"Um..." Lynd looked at her, blushed, and looked away. "N-no, you're not wrong." Tabby nodded. Lynd mumbled something about needing a shower and stumbled into the bathroom.

"Just to be clear," Fred continued, "I don't think Brantley'll start any shit. Wardens are old-fashioned. Like how back in the day, Duke So-and-so might have been the biggest asshole in England, but even the king couldn't just boot him out, not without starting a civil war. Brantley can 'requsition' this, 'take initiative' on that, always keeping his toes right behind the line. Like a lawyer with a book full of technicalities. That's the culture. If you don't commit a little treason, you're not trying hard enough. Keep each other sharp."

"And then what?" She snapped. The cicada-shaped thing loomed in the distance. "That's Bill Grissom, isn't it? After a few years of sucking down your poison? You're not turning him into another monster."

"Not what this is about, kid." He reached into nothing, into oblivion, and pulled out a familiar crystal. Iron-red, veined with blue and black, half as big as her head. "You know what this is."

"I'm not bargaining--

"Do you know what it does?"

Her silent glare was answer enough.

"It's a one-way trip to the Vine. You saw Coyle go down the drain; he' still in here. Grissom too, soon enough. I'm done with him. They'll join a whole lotta poor bastards. All alive, all hungry, all fuckin' psycho from years trapped in Magic Alcatraz. All loyal to me and only me once I finally get the missing pieces back and spring 'em. My own private army. Ain't that nice?"

There was yelling outside. "What do you mean you can't--" "I'm trying! They fucked with the locks on this one!" "Then someone find a fucking fire axe!" One of the voices was Fred's.

"And I, and every Warden and Markstepper and other freak that's ever lived," he snarled, regaining her attention, "would trade it in one second for your boy's cargo. Valunya stashed it deep inside him, Unwyn and Cervantes cooked up some story together, but they all know the truth. 'Cept for the mule."

"What cargo?"

"You wouldn't even believe me. But I'll extract it, have him back before the day's out, won't remember a thing, won't even feel different. Look, I get it, I'm a bastard, but you'll think me later. You do not want Cervantes getting his hands on this thing."

There was a grinding noise outside. An axehead pierced the wall, leaving a crack of light in its wake. A round of excitement from the onlookers, then another crack.

"Limited time offer, kid," he rasped. "Very limited." He held out the Rose. "You ain't gonna like it in here."

Tabby smirked. The air had shifted in the room. Once the Centipede heard Fred's voice, he'd backed off. Gone from dangling the deal in front of her to begging her to take it. From taunting her with his secrets to bargaining with them. Because this was him; the Chicago mafia's in-house Markstepper, the one who got away in '92, the guy who'd hired Randall, destroyed her family, ruined her life...he was standing ten feet away.

"Here's my offer," she said. She grabbed her necklace. The zugan glowed a brilliant emerald, sparkling with purpose. The bristles grew long, thin, sharp. Crystallized into a single blade, like Lynd said they would one day. It was finally happening. She had her weapon.

Most Marksteppers are fundamentally human. Sure, they live apart from the rest of humanity, have a closed-practice religion (and language!) and have interacted with Great Vine magic enough to deeply change them (traditionalist Wardens see Marksteppers the way Puritan pastors saw witches, essentially), they still are born, live, and die the normal way, in communities much like 99% of human history's.

The Greatbranches are not.

The most ancient among the Marksteppers, the Greatbranches serve as the aristocracy and leadership. The total population of Marksteppers on Earth is estimated at 20,000, but the number of Greatbranchers is eternal: 999, dispersed evenly across nine branches. This is allowed by their defining feature: eternal recurrence.

If a Greatbrancher is killed by a sapient creature other than their chosen heir, that creature will assume the powers and standing of its victim. If they die by other means, their standing will pass to a chosen heir. If there is no chosen heir, the powers will pass to the nearest sapient creature. Like Asimov's robotics laws, there are many bizarre and unexpected edge cases and rules-lawyer moments surrounding their implementation, particularly what 'sapient', 'chosen', and 'nearest' all mean in practice. And, of course, if Greatbranchers dodge both targeted and natural death, there's no known upper-bound to their lifespans.

