#just finished the indigo spell and I’m having Thoughts about them once very hour

[ebbilayart]

Sydney and Adrian and their feelings mirroring each other’s, a compilation

Bloodlines/The Indigo Spell

Bloodlines/The Indigo Spell

The Indigo Spell

The Indigo Spell

#sydrian #sydney sage #adrian ivashkov #bloodlines #the indigo spell #richelle mead #i kept noticing all these little moments where they said the same things about each other #I love how even footed and mutually just head over heels they are for each other #just finished the indigo spell and I’m having Thoughts about them once very hour #I’m actually so completely totally 100 percent normal about them

[seasonsofeverlark]

Menorah Lights, Blessing of Life

Author: @alliswell21

Prompt: I would LOVE to see some Everlark Hanukkah fluff there’s way to little out there right now. [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: T - for non-explicit: adult situations, childbirth description, and breastfeeding. 

Canon typical violence. Vague reference to a war zone/conflict. 

This work contains religious and cultural imagery and traditions. There’s also some use of the Yiddish language, as well as some Hebrew. There will be a glossary and more in-depth commentary at the end of the fic, when this piece gets cross posted to AO3 in a few days. Peeta makes a quick reference to 1 Samuel 1:27 towards the end part of the fic.

Author’s Note: Thank you, Anon, for this prompt. I have to be honest, and disclose I’ve never witnessed a Hanukkah celebration personally, and most of the events depicted in this story concerning the festival is a product of hours of research. I apologize for any inaccuracies or if I’ve inadvertently misrepresented any cultural or religious aspect of the holiday.

Extensive thanks to @rosefyrefyre​, who was kind enough to beta read, spell check my Hebrew, direct me to some great sites to aid my research, and serve as the best resource for Judaism accuracy I could’ve asked for! Rose, I always learn something from my interactions with you. I’m grateful for your willingness to share your knowledge. 

***Hannah: Hebrew origin. Means: ‘grace’/‘favor’; attributed meaning: ‘He (God) has favoured me with a child’.***

Happy Hanukkah to those celebrating the holiday! 

————-

The house is reverently quiet, despite being crammed to the gills with all our family and friends.

  Peeta checks his watch nervously for the fifth time in ten minutes. He’s so rigid, I know his leg will bother him so much tonight, he’ll take hours to fall asleep. 

  I smile at him, making a mental note to warm some lavender infused oils to massage the stump of his leg. It’s the least I can do for my husband. 

  Peeta lost his lower leg protecting me from shrapnel during an attack while deployed to the Middle East some 16 years ago. I was rendered deaf in my left ear on the same attack…we are a perfect match, my husband and I; he has to wear a prosthetic leg to get around, I have to wear a hearing aid, and that doesn’t even begin to cover the burn marks and other scars we sustained in the service. 

  “I think we should…” he says quietly, motioning to the small table we placed by the window earlier. 

  I turn to my cousin, Johanna, and nod. 

  Jo winks at Peeta and shuts the lights off, while I pull back the curtains from the windows and tie them up, revealing a waning sunset over the rooftops of our neighborhood. 

  Peeta stands a pace behind me, transfixed by the slim line of flaming orange in the horizon being swallowed by deep purples and indigos of the falling night. It’s Peeta’s favorite color. 

  “Almost time, Katniss!” he whispers, giddy, placing a match box on the table at the foot of the menorah. 

  There’s a soft buzz behind us, which means everybody  is shuffling closer to the window. Outside, the world is busy with cars driving by, splashing the dirty slosh of melted snow accumulated on the ground from days ago; a dog barks somewhere in the distance, and a couple of people hustle home; but the thing that really catches my eyes, is that in a few houses down the street, candlelights start to flicker to life on windows and front porches, announcing the start of Hanukkah. 

  “Should—should we do it?” Peeta asks leaning closer to the window pane, clearly seeing the other houses already lighting their candles. 

  “There’s still a sliver of sun. They just can’t see it because they’re facing our way, against it.” I mutter back. 

  This is Peeta’s first Hanukkah as a host, so he’s a little eager. In fact, my beautiful husband was beside himself when everything fell into place for us to host tonight’s celebration. If he could’ve gotten his way, we’d have everyone over to light the menorah the whole eight days of the festival. But, we are expecting the arrival of our very own little miracle any day now, so hosting the first day was a very generous compromise with our family. 

  The thought warms me inside, and I caress my protruding stomach absentmindedly, staring at the darkening sky. 

  The sun finally sinks. “Now!” I grin at my other half. 

  Peeta grins back, handing me the candles. Two of them, to be precise; long and blue. If my Tatte —my father— were here, he would’ve insisted we used olive oil and wicks instead, but it’s only Peeta’s first Hanukkah leading, and he’s so nervous about the whole thing already…candles are perfectly acceptable. 

  First, I place the shamash— “Shamash means helper candle, Katniss,” Tatte would explain— in the middle peg of our menorah, so it sits higher than the rest. Then, I place the one other candle in the rightmost holder, to signify today is the first night of the Festival of Lights. 

  Peeta passes me the matches, and I light the shamash. I smile at him, encouragingly, and mouth the words: “Your turn,” 

  He takes a deep breath, wiggling his fingers at his sides, and then starts reciting the first blessing: “Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha-olam, Asher kid-shanu bi-mitzvo-tav vi-tzee-vanu, Li-had-leek ner shel Chanukah.” 

  His Hebrew isn’t perfect, but he recites the whole prayer exactly as we practiced. 

  My mother, who’s standing with Peeta’s family, translates quietly, to not disrupt too much, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has sanctified us with His commandments, and commanded us to kindle the Chanukah light.”

  Peeta waits a moment, and then recites the second prayer: “Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha-olam, Shi-asa nee-seem la-avo-teinu, Ba-ya-meem ha-haim baz-man ha-zeh.” 

  Again, my mother translates, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who performed miracles for our forefathers in those days, at this time.”

  Peeta’s blue eyes shine joyfully in the dim of night. 

  “Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha-olam, Sheh-he-che-yanu vi-kee-yimanu vi-hee-gee-yanu laz-man ha-zeh.” 

  He finishes the third blessing, which we only say on the first night, with utmost reverence, and holds my gaze for only a second. 

  My mother translates this prayer as well, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has granted us life, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this occasion.” She explains this one we only say once, during the first day, but the first two, we recite every night. 

  I take the shamash from its holder and tip the flame into the wick of today’s candle, so it starts the mitzvah of the night. After the light has been kindled, we —the ones in attendance who speak Hebrew— sing Ha-nerot Halalu together. 

  When we finish, my sister, Primrose, starts singing Maoz Tzur, and Peeta turns puppy-dog eyes on me, because he loves my singing.

  I chuckle ruefully before opening my mouth and letting the lyrics spill like second nature. The rest of the attendees join in singing, and suddenly everyone is participating in some way. When the song ends, another one starts, and the atmosphere grows animated and joyful the longer it goes. As it should! 

  Peeta’s brothers came with their families, so he goes to them to chat. My mother has been sitting with them, explaining the proceedings, since it’s the first time they’ve joined us for Hanukkah. 

  The candlelight flickers from the menorah, the only light in the room, just as we finish another song, and then Uncle Haymitch staggers into the middle of the floor, shoving his hands into his pockets. The children peer up with interest, because most of them have known Haymitch long enough to guess what’s to come.

  Haymitch moves his arms just a fraction, and all the kids slip out of their seats like an exhale, and then, the paunchy, ol’ grump is throwing small, shiny, gold disks up towards the ceiling, crowing: “Gelt! Gelt! Gelt for everyone!” 

  “I think he believes he’s some kinda middle-aged, Jewish Oprah!” Blight, Johanna’s husband, cackles somewhere behind me, as the children descend like locusts on the chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil scattered all over the room. 

  Peeta encourages his younger nephews to get in on the fun. 

  Between all three of our siblings, Peeta and I have seven nephews— two of them are teenagers— and one niece. 

  The adults shake their heads and smile from the sidelines, watching the children in merriment.

  When all the gelt has been collected from the floor, Peeta asks the children if they would rather: eat, play dreidel, or hear a story. Since the oldest child in attendance is 8½, the kids settle on a story pretty quick. 

  I sink into the cushions of our plushest chair to watch my husband corral the little ones onto the rug for their story; one of my hands rests lazily on my heavily pregnant belly, while I hold a half eaten sugar cookie in the other one.

  “So…who can tell me what we’re celebrating for the next eight days?” Peeta starts.

  There’s a soft chorus of kiddy voices calling “Hanukkah!”

  “That is right!” Peeta agrees, his eyes are wide, excited, merry, “and Hanukkah is a very important party, because it reminds us of the Miracle of Lights and the victory of the Sons of Israel over the mean ol’ gentiles—“

  “Mamme says gentiles aren’t ‘all’ bad!” cries out Bekka, Johanna and Blight’s little girl, who looks like a carbon copy of her mother, except with long, wavy hair. 

  “Um…you’re right, I should’ve said ‘Greek invaders’ instead of gentiles…my bad—”

  “Uncle Peeta…” one of our nephews— on Peeta’s side— blinks owlishly at him, “What’s a gentile?” 

  “Non-Jewish people,” says Asher, one of Prim’s twins. 

  “Oh…like Muggles are non-magic folk?” asks another of the Mellark boys. 

  “I guess so,” answers the other twin, Aspen.

  “I don’t think we are Jewish,” comments one of Peeta’s nephews, turning inquisitive blue eyes to my husband and then to his own parents, “Are we?”

  “No, buddy, you aren’t a Jew—“

  “Uncle Haymitch says gentiles are helpless,” interrupts Aspen, shaking his head sadly, “He says the goyish thing gentiles do is putting mayo in their pastrami sammiches! So, if neither of you don’t put mayo in your pastrami, then you’re alright. You’re mishpachah, Bran!”

  “Um…what does that mean?” asks Bran.

  “We’re your mishpachah, right, Mamme?” inquires Asher.

  “It means ‘family’,” explains Prim, making the Mellark boys look relieved, and even proud. 

  “Are you a gentile too, Uncle Peeta?” asks Asher, “Uncle Haymitch says you used to be his favorite Shabbos Goy of all times before you married Auntie Katniss.”

  I almost choke on my cookie. 

  Peeta wheezes out a tiny chuckle, but is interrupted by my enraged sister.

  “Boys!” Prim rushes from her chair, her daughter half asleep in her lap; she dumps the toddler into her husband’s arms to stand in front of the twins with her hands on her hips. “That is not nice! What have I said about repeating all the mishegas Uncle Haymitch says?”

  “Not to…” the twins mumble contritely. 

  “Oy! I’m sitting right here, Sunshine!” Haymitch calls out. “Plus, kinder wisdom,” he pronounces it the Yiddish way, like the start of kindergarten, “it’s still wisdom!” 

  The twins are 7, but they can be a menace and clever to boot.

  Haymitch continues, “Everybody knows the Boy used to be pretty helpful back in the day. I was almost sad when Sweetheart finally snatched him up, despite it being the smartest thing she’s ever done,”

  “Haymitch…” I ground a low warning. 

  It’s a well known fact I kept digging my heels in against Peeta’s subtle advances for years, despite having feelings for him myself; I’m grateful my beautiful husband persevered though, because looking at him now, I can confidently say that our marriage, our family, would’ve happened anyway, despite my deep seated fears, the physical and mental toll being in a war zone took on us both, and all the heartbreak in between… 

  Unlike my mother, Peeta did not convert to Judaism in order to marry me. He did that on his own, way before I agreed to make our odd relationship official. I tried to persuade him from converting though— he does love Christmas and bacon— but again, he was committed to our faith with an iron will only the grave can quell. 

  “Eh!” Haymitch waves me off, “Nobody can win with you girls. Not even kvelling about one of your husbands!” 

  I sink deeper into my chair, sufficiently mollified. The old man can gush all about Peeta all he wants, as long as he doesn’t comment on me.

  But Haymitch has a big mouth; he used to give me a hard time for my apparent ‘prickly personality’, often telling me I was so surly, I was practically gornisht helfn—beyond help—and once, he even said, I was as charming as a slug. I retorted he was probably looking at a mirror, and that was the end of that.

  When Peeta started hinting at wanting more out of the casual arrangement we’ve had since the Army, and to my chagrin, two more suitors sprung out of nowhere, Haymitch had the gall to tell me that before Peeta, I was as romantic as dirt. Peeta gave him an earful for that one, though. It was glorious seeing Haymitch properly chastised by his favorite Shabbos Goy.

  I giggle at the memory. 

  I finally relented a couple of years ago, letting my fears go. Haymitch was the first to congratulate me when I announced I was dating Peeta, like a normal couple. My uncle fixed me with a stare that said he expected me to really try, because this boy was a true catch, or as he called him then, “a mensch if he ever saw one.” 

  I happen to agree. 

  I sigh, massaging my ribs where the baby is digging its tuchis in. 

  Haymitch gets away with a great deal of things on the simple account that he was the only person who actually accepted, and welcomed our mother into our family, when she married our father. Everyone else called her an opinionated shiksa behind my parents’ backs, probably thanks to my Bubbe…dear old Grandma really disliked the idea of my father marrying a gentile girl, despite being clear as day how much they loved each other. 

  My sister glares at Haymitch too, then turns to her sons, “It’s the first day of Chanukah, nu?” The boys nod in affirmative, “Then be good, so Uncle Peeta can finish the story—“

  “But, Mamme…we know the story!” 

  Prim gives them The Look and shuts them up right away. “Bannock, Graham, and Bran don’t know the story. They’re our guests, and we are called to be hospitable to everyone, right?” 

  I stare at Prim with mild amusement. She’s such a MOM! 

  “Yes, Mamme.” 

  I wonder if I’ll be able to master ‘the stare’ as well as my baby sister has? 

  Prim told me once, that everything she knows about mothering, she learned from the years in which I took care of her, after our father died, and our mother fell into a debilitating depression that almost killed us all from starvation and hebetude. 

  I have mixed feelings about that assessment, first, because: At first I was just trying to keep our situation hidden from others, so I made sure Prim and I were clean and presentable for school, that all homework was made on time, that we studied our Torah lessons, and that we attended Hebrew school without missing a class. I made sure Prim ate at least once a day, even if that meant I went without.

  There were things I couldn’t provide for my sister, simply because I didn’t know how, and when the pantry was empty, I started secretly raiding the trash containers behind the stores in our neighborhood.

  I was 11 then. 

  That’s when the first and only interaction with Peeta— or as I knew him then: the baker’s son— occurred before the Army. 

  Peeta had been watching me steadily lose weight and figured something wasn’t right. Then he saw how I dove out of his folks’ bakery’s garbage container and emerged empty handed, because trash had already been collected. 

  Instead of sneering, bullying me or calling the police, Peeta gave me two, fresh loaves of bread— the chiefest of foods in our culture— and thanks to his generosity, I figured out how to keep Prim, mother and myself fed when money was tight, hunting squirrels and little birds, long enough for my mother to find the strength to get the help she needed to get better.

  Secondly, in my adult life, I’ve learned to appreciate our mother’s position. She had a really hard time with life in general. Her family turned their back on her when she converted to Judaism, yet people in our community mistrusted her because of my grandma’s own prejudice, the fact that my mother was a nurse and every now and then her hospital wouldn’t (or couldn’t) honor her religious freedom to observe the Shabbat didn’t help her case. People started trusting her after they saw her care for the sick in the community, often paying from her own pocket for their treatments. 

  Peeta never struggled fitting in with my family. Then again, he’s so sweet and friendly with anyone, always so happy and ready to lend a hand…why everyone in our community loves him, and welcomed him with open arms as one of us. Sometimes it’s almost impossible to picture my loving, sweet husband as a seasoned Army veteran, who��s seen his share of destruction and death…then again, maybe it is because he’s seen humanity at its worst that he makes the extra effort to stay a pacifist and he chooses to show The Lord’s love unto others. 

  “Sorry, Peeta, please continue with the story. You’re doing a lovely job!” says my sister.

  I chance a glance at my husband, and see the mirth in his bright, blue eyes. 

  “Thank you Prim,” he says, turning back to the boys, with wonder in his voice. “But, I was thinking, and this might be the best idea I ever had! What if we let the boys tell the story of Hanukkah tonight, since it’s true, they know it better than I do? They are incredibly smart young men!” 

  “Avadeh!” exclaims Haymitch from his spot. 

  The twins wiggle with excitement, and both of them turn eager, hazel eyes to their mother, seeking approval.

  Prim takes a deep breath and nods. 

  Both boys turn their bronze haired heads back to Peeta, enthusiastically. 

  “Alright, go on then, tells us what happened!” Peeta encourages. 

  Asher starts, “The brave heroes, called the Maccabees, kicked out the Greek gentiles that wanted to make the people of Israel pray to their gentile gods! Then the priests came to ‘re-medicate’ the Holy Temple—“

  “Rededicate!” Thom, Prim’s husband, corrects from the back of the room, but the boys are on a roll now.

  “‘Redadecate’ the Holy Temple, by lighting the menorah. So, they looked all over the place, but found only one jar of ‘puridified’ oil—“

  “Purified!” 

  “Yes, what Tatte said! They only found enough of the good oil, to light the menorah for one day!”

  Asher pauses for effect, while all the adults react to the suspense accordingly, gasping and murmuring. 

  Aspen continues the narration after a second. 

  “At first, the priests thought: oh no! We don’t want to light the menorah for only one day, it needs to burn all the time to clean all the filth the Greeks left behind, so we can praise Adonai again!”

  Hushed voices comment their approval. 

  The other twin picks up the story. “But they decided, that even one day, was better than none at all, so they used that little bit of oil, and fired up the lamp, and the lights burned for eight times straight!”

  “Eight days…” corrects Thom.

  “Eight days straight!”

  “It was a miracle!”

  Everyone claps, excitedly. 

  “The priests had time to…” Asher cranes his neck, seeking his father in the crowded living room, and then smiles, enunciating his word with precision, “‘purify’ more olive oil, to add to the menorah from then on!”

  “That’s why we celebrate Hanukkah every year! To remember how our people defended their freedom,”

  “And won back the Holy Temple,”

  “And The Lord accepted their effort with a miracle of lights!” 

  The whole room erupts in cheers and song. Everybody hugs each other in celebration. 

  After a moment, our auntie Effie calls out, “Oh what wonderful storytelling, Tattelles!” She rushes over to the twins and smacks loud, wet kisses, on both of the boys’ cheeks, leaving red lipstick all over their wincing faces. 

  The twins wipe their cheeks with the backs of their hands, and Prim just sighs, hugging her sons to her chest. “Well done, Asher. Well done, Aspen.”

  Peeta pats them both on the head, and ever the attentive host, directs everyone to help themselves to the many treats he made. 

  “Is everything fried?” asks one of Peeta’s sisters-in-law.

  “For the most part,” I hear my mother say, fondly. “To commemorate the miracle of the oil, traditionally, Hanukkah food is fried.” She explains, patiently. “Everything is delicious, and Peeta and Katniss made quite the spread.” 

  My mother busies herself, setting up a stack of napkins on the table where we placed all the food; she then serves latkes to the Mellarks.

  Haymitch grabs her hand and pulls her to sit by me. “Come rest, sit with your daughter, enjoy the lights. I’ll shmooze the bakers now, nu!” 

  My mother comes to sit next to me. She smiles tiredly, “How are you feeling, zeeskeit?” 

  I grin, she’s using the same term of endearment Tatte used to call us. It means ‘sweetheart’.

  “I’m alright. Just a little tired. My back is killing me and I think I have gas, ‘cause my belly keeps rumbling and tensing up.” 

  My mother arches a dark blonde eyebrow, “Maybe the baby is on the way?” 

