Witch Hunt

After a short walk into Grennard from Park, we arrive at a street littered with dampened trash that clogs the storm drains. The stale smell of urine and rot hangs in the air, tinging the atmosphere in the most staining shade of poverty.

Down a set of steps underneath a larger tenement building, flanked by metal railings and a dead ivy plant, Alabastra leads us to an exterior basement door, painted yellow. A cellar condo, tucked away from the street. That feels fitting, somehow. The clang of steel and crunch of stray fallen autumn leaves heralds our descent down the metal steps.

When she reaches the bottom, Alabastra stops, tucking her hands into her coat. "Ah, shit."

Hanging on the door is a weathered paper notice, tacked with putty. It reads in large inky letters, 'EVICTION NOTICE - VACATE IN 48 HOURS'.

Faylie says, "Ah, man, again?" She crosses her arms, mumbling, "I liked this place, too..."

Alabastra turns, reclining against the door. "Don't panic, girls."

Behind me, Tegan speaks up, tone hurried and rising, "Who's panicking? No one's panicking. This was like, the most obvious thing that coulda happened." She leans against the railing, other hand on her hip and head held high, a fake and nervous smile on her face.

"I'll talk to Jon. He'll give us some leeway."

"What? No he won't!"

Alabastra scoffs. "You kiddin'? Jon loves us!"

I cross my arms, lying against the brick wall opposite the rail. "Your landlord, I assume?"

"Yea", Tegan responds, "And Allie's being absurd. He hates us."

Faylie chirps, "I think he just hates everyone." She turns to me. "That makes him like an evil you! Or, wait, Roodie is evil you... He's like a less cool Roodie!"

I stare. "You are not sticking the bloodthirsty monster inside of me with Roodie."

Alabastra says, "I think it's cute." I roll my eyes. "And for the record, you're over-reactin', Dusty. This is just for show. He'll come around!" She points to the notice, then fishes in her coat pocket for a keyring, and slots a key into the door. She attempts to turn it, but the lock doesn't budge. She looks down, frustrated, and tries again, to no avail. Alabastra looks back up at us, smiling nervously. "I'm sure it's, uh..."

"He changed the locks", says Tegan.

"Yes, okay, fine, he changed the locks." Alabastra kneels, and gets the door open with a swift flourish of her lockpicks. As it swings, she turns and says, "I'mma have that chat. Show Moodie around." She pushes past us, heading for the stairs.

Tegan steps inside. "Well. Welcome to our flat, for however long we have it, I guess." She motions for me to follow.

I step inside, taking in the surroundings. Removed from its current adornments, the interior would be an unimpressive, cramped space, empty, cold, and claustrophobic, a box of tight brick walls and a low ceiling, marked by a drop in temperature. Two doors side-to-side along the back wall lay ajar, and the installed lightbulb flickers occasionally. It would be a freezer box of dead dreams and dull whispers.

And so it is perhaps a testament that despite what it ought to be, the condo is... home-y. Cozy, with a couch draped in several comfy blankets, walls plastered with posters and signs and paintings and knickknacks, potted plants, personal effects strewn over the ground and furniture, cluttered and lived-in. Candles and lamps turn the ambiance away from the depressing yellow glow of the lightbulb, into instead a warm autumnal orange. The entire space is less than half the size of just one floor of my home, housing three-times as many people, but the amount of living done in this space is easily more than just thrice my own. Books and records, a messy kitchenette, drawings and doodles on the walls, stains on the throw rug. Each of these women have left echoes of themselves over this sarcophagus of an apartment, from skulls and drawings painted with a creative hand, to magazines and books stacked and run through, to photos on the wall insisted upon by sentiment. Part of me wants to marvel at how different they are in their dwelling, and part of me wants to clean this godsdamned mess.

Faylie strides in, jazz hands at the ready. "Ta-da! Whaddaya think?"

"It's certainly... snug", I say.

Faylie hops around excitedly, faun hooves stomping along the clashing rugs. "This is the living room! That's the washroom", she points to the left door, and then the right, "And this is where the magic happens." She wiggles her eyebrows, like I'm supposed to know what she means. She opens it to reveal a room that look to be 80% bed, un-made and covered in blankets. I'm not sure how they even fit that in there. Most of the little space that isn't bed is taken up by a large dresser, with clothes hanging out the drawers and off the sides.

Only the one bed. Huh. I suppose Tegan must sleep on the couch, then? Or... I shake my head. That hardly matters. I point to the plants, my botanist's eye turned curious. "How do you keep those alive?"

Faylie's large ears droop. "Oh... they're fake. I tried using magic to keep real plants for a while, but it got too tiring." She rubs the plastic ficus leaf between her fingers to demonstrate. Then she perks up again, and throws herself onto the couch. "Anyways, here's where you're sleeping!"

"Oh." I turn to Tegan. "Then, where are you..."

Tegan claps her hands together. "I'm gonna get out of this armor." She steps into the bedroom, and closes the door behind. For how brutish her fighting style is, I've never taken Tegan for an acrobat.

Sitting upright, Faylie lilts her head at me. She scooches over on the couch, and pats the seat next to her. Fine. I plant myself on the other side of the couch, practically melting from exhaustion into the cushions. "Soooo....", she says.

I crane my neck to look at her. "What?"