Once someone joins a Greatbranch by any of the above means (which Marksteppers refer to as "being reborn"), they cease to physically age. They are not 'invulnerable' to illness per se, but have much more powerful immune systems. (And as such, they also shake off much more readily the effects of weight gain, drunkenness, exhaustion, and the like.) They cease to be capable of biological reproduction, and roughly 2/3 report significant decreases to their sex drive. Their eyes will change color to match their new Branch, and they will develop a tapetum lucidum, allowing incredible night vision at the cost of undisguisable glow-in-the-dark eyes. They will attain a weakness to anything derived from the tree of a rival Branch, and their blood will become mutually incompatible with human blood, causing great pain to both if blood is mixed (but not other bodily fluids, nyuck nyuck).

Each of the nine is tasked with protecting, enforcing, or regulating a certain aspect of humans and our works. Each Branch has a Branch-Lord, a leader with unique powers and attributes. They believe they were charged with this by the goddess that created them in the distant past; Wardens believe that to be a simple fairy tale. Rumor has it that when all 999 are assembled in place again, the truth will be revealed.

The Nine Greatbranches are listed below, in rough ascending order of power and importance:

Anthony didn’t flinch at her rant. She reminded herself that he was just dressed as an adult, younger than her in reality. It didn’t feel that way at the moment. “I don’t want anything,” he said. “These are your grandfather’s terms. Take them or leave them.”

Well, that answered that. As dangerous as this seemed, she couldn’t just walk out and…and not know. “One week ago,” she said, “I had no idea what a Ward was. Now I have to crack the most complex one ever built, in three tries or less? And I’m getting off easy?”

“Think of how you got here,” he said with a smug, know-it-all look. “Got here? You mean this?” She took the battered photocopy of 1485 Sunflower Court out of her backpack. “How is this going to help?”

“You…what?”

“I went street by street until I found a house that looked like a match.”

“You were supposed to…where’s the puzzle?” Melanie handed it over. Anthony held it in front of his face. “If you’d looked through the middle it would have showed you the Ward. It would be like a neon sign pointing to my house. You didn’t try to…?”

“No, Anthony, I didn’t look through the middle of the incomplete jigsaw puzzle. That is the literal opposite of what you do with a jigsaw puzzle.”

“Well. Um.” He fiddled with the control panel. He had the expression of a teacher who had an unexpectedly difficult question sprung on him and was trying to maintain his authority. “In recognition of the…self-imposed difficulty, I’ll disable a few of the traps and dead-ends and so forth. Keep it fair.” True to his word, the onscreen Ward simplified. Some of the colored lines and buildings disappeared. “And I prefer ‘Antonius’ when I’m like this, if you don’t mind. ‘Anthony’ is a 16-year-old loser who couldn’t run a twelve-minute mile at gunpoint.”

“Yeah, about that…so what are you now, exactly? A hologram or something? Like, could I punch you, if I wanted to?”

“I’d rather you didn’t, but yes, I’m really here. You can look like whatever you want in here! A customized form would take a few hours to render, but I do have a few defaults.” He snapped his fingers and a ring of images appeared around Melanie. They were all of women, roughly the same age as ‘Antonius’: a sci-fi chick in a latex catsuit, a samurai girl with very loose robes, an angelic lady clad in devilishly skimpy metal ‘armor’. Each one had more ridiculous curves than the last. “If you’re interested,” he said, clearly hoping she was.

“You don’t bring a lot of girls in here, do you?” She said, inspecting a dark-skinned avatar in a leopard-fur bikini and cat-ear headband.

“No, why?”

Well, fuck her. Fuck 'em both. Rita thought she could waltz in, like nothing had changed, like Tabby was still her helpless little...! Anger roiled in her chest like magma ready to erupt. She wasn't going back. Not now, not ever. She slammed a hand on the table. "I don't think you get it, Rita. I chose to let you and Dad come here, to keep you safe. But I don't need you anymore. I'm working for Mr. Cervantes now--they told you about him, right?--and I'm learning things you couldn't imagine."

She put a hand on her zugan, ready to rip it off and--this time, for sure--bring it to its full power. Melanie suddenly leaned back and stretched, with 'yeahthat'snotagoodidea' escaping in one whispered breath. Unfortunately, she was right. Tabby changed tactics. "Yesterday I saved a woman's life. Ask Mr. Cervantes. And she won't be the last; I'm getting stronger every day."

