. "Displaying those bodies so all of Porta Belua could see what was done to those cutters and their helpers sent a powerful warning to the others still in that bloody business. You helped us rescue Eddie and shut down one of those butcher shops but what about the rest? The bodies sent a message in a language those people understand. 'Take our kin and we will butcher you in turn .' They got it. Since then none of our pups has been snatched." "I'm happy that what I did helped protect your pups, truly I am, but I'm the one who had to deal with the fallout. Your people were so eager to tell anyone who would listen what had happened that the story spread everywhere. Along the way the number of dead quadrupled and I became a bloodthirsty monster. Some may enjoy that kind of notoriety but I don't." "I can see how that might put a damper on your social life Ava but you have to admit having a reputation that casts such a long and bloody shadow is useful. It precedes you; it makes your enemies tremble and keeps your allies safe. Why do you think other shifters avoid your village of pet humans?" Ava gave Nesa a warning look. "Those humans are my friends, not my pets." "Perhaps but you have claimed them. Your scent and warning signs are all around Ingvild village and look at you...I haven't even threatened them and you are ready to rip out my throat. This is how you get when those under your protection are threatened. You did the same thing when you thought the avian was in danger. This is who you are and this is exactly the reason why we desperately need you on our side. With you here Black Paw would think twice about attacking clan Swift Foot because they would know, just like I do, you would rend them to a bloody pulp." "Ah...I see clearly what you expect my role in the clan to be but what do I get out of it?" "I'd think that would be obvious, Ava. You don't have a clan and you don't have a mate. We would give you a home and a place to belong. We would become your family." Ava shook her head, "I already have a home and territory of my own." "Yes, but you are always alone and that must be awful. I don't know how you stand it. There is strength in pack. Even the greatest beast that walks alone can be taken down by those in greater numbers and you have dangerous enemies. We would be your pack. We would watch your back and fight beside you. To show how serious we are we've set one of the best cabins aside for you and it already has all the basics in there ready for you to move in." Ava considered being diplomatic by pretending she needed time to consider the offer but that would just drag things out and give Nesa false hope. "No." Nesa stared at her in shock. "What, just like that? But you didn't even take time to think it over. Fuck...I was too blunt. I knew I should have let one of the others try to talk you into this." "It wouldn't have made a difference. I'm not interested." "Why not? We have always treated you with respect and made you welcome." "You have," Ava agreed. "Then why not join us?" "If your clan was at peace, asking me to join would have been a genuine offer to make a home among your people. You only asked because you need my teeth and claws. Once I've subdued Black Paw I would have outlived my usefulness. Will I still be welcome when the threat is gone or will people be eager for me to leave?" "But...it's not like that!" Nesa protested. "Isn't it? I'm not a stray kitten in need of a feed and a place at someone's fire so don't offer me scraps and expect me to be thankful for it. Do you think your clan is the first to make me such an offer? Not by far. In fact, your rivals offered me something similar about a year ago." The shock and dismay on Nesa's face was almost comical. "What did Black Paw offer you? You turned them down so I assume you didn't like what they brought to the table either." "Black Paw was arrogant and ignorant. They approached me like I'm a killer for hire who gets off on fucking virgins while covered in the blood of my enemies. They wanted to pay me to join their clan and become their enforcer. I use the word clan lightly because what they are is a gang of thugs that take in the half-feral shifters other clans won't have. When I told them I wasn't interested they tried to get me drunk and added I could have the pick of their young or anyone else I wanted to warm my bed as long as I worked for them." Nesa scowled. "That's messed up. What did you say?" "Aside from no? I was reasonably restrained in my response considering how insulting the offer was. Things got out of hand when the chief got belligerent about my refusal and went into great detail on how he would find me and service me himself the next time I went into heat. Keep in mind he said this at the top of his voice in front of a full meeting hall." Nesa swore and shook her head in disbelief. "Was he drunk when he said that? Obviously, the mutt wasn't right in the head. What did you do?" "I broke a table on his thick skull. His people took exception to that and tried to keep me from leaving so I broke a few of them as well and collapsed their meeting hall. That was too much I know but by that time I was furious." "I heard a small earthquake collapsed their meeting hall and badly injured the people inside. You're telling me that was all you? I saw that ugly monstrosity they built. How did you collapse that thing?" Ava grinned. "It was easy. They built it like a house of cards but with logs. All I had to do was rip out the weight bearing poles and gravity did the rest." Nesa gave a strangled laugh and said, "If you were anyone else, I'd not believe that story but I know what you're capable of when you get angry and your beast is freaking huge . I almost pissed my pants the first time I saw you like that." Nesa's expression became thoughtful. "Um...I don't have to worry about you going on a rampage and smashing things before you leave, right? I didn't offend you?" "What? No! Of course, I won't go on a rampage for something like that. Don't you know me well enough by now to realize that? However, if someone tried to prevent me from leaving..." she gave Nesa a mock threatening look. Nesa gave her a sheepish smile and held her hands up in surrender, "We're desperate, not suicidal. As always, you can come and go as you please. I'm disappointed but there are no hard feelings." "Good. I'd like to maintain good relations with your people. I've always liked clan Swift Foot. Well, not everyone in it obviously but as a whole you are good people and I have the greatest respect for your grandfather. As I said, if you offered me a place in your clan when you were not on the brink of war I might have considered it but I won't be anyone's monster on a leash. The thought makes me feel sick." "But that's not what we want." "Stop. Just stop, Nesa! You know I'm right because you told me as much. You might have used prettier words but when it comes down to it you want me for the same reasons Black Paw did. I'm supposed to intimidate your enemies and kill them if they don't behave. Tell me honestly, if you were in my position, would you accept an offer like that?" Nesa frowned and reluctantly said, "When you put it like that? No. But you can't blame me for trying. We really need someone like you and I still think you would be much better off as a member of our clan than on your own. I will talk the others into sweetening the deal any way you like." "You're not going to offer me bed mates and virgins too, are you?" Ava asked dryly. Grinning Nesa said, "You're hilarious. You know as well as I do the clan would tear out my throat if I did something like that. Besides, young wolves are so horny I'd be amazed if there is a single virgin over fifteen in the entire clan. However, if you're interested in lusty experienced wolves I could put the word out for volunteers who'd like some girl on girl time. You'd have an eager queue banging on your cabin door within the hour. Aisha will be right at the front; she's been trying to get into your pants for ages . Unless you've broadened your interest to include men? If that's the case it would be more like a stampede!" Ava shook her head vehemently but she was laughing and it made Nesa grin harder. They ran the rest of the way to Yutu's cabin together in amicable silence.
Ava noticed the sickly stench overlaid with pungent herbs and disinfectant before she even put a foot on the first step leading up to the wide porch of the log cabin. She did her best to pretend she didn't notice but she wasn't the only one struggling; she could see Nesa's nose wrinkle. She paused on the porch and asked, "Yutu is inside?" Nesa nodded took off her shoes and went in. This more than the smell let Ava know how bad things were. In all the years she's known Yutu, which was most of her life, she'd seen him inside his home only a handful of times. He embraced his wolf and loved the woods and mountains so much that they always talked outdoors and ate on his porch, never inside. As she understood it the only reason he'd built a cabin was to have a shelter for his family and because he felt that a chief ought to have a home as a thing of status to show he was a man and not just a wolf. It was his mate when she was alive who had made their cabin into a home and enticed him inside as only a lover could. However, since Noree died she had it on good authority Yutu slept on the thickly padded bench on the porch unless the weather was too abysmal even for him to endure. Ava slipped off her own shoes and padded after Nesa. She tried to focus on the cool feel and texture of the wood under her bare feet in an effort not to gag at how much stronger the stink was inside despite all the windows being wide open. She tried breathing through her mouth instead but that wasn't much better. Her only consolation was that Nesa's sense of smell was probably better than her own so she would find this even worse. "He can't control his bowels," Nesa whispered, "and he's struggling to keep food down. That's why it smells like this. I had to make sure he was able to receive a guest before I brought you to see him. His speech is hard to understand and he drools so be prepared for that." "Wouldn't it be better for him to be outside? He must hate being cooped up inside," Ava whispered back. "He hates it but he doesn't want to be seen in the state he is in. My mum and her sisters are the only ones allowed in the house. Me too but I am not allowed in the room when they wash or feed him. He hates everything and everyone right now and I don't blame him. You know how proud he's always been and it must be humiliating for him to be so helpless and dependent. If he could shift he would have tried to bite us for putting hands on him or dragged himself off to go die in the forest. I think the only thing that has kept him going is waiting for you. He asks if you've arrived several times an hour. That alone has just about driven my mother crazy. With the way he's been asking after you and how he always made time to see you whenever you visited, my mum started to concoct this notion you might be Yutu's love child." This stopped Ava in her tracks. "No. I'm not. I'm confident I know who my parents are so please reassure your mother." "I did tell my mum she was barking up the wrong tree but I'll tell her what you said. Sending a message to you was the last thing Yutu did before he had a stroke. He was so excited I figured it must have something to do with him locating your father's fang. What happened to you and your father...my grandfather sometimes talked to me about that when we were alone. He'd get this troubled look when he mentioned how his friend Valen was one of those murdered by cutters. To him, there is no worse fate than dying with parts of the body missing because maimed hunters can't enter the eternal hunting grounds. He admired what you were doing. He was convinced if you succeeded your father's spirit would be made whole and be able to pass on." "Your grandfather told me that too. He also said he would help me however he could. Yutu was the one who tracked down my father's pelt. I took it off the wall of the trophy hunter's lodge and brought it here first so he could see it before I carried it home. That was the closest I'd ever seen your grandfather to tears. Yutu and my father used to hunt together in beast form, did you know that? A tiger and wolf hunting together – what a formidable pair they must have been." "I didn't know that." "Your grandfather has been a steadfast ally and friend over the years. We'd discuss where I'd been, which trails I'd followed and what I was thinking of doing next. I think he was as disappointed as me every time it turned out to be a false trail but he still wanted to hear all about it. It was good to have someone to share this with. I promised him if he helped me find my father's fang I'd get for him something I knew he wanted for the clan. When I got the message to say he might have found it I went and got what I promised him." Ava patted the pack on her back. "I did my part so I hope he was able to do the same." "What if it turns out to be another false trail?" "Then I keep looking. I've been at this for so many years and have had so many false leads and disappointments I'd be shocked if Yutu actually tracked it down." "After Grandma Noree died and he stepped down from his position as Chief my grandfather became restless and grumpy. I saw a change in him after one of your visits and it was like he found a new purpose. He became obsessed with finding your father's fang. He must have written hundreds of letters and bugged every traveler that came through here about it. My mum wasn't pleased he spent so much time on something she thought was futile but I reckon it was good for him. He felt like he was doing something important. He couldn't run with the pack anymore but he was on a hunt, except instead of stalking a deer he was tracking down the last piece of your father's body. In his mind, if he succeeded it would mean he helped you fulfill your vow to retrieve all the trophies taken from your father and he'd get to see his friend Valen at the eternal hunting grounds." "I'm speechless, Nesa. I had no idea Yutu spent so much time on this. He told me he was still looking but...I didn't know he was so dedicated." "He probably didn't want to get your hopes up. He must have found a good lead otherwise he wouldn't have called for you to come." "Let's hope so." Their hushed conversation brought them to a door in a long hallway. Nesa knocked quietly. There was the sound of footsteps and a moment later an older woman who bore a striking resemblance to Nesa opened the door. She had dark circles under her eyes and fatigue and worry had carved stark lines into her face. When she saw them she slipped out of the room and quickly closed the door behind her. She leaned back against the door and let out a heavy sigh. "About bloody time you turned up, Ava. Go see that stubborn old wolf so I can tend to him properly once you are gone. He won't take anything for the pain in case it dulls his mind even more and he needs to sleep but he fights it, too afraid he won't wake again if he does. He is obstinate, unreasonable and as difficult as an overtired child." The woman bared her teeth in a half snarl. "If he wasn't my father and I didn't respect him so much I'd force the sleep potion down his throat and be done with it." "Mum..." Nesa carefully took her mother by the arm and led her away from the door. "How about you shift and go for a run. You've been cooped up here for days." Lesia yanked her arm out of her daughter's hands and came to a full stop. "I'm fine. You know I can't leave him alone." "He won't be alone. I will be here and Ava is here and you really need to get out of here for a while. Get some fresh air in your lungs and grass under your paws." Lesia gave her daughter a steely look. "It sounds like you are trying to get rid of me." "I'm trying to help. You're like Grandad – too long inside and your wolf gets snappy." Lesia huffed but didn't disagree. "I could do with a break. I won't go far, just to the stream for a swim and maybe catch a rabbit or two. Yes, that'll do me good. You two better take good care of him while I'm gone." While she was talking Lesia had removed her shirt so she stood only in a tank top. As Lesia reached for the zipper on her pants Nesa said, "Mum, please go change in the other room?" "Why? We're all shifters here." "Mum, please," Nesa hissed, "we talked about this. We don't get naked in front of our guests." "Gods above and below...I don't know where you kids get these ridiculous notions from! There was a time we shifters hardly bothered with clothing. But all right, I won't offend Ava with the sight of my saggy tits. Happy now?" Lesia stalked off down the hallway and Ava heard a door open but not close. Nesa folded her arms across her chest, muttered something indistinct under her breath and gave Ava an apologetic look. Ava bit her lip and tried not to laugh. A few minutes later a large grey wolf came down the hallway its claws clicking on the wooden floorboards. When it passed Nesa it gave her a haughty look and disappeared through the open door. "I swear my family will drive me insane," Nesa said. "Stubborn, hard-headed, difficult wolves the lot of them. I can say it now you've already turned us down. You can see my grandfather now. I'm going to grab myself something to drink from the kitchen then I'll go sit on the porch. That way I can run interference if one of the aunties turn up. He was very specific about wanting no interruption and no one in the house eavesdropping on your conversation. I'll make sure my grandfather gets his wish." "Thank you." Nesa waved a hand over a shoulder in acknowledgment as she walked down the hall but did not look back. Ava turned to face the door behind which Yutu lay, rolled her shoulders once then she went inside closing the door firmly behind her.