"What'd ya think? About the, um, illusion...!"

That is a fascinating question, actually. I'd been meaning to ask. "Right! Where did you learn to cast that?"

"Hm? I meant...", she begins. Then she stops herself, and says, "Actually... I taught it to myself!"

I lean forward. "Really? Faylie, that's incredible!"

The faun practically blushes, fiddling with one of her antlers. "Oh, y'know, it was nothing..." She smiles at me, and scrunches up her shoulders. "The hard part with seeming is dividing up the illusions. It'd be a lot easier, but a lot less useful to just make the same illusion four times."

"Then, do you form them individually? Hold them all in your head at the same time with some sort of mental divider? Some kind of... simultaneous casting?"

Faylie puts a hand to her chin. "Not quite. It... Hmm. It helps to have a theme. Like, if I think about a certain kind of person, or a color palette, or a shared history... Something like that!"

Ah, that makes sense. A bundling effect, making each illusion a constituent part of a larger whole. "What was the theme for our disguises today, then?" I try and conjure my own theories. They seemed entirely diverse in color, size, and aesthetic to me.

"Oh! They were part of Polli's backstory! As character archetypes, background figures. That story I was telling didn't come from nowhere, you know! Tegan was the brave knight that rescued her when she fell off her horse, Alabastra was the tough revolutionary leading the charge against the Contessa. And you were..." She blushes again. "Um. You were the cute librarian that she wouldn't let the thieves' guild hurt."

Ignoring her librarian comment entirely... That is incredible, and bizarre. Idiosyncratic and overly-complicated. Just like her. "Your mind works in fascinating ways."

"Thanks!"

"That wasn't necessarily a compliment."

"Mmm, yes it was." Damn her, but her smile is contagious. She scooches over a few inches. "But, dang, it's so nice having someone to talk about magic with!"

I tilt my head at that. "What about Alabastra and Tegan?"

She shrugs. "They humor me... but they don't really... get it?" I guess that isn't a surprise. It is, by its nature, an esoteric art, to say the least. Alabastra and Tegan seem a little more... grounded in their imaginations. "Not like you, anyways."

"Magic has always been a fascination of mine..."

"Really?"

I nod. "When I was young, I basically devoured any spell manuscripts, runic drawing, or stories of old witches I could get my hands on. Though, that was easier said than done, living from foster home to foster home. By the time I was adopted, I'd grown out of it."

Faylie looks confused. "Well, if you like magic so much then... why didn't you study it? Why are you an alchemist and not a wi...zard."

My breathe catches. "Oh. I... didn't have much of a choice, for one." I twiddle my thumbs for a moment. My mind wards entry to the thoughts of those days. Not exactly a topic I feel equipped to handle right now. "But, even if I did, I'm not cut out for it."

She turns on the couch to face me, fuzzy legs criss-crossed. "Why do you think that?" There's a slight edge to her voice that I wasn't expecting.

"I've just never been very... ambitious. I don't have the right mentality for it. No real drive to change the world." A kinder way to say that I'm a malcontent loner with no worldly desires and a foot in the grave.

Faylie stares at me for a moment, lips pursed. "You know that ambition stuff is bullshit, right?"

"What?"

"The stuff they teach at the Institute. It's stupid human-centric nonsense."

Nonsense? I shake my head, casting her skeptical look. "I've seen that your magic is different, sure, but... that doesn't mean that the Institute's methods are wrong."

Her faces pulls into an audacious smirk. "Why not?"

"Well, because-" I struggle to rebut immediately. "I'm not going to debate thousands of years of magical history with you!"

She shakes her head, haughty and high. "Because you know I'm right."

I huff. She can't seriously be suggesting that she knows better than the oldest and largest academy for arcane learning on the continent. "How would you say magic works, then?"

Her smile grows giddy. "Well, first of all, you, and the Institute, have got the whole 'change the world' stuff wrong. Being ambitious is just one emotion that makes you wanna change stuff, but plenty of other feelings work just as well."

"Like what? I don't exactly see many despondent mages around."

"There's not as many, no, but, like..." She thinks for a moment. "Well, you're sad, right?"

I stare.

Faylie laughs nervously. "Um, I mean. Well, when you feel sad, do you feel like doing anything?"

"I... guess not, no." I mostly say so for the sake of her argument. She's right that I lack any determination or enthusiasm or zeal for life. But, sad? I'm not some crestfallen artist or heartbroken widow; depressed and melancholic upon witnessing the lamentations of the mortal condition. I am a hollow, empty thing. Innately broken. Sadness doesn't exactly cover ontological absence of personhood.

She continues, "Right! Sadness is kind of a bad motivator. Unless you're, like, so sad that you want everyone to also be as sad as you! Like the Sorrow Fae!" The... what? No, never mind, off-topic. "But like, anger? Hoo boy, that's a real catalyst! Makes you wanna tear everything down!" She accentuates with faux-livid fists smashing into the couch. At least, I hope it's fake.

"Okay, but... this just sounds like ambition with additional steps."

"No, no, you've got it all wrong!" She leans forward, hooves tucked further behind her. "The Lazuli Institute teaches ambition for ambition's sake. Tells mages that to be powerful, you have to be power-hungry."

We may as well go down this path, I suppose. "And why is that?"