Rita gave the table a slam of her own. "You're not some hero, you little shit! And I will not be dragged into this...this cult, just to watch you ruin your life twice!"

"Hey!" Steve called. He'd been exploring his half of the duplex, and stood in the threshold between them. "There's no furniture here. Not even beds."

"Yeah," Travis said, finally speaking up. "What did you think 'unfurnished' meant, dumbass?"

"I thought there'd be something..." Steve rubbed his head. "I can't afford a whole house worth of furniture. If I knew that I'd have stayed home."

"You can afford it, you cheap bastard," Rita said. "Quit whining. That was always your problem."

"I pay for your whole medicine cabinet, you bitch, why do you think I'm broke?"

Tabby stood, fists clenched, tears of anger ready to drop. So maybe the zugan would bring the ceiling down. So what? She wanted these two out of her life, tell them to never talk to her again. She didn't notice that Travis was just as furious. Not until Melanie grabbed her and pulled her out of the way.

Travis grabbed the new coffeemaker from the kitchen counter. He yanked it out of the socket and spiked it like a football, inches from where Tabby had stood. The glass pot cracked, and what was left of Fred's morning coffee leaked out. It stained the carpet as the lid rolled to a stop. The smell made Tabby retch. Unlike Mel, she couldn't stand the stuff.

It quieted the room. Mrs. Hanson was the first to speak, grumbling "What is wrong with you?" in a tired, resigned way, like she knew she'd never find out.

"Just needed to get y'all's attention. And lookit that, I did! So, let's all listen to cousin Travis, huh?"

They did. Everyone was too afraid to do otherwise.

"Loath as I am to admit it, lady, the brat has it right. Mr. C thinks she's some kinda prodigy, and with that comes certain benefits. He told me that if you three can't function living under the same roof--and clearly, you can't--Tabby's happiness takes priority."

"Meaning what?" Rita said.

"Meaning there's a couple of extended-stay hotels in town with enough room for you and your ex. Furnished, even. And that's where you'll stay, while she's here at 240B, until she wants you back."

Tabby couldn't believe it. She bit her tongue and hardened her face to avoid jumping and screaming for joy. Rita couldn't believe it either. "What IS wrong with you?! She's seventeen!"

"I did a lot crazier, a lot younger."

"My God...'cult' was too nice, clearly. This is a goddamn criminal front. You said this Cervantes guy was a businessman? He's a gangster!"

"Damn right he is!" Travis hollered. "Leave one mob town, move to another, ain't that a bitch? But see, we're the nice kind of thugs. We don't break your knees or drain your pension, we just ask that you shut the hell up. Can ya do it, Rita? Are you physically capable?"

"So you're with the Sumacs, huh? One of them said he wanted to help me, then he tried to kill my best friend's dad. So prove you're not just stringing me along."

"I've owned and managed the salon on the third floor since the mall expanded. They started selling me lutum-infused cosmetics a few years ago, and for a while it was great. My customers all came out looking like supermodels and I made a big pile of money. And then...it very suddenly turned into a nightmare, and I want out. If you're deadset on not trusting me I'm sure that's not enough. But Travis didn't either, until he did his homework and found it all checked out. He seems like a hard man to convince."

"He got called away. Unexpected business," Tabby said. "But don't worry, he told me everything." What's that son of a bitch up to? "I've done this lots of times."

The lady didn't quite buy it. "How old are you?"

"Thirty-six, how old are you?" Tabby snapped without missing a beat, scanning the crowd herself. She told Lynd she would wait. But circumstances had changed, and now he was out of each. She chuckled, realizing his makeover had made him far harder to pick out of a crowd. Maybe he could spot them.

"I was just expecting someone a bit more...bodyguard-ish."

"I'm not here to intimidate anyone, I'm hear to get you out quietly." She abruptly stood, grabbing the bags and handing some over. "Anyone asks, you're my aunt, it's my birthday, and we're shopping together." As huge as the mall was, its hidden skeleton was even bigger. Plenty of places to slip out where even the janitors wouldn't look until closing time. Now she just had to find one.

There was one thing Tabby couldn't resist asking. "'The Centipede?' Who the hell names himself after a bug?"

"He can call himself what he likes," the woman said. "No one's gonna tell him otherwise. We were all given codenames like that. I'm the, um. The Silkworm."

