In the sub-basement, Haven blinked. The avatar wasn’t quite sure how he had arrived in the room, it had been quite some time since the last time he had found himself there, though he did see the creature that had been causing them trouble seemed to be added to the room.

With his senses returning, the estate focused in on the action that he had clearly missed in the dining room. Regan was bleeding, causing a terrible mess on the floor. Hesther was telling others to bring Nadia to her, while Nadia seemed quite displeased at that idea.

As he focused, the avatar manifested in the dining room, near Regan and Hesther.

“Nadia, did you cause this mess? You do know how difficult it is to remove blood stains, do you not?”

Regret.

It was new to Kit’s experience, relatively speaking. She first felt it when she found the ruins of the Theatre. A heavy, thick feeling that weighed down Kit’s chest and settled into the pit of her stomach. Given time, it pumped through her veins, making the fire there sluggish and filling her mind with muddled, dark, numbness. It never fully left, even when she found them safe and sound. Kit eventually understood that, like it or not, it would always be a part of her. But she didn’t quite know what to name it.

As she and Nadia entered the dining room, they quickly caught sight of Motley. Though she tried to play aloof, Kit was burning with curiosity about how the pink haired girl had fared. Talking with Motley, she barely noticed when Nadia slipped away to deal with a difficult guest.

But then she heard her name from across the room. Had Kit’s fox ears been visible, they would have immediately perked up at the sound. Instead, she turned to the source, seeing Nadia and Regan clearly arguing. Over the weeks that dark sludge had slowly purged itself from her veins. Still present, but… less so. Now, seeing the two people she cared about most in the world arguing, that unnamed feeling settled back into her core. She just wasn’t sure why. Something about seeing them fight made Kit wish she had followed Nadia.

Trailing off from her conversation with Motley, Kit drifted towards where Nadia and Regan stood.

”You mean Kit? It’s you that’s hung up about Kit! You know Kit and I fell out at the gala. There’s nothing happening there either. Nothing but your hang ups and paranoia.”

Kit froze in her tracks, stung. She was so good at playing things off, hiding her true feelings… but this time, Kit didn’t know what the appropriate illusion to present was, so she just stood still and listened.

Nadia’s voice dropped lower, but Kit’s sensitive ears, every word was audible. “I wish if you were going to do this, try and forget the whole thing, you’d at least have stayed the whole damn night.”

That was odd. They were all there the whole… oh. Oh. Kit’s breath caught.

“Of course I stayed. You were in my room, remember? The three of us woke up in the same bed. Where nothing fucking happened.”

They were talking about different nights. They had to be. That’s the only way this conversation made any sense. Which meant that Nadia and Regan…

Everything about Kit’s spirit sagged. They definitely had both got on without her, then. Even if Regan didn’t seem to want to talk about it, the fact remained…

Kit turned to leave the dining room. Maybe find some sake. Maybe find Nasim. Maybe just keep walking and find someplace else to exist altogether.

But then she heard it. That slicing sound. She didn’t know why or how, but she knew what was happening. Kit whirled, just in time to see Regan slump to the ground.

Why hadn’t she followed Nadia over there? Why hadn’t she interrupted the argument? Why had she turned to leave? Why had she taken so long to find them? Why had she gone into Salazar’s lair in the first place?

The word is Regret.

Motley’s gaze had followed Kit’s as soon as she was distracted by the argument. Motley’s hearing was entirely human and insufficient to hear all that was said; but there was nothing wrong with her eyes.

Regan’s blood pouring out. Regan’s guts staining the floor. Nadia with a knife in her hand as bright as the rage glinting in her eyes.

It took Motley a moment to move. Numbness had settled over her. It was not possible that this had happened. Except–except–

Nadia was a monster.

Motley stood. With her right hand, she clutched her dagger; with her left, she chose rings. Not that she was any match for a ghoul, but the anger… the hatred squeezing her chest and burning in her gut allowed no other course of action.

Kit felt paralyzed. Maybe the sludge had just taken over all the fire in her being and there was nothing left. That… felt like it made sense. But no, she was still breathing. Still seeing everything happening before her. Watching as Hesther rushed to Regan’s side – why didn’t I do that? – watching as Nadia armed herself for battle.

Watching the only world she ever thought mattered fall apart.

And she thought being doused in holy water was hell.

Haven appeared. Said something completely irrelevant to the situation at hand. Didn’t he know everything was falling apart? Kit ignored him, because Nadia’s words were still ringing in her ears.

“Stay where you are. He needs to die.”

“Why?” Kit asked, slightly surprised that her voice carried so well. Surprised, really, that she had a voice at all. She took slow, steady steps towards Nadia, ready to spring into action if Nadia decided to attack her. “I trust you with my life but… I already thought I lost him once. Don’t make me watch him go again. Or if I must… why?” Kit felt tears in her eyes. Had she ever cried before? She wasn’t sure she ever had. Not really. Not when it was fueled by real sorrow, and not just because it was a convenient way to get what she wanted.

Motley wasn’t listening to Kit. Whereas the kitsune moved with hesitant steps, Motley strode with purpose. The rings on her fingers were hard and heavy–the magic in them useless for this, but the weight reassuring. She wondered how many times one had to punch a ghoul to make it stick.

“I really thought this was going to work,” she said, words overlapping with Kit’s. “I really thought we could all just get along, one big patchwork family. But I suppose I was giving you too much credit. Can you just not help yourself, Nadia? Not even for a few months?”

Nadia had been about to respond to Kit–but any sympathy that’d been blossoming on her face abruptly died as her gaze shifted to Motley. “I suppose it doesn’t matter what I say to you. If Salazar can’t make it clear how poorly your mind works, how will I?”

“I’m not the one who just gutted Regan!” She was almost close enough now; the hand holding the knife twitched as she wavered between targets. The heart, so very tempting, but there were those other blades in the way… “I haven’t slit anyone’s throat! But you know what? I think I’m going to.” She lunged.

Nadia immediately moved to evade, but the ghoul wasn’t supernaturally fast; Motley followed her, trying first to catch her under the arm to disable her. When Nadia swung aside, she tried low, instead, stepping off line to try and hamstring her. She didn’t expect it to work, but the knife bit in; for a fraction of a second, Motley was forced to revise her reaction.

The sacrifice wouldn’t be worth it for a creature that couldn’t regenerate. Nadia’s hand swept down and caught Motley’s wrist, the blades of the bagh nakh piercing and keeping her from easily pulling back. Nadia twisted, and wrenched Motley’s arm in the same motion, directing the blade back around at Motley’s own body–at her other hand, laden with rings. The blade bit into, and through, the precious spell-wrought jewelry. Sparks sprayed from the dying spells, followed by a trickle of blood.

Then Nadia pulled the bagh nakh free with a shove to get a little distance again. Her leg wound was already closing. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” she snapped spitefully.

For a couple seconds, Shael’s only outward reaction to what had just happened was a somewhat stunned blink.

I didn’t think public sacrifice–or execution–was a thing that happened here.

When everyone else’s reactions registered, she pursed her lips slightly. Especially without talking about it first.

She supposed she could blame what had just happened with the isachin for the current state of her thought process. That’s because here it’s called murder, stupid.

Resisting the urge to cover her face with her hands, Shael settled for closing her eyes and tilting her head back for a second or two. She tried not to groan loud enough for the others to hear. Five minutes. Was five minutes too much to ask? They’d just avoided a disaster with the isachin.

Nadia had to be restrained, somehow. Not that Shael really had any idea how to go about doing so. The ghoul may not have had much of a size advantage, but there was more in her favor than in the elf’s. Even if she could feel her powers . . . settling, for lack of a better word, her fire was still only sparks.

“Someone’s always got to be asserting themselves. Can’t let anybody forget that there’s someone stronger, more powerful, just around the corner, or standing right in front of them, merely putting on a mask to fool the unaware.” She took a couple quick, measured steps forward, but didn’t quite dare to reach out to grab at anyone. “You know, I thought Alia Terra was bad–the hypocrisy would have killed me within a few more years if the people didn’t do it themselves–but at least there everyone knew where they stood without someone forcing it down their throats every chance they got.”

“Maybe that’s not what it started as–an argument gone out of control; believe me, I know how that goes–but that’s what it’s going to turn into.” If it hasn’t already. It always does here.

If her time at the theatre–on Earth in general–had opened her eyes to one thing, it was that life was just a bunch of people engaging in some form of power play. To win, you just had to have something over everybody else.

Sienna couldn’t believe it! She’d just watched Nadia deliberately … fatally, wound Regan. Sienna had screamed at Nadia’s first strike, then wailed when the chef sliced Regan’s throat as if she were cutting a piece of meat for dinner. But when Nadia demanded that Hesther not help Regan, punctuating her cruelty by announcing, “He needs to die!” Sienna sobbed at the determination in her friend’s voice.

Her shock was disrupted by Kit’s plaintive question … “Why?” and Sienna willed her body to move towards Regan, thinking, Surely Nadia won’t try to hurt *me … But her self-assurance was short lived as Motley moved to put a stop to Nadia’s insanity, and Nadia planted a claw-like weapon with multiple, sharp blades, into Motley’s wrist.

Looking around the room in panic, Sienna prayed that Felix wouldn’t become thirsty at the sight of so much blood. Human blood. Silently praying that the vampire would stay strong, her plea was interrupted as Jacob pushed away from the wall, and took a careful step towards Motley.

“Jacob, NOOOOO!” Hurrying to intercept the janitor, Sienna added, “If Nadia would do what she’s done to people she’s known … cared about, for a long time, imagine what she’s capable of doing to you!“

“Just stay back. Trust me.” Jacob squared his shoulders, seeking Nadia’s eyes. It was funny, the calm that settled over him. A small part of his mind carried on with freaking out over the blood, the gore, but for the time being, he compartmentalized it, knowing there’d be a price to pay later. He swallowed back bile, taking another step.

Trying to restrain Jacob so he couldn’t get any closer to Nadia, Sienna frantically exclaimed, “Haven! Please help me keep Jacob … everyone … safe!”

“Of course, Sienna.”

“Touching me isn’t… uh….” Jacob blinked. He could already feel both his hands. Not a good sign.

Haven looked over the room quickly before a horde of tables began to move, forming a wall between the fight and the other residents. Sienna released her grip on Jacob’s arm, and pressed her hands against the barrier.

“Please let me through, Haven!”

“You wanted me to help keep everyone safe, Sienna.” Tilting his head as he looked at the psychic, Haven added, “That includes you.“

“No - not me, Haven! Nadia would never hurt me!“ Hoping against hope that she was right, Sienna said, “And I’ve got to try to help Hesther help Regan, and I’ve got to try to get Nadia away from Motley. I’ve got to try…“

“All I need to do is see her eyes. She’ll get a nosebleed, but small price….” Moving to stand next to Sienna, Jacob grasped his elbow with his left hand, and began looking for a hole or break in the wall of tables.

Haven fidgeted as he looked at Sienna and Jacob. “This is troubling. Nadia is a manager, and she ordered us not to interfere. But Hesther is a manager as well. I am unsure which of the contradictory orders takes precedence.”

“I’d think Regan would be the tiebreaker, if that helps….” Whatever you are. As far as Jacob’s extra sense was concerned, Haven didn’t exist. On top of everything else, that was definitely adding to his barely contained panic. “He’d want to live, right?”

Haven considered Regan for a moment. “Perhaps. Though he has never expressed a desire to live to me. Are you positive he would not prefer this?”

Jesus f…. He broke off the mental blasphemy. “I assure you. He’d want to live.” Jacob couldn’t see past the tables to check on Regan’s condition, but judging by how fast the blood was pumping out earlier… he gritted his teeth, glancing sidelong at Veronique with suspicion.

Veronique lifted a hand to mildly wave from her place along the wall.

Sienna’s impatience with Haven was only exceeded by Jacob’s obvious agitation at not yet being on the other side of the wall of tables. Moving her gaze away from the janitor’s worried expression, she watched as Felix continued what had to be a monumental struggle against his thirst, and what was surely concern for those on the other side of the wall.

Nadia was close to him … Studying the vampire, Sienna thought, Maybe, just maybe, Felix can help me distract his … our friend, and Hesther can help Regan, and Jacob can help Motley, and somehow, this will all be okay…

Hurrying to talk with the vampire, Sienna’s steps slowed as a floral scent greeted her when she got near a woman dressed like what could only be described as a Victoriana Re-enactor.

I didn’t see her in the dining room! Stopping to meet the woman’s sardonic gaze, Sienna said, “Are you all right? I mean, you’re not hurt or anything…”

“I’m fine. Perfectly fine. In fact, I’m finding all of this rather … interesting!” Smiling in a way that convinced Sienna that the newcomer was … enjoying herself, the woman added, “I must confess, though, that abrupt butchery is one of the more unusual results of a rift in the bridge that I’ve had occasion to witness.”

“Rift?” Bridge?” Totally confused, Sienna exclaimed, “What the hell are you talking about?”

Raising an arm draped in black satin and lace, the woman rearranged her shawl before saying, “And the repetition begins. I’m talking about the bridge. You heard the bells, I assume–they’re a warning. The bells always sound when there’s a rift in the bridge, and when there’s a rift … well, things can, and do, slip through.”

Jacob listened to the tail end, lips pressed into a thin pale line. If I had the inclination, I have the ability to push someone into doing something like… that. He grimaced, thinking of the cuts, the blood. What if she’s like me? He could feel his hands curling into fists. Greeeeat. Even worse sign. Those tables have got to move, but…. Jacob looked Haven in the eyes, seeking a signal to grasp onto. He’s still not there. There’s -nothing- there.

Shaking her head in confusion at the woman’s statement, and presence, Sienna turned towards Felix and said, “Do you think you could help me distract Nadia without …” Throwing a quick glance at the Victorian woman, Sienna continued, “Can you be close to … the wounded, without …”

“It matters not, Sienna!”

Looking at Haven in response to his outburst, Sienna said, “Why not?”

“Because I cannot, I will not, permit you, or any others, to breach the wall of tables” Looking at the psychic will absolute confidence, Haven added, “I will keep you … everyone, safe!”

SHIT! Looking from Haven to Felix to Jacob, Sienna said, “I’ll be right back!”

“Where are you going, Sienna?”

Gently touching Haven’s stony arm as she walked past him towards an exit, Sienna said, “I have some things in my room that might help us help the others.”

Hurrying out of the lobby, Sienna hoped that she could find the right powders and oils for her Ritual, and that they’d help Regan and Motley … and Nadia.

Jacob looked up at the wall of tables, seeing that it stretched up to the ceiling, from his perspective. He chewed his lip. Can’t see if I don’t look. With a sidelong glance at Haven, he stepped to a less visible place within the group but still close to the table-wall, looking for a secure foothold.

Motley hesitated, not from fear or pain but because Nadia was right. She didn’t know how to win a fight like this. She’d been hoping for help, for backup, but no one was coming yet, and she couldn’t fight a ghoul on her own, except–

Nadia had forced the knife around on her with ease. And instead of killing her then, she’d destroyed Motley’s rings.

So maybe Nadia would rather not kill her. Maybe she could survive a little more recklessness while she waited for help. But, oh hell, this was going to hurt.

She murmured a few words under her breath, then dove for Nadia again. The knife flashed for the ghoul’s gut, and Nadia side-stepped it, deflecting Motley’s arm with her offhand, but that wasn’t the important part. The important part was Motley’s other, empty hand latching around Nadia’s right wrist.

There weren’t many useful spells that Motley could do without any outside aid. But she’d learned this one lifetimes ago and it was always the first magic that came to mind. Nadia had probably seen her use it dozens of times in the Theatre, if she’d known what she was seeing.

Her hand closed in a grip that even a ghoul couldn’t break.

This was going to hurt. Nadia was still so much stronger; she could shake Motley like a rag doll. But still, a dead weight on her arm would at least slow her down. Especially when that weight still held a knife.

“Kit?” she snarled. “Jacob? Haven? Felix? Any time now.”

Nadia began threat assessment almost immediately.

Kit: Fire. Subjective reality. Not sure how she’ll react. High.

Jacob: Saw what he did to Hadrian. Avoid eyes. Whatever he aims to do, prevent it. Highest.

Felix: Strong; faster than me. Hopefully blood will distract. If not, consider a chair leg. High.

Shael: No idea what she can do. Moderate.

Haven: Inanimate objects. Possible containment thing. Environmental awareness. Moderate.

Motley: Too many tricks. Emotionally vulnerable. Human. Moderate; try not to break her.

Sienna: Human. Ritual caster. Emotional. Negligible.

Hesther: Make sure she stays put. Injure her mercilessly otherwise. Do not touch. Potentially high.

Veronique: Capabilities and motives unknown. Moderate.

It happened in a flash. She’d never thought to consider these people enemies, but she was raised for survival first and foremost. It was almost shocking how quickly the instincts came back.

But this fight wasn’t just about survival. It was about making sure Regan didn’t get back up. It was about Hesther’s misguided notion to bring him back–had she not hurt him thoroughly enough? Evisceration, slitting his throat… She’d thought it would be enough. Nadia wasn’t prone to half measures.

Her mind tumbled in the meanwhile, even as her combat reflexes kicked in. The things he’d said to her! The things… the things she’d said to him. About them. In front of…

She’d done the right thing. She knew she’d done the right thing. It was the only thing. But how do you explain that? The words wouldn’t come together in her head, even when she’d looked at Kit, met her eyes, felt her sorrow like a spear through her chest.

Kit…

If Nadia thought about it too much, she’d break. So she didn’t.

Action now. Thought later.

Motley brought her out of it, and into the fray. It felt good–familiar. Even the pain helped ground her in the moment. Nadia kept a weather eye on the far group, making a note to keep her gaze at hip level. Jacob. Watch their balance, not their eyes.

But nothing came of them. Haven; a barricade. Small favors At least the house wasn’t against her. Yet.

And then: Shael.

Nadia barked out a laugh–she had to. “Posturing?!” she said. “You think this is about posturing?”

But that was all she had time to say–Motley was still at her, a constant threat with that knife. A Crato knife. Nadia had a brief memory of warning Kit to be careful about those. Doubly true, in the hands of an enemy–and right now, that’s what Motley thought she was: An enemy.

A fool in Motley.

Another exchange–lunge, dodge, deflect. The woman grabbed her wrist and…

Nadia couldn’t shake it free. Couldn’t twist out of it. She knew she was stronger than her, but Motley’s grip was immovable. Magic. She’d assumed it was all in the rings. That was a mistake. You acquire more tricks than that in 1700 years.

But Nadia had tricks, too.

She whispered in Arabic again, and the bagh nakh moved–the iron snaked up around her wrist, and then around Motley’s wrist, a chain binding them tightly. And more tightly. Lastly, it grew thorns.

Nadia twisted out of the way of the knife, still a constant threat. “I should chew off your arm,” she spat at Motley. “Be thankful I am better controlled than you.”

Then she turned, pulling Motley with her superior strength, to be able to watch her and Kit at the same time. The anger and frustration drained out of her at the sight of the kitsune. Her kitsune. “Kit,” she said. “You asked me why.”

The knife again–Nadia caught Motley’s wrist this time, so much easier this close to the woman. She repressed the instinct to twist it and slide it between her ribs. Just one death tonight.

Finally, she found the words. They surged up out of her from the sick fear in her stomach, the sinking dread she’d felt when talking to Regan. She’d never been nauseated before. Never felt like this. But the words did find purchase in her, shoving aside her mindless outrage and fury, the towering disdain for those who were supposed to listen to her, and the dissonant thrill of impending violence. Out they tumbled, important to everyone, but shaped only for Kit.