An hour later Ava came out of the cabin and sat next to Nesa on the porch steps. Nesa took one look at Ava's face and disappeared into the cabin. A few minutes later she came back with two tall glasses filled to the brim with a golden liquid. She held one out to Ava who took it but didn't take a sip. "There's no alcohol in that," Nesa said. "Well, not in your one anyway." She took a long drink from her glass and smacked her lips appreciatively. "I figured by how rough you look you could do with a strong drink but I know you don't drink so I'll have one for you." Ava took an experimental sip, waited a moment then thirstily downed the entire glass. "That was refreshing, thank you. I do drink alcohol by the way but only on the rare occasion and not much." "Why is that? If you don't mind me asking." "When I get drunk I do stupid things." Nesa nodded knowingly. "Just about everyone does." After a moment she added almost hesitantly, "But sometimes doing stupid shit is a good way to let off a little steam. For shifters like us suppressing things can be dangerous. Better to vent than to let all that pressure build and build. As the saying goes: 'Unwind the man and you relax his beast. Cage his temper and you stoke the rage of his beast.' With a beast as fierce as yours that must be doubly true." When Ava didn't comment Nesa took another sip of her drink cleared her throat and asked, "How was he when you left him?" "Asleep." "Oh? You convinced him to take the sleeping potion?" "No. When we finished talking I gave him something else. He was so exhausted once he allowed himself to relax he fell asleep almost immediately." Seeing Nesa's concerned look Ava added, "No need to worry. I gave him a powerful healing potion, something I know works. I always carry some in case I get badly injured or I come across someone in dire need of it. It's fortunate I had one left; it has been an eventful trip." "Will he be all right? Will my grandfather be himself again?" "Yes, but don't expect him to be like he was before the stroke when he wakes up. He will be a lot better but full recovery will take time. He might be a beast-shifter but your grandfather is also an old man who suffered severe damage and his ability to regenerate is not what it used to be. But give him a day or two and he should be well enough to sleep outside again. Not feeling trapped between four walls will help him mentally while his body heals." "But what about the problem with his down below area." "You mean his legs?" Nesa nodded and fidgeted with her glass. "Yeah, I noticed you neglected to mention Yutu had tried to shift to wolf and his lower half got stuck in limbo. No wonder he was in such agony and the family didn't want anyone to see him like that. My potion gave him a boost and he was able to finish the shift." "Ava, I can't tell you how relieved I am to hear that. It was horrific seeing him with those twisted deformed limbs, part wolf and part man. It gives me the cold sweats just thinking about it. We tried everything we could to help him but nothing worked." "It wasn't a pretty sight," Ava agreed. "Neither was him flashing me his old man bits when he showed me why he couldn't walk." Nesa who was in the process of taking another long drink snorted liquid through her nose and mouth and started coughing. Ava gave her a few helpful slaps on the back. Conversationally Ava said, "I now know where your mother gets the whole 'unconcerned with nudity' thing from. I didn't realize it was a thing with your family until today." When the coughing fit stopped Nesa used the hem of her shirt to wipe the worst of the drink from her neck and flushed face. She gave Ava a sideways look. "It's only on my mother's side of the family. They see clothing as a matter of practicality to protect human skin and they don't see the difference between a wolf running around in its fur and a human without clothing. But they don't usually parade around naked in front of outsiders." "In that case, they probably don't see me as an outsider." "I suppose not," Nesa said with a grin. "So, did my grandfather manage to find what you were looking for?" Ava went very still, she swallowed hard and after a moment nodded. "Yes, he did. He came through for me. I'll forever be grateful to him." "Where did he find it?" Ava held up a hand. "I'm not ready to talk about it and if you want to know the how and where of it you can ask him yourself." She reached into her backpack and extracted a tube designed for transporting fragile things. She carefully unscrewed the lid and tilted it so Nesa could see a single ethian crystal the size of a man's fist suspended in a gel-like substance. Nesa inhaled sharply and carefully put down her glass. "Gods above and below...that is the biggest ethian crystal I've ever seen and what amazing clarity! It must be worth a fortune." "It is. This was what I promised Yutu if he found my father's fang for me. When I offered it to him he told me to give it to you instead." What Ava kept to herself was that she'd presented Yutu with several crystals as a show of her gratitude but once the old man saw the size of the crystals he'd called her gift excessive and insisted that as a matter of honor he could only accept one. Not wanting to offend the proud man she had taken back all but one, the largest and most valuable of the crystals. Nesa watched with greedy eyes as Ava secured the lid on the tube and Ava noted with mild amusement how Nesa's hands twitched as if she had to physically restrain herself not to reach for the crystal. Instead of giving it to her Ava put the tube in her own lap and waited for Nesa to make eye contact with her before she spoke. "Before I give this to you we need to come to an understanding. This crystal is not a gift to clan Swift Foot, it is payment for services rendered to your grandfather. He accepted it from my hand and then he requested I pass it on to you. That is all I'm doing here, giving something that belongs to him to you. He said you would know how to use it for the benefit of the pack. Yutu once confided in me that he believed out of all his children and grandchildren you were the wisest and would make a great chief someday. He didn't say it to me in so many words but I think that must be why he chose to give the crystal to you. Personally, I don't care what you do with it but I want to be very clear that I don't want to hear a rumor I gifted clan Swift Foot an ethian crystal. I mean it, Nesa. Your clan is not the only one I'm friendly with and if the other shapeshifters hear about this it will cause me no end of trouble. They will think I favor your clan if I don't start handing out ethian crystals like candy. I don't want to deal with that kind of petty jealousy or have to explain why I gave such a precious thing to your pack. Understood?" Nesa made a solemn bow and said, "Yes I understand. I will give honor to my grandfather for this as is his due. His gift to clan Swift Foot from my hand. I will not mention you. I swear this to you on my clan, my lineage and the honor of my name." "Good. I know he wanted a large crystal because with something like this your clan could generate a huge amount of energy. That means you can build things you were not able to before and once the infrastructure is in place the village will no longer be reliant on wood and coal. That would greatly enhance the prestige of clan Swift Foot and draw wolves from all over. Or, if you're ruthless and desperate enough, you can sell it and use the funds to hire mercenaries to wipe out Black Paw. Whatever you do with this crystal make sure not to credit me for it in any way. That is all I ask. Here take it. Use it wisely."