She sounded quite embarrassed. Well, worms were one thing, but centipedes could bite. They could skitter up your arm in half a second. And they were hunters; if humans were small enough, they'd be on the menu too.

She hated feeling like prey. So she tried to convince herself that the four guys she kept seeing (two flanking them on the ground floor, two giving air support from the second) were just going about their business, not tailing her at all. And that was true, she wasn't being tailed.

Rita wouldn't like the new Tabby. Good. She wanted her mother to know, as soon as their eyes met tomorrow, that the old days were over. Mrs. Hanson was in Chicago now, tying up loose ends with the cops and giving her parents The Speech: magic is real, your kid is neck-deep in it, you're coming with me. She'd dragged an unwilling Travis along as backup. Tabby hoped the bastard was in his usual bad mood and took it out on Rita and Steve.

She wouldn't tell them about Lynd. They didn't deserve it.

Lynd was easy to shop for, not just because he was a guy, but because he cared. He had opinions on what looked good on him and what didn't. She loaded him up with jeans, shorts, and tees, but he kept veering toward the nicer stuff, even getting measured for a suit that Tabby insisted he'd never have reason to wear. "You never know," he said.

He'd also talked her into a blue sundress that she thought was too fussy and old-fashioned. "It's beautiful," he insisted. Boys back home--and probably here too--would sooner punch themselves in the nuts than say anything so gay as their feelings about a dress. But Lynd didn't know he wasn't supposed to care. And he was right. It was beautiful.

As they moved through the promenade, they checked names off Florentino's list. Each store got a little marble of lutum hidden within; nestled into a discount-rack handbag, or wedged in a potted plant. He wanted them out of sight for now. That night, he would switch them on from afar and scan for traces of the Rose.

"So I'm stuck with you for five years, huh?" She teased. They'd settled in at the food court, surrounded by shopping bags. It was mid-afternoon, and the mall was quickly filling with after-school shoppers.

"The 'proper' response would have been indignation at being under a Warden's thumb so long, and at making Unwyn wait," Lynd said with a shrug. "But he can keep waiting."

"This guy Unwyn, he's your dad or something?"

"Hah. No. He's my liege lord, and I'm his least-favorite squire."

"Hey, fuck that, this is America. We fought a war to get rid of that shit."

"You did? When?"

Tabby gave him a weird look. It didn't seem to be a joke. "I'm starting school again in two days. I'll steal you a history book."

He stood and stretched. "Enjoy it. I wish I could come with."

Okay, that had to be a joke. But no, his face was as serious as ever. "Dude, trust me, there's nothing you're missing out on."

"There's a photo booth. You wanted a souvenir, right?"

Hard to turn down a request like that. But also hard to ignore that he suddenly seemed very agitated. She hoped she hadn't hit a nerve, but just...couldn't believe her ears. She asked again inside.

"Tabby, I can barely read," he said as the camera whirred to life. "Don't bother bringing me books. I know nothing about the culture and history of my new home. The Warden-King is right, I need to be discreet, and that's more than clothing and a haircut, that's being able to hold a conversation without sounding like I was born yesterday." Click-click-click. "Where am I supposed to learn these things?"

Tabby paused to blow a kiss and flash a peace sign at the camera before her frown returned. "I'll put it this way. If you find a school, in Kahoti or anywhere, where you can just show up and say 'I need knowledge! Teach me these things!' and they actually do it, and treat you like an actual fucking human being the whole time...then I'll enroll too, because you've found the best school in America."

He pondered that but didn't respond. He was enraptured by the photos as they printed. So was she. No wonder Shanti thought they were dating; they looked great together. "I've never had my photo taken before," Lynd said. "It's funny. I've been this...new person for a day, a few hours really. But I feel more real now than I ever did." He pocketed some of the photos. Tabby took the rest. "There is...another reason I wanted some privacy," he said.

Oh FUCK, is he really--are we--Tabby tried to keep a straight face.

"...Yes, thank you," Lynd said, gripping it tightly and stuffing it in his pocket.

She raised an eyebrow. "You wear a lot of jewelry for a guy."

"I...suppose so?" he said, ignoring her to scan the area for Sumacs.

