Lil_Ms_Darkness

The moon hung in a low arc just above the horizon line of the savanna, the area so dark the freckling of stars overhead are equally as bright in contrast. After such a long day, reaching camp felt more like a luxury than anything else to the rest of the squad. Especially to the new recruit, whom the team had taken to calling Seer, who sees more than they let on, goes where they are needed, and always keeps up despite being green behind the ears. All day, carrying the extra gear that nobody else wanted to carry, following Soap through recon and security protocols, and even practicing their own medical skills in their “downtime”. 

They had embedded themselves in the crew without even meaning to, when they were stationed at the same base, by cooking enough for everyone in the barracks section, regardless of MOS, specialization, battalion, or squad. Soap had been particularly impressed with their ability to cook with such limited equipment- a hotplate, George Foreman grill, air fryer and a cheap microwave that barely worked. Still, they made it work, and fed everyone present and hungry, including a very stoic Ghost, whom they had brought a plate of steaming, notably healthier than that of the mess, food. They had handed it to him, and said, 

“I heated it up a bit more so you can take it to your bunk or somewhere more private to eat and it should still be warm for you.” before heading back into the  sea of bodies talking, eating, joking- it was unlike anything Task Force 141 had ever seen. It was then that Price pulled their file to review their scores and reports from bootcamp, and then demanded they complete some of his tests to be included in TF 141.

“I have dire need for a medic on my team, and I think you’ll fit the bill. But I’ll need you to complete some tests for me, first.” he’d said

They trained and focused on the tests, and by the end of them, their body ached with misery they hadn’t felt since their first day at bootcamp, their brain just as mushy as their muscles. 

And now, here they are. Working side by side with the most lethal, efficient, and competent people across the globe, working tirelessly to not only protect the world and civilians, but also the little family they’d found. Climbing into the jeep that had been assigned their rest spot, on the outer side of two other jeeps in the bivouac, they settle in, taking a breath before their mind crashes into much needed sleep. 

Seer hadn’t noticed the HUMINT handler observing them, Richard Calder, a right creep. The whole team seemed to notice, keeping him at a distance by busying themselves with Seer, preventing any one-on-one time between the handler and recruit. Until now, anyway. 

Resting with his back to a spindly acacia tree, Ghost watches each team member settle into their sleeping bag, Seer climbs into the Westernmost jeep, and Calder in his prissy tent on the southeastern side. Once everyone is settled, he looks towards the north, where Gaz leans against a tree, on watch. Ghost allows his eyes to drift closed, head leaning back against the tree behind him. He doesn’t even have a chance to slip into a brief sleep before he hears rustling from a distance. Lifting his head, his hand drops to his sidearm, a shadow skulking in the darkness and he stands, plucking his tactical knife from his vest. Moving between sleeping men, he follows the shadow and watches them move past the two jeeps and stop at the westernmost vehicle. Seers. 

Now close enough, he can make out the slightly thinning bronze hair and wide shoulders- Calder. Calder peeks into the window briefly, and Ghost already knows what he’s seeing. Seer, flat on their back, arms folded in an x, tactical knife in one hand, their basilisk in the other.  Calder closes his fingers around the handle as Ghost closes the distance, swapping his knife to his left hand and pulling free his sidearm .45 ACP, and pressing the barrel flush against the base of his skull. 

“I wouldn’ do tha’.” Ghost murmurs, menacingly. In the reflection of the window, he can see Calder’s eyes widen and spot his mask in the reflection as well. The handler holds up his hands in surrender. 

“Lieutenant, what are you doing?” Without a word, Ghost presses the barrel of his gun harder against his head. “Woah, woah, I think there's been some kind of a misunderstanding.”

“Unlikely,” but, to Ghost's frustrations, Calder tries to explain it away, anyway. 

“I was checking the locks, making sure the team was safe.”

“An’ you didn’t think t’ check the other jeeps.”

“They’re VETERAN soldiers, I don’t need to check on them, but the new recruit needs more attention, Riley.” 

Every nerve in the Lieutenant's body wants to bash his head in and throw his body to the buzzards. No, Calder didn’t go to check the other jeeps because Price and Soap are in those jeeps, and if he tried this shit with them, he wouldn’t know his asshole from his mouth come morning. 

“Start walkin’. Back t’ the hole you crawled ou’ of.” his voice drops to a threatening sound- patience wearing thin, it’s taking all of his willpower, every ounce, not to destroy this rat. Targeting his team, his crew, and then having the balls to try to lie about his intentions. 