Ella found the trading caravan a revelation and delight. Operated by six humans and their two shapeshifter guards it consisted of four re-purposed Bedford military trucks parked in a semi-circle. Colorful canopies were strung up between the roofs of the trucks and the poles driven into the ground. In the shade of the canopies all manner of goods were displayed in a way that gave the area the feel of a cheerful mini-market. Ella was impressed with the variety and quality of things on display and the private area set aside for those with things to sell. As a whole, it attested to shrewd traders and it made sense they would have to be very successful to be able to afford and maintain four trucks. Vehicles were scarce and military trucks a remnant of the time when such things were allowed into Nordarra before the bloody upheaval that caused the portal to the human world to be shut. When it finally reopened weapons and many other things that came from the human world could no longer enter, parts for vehicles being one of the casualties. Instead of abandoning the precious vehicles to the rust pile, the mechanics adapted. They learned to make what they couldn't do without and replaced the broken engines with ethian generators powered by tiny crystals, removed the defunct wires and fed energy where it needed to go via a web of arcane runes. It was like that with many things in Nordarra. People took whatever was available to create what they needed, not caring if it came from the human world or an invention left behind by the ancients. If it made their lives easier they would use it. The wolves of clan Swift Foot were no different Ella thought with amusement as she observed the milling crowd. They may live in an isolated area and probably believed themselves to be traditionalists who held to the old ways but she saw as many pairs of store brought jeans as buckskin pants and the wolves were as eager as children at the fair to inspect the goods on display. Not that she had any intention of pointing that out to anyone. She could feel the hostile stares directed at her but at least none of the upset wolves approached her. She figured it was because of Oswald looming near her and scowling at anyone who dared come too close. Ella didn't know whether to be amused or embarrassed so she decided to pretend that having a wolf bodyguard while shopping was perfectly normal and tried to act as if this was just another visit to the market. She haggled with the traders and even managed a brief chat with a group of teenaged girls who were curious and bold enough to come up to her and say hello. Despite how strange it felt to have Oswald shadow her every step she had to admit she felt reassured by his presence because every time she looked around there seemed to be more wolves crowding into the area. She sincerely hoped they were there because of the traders but she had a suspicion she was probably as big a draw. She did her best to appear nonchalant but it was unnerving. Every time she touched an item she felt dozens of eyes follow her every movement. That much scrutiny made buying two new panties the most uncomfortable shopping experience she could remember. For the same reason, she bought a belt in case the trousers she bought were too large because there was no way she would strip to try them on in the small changing room set up between two of the trucks. After a few more essential purchases Ella had had enough of being stared at. She had a good poker face but she could feel cracks forming in her composure. She had a quick look at the dried food items, taking stock of what was there but did not buy anything. She wanted to ask Ava what she thought they really needed before adding more weight to their packs. She didn't want to lug around anything unnecessary when, by the sound of things, they still had a long way to travel. Ella was getting ready to leave the market when a thought struck her. This was a trading caravan which meant they would stop here a few days at most before moving on. Moving on to where? If the traders were going to Porta Belua and not further inland she could negotiate a ride with them and be home in very little time and without having to walk most of the way. The traders were doing brisk business and it took her several minutes before she got the attention of one to ask her question. "Where are you heading after this, good sir?" "We have been on the road for twelve weeks, this is our last stop before we head back to Porta Belua." Ella felt her heart skip with excitement. "Can I—" but before Ella could finish her sentence the man hastily excused himself when a woman heaved a pile of goods onto the table and waved her wallet at him in a beckoning motion. Ella sighed when they started haggling because the man would obviously be busy for a while. She berated herself for not pretending she wanted to buy something to keep his attention. The other traders were equally busy with buying and selling so she would just have to wait to speak to one of them. "You're not a wolf are you, dearie?" Swiveling around Ella saw an elderly human woman who vaguely resembled the man she'd just been talking to sitting on the step leading up to the truck's high cab. She looked disheveled and mismatched socks showed under the hem of her dress but her eyes were sharp and focused on Ella. "No, I'm not." "Ah...I thought you must be the one. Even without wings I could tell you were different. Yes, you must be the one." "The one what?" The woman pushed off the step and came to stand so close to Ella she got hit with a miasma of unwashed body odor underscored by a sharp pee-whiff. It took all Ella's self-control to not back away. "The one who arrived this morning with her . I hear things you know. I listen to everything. Tell me, are you planning to continue traveling with her ?" Ella didn't like the woman's tone at all and it set her teeth on edge. "If you're asking me whether I intend to travel with Ava then yes, that's the plan. We're going in the same direction and she offered to take me along." "You'll be better off coming with us, child." "Why is that?" "Don't you know who she is?" The woman's voice became a low hiss. "That vicious monster has so much blood on her hands even the other beasts are afraid of her. Haven't you heard the stories they tell about her?" The woman gripped Ella's arm and leaned so close her fetid breath puffed against Ella's cheek when she whispered, "Come with us if you value your life. You can't trust something like that. She will murder you in your sleep and eat you." Ella flinched and ripped her arm out of the woman's bony grip. She was so angry that for a moment she couldn't speak, convinced that if she did she would call the stupid woman every foul word under the sun and slap her. Was the old woman senile or didn't she know, despite being in a trade caravan, that wolves had superb hearing? Did she really think the wolves hovering close by couldn't hear her whispered words? Couldn't she tell from the stares and the way Oswald tensed how closely they were following this conversation? This was bad. If she bought a ride with the traders now after what this woman said it would be as good as her saying she agreed with the woman. If the old woman had just said Ava was dangerous and had a bloody reputation she could have let it slide but this was a grave insult to her friend. Not only did the old woman call Ava untrustworthy she'd also accused her friend of having such poor control of her beast she would murder and eat her own companion. The old crone as good as called Ava a feral in front of a pack of wolves. These were the same wolves Ava had faced down a short while ago by proclaiming herself Ella's protector. Ava risked her reputation with these people by siding with an avian and declaring Ella wasn't like the avians the wolves learned to distrust and hate. No matter how urgently she wanted to get home, abandoning Ava now to travel with these human traders was inconceivable. It would send a terrible message to the wolves and it would feel like she'd betrayed Ava's trust. Without mutual trust and respect their tentative friendship and whatever else was blossoming between them would disappear in an instant. The thought of having her connection with the enigmatic woman severed made something in Ella's chest constrict. It was time to put the old woman in her place. "I came here to trade not to have my companion insulted." Ella knew anger made her voice carry but she didn't care. "Ava is my friend. I trust her with my life and I know she would never hurt me. You, on the other hand, don't have her protection and who knows what she'll do when she hears what you said about her. Although she wouldn't bother to eat an old hag like you – you're way too skinny and dried up. It would take her hours to pick all the bone and sinewy bits out of her teeth and that is just too much effort for so little meat." Still fuming Ella stormed off. She heard Oswald chuckle as he trailed behind her.
When Ava didn't find Ella with the traders she followed her scent. It would have been quicker to ask someone where Ella went but when among wolves that was not how these things were done. She found Ella sitting on a bench overlooking the lake in animated conversation with a cluster of young wolves of both sexes. Ava recognized four of the girls as the teens who saw her throw the wolf-bitch out of their room. Ella said something in reply to a comment by one of the girls and everyone roared with laughter. When the wolves saw she was heading towards them everyone suddenly decided they had to be elsewhere but not before she caught a mix of curious glances and cheeky grins. Instead of going directly to Ella she angled towards Oswald where he stood watch with his arms folded and a hip rested against the trunk of a tree. "What's going on there? Anything I need to know?" In answer Oswald gave a long-suffering sigh and said, "Teenagers... Your pretty avian is a charmer. I tried to keep the whelps away but it was like trying to keep flies off honey. They're harmless though, just curious. Thought it might be a good experience for them to talk to an avian. Are you finished? I can go?" "I am. Thanks for keeping an eye on her for me." "No problem, it was entertaining and Ella seems like a decent person even though she is an avian. She's loyal, I respect that." Curious, Ava watched his retreating back because from Oswald that was quite the compliment. What had Ella been up to in her absence to make such a strong impression? Her young admirers gone, Ella stood and smiled warmly at Ava as she walked towards her. Ava found herself smiling back and felt a rush of warmth and happiness spread through her body when Ella's hand lingered on her arm as a way of saying hello. "How have you been, Ella? Did everyone treat you well?" "Well enough. The young wolves remind me so much of my little sister, so inquisitive and mischievous. I enjoyed talking to them. It's a shame the older wolves aren't as much fun." "Why were they all giggly and looking at me like that?" Ava asked. "Oh, they were just saying you look amazing in a wet towel. I suspect you may have several admirers after that lovely display on the porch when you threw that woman out. Just so you know, I got to hear their version of what happened from several angles and in every retelling your towel became shorter and clingier. By tomorrow you might have stridden out naked at the rate they are going." Ava's brows shot up. "Well...so much for my fearsome reputation." "Don't worry, its intact," Ella said with a grin. "Now it's just a little sexier . That's what you get for showing off your legs like that." Feeling a little flustered and unsure how to respond to Ella's teasing Ava decided to ask the question that had been on her mind. "Talking about reputation...I went to the traders looking for you and I had the most peculiar conversation." "Oh?" "Did you tell the old woman who is the mother of one of the traders I would eat her? She was hysterical and the son kept trying to apologize and he begged me not to eat his mother." Ella's smile was instantly replaced by a scowl. "That stupid woman. I distinctly said you wouldn't eat her." Ava frowned and looked from Ella towards where the traders were. "What brought that on? Why would she think I'm a feral?" Ella interlinked their arms and urged Ava into a walk in the opposite direction. "It's nothing to concern yourself with. That old hag is half senile." "You don't want to tell me?" "I'd rather not. It would upset you and I already got upset enough for both of us. As I said, she's a crazy old hag." "Well, whatever you said the wolves thought it was hilarious. They kept snickering while he talked and she cried. It was so odd it was like I was in the middle of a play in which I had the main bits of dialogue but had no idea what was going on." "What did you do?" "I asked to buy a few things just to distract him and make it all stop." Ava was quiet for a moment then she added, "It was the best trade session I've had in ages; he dropped his prices to almost nothing. I wish he had more things I actually wanted." "That's good. Hope you got us some yummy food for the road." "I did actually." "Oooh, I like the sound of that! What did you get?" "Nope. Not telling. Since you won't tell me what that woman said about me you will just have to wait and see." "That's mean but I suppose I can wait. As long as you understand I now have high expectations." Ava groaned dramatically which earned her a playful smack. "So your meeting, how did it go? All done?" Ava nodded all playfulness gone and her eyes became distant. Ella winced. "It was that bad?" "I had two meetings as things turned out and neither went badly, quite the opposite. It's just...Ella, I need to leave. I have so much to think about. For the sake of my immense respect for Yutu and my friendship with some of the people here I've tried to be as polite as possible but I've had about as much of clan Swift Foot's so-called hospitality as I can take. Any more and I might bite someone." "Seriously?" "Seriously." When she turned to look at Ella Ava's mask slipped and Ella saw old sorrow mingled with sparks of anger and resentment. "Okay, we're definitely leaving. Do you need to tell someone we're going? I got the impression they were expecting you to be at the feast this evening. They have a special seat for you and there was going to be some kind of ceremony. One of the girls told me." "They were going to invite me to join their clan." "That's...nice? I didn't think wolves invited other shifters in easily so they must really like you. But you don't sound happy about it?" "I'm not. They don't want me to stay because they like me. They want me to become their warlord or whatever one calls the person who does the dirty, ugly things that keep others safe. They seem to think giving me a cabin and allowing me to live among them even though I'm not a wolf is an amazing honor. It's such bullshit. I've been coming here for years and no one worried about me being on my own but now that they need my protection they're suddenly concerned with how lonely I must be without a clan." Ava made a rumbling noise that sounded to Ella like a suppressed growl. "I have to get away from this place and these people. It feels like I can't breathe properly. My beast is so agitated my skin burns with the need to shift so like I said, any more of their so-called hospitality and I'm going to bite someone." "Wow. No wonder you're not happy." Ella looked over her shoulder briefly. "Maybe we should walk a little faster – it looks like someone is trying to catch up." "It would be most unfortunate for that person." "Ah-ha." Ella turned and made a frantic shooing motion with her hands. "Did it work?" "Looks like it." "Thanks." "You're welcome. Now onto an important matter. Please tell me what goodies you bought for us. Chocolate? Please tell me you got chocolate." Ava snorted a laugh. "You are something else, the best distraction ever. For the record, I knew you wouldn't be able to wait and yes, I also bought chocolate. I remember you told me you like chocolate but I didn't know what kind so I got all three. The dark slab with salted caramel, the plain one and the one with nuts in it." "You bought all three slabs?" Ella's voice was a delighted squeal. "You're my hero! I was joking about the chocolate and I didn't think you'd even look at it never mind buy some. I was tempted but it was way too expensive, over three times what I'd expect to pay for something like that in Porta Belua and the trader wouldn't budge on the price." "I could afford to indulge after you scared the snot out of that man. Eat his mother...yuck. That dried out sour old thing would give even a carrion eater indigestion. She was smelly too. Imagine trying to get that taste out of your mouth." Seeing the expression on Ella's face Ava held up her hands, "Joke, it was just a joke." "Ah-ha, how about we agree you never make that joke again. It's really not as funny as you think."