“That,” she said, her voice raw, “is not Regan.”

The words drove through Motley like a spike–another spike. She stopped trying to plant her feet, stopped trying to drag her arm from Nadia’s grasp. Her eyes were irresistibly dragged to the man on the floor.

“That is not Regan.”

After a beat of silence, Motley gritted her teeth and said, “Explain.”

It could be true. If it was true, this at least made some modicum of sense…

But no. Whoever this was–Regan or not–Nadia had taken several steps sideways from reasonable behavior. There was blood on the floor. A little of it was Motley’s.

“And while you explain, help Hesther heal him, you idiot. Killing him is the stupidest possible thing you could do. Where’s the real Regan?“

Hesther sat limply on the floor next to Regan, slumped like a puppet whose strings had all been severed at once. Even sitting stock still, she was waging a war. Her consciousness stretched thin across what felt like worlds, strung between the dying man, the small, long dead child whose life she drew on, and the reality of Nadia and Motley locked in bloody combat, everyone else held back by Haven and his tables.

Under her hands organs began to knit, thick vines and then fine threads slithering over each other to hold in the new blood and slough off old bile. But something was wrong. Something was different. What? Can’t think can’t…can’t…

Her throat knotted around the urge to scream and cry as if she was the six month old whose life she fed into…into…

….“That is not Regan.”….

Oh my god.

Hesther struggled to speak through the knot as Motley’s response washed over her, but only managed a loud, harsh sound. The scrape in her throat grounded her enough to speak more clearly.

“It’s not. It’s not him. I know his—his—life.”

Drawing back into herself, she kept her eyes on her work, and off of Nadia, not trusting herself not to attack.

“If it’s not—what has he hurt besides your feelings? He can give us information, and it will cost you next to nothing to help…”

Her eyes narrowed as she took in the full magnitude of the disaster, the danger everyone had placed themselves in. Coming to a decision, she spoke through gritted teeth.

“…Or let him die. Haven–it’s my name on the contract. My money. Let her out. All of you. Let her run away. Or at least give her a head start. Help, die, or run, Nadia. But if you go?”

Finally Hesther turned to face Nadia, pale and determined.

“Never. Come. Back.”

“Never. Come. Back.”

The words shook Nadia. The sick fear gained friends–that anger again, and other emotions less easy to articulate. She felt a wave of cold crawl over her skin, and a sudden tense hunger to do something. She had no idea what.

Nadia’s eyes narrowed at Motley. She hissed a word and the iron slithered back to her hand, a knife again, just as she shoved the other woman away–back, towards the others and the tables.

She took a retreating step, keeping Motley and Hesther in her periphery. “You two–” she struggled to say. “You have had too much life thrown at you.” Nadia didn’t know how else to put it.

She looked to Kit. The question had been Motley’s, but to hell with her. “If that thing left him alive… where else would a predator pick him off? The theatre.” Regan’s private place.

You idiot. Why did you keep wandering off alone?

But of course, she knew why. At least a little bit.

Nadia turned and walked to Hesther, stopping just outside arm’s reach. She ran her thumb over the iron in her hand while she glared down at her. “Do what you feel you must. But I will never forget that you chose an enemy over me.”

She took a step closer and waited.

“The problem is what you’re doing NOW. I don’t care much about him compared to you. But you gave yourself those options. You’re terrorizing friends, hurting them badly, betraying trust.: You could stay and keep attacking, but that won’t stand. You could leave, but to do us so much wrong, then show you care so little—you won’t be wanted here again. Or you could help, give up whatever your pride has twisted into and make sure we have all the information we can get. You can eat him later if he’s a threat. After we talk about this.”

Hesther’s face was still nearly blank with shock, but bleak despair tugged at the edges.

“Help, run or die–Those aren’t options I’m giving you. I wish it was different. They’re the only choices you have. The only ones you left yourself.”

Nadia stared at her, still waiting within arm’s reach. “Are you going to keep lecturing me, or are you going to heal him?”

Hesther gave Nadia a calculating look. She wanted to believe she wouldn’t be hurt, that Nadia understood why this was needed—wanted to so badly she took the chance. With a nod, she laid a careful hand on Nadia’s arm.

The man—or whatever—began to take more defined shape again, and most his major systems were intact if exposed.

Hesther slumped again as the healing progressed, then paused.

She looked up, blinking as if emerging from a deep sleep.

“Anyone have a good reason not to bring him back? Speak or get ready to hold him down. Don’t let him out.”

Motley hissed as Nadia’s iron barbs pulled out of her skin–she released her grip on Nadia’s wrist, then stumbled as Nadia shoved her–and then she caught herself and took a wary stance that only relaxed when Nadia turned away. She honestly hadn’t thought the ghoul could manage that much self-control at this point. Motley took out a handkerchief and pressed it to the worst cuts on one of her bloody hands, until Hesther asked for someone to hold the impostor down.

Motley crouched and grabbed the man’s arm, leaning her weight on it. The knife was only in the way now–it really needed a sheath–but maybe it was better that it stayed in–

Huh.

The blade did nothing. It had shown more reaction to the magic earlier than to the creature wearing Regan’s face. It even twitched as she glanced at Nadia–not that Motley needed any help figuring out that the ghoul was still on the edge of violence. But for the man on the ground–nothing.

Interesting.

During the chaos – Nadia’s struggle with Motley, the sudden movement of the tables separating them from the rest of the staff – Kit did nothing. She just watched. Kit had liked Motley well enough, but in that moment it struck Kit that, for all her years of life, Motley was a complete fool, wasting everybody’s time attacking an “enemy” that she didn’t know to be an enemy, and certainly one she could never hope to defeat.

What Kit needed was information. Kitsune lived through rapid decision making, through always being one step ahead of the enemy. She may have seemed rash, but when it came to critical moments, there was always reason behind Kit’s actions, regardless of whether they were understandable to anybody who didn’t have her mind. Action had to be fast, but it couldn’t be uninformed.

Then Nadia made eye contact with Kit, and said four words that changed everything.

“That is not Regan.”

With that, Kit felt something snap inside of her. Not breaking, but falling into place. For a long moment she stood still, rapidly processing everything that had led to this moment. That wasn’t Regan. The real Regan was missing, but for how long? Hours? Weeks? For all Kit knew, the real Regan had disappeared before she had even made it to Haven. The thought made her already fiery blood boil.

The next thing she knew, Hesther was telling Nadia… oh, that fool. That stupid, foolish, human.

“Help, run or die—Those aren’t options I’m giving you. I wish it was different. They’re the only choices you have. The only ones you left yourself.”

In a flash, all of Kit’s hair was aflame. She steadily strode towards Hesther, cursing in archaic Japanese. Her illusions were dropped, tails swishing dangerously and sharp claws and teeth bared. She didn’t fully approach the woman, though, instead positioning herself on the diagonal between Hesther and Nadia.

After rapidly spitting out a few more insults, Kit switched back to English. “Human.” She spat. “Ape. You all think you are so wise, just for knowing that magic exists. You don’t realize how many faults there are in the very way your mind functions. Throwing out finalities like you actually know what you’re talking about. Only making decisions based on what you ‘know’ and never stopping to consider what you don’t. Like considering the fact that just maybe, Nadia didn’t just decide to stab Regan for the fun of it.” Here Kit shot a glare at Motley over her shoulder, and with the fury in Kit’s eyes, surrounded by flames – if looks could kill, Motley would surely be incinerated by then.

Kit looked back to Hesther. “Nadia is the only one who figured out that this isn’t Regan. If it weren’t for her, he could have been long lost before we worked it out. It might be too late as it is! How dare you tell her what her options are, when you didn’t even know what was happening. I’ll tell you why you shouldn’t heal that thing. Because it’s not Regan, because we don’t know what it is. We don’t know. How long has it been here? How much does it know? What is it capable of? But go ahead. Heal this mystery creature, depleting the life force of our best fighter, and wearing out your energy when we might need it to help the real Regan.”

Kit continued talking to Hesther, but she was looking at Nadia. “Do what you want. If it kills you all, I won’t cry. I know what really matters.”

She wanted to hug Nadia, to thank her. But there wasn’t time. She just nodded solemnly to the ghoul. Nadia would understand. Before anybody else could say a word to her, Kit barreled out of the room, searching for the real Regan.

When Hesther commanded it, Haven removed his wall of tables. Her name on the contract made the entire situation much less nonsensical.

She was in charge.

He had little to add to the conversation, unsure of what, if anything, would help.

They knew each other. They knew each other far before they arrived, and would likely never make sense. People were like that, when they had history with one another the things they said and did were all informed by that history.

Haven would never really understand them.

When Kit burst out into literal flames, that realization became even more clear. He listened, and nodded slightly as she spoke.

Where would Regan be? Where could she even start to look?

He couldn’t follow her when she left, there was still much danger in the dining room. But it was at that moment that Haven decided to do something he hadn’t expected: Haven decided to disobey what he knew Nadia had wished of him.

When Kit left the dining room, Haven was prepared, closing all the doors and windows in the next room, save for one. He hoped she would understand his actions as he plotted out the shortest route she could take to Regan’s theater.

A look of pain crossed Haven’s face as he knowingly disobeyed one of the managers.

Jacob had only just gotten his first handhold on a table leg above his head when the wall whisked itself away. He leapt down, trying to make sense of the seismic shift in the atmosphere of the room. What had been a lightning storm of chaotic activity had become the movement of a glacier, just as dangerous in its own way - especially when it seemed like the glacier was about to calve at the slightest provocation.

Not something to be under when it gives way.

The others he gave a cursory glance, a brief analysis. Motley was bleeding, Hesther looked pale as milk, Nadia may as well have been carved of marble, as may have… Shael? Was that her name? He wasn’t sure. Sienna was still gone. Kit chattered ferociously and was somehow on fire. With tails. Something else to put aside for later. And Haven was… well. Whatever Haven was. His eye began to twitch. Jacob shrugged mentally, considering stepping closer, offer some kind of help but… calving. There was no sense in being the catalyst.

He pressed himself against the wall as Kit rushed from the room like a comet of flame, and shivered, trembled really, as the hit of adrenalin started to taper off. He knew he’d pay for that later, too, in a concatenation of shakes, nightmare, arm cramps, who knows what else. In the meantime, since he had no real, significant stake in any of these relationships, or even any remarkable knowledge of them, all he could do was listen, watch, and wait.

And keep his eyes fixed on the form of the one he knew as Regan. Just in case.

Hesther took Nadia’s hand in her own shaking one, letting Kit’s recriminations wash over her. Unless she could concentrate on healing who or whatever this was, Regan was likely as good as gone—and that trumped all other concerns at the moment.

She couldn’t set the child’s life aside in favor of Nadia’s right away—the tendrils of its consciousness had taken root too deeply in her own after the third year had been passed on, muddling her thoughts. She did, however, manage to disengage it from the object of the healing enough to establish a connection between him and Nadia. Siphoning energy, rather than taking from her internal store of lives, had much less of an effect on her sanity.

Soon even the skin of the creature residing in what she hoped was a facsimile of Regan, and not the stolen body of the man himself, knit together leaving pink new skin around places recently slashed open. The creature’s eyelids twitched.

Hesther slowly retracted her hand, releasing Nadia and pulling away.

“I’m sorry,” she said to the ground. “Wake me up if Regan needs me. Do what you have to.”

Slowly collapsing onto the floor, her eyes shut and she began the long process of disentangling the infant’s influence over her, also stripping away the stray strands of Nadia’s life that had left traces in her mind.

Blood. Oh, god, he could smell the blood. Felix backed up against the wall, holding his hand over his mouth and nose, trying to block out the stench. It made his stomach roil and churn and he couldn’t escape it.

The others needed him here, but Felix was certainly going to attack that thing disguised as Regan (Felix only barely knew his name) if he was distracted even a little. The arguments and sounds were distant in the far back reaches of his memory.

In desperation, he bit into his own hand. At least then he had something in his mouth. Even if is was just venom.

Kit sprinted down the hall. Part of her was still spinning, putting together all of her interactions with Regan over the past weeks and trying to discern what was real and what wasn’t.

But that didn’t matter now.

It wasn’t until Kit got into the hallway that she realized she didn’t know how to get to the theatre. She had never been there herself. There were endless stairways, hallways and doors. What hope could she ever have of finding him in time?

As if on cue, the doors in the hallways slammed shut save for one, and Kit decided to trust Haven. It was a better start than nothing, at least. With Haven’s help, she soon burst through the theatre door, the flames burning around her head lighting her way.

“REGAN!” Kit shouted into the dark, just on the off chance that he could hear and respond. Her hair extinguished, and she looked for a light switch. Not finding one immediately next to her, Kit released small glowing orbs of flame which floated out and scattered above the seats. The theatre was larger than she had expected, and Kit cursed, climbing up the wall to search through the boxes.

After thoroughly searching the boxes and finding nothing, Kit moved on to the stage area. The backdrop that hung at the back of the stage was distinctly magical, but after an experimental prod, Kit decided she was unlikely to find Regan in it. Better to check this world, first. Kit slid behind the backdrop into the backstage area. It was pitch black, and she didn’t want to bring her fire into the area for risk of setting the backdrop ablaze.

Instead she fumbled around where she guessed the rigging to pull up the backdrop would be, and more than three decades working in a theatre paid off. Soon, the backdrop was up, and the lights from Kit’s orbs of flame lit the backstage area.

No Regan. Kit paced, trying to figure out where else to look. Stage trap doors, perhaps?

A spotlight flared to life, like an eye opening up. It focused first on Kit, tracking her, and then swiveled to cast its light into the projection booth at the far side of the theatre–not all that far from the entrance she’d burst through. Almost directly above it, in fact.

Kit’s eyes followed the spotlight. “Playing Pixar, Haven?” she asked wryly. In truth, her heart was pounding. Assuming the spotlight wasn’t just messing with her, she would find Regan in that room - for better or worse.

Not wanting to waste any time, Kit jumped off the stage, landing in the front row of seats. The seat bottom squeaked down in protest. “Sorry, Haven! I’ll fix it later!” she called, before quickly stepping from seat back to seat back, rapidly climbing the rows to where she had entered. Kit looked around for an obvious entrance to the booth.

None, of course. No reason to let random theatre goers sneak in. “Ah, screw it.” Kit grumbled. She took a small running start, leaping up and digging her claws into the wall. Hoisting herself up to the projection window, Kit swiftly turned into a significantly smaller fox and slid into the projection room, landing with a soft thud.

It was much easier to find the lights in the projection room, and Kit turned back to her mostly-human form and hit the switch. The instant they flickered to life, she spotted Regan laying on the floor next to a lot of… mechanical things that Kit didn’t have the time or inclination to bother naming at that moment.

“Regan!” She gasped, sliding to her knees to look at him. No blood. That was good. The first thing she did was put her large furry ears to his chest. Kit almost wanted to hug him in relief when she found a heartbeat - not the strongest, but even remotely on the verge of death, either. Instead, she gently slapped him on the cheek. “Regan, you need to wake up now. C’mon, Regan!”

No dice. Magical sleep, then? How long had he been here?

Kit checked his hands and neck for any spell markings, but found none. How to wake up a deeply sleeping human when there was no obvious spell to counter?

“Please forgive me for this, Regan…” Kit said softly, before leaning towards him. When she got close to his face, she took a deep breath and then proceeded to shout at the top of her lungs. “WAKE UP!!!”

Nope. Bright lights? Kit conjured a shining ball of flame no more than a foot away from his face. “…No?” Kit picked up two of the metal pieces laying beside him, and in a puff of smoke they were cymbals. “WAKEY WAKEY EGGS AND BAKEY!!!” Kit hollered, stamping her feet and smashing the cymbals together.

Regan was still as peaceful as Snow White. Kit crossed her arms and looked down at him. “Sorry, cutie. I don’t happen to be a prince on a white horse. And you probably wouldn’t be very pleased with the idea anyway.” Kit shoved her head out the projection window and called out to the spotlight. “Hey, Lampy! He’s out cold. Any bright ideas?”

The light did nothing for a moment. Then, it went out, leaving the theater in darkness.

Approximately 10 seconds later–enough time for an average human to grope around for a light switch in mild panic–it came back on.

“Turn him off and turn him back on? He’s not a computer, Lampy.”

The light wavered horizontally.

Kit squinted at the spotlight. “Okay, so that’s not it. Was it… about the amount of time you were out?”

Horizontally again. This time, after a beat, the light starting flickering–but in a very specific rhythm. Kit quickly recognized it: a heartbeat.

“You want me to go all EKG on him?”

No moving of the light. The heartbeat continued, and then there was a delay in the middle of it. It picked back up, but quicker, slowly steadying back to normal.

“Remind me to get you a book on morse code, Lampy.” Kit remarked, chewing on her tongue in thought. Then she got it. “OH! Lampy, you’re bright!!!” Kit said gleefully.

It dimmed slightly.

Kit slid back to her knees, rubbing her palms together. “Okay, here goes…”

She placed one palm over his mouth, and pinched his nose shut between two fingers of her other hand. It took a painfully long moment, but before Kit knew it, Regan’s eyes flew open and he sat up, instinctively pushing her hands away and gasping for air.

“YOU’RE ALIVE!” Kit gasped in delight, throwing her arms around him and burying her face in his shoulder.

He went rigid, struggling to push her away. “Yeah I’m alive, no thanks to you. What the hell, Kit?”

Kit was surprised to find there were tears in her eyes. Twice in one day. This was starting to become a habit Kit wasn’t a fan of. She refused to be pushed away until she could hastily swipe at her eyes, then pulled back, grinning wide. “So much hell, Regan. So much hell. I almost couldn’t find you, but Lampy helped out, and was very clever about how to wake you up, because not even cymbals would work and I thought about going all Disney on you but I figured you’d skin me for that, but anyway Nadia eviscerated you and then slit your throat and everybody started attacking her but she did it because it wasn’t you and then she told me that and I came here to find you and here you are and now I’ve been worried that you might be dead THREE TIMES, Regan. THREE. For the love of Inari will you get your shit together and stop doing this to me? But you’re here and you’re awake and now everything can be okay and-”

“Please stop talking,” he said desperately.

Kit fell silent, looking ever so slightly like a wounded animal.

He rubbed at his eyes like–well, like someone who’d just woken up. “I don’t–what are you–how did–” Nothing seemed to stick, until something finally cleared his vision. “Nadia eviscerated me?”

Eagerly taking this as a cue that she was allowed to talk, Kit nodded. “But it wasn’t actually you. It was some weird doppelganger. She’s the only one who was able to figure it out!”

He scooted away, clearly still distressed, despite her assurances. “Doppelganger? But I’ve just been… what time is it? Did I fall asleep?”

“It’s Saturday night, Regan.”

“Right. I come down here, fall asleep, and you’re making out like I’m some sort of Rip Van Winkle. Is this your idea of a joke? Because it’s not funny.”

Kit frowned at him. “Thinking that you were dead is what’s not funny, Regan. And no, not Rip Van Winkle. Doppelganger. Pay attention. Look, if you don’t believe me…” Kit reached into her blouse and pulled out a touch screen. Where she got it from would always remain a mystery. “Look!” She waved the screen showing the date and time at his face.

“Saturday?” He sat up straighter, started to stand. “Late Saturday? I’ve been asleep for a whole day? And there was another me out there, walking around?”