As he peeked behind the dumpster, the girl gave Tabby a sympathetic smile. "Men, right? Beg you for dates and then you can barely take them out in public. He's lucky he's cute. And you're lucky too."

"Oh, we're not dating."

"You're not? Then can I have him? He'd look real good on my arm at prom."

"Prom? You're in high school?" Tabby knew she was on the prettier side--many of her problems sprang from that, in fact--but looking at this girl's perfect makeup and brilliant smile made her feel like a pig in slop. "You could have said you were twenty-one and I'd have totally bought it."

"Aw, you're so sweet. Yeah, three more months at the Kahoti High gulag."

"Oh? I'm, um, I might enroll there. It's kind of complicated." After an awkward silence, she asked "So you're just...skipping?"

"I don't really do Mondays, you feel me? Or Fridays."

"And they don't catch you?"

"Well, sometimes. But they've got 4,000 kids to worry about. The guys cover for me when I skip. I don't even have to ask anymore."

This girl was living Tabby's ideal life--gorgeous, independent, drowning in suitors--and barely acknowledged it. Eager to impress, Tabby volleyed back. "Cool. I'm living on my own right now. My parents are split, and honestly fuck 'em both. I'm starting a new life."

"On your own? God, that's badass. I like you. I'm Shanti."

"Tabby."

"You're making the right friends, Tabby. Next time the rich kids throw a party I'll get you an invite. You and the hot guy you aren't dating." She sucked down the last of her smoothie. "I'm peaceing out. Stay cool."

Lynd approached after Shanti left. "The Mantis is hiding somewhere near--could be anywhere. But he's stopped trying to summon it." He took out the ring, which had gone inert. "For now, they're not making open war."

"Then we gotta let Florentino know! He could clean this place out in an afternoon, then there is no war."

"All nine Greatbranches would unite against such flagrant Warden aggression. It would be not a war but a massacre. No, for now, I trust only you with this."

"Dude, I'm not worth that."

"Of course you are." His eyes looked wet. "You're the only one who stood up for me. You'd rather live on the street, with me, then enter the Warden-King's palace because...because you didn't want me to be alone. You thought I deserved better." He laughed. "How could I not trust you?"

Tabby cringed internally, reminded of her plan to end her "protest" no later than Thursday. "I've gotta at least tell Melanie. Tell her to stay out of this mall."

"Not even her."

"She's my best friend, and smart as hell. She could help you."

"She's quite intelligent. Intelligent and honest enough to tell her father everything. This thing is part-Mirebeast, already vermin to Wardens, likely powered by Markstepper magic. Its existence is a declaration of war in the eyes of most Wardens. That will be all the reason he and Travis need to drive me away. And..." he looked back at the mall. "I can't do it. I can't come so close and then...I won't. I won't run away. So, do you trust me too?"

And she did. It made taunts from Rita and Jenny spring back to life: all a boy's gotta do is look at you, huh? She hated that, right now, she couldn't dispute them. And she hated that thirteen years of friendship could apparently not stand up to puppy-dog eyes and a pretty speech from the hot guy she wasn't dating.

"Depends. Are you the normal kind of student?"

"I'm the lousy kind of student. Just never been good at it. Oh, don't give me that look, Mel, they'd realize eventually. But if I'm studying this instead of, freaking, Nathaniel Hawthorne? Now that's an incentive to show up. Behave myself, even."

"You're a 17-year-old runaway delinquent. One anonymous hotline tip and the FBI drags you back to Chicago," Mrs. Hanson said, brandishing her phone. "That's your incentive. Don't think for a minute that you're holding any cards here." She folded her arms. She had a glare that would make an owl blink, which her short iron-gray hair accented. But then it softened and she sighed. "That said..."

Tabby gleefully punched Melanie in the shoulder.

"Slow down, missy. Let's talk about your parents."

Tabby's expression did a 180. "They suck," she blurted. "Dad openly wishes I was never born, and he's the better one. If they were actually good parents and good people, I'd have brought them with. We could have started over together."

"It won't shock you to learn that a lot of us have stories like that. Things we've left behind, willingly or not. But Mr. Kitz tells me the Mafia might come for them. They've both got police protection for now, but that will lapse. So, your first test." Her stare was intense again. "Should I, with Mr. Cervantes' assistance, go extract and enlighten them? It's a yes or no question. And there is one right answer."