After a four hour walk Ava called for a meal break and rest on the winding mountain path they'd been ascending. Ella had kept a close eye on Ava, worried about her being out in the midday sun again but she seemed fine. She concluded it was probably because unlike the previous day there was a constant cool breeze and a decent cloud cover. The other difference Ella noticed was that unlike the previous days and even that morning Ava set a slower pace so it no longer felt like they were on an endurance march. Coming up the mountain they had walked in comfortable silence interspersed with conversation, mostly Ella's doing, but she could tell Ava listened attentively. In the silences between she could see Ava was deep in thought and she wanted to ask her if Yutu found her father's fang but couldn't bring herself to do it. She still remembered the haunted look on Ava's face the last time they talked about what happened to her dad and she didn't want to be the one to rake up those painful memories. She had a feeling Ava would talk about it when she was ready, or so she hoped. She would simply have to wait and see. Ella looked over the spot Ava had led them to have their lunch and admired how well she had chosen. They could see for miles in every direction while they were sheltered from view. There was a tiny stream for them to refill their water bottles. Ella had already tried the water and it tasted fresh, sweet and icy like it was the thawed runoff from a glacier higher up. Splashing it on her heated face and neck had felt shockingly cold but very refreshing. It felt so good she took off her socks and shoes to give her tired feet a soak while she enjoyed the view. In the valley below, she could still make out clan Swift Foot's village although the figures moving about were now as indistinct as ants despite her enhanced vision. She glanced at Ava who was busy as usual. She had offered to help with getting a fire going or whatever needed doing but Ava had been adamant that what she was planning for their late lunch did not need Ella's help. So she relaxed and admired the view. Curious she watched as Ava laid out on a large flat rock a small square of yellow cloth and put a plate in the middle. Beside it she placed a large packet of crackers, a jar of pickles, a tin of smoked oysters, a jar of asparagus and a packet of mixed nuts. Next out of her bag came the tin that previously held the fruitcake. Ava opened it carefully to reveal four ripe tomatoes, a small wedge of cheese and a large red onion. She washed her hands and knife higher up in the stream from Ella then sliced the cheese, tomatoes, and onion in a neat arrangement onto the plate. Ella looked on in amazement as the impromptu picnic unfolded in front of her. "The trader had fresh tomatoes? That's amazing." "No, I bartered for those from the general goods store. I asked about fresh fruit but they didn't have any. So I got this." She rummaged in her bag and extracted a large tin of peaches in syrup and held it up triumphantly. This made Ella laugh. "You are amazing!" Ava grinned. "I figured I owed you something after denying you a proper bed to sleep in tonight and like I said, the trader just about threw things at me thanks to you." She held the tin of peaches out to Ella. "Put that in the water to chill and we can have it with our meal." Ella did as she was told. "For dessert I thought we could have chocolate. Or did you want to leave it for tonight?" "No, definitely no waiting." "Okay. Which block of chocolate would you like to try?" "All of them." "All of them?" This made Ava pause in the motion of carefully shaking crackers onto the plate to stare at Ella. "Really?" "Yes. You said yourself chocolate doesn't travel well so why wait until it's melted? We might as well enjoy it now." "Melted chocolate still tastes good but we can taste test all the chocolate if that's what you want." "It is." Ella dried her feet and after putting her shoes back on she sat down with Ava at the mini-feast she had prepared for them. Sitting side by side with the food in front of them and the magnificent view of the valley stretched out before them they made their cracker creations. Soon it turned into a competition to see who could make the highest edible tower without dropping anything. This caused lots of laughter and Ella found Ava was not above cheating. Ava 'accidentally' knocked her elbow at a critical moment causing cracker, pickles, cheese and a precariously balanced onion sliver atop a piece of tomato to fall inside her shirt. Watching her fish it all out of her bra had Ava laughing so hard she ended up on her side breathless and helpless to prevent Ella from retaliating by stealing a portion of her allotment of nuts and eating them before Ava could even gather enough breath to protest. Once she'd recovered Ava retrieved the tin of chilled peaches from the stream and decanted the syrup so they had half a cup each with their meal. It was cold and super sweet, a refreshing drink to sip after a long walk on a warm day. It was one of the strangest and most fun meals Ella could remember. She tried foods together she would never have considered, even wedging an oyster, a pickle, an almond and a slice of peach between two crackers in a bid to outdo Ava's weird combinations. She inhaled the fresh mountain air deep into her lungs and thought how much she preferred this way of travel despite it being slower than rattling along in the back of a truck wedged between strangers. Maybe the crazy old lady had done her a favor because if she'd gone with the traders she would have missed out on this lovely afternoon with Ava. She felt invigorated and didn't even mind that every muscle in her body had a complaint about all the walking and there was yet more to come. Ava wanted them to camp at the top of the pass so they would have a good start the next day. She claimed it was an easy walk and that they had plenty of time to get there before nightfall. Ella didn't know if she believed her. Not because Ava would deliberately lie to her but the other woman had a disconcerting habit of measuring distance and how hard things might be against her own considerable strength and stamina rather than against Ella's less impressive abilities. She decided not to worry about it because she would find out soon enough what lay ahead. She had something delicious that demanded her immediate attention. The promise of chocolate. Ava finished tidying up the remnants of their meal and packed everything, even the empty tin, into her rucksack with care. She brought out the three blocks of chocolate and laid them out in front of Ella motioning for her to pick where they should start. She didn't have to be asked twice. Fifteen glorious minutes later Ella moaned as she ate yet another piece of chocolate. "This is so good. I think you're right and the salted caramel is the best but the nutty chocolate was also very good and of course the plain one too." Ava's smile was amused. "You have an incredible sweet tooth. I'm still on my fourth piece and have had enough especially after those peaches. How can you eat so much chocolate?" "How can you eat so much in general?" Ella countered. "You eat like a horse." "Why like a horse?" "They graze constantly and eat lots." "Hmm, but unlike a horse I have never eaten grass. Well, not deliberately. I once face planted and ended up with a mouth full but I spat that out straight away along with the dirt so it doesn't count as eating it." Ava finished her piece of chocolate then wrapped up the rest of her share. "I can't have more. I'm on sugar overload." "Ava, can I ask you something?" "Let me guess, you want my chocolate?" "What? No. Although if you don't want your share..." Ella pretended to reach for Ava's chocolate and had her hand playfully swatted away. "I savor mine – no one told you to gobble it down so fast." "Says the woman who normally just about inhales her food," Ella scoffed. "I can't argue with that. Eating quickly is an old habit. Plus, like someone pointed out, I eat like a horse so I have a lot to get through." "My question...it's personal." "Oh? What is it you want to know?" "What you did in the village, the way you changed just your hands, that was a partial shift. Only the Old Bloods, the direct descendants of the first shapeshifters can do that. So...that must mean that you are an Old Blood?" "That depends...if I say yes are you going to pester me with questions?" "Probably," Ella admitted. "There are so many things I'd like to know." At Ava's groan she quickly added. "I'll settle for just a tiny bit of information. Please? I just want to know if you inherit the Old Blood bloodline from your father or your mother." "What do I get if I tell you?" Ava asked with a teasing smile. "Ah, it's going to be like that is it? All right, the game is on. How about the rest of my chocolate? "You hardly have any left. Trying to bribe me with a few pieces won't get you anything." "How about cooking? I can help with that," Ella said hopefully. "Are you a good cook?" "I'm terrible," Ella admitted, "but I can throw things in a pot and boil everything until it is the same mushy consistency." That made Ava laugh. "I'll pass on that appetizing offer." "Oh, I know! I'll do your hair." "You want to do my hair? Why? What's wrong with my hair?" Ava patted at her head where strands of hair had once again escaped her makeshift tie to float around her face. "I can see it bothers you. You keep pushing it out of your face and you get this annoyed look. Which reminds me, I'm reasonably sure your hair has grown several inches since we met. Is that also part of your shifter thing?" "My shifter thing...you make it sound like I have an exotic disease. You're a shifter too you know." "Yes, but we're very different. Let me think what else I can offer you. How about a massage? I've been told I give a great massage. Come on, help me out Ava – what do you want? There must be something I can do for you?" "Ella...what kind of negotiating is that? Offering something so physical and ending on an open offer is reckless. What if I asked you to do something outrageous?" "Will you?" Ella's eyebrows were raised and the way she locked eyes with Ava was a playful challenge. The corners of Ava's mouth twitched and her eyes danced with amusement. "No, but that's beside the point. I really hope you're more careful with other beast-shifters. I know you said your godfather was a wolf and he taught you how to interact with us but from what I've seen so far he either didn't do a good job or you choose to ignore the advice you don't like. I've stopped counting the number of times you've done things that could be considered a challenge for dominance or an entirely different sort of invitation." "And yet you haven't...so I can't be that bad." Ava snorted. "I let it slide because I like you. I don't know what other avians are like but you act more like a human than a shifter with how close you stand and not caring how you meet my eyes and you are by far the most tactile person I've ever known." "You think I act like a human? I'm not sure how to take that." "Some of my best friends are humans so it's not an insult. I'm trying to say you don't act like I'd expect another shifter to behave and I've made allowances for that. Not everyone will. To be honest I like that I don't constantly have to be on guard around you. I hate the constant challenges and pissing contests to see who is tougher." "That's nice that you feel you can relax around me but stop being so evasive. Just tell me if you don't want to talk about your bloodline." Ava sighed. "My family ties are messy and complicated so it's not a comfortable topic for me. But I don't mind telling you that my father was an Old Blood. He was powerful enough to take on a warrior form that was a mix of tiger and human. He didn't like it and said it didn't feel right to him to be in-between like that but it's never bothered me and I've learned to shift individual parts of my body at will. I did tell you I have a knack for shifting." "What about your mother? I assume she is also a shifter?" "I don't want to talk about my mother. We are not close and there's no reason for you to know about her." The way Ava said it left no doubt in Ella's mind that her mother was a sore point and the faint amber glow in her eyes that wasn't there a moment ago warned Ella to back off. "I see. What about your hair? It's grown quite a bit since this morning, hasn't it?" "Yes. I told you it grows fast and it gets worse when I shift, or use the abilities tied to my beast magic, which is very annoying. I have to cut it constantly or I'd end up with hair down to my butt in no time." "I'd love to see that!" "I really don't. It's heavy, it gets caught on things and keeping it clean is a mission. I'm already uncomfortable and my hair is only halfway down my back." Ava removed the hair tie and held up a handful of hair for Ella to see. "Look how tangled it is. This is what happens when the wind gets to it. I really need to cut it." Ava slipped a hand behind her back and a moment later held her knife. She tested the blade on a small lock of hair. When it slid through smoothly, she grabbed a large handful of hair, squinted sideways and made ready to cut again. Alarmed, Ella asked, "What are you doing?" "I told you my hair is too long. I need to trim it." "So, you want to butcher it with a knife?" "That is what I usually do when I can't tolerate it anymore." Ella stared at Ava incredulously. "You are not doing that this time." "Oh? Why not?" "Ava, it'll look like a hack-job if you cut your hair like that. I already offered to do your hair so why not let me?" "Does that mean you want to cut it instead?" Ava held the knife out to her handle first. Ella stared at the knife, dark as obsidian from hilt to blade, and pointedly pushed Ava's wrist down. "No, I do not want to hack off your beautiful hair with a knife. What I will do instead, until I can find scissors to style it properly, is braid your hair so it doesn't bother you and won't get snagged. I have long hair and I know from experience what will happen if I go flying without tying it up properly first." Ava absentmindedly tried to finger comb her loose hair away from her face while she considered Ella's offer. "My mother used to braid my hair when I was little. Nothing as complex as what you did for yourself but it looked good. I tried doing that myself when she wasn't around but I couldn't get it that tidy so my dad cut my hair and I trimmed his hair and beard. Later I learned to cut it myself with whatever was at hand." "You mean butcher it." "Hey, by then I was living alone and I had no one to ask. I'm not half bad considering I mostly have to do it without a mirror." Ella groaned and held up her hands in protest. "Stop. Please stop. Come sit down in front of me so I can do your hair. The thought of you cutting your own hair like that makes me shudder." "Can you do it without using clips? Having things in my hair when I shift can be a problem." "I'll just