“Way to catch up. And…” Kit held up a finger, “That depends. You might have been asleep for multiple weeks. So the important question is… do you know a magician named Taylor?”

He blinked. This was clearly not the question he’d been expecting. “Uh, I guess? I only just met her.”

Kit nodded slowly. “So that wasn’t you with her in the lobby last night.” It was said as a statement, but really it was just Kit’s curiosity.

“What…” He was hesitant. Worried. “What did ‘I’ do with her in the lobby last night?”

Kit waved her hand. “Oh, nothing. Don’t worry about it. I was just trying to get a sense of how long doppel-Regan has been around. That was the last time I saw you last night, so it was a reference point.” Changing the subject, Kit stood up, offering her arm for balance. “Looks like it’s been one day only, then, assuming that you haven’t been mysteriously losing hours the past few weeks.”

He took her arm and stood, a little wobbly, though maybe more from lying on the floor twenty-four hours straight than any real ill-effects of whatever the doppelganger had done to him. Once up, he looked her up and down. “Do me a favor, Kit. Can you…uh…dump the fox thing. It’s a little…weird.”

Kit stared at him for a long moment. Then she frowned. “Same old Regan, I see. You do realize that I am naturally more fox than this, right? Also, you should know that I’m only this weird because I was preparing to fight to save you.” Kit crossed her arms, but in a lick of flame the ears, tails, claws, and fangs were gone, leaving a very human woman before him.

He was quiet a moment, not immediately responding. “Save me? From Nadia? I need to know what just happened. No, better yet, see for myself.”

“Not Nadia – I didn’t know what the doppelganger had done with the real you. For all I knew, I was going to have to take on a hundred not-Regans and find the real one.” Kit hesitated. “I don’t know if that’s the best idea. I kind of left before it was strictly decided whether we let fake-you live or die for his crimes.”

“His crimes? Just what did–” He shook his head, make a sharply dismissively gesture with his hand. “Never mind that. Just show me, Kit. If some other version of me is getting his throat cut, I want to know what’s going on.”

Kit sighed, but waved a hand towards the door. “After you, Regan-alpha.”

He shot her an unhappy look, but headed for the door. He didn’t move entirely steadily, despite his twenty-four hour nap.

Nadia didn’t need to avoid Jacob’s eyes, as his were already fixed on the floor, his jaw clenched. Adrenalin and its good friends Endorphins were exiting stage left. What remained were the ones they were hiding behind them, Intractable Nerve Pain and Tremors.

He held himself rigid, trying to hide them again himself, but was unsure how successful he was. I can’t stay. I’ve gotta get this thing off. Utterly ridiculous that he should feel such pain for something that was no longer there. He barely heard anything that was going on, looking only for a way to escape that still allowed him some dignity.

Fortunately, the appearance - and subsequent fleeing - of the real Regan provided the exit he needed. Without a word, he followed after the man. Jacob presumed/hoped the rest would assume he’d gone after Regan and Kit to help.

When he was out of the staff’s sight, he ran to his own room, only stripping off the harness, sock, and shirt after the door was securely closed and locked.

Kit could have caught up with Regan, but instead she stayed a short distance behind him. All that mattered right now was that she not let him out of her sight, lest he be lost to her again. Seeing him eviscerated with his throat cut once was enough for one day.

When Regan left the dining room he wasn’t sure where he was going, just that he had to be out of sight of…himself. Himself with a bloody gash across his stomach. He just…ran. But soon what he had seen overcame him and he stopped, leaning against the wall and dry heaving. He was vaguely aware of Kit behind him.

“When you said it looked like me,” he said at last, “I didn’t think– I mean…it really does. My God. It was me.”

Kit hesitated. Her instinct was to place a hand on his back, but she didn’t want him to pull away. “…I…” She was about to tell him she tried to warn him, but stopped herself. “…Yeah, it was. Like I said, if it wasn’t for Nadia… I don’t know how she knew, but she did. She’s the one who told me where to find you.”

“Nadia?” That didn’t make any sense. “And it’s been me for a day? A whole day with no one realizing?” He was trembling and cold. “I need some time to think about this.” He turned, slumped against the wall like he didn’t trust his legs to hold him.

Kit fidgeted, feeling that dark sludge of guilt in her stomach again. Perhaps she could have noticed, if she hadn’t been so wrapped up in herself.

“I understand. Do you want me to help you to your room? You’ll have to forgive me, but I’m not thrilled about the idea of you going off alone. And… well, I may be ‘weird’, but at least I’m warm?” She could see he was cold, but as soon as Kit saw his expression, she quickly amended her offer. “For walking, I mean! You know… fire and moonlight, and all– I radiate heat. Think of me as like, a… combination space heater and walking stick. No claws or tricks or seduction or anything, I promise,” she held up her palms innocently to demonstrate her point, adding, “I just… want you to be safe.”

“Heat sounds good right now.” He was shivering. Shock, he thought. And no wonder. “I appreciate your help, really I do. Maybe we can talk as we go? What– What the hell happened in there?”

Hesitantly, Kit stepped closer to Regan. For some reason she was worried he’d bolt, or push her away, or…

The word was Rejection.

Still, she slid an arm around his waist, radiating the promised heat and offering to support his weight. She could have probably carried him, but she doubted he’d appreciate knowing that. He already thought she was a freak.

“Let me know if it’s too hot,” she said softly. “Uhm… where should I start?” Earlier in the theatre, he cut her off when she tried to summarize, so clearly that wasn’t the right approach.

“There was going to be a show,” he said. “Saturday night. And today is Saturday.” He stopped abruptly. “It was something to do with that, wasn’t it?”

“Uhh, kind of? Honestly, I’m not sure. The show kind of got interrupted by an… alien panther. Nadia and I took care of it. Or I guess Haven did. Motley helped Taylor–”

“Taylor? Magician Taylor? Is she OK?”

“Motley took care of it.” Kit said, perhaps a bit more sharply than necessary. “Anyway… we got everybody out of the dining room. It was just after that, you - well, fake-you, and Nadia started arguing–”

“And she killed me.” He spoke hesitantly, as if hardly believing he was saying the words. “OK. Can we get to my room now? I think I’d like some time alone to take all this in.”

Kit nodded and slowly started making her way towards his room, never fully taking her eyes off him.

When they got to his room he paused in the doorway. “She’s not– I mean, it was the doppelganger she was trying to kill, wasn’t it? Not me?”

Kit paused for a moment, staring at him. Finally, she said, “Regan… If Nadia really wanted to kill you, don’t you think she’d have done it by now?” Before he could leave, she put a hand on his arm. “Look, I know you want time to yourself, but you should really talk to her. As soon as you can. A lot of people made her into the enemy back there, but she’s the only reason you’re awake to have this conversation right now. Whatever’s been going on with you…” Kit trailed off, realizing that if he’d only been asleep for a day, the night Nadia was referencing during their argument had happened for real. They had still gotten together, still managed just fine without Kit. Snapping back to it, Kit said, “You should talk to her, is all I mean. Just… maybe avoid saying the word ‘Nothing’, okay?”

“Nothing? Why– Never mind. Listen, this is going to sound dumb, but could you maybe be close at hand? Next door, perhaps?” He sounded stupid, he knew, like a kid asking its mom to check the closet for monsters. But damn it, there were monsters here.

Kit couldn’t resist smiling. “Regan, if you thought I’d leave you completely alone - even if you asked - then you clearly don’t know me. I’ll be right there. All you have to do is… throw something at the wall, or yell, or…” Kit was rambling again. Dammit. “Yeah. I’ll stay.”

“Thank you,” he said. “For everything.”

Kit resisted the urge to say it was the least she could do after not being there for them at the end of the Theatre. Instead she just nodded.

“I think I’ll rest now.” He stopped, gave a dry laugh. “I’ve been asleep for a day, but I feel like I could sleep for a week. Next door, yeah?”

“Ready to suffocate you as needed, Capt’n!” Kit said chipperly, saluting him.

He gave her a wry look. “Not funny, Kit. Really not funny.” And he went into his room and closed the door.

Regan’s abrupt departure made Motley wince. A part of her thought it was good that he see what Nadia was so very capable of–but mostly she just felt sorry for him. Especially after the ordeal he’d already had.

Her grip tightened a fraction on Wake’s wrist.

No one had yet rushed forward to help Motley hold the intruder. Well, that was fitting. She actually would have been annoyed if they had, after leaving her to fight Nadia alone. She kept a grip on Wake’s arm–the same grip she’d used on Nadia, as the spell was still active. If the doppelganger had superhuman strength, he had yet to show it; so she wasn’t too worried about handling him alone.

“You’d prefer my room to a dungeon? Fine.” She adjusted her grip so that she could walk behind him, the knife in her free hand. “Start walking.”

He complied, glancing at her warily–and fearfully? “I know I can’t get away from you, Motley. We don’t have to do the whole Cuban Detainment Camp thing.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Motley said, without altering her stance one fraction. They left the dining room and started toward Motley’s room in silence.

It didn’t last long. “What are you even doing here, anyway?”

Motley hesitated for a moment over whether to answer–but best to keep things light. “I’m on vacation,” she said. Her voice betrayed none of the baggage she attached to the statement.

“So this is just a stopover for you,” he said, every bit as bitter as the real Regan might be about that. “A halfway house.”

Motley shook her head. “This is where my friends are.” Her expression turned thoughtful, and then she smiled tightly. “Are you really trying to put me on the defensive?”

“Why, are you feeling defensive about something?”

Motley rolled her eyes. “What a con. Mind your step.” They’d reached the stairs.

Wake looked down, complying, placing his steps carefully. “The sentiment’s true, you know. We’re–they’re–trying to build something here. But that’s not what you’re trying to do, is it?”

Motley was quiet for a moment before she said, “I’ll help them do whatever they want to do. If that’s building up Haven then I’ll build up Haven. If they leave tomorrow then I’ll go with them. If they want to study penguins or try every kind of rice in China then I’ll spend this life doing those things. Not,” she added, “that it’s any of your business.”

They reached Birdie’s room–which was still empty, thank goodness–and Motley steered the cooperative Wake into her closet. Her room. She scowled. On top of everything else, the minor slight had hardly registered.

He stepped inside, deeper into his new ‘cell’, and turned around to face her. “More my business than yours,” he said, plainly. “I’ve made my home here. You’ll just take off when it suits you–or you jump to another life. Isn’t that so?”

Motley gave another hard smile as she shut and locked the door, then leaned against it and gestured to the bed. “Have a seat.” She chewed her words for a moment, then said, “The inevitability of my departure does nothing to grant you the moral high ground. Particularly since this is my home, however temporary, and you’ve intruded upon it. Right this moment you’re wearing the stolen face of my friend. If you want to pretend to superiority then fine–that tells me plenty about you.”

He studied her. “Your vacation home,” he corrected. “How many faces have you worn, again? I’m curious. For comparison’s sake.”

“Eighty-seven,” she said lightly. “But all of them mine. I don’t suppose you have any of your own you might change into?”

“How do you know if a face is yours?”

“I didn’t have to stash any bodies in basements to use them safely.”

He smiled. “A fair point. But that’s not my meaning. I duplicate. How do you know you don’t erase what was supposed to be there?”

“I–” Motley stopped, closed her mouth, and waited a moment before trying again. “That’s a question I have no way of answering. But thank you for asking. If your object was to give me a new thought to keep me up at night, you’ve succeeded.”

“It’d be an awfully dull existence not to have anything to think about at night. You’re wrong, though; there’s a way to answer every question.” He settled down on the bed, unhurried. “You’re clever. You’ll work it out.”

Motley raised an eyebrow; but they weren’t here for her interrogation; they were here for his. “So what drives the resident philosopher to spy on the staff of the local hotel?”

He folded his hands on his lap and leaned back against the wall. “If you think this is a local hotel, we’re in far more trouble than I ever imagined.” He paused. “But then, I know that’s a lie.”

Motley sighed. “And here I hoped we could have a nice conversation without all the evasion and cryptic remarks. Why are you here?”

“How dull,” he said, closing his eyes. “Because I choose to be.”

“Why Regan?” she asked, switching tracks slightly. She wasn’t planning to spend the night playing games.

“In what way isn’t that obvious?”

Motley shrugged. “All right, I suppose it is. Still–picking a fight with Nadia. Not exactly a brilliant plan for long-term survival.” She tried not to grimace. Well, she couldn’t have planned on her own long-term survival anyway.

Wake-as-Regan opened his eyes, frowning, pained. “Yes. He misjudged her.”

Motley’s eyebrows rose. “‘He’?”

He shifted his gaze from empty air to her. “It’s a little complicated.”

“Neither of us is going anywhere,” said Motley lightly.

“Your notion of vacations is awful.”

Motley sighed. “Are you insulting my room again? I like it here. With a whole damn mansion to choose from, do you think it’s an accident I ended up in a closet?”

“Very little that you do is accidental, Motley, even when you don’t think about your actions. No, I was talking about your chosen leisure activity.” He gestured at the room.

Motley grinned. “So I should find something more fun to do–something suitably vacation-y–and, what, let you walk away?”

“Well, if you insist on hanging around me…” His form suddenly began to ripple and change, first becoming blank–like clay yet to take shape–and then rearranging, mass shifting, and then details defining themselves. Right down to the prosthetic hook. “There are other things we could do to pass the time,” Jacob said.

Motley raised an eyebrow. “After I just watched your face turn to putty? Gross.” She shook her head. “Interesting choice, though.”

“I thought so, too. The voice isn’t even raspy.”

Motley’s mouth opened, then closed. As far as she knew, Salazar hadn’t been to Haven. “Where are you getting that, I wonder…”

But then, he’d known so much about Regan. Enough to behave just like him–even when it cost him. Rage twisted her face briefly, and she looked away for a moment until she could get control of her expression. “If you know much about me,” she said carefully, “you know I dislike invasions of my privacy.”

He stood up, testing the width of the room, arms outstretched. The hook bumped the wall. It frowned with Jacob’s face, looking at the ceiling next. “How do you do your stretches in here? Or do you do them in Birdie’s room?”

“I’m not as tall as Jacob,” she pointed out.

He looked at her. “Ah, yes, of course.” His form shifted and changed again–not an instantaneous process by any means, shrinking and collapsing into a smaller form. An athletic woman with hair so short it bothered her mother.

It was even wearing the same clothes.

“This is difficult,” Wake said, still exploring the room with his–her–arms. “Your mind is incredibly fragmented.” She paused, looked at Motley. “Sorry. You were saying something about privacy?”

“Yes,” she said, and had to remind herself to breathe evenly. “Yes I was. Maybe if it’s so difficult to be me you should give yourself a break.”

She mimicked Motley’s breathing, watching her carefully, jaw tightening angrily, then relaxing. Mimicking. Learning. “This could actually help you. You’re on vacation, aren’t you? I could stay with your family, keep them company. They miss you.” It smiled at her with her own mouth.

“If you come near them–” she hissed. Then she caught herself. It took her a while, but she forced her fingers to uncurl, her jaw to unclench, and she leaned back against the door once again. “But you can’t, so I suppose that’s a moot point.”

“It is,” she agreed. “But at least now I fit the room. It’s nice to be well dressed.” She looked down at herself. “Not that you’d know much about that. All black-and-white?” Wake gave her a flat look. “Really?”

“Black and white is my favorite color,” Motley said easily. “And I’m on vacation. No reason not to wear what I like.”

“Mine too, for the moment. I just think it’s adorable that you don’t look into it further.” She plucked up the jester’s hat to analyze it.

Motley snatched the hat and glared at her imitator. “You know, I liked you better when you were sitting on the bed minding your own business.” She gestured to Wake’s face. “Do you do requests?”

“Do you have one?” she asked, and calmly picked up the black-and-white handkerchief laying on the room’s little table. “You do like it. Simple. Clean. Defined.”

“Perfect,” Motley said, setting the hat back where Wake had gotten it. “Now do someone who’s not me. Or anyone else here. Sean Connery,” she said at random.

“It’d be better if it weren’t so indicative of your worldview, too. Black and white. It’d be so much easier if that were always true.”

Motley gritted her teeth. “Get out of my head and into yours. If you even have one of your own.”

“Maybe I don’t,” she said, tossing the handkerchief aside.

“Then Sean Connery,” Motley said. “Or the president or the Wizard of Oz or anyone else but me.” She grabbed Wake’s arm and dragged the doppelganger a step away from the table, back toward the bed.

She theoretically could’ve resisted Motley–it would’ve been an even match, of course–but didn’t, moving gracefully behind her. “I told you–I want to match the room.” She considered the bed; sat. “You should try being a prison guard next. You’re terrible at it.”

“Thank you,” Motley said. But she couldn’t help the briefest glance toward the door. Once more, some of the tension drained from her. If Birdie came in now…

Wake also looked at the door. “He’s a sweet child. It’s a shame you brought him here of all places.”

Motley’s breath caught. “He didn’t have anywhere else.”

“That’s not a good reason to put him in danger. You could probably send him home with your family, you know.”

“He didn’t want–” Motley stopped, glared, then shook her head, mostly at herself, and turned away. “You already know, don’t you? And you know it’s not going to change just because a stranger thinks he knows better.” She paused, considered for a moment, then added, “You really don’t like Haven, do you?”

“I have no problem with Haven. It could be a magnificent place. But right now, it’s a really dangerous place, and none of you even know why. I could just tell you, of course, but the problem is that knowing is almost more dangerous.” She narrowed her eyes. “Especially with someone like you who can’t leave things alone.”

“Says the monster who snuck in here to meddle,” Motley said dryly.

“I wouldn’t have had to do anything if you’d kept the hell out.” She sighed, leaning back. “Anyway, no, I don’t hate Haven. But I will do whatever I have to to keep all of you from destroying it and half the countryside.”

Motley’s eyes narrowed. “Hm. And it’s too dangerous to know what could cause that, is that right? So we’re left with your vague and cryptic warnings that we shouldn’t be here?” Motley shook her head. “All of which would have been much more credible if you hadn’t waited until after you were caught to deliver them.”

“I said almost more dangerous.”

Motley spread her hands. She still had Salazar’s knife in one. “Then please, enlighten me.”

Mirror Motley stared at the wall thoughtfully before continuing. “The grounds here are an interdimensional junction point. Millions of worlds, times, and dimensions tend to meet and overlap and interact here. That’s why the house exists. The power running through a system like that is…” She shook her head. “Neither of us can really grasp it, and thank goodness for that. But once people tried.” She turned her head to stare at Motley. “Understand?”

Motley hesitated. “Yes,” she said slowly, and then: “The cat thing that appeared tonight–came across one of these…”

“Bridges,” Wake supplied.

“Which opened because…?”

She sighed, eyes closing regretfully. “Because I made a mistake. There was a tear that I was trying to fix before it got out of control. But it knocked something else out of balance. It still shouldn’t have caused anything in the dining room.” Wake shook her head. “Something must have pulled it there.”

Motley’s lips pressed together tightly. “And remind me, again, how we are the ones jeopardizing anything?”

Wake stared at her. “My mistake doesn’t excuse the rest of you. You’re not stupid. Figure it out.”

Motley sighed and looked aside. “I suppose,” she said, “that these tears don’t happen when the house is empty.”

“It reacts to magic, in particular–which of course makes fixing it… problematic. And people are magic. It’s much safer if the house is empty–or at least isn’t turned into a damned hotel.” She shook her head again.

