This Is Where The Magic Happens

I first had to put on the mask when I was eight years old. It didn't quite feel right on my cheeks, but I didn't want to make my mama worried. The mask only stayed on until I said goodbye to my friends and got in the car. Once the door closed I wouldn't have to wear it as we drove to our new house.

Then I don't know what happened from there. Before I knew it, I'd wear the mask almost everywhere outside of my family. It became worn with comfort against my face like wearing a well loved pair of glasses. I aptly slid it on as I'd leave the house, use it to get through the school day, and slip it back off on the walk home. Of course I'd take breaks here or there when I could get a moment alone.

Now I can't take it off. It clings to my jaw around my family. Even when I'm alone I can't find the strength needed to peel it from my skin. I dig in with my nails around my eyes, but the mask bites down into my flesh. My clawing at the surface is in vain. The reflection in the mirror stays the same and yet it's not me. No matter how desperatly I tear my self down— wait, I mean my mask down— it's not me.

But I remember these freckles... And recognize the same structure of my dad in that brow... So maybe this is how I've also been...

"Who am I?"

What a silly question— you're you, of course!

Or, well, an aspect of yourself, I suppose, if you really wanna get specific about it.

Come on now— lift your head up. Look at your reflection. No, don't shy away now, make eye contact.

There.

Can't you see it? No mask. No make-up. Just you.

Before answering the who, let's address the what?

Well, let's see... you're getting that stunning tan again as the weather gets warmer. You have a pretty face with gorgeous eyes and wildly beautiful hair. A beauty mark punctuates your pink lips in that crooked smile of yours. That one tooth up front juts out into a little overbite, but a minor thing like that hardly stands out and could always be fixed up, if you wanted, of course. Your body is strong and toned, especially those legs.

See, it's you.

Alright, so who are you?

People have said poetry flows from your lips in an elegant way of speaking. People have said that your quick witted and creative. People have said you're always one of the first out of everyone to try and help when you notice issues. People have said that you have a surprising amount of patience. People only ever have positive things to say about you!

But that's not all there is to you.

People have taken the stanzas of your song, broke them, and stabbed you with them. People have taken your creations and turned them against you. People have taken advantage of your kind nature to abuse and over work you past the point of burn out. People have taken your steadiness as an invention to push well beyond your boundaries. People only ever seem to take from you.

You can't keep blaming this on something that doesn't exist.

Look yourself in the eyes.

There's no mask here.

The problem is up.

Yes, it's from people above you who want you to be something your not— do things you shouldn't.

But it's also here.

Echoing— reverberating throughout your skull.

Who are you?

You're the one who hides away with bright smiles. You're the one who always keeps the idle mind busy with work. You're the one who is scrabbling at your own visage as you stare into your reflection refusing to accept what's there. You're the one who is refusing to acknowledge the cracks in the corners of your eyes and around your mouth from all the energy you waste trying to keep yourself together. You're the one in the reflection, damn it!

You're the one—

i lie in bed alone.

one day you were with me,

today you're not anymore

the tree they planted in your place

can't remember how much you meant to me

one day? one week, maybe? i don't know. i can't tell anymore. the ticking of the clock means nothing if i can't hear it with you.

a friend visits me. ... our friend. her strong arms pulled me close as her voice attempts to soothe me. she cares about me. about us. i know it. but the warmth of a hug means nothing if i can't feel it with you.

another new day arrives. i close my eyes as quickly as i opened them. the sun doesn't rise in the pocket of darkness we live in, but even if it did, the light of the moment means nothing if i can't share it with you.

i visit the garden to watch the flowers bloom for the first time since you left. a tree stump sits alone like you used to. watching. waiting, for me. though stained by your blood and weathered by rust, the blade you once wielded stands proud, embedded in the stump in memory of you. it reflects a glint into my eye. it has never touched me, but it pierces through me all the same. and it is cold. so cold.

"evening, that was a year ago. you have to move on."

is what my friends tell me

my friends? are they, really?

no. no, they can't be. friends wouldn't say that. friends wouldn't brush off something like that like it means nothing to them. friends don't leave other friends behind.

friends... don't leave other friends behind.

... friends... don't...

don't leave me.

why'd you leave me?

why'd you leave me? why did you leave me?! if we were friends, why did you leave me? if i meant so much to you, why did you leave me? if you wanted me to stay, why did you leave me?!

if you wanted me to stay, why did you leave me first?

if you wanted me to stay...

then that's what i should have done

that's what i should have done

i'm sorry

i reach my hand forward as your shadow escapes my grasp. your voice rings in my head, repeating words you never said to me. when you called for me, i wasn't listening. when you needed me, i wasn't there. and now the note in your pocket is all i have left of you.

"i don't know what to do, or where to go."

i lie in bed alone.

"i feel worthless, like i don't matter."

a friend visits me.

"i'm not wanted here, or anywhere."

another new day arrives.

"i'm sure life can go on without me."

and the days end the same way they started.

"good night."