Faylie shrugs. "Probably because if you taught people how to harness anger, well... then they might start looking for stuff to be angry at. And there's plenty of stuff in Anily to be angry at." Ah. Now she sounds like Alabastra. "But instead, they put a big corporate or government ladder in front of them to climb to feed their ambition worms. They teach mages to be power-hungry, but then limit what being powerful can actually mean. It funnels them, like a... mind prison."

"They're... more likely to grasp at power for power's sake, instead of trying to achieve any particular purpose?" That would explain why so many business magnates and politicians are mages, I suppose...

She hops slightly. "Exactly! It's like, umm, one of those..."

"Self-fulfilling prophecies?"

A patronizing expression passes her, like I just said something ridiculous. "Well, not that, silly. All prophecies are self-fulfilling, that's why they're prophecies? You goof!"

More Faewilds nonsense. I groan. We're off-topic again. I hold my forehead, and rotate my other hand forward. "So, then, ambition and anger, good for magical expression, sadness not so much, happiness...?"

She giggles. "Oh, terrible. Comfortable people don't usually like when things change."

I stare down at her. She doesn't seem to recognize the irony in her statement. "But... you're the most cheerful person I know?"

"I know! That's the other half; the Institute's entire premise is also totally wrong!" She must read the doubt on me, as she says, "Well, okay, not wrong. It's totally fine that it works that way for lots of people, but... there's other ways of doing things, too!"

Right... "Like your cards. I've been meaning to ask about those."

Faylie claps her hands together, and pulls herself into a serene state. Her robes billow outwards, and she grabs at each forearm with the other hand, joining the sleeves. Then she pulls them apart again, and with a torrent of arcane wind, a fanning of tarot cards shuffle and stretch outward from her diverging palms. She pulls them together again like an accordion, folding the cards into a single stacked deck, that she cradles between her hands.

I stare bug-eyed. Normally I'm not so easily impressed by cheap sleights-of-hand, but with Faylie... it doesn't feel like a trick, or even practiced; she seems as comfortable in magical legerdemain as a fish in water.

"Woah, got the cards out?" From the bedroom, Tegan has emerged once more, shucked of armor, arms crossed, with one hand scratching at her exposed stomach. Her hair is messy and sticking up at odd angles, and she leans against the open door with a leg bent.

"Mhm!" Faylie nods. "I was about to give Ma- uh, Moodie a reading!"

I jerk my head toward her. "You were?"

"Yes! I decided just now!"

Tegan says, "Uh, before we do, you like, doin' okay, Bromley? I mean, with the whole..." She gestures vaguely to her gut.

Oh, right. I'd gotten so caught up I'd forgotten that my hungers could, in fact, strike at any moment. I spin my satchel around my body, unhooking the strap from my midsection. My hand goes spelunking through its depths, until it wraps around the Subduant-filled flask I'd packed. The opaque and thick liquid sloshes gently in the glass.

I should take it now. That would be the safest option. Issue myself an early rest before the monster inside gets a single chance. It's irresponsible, ridiculous, and born of saccharine thought to even consider otherwise.

But the faun drags herself even closer, her knees almost touching mine. She looks up at me, crystal white eyes full and radiant, and utterly locked with mine. Fine. Fine. I turn the flask over in my hand. "I'll be alright", I say, "I'll just hold on to this, and drink it if I start to feel overly hungry."

Faylie celebrates with a little dance to herself, and says, "Alright! I'll explain how these work, kinda, while I'm giving you your reading." She begins to shuffle the deck, swift and precise. Cards shift and swap, whipping through with air rapid thwaping sounds. "So, like I said, there's tons of other ways to arrive at the same place that wanting change gets you. One of those ways is to... get creative! Imagine the world a certain way, instead of forcing a change!" She weighs the deck in her hands, head tilting back and forth, and says, "Hmm... maybe we could do a Velvik cross... or a twenty-one Rivoly spread, or-"

I interrupt, "How about something... simple?" I hold up the bottle to accentuate my meaning.

"Ugh, fine, if you insist." Faylie puts down the deck, balanced precariously on the couch. "Draw three cards, but don't look at them yet! Place them in front of you."

I reach down, pulling three cards from the top of the deck, and consider what she told me. A thought occurs, a reminder of some distant echoed bit of information. "The way you described your process... that almost sounds like bardic magic." Though what Faylie does is clearly a far cry from the songsters and minstrels of old, drawing on the harmony inherent in the universe to sling and sing spells and bolster their allies.

The way she stares, it's as if a firework has gone off in front of her. "You're closer than you know!" She looks down at the spread I've issued for myself. "Alright. Go ahead and pull the first card; it's your past!" She claps her hands together again and again in anticipation.

I turn the card. The face shows a woman in red, blindfolded, and surrounded, almost caged even, by eight over-large swords. A numeral VIII is scratched into the top. Faylie's face falls. "Oh...", she says. Then she puts on a fake smile once more, voice cut with faux enthusiasm. "The Eight of Swords! How... interesting!"

"... Interesting?"

"It represents, umm, hopelessness? Being paralyzed by fear, feeling trapped?" She grips her bicep guiltily as she speaks. "But, that's just your past! It doesn't have to be your future!" I flip the card between my fingers. I've never been one for mysticism or soothsaying. What could a few cards or a crystal ball or scattered bones possibly know about my life? Humoring Faylie in this way is about the furthest I'll go, but, I don't plan on taking any particular insights here.