“Riley, you’re overstepping, lower your gun. That’s an order from your superior. I was checking our crew and assets-” and with that, Ghost is done talking.  Using rank to justify the sickening things he planned to do while Seer’s team was all around them, unaware- to intimidate and silence those beneath him. How many others has he done this to and gotten away with? He should just put a bullet in his brain, why is he hesitating? Clicking the safety off his .45, the sound chilling and final, he drives his point home by giving good ol’ Calder’s head a not-so-teasing jostle with the barrel of his gun.

Calder lifts his hands and, after a beat, hurries off the way he came. Ghost risks a glance through the jeep window, finding Seer sleeping just as he knew they would be, the wrinkles of stress not yet etched into their face. His eyes focus on his reflection on the glass, skull mask menacing and superimposed over their sleeping face. He looks towards the way Calder had vanished, slipping into the darkness around. 

With a finally settling heartbeat, Calder nears the tent, already plotting his report back to his own supervisor, ‘Lieutenant Simon Riley pulled a gun on me while I was completing checks of the base and ensuring safety measures were met. Recommending Psych Eval immediately.’ Even so, he could have sworn Riley was asleep when he had looked, head slumped and breathing even. He was never one to take chances when it came to him visiting his friends. He’s never been on anyone’s radar before, damage control has to be his primary concern- 

He hears rustling to his right and, before he can grab his pistol, a strong arm comes from behind, hand clamping on his mouth, jerking him back to a hard chest. He prepares to drop his center of gravity and drop when a no nonsense voice in his ear makes his blood run cold. 

“If ye’ scream, I’ll finish the job.” and without another word, grabs Calder’s arm. With sickening efficiency and explosive speed, Ghost twists the wrist outward and jerks the limb towards him, earning a grotesque snap like a bundle of dried branches snapping. Pain shot through Calder’s wrist- sharp and white hot, like lightning striking deep into his bone, something shifting wrong beneath skin and the wind knocked from his lungs. Tears prick at his eyes and he bites his tongue to keep from screaming, letting out a pathetic whimper instead. 

Calder looks at his wrist, finding it hanging at a fork-like angle and already swelling. 

“Ye fell. An’ if you’re ‘ere come mornin’, I’ll leave your body for the buzzards t’ pick clean.”

The hallway to the Business Office feels more ominous than usual as Goldy follows the Sheriff. With bright white incandescent light along the halls, it feels more like she’s on her way to visit Dr. Swineheart rather than Snow White, Bufkin, maybe Boy Blue if he’s not off doing whatever else the Sheriff needs him to do. She tries to shake the dread twisting in her lower belly, reminding herself that the Business Office is the safest place in all of Fabletown for her to be; but then her mind races with all of the threats against the Sheriff and Deputy Mayor. Hell, Leland Mouse tried to involve her in an attempt on Snow’s life not long ago. It still feels like forever, if only life were still so calm.

The bunching white fabric covering the Sheriff's arms and back seem stiff, as if the shirt strains against the muscles of his back, and the stiffness underneath them. Has life ever been calm?

As he rounds the corner, she follows a few steps behind, finding herself wondering if his office is actually the safest. Everyone seems hostile towards him, despite what he does to keep everyone safe, but there is something cozy and secure about the little broom closet office, like a safe warm den during winter.

She can’t stop a little exhale of a laugh and he glances over his shoulder at her. She clears her throat and avoids the questioning raise of his eyebrow before he slows to a stop outside the Business Office. He pushes open the door and holds it for her. She steps through, the scent of old pages and a sweet, dainty perfume mix as she finally takes a closer look around the massive room.

The magic lamp resting on a wooden table, stacks of books placed haphazardly beneath, massive bookshelves full of thousands if not millions of books hide the walls. The wide expanse of chairs, magical items that have long since lost their power, the magic carpet demoted to a simple throw rug over the arm of a broken rocking chair, lamps and oddities of all shapes and sizes, it feels more like an old ladies storage unit than the office by which her community is run.

Her gaze, unsurprisingly, drifts back over to the Sheriff and as she takes in his rolled up sleeves, the broad expanse of his back, the cigarette hanging from his lips, she can’t help but wonder if it was some kind of masculinity war- a pissing contest- between the the Deputy Mayor and Sheriff. She snorts in an attempt to distract herself from the pain that ratchets around her chest.

This time, the Sheriff doesn’t even look back as he muses, “bless you,” and continues on towards the back.

“Bigby!”

The Sheriff and Goldy follow the voice, spotting Snow White, Captain Hook's ship hanging suspended above by thick ropes, casting haunting shadows over the floor, consuming the Deputy Mayor. A stack of tomes in her arms, while Bufkin rifles through papers on an uneven wood table.