There it was again, that damn jingle. Bad enough that I have so many other things to try to think about. Bad enough that I have so many other things that I’m trying not to think about but this damn jingle is pushing them to the surface if it means not thinking about this cancerous tangle of artificial sentiment in particular.

There.

What was I doing?

Oh yeah, going to the post office.

Lemme just turn off the radio until I get there. Last thing I need is to be driven into road rage against someone else just because this damn thing is now everyone’s favorite video to play.

~~~

There it was again, that damn jingle. Did it really have to invade my mind with the same hunger as this washing machine has for all of my quarters. I don’t even use cash much anymore, but I have to buy a damn roll of quarters just for this washing machine. Why didn’t I lease an apartment with interior laundry.

There.

What was I doing?

Oh yeah, setting my laundry timer.

Lemme just start another video while I’m at it. Last thing I need is to forget if I’m washing whites or colors and put the wrong bleach in at the wrong time.

~~~

There it was again, that damn jingle. I am going to have to switch to instant tea if the sound of the spoon against the mug keeps triggering the memory of that thrice-damned rhythm that had to have been created about the same time as Johnny decided to set that fiddle to right. Maybe I should take up drumming if this is going to rattle around my head like this.

There.

What was I doing?

Oh yeah, making a mug of relaxing tea.

Lemme just add a bit of wine to it while I’m here. Last thing I need is for my nerves to be too wound up and I start looking at fiddle videos until dawn again.

~~~

There it was again, that damn jingle. Did it really have to sneak in while I’m at the grocery store. Bad enough that I forgot to pick up the shopping list so now I have to wander the store like a bored retiree searching for the last brand of fuck all that was on sale last week. Scanning the aisles one by one hoping to recognize something that we needed to get.

There.

It stopped?

All I did was grab the… oh.

Lemme just get two of these so I won’t run out so fast next time. And mebbe bring the shopping list when I come back next time. Last thing I need is to get the jingle stuck in my head again because I keep forgetting how to spell it.

~~~

The pull of another Aldith drags her farther from Gaia than anyone has ever been and she laughs as it takes her breath away. Months buried in calculations, barricaded in her own labs, the greatest hypothesis ever proved and she will see Aldith again. In something between an eternity and a heartbeat, Haddiscoe arrives in a new world with flowers in her hands.

She lays them in all their riotous, colorful glory on another Aldith’s grave.

She takes more from the nearest street despite the seller’s protests and tries again. The universe is infinite by nature. Infinite. There’s always another chance.

She tries again.

And again.

And again.

And—

Haddiscoe thinks she’s lived a year before she stops bringing flowers. She never runs out of graves.

She refines the technique of her pull towards Aldith as best as she can with the variation of worlds, resources, opportunities. And there is such beautiful variation of the universe. It would be fascinating if not for the constant.

Aldith lives and dies in towering cities, in freezing cold, in a time far before their own, on battlefields Haddiscoe could never have imagined. On other continents, in impenetrable cultures, as a hero, as nothing, with children who grieve her, with a mound of dirt only Haddiscoe knows was once her. Aldith dies and dies and dies and dies and dies and dies and dies and—

In some moments, Haddiscoe thinks—fears, please never let her lose that love—there’s nothing of her heart left to break. And then she is pulled away again and at the sight of another grave, she feels relief as much as the boundless ache.

She cries at some of the places where Aldith lays, rests at the side of others, has the occasional honor of righting Aldith’s grave and seeing her face again, even frozen in unblinking death.

She says ‘I love you’ time after time and time and time. Until she loses her voice and then gains it back. And she loves Aldith every time she whispers it to stone, wood, earth, to bones as white as Sol can make them. Every time the pull draws her away again.

The universe is as infinite as her heart, the many lives of her soul’s other half. It pulls her from a sinking ship, Aldith’s eyes looking up to her and seeing nothing, to a place that’s desert and a road and blackened paved ground. To some large, archaic machine between dirt and the paved road. To a figure with a weapon held easily in steady hands.

I’m going to MELT because of these dumb rules, Lixy stewed, looking around for a servant to fetch her a cold drink. Not a single one in sight.

Seriously? They’re all out of the room right now?

Lixy knew they were probably attending to the adults, but so great was her irritation and thirst that her patience reached its boiling point. Bah to double bars of double rules! Bah to slow meetings in steamy rooms! None of the other young nobles had to sit through these–

The sharp sound of pages flipping caught her attention. She whipped her head around, about to hiss some curt, snippy complaint, but stopped just short.

What is an Avie doing in this meeting?

The Avie girl had a stack of papers in front of her and a couple more pages in her hands, which she was attempting, rather poorly, to reorganize without making so much noise.

Interesting. The two Great Houses of the Avies did not have representatives at this level of the Crux. And based on the plainness of her robes and cap, Lixy doubted this was a diplomatic visitor.

Come to think of it, she recognized this feathered girl…

Oh, yeah. The little bird that always followed Firsen around.