  “I suppose that could be a possibility,” I shrug. I’m 6 days shy of my due date, but the doctor says I’m healthy, and he expects no complications, whatsoever, plus first time mothers can be early. 

  Thom brings out a dreidel to play with the children. 

  My toddler niece rubs her eyes grumpily— she’s got gray eyes, like my father did. Like mine. Mother and Prim are blonde and blue eyed, but I favored my father in appearance…I wonder who my child will like? I hope it’s a little of both Peeta and I— the girl clings to her father’s arm, watching her brothers and cousins spin the top, suspiciously. Once she realizes gelt is involved in the game, she perks up a little, and tries to spin the dreidel to mixed results. 

  Everyone sits around the children, eating latkes dipped in applesauce or sour cream; Peeta decided not to serve any meat tonight, so we could eat dairy products. Effie is dipping hers in salsa…what an odd woman! 

  Johanna is eating an entire block of cheese, noshing on it like a mouse. 

  Peeta brings me and my mother sufganiyot; he smiles sheepishly. “These were a hit.” He says, “they’ve already disappeared from the tray.”

  I stare at him with wide eyes. “Why does that surprise you, babe? Your cooking is amazing!” 

  Peeta rubs the back of his head, bashful. “Eh, it would be embarrassing if the baker couldn’t handle jelly filled donuts, nu?” he whispers, kneeling in front of my chair. 

  “Nonsense,” I say equally quietly, “you are the most talented person I know.” I kiss him on the forehead, after pushing back the ashy waves of hair falling into his eyes. 

  I hope our child has wavy hair like Peeta does! Mine is boring…not so much the dark as ink color, but the way it’s so thick and straight, the only way to keep it up is in braid.

  Peeta gazes at me with so much love, my heart skips a beat. 

  “Have I told you recently, just how grateful I am to have you as my wife, lover and partner in life?” He reaches up to caress my face, and suddenly the hubbub of the party fades, leaving us in a bubble of our own. 

  “I’m grateful too!” I say, curling my sugar coated fingers around his, cupping my cheek. 

  It’s a veritable miracle that Peeta and I are here today, married and with a child on the way. 

  We grew up in the same neighborhood, went to the same schools, and frequented the same places; yet, despite crossing each other’s paths often, and outside the lone time with the bread when we were eleven, we never truly interacted with each other until we found ourselves deployed to the same base overseas.

  Peeta enlisted in the Army fresh out of high school. I enlisted much later, when it became glaringly obvious that if I was going to pursue any higher education, it would have to be paid for by the military, since every penny Mother and I made, went straight into Prim’s Med school fund. 

  Prim took a couple of breaks from school while building her family, but she’s a pediatrician now, beloved by her patients and their parents. 

  Thom is in the field as well, as a Physical Therapist. He was Peeta’s PT for a while; that’s how him and my sister met. They married years before we did. 

  Call it chance or providence, Peeta and I had no idea we were in the same camp, until our names got chosen for some grunt duty I can no longer remember. We recognized one another instantly, and became very close friends while in the service. Close enough to share cots and knock boots when the itch was too unbearable to ignore. We discovered we had more in common than just our hometown, and then…the worst day of our lives happened, cementing our dependence on the other, like only tragedy can. 

  While on a mission, our unit got attacked. Our Commander, a burly man named Boggs, called for extraction while we ran for cover from a volley of bullets raining on us. In the confusion, Boggs stepped on a landmine that blew off both his feet. 

  I rushed to him, pulling him back to safety. I didn’t think of the shrapnel flying everywhere, but Peeta— who had located me a second earlier— did. He made it to me somehow, and shielded my body with his own, earning a mangled leg full of lead for his troubles. 

  Boggs was beyond medical help; the poor man bled to death in my arms in the transport back to base. Peeta was badly hurt, losing blood quicker than anyone in the transport could stomach. I tried to help him as best I could, wishing I had my mother’s touch or Prim’s cleverness; I placed a tourniquet on Peeta’s thigh. It saved his life, but cost him his leg. 

  It wasn’t until we arrived back in camp, and the adrenaline and terror left my body, that I was able to feel my own wounds. I had second degree burns in several places of my body; the fire and heat miraculously spared my face. Then, I noticed the ringing in my left ear wouldn’t go away, and when it did, no other sounds came in. 

  I was honorably discharged for my damaged ear, but I requested to stay close to my buddy, Peeta Mellark, until he was stable enough to go back home. When questioned about this, I simply replied, “We protect each other. Is what we do.” 

  Peeta was discharged too shortly after. We got shipped back home to America together, which is how we’ve been ever since.

  Peeta and I survived against the odds.

  It took us months and lots of counseling to be able to sleep through the night without waking up screaming. 

  It took him years to convince me it was okay to let my guard down around my heart. I was always so scared I’d lose him to some unseen danger, and like my mother, fall into such a deep depression I could harm any potential children we had together, because in my heart of hearts I knew Peeta was it for me.  

  It took us five, ten, fifteen years to be where we are at, and that in itself is a miracle I’m grateful for. 

  “Peeta, darling, the candles are almost out,” says Effie, who apparently is eager to turn the lights back on. 

  “Alright, let’s see…” I stand up to check just how consumed those candles really are, and as soon as I do, my incompetent bladder releases all the pee I have in my body, and then some. “Feh!”

  My mother gasps and pushes Peeta back, who was still kneeling close by. “Katniss, your water just broke!” 

  “What?! Already? Whatdowedo?!” Peeta is frantic, practically jogging in place, hands hovering uselessly around my belly. 

  Effie screeches in a very uncharacteristic fashion. “Oh! What a big, big, big day this is, darlings! Katniss, doll, you might get to hold your very own bundle of joy in your arms on the first day of Hanukkah! What a blessing!” 

  “Well, first things first,” says my mother, going into nurse mode. “Everyone, calm down! This child is not about to drop just yet. Second, Katniss needs to get out of these clothes and into clean ones. Then we need to get you packed and ready to go to the hospital. Peeta, dear, you need to call the doctor, and let them know your wife’s water broke, and you’re heading to the hospital soon.”

  “Okay! Yeah…on it!” says Peeta chewing nervously on his lower lip. 

  He reluctantly steps aside to make the call. By then, my sister is moving people around to get me through the room.

  Delly, Peeta’s sister-in-law, comes from who-knows-where with an armful of towels to mop up the floor. 

  “Thank you,” I offer embarrassedly.

  Delly waves me off, “Oh no, honey, don’t you worry about it. I know how these things go. You have more important stuff to think of right now. We will clean this place up, and probably call on grandma and grandpa Mellark, to let them know.” 

  I give her a hug, because she’s the nicest person I know, and barely hold back an ugly sob. 

  Peeta comes back from calling the doctor just as my mother is helping me into a pair of baggy sweatpants. Prim’s going through my bag triple checking what I packed, despite my protests that both Peeta and I have been checking on it every day for the last week. 

  “Everything is ready, Katniss. The doctor is on the way to the hospital. There’s a triage nurse already waiting for you, our paperwork is being processed as we speak, so all we have to do is sign it when we arrive, and Effie and Haymitch are taking over hosting duties from us.”

  “Oh great!” I sigh, “you can say goodbye to all the wine in the house if those two are in charge,”

  “Is that sarcasm I detect? That means the contractions aren’t even painful yet…” says Prim dryly. Then she and my mother giggle. 

  I glare at them, rubbing the back of my hips, my bones back there kind of burn. 

  Peeta seems confused and wisely keeps his mouth shut. He grabs the hospital bag I packed for me and the baby, a week ago, and shoulders a backpack for himself, he packed almost a month ago. 

  My mother rides with us to the hospital, and since everyone knows her and my sister there, I get extra pampered by the nursing staff. 

  My obstetrician, Dr. Aurelius, checks on me as soon as I’m put in the hospital gown; he’s a little concerned about my blood pressure, so the nurses keep an even closer eye on me. At 32 I’m not at any greater risk of things going wrong than any other mother-to-be, but this is my first child, so I endure their over prodding gratefully. 

  Labor itself goes quickly, only a couple of hours from the water breaking to the crowning. Peeta holds my hand through it all; he tends to me lovingly, feeding me ice chips, blotting sweat from my face and neck, whispering sweet nothings and encouragement into my ear, and when he’s not talking to me or the medical staff, he prays. 

  After surviving a war zone, second degree burns and a few broken bones, I think that giving birth is perhaps the least painful experience of all. Not in the literal sense of course— giving birth physically hurts like a mother!— but in the psychological-emotional sense. I’m going through this trial for love, with the expectation of meeting someone amazing in the end.

  But when it’s time to push, a fear older than time itself chokes me up. “I can’t do this! Let the baby stay in my belly…I can keep the child safe here, please!” 

  “Sweetheart, look at me,” says Peeta cupping my face in his hands, “You are the bravest, most selfless person I know. I’m not denying how scary this is, bringing an innocent into the world, but you’re not alone…we have each other, and we will face this fear like we’ve faced any other fear, and we’ll beat it into dust!” 

  “Together?” My voice wavers.

  “Together!” he vows. 

  “Katniss…the baby’s crowning,” says Dr. Aurelius, “This is it! On your next contraction, I need you to push real hard, alright?”

  I nod, exhausted; Peeta squeezes my hand in his, and I squeeze right back. 

  “Here it comes!” I bear down with all my might and growl all the breath out of my lungs, and suddenly, the best sound in the world fills the delivery room: the meowling of my newborn reaches my ears. 

  “It’s a girl!” calls the doctor from between the stirrups holding my legs up.

  The man holds the screeching child up, so we can see her, and my whole world shrinks to her tiny shape. 

  Peeta is crying. 

  I’m crying too! 

  My mother is somewhere in the background singing something I can’t quite catch, and everyone around is bustling to get my brand new baby girl cleaned up and measured. Then finally she’s placed on my chest, and my husband and I can’t stop staring and caressing her. 

  “Shalom, sheifale,” I sigh in contentment, kissing my baby’s forehead.

  “Welcome, little one!” Peeta murmurs. Our daughter wraps her whole hand around her father’s index finger and holds fast to it. 

  Again, it feels like we are in this hermetic bubble, where only Peeta, myself, and now our newborn, exist. Meanwhile the doctor and nurses are still working on me, but that doesn’t matter. My family is finally whole, and that too is a miracle full of light!

  “Mazel Tov, my dears!” says my mother, smiling at Peeta and me. “I’ll go tell the people in the waiting room the good news…do you have a name picked out already?” she asks tentatively, her face lit with happiness and relief. 

  “Hannah!” says Peeta right away. “For I prayed for this child, and the Lord has granted my plea.” Peeta’s eyes widen, then he looks down at me sheepishly, “unless, you have something else in mind?” 

  “No!” I laugh, “Hannah is perfect!” I hold the babe higher on my bosom, and tilt her head towards my mother, “Hannah, say hello to Bubbie Lily, she’s my Mamme, and I am yours!”

  My mother giggles, “Happy birthday, Hannah Mellark, and happy Hanukkah, zeeskeit.” My mother leans closer, and gives Hannah’s head a peck. “Next time I see you, there will be others with me…your mishpachah, who are eager to meet you, sheifale!”

  “We’re almost done here, and you can see some of your family. But be mindful of visiting hours!” says Dr. Aurelius, pushing back from the instrument table. 

  We all say our thanks to the staff, and my mother goes to talk to our family in the waiting room. Peeta’s led to the nursery, to give Hannah her first bath. Once the baby is dressed and swaddled into a hospital blanket, Peeta snaps a couple of pictures of her with his smart phone and sends it to everyone one we know. The caption reads: “Hannah Mellark, because G-d favored us with a child!” 

  The nurse helping Peeta, takes two of those thin hats they give all the newborns, and fashions it into a single hat with a big bow on the front. Our daughter’s head will be warm and stylish.

  Back in the room, Hannah latches onto my breast easily enough, and to our surprise opens her eyes, to show deep blue peepers, like her father’s! 

  “Look, Daddy, she’s got your eyes!“ I exclaim. 

  “Can she call me Tatte?” Peeta asks quietly, as if asking permission.

  I nod, “Hannah, your Tatte gives the best hugs in the world!” 

  The visitors file in. My mother-in-law falls in love with Hannah, her first and only granddaughter. Peeta’s father tears up a little bit, and hugs his son, kissing his temple. I’ve never seen the Mellarks so happy and moved. A baby would do that, I guess. 

  After our siblings come to visit, Effie and Haymitch make a quick appearance. Haymitch holds Hannah the longest; he sings her a song in Hebrew, then says a blessing over her. 

  Effie pulls Peeta aside, “What we discussed…” she says demurely, smiling softly, and hands him a bag. 

  Since she already gave us practically half of Buy Buy Baby at our shower, I have no idea what else she could’ve gotten, but my husband’s entire demeanor lights up like fireworks when he peeks in the bag. He hugs Effie and thanks her profusely. 

  I fall asleep after a while.

  When I wake up again, the room’s mostly dark, except for a soft, flickering light. 

  Hannah is not in her bassinet, so I sit up with a start, only to find the most wonderful scene in front of me: Peeta’s holding the babe by the window looking down the road. The blinds are open, and on the sill sits a child size menorah. The shamash is lit, but the day one candle is not. 

  “Peeta?” I call softly.

  My husband turns, smiling, “You’re awake! We didn’t want to disturb you. You had a hard, busy day, but…” he shrugs, “It’s Hannah’s first Hanukkah, and I figured you wouldn’t wanna miss it,” 

  No, I wouldn’t. 

  I get up, gingerly, and shuffle towards my family. 

  I cock my head and study the candelabra, which looks suspiciously like the kind business owners put in their offices along their Christmas trees and other wintry decor to show how inclusive they are. This one is smaller than regular menorahs, made of plastic, with a cord sticking from the side which is plugged into the wall besides the window. The flickering light I thought at first to be a real flame, is just a small bulb with a candlelight effect. 

  “Where did you get an electric menorah?” I ask skeptically.

  “Effie,” my husband blushes. “She said it was okay, as long as we lit a kosher menorah, which we did at home,” he says a little defensively, with a lot of pleading generously sprinkled in between. 

  My father would’ve frowned at the decidedly un-kosher menorah. 

  Reading my expression, my sneaky husband harrumps, “This is a hospital, Katniss. I don’t think they’ll be thrilled to find there’s an open flame in a room housing a newborn, no matter what holiday you’re celebrating.”

  I sigh. He’s right. Safety protocols should be observed, and we did light a traditional menorah already; plus, this one is practically a toy for the baby…technically a Hanukkah gift. 

  I relax my stance. I wasn’t aware that my shoulders were so tense during that exchange. 

  “Fine,” I acquiesce, “show me how does the thing work?”

  Peeta grins, looking at ease holding our daughter in one arm like a pro. No wonder he’s always our nephews’ and niece’s favorite uncle. 

  He pulls a couple of bulbs from his pants pocket, and holds them on his palm for me to peruse. “All you do is screw these in the small sockets, just like placing the candles in a regular menorah. Then, you press this button, and it lights up!” He points at a small button at the base of the toy. 

  I nod, accepting his explanation. 

  Hannah wiggles a bit in her father’s arm, then makes an aggravated noise. Peeta adjusts the child against his chest, and looks at me, expectantly. 

  “Hannah’s waiting, and she’s probably getting hungry. I should know, I’m her Tatte!” 

  I snort a reluctant laugh. The man can drive me crazy, in an endearing sort of way. How can I deny my family anything?!

  We say the blessings together, then Peeta whispers all the ceremonial rules on lighting the candles to our baby.

  Hannah has her fist wrapped around his finger again, so he picks up the pretend shamash with the same hand, and touches the tip of the bulb into the opening, so— according to him— Hannah is lighting the day one candle herself…symbolically. 

  He screws the bulbs in their right places, and switches the candlelight on. 

  I must admit, it’s not as tacky as I feared it would be. I make a mental note to let Peeta know I’m glad he thought of this, later…probably tomorrow. 

  We sing quietly, not to disturb anyone else on our floor. After the ceremony of the candles is done, we hold onto each other, watching the flickering lights, while Peeta narrates the story of the Maccabees to Hannah. 

  Everything is quiet after that; Hannah fusses once, so I take her into my arms, and sing a lullaby. 

  Peeta has been staring at me all night like I hung the moon in the sky. He gazes at our daughter like she’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen, and I’m sure my eyes reflect the same feelings as his.

  “I wish I could freeze this moment, right now, and live in it forever.” 

  I smile up at him, who in turn is gazing at our daughter and me with adoration; my heart fills to bursting!

  “I do too!” I stand on tiptoes, and kiss his cheek. “Happy Hanukkah, Peeta. Happy Hanukkah, Hannah.”

  “Same to you too, sweetheart, and thank you Lord, for blessing our family with the miracle of life.”

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #winter #winter 2020 #alliswell21 #submission #prompt

[carewyncromwell]

*sings* Cinderella...you’re as lovely as your name, Cinderella~...

Okay, some quick notes before we start. Despite the beauty of their work, painters’ palettes were actually rather limited on pigments during the Renaissance, only having three pigments more than artists did during the Middle Ages. The Moly is a magical plant that appears in Homer’s The Odyssey. Hermes gives it to Odysseus as a charm to protect him from Circe’s spells. It’s been most commonly compared to the snowdrop flower by scholars. It also is referenced in the canon Potterverse as a powerful herb that can counter enchantments.

The Willow Song appears as a motif at the end of William Shakespeare’s Othello, though it was written at least thirty years earlier. In Othello, Desdemona sings a few stanzas of it in response to her husband’s growing distance and madness -- to the audience watching the play in Shakespeare’s day, which would already know the song, its inclusion foreshadows Othello and Desdemona’s tragic ending. “No One is Alone” is from Stephen Sondheim’s well-regarded musical Into the Woods, which features Cinderella as a semi-major character -- the song is actually even partially sung by Cinderella in the show!

I edited the art for this section, as you can tell. Badeea’s painting is a modified photograph of the Chateau de Chambord in France, overlaid on top of my own drawing. (Thanks, Lunapic!) This is also my very first time drawing Badeea!! GOD, is she pretty!! I think her eyes are my favorite of all the HPHM cast.

Previous part is here -- whole tag is here -- Katriona “KC” Cassiopeia belongs to @kc-needs-coffee -- and I hope you enjoy!

x~x~x~x

When Carewyn followed up with Andre the next morning, he was quite disappointed when he saw Carewyn wasn’t wearing the new shoes he’d made for her with her uniform. He honestly hadn’t even considered that they wouldn’t be comfortable for walking in -- and honestly, Carewyn could sort of understand why. Andre had never been able to leave the palace grounds, so there no doubt were a lot of practical things he’d just never considered...such as how very flashy royal fashion was, compared to that of the common man. He was pleased with the feedback Carewyn “passed along from her cousins” for him, though -- completely unaware of the fact that all three comments were really opinions that Carewyn herself had had about the dress.

“Hmm...that is a good point,” said Andre, his hand resting on his chin. “Red is a beautiful color...but a deep blue would not only bring out your eyes, but it would also perfectly contrast your ginger hair, since blue and orange are on opposite sides of the color wheel...”

His face burst into a bright white smile. “Your cousin Iris really has an eye for colors.”

Carewyn successfully fought back a groan, even as her eyes drifted up off toward the top corner of the room.

“...Well, she has taken up embroidery as a hobby. I suppose when one spends a lot of time doing samplers, one could develop an eye for colors.”

And also create a lot of initialed handkerchiefs to conveniently drop in front of noblemen so they pick it up and return it to you.

Andre, however, reacted with some interest. “Is that so? Hmm...well, maybe when I’m working on your new pair of shoes, I could invite her over for tea so she can give me her second opinion before I give them to you.”