use a small tie like the one you've been using. Will that be all right?" "That's fine." Bracing her back against a shady rock Ella made Ava sit between her raised legs on the slope so she was a little lower than her. Ava was right. Her windblown hair was full of tangles but as Ella patiently worked them out with a brush the thick tresses, the color of dark chocolate, became loose silk. It was so lush and shiny that touching it was a unique pleasure and every bit as amazing as she imagined it would be. She took her time brushing, wanting to prolong the experience for both of them. At first Ava sat stiffly but gradually she relaxed and draped her arms around Ella's knees to anchor herself. As she brushed and worked the long strands she occasionally stroked Ava's back and shoulders with her fingers. When she grazed the bare expanse of her neck she heard Ava sigh. She was enjoying the task and she could tell Ava enjoyed being tended to, something that probably did not happen often. It made her feel restful to do something so ordinary and familiar, something she had done for her younger sister many times. This wasn't the same though. Oriana could never be as quiet or still as Ava. She'd be chattering away her hands fluttering in animated conversation and if Ella took too long, even with braiding a complex pattern, she'd fidget and complain she had things to do or other places to be. Ella smiled at the memory. No Oriana could never be still like this. Ava, on the other hand, gave the impression she could be still for an eternity. "Ella, do you want to know what happened with Yutu?" Ella's hands paused for a moment before she continued braiding. "I've been wondering about that but I decided not to ask. You became upset the last time we talked about you trying to retrieve your father's body and I made things worse with my blabbering. So yeah, I've been curious but I wasn't going to bring it up." "I appreciate that. I kind of need to talk about this though and you already know how much this means to me. Are you up to hearing a little more?" "Absolutely. Share away." "Yutu not only knew where to find my father's fang he gave it to me. It was the last piece, the one I've been searching for so long I'd almost given up hope of ever finding it. It has been fashioned into the handle of a ceremonial dagger. It's beautiful...which makes it all the more macabre because it means an artist labored to transform an object that was the result of a horrible death into a work of art." Ava grimaced and rubbed her temple as if the very thought was giving her a headache. "You're sure it's his?" Ella hesitantly asked. "Yes. The moment I touched it I knew it was his. I told you I made a blood oath to find every part of him. It was an oath sealed with blood magic. I come from an ancient lineage and there are forces still at work within those of my bloodline that no longer have sway over other shifters in the same way. It's a blessing and a curse. That oath I made was a powerful thing that bound me in ways that are hard to explain. Today when I touched my father's fang I heard a sound like a gong in my head; it went through my entire body and I felt the binding break and afterwards I was shaking like a leaf. I felt so light, like a huge weight had been lifted. That's when I knew it was over. I did it. I'm free. After all these years and more blood and pain than I care to recall I'm finally free." "This is huge, a truly monumental day! What will this mean for you, Ava?" "It is. I'm still processing. It feels unreal that it's over. I've worked towards this since I was eleven years old. I often imagined what it would feel to finally fulfill my vow. I thought I'd be ecstatically happy and when I first touched the fang there was a moment of sheer joy knowing I'd finally done it but mostly I felt numb and shell-shocked. It was just so overwhelming. Unreal. I needed time to let things settle in my mind but with the wolves all around me and everything else going on I didn't have the room to think and come to grips with what happened. I've had a few hours to mull things over. I need more time but the initial shock has passed. Now I can think about my future differently. There are things I can do now I could not do before and it makes me excited and a little nervous." "What kind of things?" Ava smiled over her shoulder and said, "That's a different conversation." "You're not ready to talk about it?" "No. Not right now. Are you done with my hair?" "Almost, just one more twist. It looks great. I wish we had a mirror so I could show you." Ava ran an exploratory hand over her head and said, "Thank you, it feels much better this way." "It was my pleasure. Any time you want me to braid your hair or help with anything else, all you have to do is ask." "You've already helped just by being here and listening. I'm normally a very private person but for some reason I find it easy to share things with you." Ella wrapped her arms around Ava's shoulders from behind and hugged her. "I'm very pleased to hear that. I want you to be comfortable enough with me to talk about anything. I already feel comfortable with you and very safe." Ava awkwardly patted Ella's arm. "I'm glad you feel safe with me. That means a lot." They sat like this for a while, Ella holding her loosely from behind and Ava with her hand wrapped around Ella's arm. When Ella felt Ava stir, no doubt ready to get back underway, she hurriedly said, "I'd like to ask you something else." Ava chuckled. "Sure, why not? You seem to be on a roll." "Can you show me a better way to shift now? Or would it be better to wait until tonight? Is this a bad time to ask such a thing? You can tell me if you're not in the mood. I can wait but I just wanted you to know I'm ready when you are." "You're taking me up on my offer?" "To be taught by an Old Blood? Absolutely. It's a once in a lifetime opportunity." "I doubt your wing has healed enough for you to fly but this is as good a time as any to have a look. I might as well show you how to improve your technique now. Maybe if you're lucky you'll be able to fly home from here and your ordeal traveling with me will be over." "Spending time with you hasn't been an ordeal and some of the things we've done have been lots of fun." "But not the walking?" Ava asked with a grin. "Admittedly, there has been a lot more of that than I expected. As much as I've enjoyed our time together I'd prefer to fly home rather than spend more time on my feet." Ava nodded in understanding. "Before we do this do you remember that I told you this will be invasive? How do you feel about that?" "You offered to teach me how to quick-shift and as far as I'm aware that's something no avian has ever mastered. That, my friend, would be epic – my rivals will stress-molt in envy. I have no doubt after what I saw you do today and hearing you're an Old Blood that if anyone can teach me this you can. As for how invasive it will be, I could ask you to go into more detail but I'm afraid if you do I might be too scared to go ahead and I want this too badly. So I'd rather you talk me through it as we go. Besides, you've shared personal details about yourself. You entrusted me with that and with everything we have been through in the last couple of days I can honestly say at this point I trust you with my life." Ava gently squeezed Ella's arm. "I will be very careful with you." "I know you will because you always are." Ava extracted herself from Ella's hold and got a long silk ribbon and pencil case from her pack. "Good thing I bought a few things in case you wanted to go ahead." Curious, Ella watched as Ava smoothed the material out on the flat rock and selected a stick of charcoal from the pencil case. She inhaled and exhaled slowly then began to draw. "What are you doing?" "Creating something that will make it easier to teach you. This will take a few minutes. There are things I need to know before we begin. What have you been taught about the nature of your magic?" Ella made a helpless motion. "Nothing really. We wouldn't think of our wings as magical at all if we couldn't shift them in and out of existence. It's not like they just appear and we can suddenly fly. We are born with little nubs on our backs but they don't sprout until we are about five and our wings continue to grow as we mature. That's not a smooth process either because every growth spurt ranges from uncomfortable to downright painful. Mastering flight is like learning anything—it takes lots of practice. I suppose what I'm trying to say is for us it's just another part of growing up. Intellectually I know there is magic involved but as an experience I'd compare it to going through puberty. It's just something that happens. I started out with bee stings for boobs and then one day there was a lot more going on and I had to learn to manage all that. Same thing with my wings." Ava paused in her writing to flash Ella an amused grin. "Yes, but unlike your boobs, which are here to stay, you can materialize or dematerialize your wings at will. Well, not so much at will in your case but that is only because you don't understand enough. There's a massive gap in your education and it isn't your fault. Avians are one of the youngest races of shapeshifters. Your people were not around when magic was at its height and Nordarra a different place from what it is now. By the time avians came into being there were only a few of the Ancients still around and the rest had gone taking their knowledge with them. According to my father the Ancients were the ones who taught shapeshifters magic. Without their instruction your people had to teach themselves because the older shifter races were not interested in sharing what they knew. I know some things because I was fortunate enough to have parents who'd been instructed in the old ways. I'm going to show you how to tap the power that's at your disposal." "What power? Ava, we avians are not like the dragons who are still imbued with raw magic able to do all kinds of powerful and amazing things. We have our wings, our bodies are adapted for flight and we are stronger and more resilient than mere humans. That is basically it." "That's not strictly true. Think of it like this: from a point of aerodynamics even though your wingspan is huge realistically you shouldn't be able to do more than soar but avians can fly even if there is no wind at all. Now think about the dragons we saw last night. They are so massive they shouldn't be able to get up into the air from the ground and yet they can perform the equivalent of aerial ballet. That's because when it comes to flying avians and dragons are not so different and you draw on the same sort of magic. What makes dragons so formidable is that they know what they are doing and this helps them utilize their magic much better. I want to show you how to do the same." "Are you saying there's secret knowledge that could make me as powerful as a dragon?" Ava shook her head. "Sorry to disappoint you but that's a definite no. An avian could never match a dragon for raw power no matter how much you learn or practice. There are types of magic that can only be passed on along bloodlines and Old Bloods are carriers of the most powerful strains of magic." "What do you mean...strains of magic?" "Um...that's not relevant to you. Forget I mentioned it." "Oh no, you can't throw that out there and then not want to tell me. That's a terrible thing to do!" "Telling you about this won't help you shift quicker, Ella." "But I feel I've been stumbling around in the dark all my life; oblivious to so many things. I don't like that feeling at all. What harm can it do for you to tell me? Think of me as an eager student. You're going to teach me how to quick-shift which means you've already taken on the role of my teacher so why not take that a little further?" Ava gave Ella a long thoughtful look then said, "Okay. Stop me if I tell you something you already know. Magic is like genetics but more fickle and a lot more complicated. It's usually passed on along bloodlines but doesn't always express in the same way. If the parents come from the same or similar magical bloodlines, it's likely they will pass that on to their child. The more branches of magic passed on to a descendent the higher the risk that one or more strain of magic will become diluted or disappear altogether or manifest undesirably. That's why the old bloodlines take such care to mate with their own kind at the risk of inbreeding and running into other problems. It's a two-edged sword: breed for power and magical consistency or healthy offspring that may not be able to shift or use magic at all? The mers have chosen the path of lots of offspring with anything humanoid enough to breed but since they rarely produce males they didn't have a choice. Mers used to drown the 'failed offspring' who didn't inherit their traits but now they are more likely to offer the child to the father's family or abandon the baby on land." "I knew some of what you just said but I've only looked at it from the angle of shifters breeding with their own kind to assure the offspring will be of the same kind. Mixed pairing can result in the child taking after either parent or not being able to shift at all. I didn't realize there were potentially older types of magic passed on or lost as well." "It is indeed a complicated and very serious business. The Old Bloods keep extensive records on their lineages and which pairings produced particular strains of magic and how it manifested. The pairing of mates is meticulously planned accordingly, often generations ahead." "Wow, and your parents, instead of sticking to the plan, eloped and had you. That must have upset a few people." Ava grinned. "You have that right. No invitations to family gatherings or matchmaking events for me. I'm the mixed blood of two very different bloodlines. Even if I was interested in playing power games with my offspring no other Old Blood would touch me with a ten-foot pole because of the unpredictability of what I might produce. I inherited strains of magic from my parents that historically do not mix well and I'm now the carrier of something the Old Bloods have tried to eradicate. I'm the proverbial loaded gun. If I have a baby it's almost guaranteed I'll birth something monstrous like in the old tales of magic gone wrong." "Seriously?" "Apparently. Just as well I don't plan on having children." "Ava, that's so sad and very unfair. You can't help that your parents fell in love and had you. I still can't believe your relatives won't have anything to do with you. It's unbelievably cruel to reject a child just for being born." "It's all right. Like I told you this morning I've never known anything different. Besides, until my father died I had a very happy childhood. He took me everywhere with him and he had lots of friends among other shapeshifters and even humans. That allowed me to get to know people I'd never have been allowed to associate with if his clan or my mother's people had claimed me as one