Was she his servant or scribe or something? Sure, Firsen was the crown prince of Streykas, and technically had the same access to servants and perks like Lixy did (if not more). But that seemed a little unfair.

Firsen was not here right now, and if he was skipping lecture while Lixy was melting here, then she rightfully deserved to borrow his servant. 

Her tutor had been praising her for her progress with Dyne tuning frequencies, even going so far as to say that Lixy would likely surpass her family members one day in this regard. Thus, confidence and frustration simmered together, enriching the coaxing croon that Lixy directed towards the Avie girl.

Lixy tucked her hands beneath the table, secretly walking her fingers through the vibrations until she found the right resonance. A little lower, a little lower; Avies didn’t hear as high as Chiros did– 

Perfect.

The sheets slipped out from the Avie’s loosened grasp, her previously focused gaze now a thousand yards distant. Lixy felt a brief flutter against her frequency, like the wingbeats of a cornered bird, but she pressed her melody harder until an indigo wash started to stain the Avie’s feathers and fingertips. 

That should be good enough. Didn't want to be too obvious. Now, time to form the request.

((Hello Avie. Isn't it so warm? I'm very thirsty. I'm sure you are as well. You would probably like a nice glass of water. While you're up there, fetch me a cold drink as well, will you?))

To Lixy’s satisfaction, the Avie girl rose from her seat and started heading to the door. No one gave her a second glance, either too preoccupied with the meeting itself, or their thoughts were somewhere far, far away thinking of cool breezes and icy desserts.

And then the top doors opened, a characteristic click-and-wham that preceded the entrance of runir Firsengal Streykas, heir to the Crux.

His hair was unkempt and his collar askew, looking as if he had sprinted through the halls being chased by a swarm of killer bees on the way here. 

Now all eyes were on the prince, who ducked his head with a breathless apology and motioned for them to carry on with the meeting.

Lixy pursed her lips to redirect her smirk. This was the crown prince of Streykas? Really? More like a stray spark that was always on the verge of starting fires.

If she hadn’t been so focused on maintaining her frequency, Lixy’s sensitive ears would definitely have been able to hear Firsen. It seemed like he was trying to greet the Avie servant.

Oh. There it was, a sudden shift in posture. Head tipped back, eyes narrowed. He brushed a darkened strand of hair from her face, noting the hollowness of that stare.

He suddenly set both hands on the Avie girl’s shoulders, sending a bright pulse of Dyne that snapped Lixy’s delicate hold on the frequency. It felt like being seared for an instant by hot metal, and made Lixy jerk in her seat with a little gasp.

She knew Firsen saw that. She had been discovered. And somehow, she had been overridden by his Dyne.

But most importantly, he was about to tattle on her to the whole room.

-

1062 words

I'm back! ^^ Uhh we make up for missing last week with an extra 62 words on this end, ehehe.

More backstory, from a different perspective this time. Lixy and Firsen pester each other all the time, and while they aren't exactly on friendly terms, they're not sworn enemies. More like rivals.

They're practically pre-teens right now so they're just bothering each other as children do, y'know?

This takes place wayyy before Arensky arrives (maybe about 9-10 years) - see "The Weight of Radiance".

This also takes place before Calire and the Other Human (maybe 5-6 years) - see "The Fledge and the Fugitive".

Some context:

Nolixea (Lixy) - one of the "princesses" (runere) of House Melonykas. Bat based. Elegantly boiling inside.

Firsen - crown "prince" (runir) of House Streykas. Dragonfly based. A little bit of a hot mess.

Calire (the Avie girl) - Firsen's companion and healer's apprentice (not a servant). Bird based.

Carmen is weird. 

This is not a new discovery; the lycan-witch didn’t exactly have the most typical upbringing, even by supernatural standards. Julia also suspected more often than not that Carmen’s “quirks” could also be attributed to neurodivergency, whether Carmen herself knew it or not. 

Now, all that considered, this particular behavior was new. 

Or it had at the very least heightened over time. 

And really, Julia was probably overanalyzing things. The behavior change could just be due to the two becoming closer friends and Carmen becoming more comfortable. 

As long as they’d known each other, Carmen had always been friendly, helping Julia navigate her newfound vampirism with tips and a bit of magic to help her hide it in normal life. She’d also gotten the New-Fang an assortment of little trinkets: rocks, figurines, pins, even a couple of plushies after she’d found out Julia liked them. 

In the back of her mind, a rather self-deprecating part of her told her that it was all out of pity, or maybe even fear. Julia tried her best to ignore that voice most days, but she also had a habit of getting trapped in her own head. 

Julia had observed Carmen interacting with her other friends, trying to compare the new behaviors. 

Carmen didn’t tend to initiate physical touch in non-life-threatening situations, save for the occasional high five or fist bump. She seemed perfectly content to sit on the other end of the couch, the floor, or another chair, as long as everyone was in one room. 

But lately, and Julia noticed this was only when it was just the two of them (and Player, of course, considering he lives with Carmen as her familiar), Carmen did the exact opposite. 