Carewyn had never disliked a thought more in her life that Iris having a say in what she wore -- but knowing that she shouldn’t be the one to sabotage Iris, especially when her cousin would no doubt be able to do it well enough on her own, she put on her best smile.

“...I’m sure Iris would enjoy that very much.”

Sure enough, within a week, Iris had been invited to the palace for tea with the Prince. Carewyn could only imagine how thrilled Iris, her aunt Claire, and Charles were. As for Carewyn herself, she knew it was now time to do as Charles said and stay out of Iris’s way...and so when Iris arrived, she made sure to clean the rooms in her wing of the palace in a different order and not sing so that Andre wouldn’t be able to “check in” on her with Iris in tow. She didn’t think she could stand it if Iris got to look down at her polishing the palace floors.

Her lack of singing, however, did catch Badeea’s attention. When Carewyn collided with the court painter in the hallway, she expressed some concern.

“I missed your accompaniment, while I was painting,” she said. “Is everything all right?”

Carewyn felt guilty as she leaned her broom against the wall for a moment. “Oh...yes, Badeea, I’m fine. I merely...well, my cousin Iris is spending time with the Prince today, so I thought to...well, not draw focus.”

Badeea nodded in understanding. “Mm, yes...some things are meant to be background details, while others are meant to catch the eye straight away.”

Carewyn and Badeea caught the sound of Iris’s twittering, bird-like laughter echoing down the hall toward them. Not wanting to be seen when or if Iris and Andre came out into the hall themselves, Carewyn quickly picked up her broom and went around the corner -- Badeea adjusted her easel under her arm and followed.

“Say, Carewyn,” said the court painter thoughtfully, “why don’t you dress up in that nice yellow and green dress you have and come to the market with me?”

Carewyn blinked.

“I need to pick up some more carbon black and indigo for this painting I’m working on for Andre, but the man who sells those paints loves to price gauge. If you were dressed up all fancy and you slid in a reference to your family, though, he might be less likely to try to rip you off,” Badeea added with a tiny, coy smile.

Carewyn frowned, feeling a bit unsure. “I don’t know, Badeea -- I still have a lot of work to do...”

“You have the whole rest of the day to finish,” Badeea reminded her. “It would only take maybe an hour or two. And it would get you out of the palace while your cousin’s here.”

Carewyn considered the matter. Truthfully she’d been hoping to finish her work quickly so she could stow away back to the library and scan more troop deployment records...but she really did hate the thought of bumping into Andre and Iris, not just because of how much Iris would hate Carewyn getting any attention and therefore delight in tormenting her in front of the Prince in order to puff herself up, but because she didn’t want to provoke Charles’s ire unnecessarily.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll go change.”

Not long later, Carewyn had put on her mother’s old dress, pinned her hair up, and joined Badeea by the front gates, and the two headed into town on foot. The sky was still rather gray -- it had been raining and thundering for the last couple of days, and there was still a lot of mud in places. Carewyn was glad she was wearing her worn brown shoes under her gown rather than the pretty heels Andre had made for her -- particularly since nobody would likely be looking at her feet.

The shopkeeper in question was indeed a bit intimidated when Carewyn offhandedly referred to “her grandfather, Charles Cromwell” -- and soon enough, Badeea had been able to skip most of the haggling she would’ve normally had to make just to get her paints at a decent price. They left the shopkeeper’s stall, several jars of paint in hand.

As fate would have it, as they walked at the market, someone else was also shopping, and at the sight of the familiar dress and mane of ginger hair, he ran up to meet them.

“Carewyn!”

Carewyn and Badeea both looked up, to see Orion striding up to them. He once again wore his slightly-too-clean, but modest white shirt, olive breeches, and boots, and he was carried a basket full of henbane.

Carewyn’s red lips spread into a smile. “Orion...hello.”

Orion brought a hand up to his chest and offered her a short bow.

“It seems the stars favor us after all, my lady,” he said, the corners of his own lips kissed with traces of a wry smile.

Carewyn shot a quick glance at his basket and quirked an eyebrow.

“Purchasing some more incense?” she asked pointedly.

Orion’s black eyes sparkled. “I’m afraid we’ve already used up what I bought previously. Fortunately the gentleman from last time remembered my face and didn’t give me too much grief.”

“That’s fortunate.”

Carewyn glanced at Badeea to Orion and back.

“Orion, this is Badeea Ali -- she’s the Crown’s court painter. Badeea...this is Orion Freeman. He helped me retrieve my horse the other day.”

Badeea’s dark brown eyes were very bright. “Ah, yes -- KC had said that you were thrown off your horse. Thank you for helping Carewyn, sir,” she added to Orion.

“It was my pleasure,” said Orion. “What’s the subject of your next piece, if I may ask?”

“A foreboding sky and a distorted reflection,” Badeea replied.

Orion looked intrigued. “That would explain such dark shades. Who commissioned the piece?”

“The Prince,” said Badeea. “But his request was just of a view of the entire palace, from a distance -- I was simply inspired by the rainstorm that passed through a few days ago, and how the turrets of the palace looked reflected in the castle moat.” 

“I wonder how the castle of Royaume would see itself, if it had eyes,” said Orion levelly. “Would it see its beauty, or would it be the type to be critical of its flaws?”

“Hm...or would it see the beauty of its flaws?” asked Badeea.

“True,” granted Orion. “Flaws make us more human -- would that make something more beautiful, by serving as contrast to our strengths?”

“Flaws aren’t something you should simply have to accept,” said Carewyn demurely, her arms crossed. “One should strive to be better than one already is. Even if one is only human, that doesn’t mean they can’t work to be something better.”

Orion turned to her, interested. “And what would be better than being oneself, my lady?”

“Being a better version of oneself, of course,” Carewyn said, sounding matter-of-fact. “One can always be kinder, braver, stronger...more cunning, more passionate. One can always learn more, and do more, and be more.”

“Yes...but it seems like those could be crippling expectations to hold over yourself, to never be enough,” said Orion, and although his expression was very inscrutable, his lips twitched with something of a frown.

“Perfectionism is a disease that affects every artist sooner or later,” said Badeea sympathetically.

Her dark eyes flitted from Orion to Carewyn thoughtfully.

“I must be getting back to work on my painting...would you like to join us at the opposite bank, Mr. Freeman? I would be happy for some feedback on my work, before I present it to his Highness.”

Orion glanced at Carewyn for her approval -- she offered a small smile, and his lips turned up in a full smile of his own.

“I would be honored.”

So the three set about finding a less muddy spot by the castle moat, across from the palace. They found one right by a beautiful willow tree, where Carewyn very carefully lowered herself onto the grass. Badeea fetched her easel and chair, setting it up so that she had a good view of the castle. Orion looked over her incomplete work appreciatively.

“It looks like it could breathe, were it a living thing.”

“Thank you,” said Badeea. “Now then, I’ll need to concentrate while mapping out the sky, so no initiating conversation, please. These paints stay on fabric just as well as my canvas, so they won’t easily wash out. I would appreciate some accompaniment, though, Carewyn.”

Orion glanced at Carewyn curiously. Carewyn avoided his eye.

“Badeea, I don’t think -- ”

“Ah, ah,” said Badeea, holding up a gloved finger quickly, “no conversation. Accompaniment or nothing, please.”

She then set about mixing certain shades and color spotting sections of canvas.

Carewyn frowned. It was one thing to be singing while she was working herself, to pass the time, but Orion’s focus was still largely on her, and it felt weird. Still, she thought to herself, it wasn’t like she was bashful about singing in front of others, exactly -- she knew her voice was more than serviceable. There was really no harm in it. So, glancing up at the willow tree above her head, Carewyn rested her hands in the grass, leaned back, and sang.

“The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree --

Sing willow, willow, willow...willow...

Her hand in her bosom, her head on her knee --

Oh willow, willow, willow...willow...

She sighed in her singing and made a great moan --

Sing willow, willow, willow...willow...

‘I’m dead to all pleasure -- my true love is gone --

Oh willow, willow, willow...shall be my garland...’”

Carewyn felt Orion’s dark eyes on her at the start. Before long, though, his eyes had fluttered closed, and he sat in perfect silence. As he listened, his shoulders loosened and his expression seemed to clear of all tension or pretense, like a child peacefully falling off to sleep. Badeea painted and shaded to the sound of Carewyn’s low, melancholy singing, adding white highlights to the dark gray and black shadows to create a cloudy sky with sunlight poking through.

When Carewyn was finished with the song, Orion slowly opened his eyes, meeting her gaze again at last. His eyes were oddly hesitant, almost shy.

“Y -- ”

He hesitated. Then, his black eyes softening handsomely, he closed his mouth, and it slowly spread into a smile gentler and warmer than Carewyn had ever seen before. He clearly approved.

Carewyn smiled in return and inclined her head in a silent “thank you.”

Carewyn sang some more songs until Badeea had finally finished and Orion and the two women had to part ways so that Badeea and Carewyn could pack up the easel and finished painting and bring them inside.

The following morning, Carewyn was surprised by KC pulling her aside to hand her a packet of what looked like handwritten sheet music.

“Your friend Orion stopped by a little while ago to give this to you,” she explained.

Carewyn was taken aback.

“I reckon he must’ve hopped over the wall,” said KC, unable to fight back a laugh. “I caught him strolling through the southwest gardens. I told him I’d bring it up to you, so that he wouldn’t get himself in trouble.”

Stunned, Carewyn looked down at the sheet music, shifting the pages so she could scan each line. Her blue eyes softened, growing deeper and darker with emotion, as she read the words and notes.

“...This...this is beautiful,” she whispered. She looked up at KC, unable to fully keep the awe from her face. “...You don’t think he wrote this?”

KC shook her head. “No, he said it was a song he learned when he was young, and that he tracked down the sheet music for you since he didn’t think he’d be able to properly sing it for you. I’ve never heard it either, though.”

Carewyn spent her meal times and about an hour before bed that night perusing the sheet music so she could learn the song. The following day, she felt confident enough to sing some of it while she started about cleaning the Queen’s Chambers.

“Mother isn’t here now...who knows what she’d say?

Nothing’s quite so clear now...feel you’ve lost your way?

You decide alone...but no one is alone.

You move just a finger, say the slightest word --

Something’s bound to linger...be heard...

No one acts alone...careful -- no one is alone...

People make mistakes -- fathers, mothers --

People make mistakes,

Holding to their own...thinking they’re alone...

Honor the mistakes everybody makes, one another’s terrible mistakes...

They could still be right -- they could still be good.

You decide what’s right -- you decide what’s good.

Just remember...”

“Carewyn!”

Carewyn stopped sweeping and looked up, to see Andre striding through the opened door of the Queen’s Chambers toward her.

“An -- your Highness,” Carewyn corrected herself very quickly, after noting who’d accompanied Andre.

Just behind him in the door frame was her dark-haired cousin Iris, dressed in her best rose velvet and her own almond-shaped blue eyes narrowed with loathing at Carewyn over Andre’s shoulder.

Andre, perfectly oblivious to the silent tension between the two cousins, gave a laugh.

“Oh, Carewyn, we’re not back to that again, are we? It’s ‘Andre,’ ” he said with an indulgent smile. “I haven’t heard that song before -- did you learn it recently?”

“Ah...yes,” said Carewyn. She could feel Iris’s fierce glare burning a hole in her face over Andre’s shoulder even without looking at either of them.

“It’s really quite lovely,” said Andre. “Please, do sing the rest of it when you’re able.”

“Of course, Prince Henri.”

Carewyn was absolutely not going to call Andre by his nickname in front of Iris -- she knew how Iris would shriek her head off about it to Charles.

Andre sighed and shook his head in something like tired amusement.

“I was hoping we’d catch you on your rounds,” he said conversationally. “I’m just about finished with your new shoes! Iris said your favorite color was ash gray -- I’ve never really worked with that color before, so it’ll be a bit of a challenge -- but I’m sure I’ll find a shade that might suit you...”

Ash gray? Running with the ‘Cinderwyn’ nickname, then, are we, Iris?

Carewyn forced a smile. “...Thank you. That’s...very kind.”

Feeling more uncomfortable by the minute, she quickly rushed over to pick up her full dust pan with her other hand.

“Forgive me, I really should go and empty this -- ”

At that exact moment, Iris had strode forward, bumping Carewyn’s shoulder in just such a way that the pan was knocked backward onto Carewyn, covering her, her orange and tan dress, and the floor with all of the dust, dirt, and grime she’d swept up over the last hour.

“Oh!” said Iris in feigned surprise. “I’m so sorry.”

Her gaze, however, was just as hard and unapologetic as it had been when she’d ripped the sleeve off Carewyn’s dress at home.

“Carewyn!” said Andre, concerned. “Are you all right?”

Carewyn coughed.

“...Yes, of course,” she said, her voice very hard and stoic in the back of her throat. “It was merely an accident.”

She shot Iris a cold look as she looked over her now thoroughly ruined uniform and the dust and dirt all around her feet.

“Please, go on ahead with Iris, your Highness. I’ll clean up this mess.”

Once Iris had successfully steered the reluctant-looking Andre out of the room, Carewyn closed the door, took off her dress, and finished cleaning the room in her undergarments, so as not to spread the dust and ash around any further. Then, very carefully, she darted across the hall from the Queen’s Chambers to Andre’s, so that she could fetch the high-necked, gold-embroidered dress made out of white linen and light blue velvet he’d recently finished for her from his walk-in closet. After all, she told herself, she needed something to wear while she was getting her uniform cleaned -- and well, at least Iris would be less likely to ruin this dress, since Andre had stitched it himself.

Holding her dusty, ashen dress in a folded pile against her chest, Carewyn headed downstairs toward the laundry. On her way through the entrance hall, though, KC -- who’d just come out of the library -- ran up to walk alongside her down the hall.

“Seems your friend is back.”

Carewyn’s messy ponytail flapped over her shoulder when she looked at her in surprise. “Orion?”

KC nodded, her lips curled up in a wry smile. “I thought I saw someone hopping over the wall through the library window, just now. Shall we go investigate?”

Carewyn bit her lip, looking down at the ruined uniform in her arms.

“Let me drop this off at the laundry first,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

Carewyn ran down the stairs and threw her uniform into one of the tubs to soak, before quickly doing her hair up in a simple, but slightly more presentable braided bun and hurrying back up to join KC. The two women then headed out to the gardens, only to hear something of a scuffle.

“A man with innocent intentions does not hop over castle walls,” said Bill’s voice, though it sounded much lower and harder than Carewyn was used to hearing.

“In this case, sir, I assure you, I do.”

“You will declare your true name and business at once, sir, or I shall see to it that you’re locked in irons and hauled before the King himself -- ”

“Bill!” cried Carewyn.

Bill looked up, startled. The ginger-haired castle guard had slammed Orion back-first against a tree, holding him up off the ground by his collar with one hand, but at the sight of Carewyn and KC running forward, the suspicion and righteous anger in his face dissipated instantly.

“It’s all right, Bill,” Carewyn reassured him. “He’s a friend.”

“Put him down,” said KC.

Bill looked from KC to Carewyn in confusion, before glancing at Orion warily, but he nonetheless did as they said. Once he’d lowered Orion to the ground and let go of his shirt, the dark-haired man calmly adjusted his collar and picked up a satchel that must’ve come off in the struggle off the ground.

“Thank you, Carewyn...Lady Katriona,” he said pleasantly, as if he had not just been in a loose choke hold.

KC grimaced. “Orion, I’ve saved your butt twice now -- we’ve more than gotten to the point of you calling me KC.”

Orion smiled wryly. “I’m glad of it.”

Carewyn, however, still looked a bit harried. “Orion, what were you thinking? Hopping the wall...it’s no wonder Bill thought you were up to no good!”

“Well, the gate was locked, and no one was there to greet me,” said Orion airily.

“Well, of course the palace of Royaume has very strong security,” Carewyn said exasperatedly, “the royal family lives here.”

“I must wonder how the royal family ever receives visitors, then.”

“They don’t,” said Bill rather coolly. “They invite them, and very rarely, at that. And they clearly didn’t invite you to trespass on the grounds.”

Orion was unfazed. “Well, fortunately, I wasn’t looking for such an invitation, to begin with. I merely wanted to give this to Carewyn, as a gift for Madam Ali.”

He reached into his satchel and pulled out a jar of unusually shiny silvery-white paint. Bill, KC and Carewyn’s eyes all were very wide as Orion handed the jar to Carewyn.

“I asked a few people where best to locate materials for paints,” he explained. “One man pointed me to a flower that grows at the border called the Moly. He made this paint himself. I don’t think any colors  like this are made and sold at the market, so I thought I would bring along one of his jars for Madam Ali, so she might use it for her next project.”

Carewyn’s light blue eyes were very bright and touched as she looked up at Orion.

“Orion...it’s wonderful,” she said, her soft voice incredibly warm. “Badeea will love it.”

“You said he used the Moly?” asked KC, as she took the jar from Carewyn and looked at it. “Maybe Badeea could mix up some more paint of her own, then.”

Bill glanced at Orion with a raised eyebrow. “Or the Crown could simply buy it from the vendor who sold you that paint.”

Carewyn noticed a strange, almost skittish glint flicker through Orion’s eye.

“...I’m afraid that jar was a favor, not a purchase,” he said softly.

“I think Badeea would be fine with making her own, Bill,” Carewyn said firmly. “The Crown wouldn’t want to set aside extra money for materials anyway. It’d be a lot cheaper to make a paint like that in house than to buy it from someone else.”

Despite his frown, Bill nonetheless sighed and nodded. “...True. Charlie’s needed a new set of scratch awls for ages.”

Orion looked pleased. “I’m glad I could be of assistance.”

“Perhaps the next time you want to see Carewyn, you might figure out a way to do it that doesn’t require you scaling walls like a prowler,” said KC amusedly.

Carewyn shot KC a slightly reproachful look. Orion’s muted smile rather resembled that of a satisfied house cat.

“I’d be happy to arrange more regular meetings outside the palace, if Lady Cromwell would be open to it,” he said, his black eyes sparkling as he glanced at Carewyn.

Carewyn raised her eyebrows coolly at him. “Once again, Mr. Freeman, you seem to have an unusual amount of freedom, if you’re able to consider allocating time just to meet me.”

Her lips then spread in a wry smile.

“Still...I can hardly sit by and let you get arrested for trespassing on my account. I have some time available late tomorrow morning, before noon. I could meet you by the gate then.”

Orion grinned. “I’ll look forward to it, my lady.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #cinderella au #my art #my writing #carewyn cromwell #orion amari #katriona cassiopeia #andre egwu #bill weasley #badeea ali #orion you sneaksy bugger #definitely manipulating things to 'learn more about your enemy' and warm them up to you #so as to make connections you could use to do diplomacy later when the ruse is up #but at the same time...you sure are oddly comfortable with putting yourself in risky positions to interact with carey-bear ain't you >3 #iris's face claim is a brown-haired devore ledridge #I'll probably be drawing her at some point with andre -- GOD do I feel bad for this guy #as naive as he is about the cromwell family dynamic I think he already prefers carewyn's company to iris's #but honestly who wouldn't *snorts*

[insomniac-dot-ink]

The Dark Library

Words: 19k

Genre: high fantasy, wlw romance

Summary: A young woman descends below the earth into an enormous ancient library to learn the secrets of necromancy. There she meets a librarian’s assistant that is bound to the forbidden place and starts to form a tentative bond in the face of the fact the assistant herself cannot leave.

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Tomma’s boots crunched on the rough ground with each step. The sky was grey and faceless above her and there was a whisper of a chill on the breeze. The trees around her had already lost their summer clothes and shed rough piles of orange and red to the ground.

It was a sparse path with vegetation spread far apart and trees lonely by the side of the mountain. The mountain itself was iron gray and stuck straight out of the earth as if to split the sky in two with a jagged vengeance. It was broken in many places and Tomma made sure to keep her eyes focused on a dark patch on its side.