One sticks out in familiarity, thick black leather peeling at the ends where the magic preserving it has weakened. The founding of Fabletown is and was based on that tome, when King Cole sent Snow to create a new community, where the Fables who had fled the Homelands could have some form of safety.

And then she went to bring all of the scattered Fables together.

April, 1789

The streets had calmed, most retiring to their homes after a long day of labor in the sun. Only a few men plod the streets, stallions at their sides. The rain had eased up, the steady dripping of remnant rain falling from gables and the clopping of horse hooves eased her mind only slightly. The cool wind pricked her shins as she stepped over waste streams, keeping her dark cloak raised over her crown, thick wool lining brushing gooseflesh, tied tightly around the front. Her skirts were muddy by the filthy streets, and she swiftly took to the ledge of the townhouse as the maiden above emptied her chamber pot into the streets below.

Keeping the basket of goods safe from the rain and sick beneath her woolen cloak, she perched it upon her hip and continued her way through the winding, narrow roads. Over time, the roads began to narrow into an arrowhead, ending in a wide expanse of homes, broken down and rebuilt with shanty roofs, goat hide tarps and posts to cover porches. The Cour Des Miracles, somehow stealing her breath, with the crumbling cathedrals and dark alleyways. That’s not what stole her heart, though, no, it was the people that inhabited the slums of this city. With their weary hearts, industrious spirits, and the drive to prove they are not what the bourgeoisie, clergy, and nobility tried to convince the working class. Some of them had been criminals, but not all of them, and even so, criminals didn't deserve what they got.

“Cheveux Soleil, Cheveux Soleil!” she smiled at the nickname they’d given her, ‘Sun Hair’. Some of her curls must have come out of her bun and given her away. The children ran to their homes, the people following them back out of their homes wrapped in quilts, other children flocking to her. Husbands, wives, mothers, fathers, elderly, all inhabitants flooded the tight round road, wedged between new buildings and deterioration, slowly ebbing out the lost, destitute and less fortunate.

Removing the basket from her cloak, she set the basket upon a fragmented wall, balanced over a deep caverned crack. Lowering her hood, she smiled at the crowd forming, eyes twinkling in delight, reaching onto the top of the basket. Fresh loaves of bread wrapped in cheesecloth to keep out the damp and insects, where a pair of aged hands gratefully accepted it. Their eyes met, an elderly woman, back bent like a tree ravaged by wind, but honey eyes warm with life.

“Merci, Sun Hair, vous êtes le seul boulanger en qui nous avons confiance. Seul votre pain est en sécurité.”

‘Thank you, Sun Hair, you are the only baker we trust. Only your bread is safe.’

she tenderly squeezed the woman's shoulder as she turned away and allowed the next person through. One by one, they came to her for her fresh grown fruits, meats, goat milk, bread, and a few tarts she snuck in for the children. She had heard of the unrest rising among the less fortunate, the fear of breads that seemed to steal away their loved ones, subjecting them to delusions. Many speculated it was the work of the regime, as punishment for not assisting the growth on the farms in the countryside, and after the famine that swept through from the poor harvest, many blamed the King and Queen. Hatred had begun to spread like a virus, and she could do only so much to keep those at the lowest alive, but she knew that there was something else afoot. No ruler would jeopardize poisoning their crops, lest they lose the funds of the farmers who sold the crops at the markets. Their men would starve, the economy would collapse. Civil unrest would skyrocket. But she kept her thoughts to herself, and quietly passed out her goods.

Women thanked her with wet lashes and dirty faces, widowed men kissed her hands and vowed to wed her, children hugged her skirts and shoved the pastries in their mouths before sprinting through the courtyard, and all the while her eyes scanned the crowd for a little girl with dark hair tied in a ribbon, green eyes, and a gap-toothed smile. The sweet 3 year old Celine.

The young girl's parents lingered against the back wall, near their ramshackle brick home, her father hunched forward as his wife broke off a piece of a loaf of her raisin bread, her eyes haunted.

She stopped in front of them, mouth slightly open and brows bunched in concern. Celine’s mother lifted her gaze, slowly, until they found Goldy’s, the shadows in her eyes as deep as the darkness that had chased her people from the Homelands. Without a word, Goldy’s stomach sank like a stone, understanding crashing into her as if her head had been submerged in a frozen lake. Reaching into her cloak, she pulled free a straw and cloth doll, sleek and new. Handmade, a serene smile and glittering emerald-like eyes painted into the fabric. Celine had asked her for a doll, a princess doll like the princesses Goldy had mentioned existed in stories. Princesses like Cinderella, Snow White, Briar Rose- and, the most lovely, princess Celine. She’d promised to bring her the doll, and tell her more stories. More encounters she’d had with the princesses, the encounters she’d been told of by a long lost friend.