Not that Julia was complaining, but it seemed like the “accidental” touches had increased tenfold. She found their knuckles grazing each other’s as they walked side-by-side at least once whenever they were together. If Julia was on one end of the couch, Carmen was on the other, stretching out so their legs just barely touched in the middle. Alternatively, if they were watching something together, Carmen sat closer, letting their knees touch. On a few particularly chilly evenings she’d even brought out a blanket to share. 

Carmen wasn’t the best cook, but Julia had been teaching her a bit. Many times during the process, however, the lycan-witch would slide past her, playfully hip or shoulder-checking her as she went. 

Then there was that time Julia was showing her something on a laptop, and Carmen leaned over her shoulder to watch. Julia knows for a fact Carmen is very particular about her face being touched or people being near her face. 

Once, they’d just gotten back from hunting, which Julia still felt weird calling it, and were waiting on Carmen’s food she’d ordered. Carmen had switched on some music in the background, and they’d just talked and joked around for a few songs. Then Carmen stood, offering a hand. Julia had tilted her head, and Carmen tugged at her gently. 

Dance with me? She’d asked. 

And Julia had taken her hand, and they’d swayed to the beat, making up the moves as they went, getting more ridiculous and extravagant with each step. By the end of the song, they’d both been laughing so hard they could hardly breathe, doubled over with almost silent laughter and gasps for air. They likely would have kept dancing had they not been interrupted by the doorbell. 

Then again…

On one of those aforementioned chilly nights, Julia was tired from the day and just rested her head against Carmen’s shoulder. She’d heard Carmen’s breath hitch and heart start racing, and Julia internally panicked. 

That messed up part of her brain started up again, telling her that her friend must have some deep-rooted fear of her. 

After all, who would put their complete trust in a vampire? 

.

.

.

<So are we ever going to address the giant mammoth in the room?> Player meowed. 

Carmen barely looked up, too preoccupied with trying to translate her newest old spellbook. “I have no idea what mammoth you’re referring to.” 

Player jumped onto the back of the couch, looking at her with an unimpressed ear-flick. 

<So you’re not trying to court Julia the lycan way?> 

Crud. 

That’s exactly what she was doing. And Player knows. She sighed through her nose, leaning her head on the back of the couch and glancing over at the cat. 

“Is it that obvious?” 

<To anyone that knows enough about lycan behavior? Yeah. But to Julia?> Player waved a paw, contemplating. <Seems like a no.> 

Carmen groaned, flopping backwards to sprawl over the couch like a dramatic Victorian lady. “Ugh.” 

<Why not just ask her outright to go on a date?> 

There were a handful of reasons for that: first and foremost being that Julia is working for the organization that wants to track Carmen down (and, for the record, would be working to do the same to Julia if they knew of her curse).The second being that Julia just had a horrible, crazy thing happen to her and Carmen doesn’t want to throw another complicated thing into the mess. Third, and she resented this reason in particular, Carmen is scared to do so. 

Her familiar could probably guess most of those, including the last one, but Carmen chose to deflect anyways. “When have you ever known me to do something outright?” 

Player couldn’t argue with that, but still. <There has to be a better way to flirt,> he said. 

“Nope, this is all I’ve got.” 

<Isn’t this the definition of insanity?> He asked, crossing the couch to jump to his cat tree. 

“Not if it eventually works!” 

And it hadn’t been getting the same result, which means that it is not insanity, thanks very much. She was pretty sure she was making progress!

Now it was Player’s turn to groan and flop dramatically, halfheartedly banging his forehead against the wall repeatedly. 

Without looking away from the ceiling, Carmen called, “You’re going to hurt yourself.” 

“DOOM!” She shrieked, beads rattling and scarves flapping. “DOOM AND DESPAIR! A cursed child you have brought me! Cursed and ill-omened!”

The parents shrank back from her in alarm, but she could see the young boy before her firming his chin. He was young, probably too young, but it had to be now. He had to know. 

She smiled sweetly then, her whole demeanour changing in a way that was designed to feel off and wrong while not actually being explainable. “Oh, and that broach you misplaced is under the cushion in the red lounger in the solar, your maid didn’t take it.”

*

She wove the tale of hard-won love as extravagantly as she could. Not the lass’s first love, a sweet boy she already knew, but her second, a travelling soldier. When the young woman finally left the odd hut and its odder occupant, it was with dreams that no longer involved the blacksmith’s son and the knowledge that her mother should frog nearly two full rows of her knitting that night, lest the mistake in the pattern fester for another dozen.

*

“I see… I see… a great destiny! A remarkable lad, who shall lead armies one day! Yes, yes, we are all in the presence of GREATNESS!” She paused then, and peered closer at the young man. He almost flinched, her careful eccentricities making her seem wild and unstable, but had been brought up not to show fear. “Greatness and a little greed, it seems. That was your brother’s scone, sir, you knew you weren’t supposed to have two.” His eyes widened as his mother shot him a glare, his small lie revealed. She waved them off with more effusive praise, but edged around all questions of specifics. It wouldn’t do to tell them more, after all.