And, trapped and helpless? That hardly describes me.

Faylie continues, "Besides... it also represents that you might be keeping yourself trapped. I mean, she could walk right out of those swords if she just took off that blindfold..."

Tegan speaks up, "Uh, are you sure we should be-"

"Hush, you!", Faylie doesn't even look up to say. "Anyways, where was I? Oh, right, magic!"

Holding up the card, I say, "Actually, you were talking about the-"

She interrupts. "So, people misunderstand how bardic magic works. It's not about music or harmony or whatever. Or, well, okay, it can be, but it can also be about... stories!"

"Stories?"

"Words of Creation. Echoes of power. They say the world was spoken into existence, you know? An epic story at the beginning of time... The universe loves drama! Bards just convince it that the most dramatic thing that could happen at any given time is a lightning bolt to some jerk's face!"

I... think I follow. Typical mages see the world as a blank canvas to fill; Faylie sees it as a piece already in progress? "Then you're, what, the Gods' stenographer?"

"More like a stage director." She points down at the middle card. "Draw your present!"

As I start to flip over the middle card, the image looks strange and twisted. "Oh, I think it's upside-down-". I start to turn it over in my hand.

Faylie grabs my wrist, almost panicked. "No, no! That's, uh, that's part of it. You drew it in reverse!" I raise a brow, but shrug, and turn over the card. The card depicts a woman draped in blues and whites, sitting between a black and white pillar. In inverted letters, it reads 'The High Priestess'. "Ah..., um. Hoo boy."

"What? What does it mean?"

The faun looks to Tegan, met only with a shrug. She turns back to me. "Um... In reverse, it means a repression of feelings. Withdrawal, ignoring your inner voice... Upright, the Priestess can represent, um... the divine feminine, which..." She searches for a moment. "Y'know what, that probably doesn't matter."

Looking down at the card, I fixate on its lines and colors, taking in the dull yellows and blues, the woman's prim demeanor, ogling like it might change. Repressing feelings? I guess that could correspond with subduing my hungers. Though, that's not exactly a bad thing, is it? If I wasn't fighting so hard against them, how much damage would I be causing? The cards don't know that.

I mentally smack myself; I'm being ridiculous, they don't know anything, they're inanimate. This is just for demonstration. I look up at Faylie. "So, then, the cards... they, what, help you tell these stories?"

Faylie nods, biting her lip. "Yep! More or less, anyways. They're archetypes, themes, and tropes; shorthand for longer stories, to quickly get an idea across."

"So, then, they don't have any power of their own, they're just a focus, or, a medium for your abilities?"

Again she looks at me incredulous. "Oh, these ones definitely have power on their own. But, that makes using them more fun, I think!" She looks down at the final card. "The last one is your future, but... y'know, we don't actually have to keep going if you don't want..."

I gather myself with a sucking breath. "No, no, it's fine. How likely is it that I drew three awful cards, right?" My fingers wrap around the final card, and flip.

A knight in black armor riding a white horse strides across a battlefield. He holds a black flag, and his face is the empty rictus of a skeleton. 'Death'. I wonder exactly which gods are laughing at me.

"Um... So... Death means-"

"I think I know what Death means, Faylie!"

She starts to wave her hands around. "No, wait! It isn't like that at all! It's about, like, change and, um..."

I let out a deep sigh. "It's... it's fine, Faylie. I think that's enough cartomancy for me, anyways." I pile up the cards, and place them back on the deck.

Faylie pushes her index finger together. "Sorry, Moodie..." She slowly gathers up the decks, and slips the entire stack back under a sleeve. Her eyes fill with remorse. Dammit. My chest tightens at the scene.

"It really is fine. You didn't do anything wrong." I reach out, like I'm going to touch her by the shoulder, but... no, bad idea. I pull back. "Thank you, for telling me how your magic works. It was... enlightening."

She smiles up at me, and once more launches herself into my side. I'm still not entirely sure what to do with this level of physical contact. I just wait for her to be sick of touching me. "I'm just glad you understood it!" Finally, she unwraps her arms, and turns to Tegan. "Unlike someone."

Tegan shrugs. "Don't bring me into this! It's not my fault my magic's simple." I rack my brain for a moment. Divine magic and arcane magic, often considered two complete opposites. Tegan is as divine a warrior as I've ever met. I suppose if I'm getting magic lessons today, I may as well get the other perspective.

"Well, how does your magic work, then?", I ask.

"Pfft. Beats me. I think really hard about my oath, say some weird words I didn't know I knew, and boom, holy light." I suppose it was too much to expect that Tegan would have as in-depth an answer for that question as Faylie. Maybe I'll ask a priest, instead.

Faylie pouts. "Oh, c'mon, Teegs, you know there's more to it than that." She gasps lightly. "I know! Why don't you tell Moodie your oath?!"

Tegan rubs the back of her neck, like a nervous child asked to show her favorite toy. "Oh, uh, I dunno..."

I fold my hands over a bent knee, saying, "Actually, I'd be interested." Like the rest of these strange women, Tegan isn't quite like the valiant knights and storybook heroes I've come to expect from holy warriors. She's sincere, unsure of herself, and surprisingly nonchalant about larceny, both petty and grand.