There was no gate or runes or even a door she could make out. There was only a dark smudge on the side of the stone with an inky, etching blackness just beyond. As Tomma grew closer she could feel a warmth oozing out from inside, it wasn’t hot, but it was unsettling- like the breath from a sleeping giant snaking out.

Tomma squinted ahead and started to cast her spell before she went any closer, “Abador, li jada…” she muttered the ancient words in a tongue she barely understood herself. The words seemed to fall on deaf ears as her boots crunched and crunched forward on the stony path.

She frowned slowly and finished the spell, “show yourself…”

For a long terrible moment Tomma thought the words she had fought for, spilled blood for, cried for, had been for naught. That she might just turn around and have to find another way in.

But, as if from a dream, a woman in a cloak stepped out of the darkness. She had a black velvet dress that swept over the ground and a cloak that covered her from head to foot. On her face was enormous bird mask that covered her eyes and hair.

She moved her mouth, and it moved oh so oddly. “A child?” She said in a bitter winter wind voice and frowned with thin lips. Some say she built the library herself. Others say she simply stewarded the place for the thing that did.

Tomma drew herself up, “I wish to travel into the dark library.”

A smile played across the woman’s exposed mouth in an almost cruel way. “I see.” She said simply and straightened up. She was a tall woman with an impressive build.

“Please, I must enter.” Tomma grew a smile to match the woman’s own. “Madame Sonia.” The woman’s smile faltered at the sound of her own name but she swept around in a circle.

“Follow me.”

Tomma had barely a moment to hesitate before she disappeared into the warm mouth of the cave and Tomma was forced to hurry after the heavy cloak into the darkness. The sound of the rustling trees and a nearby river was swallowed whole as she entered. It was warm inside in a tepid sort of way- like a bath left to cool for too long.

Inside was dim and filled with sharp walls where runes were carved into the soft flesh of the mountain. Madam Sonia’s steps were all but silent and she hurried on ahead with her cloak billowing behind her.

Tomma swallowed and reached for her own gloved left hand. She wanted to squeeze it and remind herself why she was here, but there was no time as Madame Sonia dipped lower in the path and she had to jog to not lose her.

“First rule,” Madame Sonia spoke in a hushed and yet clipped manner. “Do not wander. I’m sure you’ve heard rumors about the library and I’ll assure you they’re all true. You won’t live longer than a day if you wander.”

“I won’t.” Tomma confirmed in a low voice, edged herself past a craggy overhang, and followed Madame Sonia down into the earth.

“Second rule,” Madame Sonia gestured outward. “We no longer lend items out. Carry nothing with you on your way back to the surface.”

“I understand.”

“Final rule,” Sonia abruptly stopped in place and Tomma had to squint to even see her outline. She seemed to be standing in front of an enormous archway. “Past this point you must make as little noise as possible. This isn’t a library to be taken lightly. Whisper, or you will find yourself sorely regretting it.”

“Okay.” A cold sweat break down Tomma’s spine. You knew what you were getting into, she chastised herself as a complete hungry darkness lay ahead.

“Do you still wish to proceed into the Library Below the Earth?”

“Yes.” She said quickly without hesitation. “Take me.”

“Very well, put these on,” Madame Sonia held out a pair of soft-bottomed felt shoes from within her cloak. “You will be assigned a guide from here on out. You must follow her at all times or risk the worst. Remember rule one. No wandering.”

The felt shoes were too small and cramped Tomma’s feet but the material was at least soft and the grip more firm than painful. She could not tell the color or make of the shoe, but it didn’t matter.

There was only one thing that mattered past the archway: the Cipher of the Dead. And all the secrets of necromancy therewithin.

“I am ready.” Tomma stood and had to crane her neck up to look at the bird-faced mask of Madame Sonia. It’s a crow, she realized belatedly.

Madame Sonia waved her hand with a flourish and just past the archway was a flickering light in the darkness that traveled quickly toward them on some unseen path.

“You will have Lucia to guide you. She is one of my girls and will take you where you need to go and,” the Madame said in her deep, icy voice. “She will know everywhere you go inside the library. Nothing is off limits, but I’m sure I do not need to encourage prudence in your studies.”

“Thank you.” Tomma managed to grit out because she wasn’t about to be rude to her hosts yet- no matter how much this woman rubbed Tomma the wrong way.

The flickering torch came into view and another mask appeared ahead. The girl before her had an autumn orange dress that hung just above her feet and long sweeping pleated sleeves that covered half her hands.

Her face was mostly covered by a red fox mask. It was stylized and with a small white snout and feathers woven into the red fur. Her hair was covered and only her pale pink mouth and angular cheeks showed. She had a sturdy build and moved very suredly across the uneven blackened ground.

Her skin was weathered and had the look of many farm girls that Tomma had passed along the way to the dark library. Tomma wondered if that’s how the wicked place got its servants: stole them from the countryside right out from under the nose of their mothers and fathers. Or if foolish young things just sometimes wondered into caves and never came out.

It didn’t matter. The young woman silently made her way to the archway and illuminated its huge face. The arch was covered in rough runes and made of an inky black stone that reflected the light. Tomma wrinkled her nose. The rock was too shiny and too smooth in the light of the flame.

Madame Sonia examined Tomma, “Do you agree to our terms?”

Tomma barely turned her chin up. “I do.”

Madame Sonia gestured ahead. “Lucia. This is Tomma Merrimont. You will escort her toward the books of the dead.”

Tomma gritted her teeth as she realized she had never told this woman her name or her purpose. But it didn’t matter.

Lucia barely nodded before turning around again and standing aside. Tomma looked between the tall imposing Sonia and her servant, but Lucia was already walking and there was nothing to do but follow.

Crossing the archway of the damned was said to be an unpleasant experience no matter what. Tomma stared at the structure for a long moment before squaring her shoulders, drawing herself up, and walking. Her whole body shook with a sickening lurch of her stomach and goosebumps shivering up her arms. Her mouth tasted brackish and gritty as she entered and she had to cover her mouth for a moment.

She didn’t have time to revel in the lump in her throat as the light moved on ahead and Tomma looked over her shoulder only once to see Sonia watching them both. She turned around and followed Lucia.

The area beyond the archway was different than the cave behind them. Instead of grey and jagged rock walls the cavity was made of that same shiny, black material that was unnervingly smooth and bright against the light. The ground was less cave-like and almost like a normal hall with corners and flat floors. The only similarity with the cave was the uncomfortable mild warmth that bled through the air.

The halls varied in width as they went, sometimes forcing Tomma to duck down, or expanding to the point where she could extend both arms out. Tomma wasn’t sure how long they traveled, always downward into the earth, but her feet began to ache from the tight shoes and thoughts started to buzz from the silence.

Their footsteps were quiet and eaten by the thick still air and the only noise was something dripping in the distance- water down into a pool. Dripping and breathing and a world of strangeness.

The fox-masked girl ahead never stumbled or even looked back at her. She just walked at a steady, fast pace. It felt like almost an hour before she slowed and the path ahead started to open up.

It was warmer than ever before and sweat trickled down Tomma's spine. The light reflected off the first color she had seen in miles: blue, deep enchanting indigo blue embedded in the walls. The gems caught the light for a moment before Lucia turned and touched the wall.

Tomma raised her eyebrows as she recognized a door there: it was small and compact with a handsome brass handle and a central blue gem. Lucia waved a hand in front of it and the thing seemed to swing open with a gust of wind.

“We’re here,” Lucia whispered and her voice was like rusting hinges and soft wind chimes. “Don’t wander.”

Tomma’s eyes grew huge as the light of the torch danced across an enormous room. “Oh…” She said softly. “Wow.” She had arrived at the library beneath the earth.

She hurriedly took a step inside before it could disappear like a mirage or she would jerk awake from this dream.

Tomma couldn’t see any walls, but there were blue pillars reaching up and up past the height of any grown man and hitting an unseen ceiling. There were splotches of pale light streaming from above: it was stark white and faint, but enough to fill the room in bright patches here and there.

The air smelled slightly dusty, but it was cooler than in the halls and there was something stark about it that seemed to wake her up.

She strained to see across the room, but could only make out rows and rows of books before her. Enormous shelves of sturdy dark wood and towering ladders climbing toward the highest shelves at precarious angles. The shelves themselves held thick tomes with spines of gold that caught the light and black books the color of ink that looked like they wept dark liquid. It was a library of proportions Tomma couldn’t even fathom.

Tomma tipped her chin up toward the glowing powder-white light above and she knew her mouth had fallen open. She glanced back to the fox-masked girl, Lucia. “Where is the Cypher of the Dead?” She whispered shortly. “Books on necromancy?”

The girl stared at her deftly as if she was asking something unreasonable. For a moment Tomma thought she caught the edge of hazel eyes behind the eye holes. Weary hazel eyes.

“This way,” Lucia said faintly and started leading the way.

Shelves of books passed, ones made with solid white that shone like diamonds and books with pressed flowers along their spine and books that seemed to twitch when they passed.

They wove through the rows and dipped in and out of the strips of blanched white light that shone from above like a scrawled bits of sudden color in a grey pool. Something continued to drip in the distance and Tomma tried to remember their steps and how many turns they took, but counting was pointless.

The books looked different, but the enormous space was strange and crooked and hard to follow. The ground itself was made of interconnecting tiles in varying blue designs: swirls and diamonds and peacock feather eyes- different and yet seemingly made to confuse.

“Ahead.” Tomma barely heard the whisper of the girl. She snapped her head up and a humid breath of chilled air licked her cheek.

It was colder here.

Lucia stopped with her torch in front of an black gate made of wrought iron. “We have to go to the lower section.” The girl said impassionately.

Tomma gave a short nod. “Lead the way.” Lucia fiddled with the gate for a long minute and Tomma fidgeted in place and glanced around. After several long moments she tried to break the deadening silence, “Deep dark, holes, huh?” She leaned against the wall and looked over the gate, “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before. Though I usually prefer a person attached, heh...” She didn’t know why she said that.

If Lucia understood or found the comment amusing at all she didn’t show it. She turned and Tomma was mentally kicking herself, who says that? She tried to blame it on the oddness of the morning and the fact she had worked for months for this and it was somehow stranger than she had imagined.

Lucia opened the gate with a rusty creak and visibly flinched at the pitched noise. “Let’s go.” She stood aside and Tomma passed through the black gate without meeting her eyes. Lucia closed the gate behind them.

Tomma followed her down a set of winding iron steps into an even darker part of the library with dirt walls that seemed to compress around them. They strolled past more book shelves with thicker tomes on them and steeper ladders. This level was lit by red lanterns hanging from the ceiling instead of the chilled white light, bathing the whole room in an orangey glow.

Lucia paused with a sudden jerk and pointed at several shelves with gaps between the books. “There.” She said flatly. “Cyphers of the dead.”

Tomma’s eyes went wide, “That’s it?”

Lucia only nodded and Tomma shook slightly, reaching for her left hand to squeeze it through the thick leather gloves. She had been waiting for months and months to see this. To read it, to see it, to touch it.

“Okay,” she took a shuddering breath and her steps were slow and almost painful as she worked her way over to the enormous books of the dead.

“I will give you four hours here before it will be time to retire to our chambers.”

That made Tomma pause, “Chambers?”

“Arrangements are made in the library for anyone seeking knowledge,” she said simply. “Once you find what you’re looking for you will be escorted out, but until then you may stay as long as it takes. That is the purpose of the library.”

Tomma’s lifted her eyebrows, she had heard that people disappeared for months at a time in the library below- looking for military strategies, keys to eternal life, access to vast amounts of wealth. That sort of thing.

She never imagined that they simply… slept in the library itself in arranged rooms.

“Uh, thanks.” Tomma scratched the back of her neck and Lucia only dipped her head in acknowledgement.

“Find what you seek quickly, patron.” She said softly. “Dallying does not bode well for those accepted here.”

Tomma’s skin crawled at that comment and quickly skipped over to the large faceless bookshelf with no apparent markings on it. She picked the first book off the shelf at random and a giddy electricity swept through her veins.

The book was smooth and its spine fit neatly in her hand. The cover was black with an overdramatic carving of a skull on its face. It smelled thickly of leather and was almost warm and thrumming against her hands.

This is it. She carefully, slowly, opened it all the way up. This is it. She found a page of scrawled dark letters.

“What?” Tomma stopped and stared. She blinked several times at a mass of smeared nonsense words in a language she didn’t recognize: triangles and dashes and empty circles. She quickly shoved it aside and reached for the next book with a certain fever rush.

She flipped through the next book with the pattern of a horn on the front. It opened up to another slew of words in the same strange shapes that didn’t mean anything to her. “No.” She gasped.

She opened five more books after that: a blue one with a smiling cruel face on it. A red one with a dragon design that was made of bones. And then three black ones with nothing at all on their fronts.

“How can this be?” She seethed and barely kept her voice low and below a full-on cry. She whipped around on her heels to face the waiting librarian's assistant. She strode over with hot coals in her center. “What is this?” She shook the book in Lucia’s face.

“Books of the dead are written in the language of the dead.” Lucia said simply. “I think you would know that.”

Tomma’s eyes grew huge and she gnashed her teeth, “No.” She shook slightly. “I didn’t.”

Lucia shrugged. “I can take you to the dictionary section of the library.”

Tomma’s stomach fell into a cold pit, more? She fumed. I have to do more?!

She took deep even breaths to calm herself. No. I’ve waited this long… What’s a bit more waiting and studying? She reasoned with herself and clenched her left hand and nodded.

They went up the set of stairs back into the white light and Tomma didn’t even bother to count the number of turns they took until they were at another enormous section with spines the size of her extended hand.

“Here,” Lucia stepped aside. “You have three more hours here before we retire.”

Tomma stood and blankly looked on ahead, “where is this dictionary?”

Lucia shrugged. “I can show you sections of the library, but all knowledge here must be begot by your own hands.”

“Ugh,” Tomma groaned as she realized it was one of those silly “you have to earn it” tests that wizards and fools liked to give out.

She scanned the shelves and realized that they would have languages upon languages housed in this ancient place. Dead languages, languages of the stars, languages that other scholars would kill to learn. But Tomma wasn’t interested in that, all she just needed the secrets to necromancy.

First, of course, she needed a proper translating device.

She opened the first book and got to work. -------------- Words started to blur together in sticky clumps and Tomma had a slight headache by the time the library assistant cleared her throat. None of the lights had changed in the chamber and Tomma’s ass hurt from sitting for so long.

“It’s time.” Tomma jumped as Lucia whispered next to her shoulder and she jerked her head up.

“Already?” Tomma returned quietly, though she wasn’t unhappy with the interruption. Her muscles were sore and she had to rub her eyes several times to get the real world to focus. “I don’t suppose there’s a map to these sections?” Tomma asked slowly, “or some sort of system I can use to find this book?”

Lucia simply straightened up and gestured, “it’s time to retire to the chambers.”

“Fine, fine.” Tomma put away the half-dozen books spread out around her and itched her foot for a moment- still stuffed in the too-tight shoes.

The walk to the chambers was just as winding as any of the other ones, past massive bookshelves, splashes of light, and across decorative blue and white tiles. Tomma rubbed her eyes again and reminded herself it would all be over after this.

I can go home after this.

She barely noticed as they approached an enormous dirt wall with a red door embedded in it. “Will there,” Tomma’s voice felt rough and odd in the large place. “Will there be food? Water?”

The fox-masked girl shot her an annoyed glare, probably for talking at all. “You will be provided for in your room.”

They exited out of the library into the hall with the inky black stones and Tomma shivered in the dull warmth. Lucia walked clippedly ahead without pausing. For a moment Tomma wanted to smack the seriousness off her tight lips and stern brow. She wanted her to start laughing or tap dancing or doing anything else.

Regardless, Lucia led her down, down, into a dimly lit second hall with the blue tiles on the walls and a long, dreary corridor. Lucia seemed to select a door at random and got out an enormous set of keys from her sleeve and clanged it into the lock.

The door heaved open with a creaking sigh and a small chamber lay within that was about half the size of Tomma’s room back home. And she didn’t grow up in a big house. The walls were covered in those same blue tiles and there was an eerie pale light from above.

“Here,” Lucia stood aside. “Bedding and a chamber pot are in the corner.” She said in that same flat tone. “Food will arrive through the slot in the door.”

Tomma made a face, “you’re not like, locking me in, are you? I’m not some sort of prisoner?”

Lucia looked at her carefully and a long pause followed that would be classified somewhere between an awkward dinner party at your estranged relatives and accidently farting in a confined space. “No.” She finally said tightly, “you are not a prisoner, but.” She seemed to study Tomma mutely, “do not leave your room.”

Tomma swallowed dryly at the way the girl spoke, but simply nodded. “I’ll uh, retire then.”

“I will retrieve you in nine hours for further studying.”

“Of course.” Tomma said and suddenly felt the energy drain from her like a straw attached to the soles of her feet and sucked. “Great.”

Lucia simply dipped her head again and Tomma slipped into her room and listened to the loud clank of the door as it shut tightly. Tomma closed her eyes, exhaled, and for a moment she saw a flash of the red-fox mask in her mind’s eye.

Red and indifferent and staring at her with the exhaustion of ages.

She shivered and kicked her shoes off before spreading out on the bed padding and staring at the ceiling. She tried not to get lost in the dizzying patterns of the tiles there. “Soon…” She reassured herself with a whisper, “we’ll go home soon.”

The night passed slowly after that. She was given a thick stew with chunks of rabbit meat, brown bread, and a single sugar cube for a pot of hot tea. She sniffed and poked and shook the food to test it, but it seemed to be a regular meal.

She was hungry enough to scarf down the stew and bread while staring at the wall and having the silence gnaw at her from all sides. The dripping of the water was distant now and there was a certain nothingness about the place, a gaping lack.

A lack of proper lighting and proper sound and proper words to speak out loud. Tomma ducked her head down in her small room and curled up in bed as quickly as possible.

Only a little longer, she promised herself and tried to force herself asleep.

But sleep didn’t come. The ground was hard under the bedding and dug into her hips and shoulder blades in a way where she couldn’t get comfortable. She missed the sound of rustling leaves overhead, thumping feet, and chattering voices in cities or encampments. Tomma tossed and turned and waited.

It must have been hours later when a sound came from outside.

Clank, clank, clank.

Tomma’s eyes flew open as a clunky metallic noise erupted from the hallway.

Clank, clank.

Her skin crawled with a cool whisper of unease and she listened to the metal jangling as it passed. After a few moments Tomma rolled out of bed and crept toward the door despite the voice in her head that told her to stay inside and not investigate.

Had she not been warned? But Tomma listened to the metallic ringing and she couldn’t just ignore it. I’ll only take a peak, she told herself and gently, slowly, eased the door open. She stuck her nose out an inch and her eyes darted to a warm light at the end of the hall.

There was a familiar figure there holding a brilliant torch in the darkness. “Oh…” Tomma said softly and openly stared.

The figure wore a long white nightdress that went down to her ankles and was pale and flimsy in the light. She had long reddish-brown hair that fell to the middle of her back in big fluffy bushels and the same sturdy build and weathered skin.

Lucia.

Lucia stood with her back to her with impeccably straight posture that seemed off somehow- too upright and too taut. Lucia took a few grinding steps down the hall and the noise came again: clank, clank.

Tomma glanced down and realized that Lucia was barefoot and mask-less, but there were heavy metal chains clamped around both of her ankles. She was the one clunking down the hall with her metal confines in tow.

There was a lonely aspect to her in that white nightgown, holding a light high, back straight, and feet rattling as she moved. A dream-like sorrow about it.