Motley thought that over for a moment. “The owner–does he know?”

“Robert Miles? Yes. But I leave it to your management to talk with–or about–him.”

Motley shook her head. “Not my point. Why the hell would he lease the place to us?”

Wake smiled unhappily. “See? I said you weren’t stupid. Because the same attributes that make this house dangerous make it extraordinarily valuable–if it were working properly.”

Motley nodded slowly. “Fix it up, maybe get rid of a ghost or two…” Her glance went to the corner behind the door, where an urn adorned with Chinese calligraphy stood on the floor.

“Yes, though it’s harder than that. Much harder. I want the opposite–seal off the bridges completely. Make this place safe again, instead of overrun with those things. But that isn’t easy, either.”

Motley shook her head. “This life is going to be more work than I envisioned.”

She smiled slightly. “Do you see, now, why I want to know how dedicated you are to being here? One way or another, it’s a potential problem.”

Motley’s smile matched Wake’s exactly. “But I’m not the one to ask.”

“Everyone here ought to be asked.”

“But my answer depends on theirs,” Motley said. “I’m the least logical person to ask.”

She gave Motley a dubious look, but nodded. “All right. Then you should call the avatar.”

Motley raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”

Wake nodded slowly. “This room isn’t secure, and like I said, you’re a horrible guard. I don’t want to bias you into fiddling with the bridge just because you’re angry when I destroy your spell and break past you. It wouldn’t do either of us any good.” She spread her hands. “So, I’d rather be a polite little prisoner.”

Motley scowled. “It wouldn’t be that easy.” She took a breath and went on. “We’re buried in the middle of the house and Haven can already see everything going on in here. But if you insist.” She turned slightly, focusing her gaze past his shoulder. “Haven? Would you join us?”

Nadia made a discreet exit from the dining room into the kitchen as soon as she could manage it. ‘Discreet.’ She wasn’t likely to be avoiding anyone’s suspicious, wary, or outright hostile looks for a long time, if ever. Leave, Help, or Die. She scowled.

The first thing she did was remove her clothes. The coat was ruined, along with everything beneath it. Nadia threw them in the fire pit, added a generous quantity of fuel, and set it ablaze. Then she struggled to clean up as best she could in the large sink. She’d never wanted to get blood off of her so badly. Her skin felt raw, regeneration or not, by the time she was through, but at least she didn’t smell like Regan’s insides anymore.

She shuddered.

Drying off with what she had available, Nadia found her backup clothes next. It’d become so common for her clothes to be destroyed for one reason or another that she always kept a spare set handy. Nothing fancy, but it’d keep her decent until she could get back to the mausoleum.

She considered her shoes. They joined the pile on the fire pit.

Now what?

She knew what. She needed to talk to him.

Food first. Feeding Hesther life like that–Nadia didn’t enjoy it. It didn’t feel the same as just regenerating. And there’d been some of that, too. She hadn’t been eating nearly enough lately, even before she’d had to think about Nasim. They lacked many of the ‘opportunities’ of the Theatre.

Which was all to say: Nadia was hungry. That was the wrong way to enter this conversation.

She thought about the dead body Hadrian had brought her; dismissed it. She went to the refrigerator instead. Before long, she was fed–never enough, but it’d suffice. Normal food. Nadia checked the articles on the fire–nearly gone–and then the sink and floor for stray bits of blood before she realized that she was looking for excuses. Delays.

Just talk to him.

But it wasn’t really that easy. If it were that easy, they’d have talked months ago. Instead, they’d been avoiding it, squabbling, snapping at each other, doing anything but just talk. Nadia gritted her teeth and squeezed the edge of the wooden counter hard enough to dent it.

Then she took a deep, focused, meditative breath; held it. She walked her mind through the paths of the sefirot to focus herself, dwelling briefly on their names; their purpose. Nadia exhaled, relaxed her grip, and stood up straight.

Just talk to him.

She went to find Regan.

When Nadia reached Regan’s room, she found Kit in the hallway, sitting with her back against his door. “He wanted me next door, but I didn’t want anybody to get in without me knowing,” she said by way of explanation as she saw Nadia approach.

Nadia paused, resumed walking. “Good,” she said. “That’s good. I’m glad it’s you.” When she reached Kit, she crouched down beside her. “How is he?”

“Shaken, understandably. But I think as good as he can be, given the circumstances. I’ve been listening for vomiting and there isn’t any. No climbing out the window, either.”

Nadia nodded, absorbing that. The thought of Regan climbing out a window should’ve made her smile; it didn’t. “And how are you?”

Kit deflected. “I’m not the one who had to kill him.”

“No, you didn’t,” Nadia agreed. “But you had to watch. And trust me.”

“I always trust you, Nadia. If you had said something before Motley lunged at you, she never would have even gotten that far.”

A brief smile flickered over her features. “I know, but–Motley. It’s okay. Thank you, Kit.”

Kit shrugged. “You’re the one who figured it out. You’re the one who knew where he was. You would’ve been the one to find him – I just happened to be free, and fast.”

Nadia studied her carefully, and shifted from a crouch to a sit, legs folded under her. “Kit,” she started uncertainly. “I–”

Kit cut her off, looking at the wall while she chattered. “Everything with Pinkie wasn’t real. But he’s only been missing for a day, you know? Which makes it weird, because he had his memories. Not all of them, obviously, but… he seemed pretty certain about his feelings.”

Nadia frowned, and spoke, the words tumbling out. “I don’t know if I need anybody, Kit, but if I do, it’d be you.”

“You don’t.” Kit answered, calm, still not looking at her. “I wasn’t there… when it really mattered. When– I thought you were dead, you know. When I found the Theatre. But no, you survived. A lot of you did. And look at you now, manager of a hotel. You’re so much better than you were before, and I wasn’t there for any of that. You don’t need me.”

Nadia looked down, eyes closing tightly. “Kit, I’m not better. I’m… “ She shook her head. “You’re here now, and I’m glad. Unless I’m not here, and then you should also not be here. Which is selfish, but there it is.”

Kit looked at her sharply. “You’re not actually listening to any of that crap Hesther said, are you? Didn’t you hear me back there? It was all total bullshit, every last word.” Kit crossed her arms over her knees, muttering to herself about “stupid… throwing her weight around like she knows anything…”

“What was said isn’t as important as the fact that it was said. This whole thing–maybe it’s broken. And anyway, I’m not a manager, not really. My name’s not on any of the paperwork. They’re just too afraid to boss me around.”

“I’m sure that’s only because you’re lacking human documentation. Which I can fix, by the way.”

She waved that off. “I’ve got forged documentation–now, anyway. That’s missing the point. Nobody in their right mind would trust me with any kind of authority around here. Not willingly.”

“I would.” Kit said confidently. “You’re the only one with a lick of sense.”

“I said ‘in their right mind.’” Nadia smirked.

Kit stuck out her tongue in response. Then she frowned. “…It’s because we’re ‘monsters’, isn’t it? You know, I woke Regan up from a magical sleep, and all he could focus on were my claws?”

Nadia grew serious, too. “That… doesn’t surprise me.”

“We’re the only ones who get it, Nadia. Even Felix hasn’t been a vampire long enough to really know how it feels.” Kit stared at her hand, flexing and retracting her claws. “But… you do know what you’re doing, here. You’re the best chef the world could ask for, and you know how to run a kitchen, too. Maybe they don’t appreciate you, but you’re vital around here.”

“Sure,” she said. “Like an important tool or a cog in the machine. Vital.” She shook her head. “They don’t get it, and they’ll never be, you know… family.”

Kit nodded. “I’m not sure I can argue with that, Nadia. I guess the best I can say is that you should prove them wrong. But… if you leave, I’m going with you. I don’t have a real reason to stay, anyway. And you know you can’t outrun me, so don’t bother objecting.” She shot a sly smile at Nadia.

The ghoul returned it. “Only if you stay if I decide to stay. I don’t want to be here without you. Not again.” The smile faded. “Never again.”

Kit’s expression froze, and she stared at Nadia for a long time, thinking about the moments just before ‘Regan’ was stabbed. She was thinking about leaving, knowing Regan and Nadia had got on just fine without her, with each other. The stabbing had distracted her, but the situation was still a reality.

“I think you were just fine before I got here…” Kit said carefully.

“You think wrong.”

Kit shifted uncomfortably. Talking about feelings wasn’t in her admittedly large comfort zone. “It’s not the same, you know. As it was at the Theatre. Vicktor is… not here. And you and Regan have Hesther, now. …And each other.” She looked away, towards the window at the end of the hall, so Nadia couldn’t read her expression. “And, you know, kitsune don’t like to stay in one place anyway. We’re not known for building lives, we’re known for ruining them.”

Nadia stared at her, blinking. Then she groaned and leaned her head back on the wall. “You’re as bad as Regan.”

Kit turned and stared blankly at her.

“Hesther clearly dislikes me,” Nadia went on, ticking items off on her fingers. “Pretty sure I scare Regan half to death as well as disgusting him, now. I’ve got no staff except an idiot cousin and a vampire who can’t stand garlic. I don’t know what I’m doing here, Kit! But first Regan and now you…” She shook her head. “I love you, but stop being focused on running away and being alone.”

“…How about I focus on running away and being alone with you?” Kit offered with a hopeful smile.

Nadia smiled back, and didn’t respond right away. She looked at Regan’s door and sighed. “Can’t run away from my problems forever. But I’m not ruling that out as an option.” She looked at Kit. “I need to talk to him, you know.”

“I know. I told him to avoid saying ‘Nothing’, so…” Kit shrugged, standing up and moving away from the door. “Let me know if I should pack some snacks.”

Nadia stood with her, hesitated, and then embraced her. “I’ll let you know.” She said into her neck. “But like I said, if I can’t run away alone, you can’t leave me here. Those are the rules. That I made up. Just now.”

Kit returned the embrace, swallowing hard. Tears, again? Fuck. This is getting out of control. “Okay, fine. Only because you’re basically the only person who I give two shits about.” Kit buried her face in Nadia’s hair for a moment before pulling away. She walked towards the room next to Regan’s, turning back over her shoulder. “And Nadia? …Thanks for telling me where he was.”

Nadia watched her go. She nodded. “Of course, Kit. It had to be you.” She smiled wanly and turned to Regan’s door, taking a deep breath.

“Is it time now for me to take the prisoner to his cell, as requested by Nadia?” The avatar’s question came much like his form, out of nowhere. “I believe that I have a place which fits all of the requested attributes.”

Motley hesitated, then shrugged. “I suppose it is.” A thought struck her. “What were those attributes again?”

“A room. Preferably that locks from the outside. With no windows. Preferably in a dungeon.”

“No other entrances or exits? Within your awareness?” Motley asked. “Somewhere that… Wake… can’t get out of?”

Haven nodded. “The particular room has had the door entirely replaced by a wall. He should have no means of escape without me.”

“No door?” Motley was tempted to groan before realization hit. “But you can open it?”

“I believe that I can. It will not be easy, but I have done similar actions before.” Haven looked at Wake for a moment. “It will be odd having him in the room looking like that.”

Motley’s mouth twisted. “Maybe he’ll be more accommodating to you than he has to me.” She sighed and beckoned Wake off the bed. “Time to go.”

Wake stood and gave Motley a version of her own acrobat’s bow from the Theatre, then turned to Haven. “When you’re ready, avatar.”

Haven nodded again, then opened the door. “If you are going to be accommodating, then perhaps you would follow me to the front hall. It will simply make it easier to get you to your room from there. I’d rather not mess up anything in one of the resident’s rooms.”

“Mess up?” she asked, walking out of the closet-bedroom. “What exactly does this involve?”

“I will be altering the floor to allow us a quicker, more direct route. Doing so in a resident’s room may result in a displacement of their personal goods.” The avatar began to walk towards the main hall.

“Wouldn’t want that,” Wake said dryly, giving Motley a fleeting, tight-lipped smile of farewell. “I’ll be ‘accommodating.’”

In the front lobby, Haven stopped. With a degree of focus he was still unaccustomed to, he began to open the floor beneath them, the wood creaking loudly in complaint. “There are few lights in your cell. Will that be problematic? It may take some time, but I could find one for you to make you more comfortable.” He began to lower himself into the room below.

“A light would be lovely, thank you.” She looked around, watching the floor moving with quiet interest. “I should also point out that I do still have biological needs like a typical human. Your managers–some of them–might be disappointed if I starve to death.”

Once the two were in the basement, the floor separating the lobby from the basement closed with the same loud creaking. Looking at the floor below them, Haven continued to concentrate as the stone began to shift, loudly grinding against more of itself, to reveal another section below. A darker section. “After you.”

Wake looked at it with no small amount of trepidation. “You never really think about what a dungeon’s really like until you’re being put in one.” With a small sigh, she stepped onward. “I don’t suppose there’ll be a bell I can ring for service?”

“I can’t recall ever wondering what a dungeon is like.”

“No, I guess you wouldn’t.”

Haven followed his prisoner into the sub-basement. After closing the ceiling above them, he looked around for a moment. In a few of the cells, occupants had already been placed, including the most recent prisoner, the still tired panther-like being. For a moment, the avatar wondered if Wake would be alright without a containment circle in his cell.

“This one is yours” Haven said as he opened the metal door into a small room.

Wake looked around with a great deal of interest while they walked, especially at all of the other ‘prisoners.’ “Nice place you’ve got here,” she said. But she was hesitating at the metal door.

“You seemed so resigned to your destiny until this point. Were you unaware of your fate until this point? This cell can’t be a surprise.”

“Sure it can,” Wake said cheerily. “My powers of perception are limited. I came down here only knowing secondhand what the room would be like. But you mentioned ‘destiny’ and ‘fate’. Those are interesting words for a construct, don’t you think?”

“I hadn’t given it much thought. Seemed the appropriate words, perhaps a bit more idiomatic than literal.” Haven looked at his prisoner curiously. “I assume then that this room has not lived up to the secondhand information?”

“Nothing quite compares to the real deal.” She glanced at the room. “Before I’m consigned to it, would you indulge me in answering a question?”

“You mean aside from that one?”

She smiled. “I do.”

“You may ask. I doubt I’m the most interesting person you could ask, though.”

“Oh, I suspect you have a much lower interest in yourself than is merited.” She nodded at the way they’d come. “Moving the walls and the floors. I know you are Haven and this is all–” She gestured feebly. “–you. But you’re physical now, so I’m concluding that you have to be corporeal in order to make that happen.”

“That is a statement.”

She beamed. “I love speaking with an intelligent entity. That’s correct. The question I’d like to ask is dependent upon the statement being accurate.”

“The extent of my abilities is…” The avatar paused, not sure how to respond. “It may be possible when in my true form, but at my current state I have not found that to be so.”

“Fascinating,” she said. “So then: How do you do it?”

“It takes concentration. I am not sure how better to answer than that, no more than I would expect you could answer how you create words. You may understand some level of the physical actions, but you likely do not understand every minute detail of it.”

“Ingrained in your mind, then. What passes for your subconscious.”

“That seems reasonable.”

Wake nodded, smiled. “Thank you.” She turned and walked into the dungeon cell. “You’ve been most polite.”

“You are welcome” Haven replied as he closed the door. “I will see about that light.”

Wake’s skin rippled and reformed, shifting into a larger, masculine body–Haven’s avatar–and then back to Motley once again. She rotated a wrist thoughtfully. “Take your time.”

Regan sat on his bed, back against the headboard, knees drawn up, staring out of the window. He’d told Kit he needed to be alone, and she’d accepted it because it was what he did. But he could have done with someone there right then. Not even to talk to. Just to be with.

She thought it was me, but she still tried to kill it. How could she even do that? He could hardly process what had happened.

There had been voices outside for the past few minutes. Kit and Nadia, by the tone, and the occasional word that had made its way past his door. Kit and Nadia. It would be.

A few months ago he would have given anything for those precious few minutes with Kit after idolising her from afar for so long. He had been so excited for the gala, but it had only served to show him the gulf between them: human and demon.

And then she had disappeared, seemingly into thin air.

And then the theatre had fallen, and the time on the road with Hesther and Nadia had changed him. All of them grieving; him at least needing the closeness to others that he had shied away from in the past.

And then—

He pushed that thought away. Buried it as deeply as he could, as he had every day since.

When the knock came at the door he flinched, nerves in shreds.

“Who is it?”

“Nadia.”

Even if he had wanted to be with someone, Nadia wouldn’t have been his person of choice. He shivered, drawing his knees up further and wrapping his arms around them like he’d done as a kid. “What do you want?”

“Just to talk.” There was an expectant pause. “Can I come in?”

He didn’t answer, but the handle squeaked and the door swung open a little way. She looked small, standing there in the doorway, but he was all too aware of how deadly she could be.

“Haven will be watching, you know. And Kit’s just next door. You try anything, and they’ll call for help.”

Nadia hesitated. “I’m not here to kill you, Regan,” she said flatly. Even so, she took a thin, iron chain from around her neck, worn like a necklace–at the end of it was a small knife, also iron, its base ending in a loop. She draped it over the doorknob. “It’s all I’ve got on me.” She shrugged.

He stared at it, transfixed. “Is that– Is that what you stabbed him…it…whatever it was…with?”

“Yes.” She frowned, easing the door shut behind her. She shrugged again. “It was all I had on me.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen a murder weapon before. Not knowingly, anyway.” His gaze switched from the knife to Nadia and back again, as if it might do something of its own accord. Knowing her it held all kinds of enchantments. It hanging from the doorknob was no guarantee of its safety.

She watched him, then looked to the knife, eyes narrowed. “I can throw it away if it–if you want. Bury it somewhere. Melt it down.”

“Doesn’t change anything, does it?” He took a shaky breath in, then blurted out. “When you attacked it, were you certain it wasn’t me? Completely certain?” He didn’t know whether he wanted to hear the answer, but he had to ask.

“Yes,” she said immediately. Then her brow furrowed. “Maybe not.” She dared a quick glance at him, then looked off to the side, suddenly very interested in the window. “I thought I was sure, but looking back, I don’t know that I was. I was… very angry. You–it didn’t remember us. That we’d been together. That’s what first tipped me off, and I gave it a few chances, tried to get what I thought was you the right number of chances…” Another quick look, and then the wallpaper was fascinating. “I felt sure. And then it said we were nothing. Yelled at me. And I think maybe when that happened, I wasn’t sure I cared if it was really you or not, because if you didn’t remember, then… “ She couldn’t finish.

“I don’t understand. It knew enough about me to pretend to be me for nearly two days. How could it not…” He stopped, thought over the implications of what she’d said. “Wait. You asked it about— Who was there, Nadia? Who heard what you and it were talking about?”

She brought her hands together, fidgeting with them. “Um, that’s kind of why I wanted to come talk to you. First. Alone.” She looked at him meekly. “Everyone heard us. Or nearly everyone.”

“Crap.” He covered his eyes with one hand for a moment, then recovered himself. “You killed it because of what it said when you argued. And if it was using my memories, then…” He shuddered. “This is a lot to take in, Nadia. I don’t know what to think. This sort of weirdness just seems to follow us around, and I’m not sure I can handle it much more.”

“I think you can,” she said softly, still looking down at her hands. “I think you’re a lot better at handling all of… this… than you think.”

“No, I’m not. I take myself off. I try to decompress. But it never gets rid of it all. You, the others, you all seem to take the supernatural in your stride. I’ve been trying since I was seven years old and it’s not getting any easier.” His voice had got more urgent. He took a deep breath, willing himself to calm it back down. “I don’t handle it. You know I don’t.”