*

“You bring such an unexceptional girl to see me? Why bother? We waste my time, yes, but we waste much more of yours.” She commented, pulling on the young woman’s arms and turning her this way and that like a dressmaker’s mannequin. The poor girl was obviously overwhelmed, but too polite to say anything. The flurry of activity hid the note she tucked into the girl’s apron pocket, one that wouldn’t be discovered until the end of the day.

“Of course we didn’t.” Replied the Lord who had led them here. “That’s my daughter’s maid, not my daughter! Can one of your ‘great power’,” He mocked, clearly dismissive, “Truly not see that?”

“I do not see with the mortal eyes.” She replied, getting right up in his face and blinking owlishly from behind her unreasonably large glasses. She didn’t actually need them, but they made her eyes look like they were half her face and it was just the right sort of touch for her distracting outfit. “I see with the third eye! The spirit eye! Your mortal trappings mean naught to it!”

She glanced sideways at the small child held in his very meek wife’s arms and tilted her head curiously. “This child? This child is also an unexceptional child, though a good and proper young lady.” She pointed at the woman’s stomach instead. “That is the interesting child there. A cunning hunter your son shall be. He will bring much acclaim to your halls with his deeds.”

“A baby?” The woman asked wonderously, tearing up slightly.

“A son?” The man demanded, talking right over his wife like she hadn’t spoken. “You speak truly, witch? My marriage approaches its seventh summer and the girl her fifth. You say we are to be blessed with a son before midwinter?”

“Two days after.” She corrected, swivelling her head back around to him with a strange curl that almost made it look detached. “Your wife will begin her labour as the dawn breaks on the new year, and the boy shall make his presence known just as the bells finish tolling the end of Matins.”

“I shall be ready for him.” He assured her, already moving to take the young girl from his wife and place a supporting hand, one he would never otherwise extend to her, on her back. His words were strong but his face was smug, and she had to resist the urge to tell him he wouldn’t.

He would slip on ice at the first frost, and his son would become Lord with his first breath.

*

There were many people who sought her out through the years, and she read them all their fortunes. Some big, some small, and always with something small and verifiable to ensure they would believe.

None of it would work if they wouldn’t believe.

*

(“You’re reading them wrong.” Said her insufferable apprentice.

“All runes and portents can be read multiple ways.” She responded, a well worn argument at this point. One she was sick of having.

One that only she knew she’d never have to have again.)

*

One of the children she augeried for eventually came back to speak with her. She had been looking forward to it. She made sure the statue of her apprentice, one that would not move again until her death, was positioned where he could see everything. This was the most important lesson she still had to teach him after all. At least she knew he was paying attention.

“If you can truly see the future, why did you tell my parents I was cursed? My life has been long and fruitful, and I have prospered.”

“Really?” Perry asks, and I’m already trying to grab for the thing when she turns it on herself. “Cool! Let me see.” 

“Perry, don’t,” I say, reflexively, as if that’s any more helpful than trying to get her to stop dodging me, but she’s already set it off. Her fingerprints are on record, too. 

“What the hell?” she says, pointing an accusing finger at me. “You said this thing was going to take my gender away, not add more of them!” 

“I didn’t say anything of the sort, Perry. I didn’t say anything about that thing at all,” I remind her, no longer trying to keep quiet. If anyone can hear us, they’ve already heard us. This project may be doomed anyway. “What I said was, and I distinctly remember wording it exactly like this, ‘don’t touch the artifacts.’” 

“You could’ve told me it wasn’t going to give me a dick. I would’ve left it alone,” Priscilla tells me, like it’s reasonable that she sounds reasonable. 

“Why would it do that?” I don’t quite yell. “It’s a Genderswap Gun, not a Sexswap Gun, why the hell would it have done anything to your body?” 

“Well, I don’t know. The sign doesn’t say anything else,” Priscilla tells me, still sounding like she has any reason to sound reasoned. 

“Why did it give me so many?” Perry asks, turning puppy eyes on me like I have anything to do with any of this. I was telling them not to touch anything for a good goddamn reason. It’s not like I can fix it. 

“It is an alien artifact, Perry Hall, you know better than anyone that we don’t know why they do what they do,” I snap, and then, at Priscilla’s miserable look, add, “it’ll wear off in about 72 hours. And, yes, if you try it again it’ll almost certainly have the same effect. It seems to be consistent for a single person, even if there’s no other pattern.” 

“You could’ve told us that,” Perry says, like she didn’t lunge for the gun immediately after it was clear it was a bad idea to lunge for the gun. “Like, clearly you learned about this thing a long time ago. You might’ve mentioned.” 

“It’s classified!” I say, gesturing at where we’ve broken into. 

“Okay? Lots of things are classified. Everything about the alien is classified and you told us all about that, so what gives?” Perry asks. I think she’s high again. 