Red would have loved Celine.

And yet, precious, sweet Celine, had succumbed to her pneumonia before Goldy could keep her promise.

Without a word, she took Celine's fathers hand, placed the doll in his palm, and closed his fingers before walking away to retrieve her basket. The rain returned with a vengeance, and the inhabitants of the slums rushed for their homes, leaving Goldy to silently thank the sky for the cover, so that her people might not see the tears staining her face.

The Mundy world was so much crueler than she ever could have imagined.

“You plan on leaving her here while you go up to the Thirteenth Floor? Bigby, I have meetings I need to host, Ms. Goldilocks can’t stay here, I’m sorry.”

“Snow, a Mundie was glamoured to look like her, murdered, and dumped carelessly in a dumpster. I can take her with me to the 13th floor-”

“She doesn’t have clearance for that.”

“So she can stay here? Perfect.”

“I- No! Bigby! This is a breach of security protocols! Leaving her here is a liability!”

“She’ll be fine.”

“That’s not the point! If something were to happen, it would be an administrative nightmare! It risks litigation, and makes the Sheriff’s office look negligent.”

That makes him pause and he turns, facing Snow again while Goldy watches on, silently. “I am leaving a Fable who needs supervision in the supervision of the Deputy Mayor while I attend to matters that involve bringing the murderer in. It involves a Mundie, Snow, we have to act fast, secure the situation, and find the bastard before the Mundie authorities get involved.”

She opens her mouth to retort, but he has already walked out of the Business Office. Snow groans, pressing a finger against her temple and looks over at the blonde woman, standing awkwardly near a bookcase.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize he was just going to pawn me off on you.” Goldy speaks up, softly.

“Please, don’t apologize,” she takes a deep breath, brushing her hands down her skirt as she stands from her desk, “Bigby’s professional discretion- or lack thereof- is a matter for him and I to discuss.” Goldy watches as the Deputy Mayor walks over to the door, cracks it and calls out, “Boy Blue!” she waits a moment, and she can hear a muffled voice on the other side of the door. It must be Boy Blue, because Snow White continues speaking, “I’m locking the Business Office door. Sheriff Bigby has left a prospective target for the recent murders here with me while he takes care of some business on the Thirteenth Floor. No one enters or leaves without my permission.”

Boy Blue responds and she nods with a graceful dip of her chin, then closes the door again, turning the lock. Her blue eyes find the baker, again, “You’re safe here, it shouldn’t take Bigby too long. Make yourself comfortable.” and then she returns to her desk.

The unspoken was clear- make yourself comfortable, but don’t touch anything, and don’t snoop around. She could do that. She begins to walk around the massive room, attempting to read the titles of the books, but few of them seem all that interesting. Surely nothing private would be kept so blatantly placed, but she still tries to keep a respectful distance from the books.

“Looking for anything in particular, Ms. Locks?”

She turns quickly, finding Bufkin, Fable Town's librarian, perched on an unlit wall sconce. “Oh, no, am I somewhere restricted?”

“Not at all, you just seem quite curious about the books.”

“Oh, I…well, yes, somewhat. I’ve never been this far into the Business Office before, I’ve never really needed a reason to be.” as she eyes him, she can tell he’s not attempting to assist or be pleasant. No, the way he eyes her foot placement, her hands- no, he’s watching her to make sure she doesn’t make a mess. “I’ll head back to the front.”

Bufkin simply shrugs and flies off, leaving her to her thoughts.

In the silence, her mind drifts to the events of the past few weeks. Of the fact she’s effectively in witness protection, a crazy serial killer is on the loose that for whatever reason seems to be trying to catch her attention, and now…now her mentor, her best friend, was among those the bastard had killed.

Part of her wants to ask Snow what they’d done with his body, and another part doesn’t have the heart to know. Should she let Amelia know? She’s still not sure what their relationship had been, but Woody seemed to care for her.

The pressure building in her chest reached her throat, making it hard to swallow, her eyes fluttering in an attempt to stave off her tears. How could she ever bring herself to tell Amelia that Woody is gone? Hell, even she was having a hard time accepting it.

Pressing the heel of her palm against her eyes, wiping the tears away, a large book drew her attention, golden curls in her peripheral piquing her interest. As she turns, her heart stutters briefly.