Nadia looked at him, not responding immediately. “What happened when you were seven? Not that–” she continued, words becoming fast and halting. “–you don’t have to tell me–it’s your business–it’s just you never talk about it and I’ve been wondering.”

He hesitated, then gestured towards the chest of drawers beside her. “Second drawer down. Brown envelope.”

She looked at him curiously, but took the hint, stepping over and slowly opening the indicated drawer. The envelope was easy enough to find, and she tentatively reached in–glancing first to make sure he wasn’t about to shout for her to stop–and withdrew the papers. Bank statements, birth certificate, academic details–all things he’d carried around with him since leaving home.

Unexpectedly, she stopped for a moment, simply staring at what he knew to be his birth certificate as though it were something remarkable and rare. Then she set it aside and drew out the little felt needle case he’d meant her to find, turning it over carefully in her hands. Nadia looked at him, query on her face.

Regan sat, hands clasped, lips pressed against tense, white knuckles. “I made it,” he said simply, but his voice was strained. “At school. When I was seven. I made it for my mom. When I took it home she put it away and never touched it again. I took it with me when I left.”

She looked at it again, rubbing her thumb over the fabric. There was something strained in her own expression. “I don’t understand,” she said.

“It was how I found out what made me different, though at the time I didn’t realize not everyone could do it.”

He took a deep, shuddering breath. He’d come this far. He had to tell her now.

“I’d been bullied at school. I was pretty upset. My class were going outside to…I dunno…play games or something. They let me go with another class to get me away from the kids who’d been tormenting me for a while. The other class were making those.” He indicated the needle case. “Making it made me feel better and soon I was sewing any chance I got, raiding my grandmother’s sewing box for scraps. It wasn’t till later that I realized I was stitching my emotions into them. Literally taking the emotion and putting it into the fabric. Only it wasn’t just my feelings; it was everyone’s around me.”

Regan felt his nose where Kit had pinched it. It was sore. Probably bruised. Damn. Had she really needed to pinch it that hard? He sighed. “They said I was ‘sensitive’ when I didn’t like being in crowds or at parties or fairgrounds or any of the other places the other kids liked. But I was experiencing what they felt, taking it in until I thought I’d burst. And sewing helped. Do you see?”

“You’re an empath,” she said, a little breathless. She was looking at him now. “That’s why you were always sewing at the theatre, and why you’d–oh, the way some of them were, that could be torture.” And then something clicked. Horror appeared on her face. “And you–me–you feel what I’m–?”

“Not so much. It varies. Humans are the hardest to tolerate. They can’t seem to mask it. Or I’m just more attuned to them, one or the other. I couldn’t read the monster at all.

He stopped as if considering whether to tell her the next bit. “There’s more. I don’t just put the emotions in the fabric; people can read it back too. My mom must’ve felt all the hurt that went into that needle case. That’s why she didn’t like it.” He stretched out his hand and after a moment Nadia handed the needle case over. He rested it on his palm and closed his eyes to concentrate. “Long gone. It fades, you see. Fades even faster if it’s handled, but when I took it from home I could still feel it a little. She must’ve left it in the back of the cupboard all those years, never touching it.”

Regan flipped it open to reveal the scraps of muslin inside, a few rusty pins and needles positioned carefully in rows, just as he’d left them all those years before. Strange, that he’d discovered his ability making something to hold some of the tools of his trade. It had a pleasing circularity to it. “So yes, humans are bad to be around. Demons and ghouls and so on, not so bad. I feel you a little, when you’re really angry, but usually nothing I can’t tolerate.” He stopped, remembering Kit’s warning not to use that word. Nadia didn’t seem to be reacting badly, so he continued. “It’s why– It’s why I liked spending time with you and Kit. Can you believe it? The bundle of energy that Kit is, and I can hardly feel her at all most of the time.”

Nadia hadn’t stepped back after delivering the needle case. She took a deep breath and looked at him. “Then why did you stop spending time with me?”

He set the case aside. “I should really burn it, you know. It brings back bad memories along with the good.”

She started to reach out as if to touch him, thought better of it, clasped her hands again. Wringing them. “Regan,” she said, quietly but sharply.

She wasn’t going to let him dodge the question, was she? “I do spend time with you. We can hardly help it, living here. And we’re partners, we–”

“I’d like to be partners,” she said. “Don’t give me that business associates stuff or long car trip or anything. It said that. You know what I mean.” A pause. “I hope you know what I mean.”

“I don’t want you to read too much into it. I–” He licked his lips. “What was right then might not be right now.”

Nadia slid onto the opposite end of the bed, sitting cross-legged and staring at him intently. “I’m not talking about the future,” she said. “Yet. I want to talk about that night because–” She smiled briefly. “–because I think I may have some unresolved feelings.”

He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Why dig all this back up again?”

“Why is it buried?”

“It’s not buried; it’s just…past.”

She nodded, looking down at her hands–now they were fidgeting in her lap. “Was it not… did I do something wrong? I don’t have much experience with boys. Or, you know… normal people? I thought–you didn’t seem–but then when you weren’t there and you started not talking to me, or looking at me differently. I haven’t known what to think.”

“Heck, Nadia. It’s not– Damn it, what made you–” Not much experience with boys, but plenty with Kit. Was that what was bothering him? Regan ran his fingers through his hair–that spiky haircut for which Nadia and Kit had been responsible.

He closed his eyes. “I’m going to tell you something, and if you ever tell anyone else, I’ll–” He stopped. What did one threaten a ghoul with, anyway? She’d just regenerate. “I’ll deny ever saying it.”

But she didn’t laugh at his ‘threat,’ merely nodding seriously and waiting.

“There are a lot of implications to feeling people’s emotions that you don’t really think about at first. So when you get your first chance to do more with a girl than a quick kiss, and you’re getting pretty negative impressions back–humans spill out their emotions like a burst pipe, remember–well, let’s just say I was sufficiently put off to not try again for a while.” He laughed. “I guess most guys on their first attempt aren’t as good as they think they are, but other guys aren’t given quite the same sort of feedback.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, so let’s get that straight. Thing is–” He paused. This was all a bit too intimate for comfort. “Thing is, with what I can do, when things go right, they go…really right. Do you get me? I’m not just feeling what I’m feeling, but what she’s– Anyway. Yeah.” He cleared his throat. From the heat in his cheeks he was afraid he was blushing. “So it felt a lot different with you. I didn’t know whether it was because I don’t read you as well, or maybe because–” I’m not Kit, and there were no chains “–I was too tame for you. And I lay there thinking about that and all I could think of was that you’re…not human. I had to get away.”

She flinched and looked away. “Different doesn’t have to mean bad,” she said. She opened her mouth to say more, shook her head, and returned to watching him.

“That’s another thing. I’d been raised to think I’d find a nice girl–nice human girl–and settle down. I needed to get my head around the fact that I’d slept with a ghoul. But I came back, Nadia. And when I came back you’d gone. Then the next day we had to leave the farm because–” he had to stop and brace himself for what came next, “–because you’d gone out and killed and eaten someone. That’s kind of a stretch to accept when you’ve just been with a girl the first time, you know. And it was hard to address that, so I tried to pretend the whole thing didn’t happen, rather than have it out with you. That was a dickish thing to do. I guess I’m sorry.”

Nadia’s gaze snapped up, and something flashed in her eyes. “You guess you’re sorry?”

“I–” He stopped, met her eyes a moment, then looked abruptly away. “Yeah. Dickish. God, Nadia. I messed up. I’m sorry. What more do you want from me?”

Was it really that complicated? She gestured around the room. “I want this. I want you to talk to me and tell me what you’re feeling. I’m not an empath.” She took a breath, calming herself. She’d been doing well, but what he’d said–the pain was extraordinarily close. I guess I’m sorry. “When you left–you aren’t sneaky, Regan. I noticed. I didn’t say anything or try to stop you because I… I don’t know, in hindsight. I didn’t know what to do. So I went away a bit, myself. That’s when the hunter found me.”

“That’s not my fault. Don’t try to make it my fault. You left the farm and you killed and ate someone. And that’s nothing to do with what I did–”

“I’m telling a story, not assigning blame, you fucking self-centered moron.”

He silenced.

Somewhere behind the spark of anger, Nadia was a little stunned at herself. There was no point at which she’d decided to say that to him; the words just tumbled out. Any amazement was far from her face, though. “Are you interested in hearing it or not?” she asked, words very precise.

Regan just stared at the bedcover, and nodded.

“Thank you,” Nadia said. “I didn’t kill him, you know. He tried–very hard–to kill me. Ghouls are a popular target among hunters. There’s no real…” Explosions. Traps. Firepower. “…finesse to it. Just keep hurting us until it sticks. I ran away, let him chase me. It’s not like I decided to take out my frustration with you on some random person. I wanted the farm to work as much as you and Hesther.” She shook her head. “But he tripped–of all stupid things. Tripped. Got himself killed.” Too close to the farm. Discharged weapon, her blood on the ground, her footprints. Clean it up. Remove all trace. It hadn’t been enough, though.

Regan closed his eyes. Nadia watched him and wondered what must be going through his head. Did he believe her? Tripped. It sounded so silly. He could never handle the violence like she could–how would he? It wasn’t part of his life. But here she was, describing it like a Sunday stroll through the park. He’s not going to understand.

“I didn’t know,” he said. It was little more than a mumble. “About the man. About the…hurting thing.”

She shrugged as if it didn’t matter, though it did. “It’s not like I didn’t try to tell you. Both of you. But it’s okay–it’s how my life is. And I know I can be difficult. I… you didn’t say it–it did–but one of the things it said, as you, was that I couldn’t stop… weirding people out. That I look human, but then I talk, and it all goes wrong. And that’s correct. I didn’t want to hear it at the time, but I’ve realized that it is, because… because how I was raised, it’s a good strategy to try to make people afraid and get them to think you’re capable of anything. It keeps them from trying to kill you. Or worse.”

Regan wrapped his arms about himself tighter, hunched his shoulders. He muttered into his chest. “Kind of puts school bullies into perspective, huh?”

Nadia smiled sadly. “It’s all relative. I’m not telling you this because I want pity, I just want you to understand. I’m not human. I’m not really a very good ghoul, though, either. I don’t like what they are or how they live. It’s still a part of me, though, and there are things I can’t help. Like my diet. I don’t know how to explain what it’s like, to always be hungry. I don’t know how to explain, either, that even though everything is potentially food for me, that–” She looked at him. “–not everything is food to me.” She frowned, unhappy with her own words. They wouldn’t come out right, no matter how hard she seemed to try.

“Yeah. I know that. Really I do. When I first came to the theatre, I figured every day something didn’t eat me was a good day, you know? But it got better, and now I know that you aren’t just going to up and rip a limb off Sienna or Birdie or me. But–” He stopped. He dropped his voice a little. “But Nadia, you killed me–or what could have been me–right there, in front of everybody.”

“I killed–tried to kill–a threat,” she said, seriously. “I’m not sorry for it; it’s the right way to deal with that kind of insidious, unknowable danger. But it felt awful, killing you, even if I think a part of me was angry enough to do it, imposter of no. If something could walk like you, talk like you, have your memories… it had to be eliminated. Fast. Without warning.” She looked down, shoulders slumping. She was remembering that sick sensation again. She hadn’t expected it. It was new. “I haven’t killed anything in a very long time. I am sorry it was wearing your face. That it used you to try to hurt me.”

“What it said about that night…it made you angry enough to kill me? The real me?” He drew a shaking hand across his eyes. “Why? What– What did I do that could make you angry enough to do that?”

Nadia blinked at him. “Do you really not understand?” Her voice found heat, the cool detachment she’d managed slipping away. “You rejected me, Regan. You slept with me, and then ran away without a word, and then acted for all the world as if it never happened. You treated me like some kind of poison after that, to be avoided. You buried your damn memory of that night so deep that a magical creature built to subsume memories couldn’t find it.” She shook her head and gaped at him, eyes shining. “Do you not understand how that makes me feel?”

His posture opened up a little while she spoke, but now he closed in tighter than ever until he had made himself almost as small as the tiny figure next to him. “I didn’t think, Nadia. I’m sorry.” And this time he finally sounded as if he meant it.

She closed her eyes hard for a moment and looked down. It still hurt, but hearing him say that–something finally settled in her head. He understood. “Thank you. I’m sorry, too. I should’ve said something earlier, before it got to this point. I didn’t realize how bad it was making me feel. Sometimes I fool myself with all the bluster.”

“You always seemed so together. So sure of yourself. I never thought that all this could be weird for you, too.”

Of course she did. Wasn’t that the point of having a front? Only now–what was the point? “It’s a very familiar act,” she said, sighing with the words.

Nadia decided to remove the veil a bit more. “I know being with a ghoul is weird for you, Regan. Being with a human is weird for me. When you told me about the needle case earlier, about school and bullies and things… I’ve never had any of that. Do you understand? Never something so pleasant. I don’t have a birth certificate, I don’t have a mother who will–” She thought about the Mothers. “–act like yours did. Who would accept a gift like that. I don’t really want to go into it, and I don’t think you really want to hear it anyway, but my point is… you’re different. A good kind of different. A different I’m really fond of.”

“It’s just… I just want to be normal, don’t you see? You say ‘a good kind of different’, but I’m not. I’m some sort of freak. There’s nothing normal about either of us.”

“So what?” Nadia said, and threw her hands up a little. “We’re not normal. Nobody here is normal, and you know what? I don’t think you do want normal. I think you like the idea of normal and you feel like if you can achieve this mythical notion of normality sitting in your head that everything will be okay. Everything will make sense.” She shook her head. “But it won’t. You told me yourself that being around humans is harder for you, and that other people mistreated you. Do you really want to go settle somewhere in the suburbs, erect a white picket fence and try to pretend the world is completely average and okay, and that there aren’t vampires or ghouls or kitsune or psychics or magic or any of that?”

He considered what she’d said, more deeply than Nadia expected; he took his time with it. “I couldn’t go back,” he said at last. “Not because I know what else the world holds, but for other reasons. But if I couldn’t go home, I think I tried to bring home here. To pretend that all that other stuff didn’t exist here. That this was safe. But the Good Lady said the theatre was safe, and it wasn’t. I don’t know that there’s anywhere safe for us. We’d not be accepted. We’re too different.”

“Sometimes different is good, and this place–” She looked around the room. “–is full of wonders, too. It isn’t safe, you’re right–nothing is. I learned that long ago. But I think you get so fixated on the frightening parts that you lose sight of all the good things. There are people who care about you and won’t judge you for being an empath. There’s magic and mystery and knowledge here. It’s a good place to be different.”

He nodded. “I think I like it here, ghosts and werewolves and monsters and all. And we’re more equal, somehow. We all pitch in. Even Birdie.”

She carefully kept the little stab of pain out of her face. “Good,” she said. She allowed herself to relax a little–he was staying. He’d be happier here. “I’m glad. I think it’s a better place than if you went off to go… be normal somewhere.”

“No picket fence and suburbia for me, then?” He chuckled. It felt good to hear him laugh after the strain of the past few minutes. “I don’t think I’m the nine to five type. I don’t think any of us are the nine to five type.” He paused. “Do you think they’ll stay? Kit and Motley and the rest of them? Or do you think we’re just a stopgap while they decide what to do next?”

She’d been smiling, an instinctive reaction to his chuckle, but the pleasure slipped away now. “I don’t know,” she said, struggling a little with the words, over-articulating them as a result. “Everyone has their own road to walk, you know?” Nadia avoided his eyes. “It’s not the right home for everyone.”

He flashed her a quick look. “You’re not thinking of going, are you? You’ve got your kitchen here and everything.” He hesitated, a tense smile on his face. “You can make your carrot and honey ginger soup for me. I might even not put salt in it.”

Nadia smiled a little, despite herself. In a small voice, she said, “It’s a savory soup. It’s okay to salt it.”

“See how much I don’t know? And you teach me. Repeatedly.” The smile faded. “I have to stay. I don’t have anywhere else to go right now, and besides, it’s my name on the lease. I wouldn’t want to do anything that would make trouble for everyone else.”

Nadia allowed herself a quick look at his face. “You should. It’s a good place for you. But I don’t… I’m not sure I should be here. And I’m not saying that because I want you to talk me out of it or something, I just–” She shrugged helplessly and looked down. “I wanted to make sure you were okay first.”

He shook his head, lips pressed together. When he looked at her she could see pain in his eyes. “But we need you here. It wouldn’t be the same without you. We’re a family. We– You can’t go off alone, Nadia. I won’t let you. It’s not safe out there alone.”

“We’re not a family,” she managed, but the words were getting harder to force out. She was used to anger not all of… this. “I thought we could be or should be but I think that was a mistake.” She closed her eyes tightly, felt a glimmer of anger at the welling tears there after all.

“Everyone in that dining room was scared and angry,” he said. “I wasn’t even there but I can feel that’s true. If you– If you’ve never had a family it’s maybe hard to understand, but even families fight sometimes. They come through it because of what binds them. Some of us still have families out there–me, Motley, Sienna maybe–but we choose to be here because here we can be family but still be ourselves. So our family can come through this. Don’t you see?”

She wished she could see. There was a lot to be desired in what he was saying; it’s what she’d told herself. It was a lot like what she told him. But Nadia shook her head. “I’m afraid, Regan.” She couldn’t say that and look at him.

There was a long moment of silence. He’d stayed curled up tightly at the head of the bed, like a child hiding from monsters, but he uncurled, staring at her. “But it’s you and Hesther and the rest that keep me together.”

She still couldn’t look at him; she didn’t want to see whatever expression he was wearing. He knew she could be weak, now, and that changed something. Her every instinct screamed at her in outrage for saying it, telling her to deny it or run or do something before word got out. Instead she sat there, staring at the bed, motionless and heavy with dread.

“It’s me that’s afraid. You’re not meant to be afraid.”

“I know,” Nadia said, the sting of shame and guilt driving her to speak. She wasn’t allowed. She knew that. She told herself that daily. She wore that fearlessness every moment, certain that if it slipped, it could be her end, or their end–the irrational concern of an irrational creature. But now it had slipped, at least for him, and she felt cold and exposed; she hunched down instinctively, somehow managing to appear even smaller.

She felt him move, slowly easing closer to her; she suppressed an instinct to flee. His arm gently encircled her shoulders.

“I need you to be strong. I can’t bear the thought of you being afraid.”

“I know,” she said again. He was warm. She lost any will to resist or to hold herself up, and leaned into him, her shoulders shaking. “But I am.”

“Don’t be.”

Suddenly, Nadia was in his arms; she hadn’t even realized it was happening until it was done. She tensed briefly, on reflex–How did I get here? What happened? How do I get out?–and then something broke inside her. She stopped trying to figure out what was happening. She let the emotion pour out of her, closed her eyes, and breathed him in.

For a moment, she wasn’t afraid.

It was hard to guess how long she stayed like that. Time mattered when she thought about survival, but she’d put that aside, at least for a while. Eventually her head began to clear, coherent thoughts returning. Nadia’s first impulse was to hoard them; instead, she spoke.

“I don’t want to be alone,” she started. Her voice felt normal again, quiet and calm. “Pack-driven, you know. I thought by being here with everyone that I wouldn’t be. But I think I still am. I don’t know how to be any different.” She shifted, trying to look at him without actually drawing away. One of her arms had found its way around him, of its own accord. “It’s very important to me to be independent,” she said seriously. “Self-sufficient. That’s part of the fear, too. It’s difficult for me to trust.”