The woman stretches her neck in a roll. "Alright. Guess it couldn't hurt." She bounces on her heels, tapping and fidgeting along her leg. She closes her eyes, takes in and holds a long breathe, with a fist to her sternum, held pressed against the bone. Her voice booms, layered over itself in self-echoed harmony, as she recites words from somewhere deeper within.

"My life is the people's life. My sword is the people's sword. It is my vow to assist the needy, to empower the subjugated, and to punish the oppressor. Never shall I choose Greed over Compassion, Advantage over Loyalty, or Glory over Duty. This I Swear."

Her eyes flutter open again, briefly shining of gold before they return to her uncanny near-black iris. She shrugs and smiles shyly. Faylie claps like a proud parent.

"Huh", is all I can think to say. It is the first time I've heard a paladin oath recited. Faylie's previous notes on words of power suddenly feel more true than they had before. I chew the words over in my mind. Assist the needy, punish the oppressor... I am, admittedly, woefully uninformed on typical knightly custom, but, it doesn't necessarily sound specific to any orders or creeds I'm aware of. "Did you make this as part of any kind of holy order, Tegan?"

For a moment, her face tells a story. There is a vast trench of information my question has skimmed the rim of. She leans further back against the door, head knocking lightly into the wood. "Uh. No. It's, uh. It's an original."

I wasn't even aware knights could make their own oaths. I assumed they all followed a sect doctrine, or the tenets of a specific god, or swore themselves to a crown. Not that there's much use for the first these days; and even the second and third are falling out of style.

Faylie says to the knight, "An original. Just like you!"

"Hah. Stop..." Her rouge cheeks betray her.

Part of me wants to dive in more. If she didn't swear herself to this by any covenant or guild, then who did she learn from? But as curious as I am, I think better to ask. Tegan and I, despite our many differences, seem to share one thing in common; a need for privacy. She's given me the courtesy to not ask about my past; it's only fair I show her the same.

A knocking and clicking sound draws our collective attentions to the front door. It swings open to the now dusky sky, and Alabastra steps inside, so vainglorious she may as well be drunk on it. Behind her, I just catch the glimpse of an orcish man, back turned, retreating up the stairs. "Allie!", yells Faylie.

Alabastra steps inside, swaying like a dancer. She pulls the door closed behind her, and bows. "Well, what can I say, girls, my silver tongue strikes again."

Tegan scoffs. "You actually got him to give us an extension?"

"Well. Not quite."

"Allie!" Tegan stands up straight now.

"Not... at first! I mean, I did get him to agree to one, but..." She taps her forehead. "He was trying to swindle me. So I called him out, and threw him a counter-offer; pay double what we owe by the end of the week."

Tegan's nervous puppy demeanor takes an anxious nosedive. "Well, what the fuck are we gonna do? How are we gonna get that much money together?"

Alabastra clasps her fingers together. "Oh. We're not. We're one hundred-percent getting evicted." She's shockingly glib about the prospect of being out of house and home. I can't imagine ever getting to the point that this becomes rote. But I suppose that's Alabastra for you; she is nothing if not, at all times, shocking. As Tegan looks agog, she continues, "But! A week is better than two days! Should be enough time to wrap up our current little problem and get to house-hunting, right?"

Tegan buries her face in her hands, letting loose her frustrations in a steam whistle yelp. Faylie pulls herself into a fetal ball on the couch, sad eyes poked just above her knee. Alabastra looks between the two, her energy sloughing off her in heaves. She winces, and marches forward, toward the couch. With a plop, she collapses onto the cushions, undoing her ponytail as she falls. Her platinum blonde locks cascade in a wild tangle, wreathing her head like a lion's mane as she leans back.

She looks up again, toward the knight. "C'mere, Dusty." She issues Tegan forward with one hand, the other snaking around Faylie's curled form, tucking her under her arm like a mother hen.

Tegan stares for a moment. "...Gods, fine, Allie." She throws up her hands, and stomps to the couch, planting herself down the opposite side of Alabastra, met with a hug around her shoulder.

For her part, Faylie melts into the half-elf's side, antlers lightly poking into her shoulder blades. The four of us are now packed tightly into the sofa; suddenly I'm feeling even more the odd-one out, yet I'm too wedged into the armrest to leave.

With both of the other women pulled close to her, Alabastra says, "Listen, I know this wasn't how we wanted it. That it isn't fair. And, hey, I liked this place, too!"

"But...", Faylie mumbles.

"But...! We all knew this was comin', right?" I'm certainly no expert on pep-talks, but... well, clearly Alabastra isn't either. She continues, "I mean, it's stressful, and more than a little heartbreaking, but at least we can put it from our minds now, right?"

I can't watch the train crash from the sidelines. "I know this isn't exactly my business", I say, "But you're terrible at this, Alabastra."

A cerberus of stares meets me, disbelieving, like they forgot I was even here. Then, Alabastra's face breaks into a smile, and she laughs. She laughs, and laughs, eyes closed as she leans her head back to cackle. The other two join, chuckling along. Whatever damming tension was building before is now broken. And, I'm not entirely sure what's so funny, but, I suppose I can't help it. A small snort escapes me.