Tabby's teeth ground as she debated which one it was. Melanie wasn't sure either, really. It seemed obvious--be a hero. Do the right thing. But was it a trick? Perhaps the right answer was that sometimes you did need to make a clean break. And that people from your past didn't deserve to know.

"Yes," she said. "We have our issues, obviously, but...they can't die because of me."

Mrs. Hanson allowed her to squirm a bit before answering. "Correct. Mr. Cervantes himself would say the same. Wardens aren't perfect, because nobody's perfect. But all the Wards, the safehouses, the fortresses--his life's work--it's about protecting people. Even when they don't deserve it."

"Now, officially, my husband and I, as authority figures, would be obligated to terminate something so dangerous and unethical as an on-site, student-recruited, underground Wardenry training program. If we were to find one, which we haven't. Officially."

Melanie smiled. Some people just had to act like the rules were always on their side, even in the process of making confetti with them. Dad was the same.

"You may, perhaps, make a few new acquaintances, including our daughter, who can tell you more. Discreetly, that is: for 99% of the students and staff, it is the 'normal kind' of school, and I'll thank you to keep it that way."

"Wow..." Tabby muttered. "That's...awesome. Tabby Jelenski, normal high school girl on the surface, but secretly a badass monster-hunting wizard." She mimicked Florentino's spellcasting. "Wait, it's a public school, right? So there's guys? And no uniforms?!"

The old man raised both arms this time, cane tucked under his left. Ten beams of light, one from each fingertip, shot into the air, and hit the mantis at ten points: six legs, two wings, head, tail. He was instantly trapped, thrashing about like, well, a bug in a spiderweb. As he descended, the wings retreated into his shoulder blades, the fangs dulled to teeth, the extra limbs disappeared, and soon he was fully human, in body at least. Thankfully, even his clothing reappeared.

The station wagon pulled up, the other new guy at the wheel. His weapon was sheathed, but he looked like a weapon himself, with his sharp crew cut and bulging biceps. He was much younger, mid-twenties maybe. He parked at the side of the road. Traffic was picking up on both sides. Melanie wondered what the drivers made of this spectacle, for the half-second they glimpsed it. 'I imagined it'. 'It was foggy out'. 'I'm too old to believe in monsters'. That had to be most of it. How could any of this stay hidden otherwise?

"Yes, most people do talk themselves out of noticing my works," the old man said. "But also, this is Florida. It blends in with the rest of the chaos. All I can say is that they have not caught me out yet."

"Did you just..."

"Read your mind? No. But I am a reader of faces as much as I am a Warden. If the traffic drew your eye more than this..." he nodded at his captive. "It was a safe inference. And as you have surely inferred, I am Florentino Cervantes, your grandfather. Lovely to meet you, Melanie. This is Travis, my second-in-command.

Travis grunted as he popped the trunk.

"H-hey! Don't stash that freak in my car!" Dad yelled.

"Relax," Travis said, as Florentino lowered the prisoner in. The light had broken from his fingertips, but the prisoner was still encircled by the rays, bound tight. "He's 'bout as scary as a sack of potatoes like this. 'Sides, how old is this shitbox? Ain't it time to upgrade? Your pops'll buy you something nice."

Dad slammed the trunk so that their eyes met. "My car's just fine. And I'm not a charity case."

"Gentlemen, please," Florentino said. "This should be a joyous occasion. We finally caught a very dangerous individual. Your reservation is in twenty minutes, so behave."

"Our what?" Melanie asked.

"The Suwannee Cafe, downtown. Delightful little place. Prepaid, of course. You deserve something nice after getting through that mess. I recommend the baked clams." He checked his golden wristwatch. "Unfortunately, I must depart. The reservation is under Graham Larson's name. He'll meet you there."

"Wait, hold on!" Tabby yelled. "We came a thousand miles to find you--almost died, all of us, more than once--and that's all you've got? 'I bought you lunch, see ya'?"

"Oh, yes, the runaways. Perhaps you're neglecting to mention something?" Florentino pointed at the trunk with his cane. "I'm a busy man, and I can't wait four hours for you to get to Kahoti. We will talk later." He looked at Lynd. His face was unreadable. "Rest assured, we do have much to talk about." He turned and sauntered down the highway, cane clicking on the asphalt. It was clearly a '90% fashion, 10% function' kind of walking stick, even though, based on Dad's age, he had to be seventy at least.