“Being with people doesn’t make you less independent. It doesn’t make you less of a person. You don’t lose yourself in the whole. You’d always still be you, even if there were people here who cared for you. There are people here who care for you.”

She hadn’t even thought about loss of identity–was that part of it? She’d always told herself it was survival–trust is vulnerability is weakness. But that wasn’t all of it, was it? Nadia set herself apart from others deliberately. Unique. Contrary. Hungry to be something more, something distinguished by her own achievements.

Huh.

She studied his face. People who care for you. She wanted to ask about that, but she didn’t want to make him think about the statement. Didn’t want him to pull away. “There are a lot of people who don’t care for me, too,” she said instead.

He shrugged. “It will be the same wherever you go. Even in a pack, I bet there are some don’t get on as well as others, right? Do you really want to start from scratch somewhere new? Rebuild everything you’ve achieved over the past year or more? People will help if you let them.”

“No, I don’t,” she admitted. It was true. Hell, she’d probably wind up making the same mistakes somewhere else, or wind up all alone, which was as much a recipe for disaster. But after everything that had happened, she wasn’t convinced of his outlook. He hadn’t been there. “I want to believe you.”

“Do.” He smiled, gave her a little squeeze. “Give it another try, yeah? I mean, look at me. Just a few minutes ago I was scared to let you in the door, and now we’re good again, aren’t we?”

A reminder that he was still there–Nadia liked that. Liked it even more in the same breath that he pointed out how dangerous she was, strangely. Didn’t like ‘good’ as much. The word lacked… specificity. She shifted against him. “I certainly didn’t expect you’d let me… here.”

“Well… uh. No. I guess I didn’t either.” A flicker of consternation crossed his face as he seemed to register how they’d ended up.

Nadia sighed defeatedly. “Damn. Finally had you relaxed.” She settled her head on his shoulder, hoped he wouldn’t move. “Just tell me it’s more than holding a crying girl to you.”

She felt him tense, then let out a long breath, tension easing a little as he did. “Well, it is kind of comfortable. And loads of guys get to hold a crying girl. Not too many get to hold a crying ghoul.”

She laughed softly. “You’re hopeless, you know that?”

“It’s been said before.” He tilted her face up, kissed the end of her nose. “Boop.”

Nadia blinked at him, genuinely speechless.

He blinked back. “You don’t know ‘boop’? Don’t ghouls– No. I don’t suppose they do.”

“They don’t,” she agreed. This was a human thing? How had she never–? “But I like it,” she said quickly, eager not to discourage him. “I think I’d like anything that you do with–anyway it’s okay, and maybe you can tell me what I should do when you, um… Boop?”

The next kiss wasn’t on her nose.

She couldn’t help herself, really. Every bit of her being was driven by seeking new experiences and information. Maybe that had something to do with the whole attaining Enlightenment thing, but the fact of the matter was, Kit was curious through and through.

The wall between the rooms was too thick for Kit’s liking, so she found herself perched on the windowsill looking into Regan’s room, an illusion before her presenting the image of an undisturbed nighttime view for anybody who might peek out the window.

When Kit learned Regan was an empath, she almost bolted, for fear of being caught. But he hadn’t responded to her presence thus far (and, being persnickety as Regan was, he probably would have demanded privacy – maybe she should…? Nah), and the reason soon became clear when he said he couldn’t sense monsters. Wincing at the term, Kit stayed nonetheless.

When Nadia said she was afraid, Kit felt an ache inside of her. She wanted to push through the window, to tell Nadia that it would be okay. That they could run away together, and nobody could ever hurt them again.

But then Nadia spoke about how she didn’t want to be alone. How she was pack-driven. Kit ached in a different way. She couldn’t identify with that. For as much of four centuries as Kit could remember, she had been completely alone. Well, her with her spirit tree. There were others, who protected her in the early days. Before she understood what hunters were, and how to avoid them. But they were just a blur of fur and magic. Not a family. Not like Regan had, and not like Nadia had either.

Kit, in fox form for convenient windowsill-sitting, sat back on her haunches. Were kitsune supposed to care about others as much as she cared about them? Maybe that’s why she felt so much pain. Maybe that’s why she didn’t get another tail the entire time at the Theatre, staying in one place, but she did almost immediately upon leaving. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to make a home, or have a family. Maybe she was just meant to keep wandering.

But she didn’t want to. She looked back in the window, where Regan was holding and comforting Nadia. Kit wanted that. She wanted to be comforted and cared for, and to comfort and care in return. She wanted somebody to put their arms around her and tell her things would be okay. That she wasn’t alone. She wanted to be in Nadia’s position in that very moment.

…But maybe that just wasn’t in the cards for a kitsune like her. Kit watched with wide eyes when Regan kissed Nadia’s nose and said ‘Boop’. Like Nadia, she had never seen anything like that before. All her kisses, all the passion… nothing she had ever done or seen had been so… sweet.

She wanted that, too. She wanted…

Oh. That kiss wasn’t on the nose.

Like earlier, Kit felt something snap inside her. But instead of everything clicking into place, it felt like something shattered. All at once, Kit was awash with more emotions than she knew how to name. Jealousy and hurt, rejection, guilt, anguish, self-loathing.

She couldn’t bear to watch any more, so Kit fled from the window and into the night.

Sienna stood against a wall clutching her satchel, and regretting that she hadn’t returned in time to help Nadia, and Motley, and Regan - no, not Regan, but - a doppelganger called ‘Wake.’ And now they had left the lobby, and only Sienna and a few others remained. All of them silent. All of them clearly confused about all that had happened. Hesther lay on the floor, as if in a fitful sleep.

‘… I’d appreciate it if someone could take Hesther to her room and make sure she knows what’s happened with Wake.’

Crossing to bend over the hotel Manager, Sienna said, “Nadia was right.” Carefully cradling Hesther’s head, and moving her other arm to lift the woman’s upper body, Sienna tightened her grip as Hesther moaned, before curling into a fetal position.

Murmuring, “I’m gonna need some help,” Sienna nodded her thanks as Keaton quickly joined her, murmuring words of a volunteer, and positioned his arms under Hesther, saying, “On the count of three…”

Surprised, but grateful, when the teenager was able to bear the brunt of lifting Hesther’s prone body, Sienna draped Hesther’s arm across her own shoulders, and put an arm around the woman’s waist. Waiting for Keaton to do the same, Sienna looked at him, and was met with a startled expression. “Are you alright, Keaton?”

Gasping, “Let’s go,” Keaton took Hesther’s other arm, and matched Sienna’s steps as they slowly moved Hesther out of the lobby, down hallways, and into her room. Whispering her thanks as Keaton helped carefully place Hesther on the bed, Sienna moved her gaze from the unconscious woman to Keaton, and saw remarkably similar, and painful, expressions crossing both of their faces.

“What is it, Keaton?”

Being careful not to allow his hands to touch Hesther as he covered her with blankets, Keaton said, “It’s … nothing.” Going into the bathroom, he added, “I’m gonna get her a glass of water, in case … for when she wakes up.”

He remained in there for a little bit, small fragmented memories that he saw from Hesther clouding his own thoughts. Playing with his own mind… He splashed some water up onto his own face, cupping his hands and drinking from his palms. He wiped the water away, wetting the entire cloth – just in case – and grabbed a glass; filled it with water, and proceeded into Hesther’s bedroom.

Sitting on the side of the bed, Sienna removed items from her satchel as she listened to Keaton moving around in Hesther’s bathroom.

“I got the water.” Holding the glass to confirm his statement, Keaton added, “And I wet a wash cloth, in case we … you, want to dab her face…”

“That’s a great idea!” Taking the cloth, Sienna gently placed he cool fabric on Hesther’s forehead, cringing when the woman turned her head as if to avoid being touched.

“I can stay with her if you want to go back to the lobby, or your room, or wherever…”

Interrupting Sienna’s offer, Keaton whispered, “No… No, I’ll stay.”

Suddenly nervous, Sienna said, “I thought I might try to help her.” Gesturing towards the items she’d placed on Hesther’s bed, Sienna murmured, “Those are some of the things I use for … when …”

Staring at the candle, crystal, vial of oil, and dagger that Sienna had arranged on top of the blankets, Keaton eyed them cautiously, as if they would attack him, “I don’t know what those things do, but I know that they… er, you do things with them.”

“You do?”

“Sort of… I mean - Motley mentioned that I should see you. And… I’ve, well… I’ve seen you in the gazebo on occasion. And in the garden. And I use to see you in the Fortune Telling tent at the farmer’s market in town. I even heard you chanting at the trees near an orchard one day…”

Genuinely surprised to learn that someone besides Haven had seen her rituals and observed her worship, Sienna blushed as she lifted her Athame and etched Hesther’s name into the white candle. Carefully pouring some oil on her fingertips, she gently smoothed it across the engraving.

Keaton watched her, his expression turning into something curious, and wanting to know, Could she help me? He stood quiet as she continued with her ceremony.

Lighting the candle, Sienna chanted:

“Healing light, shining bright,

“Let her pain flee in fright!

“With harm to none including me,

“I cast this spell, so mote it be.”

Repeating the mantra twice more, Sienna stared at the candlelight, willing whatever caused the struggle that Hesther was suffering to leave her friend’s body, and her mind.

Listening to Sienna’s voice, Keaton closed his eyes and nodded. His memories easing themselves into their places. A few imagines coming to the forefront. A silhouette of a woman standing in a field of flowers.

Placing the candle on Hesther’s bedside table, Sienna softly exhaled as Hesther’s body relaxed beneath its covers. Whispering, “The clouds in your mind will be lifted. Your thoughts will become more clear. You will feel safer, calmer, and more peaceful. The mental dust will begin to settle, and feelings of inner contentment, of peace, will envelop you…” Sienna lifted the crystal from the blanket. Holding the stone in both hands, Sienna closed her eyes and imagined Hesther being filled with the healing properties of the crystal, bathed in a stream of pure energy which ran from the crystal, through her hands, and into Hesther’s body. Opening her eyes, Sienna carefully placed the crystal under Hesther’s pillow, blinking back tears as her friend’s breathing slowed, and the pained expression on her face softened.

Without saying a word, Keaton looked up at Sienna. The ceremony was simple, and, in a way, beautiful. His eyes asked her if it was over…

Answering Keaton with a tired smile, Sienna whispered, The spell part is done. Now we wait.”

AHHHHHH!!”

Quickly extinguishing the candle as Hesther punctuated her quiet wailing, driven by the consciousness of the infant, by thrashing around in the bed. Sienna tried to calm her friend, and looked helplessly at Keaton.

His mind was at a temporary peace until Hesther’s disturbed noises started anew. Hurrying to the bedside, he didn’t hesitate to grab Hesther’s exposed arms, and press her against the pillow. This was his second mistake.

Damn! Shaking his head to block the thoughts, the feelings and memories, emanating from Hesther at his touch, Keaton squeezed his eyes shut as he continued to hold Hesther down.

Nodding when he felt Sienna’s weight added to the bed, Keaton looked up briefly, only to resolutely close his eyes tightly, and hoped that neither he and the psychic, nor any of her spell casting tools, would come in contact with each other.

“Oh my Goddess!”

Opening his eyes in response to Sienna’s whispered plea, Keaton looked from her, to Hesther.

“Her eyes are open, and she’s trying to sit up.” Watching Hesther closely, Sienna realized, But she’s not SEEING us. She’s looking at something else … someone else …

Putting all his weight on his arms, Keaton leaned into Hesther, gritting his teeth as Sienna did the same, and they tried to hold Hesther down.

Tightening his grip as Hesther’s fear assaulted his mind, Keaton’s breathing paused every once in a while, looking pleadingly at the woman whose life … lives, he was now witnessing.

March 3rd, 1959

Hesther huddled in the woods behind the church, gathering tattered thoughts the best she could. She knew she was different now, drastically changed, but didn’t yet understand the vast stores of memories and lives that should never have been part of her own. There was so much of her now, but so little left of it for herself.

There had been bodies at the church, so she’d run again. Bodies in the schools, bodies on the playgrounds. Bodies at her grandma’s, and Chrissie’s, and Ryan’s, and everywhere else she’d gone—bodies and people crying and taking care of them. They were still finding them all over town a day later.

She’d have to find new clothing soon—the dress she wore reeked of her burning house and her sickbed, and it was still too nice for someone on the run. She’d been dressed in it the day before, when they’d expected her to die from the strange illness while wearing her Sunday best.

Still, there was part of her that wasn’t confused at all—the monstrous thing that had cut the strings of all those bodies had had to explain. Or rather, had to drop the cold knowledge into her head along with all the lives.

It had been almost as broken, almost as dead as she had when it found her. They’d both needed the deaths of others to survive—but while Hesther would need the lives of the victims, the monster would need their souls. Life for the living, souls for the soulless. The essence of humanity, the core of being, that was to be eaten away by the monster. And the life? The forced that shaped the soul and sustained it, the experiences that bestowed identity? Hesther would slowly eat away at that until the last second of the last loved one’s life winked out.

The lives swarmed through her, twisting and fighting and reeling from fear and grief.

An infant cries. A mother screams. A father laughs. Pain. Blood. Death. Sorrow. Remorse. No remorse. Revenge.

Fire. Blaze. Pleas. Suffering. Deaths.

His thoughts interrupted by Hesther’s renewed moans of distress, Keaton struggled to hold her down, and tried to reject the snippets of the tragic lives that were entering his mind.

Alone. Afraid. Lonely.

Gasping for fresh air, Keaton squeezed his eyes shut, rocking back and forth against Hesther’s memories, and the pain that mirrored so many of his own experiences, his own suffering.

As Sienna tightened her grip on Hesther, she looked from her friend’s unseeing eyes to Keaton. What the hell is happening? Is he like Regan, and able to feel what Hesther’s feeling?

Hesther gave another quieter but equally shapeless wail. It was part her own, part that of the infant that had left its imprint after being used so extensively in the healing process.

“It’s okay.” Gently smoothing Hesther’s hair from her sweat stained face, Sienna whispered, “Nadia is fine. Regan is safe. Motley is okay. You and Nadia were able to save the doppelganger, and Haven has taken him to a place where we’ll all be safe from him. Veronique said he’s been here for a long time. His name is Wake.”

Watching as Hesther’s stare frantically searched the room, Sienna said, “Just rest, Hesther. Everyone’s safe. But you must rest.” Nodding her encouragement when Hesther’s gaze found her, Sienna whispered, “Please try to rest …”

“STOP IT. STOP IT. PLEASE.”

Startled by Keaton’s outburst, Sienna’s glance at the teenager was met by his wide eyed gaze, before he looked at Hesther, and they both started to tremble.

Dear Goddess! Moving a hand from Hesther’s shoulder, Sienna reached for Keaton.

Turning his head to look at the psychic, Keaton shook his head from side to side pulling his body away without breaking contact in an attempt, trying to block Sienna’s memories from joining the horrible feelings Hesther was suffering from her own heartbreaking past.

“It’s okay, Keaton. You’ll be okay. Hesther will be okay.” Blinking back tears, Sienna added, “We’ll all be okay …”

Hesther responded with renewed thrashing, unsuccessfully trying to kick away the blankets that covered her, then raising trembling hands to push against Keaton’s arms.

“I think we need some help.”

Looking at Keaton for his response, Sienna gasped. The teenager’s gulping breaths and unseeing stare confirmed Sienna’s statement.

“HAVEN!” Looking around the room as if the avatar was already there, Sienna exclaimed, “We need help helping Hesther! Please, Haven…”

“No! We’re…. I’m….fine. Nobody doesn’t need to worry… or panic.”

Relieved to see that Keaton’s gaze seemed normal, Sienna still looked for Haven to manifest as the teenager’s breath slowed, and he repositioned his grip on Hesther’s shoulders.

“Are you sure we don’t, you don’t want … need, any help?” Studying Keaton’s breathing, Sienna added, “I’m sure Haven would be happy to help us…”

“I’m fine.” Giving Sienna a hesitant look, Keaton asked, “And you?”

“I’m good, thanks.” Moving her gaze to Hesther, Sienna was grateful that, like Keaton, the manager’s breathing had slowed. Watching as every movement Hesther made was mirrored by Keaton’s body, Sienna thought, They are actually ‘connected,’ somehow. Even their breaths are in unison. What the hell is happening to those two?

Voices from the outside world infiltrated Hesther’s fever dream, beginning to draw her mind further from it. After a while, only a few lives struggled in her head—the child, now loosening its hold. Nadia’s, less problematic because it had been siphoned into Regan rather than being drawn from Hesther’s own store. And someone strange. Someone who didn’t belong. Someone very afraid.

Keaton stared at Hesther, shaking his head slightly, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead… He looked at the spot on the bed next to Hesther, he closed his eyes for a moment and sat down on the empty spot. His head was pounding. He licked his dry lips and looked up at Sienna - the dark circles under his eyes deepening.

Gently wiping the sweat from Keaton’s forehead, Sienna whispered, “Please tell me what I can do to help you.”

Curling up close to Hesther, Keaton mumbled, “I don’t need any help.” Looking at the woman laying next to him, Keaton added, “But she does. She’s … she … well, there’s more than meets the eye… Lots more.”

Quietly, he looked at her. Getting comfortable on his side of the bed his voice losing volume, “But… She deserves happiness… Everyone does…” Except me. He readjusted himself on the bed, brushing hair off of Hesther’s forehead and grabbing the cloth from Sienna - gently wiping Hesther’s forehead.

Keaton handed the cloth back and smiled faintly as Hesther did. Her mind was filled with the faces of friends who she had met - some alive and some dead. Those who were dead caused bittersweet feelings and emotions but good ones nonetheless.

Everyone does… Except me.

A glint appeared in Hesther’s eyes as they cracked open.

“Everybody does,” she said softly. “Everybody.”

Kit found Nasim near the same hallway they had last met. He wasn’t carrying a pile of sheets this time, but he was walking with that familiar hunch. “I thought I’d told you you look better without the hunch.” Kit said softly, stepping in front of him, her expression unreadable.

He stared at her with his usual wariness, and straightened up. “I had no one worth looking better for until now, mistress.”

She smiled, but there was a sort of sadness in it that was not normally there. “…C’mon,” she said, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the room they had been in only scant hours earlier. It felt like an eternity had passed since the afternoon. “Actually, no… in here.” Kit veered at the last moment, pulling Nasim into a room with a layout matching Regan’s.

“I have ensured the sheets are clean in both rooms,” Nasim said. “But I am content to follow you into either.” There was an edge of hunger in his voice that she recognized now.

“Well, I pick this one.” Kit said, closing the door behind her. She pushed Nasim to the bed, kissing him passionately. He eagerly returned the favor, but Kit pulled back. “Wait…” she said breathlessly.

He blinked at her, but obeyed. Kit stared at his face for a moment, taking in his features. Then, haltingly, awkwardly, Kit leaned towards him and softly kissed him on the nose.

Pulling back, Kit searched his face, wondering if this was what it was it was supposed to feel like. “…Boop.” She said with a weak smile, and before she knew it, she was sobbing.

Nasim was still and silent for a long moment. “Mistress? Did I do something wrong?” A hot–literally–tear dropped onto his neck, hissing on impact; he gritted his teeth a little, but said nothing about it.