Through breathy laughter, Alabastra says, "I know..." She sits up again, wiping a tear from her eye. "I know. Fuck, I'm sorry, girls."

Faylie wraps her arms around Alabastra. "It's not your fault Jon's a jerkhead."

"No, but... it's my fault for heaping pretty lies on top."

"I don't mind a pretty lie or two."

Tegan says, "Long as we know it's lies, anyways."

Alabastra raises a brow. "Oh? Then try this one on for size." Her hand scratches along the top of Faylie's scalp. "One day, we'll have a real home to settle down in. Picket fence, room for animals, the whole kit and kaboodle. Country, city, doesn't matter. The important thing is that it'll be ours. Nobody will get to tell us how to be, never again. We'll live in a world that wants us; that treats everybody right. Even if it takes us 'til we're old and gray."

"And no rent?", asks Faylie.

"And no rent."

The faun rubs her face against the woman's side. "Then I can't wait."

The mawkishness is admittedly making me a tad sick. I don't begrudge them their closeness, especially not after receiving news like that, but, I am still right here. Then again, this is their home... well, for now. I'm the intruder here. Maybe I don't have the right to such a thought. Or really any thoughts regarding them.

Still, one rings loud enough that I do have to know. "Apologies if I missed something obvious, but, why not just use that mysterious money source you've been bragging about to pay your rent, Alabastra?"

She smiles at me, almost breaking into fits again. "Surprised to hear you suggest that, Moods."

Faylie wiggles her fingers. "We're corrupting youuu." I roll my eyes.

"But, to answer your question... well... Where do you think we lifted that cash from?"

I don't exactly have a lot of time left tonight for riddles. Already my stomach is growling again. "I couldn't possibly guess. Where?"

"Remember when we said it wasn't technically stolen?" Her question conjures the memory of her in my shop the other day. She had said that, hadn't she? I nod. "That's because it's our money."

With a trill, Faylie adds, "Wellll, kinda. It was ours at one point, and from a certain viewpoint it never stopped being ours!"

"We cracked open Jon's safe and swiped our last couple rent payments. We were gonna use it pay off our next."

I can't help but gawk. "You stole your own rent dues to pay your rent with?"

Alabastra gives a cocky head tilt. "Pretty good, right?"

"Wh-... How?!"

"Jon's one of those 'doesn't trust the banks' types. He puts all of his cash in a special safe he had installed in his office. I happened to notice it when I was payin' our dues a while back, and cooked up this lil' plan if we ever fell behind on payments."

Tegan says, "Which we did. Pretty much immediately."

"How did your landlord not find out?", I ask.

Faylie waves her hand. "I put an illusion in his safe. For all he knows, nothing's missing!"

I think back on what they've indicated. "Then, why have you been spending this money instead of paying it back? Why did you need to get rid of it?"

Alabastra says, "You ask a lot of questions." I convey with a glance, 'get to the point'. She sighs. "After all this started, we decided to focus up, spend what we needed to survive this. Worry about not dying instead of sweating the day-to-day. And, once we started spending it, we realized we'd have to spend all of it."

"And why is that?"

She winces. "When Jon eventually realizes how much he's short by, he's liable to send taxcasters our way. Better if the money's all gone by then." Taxcasters... mages specializing in financial affairs, aflutter in black and gold robes like opulent reapers.

I've not had the displeasure, personally... all of my dues are paid on time to ensure that remains the case. "I assume that's a regular occurrence for you?"

"More or less. Bastards are always houndin' us up for cash. Why do you think we're always broke?" She sighs. "Sometimes you gotta pay the piper."

Tegan adds, "Sometimes we need to cover our ass."

Faylie says in a small voice, "And sometimes someone just needs it more than us."

I stare down at her. "The other day in Stilton... you gave your rent money away?"

Alabastra cuts in, "We'd used most of what we needed. And we were never gonna make that payment, anyways. Was a no-brainer this time. Though, used to happen a lot more." She ruffles the faun's hair, pointing down at her. "We've had to ween this one off the habit. Comes from the right place, but, there's only so much you can pull out of your own stomach to feed the birds." An unsurprisingly disgusting metaphor.

The faun says, "Yea, it took me a really long time to understand how your stupid laws and rules and stuff work." From Faylie's mischievous smile, I wonder how successful that weening off has been.

"Guess there's not a lot of leasing agreements in the Faewilds, huh?" Her hand moves to Faylie's ear, eliciting a soft sound of comfort. "But, that's a story for another day. Point is, I don't regret any of it. We're all still here, we got to help some folk along the way... and! We're gonna get through this, too."

"That's optimistic of you", I say.

"Someone's gotta be!"

I'm really not sure that that's the case...

Alabastra claps her hands together. "So, let's not worry ourselves to death! On to brighter topics; anything in particular tonight, girls?" She takes me in for a second longer, reassessing. "Oh. You... already got the sleep stuff out."

I nod. "I'm holding onto it in case my hungers start to overwhelm." At her worried look I add, "So far it's under control."

"Good, good."

"Though... since you're back and we have the time... do you mind telling us what exactly was happening in that meeting earlier today?", I venture.

Faylie gasps. "I forgot about that!" She practically vibrates out of her couch spot. "We actually met someone from your old family, Allie! And she almost shot us!"