A large book sits open, and a photo of her stares back at her. Text litters the page beneath her photo and the page next to it. On the second page, a photo of her when she was younger greets her gaze, hair in twin braids and her matching hat and dress that Mother had sewn for her for her fifth birthday. Reaching out with a shaking hand, she presses her fingertips to the ink, before looking at the page resting on the table in front of the book. Her breath catches and her heart sinks, taking in the image of the beautiful young woman in the photograph.

Honey brown eyes, olive skin and deep chestnut brown hair. Strong cheekbones and jaw, her nose was proud, strong, definitely Grecian. Covering her mouth with a hand, she tried to stifle another sob when she read the large, red font above her name:

MISSING

Aria Santori

1789

The air was steady and warm, the rumble of cows filling the air around her farm. Her hair tucked into her overcoat to keep her neck insulated. Her leather slippers hugged her feet, and she was thankful she had the forethought to wear two pairs of her wool stockings, otherwise her legs would have been frozen by now.

Before her trip into town, she'd left the oil lamp on her porch lit, and as she walked up the gravel path, the soft halo of light greeted her like a sigh after a long day.

Opening the door, she turned out the outermost lantern, entered her home and let her shoulders finally sag. Closing the door behind her, she pulled a matchbook from her pocket and stroked it, carefully lighting the candlestick by her door. She fumbled with the buttons of her cloak, kicking off her shoes and finally setting about undressing for the evening. Leaving herself in her chemise and stockings, she washed her face and arms, all the while thinking of a young girl whom she'd promised a doll.

Sometimes, she wondered what it might be like to truly be one of them. To grow old and die, whether her story was remembered or not. To never have to watch those that she'd come to care for wither with age, wilting like a flower until the final petal fell with their final breath.

She opened her front door, fetching her oil lamp once more, pulling on her boots and heading out, following the path to her barn.

The people around her spoke of a God and his son, the holy spirit, and a peaceful place in the sky called Heaven. She wondered if she'd ever have the chance to experience such a place. Even her treehouse in the Homelands felt peaceful, but not always.

Reaching the barn, she opened the heavy wooden door and lifted her lamp, looking around. Jacques, her mastiff farm dog, rested in the hay in the corner, and while he looked like he was asleep, she knew he was guarding her springing heifer, Odette, until her calf was born.

“Odette,” she called, softly, venturing further into the barn. Towards the back of the barn is an arch that allowed the cows to come and go from the paddock out back as they pleased. Across from the arch, a pile of blankets Goldy had placed down under the low hanging beam when Odette had chosen it as her nesting spot, and headed right for her.

As expected, Odette was laying on her side, her large back and meaty shoulder towards her owner and the front of the barn. A quiet moo and a tired huff, the woman immediately knew there was a new addition to her livestock. Rounding her cow, she found the calf laying beside their mother.

Crouching down, she smiled and tenderly cupped the calf's cheek. “Hello, there. Welcome to the world.” she spoke softly, so as not to startle either of them. Odette pressed her snout into Goldy’s hand, then ran her muzzle along her baby's back. After a quick check, the woman confirmed the sex. “A daughter, Odette. Congratulations. I’m sorry I wasn’t here, but I bet you did wonderful. Any ideas on a name?”

The cow let out a nasally huff then a quick low.

“I think so too,” she looks back to the calf, “Celine.”

Jacques lifted his head towards the barn entrance, floppy ears slightly lifted. Goldy quickly turned, bringing her shift closer to her body.

Silhouetted by moonlight behind them, they cast a long shadow over the barn floor. Goldy stood quickly and squinted in the dark,

“Snow White?”

Sitting on her bed with her laptop on her nightstand, Goldy holds her phone tightly in her hand. Her mouth feels like sandpaper, mind running through all of the information she’d gathered in her mind. She’d managed to find Aria’s Facebook profile, and read through post after post, personal information, and managed to find her other forms of social media.

She was a student, an intelligent young woman with so many possibilities ahead of her, a bright future that was cut short for no good reason. No reason would ever be good enough for such a thing.

As she pulls on her coat, she looks at her reflection in the mirror.

“You will have justice, Aria. And so will Woody. I’ll make sure of it. The Sheriff will make sure of it.” For a brief moment, the dark veil of guilt loomed over her, the understanding that an innocent Mundie woman was dragged into Fabletown's darkness against her will. Glamoured to look like her, and she didn’t even know why. But she’d find her answer, and she’d make sure that it was handled.

First things first, she lifts her phone and presses her thumb to the green button on her screen, lifting the phone to her ear. She listens to it ring- once, twice, thrice- the dread of them not answering blooms in her chest, but then, abruptly, the ringing ends and is replaced by a soft voice.