Kit buried her face in her hands, not knowing how to stop herself. The only time she could ever remember feeling so many emotions at once before was when she thought everybody from the Theatre was dead.

She shook her head vigorously, silent for a few moments except for her sobs. “No, no.” She finally choked out. “It’s not you. You’re fine. I’m the one who’s done something wrong. Again. Still. Yet. Fuck, I don’t even know if I’m capable of doing anything right.”

Slowly, carefully, Nasim shifted beneath her–enough to place arms loosely around her, easily removed if she chose to do so. “I believe mistress is being unfair with herself,” he said softly.

Tears still streamed down Kit’s face, and she initially squeezed shut her eyes and shook her head, denying his statement. Then she paused, taking a shuddering breath, and looked down at him. A thought occurred to her. “Can I…” she trailed off, not sure how to put her desires into words. Instead, she put her hands on his shoulders, bracing herself while she pulled her leg back from straddling him, and settled herself so that she was tucked next to him on one side.

Wordlessly, Kit hid her face in his shoulder. She was still crying, though now at least her whole body wasn’t shuddering with her sobs. For the time being, at least. Kit wasn’t familiar with how this crying thing usually went.

Nasim’s arms settled around her again–loosely at first, then drawing her in tighter against him. “You can,” he said simply, and continued to hold her, despite his burning flesh.

As Kit felt Nasim’s arms tighten around her, she cried harder, drowning in conflicting emotions telling her that this is what you wanted at the same time as telling her this isn’t right at all.

After a while, Kit calmed down a bit. Still buried in his shoulder, Kit spoke in a soft, hoarse voice. “I don’t know why I’m here.” It wasn’t clear whether Kit was referring to their specific physical arrangement, Haven at large, or her existence on the whole, but at that point it didn’t much matter.

“Yes, you do,” came her own voice back to her. Kit abruptly realized that the shoulder she was buried against wasn’t quite the same as it’d been when she started.

She looked up, startled to find her own face staring back at her. Damn, she looked good. But also, what the hell? Kit said as much, pulling back. “What the hell??”

She let herself draw away, watching sympathetically. “Please. Let me help you.”

Kit backed away from the bed, echoing… herself. “Help me?” She was confused, still reeling from all the emotions that plagued her, unsure whether she should flee, or kill this mirror self on the spot or… Well, that was an option, too. How often do you get the chance to ‘meet’ yourself?

Her other self smiled at her, a little wicked, as if having the same thought. “I don’t think that’s what you really need right now. Do you?”

Kit opened her mouth, closed it again.

“Yes, help you,” she said to herself. Again. “That’s why you came to me, isn’t it? Comfort?”

“I can’t say that ‘Comfortable’ is the first adjective I’d use to describe this situation right now.” Kit shot back. Ah, there were her words.

Other-Kit shrugged. “I’ve rarely seen ‘comforting’ start out as particularly comfortable. But sometimes it gets there.”

The beginning of Nadia’s conversation with Regan flashed through Kit’s mind. Her-self had a point, but… “I’m not sure I follow what your aim here is.” Surely, if she wanted to make herself feel better, there were more direct ways to do it. And curiosity, of course, is an ever burning flame. Surely other-her knew that, so if that wasn’t the goal, what was?

“Aim? Simple. There are some things you need to hear.” She spread her arms. “And who else are you going to listen to?”

Kit shifted from foot to foot. “What could I have to tell me that I don’t already know? That… doesn’t make the most sense, if any.” Still, Kit was interested. Her breathing was still shaky from the crying - what an incapacitating emotional response - but her eyes, though red rimmed, were alert and set on, well… her. She took tentative steps back towards the bed, ultimately perching on the desk.

Other-Kit shifted, too, angling herself on the bed to face her squarely. “Tons,” she said. “It’s not really that you don’t know these things, you’re just still not hearing them. For instance–the reason you’re here.”

“For one thing, I thought you were Nasim,” Kit rejoined, but was cut off with a sardonic look from herself.

“Did it really matter that it was Nasim?”

Kit didn’t have a response ready for that. It did matter, actually. But only because she knew that Nasim wouldn’t resist her. That he would eagerly go along with what she wanted and wouldn’t refuse her. But she wasn’t about to say that.

But Other-Kit was. “He was just a body.”

“They always are.” Kit responded ruefully.

“Oh!” Other-Kit said brightly. “Like Regan and Nadia are just bodies.”

“Of course not!” Kit snapped, temper flaring. How dare this imposter imply she ever thought of Regan and Nadia that way. Seeing her own expression, Kit sombered. “But that’s… different. And they don’t need me, anyway. Neither do the bodies. So I can just walk away and it’ll be fine.”

She laughed at her. “Yeah, sure.” She laughed again. “Fine. Sunshine and rainbows forever and ever.”

Kit glowered. On one hand, she wanted to snap back at herself, and say, “Yes, exactly. Why not? Why not sunshine and rainbows for me?” but on the other hand, Kit knew that in more than four centuries, rainbows were rare.

“Okay, fine. What’s your point?”

“Two points,” she said, raising two fingers illustratively. “First–why do you suddenly need to be needed? Second–have you considered that you might need them?”

Gaping for a moment, the best Kit could come up with at first was, “Those are questions, not points.”

“This is why you need to hear it from me. You. Whatever. Stop being evasive.”

“Evasion is all I know how to do. Evade everything, set fire to what you can’t.”

“You don’t say.”

Kit glared. Then she heaved a breath, crossing her arms. “Fine, Kit-pseudo. I’ll play.” She got up, pacing the floor as she thought. “The second point,” she finally said, coming to a stop, “is easier. The answer is no, or you wouldn’t have asked. Or, I mean… I’ve thought about it, but I can’t need them. If I do, then what will I do when, well…” Kit gestured upwards, where she presumed a few floors up Regan and Nadia were doing just fine.

“Which brings me to your first point, which is that. Well, I don’t know why. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. But something is wrong, because if I need them, and they don’t need me, where does that leave me? You. Us. Whatever.” Kit settled, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms. “Out in the cold. Well, not cold ever but… fuck, you know what I mean.”

Other-Kit nodded soberly. “What’s wrong with you is that you’ve found something to care about that you don’t have complete control over. The situation’s out of your hands.”

That gave Kit pause. That sounded, well… not wrong. “Okay, let’s say you’re right. Hypothetically. That still leaves me in the metaphorical cold. Unless I leave myself, which would… still be in the metaphorical cold, but at least it was my choice.”

“So what you’re saying,” Other-Kit began slowly, “Is that because–in this hypothetically correct scenario–you don’t have control over things you care about, your best option is to remove yourself from those things entirely?”

Kit looked at the floor. “I can’t…” she took a shuddering breath, but no tears came, thankfully. “Evade or burn. I want… I want them to be happy. And if that’s without me, then. Then I should walk away. Because I can’t just sit and watch this, it will hurt too much. But I don’t want to burn it, so… evasion.” Kit held up her hands, in a vague demonstration of ‘evasion’.

Other-Kit stared at her flatly. “Wow. Big bad demi-goddess fox spirit gets one tiny taste of humanity and suddenly she can’t hack it.”

“Demi-goddess implies that I’m half god. It’s more, deity-in-training.” Kit contradicted, holding up a finger. She lowered it thoughtfully. “And… yeah. Maybe I can’t. So what? Is it so bad to be choosing their happiness over – well, I’m going to be unhappy either way. I may as well do it somewhere that they can be happy and not have to watch.”

“What’s so bad is that you think running away will make any of you any happier in the slightest conceivable way. Tell me, did you write an entire novel about ‘the adventures of Nadia and Regan with Kit’? How are you able to pass any kind of reasonable judgment on their lives or what’s going on in their heads?”

Kit was sorely, sorely tempted to imply that, being a deity-in-training, maybe she had written the novel. But Other-her was too sharp to buy any of that even for a second, so she didn’t bother. She just pouted at the ground for a moment. Then she looked up at herself, tired and mildly annoyed. “So, just because I can’t guarantee that running away will be better, you want me to… what? Stay here? Pretend I’m happy for them? Plan a wedding shower?”

“First, you would be great at planning a wedding shower.”

Kit shrugged. It was true.

“But no,” she went on. “What you need to do is act like the majestic creature you are and deal with it. These are people you care about. They care about you. You’re not always going to get your way.” She paused. “Isn’t that kind of your whole next thing, anyway? Things outside yourself having value?” Then Other-Kit frowned, turned, and counted her suddenly-evident tails. “No, wait. You should already have that one down now.”

Kit blinked. “Uhm… what?”

Other-Kit looked at her again. “Oh. Yeah. You don’t know this.” She laughed. “Wow.”

“Don’t know what?” Kit demanded, pushing away from the wall and standing up fully.

She eyed her. It was annoying, the slight air of smugness to her. “How do you think it is you go from being a deity-in-training to being a deity, anyway?”

Her forehead wrinkled. What an odd question. “Uh, you get nine tails, and then you ascend to Enlightenment.” Kit resisted the urge to add ‘Duh.’ to the end of her answer.

Other-Kit facepalmed. At her. Sighing heavily.

Kit assumed the answer was insufficient. “If you mean the tails, it’s from practice using your abilities. About… discipline and persistence or whatever. You know, master riding a bike, and then you get to work on wheelies, or whatever they’re called.”

She lifted her head to regard Kit pityingly. “Well, at least someone told you step one. Yes. Powers. That’s fantastic, you know how to make fire and bend reality. You’re definitely god material now.” She frowned. “You can’t possibly believe that’s all there is to it.”

“Forgive me, oh sarcastic one, but I’m not at the omniscient part yet.”

“That much was super clear, but thanks for pointing it out. If you’d like to eventually get there, you should consider trying to fill your head with–oh, I don’t know–Enlightened ideas.”

Kit gaped. Again. She knew that Enlightenment came at ascension, but never considered that it might be… wait. “Yeah, I’m going to need you to elaborate a bit.”

Other-Kit smiled slightly, somewhere between pleased, amused, and superior. It occurred to Kit that it was supremely annoying. “Happy to do so. It’s a path to Enlightenment–or a ladder to ascension, if you prefer. And over the course of the journey, you pick up all the vital things you need to learn to be Enlightened. Represented by–” she flashed her tails in a quick wave.

Well, that certainly changed things. “So… I didn’t get the fourth tail because I pulled off that swamp-to-hot-springs trick?”

She sighed patiently. “No, you didn’t. It was an event infinitely more profound than that.”

“He wasn’t that good.” Kit retorted.

Other-Kit waited. Folded her hands, even, for emphasis.

Kit replayed the events of those weeks in her mind. They were, admittedly, a blur of emotion. Lust and control and… “Grief?” Kit asked, partially to herself and partially to, well, herself. “I was crying, because I thought they were as dead as… Freddy, or whatever his name was. And then I woke up, and boom, tail.”

She sat, cross legged on the floor. Her own tails appeared, and they wrapped around to her lap, where she gently stroked them. “Thinking the only people I care about besides myself are dead led me to Enlightenment?” Kit asked herself, arching an eyebrow.

Other-Kit nodded. “The grief was the sign, but what it represented is vital. If you want mourn for something that happened to others, you’ve acknowledged their value and importance. The world is larger than you and your experiences.”

Kit mulled it over. “That… makes way too much sense. How do you know this, but I don’t? Like, I get the whole ‘asking questions of myself I don’t want to answer’ thing, but this…” Kit stood up, sat on the bed on her hands and knees and peered at herself. “Do you get my powers, too? How does this work?”

Other-Kit smiled at her, and it wasn’t at all like Kit’s smile. “I have been around for a very long time, and… talked to a very large number of people. We’ll leave it at that. The point being–your friends are important. You grieved for them. They advanced you on the path of Enlightenment. And they proved that you care about something besides yourself.”

“Huh.” Kit sat back. She rarely saw herself, but somehow the smile still struck her as odd. “Okay, so what are the last five steps.”

Other-Kit held up her fingers, counting them off. “Five is deciding that something is more important than yourself. Self-sacrifice, if you will. Six is creating something more important than yourself. That’s all about Ethical Conduct.”

Kit recognized the term, but never thought about actually applying it. Other-Kit continued, “The rest are about concentration. Seven is self-restraint, which I can tell you’re going to have trouble with…” Here Kit bristled, but Other-Kit plowed on, “Eight is mindfulness. It’s about acceptance, learning some wrongs can’t be righted, that sort of thing. Nine is the big one, so it’s hard to easily define. It’s about understanding that sometimes, good things must be destroyed. Like fire, there’s an essential duality of life. Building and destruction and rebirth. Everything matters, and nothing matters.”

“That strikes me as pretty contradictory to step four.”

She watched herself shrug. “It’s Enlightenment, I didn’t make up the steps. I’m not a deity, so you’ll have to take it up with them.”

Kit nodded, considering all of it. That was… certainly interesting. “Wait, you said the next step is self sacrifice. How is leaving so that they can be happy together not the right thing to do?”

“Well, if you do it now just to get the tail, it won’t work.”

“I was going to do it before we even had this conversation!”

“Yeah, but either way, it doesn’t count as self-sacrifice if nobody actually benefits from your sacrifice. That’s just called stupidity.”

Kit desperately wanted to smack the smug look right off of her own face.

“So… what, you want me to stay and be all ‘Zen’ about it while I watch the only two people I care about be all… cute?”

“Don’t you think you should be happy for them, if they’re so important to you?”

“…”

“Haaaave you asked yourself why you were so quick to dislike Taylor?”

“You mean besides the extremely tacky hair?”

“Which you totally wish you’d thought to do first.”

Damn, arguing with herself was hard. “It was big in Japan first,” she mumbled weakly.

“Why else?” Other-Kit insisted.

Kit knew what she was getting at. “Because… she was getting all cozy with Regan. Well, not-Regan. You, actually. Whoa, this conversation just turned confusing.”

Other-Kit waved a hand. “You’re missing the point. Stop changing the subject. What do you care who he talks to or flirts with?”

“I don’t.”

“Mhmmm.”

“I don’t!!” Kit insisted.

“So that’s why you were snooping from a window. Because it doesn’t matter.”

“I’m curious. It’s what I do. And if she was so interested in him, why did she make me take him to the gala?”

Kit shut her mouth in shock. Those were not words she was expecting.

It was all Nadia. Kit had spoken to Regan before then, but only in passing. She liked him well enough, but he was always so withdrawn. She never would have considered him an option if it hadn’t been at Nadia’s insistence. And… Kit couldn’t remember when it stopped being a joke. Just a fun experiment to see whether they could get him to play along.

Other-Kit stared at her, watching her expression, giving the thoughts time to roll around in her head. Then she spoke. “You remember getting ready for the gala, don’t you? You were still at three tails at that point, so maybe it didn’t click. In Nadia’s room, helping her get ready.”

“Uhhhhh, help me out?”

Other-Kit just stared at her, so Kit continued, “I’m getting that Nadia was the one who orchestrated all of this, but I don’t understand why, and I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do about it now that they’re together, but thanks to Nadia, I already l–” Kit abruptly cut herself off.

She thought back, reflecting on how, in what felt like a lifetime ago, Nadia constantly showered her with compliments and praise. Explicitly lived vicariously through Kit’s tall but true tales. It never occurred to her, then, that Nadia might have set Kit up with Regan because she thought she couldn’t get him for herself.

More quietly, Kit continued. “Because of Nadia, I… care about him. And I care about her. And while this information is… enlightening, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with myself. They’re together now, which is great for them, but…”

Kit choked on her words. “I don’t think falling for him was supposed to be part of the plan. And now I have and I don’t know how to stop. I’ve tried. It’s not the same anymore!!” Kit cried out in anguish. Those months on the road, when she was living the life she was used to before she ended up at the Theatre. She was miserable, then. Lonely, and empty, and none of the men she had lured in were what she wanted. None of them were him.

Now the words were spilling out. “I don’t even know when it happened, or why, or how! I don’t care about people! Especially not mortals! Especially not mortals who just think I’m some sort of sideshow where I’m pretty one minute and hideous the next!!” Kit slammed her palm against the wall. “It doesn’t even make any sense! I shouldn’t even have him on my radar, but – and now he and Nadia are all tangled up in each other’s arms, and I’m here, rejected and only good as a tool or a front, just holding up illusions like I always do until something real takes hold. Never a part of what matters, never there when it counts. I may as well be a summer heat wave. You see some wiggles on the pavement, and then the breeze blows and it’s gone, and you forget about it entirely. Hell, even you have more substance than I do, and you’re me.”

She continued pacing, continued ranting, and thankfully the figure on the bed was emulating Kit at that moment, and not Regan, so it actually let her talk.

“And you know, I did feel guilty for not being there. I was in Salazar’s… whatever it was. Having a grand old time. And I wanted to bring her back, you know? So we could have fun together. And when I got there, everything was gone and I hated myself for not being there. Maybe, I thought, maybe if I had been there when whatever it is that happened, happened, things could have gone differently. I could have protected them. I could have helped. Maybe it could have been me, instead. And then I get here, and they’re alive, and I’m thrilled, but also it almost hurts just as much, to know that I wasn’t there, and they didn’t need me to be. They were just fine. Better, even. They have each other, and they’re running an entire hotel, and… what am I? At the theatre, I was the special effects. But the thing about special effects is, you can have a perfectly fine show without them. Sure, they might be nice to have around. A little extra sparkle, a little extra unexpected twist. But at the end of the day, it’s not necessary. And that’s what I am, Kit. Or whatever your name is. I’m special effects. They think they need me, but they don’t, really. They’re just used to it. And I don’t know if I’m capable of ever being more than just… a cheap lighting trick.” Kit slumped onto the bed, face first, burying her face in the blanket.

Other-Kit didn’t say anything, shifting next to her. She let her stay buried, merely reaching out to stroke her hair soothingly. In precisely the way she liked, of course.

Kit wasn’t sure how long she laid there, crying. Eventually she sat up, sniffling. She slid over to where her other self sat, leaning her head back on her own shoulder. “Where do I go from here?” she asked quietly.

She resumed stroking her hair when she settled, adding an arm around her as well. “Forward,” she said softly. “Eyes open.”

Kit smiled weakly. “Yeah, but they’re all goopy from tears. Really stupid physical response to emotion, if you ask me.” She reached up to wipe at her eyes, allowing herself to be comforted by the stroking of her hair. She did love having her hair stroked.

“Figuratively open, but you already knew that.” She could her the smile in her voice.

Kit sat up, let out a heavy sigh. “Wow. That was all… unexpected, to say the least.” Then she looked at herself. “…What am I supposed to do with you? Aren’t you supposed to be chained up, or something?”

“Well. Since we got your personal growth out of the way… When are you going to be in a locked room with yourself again?”

Kit and Kit exchanged identical, wicked grins.

Later that night…

Jacob’s eyes snapped open, his heart pounding fit to flee his ribs. He lay tangled in his sheets, slicked in sweat. It was The Nightmare again. Though he never remembered it, he was pretty sure it was always the same one because of what it left in its wake. Dizziness, ringing ears, blurred vision, breathlessness, a chill as if there was a separate skin of ice beneath his own digging into him, and the impression of burning, sticky sand between his fingers, some of which were no longer there. Even after these sensations faded, a subtle lingering dread remained.