of them." Ella touched Ava's cheek in a gentle caress and said, "It's their loss and our gain." Ava blushed and briefly held Ella's eyes before she looked away. Clearing her throat Ava said, "I've gone way off topic. I'm supposed to teach you how to shift quicker not burden you with more of my problems." Ava held up the silk strip she'd been writing on. "It's finished." Ella had been so busy listening she hadn't paid attention to what Ava was doing. Taking a careful look at the material fluttering between Ava's fingers she saw it was covered in a complex web of interlocking runes that ran in circular patterns. She only recognized a few of the runes like the inscriptions for flow and connect. Some looked vaguely familiar but most of the runes she had never seen before. She had no idea what kind of spell Ava had created. "And the woman can draw advanced runes as well...are you trying to give me a complex, Ava? What can't you do?" "I only know a little rune magic, Ella. I probably know more than the average shifter but in comparison to my mother's understanding of such things I'm a toddler still learning to write. I could be a lot better but I've never been drawn to this kind of magic because it's incredibly tedious. To become a master would require several lifetimes of dedicated study, and as much as I enjoy learning new things, after a few hours of studying diagrams and trying to decipher the interconnecting patterns to predict how the flow of magic will affect the final working I want to pull out my hair." "Was it your mother who taught you rune magic?" Ava shifted uncomfortably. "Yes. She insisted I learn at least the basics." "Does your mother—" "Ella..." Ava's voice held a note of warning. "I'm sorry. No more personal questions. The ribbon, what's it for?" "It contains a spell that once activated will form a link between us. It will help me see more clearly what happens when you shift. You'll feel my presence and it will not be a comfortable experience especially when I start rearranging your magical pathways. Please don't fight me. I'll withdraw without fixing what's wrong rather than subject you to feeling forced or violated. I mean it." Ella thoughtfully rubbed the corner of the material between her fingers. "Is this how the Old Bloods pass on knowledge?" "Sometimes. It's a sledgehammer quick fix approach. I wish I could go about it more gently but we don't have the months or years it would take to slowly correct a lifetime's habit of shifting a certain way." "This link...how much will it show you? Will you be able to see private things, like memories or my thoughts?" "I've only ever been on the receiving end with this, Ella. I've never been the teacher. As I understand it all I will see is your magic. I'll try to be as quick as possible. While the link is active we will be exposed to a measure of each other's magic and since I'm a beast-shifter you might glimpse my beast. Please don't be afraid if that happens. Since I mean you no harm it won't hurt you. At most, it will be curious and try to get a better look at you." Ella gave her a thoughtful look. "You were right. There is a lot more to this than I expected." "Changed your mind? We don't have to do this." "I want to. I've come this far and I'm not turning back now. Let's get on with it." "As you wish." Ava held out the long length of silk material at arm's length and draped it on the ground to form a large circle. She pricked her finger for a drop of blood and smeared it on one of the runes while whispering something under her breath. Instantly the cloth circle transformed, snapping into place like it had been replaced by a metal hoop. It even had a metallic sheen and the black runes seemed to pulse on the blood-red surface. Ava gave a satisfied grunt then rolled up the sleeves of her long-sleeved shirt, took off her shoes, stepped into the circle and sat down cross-legged. Palm up she indicated the open space in the circle. "Join me, Ella." Ella pushed up the sleeves of her jacket and removed her own shoes and socks. She regarded the ribbon that was now so much more than just a length of material with the same trepidation she'd reserve for a ring of lava. She didn't want that thing touching her. It was only her trust in Ava, who sat watching her with calm patient eyes, and her desire to learn what Ava could teach her that allowed her to gingerly step inside the circle. She mirrored Ava's pose and sat as close to her as she could. When Ella wiggled her toes it brushed the soles of Ava's feet. The motion drew Ava's attention and she stared at Ella's feet. "You have such small feet. It's fascinating to me that a grown woman can have such tiny feet." Ella giggled and wiggled her toes some more. "We could never borrow each other's shoes. When you lent me your socks the heel section came up past my ankle." Ava looked at Ella's hands fidgeting in her lap. She studied her own hands and put them between them palms up. Ella immediately laid her hands in Ava's. They fit easily with room to spare. "And you have such dainty hands. Such dainty everything." "I'm not a small woman," Ella protested. "I'm taller than most. It's my avian bone structure and being slender that makes me appear smaller than I am." "I know, it's just that I feel so oversized next to you. I take after my father although thankfully I'm not as big. My mother is like you, delicately built and she only comes up to my shoulder. I try to blend but I always stand out in a crowd. I dwarf most women and even some men feel intimidated by my height. I don't like being noticed and having people give me sideways looks ruffles my fur. I try not to let it bother me but...it really does." "You're not oversized. You just happen to be bigger than most people and so muscular and strong." Ella lay a finger on Ava's bicep. At the contact the well-defined muscles jumped and Ella smiled as if she just proved a point. She lightly caressed Ava's arm. "You're a gorgeous woman and you move with such grace and power that watching you is a treat. You look, for lack of a better description, sleek like a powerful predator stalking the shadows. It's incredibly sexy and also a little intimidating. It's probably the way you move that draws people's attention rather than your actual size. You make women half your size look like lumbering elephants." "Truly?" "Yes. Stop worrying about your height; it suits you. I don't know how much you value my opinion but personally, I love how tall you are and I think you have an amazing body. As for our difference in size, just wait until I have my wings on. You'll see we are more than evenly matched. In fact, I will dwarf you. Shopping at the bazaar is a challenge. People have to give me plenty of room or risk getting knocked on their ass when I make a quick turn and that's with my wings tightly tucked." "You do have very large wings, some of the largest I've seen on an avian. I remember. They are magnificent." Ava shook herself as if waking from a dream. "Which is what we should be retrieving for you right now. Sorry, I got distracted. Again." "By my tiny hands and feet?" Ella asked teasingly. "Something like that. You're very sweet and I do value your opinion so thanks for what you said. It makes me feel better about myself." "I'm glad. That's my good deed done for the day." Ava smiled and asked, "Are you ready to continue? You looked tense before." "I was nervous but I'm feeling better now. Comparing feet and hands was an amusing distraction and being able to touch you is reassuring. I can feel by how carefully you hold my hands you're going to take good care of me." "Good. I'm going to start now so don't be alarmed by what you see or feel." As Ella watched Ava's green eyes lit up with amber sparks that shone like fire. Ella felt something large and furry brush up against her and a puff of warm breath tickled her ear. The otherworldly presence made her shiver and she gripped Ava's hands tighter. There was a humming noise and Ella saw the circle was no longer on the ground but about a foot off the ground and spinning. The black runes were now overlaid with the same shades of amber and green as Ava's eyes. The hair on the back of Ella's neck prickled and her breathing sped up. Ava's thumbs stroked Ella's palms in a soothing caress. "There's nothing to fear. I just activated the protective part of the spell. The sort of magic I'm about to use draws attention if not contained – power calls to power. I'm just making sure if there's anything old or sensitive to magic in the area that it won't come calling while my attention is elsewhere." "What kind of—" Ava shook her head and Ella bit down on the rest of her question. "Ella, draw out your wings so I can see what is going on." Ella nodded and started the process like she was taught. As always, it was excruciating and she soon felt sweat trickle down her back. Ava fought not to show her dismay. Being this close to Ella while she wrestled with her magic was like having to endure a high-pitched screech in her ears and she desperately wanted to make it stop. She tried to ignore her own discomfort, focusing instead on how Ella interacted with her magic. It didn't take her long to realize that it wasn't only poor technique at fault; Ella simply had a lot less magic. Ava was so used to her own magic being easily accessible and available in abundance that it had never occurred to her Ella would have so little to work with. Whereas her own magic was like a deep, flowing river it was like Ella was pumping by hand from a small well deep underground. To make matters worse the well wasn't refilling quickly and magic trickled into it painstakingly slow. It saddened Ava to see her friend struggle so hard with something that came to her as easily as breathing. She had been so arrogantly confident of her own abilities that she'd promised to teach Ella how to quick-shift without hesitation. It was shocking to realize there was nothing she could teach her that would make that possible. It would be like trying to teach a crippled person to leap over a ten-foot fence: it was impossible. Ava realized she was squeezing Ella's fingers when she felt the other woman try to pull her hands free. She immediately relaxed her grip and tried to sooth the hurt with her thumbs. Ella opened her eyes and gave Ava a questioning look. Ava was shocked at the pain she saw in Ella's eyes and her first thought was that she must have crushed her delicate fingers. Then she noticed the grim set of Ella's mouth and her rapid breathing and understanding dawned. "Shifting is very painful for you?" Ella nodded wearily. "You want me to keep going? It will take me at least another half hour. Just so you know once I've drawn out my wings that's me done. I won't be able to shift again until tomorrow." Ava cringed. "Please stop. I've seen enough." Ella let out a breath and sagged forward. "Are you all right?" Ella wiped the sweat from her forehead and sighed. "I'm used to it. I just wish you didn't have to see me like this. This is why we never let other shifters see us. It's embarrassing to be so much slower than everyone else and look like we are giving birth while we're at it. It is such a big deal to us we don't even shift in front of our own flock. Only family members or lovers are allowed to see each other like this. Did you know that?" Ava fidgeted uncomfortably remembering how openly critical she'd been of Ella's shifting. "I didn't know. You're my first avian friend and I'm sorry I was so hard on you. I thought it was just a lack of practice and poor technique. I didn't realize until now just how difficult this is for you." "It's okay." Ella tried for a smile to lighten the mood but it was a half-hearted effort that just twisted the knife in Ava's chest. "So, what's the verdict, doc? How do we fix this? I'm all ears. I'll do anything you say. If you can teach me how to do this even a little quicker I'll be eternally grateful." Ella looked at her with such hope and trust Ava knew there was no way she could tell her the truth. She had to think of a way to help her. She'd promised Ella she would and she always kept her word no matter the cost. "Please say something. I don't like that look on your face. What's wrong? Can't you teach me? Is our magic too different?" Ella's voice had a desperate edge now. "Hush...it's all right. The way you use your magic is different from what I expected so I can't teach you the way I planned." That wasn't a lie, strictly speaking. "Can you still help me?" "I will. Just give me a moment to think. No talking." Ella made a motion with her hands as if she was zipping her lips. Slow minutes ticked past as Ava tried to think of a solution. When the idea came to her it was so simple she was astounded it could be that easy. All she had to do was take a thread of her own magic, weave it into the walls of Ella's little reservoir and imbue it with the command to draw magic. That was it. She couldn't give Ella more magic or a bigger reservoir but she could speed up her regeneration of magic so she didn't have to wait so long and work so hard to get to it. The spell would respond to how often Ella shifted, so the more she did it the quicker it would refill Ella's reservoir. That was as it should be, a measurable reward for perseverance and practice. There was the small matter of her leaving some of her magic inside Ella. Magically speaking it would amount to giving Ella only a drop of her blood but because of her bloodline the effect would be profound. She was about to give a member of one of the youngest races in Nordarra a massive boost in power. Her mother would be livid if she ever found out. The thought made Ava smile and the last of her hesitation vanished. "You thought of something?" Ella asked. "Yes, I have. I just need to make a small change to how you access your magic then I will teach you how to shift properly. Do you give me permission to do this?" "Please go ahead. Do whatever you think necessary." Ava's smile broadened. "Good. I promise you won't regret this."
A little while later Ava slowly guided Ella through her shift, giving careful instruction and nudging her the right way when she tried to fall back on her old method. When her wings whooshed into existence Ella's laughter was filled with delight. "This is amazing! That took less than fifteen minutes and it hardly hurt at all! I'm so happy I could kiss you! Thank you, my friend, I'll never forget this." "I'm happy I could help. You'll find the more you practice the quicker and easier it will become." "Nooo...really?" At Ava's nod Ella did a happy dance on the spot. Ava laughed and picked up her pack. "You can practice those dance moves on the way. We still have to get to the top of the pass before dark. That's unless your wing is healed enough for flight?" Ella experimentally stretched her injured wing and winced. "I wouldn't chance it, not yet. It's no longer broken and the hole is gone but it's definitely not safe to use yet." "So, you know what that means?" "More walking?" "Yup, more walking."