"Drive safely, yes?" He called back. "Don't give anyone a reason to pop that trunk." Fifty feet on, he swept his cane through the air like he was signing his name. A crack of blue light appeared in front of him, he walked into it, and disappeared.

"Well?" Travis asked. "Just like you remember, or not?"

"Personality, absolutely," Dad said. "But skill level? Jesus. Jesus goddamn Christ."

"Heh-heh. Yep, you're all in for some surprises, I'd say. Popped your shoulder?"

"Yeah, before we left. I'd caught this luted up mob thug and we were--NRGH!"

As they walked, Travis grabbed his shoulder and wrenched it back into place. Dad breathed heavily, face red, good arm clenching the car door as he tried the bad one. It didn't look bad anymore. "Fuck you," he grumbled.

"It had absorbed a lot of meru--that's our word for lutum--on my journey, and would have let it loose eventually, but that's only half the story."

"What's the other half, that I'm awesome? A natural talent?"

"...I will say this. Markstep is at its heart a matter of will. Wardens would call this foolish superstition, but meru is alive, in its own way. It was awakened by the strength of your desire; you willed it out. Were it not a truly deep, profound need, you couldn't have done it."

"To stop Randall?"

"More than that. Your need to escape, to live a new life. Every choice that has brought you here. Personally? I think it means you made the right choice."

Shut the hell up, Melanie found herself thinking. You're not her friend. You don't know anything. It wasn't his fault, but still: that morning, as they were packing, Melanie pried further about what this 'fresh start' would entail.

"Eh. I'll figure it out as I go," she said. "I owe Lynd one for helping me skip town, for starters. And after that, if your gramps is such a big shot, he'll have something that needs doing. I don't think I need to finish school, honestly?" She just lobbed that one out there, to see Melanie's reaction. "You think your dad has, what, a degree for this stuff? And look at Lynd. He can barely read."

Harsh, but fair, based on what Melanie had seen. And yet, compared to other boys they knew, he had the soul of a poet and the voice of an angel. And now that he'd finally showered, shaved, and washed his clothes in the motel sink, Melanie could confirm what had been hanging, unspoken, between her and Tabby: Lynd was hot. Not like stop-and-stare hot, but definitely a reminder as to why Catholic schools kept the guys and the girls in separate buildings. His quirks only enhanced the appeal, really. And if Melanie noticed it, Tabby sure had.

And now, intentionally or not, his words were just as seductive. Promises of power and glory, freedom and adventure, and all Tabby had to do was want it bad enough. She'd ditched her wretched home life, dodged the Mob, and was now going to throw it all away. Throw herself into the teeth of more things like Randall and Coyle, because a hot guy told her she was a natural talent. Melanie needed to stay by Tabby's side. For her own good.

"For her own good..." she muttered to herself a few seconds later. "Jeez. You sound like her mom."

"What's that?" Tabby said.

"Nothing. Here's the exit."

And there was the first curveball: the southbound bridge had been reduced to a nine-foot drop and a pile of rubble. A parked car from the county sheriff's office blocked it off, and its driver stood outside, looking even with his umbrella like a miserable wet dog. He motioned them closer. Melanie thought about waking Dad, but decided not to. She could handle a damn detour.

"You folks headin' to Live Oak?" He asked.

"That was the plan," Melanie said, trying to keep a blithe smile. Nothing suspicious here, sir. Just a sleeping single dad and his three completely-not-identical triplets on their Spring Break vacation. "What happened?"

"Just went down, few hours ago. Lot of the highways in these parts are mighty old, can't say I'm surprised. And then the rain...so, what yer gonna do is keep goin' down 75. Ten miles more, you can connect to I-10 West. Then just follow signs into town. Shouldn't be more than twenty minutes detour. Been sendin' folks that way all morning."

"Hm." The highway had been more or less deserted all morning. "And that's the best route?"

He stuck a thumb over his shoulder. "Best you got."

Something was off. He wasn't angry or exhausted from being stuck in the rain all day. He was trying so hard, in fact, to act pleasant that it canceled itself out, and his clenched jaw and trembling hands became so much the more visible.