“I had to tell you about the alien or you wouldn’t have helped me free it,” I tell her, crossing my arms. Priscilla’s taken her side, because of course she has. “I’m not just going to tell you random information for fun. That thing doesn’t have any lives at stake.” I gesture vaguely at the Genderswap Gun, then realize I should set it back on the shelf. Someone’s going to realize it’s been moved, but they’re going to realize it’s been fired anyway. 

“I feel like maybe if you’d wanted to be whistleblowing you ought to have talked to a reporter, hon,” Priscilla says, shaking her head at me very seriously. “I don’t know that we were the best people to ask along on this adventure.” 

“I asked Perry because she’s willing to do dangerous shit on no notice, and she’s got too many political connections to disappear and too many social ones to keep locked up,” I tell Priscilla, not that it sounds quite as thought through all the way down here. The creature really does look like it’s dying, though. “You invited yourself along for the ride.” 

“Well, that’s because you were suggesting an adventure and I wasn’t about to get myself left behind,” Priscilla tells me, with a snort, like I’m the one acting crazy here. “You can’t just go saying things like that and expect people not to take you up on it.” 

“For fuck’s sake,” I say, regretting every single person I reassured I was happy being point man on this project. We should’ve actually organized an op. At this point, I’m even reconsidering whether it’s all that important to make it seem like there was no one on the inside involved in all of this. “Can we rescue the alien, please?” 

“You know, it’s my contact as has any idea what all to do with the creature, so it would’ve been awful rude to exclude me anyway,” Priscilla says, raising an eyebrow. “Or, hopefully does, seeing as you won’t even tell us what kind it is.” 

“Look, the agency’s best guess is my best guess, and they’ve got no fucking clue,” I admit, prying open the keypad as haphazardly as I can without setting off any alarms. “We’re just all pretty much in agreement it probably wants to be outside. I think it needs sunlight.” 

Reyna was pretty sure she hadn’t seen the sun in nearly forty-eight hours, and, genuinely, it wasn’t her fault. The Legion had been given some time to be simply on-call, rather than being on 24/7 active duty in recognition of the “whole saving the world” thing, but unlike divine punishments, rewards from up on high did not necessarily reach the highest ranks. While most of the Roman demigods got to enjoy a day dedicated only to leisure, outside of one or two chores, Reyna got to deal with the administrative nightmare that was learning how to integrate two camps of highly volatile demigods who were all but predestined to destroy each other. It wasn’t hard, exactly – all they really needed was a miniature version of customs, and Terminus was more than delighted to enforce that – but it was tedious, especially as she was trying to do it on her own. Frank was great, and he was going to make a fine Praetor one day, but she couldn’t help but find herself missing Jason. Unfortunately, he wasn’t available; he was too busy galavanting about with Piper in search of Leo, leaving Reyna to–

She cut the thought off. Jason wasn’t her partner anymore, and that was the end of the story, even if she didn’t care for it. Nobody, including Jason, was really sure what his new title of Pontifex Maximus actually meant, but even if they did, it wouldn’t matter. Jason had followed the proper channels and asked his Praetor (Frank, not Reyna, notably) for a leave of absence, so she couldn’t even really complain about dereliction of duty. So, she was just left to stew in a frustration of her own making while shouldering a weight meant for two backs. Again. 

Reyna’s pen hit the desk with a quiet clink when she flattened her hands against the woods, forcing deep, even breaths past clenched teeth and into her chest. She was meant to not be thinking about Jason, not dwelling over him again. “Get it together,” she growled quietly to herself.

“Get what together?”

Reyna’s head whipped up, furious and horrified in equal measure that the supposed sanctuary of her office had been breached, and her breath stuck in her throat. She dipped her head to show her respect. “Oracle.”

“Praetor,” Rachel smiled back lazily.

In all honesty, Reyna wasn’t really sure how to act around the one and only Rachel Elizabeth Dare. She was the direct mouthpiece of the god Apollo himself, but Rome didn’t exactly have an Oracle, so there was no easily-referenced precedent. Not to mention that the Greeks’ treatment of her was wildly contradictory in and of itself. In one moment, the Oracle of Delphi was treated with the utmost reverence her title demanded, and the next she was being beamed in the back of the head by a dodge ball, which everyone, including her, found hilarious. So, like she did with most social things she didn’t understand, Reyna just did her best to avoid Rachel whenever she could.

Right now though, Rachel was standing in her office, covered in paint and wearing a pair of knee-length cut-offs and mis-matched flip-flops with a sloppy bandana tying her hair back. She looked so effortlessly confident that Reyna wondered if she’d simply been born without shame.

“So, what are you working on, and why do you need to be in one piece to do it?” Rachel asked again, not even remotely annoyed at Reyna’s delay.

For a moment, Reyna considered icing her out, stating that it was important Praetor business, but she couldn’t. Or maybe she just didn’t want to. “I’m attempting to make a version of customs that isn’t completely trauma-inducing.” Rachel laughed loudly and openly at that, so Reyna made her own attempt. “And you? What are you doing here?”

Rachel shrugged casually. “I kinda just followed the signs.” 