It had taken them two hours to get to their destination and despite Ella's concerns the climb to the summit hadn't been nearly as bad as she feared. What did have her worried was how withdrawn Ava had become since they arrived. She had already become used to Ava's occasional quiet spells and those didn't bother her but this did. Normally even when she was watching the trail or occupied with her own thoughts Ava's eyes would light up in warm acknowledgment whenever their gazes met and that made Ella feel like they were constantly connecting without the need for words. Ava had grown quieter as they neared the top of the pass and her eyes, when they flickered over Ella, were troubled and restless. As soon as they arrived at their camp spot Ava had excused herself, sat down on a rock that granted her a panoramic view and stared off into the distance. She'd been sitting like that for a while, her arms wrapped around her legs and her chin rested on her knees. Ella wanted to give Ava space to think about whatever was troubling her but she looked so unbearably lonely like that, a single figure silhouetted against the vast landscape and endless sky. She resisted the urge to go to Ava as long as she could and when she did approach her she sought Ava's attention by gently touching her shoulder. When Ava gave her a questioning look Ella said, "Do you mind if I sit next to you? This is the only spot with an unobscured view of the valleys below and I'd very much like to see the sunset in all its glory." Ava didn't say anything but scooted over making room for Ella on the slab of rock and patted the space beside her. Encouraged by the welcoming gesture Ella sat down allowing a hand span between them. "I'd like to open my wings to sun them but this isn't a big space. Would it bother you if I do that? I know I have a habit of getting into your personal space and I don't want to bug you more than I already have." Ava gave her a gentle smile. "You really don't have much of a sense of personal space but I'm getting used to that. Sun your wings, Ella. You're no bother." The sky had a golden glow infused with tints of red and the mellow heat from the sun was that of a dying ember. Ella arched her wings open as much as her injury would allow as she was eager to absorb as much warmth and light as possible before it was swallowed by the darkening sky. As she stretched her wings she allowed the inside of one to glide lightly over Ava's back in an almost-caress. Ava gave her a sideways glance and looked like she was about to say something but after a moment she continued her quiet contemplation staring out over the mountains and valleys below. Ella's own thoughts drifted to what was happening at home. She hoped fervently that her father's health hadn't gotten worse. It was a constant worry to her, along with keeping an eye on his conniving half-brother. Ella's brow furrowed as she thought about Marcus. Hopefully she wouldn't be away long enough for her uncle to cause trouble or find a way to get his sticky fingers into the treasury. It frustrated her that her father treated Marcus like a troubled son rather than the arrogant, greedy, asshole he was. It was probably her father's misguided attempt to bring into the fold a younger brother he didn't know he had until a few years ago. Ella didn't share her father's affection for Marcus and she had no tolerance for his antics so she knew it was just a matter of time before she and Marcus had another serious altercation. But that was a problem for another day. Right now, she got to enjoy a magnificent sunset in the company of a beautiful woman. Eventually, shadows crept all the way up to the outcropping while the pool of amber light they sat in receded with the sun sinking over the horizon. With no more sun to warm her wings Ella gradually folded them away. She learned that quick movements were not a good idea around Ava, especially behind her back. She would instantly become alert and track Ella's movements with predatory wariness. It usually only lasted a few seconds but every time it happened Ella's neck prickled in alarm. Ava looked more relaxed and she wanted her to stay that way so they could talk. She'd given Ava enough time to say something so it was time to push. "Ava, when are you going to tell me what's going on?" "What do you mean?" "You've been extra quiet since our last stop and now you have this expression like you're making a serious decision and the way you've looked at me several times makes me concerned that your decision might affect me. If it does, I have the right to know." Ava shifted uncomfortably and said, "Most of it has nothing to do with you. I've been thinking about my plans for the future." "But there is a part that involves me?" "Yes. I need to go to a place not far from here to collect some things of mine. I'd prefer you to wait for me while I make a quick detour but even running I probably wouldn't get back until mid-day tomorrow at the earliest. I don't think it is safe to leave you here still unable to fly. I'd never forgive myself if something happens to you while I'm gone." "Then take me with you. What's the big deal? You took me into wolf territory and we got through that just fine." Ava hesitated and Ella could just about see the wheels in her head turning as she weighed what to say next. "I've never taken anyone there. If you come with me you must promise you won't tell anyone about it or talk about the things you see on the way and you must give me your word you'll never try to go there without me. It's a place that used to belong to the Ancients. I use it as a sanctuary of sorts." "Will I be in danger there?" "Not from other people; it would be just you and I. As for the place itself...it still has active defenses but as long as you're there as my guest you will be safe. In fact, I think you'll like it there. We can rest without having to be on guard and have a hot soak." "Will there be food as well and a proper table to sit at so I don't have to balance my meal on my lap?" Ava smiled. "Yes, that too. Even a big bed to sleep in." "Sweetie, at this point for a hot bath and a soft bed with clean bedding I'd be willing to do all manner of things. But all jokes aside, yes, you have my word and I agree to all you've asked. You have my oath as a blood liege of House Aquilar." "Good." Ava nodded a pleased expression on her face. "Then it's settled." "Was that so hard? Next time don't brood so much, just talk to me." "I don't brood. I was thinking." "You're a broody thinker." "Is that supposed to make me feel bad?" Ava asked, the corner of her mouth quirking in amusement. Ella patted her leg. "It's merely an observation. It's probably a habit you picked up from spending so much time by yourself. In my home it's almost impossible to be alone long enough to get into a serious brood. If I want to be alone I have to hide in my rooms or try to sneak away for a solo flight which is very hard to do with so many people everywhere. I suppose that's why I was drawn to work in our mira gardens in the first place. Only a select few are allowed to enter and it is so gloriously tranquil there. It was a bonus it turned out I have a natural aptitude for working with the mira and don't mind the bees. Not to praise my own feathers but I'm very good at what I do. We have all kinds of investments but that's still our most lucrative source of income. My ability to get the best out of every crop and the fact I also seemed to have inherited my father's shrewd nose for business has been incredibly useful leverage in dealing with the more troublesome members of my flock. I'm easy going most of the time but they know if they try to push me into something I don't want, like another arranged marriage, heads will roll." Ava frowned. "Can your flock do that? The arranged marriage thing?" "Yes and no. Avian Houses are like small kingdoms and ruled by the founders. House Aquilar is more progressive than most but we are by no means a democracy. So, if the head of my House, my father, insisted on a marriage I'd have to agree to the union or leave. I'm the oldest child and future ruler of House Aquilar and in the past arranged marriages were used to create alliances all the time. It's an archaic remnant of a bygone age and my father has encouraged way too much independence in his daughters to turn around and try to force us into something like that. It would go against everything he stands for." "It's good to know you've got your father's support but why do I get the impression you've already had to fend off a marriage alliance? I don't like the sound of that at all." "It was all my uncle Marcus's doing. I can't stand that man. He sponsored a petition by House Ravir to enter into an alliance with House Aquilar. Since my father has been training me to be his successor when this came up he stepped back to let me handle the whole thing solo. Personally, I didn't want any dealings with House Ravir but as the official representative of the head of House Aquilar I had to at least hear them out. Normally I don't talk about House business to anyone outside of the flock but I trust you." Ava smiled and said, "My lips are sealed. Do tell – I'm intrigued to find out what happened." "During the meeting House Ravir offered to put their air power at our disposal to help protect and expand our trade routes in exchange for a mutual support alliance. This caught the interest of the flock as House Ravir still has a strong warrior culture whereas our focus is business orientated. Financially House Aquilar is far more prosperous than Ravir but they outnumber us with trained fighters. We have a sizable House guard to defend our tower but our air force is a fraction of what it used to be during my grandfather's reign. The shift was a deliberate act by my father as he was trying to distance House Aquilar from the sort of behavior that used to be the trademark of the hunting and scavenging flocks of old. Having a smaller air force hadn't been a problem until recently. Unfortunately, over the last ten months we've had ongoing losses due to attacks on our shipments. Nothing crippling but it is concerning. If we trained more sentinels or hired mercenaries we could patrol the routes better but that would divert resources from other important projects. I proposed we re-evaluate our existing trade routes and develop relationships with companies on the other side of the portal eager to market our mira honey to humans. Marcus openly opposed me, arguing it would be a sign of weakness to abandon old trade routes. Then he brought in the offer by House Ravir as his solution to the problem. He suggested my marriage to House Ravir would instantly gain us access to the use of their warriors with no additional expense to House Aquilar." "That sounds like a move to get rid of you. Marry off the female heir to another House and take her position." "My thoughts exactly! I entertained fantasies of ripping off his wings while I made a show of listening to him argue how beneficial such an arrangement between our Houses would be. According to my uncle I'd be joined in marriage to Titus of House Ravir for 'the good of the flock'. Utter rubbish. Firstly, if I wanted to form an alliance just for the sake of gaining warriors there are better options than House Ravir. Secondly, I'd like to see Marcus offer up his body and soul 'for the good of the flock'. That man only thinks of himself and he still carries a mountain-sized grudge that my grandfather didn't acknowledge him as his bastard son while he was alive. Marcus was the result of his brief affair with a woman from House Ravir whose husband was, by all accounts, a brute. It wasn't until after the death of her husband that the clause in my grandfather's will kicked in and Marcus was gifted the sizable inheritance set aside for him. Once Marcus got over the shock, he quickly decided he'd not been given a fraction of what he was due and he's been trying to claw his way to power ever since. So as far as I'm concerned, any proposal Marcus puts forth is suspect. As for marrying into House Ravir? They would have to bind and gag me to pull that off. I despise Titus Ravir. He was a spoiled vicious brat as a child and from what I've heard he's only gotten worse. His sister Raven is a psychotic bitch I want nowhere near me and don't even get me started on their father." Ella visibly shuddered. "A few minutes in the presence of Lord Nero makes me feel like I need to bathe in disinfectant." "And your father? Where did he stand on all of this?" "As I said, my father would never try to strong-arm me into marriage and he doesn't like or trust House Ravir. He said there were too many bad rumors about their flock for all of it to be false and he didn't want the name of our House sullied by association." "So...what happened?" "My father hasn't been well. I think I mentioned that to you. His declining health and the constant barrage from my uncle and members of the flock he riled up to push for the alliance was wearing on my father. I already made my position clear and that should have been the end of it but because of my uncle they kept going behind my back to harass my father like a bunch of crows. This was Marcus's way of publicly undermining my authority. I had to put a stop to it. He struts around like a royal peacock but he only gets to maintain the facade of wealth and power because my father discreetly gives him an allowance and houses him in a luxurious suite. Marcus squandered the fortune my grandfather left him and came crawling to my father for help because he had money lenders threatening to pluck his feathers as repayment for bad debts. My father took him in and quietly took care of all his debts. I called Marcus out on this in front of his cronies. Then I reminded him that one day I'll be the ruler of House Aquilar, not him. From that point on his position in the flock and the allowance he receives from my family's personal fortune will depend on my goodwill, which he's already worn thin. I also advised him to find ways to be useful to the flock, just like everyone else, because I will not tolerate a freeloader who spends his days gambling and partying like a sailor on a weekend pass. If looks could kill I would have dropped dead on the spot but that was the end of his little show of dissent. Marcus' supporters abandoned him quicker than flees on a dead dog. My father wasn't happy that I humiliated his brother like that but he understood that I had to put Marcus in his place." Ella paused when she noticed Ava was staring at her with