Tomma’s entire body tensed as she watched Lucia for another transfixed moment before shutting the door quickly and scurrying back to bed.

It’s none of your business, she told herself and grit her teeth. This place is none of your business.

She tried to ignore the girl in chains and go to sleep after that. --------------- Tomma didn’t mention what she saw the next morning. Someone delivered a bland breakfast to her through the slot in the door of soup, bread, and tea and she dressed and washed. She made sure her knife was tied neatly to her hip and then simply waited.

Lucia arrived promptly with her pink lips pressed together and hands folded in front of her, “good morning.” She said with a curt nod and then gestured, “let's get started for the day.”

Tomma simply sighed, “yeah, yeah. Good morning.”

They exited the room and Tomma tried to read Lucia as they walked. She tried to see past her red mask and controlled movements and back to the lonely looking specter of a girl from the night before. She came up empty.

Lucia brought her to the library, and Tomma tore herself away from the enigma of it all and back to the task at hand. She approached the dictionary section and took a deep breath. “Alright,” She pushed her lank dark hair back, “alright.”

She pulled one book out. And then another. Lucia stood off to the side and simply watched as she checked the first pages of each. Tomma put them back and then pulled out a third.

It was many books later when Tomma realized that the day was probably going to much like the previous one. Books and dust and darkness.

She was right. And the next day was much like the one before. They all passed with a type of monotonous singularity: dark halls, rough books, words upon words, climb ladder, check text, check text, check text, eat soup, follow Lucia, dark halls, words, words, words.

Tomma found a massive table in the center of the dictionary section and stacked piles high around her and flipped through them. She would take one glance at the text, and then slide the book away to check the next one.

Tomma still hadn’t found the right dictionary, but she eventually found a dictionary for fish languages and elvish in a dialect she didn’t know existed and two types of draconic. Most of the languages she didn’t recognize, and worse, none of them even hinted to the language of the dead. There were no indications of its existence in the five “universal translation” books she found or “The Big Book of Curse Words in Every Language” text.

“Ugh.” She groaned and stretched high above her back until her spine cracked one vertebra at a time. She had spent the last few months running and jumping and riding horses and it was almost some sort of punishment to have to keep sitting day after day.

Of course, the days dragged on and the worst part of it all was the watching. As far as Tomma could tell she was the only one occupying that section of the library right then. It was just her and the fox-masked girl and the silence and the books and the distant dripping sound. And the fox-masked girl was always watching.

Tired, hazel eyes, quick and hostile behind her mask. Brisk steps and incredibly steady and tense poise as she stood to the side. Always watching.

It started to grate against Tomma’s nerves- an ever present presence that haunted her every sneeze and page flip and paper cut. It felt like a giant eye to witness her failure and it started to deeply bother Tomma like some scab she couldn’t pick at.

Somewhere into the fifth day a restlessness took hold of Tomma. Lucia’s gaze seemed to burn a hole into the back of her neck. She glanced over her shoulder relentlessly in turn. Just do something, Tomma thought to herself venomously, blink, cough, burp, stop looking at me!

It was hard to concentrate by that point. The words were heavy against her eyes and despair heavier behind her movements. She glanced back to Lucia again and she was standing impassively between two bookcases with her mouth a straight line and entire demeanor almost lifeless and empty. Tomma scowled. Do something!

Lucia did nothing.

Something snapped within Tomma. She sat up straight, twitched once, and then moved. She pretended to yawn first and then turned around rapidly and stared at Lucia with all the intensity she could muster.

How do you like it? She thought. To have all eyes on you.

Lucia just stood there, motionless.

Tomma made a face at her. She scrunched her nose up and stuck her tongue out and blew her cheeks up with air and wrinkled her forehead up. Do something! Lucia did not do anything or give any reaction at all to her strange behavior.

Tomma turned back to her pages for just an instant before twisting in place and making a spectacular monster face. She bore her teeth and made her eyes wide and awful, she growled and hoped to scare Lucia into laughing or screaming or moving at all. Tomma’s chair squeaked as she did and she started flailing in midair as it unbalanced and her arms went pinwheeling around.

“Ah!” She gave a sharp squeak and then the chair squidded backward and she fell in a heap. Her back bumped against the floor and then she rolled into an embarrassing pile on the smooth floor.

Tomma wanted to cover her face and die at that point, but a sound erupted next to her. It was soft and barely audible, but there nonetheless. It was a careful and fractured laugh.

Lucia was laughing into her hands and looking down at the floor.

“Ha!” Tomma said triumphantly. “You are human!”

Lucia covered her mouth to smother the laughter, but abruptly stopped mid-laugh and her head jerked around like a dog cocking its ears up.

“Fuck,” she whispered and drew backward with visible anxiety written across her body. Her mouth twisted into a snarl and her shoulders tensed. She faced Tomma, “You idiot,” She said scathingly and hurried over to her.

“What?” Tomma blinked a couple times, “I just made you laugh. It’s not a criminal offense or-”

“Too much noise.” Lucia yanked her up. “Too much damn noise.” She tugged again and then Tomma heard it too: a scraping sound across the tiles on the other side of the library. Shit.

“What is that?” She whispered and Lucia’s eyes blazed.

She pulled Tomma fully to her feet, “You don’t want to find out.”

It was a scraping sound like knives against dinner plates and nails dragging across metal.

Lucia pushed her once and then started hurrying them forward. “Come on…” She barked, “Run!” They dipped and wove through the shelves, winding around enormous puddles of light and thumping in some unknown direction. They passed large chairs with dusty cushions, more ladders, and pillars, and Tomma started to get dizzy.

They were fast, but the scraping sound was persistent. A long grating noise that filled the space with an echoing heavy grind to it.

They seemed to be making good time, but Lucia took a hard right turn and Tomma stumbled behind her. Her foot collided with something with a jarring thunk and she yelped from the impact. “Ow!”

“No.” Lucia looked back at her in horror as the smacking sound echoed across the still air and then the scraping picked up speed and a loud audible sniff followed.

“Fool.” She whispered before grabbing Tomma and hauling her over to a shelf and ducking them behind it.

“What do we-” Tomma whispered but Lucia threw her hand out and slapped it across Tomma’s mouth. They both sat there with their chests heaving and harsh steps lumbering in their direction.

The sound of sniffing was unmistakable at that point: something scenting the air with a huge nose and persistent huffing breath. Tomma cursed in her head and her whole body seized up and she felt like she might be sick. Her heart beat in her ears and her chest was tight to the point it was almost hard to breath.

Lucia sat perfectly still beside her and made no indication she was freaking out right then. Her hand was firm across Tomma’s mouth and fingers calloused and slender.

The scraping went around and around, and Tomma got one clear glance of the creature and her heart practically stopped in her chest. The thing was the size of a large horse with thick reedy muscles and brown fur lined with black streaks. It had a snout the size of both of her forearms pressed together and a wet black nose that scrunched and swung through the air.

Its lips were parted by enormous white teeth that curled down its chin and two ears that sat erect and stiff on the top of its head. The ears were perked up and flicking in every direction to sense them. Its eyes were completely round and milky white. They didn’t move or seem to look at anything, but were large and almost iridescent.

Its body was lithe and long and had short fur that looked painted on and showed off each of its hungry ribs. The creature’s body ended in a long sweeping tail that with a deadly looking point.

Tomma would identify it as some sort of demon dog with its snout and ears and fangs, but it had six legs sticking off its lean body with strange claws that dragged across the ground as it moved. Almost insectoid and clacking with each step.

Her chest heaved as the creature passed by their hiding place and it slowly rounded the area. Tomma’s heartbeat violently thumped in her wrists and she tried not to swallow or sneeze or start hysterically breaking down.

Tomma wasn’t sure how long they sat there with their muscles screaming and breathes soft and controlled in a contest for their lives. They waited and strained and heard the creature sniff the air and round the area.

Tomma saw it twice more before it swung its massive head around and started scraping in the opposite direction. They stayed there for several minutes longer before they dared to even look at each other and exhale.

Lucia glared at her fiercely and then for a brief instant made something that might have been a choking motion with her hands. Tomma glared right back and opened her mouth to demand some answers when Lucia shook her head and pointed.

They retreated to the back of the library and Lucia tucked them away behind a large armchair the color of pea soup and a shelf of thick books all glowing pastel colors. After settling down to the ground in what she must have chosen as a “safe spot” she rounded on Tomma.

“What the hell do you think you were doing?” Lucia snapped at her and leaned in close to growl at her. She had a milky sweet smell to her.

“Nothing,” Tomma looked away. “What the hell was that? You really live with monsters here?”

“What did you think this place would be?” She hissed, “you think we are just whispering for fun?”

“It is a library.” Tomma said back, though her cheeks were burning. She was the one who started the series of events.

“For fuck’s sake,” Lucia said with more emotion than Tomma had seen from her in all the days they had been together. “Were you having some sort of kanipshin before? Because if you are unwell I am allowed to escort you out.”

“I’m well, I’m well,” She said without looking Lucia in the eye. “You were the one that laughed!”

“Yes! That was a mistake,” she shook her head. “But you were having some sort of episode.”

“It wasn’t an episode,” She looked down at her knees pressed to the cool ground. “I was just… sick of it all.”

“Sick of what?” Lucia snapped a little above a whisper.

Tomma struggled for a moment, shifting back and forth and deciding on her next words carefully. “Can’t you watch me from somewhere else?” She said slowly, “or not watch me all the time? It’s… annoying.”

Lucia visibly rolled her eyes behind her mask, “I watch you because of beasts like the Night Prowler there. Me and the other assistants are here for you, little fool. This isn’t a safe place.”

Tomma snorted, “I guess my school masters were right… Knowledge is a dangerous thing.” She said wryly and Lucia shot her a writhing look.

“Are some sort of jokester? Ugh.” She turned away. “I think we should retire early.”

Tomma exhaled, “I guess.”

Lucia took her by the scruff of her shirt and dragged her up, “come on.” She escorted her back toward her room, which seemed to take longer than usual.

They didn’t say anything more to each other before departing, but when Tomma lay down in her bed she stared at the ceiling she remembered the heart-thumping afternoon. The beast with its huge teeth and empty eyes.

And then she remembered Lucia’s rough hand pressed across her mouth and her strange milky scent that clung to her. Tomma shook her head and faced the wall, “stupid library assistant…” She pushed it out of her mind. ------------------ Things were tense after that between her and Lucia. They didn’t greet each other in the mornings nor did they speak when they went to lunch or retreated to their rooms for the night.

Some days after dinner Tomma still heard the chains rattling down the hall and she wondered where the girl was going and what she was looking for in the strange, dark library. How had she been bound to it like this?

Then Tomma stopped herself: it’s none of my business.

She had her own problems to focus on. Tomma would look at her left hand and decide to try harder in the morning. Though, she was starting to think that the language of the dead didn’t really exist, not really.

The days passed so slowly with one blurry text after the next passed before her and her head thumping with headache and teeth clenching with each fresh failure. Lucia was silent and watchful as the hours passed.

Where is it? Tomma dug her fingernails into the meat of her palm after it had been more than a fortnight. I can’t just leave. Where is it?!

Leaving without knowing was not an option.

It was a drooping, hazy afternoon after her descent into the darkness when she heard the voice. Tomma was sitting at her table in the dictionary section and stooping over a text of gnomish.

“They’re lying to you.” A soft silky voice crooned just loud enough to be heard. It was velvety and textured in a way that gently stroked her skin and weaved into her. “They’re lying to you.”

Tomma looked left and right to try and see the speaker, but there was only Lucia standing stiffly off to the side and the unchanging rows of bookshelves.

“...Lying.” The voice slithered from behind her.

“They are?” She whispered toward her lap, “who?”

“The library.” The voice said with a certain firmness that made Tomma nod along to that.

Her gut churned and she turned to make sure that Lucia hadn’t heard the voice yet either, but Lucia hadn’t so much as twitched.

Tomma ducked down and whispered to the ground, “What’s the truth?”

“This way…” The voice softly called to her, “this way.”

Tomma sat there for a long moment and held her head in her hands. Don’t follow strange voices into the darkness… She reasoned with herself, but something tugged at her.

But we haven’t made any progress, another voice in her head said, why would this place be truthful anyway? They are lying no doubt. This might be our only lead.

Tomma’s skin crawled and she looked over to Lucia and then back to her stacks of books on the table that were not in the language of the dead.

“Alright,” she said and nodded. “Alright.”

Guilt settled in as she was about to break one of their key rules, but there was no turning back. She had already done enough things to get to the library in the first place and she had promised herself she would do whatever it took to get home. She plucked a peach pit from her pocket that she kept for such purposes and tossed it to the side.

It clattered across the floor noisily and Lucia immediately turned around to look for the source of the sound. The second that Lucia tore her eyes away Tomma ducked down underneath the large table and started crawling.

“Where are you?” She hissed to the voice.

“Here, here.” She followed the crooning words that beckoned her to crawl through the dust and grime of the floors. She eventually hunched over and quietly made her way toward the wall.

“This way, this way.” The voice dragged her to the dark walls and another gate lay with its twisting spikes and jagged teeth that were made out of blown glass this time. Tomma hesitated for a long moment, but after a minute she pushed and the gate scraped open with a wrenching squeak and she darted inside. Past the gate was a hole in the ground.

A set of circular black stairs led downward into the earth, just like the path that led to the books of the dead section. Tomma frowned at it for a hard second before pushing herself onward and descending.

She noticed that the dripping noise was becoming louder and louder as she went down, a steady drip, drip, drip as her footsteps clanked against the metal stairs and the air steadily became thicker and warmer.

Steam started to waft up and Tomma had to squint through the frothing white clouds as she entered a large underground cave. The cave was lit by large ornate golden lanterns trailing across the ceiling one by one, piercing through the steam with warm yellow light and hanging off glittering gold chains. Shelves were nailed into the uneven rocky wall with several strange books sitting on each.

The books seemed to be made of glass: sea glass and pure transparent glass with words edged into the surface and books made of dark glossy volcanic glass. Tomma momentarily wondered if you could read those books or if they were meant to be read at all.

“Ah.” The voice said in a sweet way, “there you are.”

Tomma blinked through the steam and approached the edge of what appeared to be a pool of black water that gave off puffs of steady warmth. Sweat trailed down her spine and she wiped her palms down on her pants. The water was strange like everything else in the library, it was thick and dark like tar that no light penetrated and she could see nothing within.

The ceiling was low and the area quiet except for a loud dripping into the pool of tar-water.

Tomma looked left and right before her gaze settled on a head that just barely stuck out of the pool of tar itself.

Its short silver hair was slicked back and only its eyes peeked out of the water with dark slits. Its skin was pale and tinged green and a pair of large webbed ears stuck up from the side of its head.

“Heh,” Tomma snorted. “A tar mermaid. Okay.”

A tail flicked behind the creature and Tomma caught a glimpse of shiny bone and tattered end of a white fish tail. Her face slowly emerged from the water and she had a squashed nose and a mouth filled with needle-point deadly looking teeth.

Her neck had a series of slim slits that Tomma assumed were her gills and a small wicked looking bony frame.

“Hello, little knowledge-seeker.” She said in her soft, lovely voice.

“Hello,” Tomma nodded her head. “I snuck away from the librarians for this. What is it they are lying about?”

The mermaids smile spread wider and crueler as she glided closer to the edge of the water. “So hasty.” She said mildly. “What is it that you seek if you are in such a hurry?” Her eyes narrowed further. “Ways to win that mortal war above ground? Love potions? Great wealth?”

The mermaid examined Tomma’s frayed dark cloak and short brown hair clipped to her ears and sharp, almost elvish features. “I seek the books of the dead.” Tomma said as she had for months now, “And keys to necromancy.” Tomma narrowed her eyes, “but you already knew that.”

“I do.” She confirmed, “But you are but a child.” She said slowly. “What do the young know of death? So far away from it.”

“Closer than you think.” Tomma said bitterly. “And I’m here for answers, not your slick, easy words.”

“Ha,” the mermaid laughed something sharp and unpleasant. “My words mean nothing here. It is a place of secrets and knowledge held captive.”

“So I’ve heard.”

She shook her head, “Many died building this place. Bones in the walls. Bones in the floors. And the bone-layers are not telling you the truth. I have been listening.” Her webbed ears perked up on the sides of her head.

“Yes?” Tomma drew closer.

“The dead do not keep their words in the way of mortals.”

“You don’t say.” Tomma snapped back. “I didn’t notice that no dictionary seems to exist for their nonsense books.”

She swam in a lazy circle, “you must look at it with eyes of the reaper.” She said mysteriously, “it is not of this plane.”

Tomma’s eyes went large and she took another step forward, “go on.”

The mermaid looked furtively over her shoulder, “They are having you look for something that doesn’t exist.”

“So what does exist?” Tomma was by the very edge of the tar at this point.

“Why,” the mermaid said sweetly. “It’s something like this.” She held up a shiny stone with ivory bone embedded in it and an empty hole in the very center. “A reaper’s eye.”

Electricity spiked through Tomma’s system and her mouth went dry, “What do you want for it?” She asked softly and the mermaid splashed some of the hot tar against the wall with her tail and twisted toward her.

“Nothing,” she said quickly with a growl under her voice. “Just… come get it.” She held out the Reaper’s Eye and Tomma glanced between the mermaid’s slick face and the stone itself.

Be fast, Tomma told herself, but faster than this damned creature.

Tomma reached with her left hand toward the enticing charm and the mermaid’s smile grew even pointier.

“Don’t!” A voice called from behind her in the expanse of one tight moment. The mermaid flashed her bone-white dirty tail and grabbed Tomma’s arm with both hands.

“HA!” She laughed loudly and dug her teeth into the soft flesh of Tomma’s left arm. But it wasn’t soft. A snapping sound echoed through the air and the mermaid wailed as her teeth hit bone.

“Give me that.” Tomma reached for the stone but the mermaid started pulling her toward the hot tar. Tomma slipped off her feet.

“It’s been so long since I’ve had flesh!” The mermaid cackled, but someone grabbed Tomma around the waist and the two of them pulled back in forth in a tug of war for Tomma’s life as her feet dangled off the ground.

“I will tell Madame Sonia,” Lucia growled as she tried to pull Tomma to safety, “I will have your cave walled off.”

The mermaid hissed, splashed the tar violently, and let go. Tomma flew backward with waving arms and legs as she was released and crashed backward into Lucia. They sprawled for a moment, before Lucia cursed and crawled away from the side of the tar.

They both lumbered to their feet at the back of the cave.

“Ugh,” Lucia clutched her hand to her chest as she stood and Tomma tried to hide the sleeve of her outfit where it had been torn by the mermaid.

“Are you hurt?” Tomma said with bewilderment as she watched Lucia rock back and forth on her heels.

“Just some of that damn tar.” She said loudly while holding her right hand. “Let’s get out of here, Tomma Merrimont, Lord of the Idiots.”

Tomma glanced over her shoulder where the mermaid was sitting low with only her eyes exposed.

“But-”

“She’s not going to give you the damn eye!” Lucia almost frothed and Tomma followed her up the stairs. The metal creaked under them and Lucia’s breathing was labored above her.

“You’re hurt.” Tomma stated as she saw Lucia holding her hand tightly to her side.

“No shit.” Lucia glared over her shoulder and Tomma realized belatedly that her mask was off and her face exposed. She had hard eyes, a handsome nose, and auburn hair tied back at her neck in a bun. “You should be hurt too.”

Tomma hid her left hand where the mermaid had tried to bite her. “I was being careful.” She grumbled. “I knew she might try something like that…”

“And you still did it?!” Lucia burst out and Tomma shrugged. “Lord, no, not lord, Queen of the idiots!” They emerged back into the library and Tomma reached into her pack.

“Here,” she said. “Let me bind that.”