Alabastra's shoulders stiffen up slightly, and she nods. "Right. Yea. Though, for the record, she really wasn't gonna shoot us." She glances around to Tegan, then back to her right. "Probably."

I take a second to recall her words. "What did you mean, when you thanked me?"

She breathes deep. "It's... complicated. Between Blue and me."

"Uh, I think we all kinda gathered that", says Tegan, "Wanna be more specific, Allie?"

Being specific isn't Alabastra strong suit, as far as I'm concerned. She starts and stops a few times, abandoning attempts to enlighten. The moment stretches to accommodate Alabastra's search. I wonder if she can use her Insight on herself... Finally, she settles on a metaphor. "You ever see two magnets smash into each other so hard they break apart? That's me n' Vatrizia. We get... caught up in each other's orbits, spin around like a whirlpool. 'Til we collide. And drown." She turns back to me. "You pulled me out of that spiral, just by bein' cynical ol' you. So, again, thanks."

It didn't seem so important at the time. I was just sick of her not getting to the point. "In that case, I guess you're welcome?"

She laughs once. "'You guess', huh? I'll take it." It is a strange sort of nostalgia that crosses Alabastra's face. For all her words up to this point, I'd think she wouldn't miss the other woman for a second, yet, she almost seems to pine in her memory. "She likes to play games with people. I do too, I 'spose, in a different way. Gets like a feedback loop."

"Do you miss her?", asks Faylie.

"Do I sound like I miss her?" I resist the temptation to say yes, actually, and let Alabastra continue, "She was both the hardest part of leaving, and one of the biggest reasons I had to. I could never trust her. She'll use you or betray you, every time if you let her. But... she always made ya want to trust her. Made it so that it hurt that you couldn't." She chokes up, ever so slightly.

Tegan reaches her arm around the taller woman. "Hey, we can stop if you want."

Alabastra turns to Tegan, and gives a small nod. "Probably for the best. Nothin' down that road but scars, anyways. We'd better look ahead." She shakes herself entire, like she's getting the chill out, and claps. "So! How we solvin' our little watch problem, team?"

I do have to wonder what that relationship even looked like, between the two. Alabastra in my imaginations has always been nothing but cool and collected, completely confident in herself and with an absolute handle on any situation. Even when rankled by the police officer the other day, she kept her head. But this Vatrizia... she seems to get under her skin like nothing else. Shows the cracks in her armor, transports her back to when she was nobody. Part of me wants to know more, but... I tamper down the urge to dig deeper. This is her business, not mine.

Instead, I'm liable to agree; we're better served moving this along. "Aren't you the ideas person?", I deadpan.

"Excuse me? This is a team effort?" She puts a hand to her chest in indignation. Then she continues, "Okay, I may have a few. But, first, tell me whatcha noticed about that lock, Glowbug."

"Oh, it was definitely keyed to that halfling", Faylie says. "Pretty much no way we're opening it unless we force her."

Alabastra nods. "I agree. Didn't hear a click, no tumblers. And, she used the same key she used to unlock the door. Probably doesn't even matter what she puts in there - she's the key."

It's astounding what little details these women pick up where I'm not looking. I wish they weren't so easy to underestimate. Every time I doubt them, they make me seem a fool.

Tegan says my next thought before I can, and in easier terms. "Okay, uh, so? It's just a display case, smash it open and grab the thing."

"No can do." Alabastra stands from the couch, pacing now like a detective. "The Clockwatch in the basement. No prize if you guessed it already, but it is far from harmless."

"It's gonna be a problem?", asks Tegan.

I add, "From just breaking the glass?"

"Ohh yeah", says Alabastra. "Those things go berserk if you breathe wrong in the upper city. Assuming the knock-off didn't get its metal brains scrambled when it fell off the back of the wagon... we gotta be careful, or we'll have our hands full. Probably means we can't grab her and bring her down there, either; might trigger off her struggling."

I rack my mind, trying to picture the room, and our quarry. A wooden display case with glass windows on all sides... I wonder... "Alabastra, what exactly sets off those machines?"

"Loud noises, breakin' shit, or violent activity, usually. Why?"

Best to temper her expectations. "I might have a way through. I'll need to check through the alchemy supplies I brought to confirm tomorrow morning, but, I could potentially get through the case itself without setting the killing machine off."

Her eyes light up. "Then I can't wait to hear it."

"Hold on!" Faylie stands up as well. "There's another problem. Allie, we can't steal from this shop!"

She raises a brow. "You're advocating against stealing? Did someone swap my faun?"

Faylie stomps her hoof. "Because of what Vatrizia said!"

Tegan leans forward. "She's right. Allie, that store gets hit the day after you talk to her, she's gonna gab to her whole family."

Alabastra crosses her arms, considering. I'd been hoping the other two were over-reacting, but Alabastra seems to be considering it seriously, now. Damn. "Okay...", she says, "So, it just won't be us that nabs it. Disguise ourselves again."

"No". I shake my head, and surprise myself at my own insistence. "If some nobodies or upstarts take it, then they'll just assume it was you in disguise. Correctly."

She's poised to chew straight threw her bottom lip. "Then... we'll have to go loud, and as somebodies. Make it a frame job. Preferably someone big-time enough to actually be a distraction, but small-time enough that they'd be knocking over an antique shop in the first place. And, obviously, deserves it." She snaps her fingers in anger. "Damn, if only we weren't doing this to learn about Creepy Guy and his friends in the first place, or we could blame him!"