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is Celine calling from Golden Hearth Patisserie, I’m looking for Aria Santori. She placed an order but never came to collect it and this was a secondary phone number she listed. Is she available?”

The woman’s quiet sound of pain made Goldy’s heart ache, and the guilt clouded her mind for one terribly long moment. She knew it was necessary, but it made it no better causing emotional distress, even if it meant opening the door to finding the killer.

“No-No, I’m afraid she’s not. I…” Goldy waited patiently as the woman on the other end took a long, steadying breath, “I’m sorry, Aria went missing a few months ago…”

The baker pauses, quiet for a long moment and then, “Missing? What do you mean, I just saw her not that long ago…She was just here…” she pauses, feigning checking her calendar, “I…has it really been two months already?” she lets her voice trail off.

She thinks of Woody’s body, stuffed behind a dumpster for her to find. She thinks of the Sheriffs words, *dead and gone.* Fabletown wasn’t perfect, it was dark and cramped and stressful. It was nothing like the Homelands, nothing like her treehouse. Fables all around her struggled to keep themselves sane, enjoy their long lives the best they can despite their struggles. And now, some sick disgusting person has murdered an innocent to send a message to her community. She would never allow her people to be terrorized. “Forgive me, I just…she was a long time customer of mine and that’s…is there already an investigation ongoing? Is there a phone number for the detective? I’d like to help however I can, maybe I can tell them the last time I saw her? Help narrow down a timeline, maybe?”

“Oh, God bless you Celine, any information you have would be helpful.”

“Of course, if you’re not busy today, we could meet up and talk, two heads are better than one. And in this case, it may help the authorities find Aria.” Goldy bit her lip after she finished speaking, hoping she hadn’t laid it on too thick, hoping her voice was just melodic enough to seem trustworthy.

“I could get out of this house, everywhere just reminds me of her. Where did you want to meet?”

“There’s a cafe I like to go to, I can send you the address.” She’d spent enough time in Greece to recall the coffee culture being nothing to sneeze at. Ethiopians, Italians and Greeks did not toy around when it came to their coffee. “They have an amazing freddo cappuccino that has my mouth watering just thinking about it.”

“The Court of Miracles is a sanctuary only as long as no one looks too closely. In Fabletown, we aren't just hiding; we are building walls that the Adversary cannot see and the Mundie world cannot touch. I am not asking you to hide; I am asking you to help us defend the only home we have left”.

Snow White’s voice drifts through Goldy’s mind as she sits inside the cafe, waiting for Aria’s mother to arrive, latte held in her hands for warmth. The sky outside a purple gray mass of cloud and smog, the smell of petrichor heavy in the early autumn air. She wonders how the woman might look; just like her daughter? Different, maybe, who knows if Aria took after her father more. Taking a sip of her latte, she lets the rim of her mug rest against her lip, the aroma of espresso wafting into her nose like tendrils of smoke.

The bell above the glass door rattles when it’s opened, and Goldy glances over. The woman's olive skin and dark, sad eyes are the giveaways she needs, but the strong nose, sharp jawline and high cheekbones helped to confirm it. Mrs. Santori looks around the cafe and Goldy sets her mug down, lifting a hand subtly to draw her attention, then pushes a chair back from the table for her to sit beside her.

The Mundie woman lowers herself into the chair, setting her purse in the seat beside her.

“It smells wonderful here, I can’t believe I have never been here before.”

“If only it were through better circumstances. Can I buy you a coffee?” the blonde woman offers, to which Mrs. Santori shakes her head with a somber smile,

“Oh, no, you don’t need to do that. I’ll be right back.” She picks up her purse again and went to the counter. After a long few moments, she returns to the table with a freddo cappuccino. Goldy can’t help but smile at it. “I had to give it a shot, if you vouch for them.” Mrs. Santori smiles in return, then takes a sip and sighs to herself.

“Good?”

“Amazing.”

The Fable laughs softly and takes another drink of her own coffee, before her smile fades. Back to business, then.

“I’m sorry to meet you under such horrible circumstances. I wish it had at least been over some fresh pastries or something. Or maybe a lemon meringue pie. Aria loved lemon meringue pie…” images she’d come across flit past her memory, images of Aria out with friends at local bakeries and sweets shops. Smiling wide, eyes sparkling and nose wrinkled with happiness. It’s heartbreaking to think that all those years she had ahead of her were stolen for a reason she can’t even give to her grieving family. Grieving family. She thinks of her own family; of Holly and Gren and Woody. Even the Sheriff in a strange way. They were all grieving for the loss of Woody, and the Sheriff found who he thought was her.