Lucia didn’t look at her, “It’s fine.”

“Come on.” Tomma said slowly. “I owe you.”

Lucia just frowned over her shoulder and a tightness was still there. “I have to go put my mask back on.”

“How…” Tomma frowned. “Why did you take it off?” Lucia didn’t answer and walked away. Tomma followed after a little reluctantly. “Why were you lying to me?”

“Being straightforward isn’t the practice of this place.” Lucia grumbled and was back to whispering.

“Is there really no dictionary?” She practically growled and Lucia just kept walking.

“Ugh,” she flinched and held her hand. “This stings too much for this damn conversation. Come on.” She led them back to their regular hallway.

Tomma assumed Lucia was going to force her back into her room and lock the door to go back to Madame Sonia and tell on her for “wandering.” But she didn’t.

They fast-walked all the way to the end of the hall where another identical door lay. “Here.” She got her keys out and to Tomma’s surprise and held open the door with her one good hand.

The room inside looked almost identical to Tomma’s with the same worn brown bedding and tiny table stuffed in the corner. Lucia busily went inside and reached for a wooden box under the table.

“Close the door behind you.” Lucia grumbled.

Tomma crept inside and shut the door as she openly stared at this strange girl with her sharp tongue and empty stares.

Tomma folded her arms over her chest. “I want answers.”

“You and everyone else who comes here.” Lucia murmured. She flipped open the box on the floor and fumbled through a few ointments and potions and strips of bandages. She seemed to choose a white lotion and take it out.

Tomma’s eyebrow twitched. “Here.” She knelt down next to Lucia. “Let me help.”

“No.” Lucia waved her off. “You’ve done enough.” Lucia’s hand slipped into view and a nasty dark burn was splashed across the top of her hand and wrist.

Tomma flinched. “I’m sorry.” She gritted out. “I can’t imagine living in this place.”

“Then don’t.” Lucia shook her head and dipped her finger into the white ointment before smearing it thickly on the burn. “Trust me when I say it only gets worse.”

Tomma was silent for a moment as she watched Lucia slather on the paste and hold herself perfectly still. “Can I ask how you ended up here?”

“Sure. You can ask,” Lucia said tersely. “And I’ll tell you as soon as you tell me what is going on with that arm of yours. She bit you, didn’t she?”

Tomma didn’t respond and instead watched as Lucia tore a bandage away and put it over her hand. “You’re never going to be able to secure that with just one hand.” Tomma said firmly and reached over. “Let me.”

She expected Lucia to kick away from her and say something dismissive, but she slumped down onto the floor bonelessly and offered up her burned hand. “Make it tight.” She said flatly.

Tomma just nodded and started carefully wrapping her wrist around and around with the white bandage. “So… Your arm.” Lucia prompted after a moment.

Tomma sighed without meeting her eyes. “Have you heard of the Carcass War?” Tomma muttered with few syllables.

“The current war between those beastly kings up above?”

“That one.” Tomma said weakly. “Well sometimes people get caught in the crosshairs of it. You know?”

“I know.” Lucia said darkly.

Tomma shook her head. “It was a gift. From the war.” Lucia frowned and kept frowning as Tomma gently wrapped and tucked and quietly bound her wound for her. “Where is your mask?”

“Back in the dictionary section.” Lucia said with her flat tone returned. “I threw it off when I realized where you probably went.”

“Okay.” Tomma dusted herself off and stood. “I’ll go get it for you. Stay here and drink some water or something.”

“Wait.” Lucia reached out and grabbed Tomma’s sleeve. “Show me.”

“What?” Tomma made a face at her demanding tone.

“Show me what they did.”

Tomma took a step back. “What? Why?”

Lucia met her eyes, “That mermaids teeth should have ripped through your hand. You should be bleeding out right now. Dead from the poison in her fangs.”

Tomma chuckled at that. “Trust me.” She started rolling up her sleeve. “I should have been dead a long time ago.” She held out her left arm and tried not to look at it as the arm stood stark white against the light and was nothing but moving bones and empty air. A skeleton frame attached to her warm flesh.

Lucia, for the first time, appeared surprised. Her eyes went large and pink mouth slightly parted. “Is that it?” Lucia’s brow folded in. “No. You can’t be undead. Or else you’d be able to read the books.”

Tomma snorted and met Lucia’s eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I’m only partially undead. I wasn’t completely gone before that bastard resurrected me.”

Lucia hummed deeply to herself. “Huh.” She said and then her brow folded in. “Huh. Peculiar.” She said as if thinking, “Very strange.”

“I know.” Tomma said with exasperation. “Satisfied now? Won’t kick me out?”

“I could have had you kicked out a long time ago.” Lucia said with a pale smirk.

Tomma cocked her head to the side. “Why haven’t you?”

Lucia shrugged and dusted herself off as she stood. “I don’t know.” She said while looking down at the floor. “You kind of reminded me of me when I came here.”

“Oh…” Tomma didn’t know what to make of that and she stood there and was suddenly very aware of how close they stood and how tight the space was.

She turned to the door, “I’ll go get your mask!”

Lucia chuckled. “Do you even know the way?”

Tomma froze in place and frowned, “Uuuh.”

“Come on,” Lucia gestured. “It’s a nice thought. But I’ll go get it and deal with Sonia’s punishment later.”

“Why did you take it off?” Tomma whispered as they closed in around the door.

“So she wouldn’t see.” Lucia whispered softly, “So the witch couldn’t peer through the eyes.” She finished before opening the door of her room and running off into the dark without looking back over her shoulder.

Tomma followed after. ----------------------- Something changed after that.

It was hard to talk about being part skeleton or being held captive by a magic evil library, but they started flashing each other knowing grins and walking a little closer together. Of course, Tomma’s approach had to change.

“So a dictionary doesn’t exist?” She asked the next day after a much-needed good night’s sleep.

“No.” Lucia whispered to her the next day after breakfast as they walked. “She was right about that. The language of the dead was never meant for the living- that’s why there’s so few necromancers.”

“There’s enough of them.” Tomma said bitterly. “So what then? Where do I get a reaper’s eye?”

“You don’t get one,” Lucia said sharply. “If you’re thinking of going back to the mermaid that is.”

“Tell me how to get one and I won’t.” Tomma shot back.

Lucia gave her a dark look, but there was something almost piqued about it. Interested. “Make one.” Lucia said slowly. “It will possibly be easier for you than others.”

Tomma’s eyebrows raised. “How so?” She felt her heartbeat pick up as she got excited. “So there is a way?”

“Yes. Another book.” Lucia pointed as they entered the library. “I can show you the way.”

“Go ahead.” She started to bounce on her heels. Another lead! I may finally go home and not live with the curse of that evil man.

Lucia seemed to be almost smiling behind her mask as they walked in a new direction. Bookshelves passed and Lucia stopped abruptly and pointed, “this is the section of magical item creation.” She stood aside. “Seek away.”

Tomma stood up tall. “Alright! Let’s do it. This one will only take me a day, just you watch.”

Lucia smiled. “Is that so?” She shook her head.

“You’ll see.” She winked. “I’m faster than I look.”

“You look like you’re twelve.”

Tomma rolled her eyes, “I’m nineteen.” Her teeth flashed, “And don’t underestimate me. I am very capable of finding things when they actually exist.” With that she ran up to the first bookshelf and scanned her eyes across the spines of the books.

She was going to get this done. She didn’t even mind Lucia watching her this time.

She was going to make a reaper’s eye and become her own necromancer. --------------------- Tomma didn’t end up finding the right book within the first day. Or the second. She found books on making amulets and lucky charms, witch’s wands and enchanted whips that would entangle anyone. She went over magical items that made you grow or shrink and flipped through entire books on how to make an endless wine goblet. It was the third day when she started to get ancy. “Today’s the day!” She sung to Lucia who just shot her a bemused look and folded her hands together in front of her. “Good luck,” she said and flashed her a sly smile. “Little skeleton girl.” “Of course,” she winked because she could. “Little fox girl.” They exchanged a very strange look and Tomma descended into the depths of the shelves with her heart doing a funny thing in her chest. She tried to push the feeling aside. She passed big brass metal books and books made out of forest leaves and tightly bound brown books that seemed to have fingers sticking out the top. And then there was a blue book. It was perfectly square and squat and it seemed to have a human spine design across the edge of it. Tomma stood in place and stared at each vertebrate for a long moment as if transfixed. She reached and took it off the shelf. The front of the cover had golden letters across a blue face that read: How to Make Rare and Wicked Items, a Guide by Harriet Georgian. “Harriet Georgian…” She said slowly and the name rang a bell, but she wasn’t sure which one. Tomma flipped open the front cover and practically tossed the book down in victory and did a little dance at the first words. There was a contents page for once and it read: How to make a Unicorn’s Horn, How to Make Fairy Dust, How to Make a Reaper’s Eye. Tomma had to remind herself not to shout. “Yes.” She shook with her nerves tingling, “Yes!” She ran back to where Lucia was standing. “Third day’s the charm,” she crowed happily. “I told you I would find it!” Lucia had an unreadable look on her face, but she did lift her chin up. “Congratulations.” Tomma sat down on the floor to get to work. She had an eye to make. ------------ The instructions were surprisingly straightforward: drill a hole in a stone that’s been bathed in the blood of a seer, merged with the bone from the hand of the maker, and soaked in light bleached off the sun.

The blood was probably going to be the hardest part since Tomma was no seer and she didn’t know any of them either.

“Perhaps if you pretended to be one…” Lucia suggested as they sat around a table. They had taken to sitting together. “Sometimes spells can be tricked. If you believe something so will they.”

Tomma made a face at her, “that can’t be true.”

Lucia raised her eyebrows, “how much do you actually know about magic?”

Tomma rolled her eyes and turned away from her on the bench they were sitting on. “Enough.” She shot her a look, “self-taught.”

“Ah,” Lucia said as if that explained something, “and what were you before this?”

Tomma frowned slightly and was silent for a long moment. She eyed Lucia for a moment, “you first.”

Lucia leaned back and looked up toward the ceiling with her fox-snout tipping upward. “I was a scholar.” She said simply. “Raised by monks in a big dingy monastery. All that nonsense.”

“Huh,” Tomma blinked several times.

“What?” Lucia prompted and itched her chin.

Tomma hummed deeply, “That’s not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?” She gave a sharp grin, “I was born in a cave from a pair of mated books and crawled out into the library fully grown?”

Tomma rolled her eyes, “No.” She sniffed loudly. “I dunno. I didn’t expect… any of this.”

“It’s not the sort of thing that normal people deal with.” Lucia looked away. “Most people aren’t allowed in.”

“I know.” Tomma said and glanced down at her left hand. “You have to want it. More than anything.”

Lucia’s eyes burned into Tomma’s flesh as she spoke. “Yeah.” Lucia sighed. “And only fools and madmen can want like that.”

“Which were you?” Tomma asked curiously and pried a little deeper into her companion.

“A beautiful tragic genius, of course.” She sniffed, “victim of circumstance and her own wiles.”

To her own surprise, Tomma laughed and her voice was rough and merry in the empty air. It felt unnatural in the dark atmosphere, but she couldn’t remember giggling like that for a long time.

Lucia hunched her shoulders and looked down, “Now, come on. We might need to synthesize blood, get to work little worker bee.”

Tomma gave a crooked grin. “And what about you pretending to be a psychic?”

“Sure, I could be psychic.” She nodded and there was some sort of a glow between them, a friendliness that Tomma didn’t expect. Nor should she want. “I see you falling in your future. Falling. Stubbing your toe. Oh! You tripped over your own feet, Queen of the Idiots.”

“Haha.” Tomma reached for another book. “Very insightful, Lady of the Nerds.”

She laughed and clicked her tongue, “I shouldn’t have told you my past.”

They grinned at each other and it was almost too much with a strange pressure in her chest and the fact that Lucia was chained to the walls at night. She turned back to the book in front of her and tried to read about synthesizing blood from water. ----------------- The days passed much more quickly after that, almost too quickly for Tomma’s tastes. Instead of lonely meals and endless books there was chatting and teasing and reading long texts together.

And Tomma almost thought she was dreaming. She had been alone for a long time before this.

“Okay,” Tomma looked over the ingredients on their table: a circular stone and some red liquid in a cup. “This will be easy. I’ll just break off a pinky bone, do a transmutation spell to bind them together, and then stew this sucker for a few minutes in light. Easy as pie.”

“Easy?” Lucia snorted. “The blood might be synthesized.” She said slowly, “but light bleached off the sun isn’t going to be a walk in the park either.”

“Why not?” Tomma wrinkled her brow, “weren’t you the one that told me all that meant was the light of the full moon? That’s soon according to the calendar. “

Lucia glanced at her, “and how do you suppose we’ll get moonlight down here?”

“Oh.” Tomma said softly and looked around her at the glowing gems above their heads embedded the ceiling and thick walls in all directions. “Oh.”

“Oh is right,” Lucia continued. “I mean, you could leave the library, but there is no guarantee that you could get back in to actually read the books later.”

Tomma frowned deeply, “Is it common to find your way back into the library a second time?” She thought she already knew the answer to that question.

Lucia looked at the floor and didn’t say anything and Tomma took that as her answer.

“Dammit,” She hissed and stood to pace around in tight circles behind the table. “This can’t be the hardest part of the task!” She gently kicked the nearest chair in frustration, “It’s just moonlight.” She sagged downward, “I’m so close.”

Lucia was quiet for another long minute before she cleared her throat. “There is a way,” she hesitated, opening and closing her mouth uncertainty. “Another one.”

“What is it?” Tomma saddled up next to her and leaned in close. She still smelled milky and like some sort of plant. Heather maybe. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Lucia’s mouth scrunched into a tiny pursed dot on her face and her eyes darted around behind her mask. “Nothing.” She said softly but then Tomma watched as her hand started to write on a spare piece of paper on the table. She faced away as her hand scribbled fastidiously beside her. “We’ll just have to think of another way.”

Tomma hardened her expression so it didn’t give anything away. “I understand.”

She carefully read the words on the paper: It would be a climb. Lucia wrote in thick letters, and you would have to do me a favor.

Tomma hummed deeply and repeated: “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Lucia nodded. “If we put our heads together something might come of that,” she smiled thinly, “if there is anything in your head at all.”

Tomma gave a forced laugh and hoped that didn’t give anything away. “You’d be surprised…”

Lucia scribbled one last sentence on the piece of paper before tossing it to the floor: meet me tomorrow night after dinner.

Tomma nodded and they both sat down and pretended to go over possible strategies and saying nothing at all. ------------------- Waiting for the next night was excruciating. Tomma had thought joining the night guild had been a waiting game that was hard: listening to hushed conversations in the dark and picking up the pieces of spells. Stealing for them. Killing for them.

She had thought that would be the hardest part of her journey, but those hours spent tapping her foot on the floor and wondering what secret Lucia had in mind felt like the worst.

What is it? Tomma tried to pry the secrets from her by just staring at Lucia but Lucia didn’t even bat an eye the entire next day. What is Madame Sonia not meant to see through your fox eyes?

Tomma’s head spun and her world became a dot of waiting and waiting for whatever it was Lucia was planning. The clock ticked by and Tomma was fully dressed with her thick leather gloves on and shoes stuffed on when dinner time finally ended.

“Okay,” she took a deep breath in through her nose. “Alright.”

She inched her way toward the door and then cracked it open to find the light of a flame dancing in the hall. Lucia was standing outside holding a lantern and wearing her sheer white nightgown turned pale red in the light. Her auburn hair fell down past her shoulders and her face was maskless and set in a stern expression.

“We have to hurry,” she said in a hasty whisper. “I can fool the mask into thinking I’m sleeping for at least a night, but there’s no telling if that will be enough time.” Tomma stared blankly back at Lucia for another minute before she spoke again, “Also... I wouldn’t mind some pants if you have an extra pair before we head out.”

Tomma shook her head to ground herself, “Sure. No problem.” She turned around to go for her traveling pack to retrieve a pair of extra trousers. “Wait, where are we going exactly?”

“To the moonlight.” Lucia said, “it won’t hit the crack for very long and it will be a lengthy walk to get there to begin with.”

“So uh, now?” Tomma yanked a pair of riding pants out. “For the moonlight?”

“Yes now, to bathe your Reaper’s eye in it.” She said as if it was obvious, “Madame Sonia would never let us enter the Silent Garden if I suggested it. So I had to suggest it without her knowing.”

“Huh.” Tomma nodded, “Okay, so a walk to the moonlight? Sounds easy enough.”

Lucia hunched over and didn’t meet her eye, “there’s just one thing.”

“What is it?” Tomma was grinning now, she thought she liked this new bashful side of Lucia as she tucked her chin down.

Lucia held out one thin ankle, “The um,” she frowned again, “you’ll have to help me out of these chains for the night so I can show you the way.”

Tomma straightened up and looked Lucia up and down, “is that allowed?”

“Of course not.” Lucia grumbled, “but it’s the only way to reach the garden.”

“Okay…” Tomma said slowly. “Yeah. I can help you escape. I understand this place is dreadful and-”

“Escape?” Lucia snorted. “It’s only for the night.” She shook her head, “There is no escaping this place.” She murmured the last part seemingly to herself. “Now come on, help me leverage these things open.”

Tomma nodded and got out her knife.

It took several long moments of prying and jerking and hissing at each other to try a different angle and put a little more muscle behind it. Tomma actually thought it would be harder than that, especially since she was distracted by Lucia’s exposed face and twisting expressions.

The other girl had a habit of wearing her feelings on her face that Tomma hadn’t noticed before. It was almost hypnotic to watch her wrinkle her nose in distaste or shyly brush her hair aside.

Finally, together, they tore at the bracelets until they both metal clamps heaved a sigh of release and Lucia wiggled her free ankles in midair. She was smiling at that point, really smiling. “God I hate those things.” She said in a pleased way and rubbed at the puckered skin. “I’ve tried to get them off before, but I guess it takes four hands.”

“Well,” Tomma leered at her, “three hands at least.” She shook her left arm in midair and grinned.

Lucia rolled her eyes, “let’s just get your evil moonlight enchantment done.” Tomma chuckled and nodded at that. “I mean. After I, uh, get these on.” Lucia raised Tomma’s pants in the air.

“Oh. Um, yeah.” Tomma turned to face the wall as Lucia shimmied them on and Tomma repeated the periodic table of magic to herself as she studied the floor tiles.

“Tomma,” Lucia said and prompted Tomma to turn back around. Her hands were animated kind of things resting on the doorknob, like two white doves poised for flight. Her face bent downward and almost cheerful, “thank you for helping me out of those chains. Really.”

Tomma swallowed thickly at her soft words and hurried over. “No trouble.” She said quickly, probably too quickly. “I don’t mind. You are helping me afterall.”

“Yeah,” Lucia gave her a guarded kind of look. “I guess I am.”

They exited the room after that and Tomma couldn’t find any words left in her as she watched Lucia’s long hair sway in the candlelight and her bare feet pad quietly along. Her wrists and ankles were thin and Tomma had to chastize herself as her thoughts wandered and considered the places those limbs led to.

Don’t be daft, she told herself as her cheeks burned. You’ll be out of this place in a fortnight or less. She told herself and watched Lucia find her way to the library door. And she’ll still be here…

Tomma forced herself to think about anything else as they entered the library again and made their way quietly to another wall.

“Can I ask where we’re going?” Tomma whispered but Lucia just hushed her and gestured for her to follow.

“Up.” She said simply.

They found another gate that was brown with rust and had intricate designs along the metal that almost seemed to shift and move when she wasn’t looking. The whole thing disturbed some practical part of her that thought that metal shouldn’t move and library’s shouldn’t have monsters in them. But parts of her like that had been silenced a long time ago anyway.