wide eyes. "Why are you looking at me like that?" Ava shook her head. "You're quite extraordinary and a little scary. You're like a kitten that looks all sweet and cuddly but you have sharp claws. Remind me never to cross you. Or play cards with you. I bet you play a mean hand." "Ooh, I love a good game of cards. I'm rather good at it." "I bet," Ava said dryly. "For some reason, people don't want to play with me when we're playing for money. Only my sister and a few of the cousins but they're cunning; I have to watch them carefully to make sure they don't cheat. Do you play?" "Now and then but I don't get enough practice to be good at it. The last time I played strip poker I ended up in my undies in only a few rounds. I would have been naked first for sure if it wasn't for the fire that broke out next door. Saved by a fire...it's not every day one gets to say that." "How did that happen?" "It was a grease fire in the kitchen. More smoke than fire. No one got hurt." "I mean how did you end up playing strip poker? Where, how and most importantly, with whom?" Ella was fairly bouncing on the spot with curiosity. "I was at a private party in a club. It was late, I had a few drinks and it sounded like it could be fun. It was...except that I played so badly. Then there was the fire of course." "You at a party? Getting drunk and playing strip poker?" Ella struggled to get her head around the idea of Ava partying but mostly her imagination snagged on Ava in her bra and panties getting ready to take it all off. Ava tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear, a faint blush on her cheeks. "Don't sound so surprised. I don't live out in the wilderness all the time. I move around a lot and when I'm in town I like to unwind a little." "Sounds like it. So how many people at this poker game? Anyone in particular you wanted to see naked? I want to know everything ." Ava's cheeks flared to crimson. "It wasn't like that. Besides, if I want to see someone naked I can do better than a game of strip poker. It was just a fun evening that got a bit risqué." With or without booze Ella could not imagine Ava suddenly becoming an outrageous party animal but to be fair she hardly knew the woman. Even though at times they fell into such a comfortable familiarity that it felt like they'd been friends for years, in reality there was a lot they didn't know about each other. The way Ava had become all defensive and evasive had Ella intrigued and she was dying to know more. She was tempted to tease Ava until she relented but she could as easily get all guarded and refuse to say anything. She'd seen that happen a few times. Best to wait for an opportunity to get the saucy details of that poker game out of her. She just had to be patient or if she was lucky stumble across some good quality booze. Even better would be to find a deck of cards as well. Nothing wrong with offering to play a few rounds to help Ava improve her game and if along the way things got risqué it would just be a bit of fun between friends. Ella shook herself mentally. Wow...did she just plot how to get Ava to peel off her clothing for her, layer by layer, until nothing covered that glorious body? Ella felt her own body's eager response to that idea and bit down on the groan that almost escaped her lips. She had to get a hold of herself. Besides, that plan wouldn't work after she just bragged that she was a great card player. On the other hand, if she could convince Ava to play she could always lose the occasional hand to keep things moving in the right direction. A room with just the two of them, their clothing coming off in a slow tease. No touching allowed, just their eyes devouring until finally there were no barriers left between them and they simply had to touch or go out of their minds. She'd give several of her precious prime feathers for that fantasy to become a reality. Would Ava be interested in that kind of game? If she was what would it be like to be with someone like her? Ava was so focused and intense and yet at times she could be playful so what would she be like as a lover? "So...do you agree?" Ella realized Ava was looking at her expectantly. "Do I agree with what?" Ella shifted uncomfortably. She wasn't used to lusty thoughts ambushing her with such enthusiasm that she lost track of the conversation. Especially when the source of the wicked thoughts sat right next to her. "To leave now. If we do we'll be at the sanctuary in a few hours. That way we can rest all of tomorrow. That's if you don't mind traveling at night again. The moon will be out so that will make it easier for you to see. I've traveled these paths so many times I could lead us there in my sleep." "Even at night?" "Especially at night. That's when I usually travel. I'm a nocturnal beast-shifter, remember?" "Why didn't you say something earlier? We probably could have been there already if we hadn't stayed here so long." Ava shrugged. "This would have made a reasonable place to camp for the night had we decided to stay. Besides, you needed the rest." Ella narrowed her eyes at Ava. "The fact that it will be dark and very difficult for me to find the way again has nothing to do with it I suppose?" Ava responded by holding her palms up in a gesture of supplication. "Of course not. If you prefer we can spend the night sleeping here on the cold hard rocks with rats and insects for company instead of in a warm soft bed. It's entirely up to you. It makes no difference to me because I'm used to sleeping rough. Not sure you'll get much rest though. Can you feel the wind picking up? The way it blows through this pass it will sound like the howling of a pack of wolves tonight." Ella grimaced and said, "Fine. Let's go." She rustled her wings to show her displeasure at being so cleverly manipulated to travel in the mountains at night. Ava had been positively devious dangling the comforts of a bed and bath in front of her. The woman must know there was no way Ella would choose to spend a night sleeping on stones in a windy pass after that. Perhaps Ava wasn't nearly as bad at cards as she let on. Or was she more of a chess player, plotting how to back her opponent into a corner from the first move? Yeah, she fit the profile.
Ava led them along paths that twisted and turned through the mountains. When it became harder to see she offered Ella her arm to lean on when there was enough space for them to walk side by side and her hand when there wasn't. The moon had just appeared when Ava led them off the path to two tall rocks. She told Ella to wait and disappeared behind them. About a minute later Ava reappeared and beckoned for Ella to follow. Squeezing through the gap Ella saw a smooth doorway cut into the sheer rock. Peering inside it was as dark as a grave and the sight of it filled her with dread. "Ava, you can't expect me to go in there. It's pitch dark and you know how I feel about the dark." "I'll be able to create light once we're inside." "Do we really have to go this way?" "Yes, we do. Without this shortcut we won't get there tonight." "What is this? A cave system?" "It's one of the underground passages built by the Ancients. Think of it as a system of tunnels if that helps." "Really? I thought those were only a myth? How did you know there's an entrance here?" Ava held out a hand. "Not the time for questions. Come on." Ella put her hand in Ava's and immediately felt comforted by the familiar warmth. Ava squeezed her hand and said, "You may see some curious things but please don't ask me questions while we are inside. We need to be very quiet and I need to focus so I don't lose track of where we are. You ready, Ella?" "As ready as I can be since I've no idea what I'm supposed to be ready for." Ava grinned, showing white teeth in the moonlight and the next moment they were moving. They went from moonlight to utter darkness so suddenly Ella's impulse was to stop but Ava kept them moving forward. Not being able to see, Ella feared she would stumble or walk into something despite Ava leading the way but she quickly realized the surface underfoot was smooth as polished stone. Ava paused and a few seconds later faint glyphs glowed to light in a circular design around her hand on the wall. Glancing around, Ella saw they were indeed in a tunnel and that the walls and ceiling appeared as smooth as the floor. Ava drew on the wall with her finger and tiny lights reminiscent of a firefly's glow appeared on the floor revealing a small section of the tunnel ahead of them. Ava gave a satisfied grunt and they were off following the dim lights. Glancing over her shoulder Ella saw the lights going out behind them. Her rational mind knew there was a logical explanation for what was happening but the part of her that feared the dark felt like there was a monster following on their heels devouring the light. She tightened her grip on Ava's hand and decided to keep her eyes on the lights in front of them. When they came to a crossroad of tunnels veering off into different directions Ava paused to rest her palm on the wall of one of the tunnels and the little lights appeared again. This happened twice more and Ella realized their pathway must be part of a complex labyrinth of passages. It was a mystery to her how Ava knew which direction to go and since Ava had warned her to be quiet she didn't dare ask. They came to what appeared to Ella to be a dead end but instead of turning them around to go back the way they came Ava moved Ella's hand to her shoulder. Ella felt Ava roll her shoulders as she tended to do when faced with a challenge. With alarm Ella watched the lights behind them fade to black. As darkness descended Ella wrapped her arms around Ava's waist and shamelessly pressed herself flat against the other woman's back. She knew the moment Ava drew on her magic because every part of her that touched Ava felt like it was being pricked by tiny electric needles. The sensation verged on being painful but Ella gritted her teeth and held on. Ava's arms moved in the dark and a complex set of runes encased in circular designs rose to the surface of the stone around her hands. Keeping one hand in place Ava used the other to touch a rune and it rose above the rest, clinging to her fingers like a sticky orb of light. She moved the rune to a different location and as soon as she let it go the designs swirled and changed. She did this again and again. By the eerie lights of the runes Ella saw Ava's face was rigid with concentration. After several minutes of this Ava's hands dropped to her side and a doorway appeared where moments before there had been solid rock. She tucked Ella's arm under hers and moved them at a jog through a pitch-black space towards a throbbing red orb that appeared to drift in space some distance away. When they got near enough Ella saw the orb was actually several rune-filled circles spinning independently of each other within a larger circular design above a gigantic doorway. The runes changed with every rotation of the inner circles, flashing just before the change and for some reason it made Ella think of a countdown. Ava rushed them through the giant doorway into a passage that lit up with tiny lights as soon as she touched the wall. They were just in time it seems because when Ella looked back the doorway they had come through was gone. Thoroughly shaken, Ella tucked her wings around herself as tightly as she could and meekly followed her guide. They had only gone a short distance when Ava stopped. She tilted her head to the left and right as if listening then she put an arm around Ella and drew her close. She put a finger to her mouth motioning for silence as the lights around them dimmed and they were swallowed by the dark. Ella listened but aside from their breathing she heard absolutely nothing. It was like they were standing in a tomb of smoothed stone, so long vacant of life, light and sound that not even mice dared scurry about. Testing the air she noticed it smelled dry and stale like it had not been disturbed for some time. She had begun to wonder if Ava imagined she'd heard something when she felt through the delicate membranes in her wings the change in air pressure as if a door had opened into an enclosed space. Straining to hear she caught fragments of indistinct sound bouncing around tunnel walls somewhere up ahead and to their left. As it drew nearer she could make out something that creaked and groaned with mechanical thumps as it moved. After their long quiet passage through the tunnels the sounds seemed so sharp and out of place that, combined with Ava's warning, it felt to her whatever was up ahead fairly hummed with menace. The spike of alarm made her heart hammer so loudly in her chest that she worried it would be heard. They stood motionless, tracking the progress of the thing moving through the dark. Whatever it was it didn't need light because even when it went past what sounded like an adjoining passage Ella saw no lights. To her relief, the creature became quieter as it moved away until once again she only heard their breathing. The minutes ticked away but Ava didn't move so neither did she, trusting in her companion's superior hearing. The whole time Ava held her close, her solidity and the warmth of her body Ella's anchor in the dark. Tired of waiting and looking without being able to see Ella leaned her head against Ava's shoulder and closed her eyes. Like this it didn't feel so different from the other times Ava watched over her in the dark. Ava's lips brushed her ear and she whispered, "I've got you. Don't be afraid." To her surprise, Ella realized that she wasn't really afraid. It was true her heart had felt like it would pound out of her chest when they went through that weird passage and even now in the dark she was far from comfortable. But at the same time, her nerve endings zinged with such an acute awareness of her own body and everything around her that it was exhilarating. This was the danger of the unknown and the discomfort of finding herself in a situation she could not control but she didn't fear for her life. The last time she'd felt truly afraid was just after she'd broken her wing on that mountainside. She'd been terrified that Ava would abandon her to be recaptured and dragged back to that cage to face the cutter's scalpel. In retrospect that fear seemed silly. Not because the danger hadn't been real but because she now knew Ava would never have left her behind. No, she wasn't afraid. She couldn't be when she had Ava by her side.

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