“Oh, thank you…we’re not doing too well with her loss. My husband has been inconsolable.” she laughs, a hollow, sad sound. “He’s been angry ever since we got the call…” she takes a breath and looks away, using her knuckle to catch a stray tear before it falls down her face.

“I can’t imagine what you’re going through, right now…If you’d like someplace a little less public, Mrs. Santori-”

“No, no, it’s alright.”

In the silence that follows, she wonders briefly to herself if Mother ever worried about her after she abandoned her in the woods. Did she ever regret it? Did Goldy even want her to regret it?

No. She suppresses the thought, telling herself that they didn’t matter.

“How long had she been ordering from you, Celine?”

“Oh,” she takes a sip from her coffee as she tries to come up with a convincing time frame. “This month it would’ve been about a year and a half. She was one of my best customers. The last time she placed an order, it was just another day…I never would have thought she’d…” Goldy trails off, the sadness on her face genuine.

Mrs. Santori nods, solemnly, cradling her cup between her hands before taking the briefest sip. “Yeah…she was just about to graduate with her masters.”

“She mentioned that. Microbiology.” She mentally thanks the poor girl for her Tweet about it.

“That’s right. She is-” catching herself, she takes a breath, “was so smart.”

“She still is, Mrs. Santori,” Goldy says, no deception in her voice as she places her hand on top of the Mundie woman's. “And whatever happened to her, wherever she is, she will get her justice.”

Mrs. Santori looks up and holds her gaze, her eyes becoming glassy, again.

“You remind me so much of Ruby…”

Goldy blinks in confusion and tilts her head, “I’m sorry, who?”

“A friend of Aria’s. A sweet, polite young lady. They met in college when Aria started this semester. She was a mute, but had such a lovely personality. I haven’t been able to contact her about what’s happened.”

“You don’t think she could have…?”

“Oh, no. I mean…no.”

“Are you sure? You paused there for a moment.”

“Well, she could be a little unnerving sometimes. She would sometimes just get this blank stare- like a shark; empty and almost dead looking.”

“There was a friend with Aria the second or third time I saw her. Pink buzzcut and blue eyes, right?”

“No, no, short brown hair and brown eyes.”

Goldy felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. When the Sheriff went to visit Riding, it was because he suspected her to be the killer…this has to be a coincidence, right? How long had it been since she saw her friend, how much can someone change in that time? No, it had to be another Mundie, another Fable, anyone else. How many Mundies have brown hair and eyes? Still, she has a nauseating gut feeling.

In that moment, she realizes the Sheriff's job is so much harder than she ever could have expected.

Pushing open the door to the Trip Trap, Goldy rounds the corner and makes a beeline for the bar. She stops when she sees the broad back in a white shirt sitting at the bar, head bowed she can see his mess of brown hair. Well, if she didn’t need a drink before, she does now.

Holly looks up at her from behind the bar, brows knit together in concern. Gren looks over his shoulder at her, a rage lingering behind his eyes she knew came about when the Sheriff was around.

“Welcome back.” the Sheriff calls, “I thought you were supposed to stay at the Business Office.”

“I had some things I had to do.” she shoots back, the energy in the bar suddenly heavy.

“I’m sure you did,” he turns and stands. Her nose crinkles at the smell of his cigarette, but he makes no move to put it out, nor does she ask him to. She knows she’s not imagining the anger in his eyes. Some small part of her feels a sudden urge to run, to make it outside and hail a cab as fast as she can. Instead, she stomps on the feeling and stares him down. “And you interacted with a Mundie to do it.”

“Oh, shit…” Holly muses in shock. Even Gren looks a little surprised. Goldy feels her jaw tense, the sting of being humiliated in front of her friends.

“I did. And I got valuable information for you. You’re welcome.”

Gren snickers, “Oh look, Goldy is even better at the job than the lapdog.”

Bigby growls and glances over at him, then turns back to Goldy. “You should have told me you planned to visit a Mundie. Or let me handle it.”

“With all due respect, Sheriff, I have more tact than you when it comes to this sort of thing.”

“It’s not about tact, it’s about avoiding a bigger mess that I’d have to clean up down the line.”

“A bigger mess than what’s already happening?” her heart begins to race, adrenaline beginning to pulse through her bloodstream. She walks past him to the bar, feeling her frustration, pain, devastation, everything come boiling to the surface. For years, she schooled her emotions and feelings to a calmness that her loved ones valued, envied. But now, she can feel the cracks in the foundation. Witnessing the tension between Woody and the Sheriff, losing Woody-

“Yes,” the Sheriff hisses through clenched teeth, “much bigger. If that Mundie got any indicator of what you are, the Thirteenth Floor will have even more problems than they already have.”