They made their way toward a set of spiral stairs that led upward and into the warm earth above. The steps were bulky and dark, but luckily didn’t creak as they started to climb. Tomma entered a sort of daze as she walked and walked in total silence with nothing but the lengthening stairs ahead. Lucia didn’t check to make sure if she was following and their footsteps were powder soft and the air as still as a cat before the pounce.

The trip was muted and reserved until Lucia stopped seemingly in the middle of the spiral stairs. “Here,” she muttered. “And we must be quick.”

Tomma didn’t have much time to question it before Lucia seemed to disappear into the wall itself with one fluid step. Tomma stared at it for a moment before her eyes made out a hole in the jagged wall and she took a deep breath in its wake.

Finally, Tomma put one arm into the opening and watched as it was eaten by the darkness there. She placed a leg in next and then she was forcing her way through the crack in the wall. Her cheek scraped against the walls and her knees knocked together.

It was a tight fit and it took a bit of wiggling before she saw the other side and Lucia’s lantern with it. Lucia was smiling and looking clean and fresh, “you’re lucky you’re so little.” She said with a smirk and speaking at full volume.

Tomma sniffed loudly, “yeah, yeah. I can fit into tight holes. Nothing new.”

Lucia gave a brisk laugh, “I thought you said you liked them.” She winked, “but with a person attached, was it?” Tomma almost swallowed her tongue at the reference to their first day.

Oh no, she thought as her heart sped up and Lucia joked with her. This isn’t good.

Lucia looked around the area with a faint smile on her face. “It’s been so long since I’ve been here.”

“How do you know about this place?” Tomma asked quickly as they stood in a wide cavern with featureless walls and a dipping, cramped path ahead leading upward.

“Not here to be precise,” Lucia corrected. “The place we’re going. It was walled off by Madame Sonia a little after I arrived.”

Tomma hummed deep from within her chest, “why?”

Lucia shrugged and started walking, “I was restless. Still trying to get out. Didn’t know how to be a proper servant yet.” Her expression hardened, “I tried to sneak away to this place and she walled it off. It took months to find another way in.”

Tomma didn’t know what to say to that and they traveled for a short distance in silence.

This journey was much faster than the first one and before Tomma could ponder on Lucia and her fate she was pointing ahead. “There,” she said softly with a childlike excitement in her tone. “There!”

And then she leaned forward and blew out the lantern she was holding. “What are you doing?!” Tomma gasped as the darkness burst in all directions and made her heart squeeze in her chest.

“Don’t worry,” she felt someone take her hand. It was rough and firm. “This way.”

Tomma swallowed thickly as they walked into a new wider space and cool air licked across her cheek as the first inklings of light began to glow around them. It was dull and barely there at first but little by little sharp objects started to enter her vision.

They were softly rounded or else jagged and upright and all were glowing cool colors such as baby blue and ocean green. It took a moment for Tomma to fully process it as the gems seemed to be glowing from the inside out.

“Ah,” Tomma turned her head left and right. “They’re flame gems. I’ve only ever heard about them before in stories.”

“Tomma Merrimont,” Lucia said her name fondly and squeezed her hand, “welcome to the Silent Garden.” She looked around as the walls and ground were covered in glowing gems in soft pastel colors and bathing their skin in luminescent sprays of rainbow. They covered the walls and corners of the long space with a wide swath of brightness and twisting shapes.

“It’s beautiful…” Tomma said softly as the stones spread out in all directions.

“This way.” Lucia didn’t let go of her hand as they climbed and climbed and Tomma practically fell over herself as a silvery light shone ahead on top of a giant glowing topaz.

“There it is.” Tomma whispered excitedly and stumbled toward the light. “It’s been so long.”

“Yeah…” Lucia’s voice sounded wet and thick and Tomma leaned over to see Lucia’s cheeks glimmering with tears. Wet trails that trickled down her lovely face and dripped down her chin.

“Sorry,” Lucia wiped at her face. “It’s just been a long time.”

“It’s okay,” Tomma reached out and wiped at her cheek delicately. “It’s alright.”

They stood there for a long moment with Tomma’s right hand hovering over her face and thumb rubbing away the tears there and their bodies breathing in time with each other. She just stood there with the moonlight behind them and their eyes meeting.

Tomma gulped, “Thank you.” She said, “Thank you for taking me here.”

Lucia shook her head and finally faced away, going toward the moonlight and letting go of her hand. “It’s nothing.” She said quickly, “I’ll admit I wanted to come for selfish reasons.”

“Still…” Tomma reached into her pocket for the circular stone- already bathed in blood and embedded with the tip of her pinky from her skeleton hand.

Lucia took a seat just outside the moonlight where an enormous deep crack in the ceiling let the light in. Tomma skipped over and plopped the eye of the reaper into the moonlight. It sat silent and small in the silvery glow, “Is that all?” She said and glanced over to Lucia, “just put it there?”

“I think so.” Lucia mumbled, “we’ll just have to wait a little.”

Tomma took a seat beside her and studied her face. “What were you looking for?” She said quietly and leaned toward her. “When you first came here?”

Lucia turned her face away. “I had good intentions.” She said and bit her bottom lip, “Too good perhaps.”

“Huh,” Tomma nodded along and then looked down at her left hand. “I only came down here for myself.”

“But it’s not your fault.” Lucia said made a face. “You’re just trying to regain control of your arm.”

“Oh… No. I have control of it now. I think my necromancer's dead.” Tomma admitted and picked a piece of dirt off the end of her cloak. “I only saw him that first day. When he resurrected me.” She said with a sigh.

“And then what?”

She lowered her head and shrugged, “And then I marched into battle with my left hand swinging a sword among the rest of the undead. I don’t know, I don’t remember those days very well but. But they ended.”

“Yeah.” Lucia said with a huff. “It’s lucky when those things do.”

“I can control it myself now.” Tomma reached up her gloved hand as if to demonstrate. “But I can’t go home.”

“Huh?” Lucia stared at her. “Do you have a home to go to?” She asked deceptively quickly, “I thought… Well I hope your home is nice.”

“Dunno if it is.” Tomma admitted, “my family lived in this small village until we got caught in this big battle of Westerly’s where a bunch of armies ran through the town for supplies.”

“I see.” Lucia said lowly. “And where you almost died?”

“Almost,” she tried to smile. “Almost is the important part. And… And my aunt and younger brother escaped. They headed to the island of Jermanda as far as I know. That’s what I heard at least.”

“Oh!” Lucia grinned. “So you can go join them.”

Tomma nodded slowly. “Yeah… once I’m magic free again.” She said softly. “Once I figure out how to free myself from this necromancy spell.”

Lucia folded her brow in, “How do you know, um,” she fumbled for a moment before her, “how do you know the spell’s not the thing keeping you alive?”

“I don’t.” Tomma said lightly. “All I know is that the island of Jermanda is a magic-free zone and I can’t return home to my family unless I’m free of it as well.”

“Oh…” Lucia shot her a worried look. “You must really want that.”

She nodded slowly, “with all my heart.” They stared at each other in the darkness as the rock stewed in the moonlight and the gems glowed around them. “What did you want when you came here?” Tomma sucked in a deep breath, “with all your heart?”

Lucia curled into herself and tipped her head down. “It doesn’t matter now.” She said and pushed her hair back, “I’m trapped here for good.”

“For good?”

“Until I pay off my debt.” She made a sour face. “I tried to take some of the books out.” She explained without inflection. “And now I’m indebted to the damn place.”

Tomma chuckled because she didn’t know what else to do, “That is awful.” She stated with a frown, “though I must say I would have never gotten this far without you.”

Lucia giggled, “so you’re happy that I’m prisoner here?”

“No!” She said with her body jerking upright and Lucia laughed more.

“I’m teasing,” she shook her head. “I’m glad to have met you too. You’re a better sort than the rest.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Tomma struggled for a moment, “I had to kill a man to get this spell… He wouldn’t. He wasn’t…” She sighed, “I’ve done a lot of things now.”

Lucia shrugged, “So have I.” She leaned in closer, “but you know what?” She wore a wicked grin and leaned in close to where her breath tickled Tomma’s ear and made her shiver. “I think we’re still alright. Good enough.”

“Good enough,” Tomma chuckled, “that’s what I like to hear.”

Lucia was still lingering above her, “Maybe sometimes a little more than good enough. For you at least.” Her face fell, “I’m glad to know you Tomma.”

“I thought…” Tomma swallowed and her head was spinning with the sight of Lucia and only Lucia in front of her. Her ruddy cheeks and soft lips and tired eyes, “Don’t you think I’m Queen of the Idiots?”

“Oh yes,” Lucia nodded, “But I’ll tell you a secret.” She gave a bitter smile, tinged with sadness and face bathed in topaz light from below and moonlight from above. “I like idiots.”

Tomma’s hand shot out and cupped Lucia’s cheek, cradling it gently in her grip as their faces hovered before each other like an ocean before a cliff face. “Stop me.” She said suddenly. “Stop me because I think I’m starting to feel things I shouldn’t.”

Lucia’s hazel eyes were huge and almost glowing in the moonlight. “You’re right,” she said and put a tentative hand over Tomma’s to keep it here, “You shouldn’t. I’m trapped here… I’m cursed.”

“You’re beautiful.” Tomma said before anything else. “And you make me feel stupid in the head.”

“That a good thing?”

Tomma grinned, “I always feel stupid in the head. You just make it worse.”

Lucia let out a hearty laugh. “Then don’t like me.” Lucia tapped their foreheads together and her warm breath splashed across her cheek, “you don’t even know me.”

Tomma hummed and leaned a little closer. “I’d like to get to know you.”

Lucia’s breath hiccuped and shifted in place, “Okay.” She whispered and glanced at Tomma’s mouth and as slow as daylight through windows and snowfall on quiet mornings moved toward her. “Show me. Get to know me.”

Tomma tipped Lucia’s chin up like moving the stars across the sky and brought Lucia’s face to hers.

Their lips met. It was sudden and inevitable and crushed her heart like daisy petals in a toddler’s grasp. Something inside her felt suckerpunched, brought low, destroyed into a fine powder without a sword or arrow.

Lucia’s mouth was soft and tingling against hers. It swept her out to sea and swallowed her whole with her bright movements and gentle lines. She kissed her gently at first with a firm grip around her neck and a slight shaking limbs.

And then Tomma opened her mouth delicately and they were embraced on the stone there, bathed in light and feeling her stomach swoop and heart seize. Her lips moved against hers and they came together again and again. They kissed until her lips were chapped and puffy and there was nothing but them in the universe.

Only them and their mouths and a world drained of words and thoughts and leaving nothing left.

It was only when the moonlight passed and the sky started to shift slightly in color that they remembered themselves.

Lucia’s held onto her so tightly it felt like she was digging in claws that would tear her apart and she wouldn’t resist a thing. “I have to go back,” Lucia said dryly with chapped lips and unshed tears in her eyes. “Madame Sonia still… still,” she hiccuped and her eyes spilled over in a thin stream of water, “I still belong to the library.”

Tomma took her hand and wiped her tears away again, “I know, I know.” She kissed each cheek delicately and Lucia just nodded and stood up, still crying softly.

They walked out of the garden, down the steps, and back into the library, hand in hand. ----------------- Tomma’s head was reeling after that night. This wasn’t what she planned.

She planned to get in, get out, and get rid of the magic on her for good. And be done with it. She could be a normal girl after this- no more sneaking around and ancient spells and daggers in the night. She assumed she could be normal again.

But she remembered the feel of Lucia’s lips on hers and the whole thing fell apart. Who would want to be anything after that? Who would want exist outside that moment? It felt like finding a soft landing after being trapped in a violent storm. Did everyone feel like this after a kiss? Surely not or else they would stop having jobs or going to church or waging wars.

They would just sit in the moonlight and kiss.

Tomma thought ridiculous thoughts like that for hours as she stared up at her ceiling and sleep refused to come even an inch closer. She was trapped in that singular moment with her cheeks flushed and heart fluttering in her chest.

Those hazel eyes and soft pink mouth and the way her gaze lingered as she left that night. It was all too much.

Tomma sat up in bed, tugged on her hair, and rolled over back and forth. Her stomach felt like it bottomed out, she covered her face with both hands, and groaned.

What am I going to do?

A new idea was forming in the back of her head but it wasn’t one she liked. But there it was: escape with Lucia or lose her forever. Learn a few new tricks or else leave someone to their fate of chains and dark libraries forever.

Tomma remembered the way she wept at the sight of moonlight hours earlier and Tomma made up her mind. She touched her mouth as she did it and stared at nothing.

Someone has to do it, she figured, someone has to help. ----------------- Tomma woke up the next morning without realizing she had fallen asleep after all and absently touched her mouth again as it pulsed with heat. That had been real, it had all been real. She reflected in a hushed daze.

“Oh God,” She covered her fever-hot face. “Oh no.” She murmured and rolled over. This morning is going to be so awkward, she thought to herself and squirmed. It was a full minute before she managed to push herself to her feet to scrub her face with water and get dressed. She ended up putting her shirt on backward as she did and barely registered her breakfast of bread and thin pea soup.

When she finally stood by the door she barely fit her shoes on or put her thoughts in order. We did that, she relived the last nights events over and over, that happened. Before she could hide in a corner or change into a more confident version of herself Tomma heard a knock on the door and jumped. “C-come in.” She hated how her voice shook as she addressed the other girl and Tomma’s face flushed two shades darker.

To her surprise, Lucia’s mask was tied tightly on when she rounded the door and nodded at her, “Good morning.” She said steadily and her mannerism was somehow not changed. Perhaps, Lucia was a bit pinker in the face and smile wider, but the tone was the same. “Did you wish to visit the books of the dead today?”

Tomma was momentarily confused, but nodded. “Yeah.” Though that’s not the secrets I need anymore. She thought to herself, but followed the trail of Lucia’s orange dress out as she turned around quickly and started gesturing for her.

Tomma tried to read Lucia’s thoughts through the back of her head as they walked, but she was just as straight-backed and quiet as usual. Tomma wanted to grab her shoulder and dip her. She wanted to yell “what is going on in your head?” She wanted to kiss her again.

She resigned herself to following after and wondering what she needed to do next.

They found their way back through the shelves of books and toward the gate at the edge of the room that they had visited on the first day. No spark of excitement went through Tomma this time and she was dragging her feet by the time the books of the dead came into view.

“Um,” Tomma finally spoke up and Lucia glanced over her shoulder at her. “What if… what if they’re other books I want to visit as well?”

Lucia’s eyes seemed to get a little larger behind her mask. “Is it something you want with your entire heart?” She asked softly, “because that is the purpose of the library. It won’t accept anything else.”

“It is.” Tomma said softly. “I want this.”

Lucia gave a shallow smile. “One thing at a time.” She said slowly. “Get in and get out of here, patron.”

Tomma’s heart dropped. Do you not want to see me anymore? She didn’t know how to discreetly ask what was going on between them. She didn’t know how to discreetly ask her if she thought last night was a mistake or if they were thinking the same thing.

She didn’t know how to ask if she actually liked her.

Tomma stared at her for another long moment before going over to the book shelves for something to do. She reluctantly picked up one book at random and sat down on the floor with it as the red lanterns cast long shadows around her.

She took out the Reaper’s Eye from her pocket and took a deep breath. She glanced over at Lucia, “here goes nothing.” She said lightly and brought the Eye up to her own eye. “Time to see if it worked.”

She flipped the first page open and squinted at the page. For a moment the letters were the same jagged triangles and random lines. And then the letters started to shift through the lens of one of her eyes. The words started ordering themselves and swam into focus.

They formed common words that she knew.

“Oh.” She said all at once, “Oh!”

‘The dead do not speak. But they do have something to say.’

“Is it working?” Lucia asked softly from behind her.

Tomma only grinned and gave a thumbs up, “You were right!” She cried just above a whisper. “All it took was some fake blood, my bones, and… other stuff.”

Lucia smiled fondly back at her but there was also something limp and sad about the way she stood there. As if the life was draining out of her, “Good. You’ll be able to depart soon.”

Tomma blinked several times. “Sure…” She wanted to shout that she wasn’t leaving just like that, she wanted to drag Lucia over and show her how the eye worked. She wanted.

She started to read. -------------- Despite everything Tomma was a planner. She used to plan her family’s weekly dinners and plan their shoe space and planned their family outings and then planned for months and months on how to return to her aunt and brother.

And she was starting to have a plan.

It formed as she flipped through book after book outlining the basic principles of necromancy. It was a loose and almost fantastical ideal that bordered on ridiculous. But it was there.

First, she decided, I must learn this...

Tomma blinked and tried to take in the words of the book: ‘It takes a vast amount of power to raise the dead. More than power, it takes a vast amount of intention to drag them back from the beyond to do your bidding. Lifting the veil tears a piece of your own soul each time and forms a type of magnetism between the shredding of your spirit calling to theirs. Like attracts like.’

Or at least, that was what Tomma had gathered so far from the dense texts that were part philosophy, part poetry, and only a little bit of practical instruction.

She couldn’t explain it but Tomma got the sense she needed to act fast. She needed to get this done or lose everything. I have to, she promised herself. We’re all getting out of here and out of this nest of devils that is magic.

She ran over options again and again to the point she almost forgot about eating or taking breaks. Her thoughts came in bubbling rivers: how could she escape? How could she free Lucia? Nothing readily came to her and Tomma practically jumped out of her skin when a hand tapped her on her shoulder.

“It’s time to retire,” Lucia said in her usual flat tone.

Tomma turned slowly and wished she could convey with her eyes what she was planning. What was possible.

“I’m almost there.” Tomma announced airily and pointed at the text. “I think it’ll only be a week or so to parse through it all.”

“Of course.” Lucia said without emotion. “Whatever is needed.”

Tomma impulsively reached out and grabbed her wrist, “I’ll stay as long as it takes.” She said with a fierceness she didn’t know she had. I won’t leave without you, she tried to convey it with her grip alone.

Lucia’s face seemed emptier than usual. When she spoke next it was slow and deliberate. “I wanted to change.”

“What?”

Lucia took a deep breath and the first shivers of emotion seemed to spread across her expression. It was a mixture of dread and a deadened worry written there. “I entered the library to change my body.” She announced loudly. “I had tried witches and potions before but many of them were temporary or tricks and some simply made me sick… I was raised by monks, you know. As a monk. But this is who I am.”

“Hmm?” Tomma blinked several times as she tried to make sense of that. “What?”

“I wasn’t always called Lucia,” Lucia explained slowly. “I got what I wanted here. And it was wonderful. I was who I was meant to be and when I returned to the surface and I got to be Lucia. But… Someone asked me to help them too. And I realize that the knowledge couldn’t just be locked away here.”

“Captive knowledge,” Tomma parroted the mermaid’s words from before.

“Something like that,” Lucia kept talking like the words had been building up and were just now spilling out. “So I came back a second time. It was… hard. The doorway didn’t appear as readily and it took complex spellwork to break in. I made it back though. And stole some of their books.”

Tomma’s eyes were huge, “You had good intentions.” She remembered Lucia’s words before.

“I did.” Lucia winced, “and I’ve been paying for them since.”

A red hot anger burned in Tomma’s center. “That’s fucked up.” She fumed, “This place…” She shook slightly, “that’s not right.”

“It wasn’t all selfless.” Lucia said softly. “I wanted someone to like me. I thought I could be a great magic wielder if I simply had the right books and then they would be impressed.”

“But you wanted to help people!”

“I did,” Lucia repeated, “but that was years ago. And I’m not the same person anymore. It’s too late.”

“Bullshit!” Tomma shouted impulsively as she processed what Lucia was trying to say. “It’s never too late.”

“Tomma...” Lucia seemed to wilt. “We should… retire…” She said faintly. “You have more studying to do tomorrow. So you can return to your family.”