He wiped his eyes, his cheeks, hoping that no one had heard him earlier. Hoping he hadn’t done anything that made a sound. A ghost of the earlier pain still bided in his arm. Sleep was going to be impossible. It didn’t help that he could sense the now-oppressive hum of the staff presences within his range of perception, but with all the guests added in…

Jacob stared at the ceiling. Outside the door, the massive grandfather clock solemnly ticked away the remaining hours of darkness. He felt his heartbeat and breathing sync with each swing of the pendulum, magnifying each other until they all roared in his ears, almost drowning the collected drone. I can’t stay here. I need to get in contact with… someone. Anyone.

“Fuck it,” he spat. He sat up, throwing off the covers and tossing on a sweatshirt and shorts. Haven was heated well enough to go shirtless… still, nobody but nobody needed to see the mess that was his right side. The hook he left hanging on the bedpost.

Padding barefoot out into the hallway, he headed to the reception area, intent on… Wait. A harsh glow from one of the hall tables caught his attention. Someone left their tablet out here. He approached, squinting at the screen. And it’s unlocked. Jacob had been anxious as to whether or not he’d be able to properly operate the computer mouse left handed, but now it seemed it didn’t matter.

Even better, the tablet’s cover also acted as a stand. Hand still trembling, he set it up, studying the icons on the display until he found one for the internet browser. The wireless gauge read a strong signal, so he opened the browser and, swiping the keyboard up, he tapped in his search terms.

Time attenuated as he waited for the results. When they appeared, he poked at the appropriate link, reading the subsequent page. And then again. And then again, his jaw tightening. Swiping back to the menu, he called back the search box and pecked in another set of search terms.

There were no matching results.

And then another set, and another set. No matching results.

He squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth. “God damn it,” he half-sobbed, the sheath of ice creeping under his skin again, drawing his fingers into rigid claws. Shaking off the tense cold, he snatched up the tablet, raising it above him…

Jacob sucked in a deep breath, then another, laying the tablet down on the table as if it was an impact-sensitive explosive. Back pressed against the wall, he slid down, curled his arms around his head and shook.

Once Wake was gone, Motley spent a few minutes trying to resettle herself. She was alone in her room; she ought to feel safe. But the sound of her own voice, questioning, mocking, had spoiled any peace she might have found here. And Haven, too–she’d never liked the knowledge that he could see inside her room. Outside. Motley needed to be outside. She grabbed her coat–still torn, she’d been meaning to fix it–and left.

At once she changed direction. Regan had been through worse than she had tonight. She came to his door and raised her hand to knock–but the faint sounds from inside said he wasn’t alone. Kit, Motley supposed. Well, that was probably a good sign. He couldn’t be feeling too bad. She’d just check up with him later.

It was so late by now; so cold outside. She let the chill sink in for a few moments before she shrugged into her coat. It wasn’t even snowing yet, and already she couldn’t stand the cold. She’d spoken to Jacob about real winters, but honestly, in this life she was as poorly equipped for them as anyone else.

She started walking–down to the dovecote, just out of habit, though if Birdie was there at this time of night he was going to be in trouble. She hadn’t even paused in his room. He was probably curled up in bed already.

She poked her head into the dovecote anyway. Empty and cold. The faint sounds of her movement echoed in the stony space, as though there were several of her inside. Motley shivered and left, continuing away from the house.

Nadia. Motley’s fingers crept around her wrist. She hadn’t even bothered to bandage the cuts, much less clean them. What did a ghoul do with such a vicious little knife? Motley sighed. She was probably going to get an infection. Goodie.

She’d left her own knife in her room. A sheath and a way to carry it with her–something she could hide–at her back, perhaps? Considering her uniform that made the most sense, but it still wouldn’t be very hidden. She’d have to ask Regan if she could add a jacket to her uniform. Maybe he’d even make one–would he enjoy that? She certainly would; his work was always so comfortable, so pleasant to wear.

And then she could carry her knife with her always. Perhaps it’d warn her if Nadia crept up behind her. It wouldn’t warn her about Wake–though perhaps that ought to be comforting; perhaps Wake meant no harm.

Motley had wandered into a dark, untended part of the estate–in fact, she wasn’t even sure she was still on the estate at all. She turned back to make sure she wasn’t lost; the house was partly lit, a few windows glowing golden, lights on the sign out front. Easy to find. She turned around again and kept walking, pushing back the scraggly branches that barred her path.

The things Wake had said… well, they were a little unbelievable, even for someone who lived with a ghoul–two ghouls–a kitsune, a vampire, various psychics and miscellaneous talents. And an elf child from another world. Salazar had spoken of other worlds, too. Hm. Well, then, some sort of bridges must exist. It was possible that Haven could be one.

“Do you have any idea how much ambient magical energy has to be expended for a building to become accidentally sentient? And that’s assuming it was an accident.”

All right. Something was strange about the place, obviously. Wake might have the right of it. Haven himself probably wouldn’t know–he seemed to have no memory before the Theatre refugees’ arrival–but Motley could ask Robert Miles, perhaps, or question Shael about her experience crossing between worlds, or–

Taylor. Motley winced. Was anyone with the young woman now? How was she? What had she seen? It was almost enough to make Motley turn back again–but Taylor was probably asleep by now, if she didn’t already have company. Motley wrapped her arms around herself and kept walking.

Still, there were places she could go for information. Obvious places. And Wake understood her, apparently, and likely knew that she would look for someone to corroborate his story. So she would definitely check, but for the moment it was probably safe to assume that the basics were true. Haven was a bridge between worlds. An unstable, dangerous bridge.

Damn it all.

She’d been walking uphill for several minutes; now the land took a turn and sloped down. Motley glanced back again. The house was out of sight, but the trees weren’t so thick as to be immediately confusing. She kept walking, glancing back periodically to make sure she’d know what the way home looked like.

Well, she’d known Haven wasn’t safe. And what she’d told Wake was true. As long as the others stayed, so would she. They’d have to be told, though, if they didn’t know already.

Ahead of her, the trees opened up, giving way to a narrow, muddy beach around a little pond. Motley stopped a few feet back from the water. Here, the cold felt a little less, although that was probably her imagination. Off to one side, bare rock lay pale in the moonlight. Motley sat. The water rippled faintly, lapping against mud and pebbles and straggling marsh grass. This would be the perfect place for–ah. Duck tracks showed plainly in the mud. Motley smiled. She’d have to come back during the day, then, and with her pockets full. And perhaps she should bring Birdie–

‘No.’ She was surprised at the vehemence of the thought. All she wanted was to sit and feed the ducks, like she had so many times before, in so many places, in so many lives. Birdie, much as she loved him, couldn’t help but spoil it with his talent. He had as many birds as he wanted, all the time; let her keep these few.

That didn’t mean she had to come alone, though. Salazar would probably sneer at her choice of venue, but she could imagine them talking here; perhaps she would invite him. Or Sienna–she was such a sweet soul. Feeding the ducks would probably delight her. Or Jacob–

“Interesting choice, though.”

“I thought so too.”

Motley pressed her lips together and stared out at the water. She hadn’t thought about that earlier; she’d been too caught up in the realization that Wake could read her mind. But now she grimaced. She hadn’t chosen anyone. She’d just sat with him at the magic show, and had Wake seen the room? It was packed. She’d had to sit with someone.

And then they’d talked, and the conversation was interesting enough to make them miss half the show, and Kit had brought them drinks–

All right, so maybe Wake wasn’t the only one getting the wrong idea. Motley closed her eyes and shook her head. And, absurdly, behind her eyes, she found the image of Jacob as he’d looked the night before, demonstrating his talent for her. His hand on her skin…

Motley groaned and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, bowing over to rest her elbows on her knees. In her defense, it had been a long time–a very long time.

And why not, anyway? Why not take hold of a little simple happiness? This whole life had gone pear-shaped, she could die any day, and what else was she doing that was so urgent and vital as to preclude a little human contact?

Well, assuming Jacob’s mind was on anywhere close to the same wavelength. The conversation had gone well enough. Admittedly, she’d spent a significant portion of it pushing him to develop his powers…

Oh, hell.

But those were problems for tomorrow. For now, the cold was starting to make her shiver, and she finally felt like she might be able to sleep. Motley stood and started toward Haven, glancing behind her every so often to make sure she would remember the way back.

Nadia found herself circling back to the main rooms as her hunt continued–what she thought of as the ‘center’ of Haven. The numerous labyrinthine hallways weren’t conducive to a systematic search, and it seemed entirely too easy to forget which ones she’d been through and which she hadn’t. Maybe it was just thinking back to the West Wing, and how it’d changed on her. She wasn’t convinced the rest of Haven didn’t do that as well.

Not that Kit needed a special rearranging mansion to hide herself. She was excellent at hiding herself. Nadia had known as much when she set out on this fool’s errand to find her. But what else could she do? Her friend was hurting–deeply–and Nadia was beginning to understand why. She should’ve seen it. Gritted her teeth angrily, again, that she hadn’t.

She could’ve just told you.

But it was a weak argument, given how much Nadia hadn’t been saying over the past several weeks. Why did it all have to come together now? Why everything at once? Why when things were finally feeling good for once and he was there and she was there and–shut up, Nadia.

At least she’d convinced Regan to stay in his room. If she did find Kit, she doubted Regan would want to be there for it. And, in the end, Kit wouldn’t, either.

Abruptly, Nadia became aware of another body in the room, curled up in a corner. Kit? But she knew it wasn’t, even if the person’s identity eluded her. Kit was… distinctive. Nadia frowned, considered the shape, and hesitantly approached.

The appearance of the presence was abrupt. Jacob scrambled back against the wall in a panic, looking around wildly through bleary eyes. When he saw who it was, he averted them again, wiping them with the heel of his hand. “Sorry,” he said, his voice thick. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

Jacob. Nadia sought out features other than eyes. “It’s okay,” she said, keeping her voice calm and quiet. She took another cautious step forward, trying to sort out what was happening. Remembered his medication and stopped approaching.

He swallowed, hard. “I’m… um.” Turning toward the windows, he levered himself up from the floor. “It’s almost dawn. I’m gonna go for a run.” Do something. Don’t think.

Nadia stared, uncertain of the correct approach. She’d made some cursory insights based on Jacob’s requests, but she wasn’t in any way qualified to approach this situation. Even her work with Vicktor had been largely practical, not psychological. She was certain avoidance was likely to lead to a repeat incident, however, if nothing was said about what had happened.

On the bright side, she’d survive any unpredictably violent responses. Probably.

“Would you prefer to talk about it?” Which was a silly question. He clearly would prefer to run.

He ran his hand through his hair, finally looking up at her, waiting for the flinch. It took him a few moments to speak. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.” Jacob made his way over to one of the chairs by the table where the tablet sat, dropping himself into it.

Nadia followed, moving slowly, and adopted a chair across from his. She glanced briefly at the tablet, then back to him, gaze trained at approximately the center of his forehead. As close as she could get to eye contact. She could see this getting annoying very fast. “Begin wherever you like. Take your time.”

“I’m… if there’s living space above the carriage house, I’m going to need it. It was okay with just the staff, but with all the other people, the guests… I know they’re there. It’s noisy, or something. I don’t know. But it’s not helping. With sleep.” He exhaled. “So there’s that.”

“We’ll make it happen,” Nadia said. “This round of guests will be clearing out tomorrow, so we’ll have the week to get it fixed up.”

The next exhale had a little bit of relief in it. “Thanks. I think it’ll be better all around, really.” Another pause, and then he ventured, “Even if I had, and could fire, a sniper rifle, there’s no danger of me taking potshots from the bell tower. Just FYI.” Because when people think PTSD, that’s what comes up first.

Nadia considered that. “Are you any good with one?”

“No. I was artillery. A trip-seven would be a different matter, but that’s harder to take into a bell tower.” His smile felt painfully superficial.

She nodded carefully, still ruminating on–well, honestly, on the tactical possibilities. “I’d like to learn more about your condition. Whenever you feel like it. I’m not knowledgeable enough to do much for you right now. More of a stitching holes closed and patching people up kind of medic.”

“Which condition? Given that there’s several. Helpful pointer, I’m not even sure what condition some of my conditions are in right now.” He fidgeted in the chair.

“Fair enough. I guess I mean condition as in status? It’s easy to slap names on things, but that’s rarely the correct way to think about people. I know what medication you’re on and have a reasonable guess as to why. What things are good for you? What provoke bad reactions? How can I help you manage it day-to-day?”

Point blank, “Laying off the public gory murders would be a good start. Aside from that, ritual has always helped, and my friends back home are… were… a safety net.” He glanced toward the windows again. “Morning PT being one of the rituals.”

Hurt flickered over her features at the reminder, quickly suppressed. “I deserve that. I’d like to say it’ll never happen again, but–” She shrugged. “There is more violence inherent in what some of us are and the people we cross than we’d like to admit, and it’s generally going to be coming for us at some point in time for another. My job is to eliminate it. I couldn’t afford to give it a warning.”

Jacob considered that. “So, what are you?”

“I’m a ghoul.” She watched his reaction carefully, even daring his eyes.

“A ghul?” he repeated, with a slightly Middle Eastern inflection.

She straightened up a little. “Haven’t heard correct pronunciation in a while. Yes. ‘Lesser’ Jiniri.”

“… you lost me there. Sorry. I was stationed at Camp Taji. Sometimes the locals, those who dared to be friendly with us, would come talk, tell stories. I heard the word a few times. But they were just stories.” His eyes went down again, but less in avoidance and more in thought.

“Well,” Nadia said slowly, “some of them are just stories, I’m sure. I wasn’t born back in the homeland, so it’s all stories to me, anyway. Considerably safer in this part of the world.”

“I’m pretty sure where I’m from, they were stories. I saw… a lot, over there… but nothing like ghuls.”

The hint wasn’t lost on her. “And where is it you’re from, Jacob?”

He rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know any more, but it’s not here. I know that much.”

She hummed lightly, turning that over in her mind. “This would be the place for something like that to happen. You know that big panther-creature that appeared tonight?” She didn’t wait. Of course he did. “Shael told me that’s from her world.”

“Which leaves a shit-ton of questions. None of which probably have any answers forthcoming. Topmost being ‘Why me?’, natch.” He leaned forward, resting his head on one hand, one stump. “At least those who were trying to kill me can’t get here. Probably. Maybe.”

“Yeah, best not to count anything as a certainty,” Nadia said. “Hell, they might even have sent you, if they were trying alternative ways of getting rid of you. Stranger things have happened.”

“So when I told you I wasn’t flush with options, I had even fewer than I thought.” He went silent for a few moments. “I don’t think they sent me here. What they were doing… it wasn’t subtle. They fucking dropped a subway train I was in out of the sky trying to kill me. Us. There was someone else with me at the time.”

“Hm,” she mused, looking into the distance. “Sounds familiar.” Nadia shook her head. “I might be a little paranoid myself, but I wouldn’t discount them, then. Who else was with you?”

A hint of pain pinched the sides of his mouth. “Celeste. Celeste Southworth. She showed up telekinetic. Heh. I’d rather have had that, considering.” He paused again. “She went out of the picture before I landed here.”

“Out of the picture?” she repeated.

“She left my jacket folded up on the bar table. Whatever she did, it was her choice. Never got a chance to find her and ask her, because five minutes later, I was down the road from here.” He gestured vaguely in that direction. “Though I have a hunch.”

Nadia absorbed that, unsure what to make of it, but more interested in the whole thing than she thought she’d be. “Any others with your flavor of power?”

“There were six of us, all told. As far as I know, I’m the only one here. Then again, I was the only one outside the bar, too. The rest were inside.” His mouth tightened. “Taking a breather.”

“And now you’re here,” she said, stating the obvious. Reminiscing was good, seemed to be solid ground, but she knew there were more issues to be addressed. And he did want that run.

“And now I’m here,” he agreed. “I shouldn’t have told them. They just thought I was the guy who made people sleep. Except Celeste. She knew.” Jacob sighed. “Because I did it to her. That’s probably why she bugged out.”

Aha. Nadia smiled sympathetically, a little sad. How often had she experienced that? How recently? Frequently. And ongoing. “That’d be an assumption,” Nadia said. “You don’t know that.”

“No, I don’t. But it’s probably what I would have done, if I’d been in her shoes. Worried that I’d poked into her memories. Knowing that I could do what I did again without much effort. That’s probably been the scariest part of all this. And that’s saying something.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “You have an awful lot of power at your disposal. Emphasis on ‘awful.’ But it’s what you’ve got, and there’s nothing to do but learn how to use it properly and be ethical in its exercise. Which you already knew.” She frowned at him. “But be careful of assuming like that. Case in point–I spent a couple of months assuming I knew how a situation had gone, or speculating about it, and then I gutted someone with more than a little bit of personal motivation from all of that being carried around.” Nadia looked down. “I recommend not learning what you’re keeping inside in a similar fashion.”

He looked up. “Nec temere nec timide, right?”

Nadia tilted her head. “Do you know more, or just a few valuable phrases?” No judgment in the question.

“That’s my unit’s motto. It keeps coming back to me. Never took Latin.”

“More’s the pity. But it’s a good motto.”

“Captain Bent Oak was pretty fond of it. He was a good CO.”

She choked on an unexpected laugh. “Rough order of magnitude of the number of ‘bent wood’ jokes?”

He smiled a little, more genuinely this time. “At the start. Once he explained it, though… he’s Cherokee. They used to do this thing with trees, to make them grow in specific ways. As a signpost, or a guide. A landmark. Fewer jokes after that.”

Nadia nodded. She was more familiar with the southwest, but it interested her nonetheless. “You look like you’re beginning to feel better. Are there any other crazy goings on you want to know more about?”

Jacob shot her an incredulous look. “You have no freaking idea, but I think that’s all I can handle for now. I’m going to go get dressed, do some push ups and sit ups, and then a two mile run. Before breakfast.”

“I will make sure there is a breakfast. Could you do me a favor while you’re out and about?”

“If I can.”

She nodded, fidgeted a little with her hands. “Kit. I’ve been looking for her. She’s potentially volatile right now–for you that means she might try to, um, drag you to a room. But I need to talk to her.”

He looked her in the eyes. “How badly?”

Nadia met his eyes, though she’d rather have avoided them–and not just because it was Jacob. “She’s very upset right now, can change reality to suit her whims, and has power over fire that puts a pyrokinetic to shame.”

“If I see her, what do you want me to tell her?”

She sighed heavily, shrugging. “I don’t even know. Just that I was looking for her and wanted to talk to her, I guess. That…” Nadia didn’t know how to explain the rest. She shrugged again. “That’s probably enough.”

“All right.” He pushed himself up from the chair. “If I pick up anything on my run, I’ll check it out, and if it’s her, I’ll pass your message along. I can’t tell one signal from another. Yet. Um… you can get the meds? Seeing as how seeing my doctor isn’t an option any more.”

“I can get the meds,” she said. The less explained about how, the better. She let out a long breath, coming to a stand with him. “Thank you, Jacob. I’m not the most palatable company, but if you want to talk or ask about anything, I’m here. I’ll expect to hear more about Bent Oak, though.”

He nodded, his smile tight. “I’ll keep that in mind. Maybe….” He shook his head. “Gonna run. See you later.” With a wave, he turned toward his room. His current room.

“Yeah,” Nadia agreed, and watched him leave. Then she looked down at the tablet, pulling it over to her. She awoke the screen with a swipe, eyebrow raising. It was a search.

eliot gage oberlin college

She continued to stare at it. Blinked. Frowned. She paged back through a couple of others. She remained troubled. Then she carefully wiped the search history and shut the thing down.

Nadia checked the clock. There was enough time for another quick circuit to hunt for Kit, but then she’d have to start baking things.