She slams her hands down on the counter top,

"Stop, Bigby. I know we can't interact with Mundies, but I just got you valuable information and you're not even giving me a thank you!"

"Because what you did far outweighs your information! You jeopardized Fabletown!"

"I saved it! I got you one step closer to finding the killer! To justice for Aria Santori and Woody!"

"If Snow found out what you did, she’d be pissed. You’re tiptoeing on the line, Goldy."

"Arrest me then, Bigby! Or drop this lone wolf bullshit facade, because I've tried to help you but you make me feel like shit for it at every turn! You would have done the same damn thing, so why is it so wrong that it's me doing it, and not you? You even said I should have let you handle it!" She cries out. Rounding the bar, she steps up to him and holds his gaze, nostrils flaring. His jaw clenches and the vein in his neck bulges with restraint.

Quickly, Holly is between them, hand on Goldy's shoulder and pulling her away.

Begrudgingly, the baker allows her to pull her to the back room. The moment the door slams, Holly wheels around to face her.

"Are you crazy?!" She hisses, "he could have hurt you!"

"Don't start with that, Holly! I'm done letting people dictate what I do! I'm a person too, not someone to shelter and protect! I lost Woody, too!" Holly's mouth clamps shut and she looks at the wall, the ceiling, the floor. Anywhere but Goldy's face. Had she not been so angry, she might have felt guilty, but she is so hurt by everything. Taking a deep breath, she cups Holly's face and lifts it to look her in the eyes. "Holly, Woody saved my life back in the Homelands. He's the reason I'm alive to this day, the reason I am who I am. I need to get justice for him. He deserves it." Holly holds her gaze, not interrupting. "I know you agree, I know you're hurting, too. But when Snow came to me and brought me to Fabletown, I made two vows. That I'd feed everyone who was hungry, and that I'd protect my family however I had to. I have to protect us. And the Sheriff needs help. I don't know why I was thrown into the equation, but I was. It's personal now."

"I know...but, [Y/N], he's not safe for you to be around. You're not special to him. If you get in his way, he can and will hurt you."

Goldy has no words, so she speaks with actions. Wrapping her arms around her friend, she hugs her tightly and Holly returns the embrace.

"Your hugs are much better without this glamour."

Holly laughs softly and Goldy pulls away, taking a breath before she makes her way back out to the bar, finding Bigby at the end of the countertop, fingertips digging into the wood, leaving deep gashes in their wake as he and Gren stare at each other. Flashes of the deep gashes on Woody's chest flash before her. The testosterone is almost palpable in the air.

“Sheriff.” she calls, and after a long moment, he looks over at her. For a second, she swears she can see a hint of gold in those brown eyes. Surely, it’s the lighting. “I’d like to speak with you. Outside.”

She makes her way to the entrance without even looking back. Stepping back out into the cool air, she leans back against the wall, and she waits.

Bigby steps out, cigarette hanging from his mouth. They stand in the quiet for a moment as he lights his cigarette, waiting for her to begin. Looking over at her, there's something breathtaking in her gaze. Determination. Rage.

Well, the baker has fangs, after all.

“You can't just go out there carelessly.” he says, trying to break the silence.

“I had no other options.”

After another long, unbearable silence, he asks quietly, “what did you find out?”

She looks down and pushes a pebble left and right with the toe of her shoe,

“I think…I think Riding was friends with Aria, before she was murdered.”

“What?” he tries to school his face into one of nonchalance, but the surprise has to crack through.

“I spoke to Mrs. Santori, you know that. But one of the things she told me was that Aria had a friend. A mute friend named Ruby, who had short brown hair and brown eyes.”

“There’s plenty of Mundies and Fables with brown hair and brown eyes. How are you so sure it’s Riding?”

“I don’t, but…don’t you think it’s strange that you suspected Riding and now, suddenly, a victim makes a friend who has a description like her not that long before she was murdered? And there’s more. She said there were times this Ruby girl would have these moments of looking through her. With an empty stare…”

“That is unusual, but still it’s not proof..” and yet, it’s strange that suddenly Goldy is suspecting her own friend…the case is really starting to get to her.

“Sheriff, I have to know,” she starts, softly.

“What is it?”

Mysteries and Pastries Series Master List

“-what crossed your mind when you found Aria glamoured to look like me?”