"Checks out," Tabby mumbled, looking at the atlas in the seat pocket.

So Randall had beaten them to Florida, knocked out a bridge, and was now detouring them into an ambush. It felt plausible. Increasingly likely, in fact. Gently, so the sheriff wouldn't see, she nudged Dad awake and explained her theory, including her belief that turning back or changing direction would only take them further from safety. In the mirror, she saw the sheriff speak into his radio, body language just as surreptitious as hers. Could be a coincidence.

"That's smart thinking," Dad said. "Just get us into town, nice and smooth. The advantage is still ours."

“Of course,” Dad snarled. “And I’ll never forgive him. But forgiveness isn’t part of the equation here. I’m not a punk-ass 22-year-old anymore, I’m not gonna let him walk all over me this time. Are you gonna be there to back me up? Or am I doing this alone after all?”

That did it. “I’ll catch a flight,” Mom said. “Bruce has enough on his plate without worrying about me. CPD is a mess right now.” She lowered her voice. “Those two ‘got what was coming to them’, is what I’m hearing. Funny how everyone knows it after the fact.”

“…Yeah. Florentino and his guys are gonna meet us tomorrow just over the state line. Talk to you then.” He ended the call. “Ugh…knew it would end this way. Shoulda just had the talk yesterday night before we got split up.”

“Dad, none of that conversation sounded promising.”

“Ya think?” He snapped. “Listen, here’s the catch: he did something terrible to Mom and me, when we were younger. But it was to settle a debt. And she’ll never admit it in a million years, but it was an earned debt. The terms included that he’d never contact our family again, and he kept that promise, for twenty-five years. My dad is many, many things, but above all else, he’s a businessman. Ruthless, but professional. Cares first and foremost about himself. Keep a respectful distance, don’t fuck with his money, and you’ll be fine.”

That’s not a ‘businessman’, Dad. That’s a mob boss. Melanie kept that thought to herself.

He checked his watch. “Jesus. You gals get to sleep. Set an alarm for 5 AM. I wanna be on the road by 5:30.”

It wasn’t until the lights were off and they were under their respective covers that Melanie spoke up. The darkness and quiet made the room feel even more dire; every water drip, buzzing fly, or gross smell was stronger with nothing left to distract her.

“Tabs, I need to ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“Did Durkin…do something, to you? Assault you?”

“Heh.” It was a cold and angry laugh. “Nah. He tried to. Then I kicked him in the nuts and ran. I’m fine.”

“Why did Coyle say ‘you’re welcome’?”

“Because his brain was fried on Magic Crack? Who knows.”

“Tabby, I’m being serious.”

“So am I! Yeah, he tried to rape me, and now he’s fucking dead. He’s dead and he won’t hurt anyone again, and I’m done talking about it and I’m done thinking about it.” She said the whole thing in one harsh whisper. “There, you dragged it out of me. Happy?”

“Of course I’m not happy.” Melanie said. “But I’m glad you told me. You wanna…I dunno, sleep with the lights on?”

Tabby gave Melanie a withering look, the kind she could feel even in the darkness.

“It was just a suggestion.”

-I haven't mentioned them yet because they only appear in the as-yet-putative sequel.

-While many 'mythical' creatures have an in-universe basis in-reality, most of them were either hunted to extinction by man at some point between prehistory and the medieval era (giants, dragons, phoenixes), or left to other worlds of their own accord via the Great Vine (vampires, elves). Therianthropes are by far the most successful non-human sentient species left on earth, due not only to their ability to pass as human 28/30 days of a month, but their general resourcefulness and gregarious nature.

“What I want? Kiddo, tell me what you want.” He grabbed the metal pole next to him with both hands and twisted it into an S-shape. That broke Tabby’s resolve: she shrieked and backed into a bench.

“Neat, huh? Showed the homies in MCC real quick that I wasn’t their bitch. And that’s what life’s all about, huh? Either you make someone your bitch, or someone makes you theirs.” For guys like him, that passed for philosophy.

“It burns me up what happened to you. You’re just a kid, you didn’t deserve to catch shit for what I done. But in my defense, ah, if it wasn’t me it woulda been something else, y’know?”

“No, I don’t ‘know’.” Tabby said raggedly. She kept one hand in her pocket, on the stem of the feather. Not yet, not quite yet…