"Does this actually solve this problem? Wouldn't Vatrizia still tell her family about our conversation?"

Alabastra stares into the middle distance, like she's trying to bore her gaze straight through the wall, the adjacent building, and every building after, scoring the entire city like she might find the woman somewhere beyond all that brickwork. "She won't tell, so long as they've got someone to blame. Only reason she'd spill in the first place is if they didn't." A look of disgust crosses her face. "Though... that probably means she'll hold it over my head. We'll owe her. More than I already do."

Faylie says, almost under her breath, "Are you sure you're okay with that?"

"Gonna have to be..." She slaps the sides of her face, refocusing. "Right. Candidates?"

I speak up. "What about a rival crime family?"

"Would be a good idea, Moods, except there are no rival families in MC. Not anymore. It's the whole reason the Iron Syndicate exists in the first place."

"They're organized criminals - they wouldn't betray each other?"

She clicks her tongue. "If push came to shove? And they could get away with it? Absolutely. But not for an antique store."

Faylie claps her hands. "I know!" She looks around at us all, eyes and smile wide. "The faery mob!"

I stare unamused at her. This is hardly a time for joking. "The... faery mob?", I intone, "You don't seriously expect me to believe that is a real organization."

She shrugs. "Yea why not?"

"Hm! Good call, Firefly!", says Alabastra.

"No! That is not a good call", I insist, cutting my hand through the air as if to cleave the cord of this ridiculous conversation. "Don't try and tell me the faery mob is a real thing, I know you're joking!"

Pretending like she hasn't heard me, Alabastra puts a hand to her chin, pacing. "Yea, yea! That'll work. Make 'em paranoid that the Faewilds underworld is muscling in on their territory. We just gotta storm in, adorably lethal."

"Hello? Are you seriously considering this? Stop pretending they're real, Alabastra!"

Gods damn her, and her infuriating grin. "Look, it doesn't matter if they're really real, Moods, which, they are." Now she's trying to annoy me. "What matters is the Syndicate believing they are. We just gotta sell it."

"Sell? The faery... mob..." I remove my glasses, to properly massage the inside of my nose bridge. There are stupid plans, and then there are Alabastra stupid plans.

She crosses her arms. "C'mon! It'll be fun, Moodie. You'll look adorable in pixie wings." Alabastra pulls Faylie into a side-hug, looking over the space. I roll my eyes. And despite what she seems to be communicating with her eyes, I certainly do not smile.

"Fine. You're impossible. Fine."

"You know you love it." She reaches forward and messes my hair. I swat her away like a buzzing fly, and... laugh. At the absurdity, I suppose. She continues, "Right. Let's talk strategy."

We spend the next several minutes hammering out the details of our plan. Entrances, exits, plan-Bs and retreats, roles and responsibilities. Regardless of our absurd masquerade plan, as we delve into the details, I can't help but get just a hair eager. In the same way I might hearing a conversation between experts in medical or scientific fields discussing their disciplines, or a brilliant general divulge a battle tactic, or a poet recite an expertly crafted verse. I could say much about these women, but there is no doubt; they are masters at what they do. It's almost a shame that their talent is wasted on thievery.

Never mind that every step laid along this outline brings us closer to our prize. The watch's promise of an anti-chronologic panacea still sings through my mind. The more I think about it, the more sense it makes. If my hungers are the source of the monster inside me, then neither starving nor feeding was ever going to cure it. Removing the hungers entirely, ending their effect on me; that's the only way. If only I'd thought of that myself. Perhaps a great deal of trouble might have been saved.

Then again, if I'd never had a reason to purloin the watch, I wouldn't be here. Watching Alabastra architect a plan, pulling together disparate pieces and uncanny ideas in something I'd never considered until tonight could be a creative endeavor. Hearing Faylie's nonsensical and yet somehow fitting remarks. Feeling Tegan's hand on my shoulder, bringing me back to the ground when I start to get in my own head.

I'd forgotten what this was like. What being around these three did to me... for me. It's almost a shame, but obviously for the best, that once our inciting pretense is resolved, there will be no further reason to be around each other. And once my shop is fixed, I suppose. My presence, as it ever has, only drags them down... But. If I allow myself a single selfish thought... it's been too long in the shadow, without the light of Alabastra's star. Even if I have to crawl back into the shade once more, I suppose a little sun never hurt.

But nothing gold can stay. An aching shock rocks my core, and I fold up like an envelope. My brain cries and whines for blood. Dammit. The witching hour. "It's time." I uncork the potion stopper, and down the liquid in several hard swallows.

The others look over, dropping their erstwhile lackadaisy hard onto the floor. They crowd around me. "You gonna be alright, Moods?", asks Alabastra.

I nod in her direction. It won't be long now. She leans down and... pats me on the shoulder. I hadn't noticed I'd gone horizontal. The three drift into blurry, blobbed forms in my vision, the glow of the flat casting them as warm tricolor motes.

Perhaps it's the potion-born weakness wrought over my already weak mind, but... in my final falling thoughts before sleep engulfs me, I let myself imagine, for just a moment...

What if this was forever...