“The signs, you say?” Reyna echoed, arching an eyebrow. “Then one or more of the signs should be corrected. This is my private study.”

“Oh, I don’t mean the street signs. I can’t read them; I don’t speak Latin,” Rachel said, absurdly calm. “I just… get signs from the Fates, and sometimes I follow them. Sometimes they lead me to rooms I don’t have any business in, but they wind up needing me anyway.”

“Thank you for your concern, but the Fates must have given you the wrong sign. “I’m not in need of assistance.”

“Oh, yeah? When was the last time you were outside for longer than five minutes? Do you remember having lunch? It’s two PM, by the way.”

At those words, Reyna’s stomach gave a loud, treacherous growl, and she felt her cheeks warm slightly. “I concede your point.”

Rachel laughed, obviously delighted and it made Reyna’s chest tighten slightly with sudden warmth before she could shut it down. Venus’s words echoed in her mind. No demigod shall heal your heart. She had to remember that.

But, then again, Rachel wasn’t a demigod, the stubborn flame of hope pointed out. She was a mortal girl, possessed by the undying spirit of prophecy. She was certainly not the shape Reyna had wished or hoped for.

She very quickly brought that thought to heel, and was a little surprised to find that her mental exercise had resulted in her physically snapping her book shut too. She did her best to pass it off as completely deliberate. “Have you had lunch?”

“No,” Rachel confessed, eyes glittering. “I had a feeling there was something I needed to check on before I ate. Any recommendations on where to go?”

Reyna stood, an unwilling smile twitching at her mouth without her consent. “I may have a few ideas.”

Rachel looked almost smug. “Then let’s go, Praetor.”

I looked up at the cluster of signs and arrows. I looked down at the note in my hand. I looked up at the cluster of acronyms and directions. I looked down at the uneven scrawl on the note. Nothing matched.

“Fuck me,” I whispered to myself in frustration.

“That could be arranged, sweetheart.” The responding voice slithered in one ear and out the other. I was too stunned by the gentleness of the offer to even think about jumping in surprise. Instead, I stood still as I could not determine which direction the voice started or ended at.

A chuckle tickled my left ear even as a hand softly pulled my note to the right. Too late I realized that there really was someone with me. I clutched my hand on nothing.

“Well, you’re in the right spot, but in the wrong mind, duvie. Whomever sent you didn’t properly prepare you for this, but that’s okay, we can fix that on the way.” A white-painted face with black lips blew a kiss at me before flashing a strangely toothed grin. They held my note in their left hand as they stood on my left side. I glanced back to see who took the note from me on my right, but there was no one there.

“How can I be in the right spot when none of these signs match what I’m supposed to be looking for?” How could I hold a conversation with this… person… when I’m not even sure what was supposed to happen in the first place? Who was this person, anyway?

They handed my note back to me. The paper was now all crumpled in a way that made the scrawl appear to be completed by the addition of wrinkles. It suddenly made sense. I looked up at the cluster of signs. Individually, the signs all pointed to something expected, something real. But collectively, the way the signs were mounted in relation to each other matched the way the wrinkles in the paper gave the scrawl definition. Somehow, the combination of signs created a new sign that I suddenly saw superimposed over them all. A sign that couldn’t exist.

“This is wrong.” I thought that was an inside thought that not even I could hear. My thought was as wrong as the sign.

“That’s why it’s right, sweetheart!” They pushed and pulled on my left arm even as I heard them chuckle to my right. I followed the sound of their voice and turned to face them. “Oh, you learn fast, dear duvie. Good.” They blew a kiss to me again before flashing their very sharp teeth. “So, why are you here if not to get fucked?”

I should have turned around and fled. I should have thrown the note into the drain at my feet. I should have declined to run this errand. I should have known better than to trust an artist, even if that artist is a good friend. Most of the time, anyway.”

I should definitely know better than to tell the truth.

I did it anyway.

“My friend, she, uh …” I swallowed hard to remedy a suddenly dry mouth. “She’s on a project and sent me here to pick up some supplies for her."

I looked down in sudden embarrassment. It took me far too long to realize that the person … that is to say … the … something … that I was talking to … was floating off the ground with their legs slightly bent under them and their feet twisting around each other like so much animated smoke.

“Oh, she did, did she, sweetheart?” Another chuckle that sounded like it came from behind me. I did not turn to look. “How sweet of you, duvie, to fetch her supplies for her. Yes, how endearing, and nice. So nice.”

The voice, despite being only sound, somehow licked my cheek. “And how are you going to pay for her supplies, sweetheart? The supplies that she sent you for, duvie?”

“Pay?” My cheek tingled where they had touched it. I was suddenly very tired, suddenly very wired, suddenly very giddy, suddenly very worried, suddenly every emotion that I had been denying myself on the precipice of overwhelming me.

I felt their teeth at my unlicked cheek, at my throat, at my ear, at my hands, at every inch of bare skin.

I felt their sight roving over me like soft touches of incense and smoke. I suddenly wanted to know what they felt like in return. I suddenly knew that all I had to do was to consent, and I would do more than get fucked. I would have everything I ever wanted.

The idea of that fulfillment snapped me back to the task at hand. All I ever wanted was for my friends to be happy. I was here to pick up some supplies that would make one friend in particular very happy. If I were to indulge these alien desires, then I would not bring the supplies back to her in time. That awareness smothered the strange heat that was crawling under my skin.

“Oh! Pay! She said that the supplies had already been paid in full and that I just needed to present her note to show proof that she had sent me! So, where do I go to pick them up? I was supposed to come here to this sign post and wait for delivery but is this the wrong sign?”

“Oh.” The voice was suddenly behind me and their personage was nowhere to be seen. “It’s right here, sweetheart. Get it and get out. We’re done, duvie.”

I turned around and there was a cloth bag just sitting there. I looked for the voice I had heard but saw no one. I looked at the signs on the post and saw nothing. I looked at the scrawl on the note.

Nothing matched, just like she said it would.

He was very nearly certain. But then again, he had been slightly distracted, mind wandering through the many possibilities for Black Rock. Extra-dimensional lead was an absolutely remarkable resource, and one which deserved further exploration.

“I would prefer to be exploring new ideas rather than the same corridors.” Shaking his head, Darling backtracked to the previous junction. There was indeed a sign there, indicating that the Black Rock Quarry was up ahead. “Well. That’s alarming.”

“What’s alarming?”

Darling startled at the voice and nearly dropped his clipboard. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, then turned. “Ah, Agent Trench. Hello.”

“Hello.” Trench stepped closer. His expression remained as calm and in control as usual, but a sharp gleam had come into his eyes. It was not a hostile gleam, unlike that of some of the other FBC employees who resented Darling’s chatter. “What’s alarming?”

The question, repeated in exactly the same tone, almost made Darling smile. He found Agent Trench’s extreme directness and adherence to the rules quite charming. “Don’t worry. I can tell from the look in your eyes that you’re already on the alert for danger, and yet, I-I hardly think this is a dangerous situation.”

“Then why is it alarming?”

“Well, it’s simply…” Darling gestured vaguely at the sign. “This is the wrong sign. That passage leads not to the Black Rock Quarry, but to the Furnace Chamber. Is it possible that Ahti is playing a practical joke by switching the signs? He is, well. Rather odd.”

“No one who works for the Federal Bureau of Control is normal,” Trench said, but a faint smile tugged at his lips. “It’s not Ahti. But you might call it a practical joke.”

“Ah! Interesting.” Darling tapped the sign. It appeared to be adhered to the wall in a normal fashion. “Perhaps one of the other research personnel. There is, um, a certain amount of jealousy which has accumulated given that Dr. Ash entrusted me with fairly high clearance although I’m rather new.”

“Dr. Ash made a good call. You’re smart. Innovative. The Bureau needs that.” Trench touched the wall, brushing his fingertips across the concrete. “But your theory is incorrect. It isn’t the wrong sign.”

“It isn’t?”

“No.” Trench’s smile broadened. “It’s the wrong wall.”

“Oh, I see! Yes, that would make rather more sense. A building shift.” Relaxing somewhat, Darling nodded. This did not help with navigation, but at least it seemed his social missteps hadn’t escalated into goading his colleagues to play tricks on him. “Wait. Are you saying that the Oldest House itself is playing a practical joke on me?”

“Yes. You’ve been lost four out of the last six times I’ve seen you, Dr. Darling.” Tilting his head slightly, Trench studied him. “You seem bewildered every time. Not like you just wandered off in the wrong direction.”

“I-I keep following the signs, but. Well. They simply don’t make sense.”

“I know. It’s the House.” Trench sighed. “Sometimes, it gets like this. Enjoys messing with one particular person, shifting the corridors around them. Dr. Ash’s theory is that it’s testing certain people. Putting them through some sort of trial, a maze, to see how they react.”

“Like a lab rat?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I react with bewilderment, apparently,” Darling said, chuckling. “What’s your theory? Judging by your tone, although my reading of tones is occasionally questionable, you don’t seem to agree that I’m the House’s current lab rat.”

“No. I don’t. I think it’s, uh… playing with you. Teasing you, just a little. Like a kid with a new pet, not a scientist with a lab rat.” Trench gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Regardless. You need to get to the Black Rock Quarry. I can steer you there.”

“You can? Really?” Darling jogged to catch up with Trench, who had immediately set off down the corridor without waiting for a reply. “I-I am aware that you’re a Bureau veteran, as well as a parautilitarian, and that both of those qualifications mean that you can likely navigate the House far, far better than I can. But what if the House simply shifts things around so that you can’t reach the Quarry either?”

“It won’t.” Trench kept walking, his pace even and his expression determined. “The House knows better than to try that with me.”

Darling couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, but regardless, he smiled as he tagged along. Trench did not seem prone to wandering, and indeed always proceeded as if he was wholly certain what direction he was going.