Tomma gnashed her teeth. She held Lucia’s pale hand tightly, “This isn’t over.”

Lucia visibly flinched and started retreating backward, “you’re too reckless. You’re lucky the Night Prowler or mermaid didn’t eat you.”

Tomma followed her up to her feet. “Just you wait.” She frowned, “I’ll be a necromancer yet. More powerful than anyone. More powerful than Madam-”

Lucia slapped a hand down over her mouth. “Come to bed now.”

Tomma wanted to protest and raise her fists in the air and curse the gods of that world that made the rules and arbitrary punishments and rewards. Didn’t people like Lucia deserve to be rewarded?

She stood up nonetheless and followed her out of the library as she tried to formulate the right words in order to convince Lucia to come with her. To fight.

But Lucia had always seemed like a fighter, something else was stopping her.

“Lucia…” Tomma whispered at her back as they reached her door.

“Please,” Lucia whispered and there was something fragile and fall-apart about it. “Go to bed, Tomma. Let go of whatever it is on your mind.”

Tomma shook her head over and over again, “is that really what you want?” Lucia shook her off and walked in the opposite direction as Tomma’s door hung open. “I won’t let this be it.” Tomma promised the empty air. “I’ll change it.” ----------------- Tomma lay in bed and traced the lines of her ceiling with her eyes. Her mind wouldn’t quiet, but she couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or not.

Options ran round and round in her head. Is this it? She thought to herself, is this all I can do? Wait and think and plan and have nothing to show for it?

Her stomach sank and she shifted in bed, feeling guilty she was lying down at all instead of up and trying to solve the ‘what next’ part of her plan. She barely knew that much about the library to begin with.

Tomma crawled to her knees and lit a candle in order to create a to-do list. She printed the words as neatly as she could: Ask the mermaid about the library Learn necromancy Summon the dead to help us escape

She stared at the words for a long painful second as she decided whether or not they were enough. If they were doable at all or simply foolish.

She was adding points to her plan when she heard the familiar sound of metallic jingling outside the door: clank, clank, clank.

Lucia was in the hall.

Clank, clank.

Tomma smiled thinking about her, but her smile froze when she heard a second voice this time.

“What do you think you’ve been doing?” Tomma’s blood froze at the sound of a harsh commanding tone. She rolled to her feet and reached for her knife. She couldn’t hear Lucia’s response. “You really think you could try this nonsense?” A cruel laugh followed.

Tomma was at the door and rushing outside before she could think.

She barely remembered to put her shoes on before she was standing outside at a scene she couldn’t have dreamt. An enormous woman in a bird mask was holding Lucia’s cheeks between her clawed fingers and snarling at her.

“Aw,” Madame Sonia twitched. “Your lover. Good timing.”

“No!” Lucia said breathlessly. “We weren’t actually doing anything. It was only a night.”

Madame Sonia snorted loudly. “Perhaps you weren’t going to do anything.” Her sharp eyes darted toward Tomma, “but she was.”

Tomma held the knife flimsily in the air, “put her down, witch!”

Madame Sonia laughed cruelly. “Moxie! Of course.”

“I’m serious.” All her big plans were empty now as Madame Sonia rounded on her with a cool frankness to her.

“She’s not what she says.” Madame Sonia said tartly.

“She is everything she says and more!” Tomma announced daringly and puffed her chest out.

“No.” Madame Sonia curled her thin lips back. “What I mean is that she is mine. She belongs to this place.”

“People can’t belong to places,” Tomma tried to reason. “People belong to themselves.”

Madame Sonia’s rolled her dark eyes behind her mask. “Little fool,” she said without hesitating, “perhaps it’s time to show you how patrons who break the rules are treated.”

“No!” Lucia gasped out softly with her cheeks dribbling blood and face screwed up. Madame Sonia turned to her and boxed her fiercely across the face with one hand before tossing her to the ground. She turned to Tomma.

“Making noise,” Madame Sonia took a menacing toward Tomma and she seemed even bigger and stranger than ever. “Wandering,” she took another step with a long twisted shadow cast behind her, “and trying to take something out!”

Tomma widened her stance and declared icily, “I’m not scared of you.”

“You should be.” Madame Sonia wet her lips before putting two fingers to her teeth and giving an enormous whistle.

Lucia started to claw her way toward Tomma, “Run,” she wheezed, “Run now.”

“Not without you,” Tomma dove toward her and Madame Sonia laughed- loud and boisterous.

“Just try to take her out like she is now.”

Tomma growled, but looked down to see that Lucia’s ankles were still in chains. “Come on.” She tried to pick her up. “We’re getting out of here. Together.”

Lucia pushed her face away, “I said get out of here, Tomma!” She said desperately, “I can’t run. Not like this.”

“Bullshit,” Tomma whispered and then pulled her to her feet. “Fight Lucia! Come on,” she wet her lips, “Don’t you want to see the moon again?!”

Lucia looked her up and down with a question in her eyes and Tomma nodded at her. Lucia bit her lip and then dove for her hand. “We have to run.”

She said it just as a huge beast rounded the corner and Madame Sonia gave a chilled cackle, “Oh Lucia, I will consider your debts paid once you feed the Night Prowler.”

“Oh, go stuff yourself!” Lucia said fiercely and reached behind her and whipped off her mask with a flourish. She flung it to the ground. “And find yourself a new assistant.”

Madame Sonia opened her mouth to reply but Tomma’s eyes were glued on the huge black beast lumbering at them. “Yell later,” Tomma instructured, “go now.” She started dragging Lucia forward just as the chains rattled.

“We’ll go as far as we can!” Lucia screeched and they began to run.

Lucia was slow. Her chains were too bulky and gait too awkward, but Tomma hurried them nonetheless to the end of the hall as Madame Sonia just impassively watched.

“Right, right!” Lucia spouted as they reached the end of the hall and turned. They started running up the hill toward what could only be the archway of the damned. And escape. Scratching footsteps came from behind them, ugly and always gaining and gaining.

Tomma sometimes glanced over her shoulder as they moved and saw the thing’s milky white eyes glowing and ears pricked toward them. They followed Lucia’s lamp through the caves in seemingly random directions and Tomma practically picked her up and threw her forward at points.

“No.” She started to repeat, “No. We’re reaching the end of my chains.”

“It’s not over.” Tomma said back and collapsed to the ground to take out her knife and start prying off the shackles.

A cold laugh followed them like a specter. “It’s too late.” Madame Sonia’s disembodied voice sang from above, “it’s here.”

She heard the sound of scraping before she turned to see the Night Prowler almost right at their backs. Tomma screeched a battle cry and contorted around to face it. “Come at us, you ugly pustule!”

“Tomma,” Lucia tried to drag her back, but Tomma shook her off and took a step toward the Night Prowler.

“Come at me!” She said again as she lifted up her knife with her right hand. The beast bent its ears back for just an instant before lowering its haunches and hissing at them like a cockroach. Tomma just grinned and barked a final, “hit me!” It launched itself through the air at them.

“There!” Tomma howled and switched her raised hand. She lifted up Lucia’s chains along with her left arm.

The creature’s enormous jaws closed around them both. A cracking sound erupted like a forest fire snapping wood and Tomma tried not to call out as her skeleton arm was wrenched off.

“Tomma!” Lucia called but the chains fell away as the creature chomped down on them.

“Throw the lantern!” Tomma yelled with her last breath as she fell backward.

The beast chewed on the bones of her arm and the chains between it’s shining deadly teeth before bearing down on them again. “Fuck off!” Lucia threw the flame of the lantern onto the creature and it let out a dreadful wail as its body was engulfed in fire. It lit up as if the creature itself was made of dry parchment.

Tomma gaped for a moment as it burst into licking red flames and Lucia put her hands under her armpits and started dragging her back and back. She had to tear her eyes away and they moved in the dark with the sounds of the creature howling behind them and Madame Sonia’s all-seeing eyes somewhere.

Lucia knew the path well enough to drag them up and up and up and away.

“We’re close,” Lucia kept saying and sweat dripped down their backs, “we’re close.”

The appearance of the figure in the archway was almost predestined as Madame Sonia stood in the threshold of the archway holding up a torch. “So.” She tutted as Lucia and Tomma panted and struggled for breath as they arrived, “that’s it? You burn my dog and run away?”

“You can’t,” Tomma wheezed, “you can’t keep people.”

She shrugged, “I think I can.” She snapped her fingers and a new mask rose in the air as if suspended from string. This one was an owl with brown feathers and huge eyeholes and covering the entire face- including the mouth.

“No.” Lucia backed up against the wall. “D-don’t!”

“I won’t be trifled with.” Madame Sonia warned and the new mask hovered closer and closer in midair.

Tomma put herself between the mask and Lucia and felt Lucia shivering against her back. “Go.” Lucia whispered beside her ear, “you’re not bound here. Go while you can.”

Tomma shook her head. “It’s my turn to do something a little selfless.” She whispered and hoped she sounded more sure of herself than she felt.

She raised her only hand in the air and started to chant, “domas, domina, domas, domina, illuminae…” She repeated over and over again and reached deep down into herself. Bones in the floors. Bones in the walls.

A library built on the bones of those who made it.

Madame Sonia shook her head. “You really think you can summon the dead after just one day of study? You really are a fool.”

Tomma closed her eyes to concentrate and folded her brow inard. “Domas, domina,” she shook with the effort and imagined ripping her own soul in two, she imagined cleaving it and tearing it like wet paper. She imagined their decayed bodies heaving through the tough earth and coming to her call- feeling drawn to her spirit.

She gnashed her teeth and dug deep into herself with the ancient words and her soul slightly, ever so slowly, shook within her. She raised her hand and yanked with all her might on the reanimated bodies of the dead.

“Come to me!”

She jerked upright when a scream came from behind her, “No!” Tomma cried out as the owl mask had darted over her shoulder and attached itself to Lucia’s face.

“Ah!” Lucia gave a muffled scream from behind the face and as it attached to her flesh. She ripped at it with her fingernails, but the thing held firm.

Tomma gnashed her teeth, “domas, domina!” She raised her voice, “come to me!” She yelled with the last of her waning strength, “get your revenge on this woman of the deep. Come and take her blood for yourself.”

Madame Sonia tossed her head back and barked a laugh as she put her hands on her hips. “Revenge?” She snickered, “I don’t think so. Justice is for fools and madmen.”

Tomma’s eyes went wide, “good thing I’m both.”

A bony hand jutted its way out of the depths of the dirt covered in a tattered shirt sleeve and rotting flesh.

Tomma gave a brittle smile and whispered dully, “and I don’t think they like you down here.”

A second skeletal arm shot out of the earth and grabbed Madame Sonia’s wrist, “What?!” She burst out as another skeleton hand drag itself from within the mountain and reached for her. “Don’t touch me!” Madame Sonia twisted around to start firing spells and Tomma turned to Lucia.

“What’s going on?!” Lucia wailed behind the material.

“Let me help.” Tomma grabbed the edge of the mask and started to pull.

Lucia drew a deep breath and reached for her hand, “you’re really with me?” She murmured with a delicate voice through the thick fabric.

“Yes,” she leaned forward and kissed the cheek of the mask. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

The mask seemed to fall away in their hands and Lucia was beaming as she was freed from the inside. “Okay.” She took Tomma’s hand and they both turned to where the undead were clawing their way out of the earth.

Tomma started to edge around a half-buried Burkan soldier, “alright,” she said slowly. “So I got to the summoning parts of the books… but not the binding part.”

“They aren’t bound to you?” Lucia said sharply and Tomma shook her head.

“They just really don’t like Madame Sonia,” she said as the witch beat off more bony hands that came for her.

“Come on,” Lucia pulled her, “we better get out here then.” She leaned in and kissed her cheek as they ran.

They jumped through the archway and crossing it was just as sickening as the first time: goosebumps ran up her arm and her ears popped and stomach twisted as they crossed it. And then they were out and into the cave.

They crashed forward and laughed and circled each other like puppies on their first outing as they fumbled their way out of the darkness and into the light. Lucia fell on top of her as the sun beat across their faces and the forest spread in all directions around them. Sounds of birds called in the treetops and a river babbled nearby and it was bursting with warmth and life.

Tomma’s eyes were shiny with fresh tears and they were on the ground and laughing. Lucia wrapped her arms around Tomma’s neck. “Thank you,” she whispered and peppered her face in small kisses, “thank you for saving me.”

Tomma ran her good hand through Lucia’s thick hair. “Thank you for saving me.” She kissed her firmly on the lips and whispered into her skin, “I was alone for a long time before this.”

And they wrapped around and around each other and the bright daylight bore down on them from all sides and the breeze licked their skin. They were out.

-------

A huge thank you to my beta readers for this story! I am so grateful for the comments and encouragements for this piece 😊

If you enjoyed the story please consider donating to my ko-fi or supporting me on patreon (even a dollar helps!)

#fantasy #writing #wlw #girls love #femslash #my work #f/f #high fantasy #the dark library #original story #sapphic

[hovercraft79]

Don’t Cry Out Loud

Chapters: 1

Word Count: 8,093

Fandom: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)

Rating: Teen

Warnings: smoking and the difficulties in quitting

Summary: Hecate Hardbroom is used to being alone. She prefers it that way. At least, she thought she did until Ada Cackle returned to the Academy. Opening herself up to someone new carries great risk, but it might bring great rewards. Feelings bring laughter and tears – and something she didn’t realized she’d been missing so much.

Notes: This fic covers the prompt 5 Times and completes the first trilogy in the set (what I’ve affectionately dubbed The Kitten Chronicles because I haven’t been getting enough sleep).

The title comes the Melissa Manchester song, which includes the following lyrics if you aren’t familiar with it: “Don't cry out loud, just keep it inside, and learn how to hide your feelings.” Could these words describe Hecate Hardbroom any less? I think not.

Once again, Sparky has done her level best to curb my wayward commas and semi-colons.

Bleary-eyed and chilled from the flight, Ada touched down at the edge of Hecate’s garden. Shivering in the moonlight, Ada glanced at the pinkening sky and decided she had time for a cigarette before reporting for duty as Hecate’s laboratory assistant. She cast a light warming spell and summoned her cigarettes. Within minutes she was halfway through her first smoke and the day was looking much brighter indeed. Her mother had insisted she give it up, calling it a ‘filthy Ordinary habit,’ but Ada had found it difficult to do so. Instead, she’d reverted back to childhood and had taken to sneaking away and hiding whenever she could no longer ignore the craving.

Speaking of cravings, Ada thought she’d kill for a coffee right about now, but that wasn’t going to happen. There might be a hundred tea sets in the castle, but there wasn’t a coffee pot to be found. She doubted Hecate had one either.

She finished her smoke as the sun peeked over the horizon. Time to head inside. Casting a quick shower spell to dispel some of the cigarette odor, she ambled to the door, nearly tripping over a strange broomstick.

Ada looked closer. Not a strange broomstick – her mother’s. Wide awake now, Ada wondered what on earth her mother could be doing at Darkwood Cottage. She knocked on the door and stepped inside when it opened of its own accord.

Hecate and her mother were at the kitchen table, heads bent together over a tiny bundle between them. Quietly, so as not to startle, Ada walked closer.

“It’d been three days, so I’d hoped the mother would accept her, but this morning she’d been pushed out away from the others,” Alma said softly. “She was cold – maybe too cold. I hoped you might be able to help.”

“She’s very small, Mrs. Cackle, I don’t know if there’s much hope.”

Ada edged closer. A tiny kitten, wrapped in a kitchen towel, lay on the table between them. Hecate looked up at her, face wrinkled in sympathy and sadness. As they watched, the kitten, which had been feebly moving her paws, grew still.

“I knew it was a long shot,” Alma sighed, as she started to wrap the kitten in the towel.

“Hang on…” Ada picked up the wrapped kitten and began vigorously rubbing it through the towel. After a few seconds she checked the kitten again. Nothing. “It worked on 101 Dalmatians.”

A tear slipped down Hecate’s cheek. Then another. “What if I try…” She placed the tip of her finger on the kitten’s chest and loosed the tiniest stream of magic. The kitten jerked but nothing else. She did it again. This time the kitten jerked and then let out a very weak – but very angry – meow. “It worked!” She wiped more tears away with the heel of her hand. “Place a warming spell on the towel, Mrs. Cackle.” She leapt to her feet and hurried over to one of the cauldrons that had been set up for making the kitten inoculations. “Miss Cackle, if you’ll please gather some dried milk thistle… some echinacea…” She thought a moment. “Some burdock, I think.”

Ada was already collecting jars. “How about some dandelion to stimulate her appetite?”

“Very good.” Hecate already had the cauldron heating by the time Ada dropped the jars on the table. She summoned her mortar and pestle and began grinding the dried herbs into a fine powder.

“An infusion?” Ada asked, marveling at the speed with which Hecate’s hands flew.

“Eventually, when there’s proper time for it. For now, a decoction. It will be ready faster.” She measured out the ground herbs and added them to the cauldron. “We’ll need milk replacement. I can—”

“I’ll go have Mrs. Coriander make some up, if she hasn’t already,” Alma broke in. “I’ll transfer it back to you.” As she left, she pointed at Ada with her glasses. “You’d be wise to learn what you can from this one. See if you can talk her in to getting her credentials while you’re at it.”

Ada and Hecate looked at one another once Alma was gone. The soft bubbling of the cauldron was the only sound in the cottage, save for the occasional weak mewling of the kitten.

“Are you all right?” Ada asked. “It looked like—”

“I’m fine. Truly.” Hecate sniffed and tapped her spoon against the side of the cauldron. She waved a hand and cut the heat. “I just… I hate to see such a small animal suffer because its mother rejected it.”

“Her. Her mother,” Ada gently corrected. “Mother said she was a girl.”

Hecate wiped her eyes one last time before she ladled out a few ounces of the decoction. “Will you fetch me a dropper, please? Do you remember where they are?”

Ada nodded, thinking there was a lot more going on inside Hecate Hardbroom’s head than an abandoned kitten. “In the second drawer on the left.” She grabbed a dropper and joined Hecate on the sofa where she now sat cradling the kitten against her chest. “She’s a beautiful little girl, isn’t she?”

“Let’s hope she grows into a beautiful cat.” Hecate took the dropper and filled it with the decoction and then cooled the mixture with a spell. “Here we go, little one,” she cooed. “This will make you feel better.” Drop by drop, Hecate coaxed the liquid into the kitten. Ada watched as the serious young woman transformed into a fluffy pile of cuteness as she cuddled and coddled the kitten.

A glass jar appeared on the kitchen table. “There’s the food. Do you want to give her some now?” Hecate nodded, so Ada went to get it. She couldn’t help but smile as she watched Hecate feed two droppers of food. Finally, she tore herself away and set about turning one of the garden baskets into a kitten bed.

Hecate lingered over the kitten, adjusting and readjusting the blanket until she was satisfied that the kitten would stay warm. Finally, Ada placed a hand on Hecate’s shoulder. “You’ve done everything you can do for her,” she said, comfortingly. “Why don’t we let her rest and get started on the potions for the rest of the kittens.”

Hecate nodded and let Ada lead her back to the worktable.

-----

The ache in Ada’s shoulders burned straight to the bone. She couldn’t stop stirring, though. The kitten inoculations were at a critical stage. Stir too quickly or too slowly – or less than the required one hundred anti-clockwise turns of the ladle – and the potions would be ruined.

Gritting her teeth, Ada risked a glance at Hecate. The woman radiated exhaustion. Right now, she was measuring out ground snail shells while holding a bottle for the kitten balanced on her knees. Thankfully, the kitten had survived for four days now. Unfortunately, that meant Hecate was up feeding her every two to three hours. Most of the time, she schooled her face into its usual serious expression. Now, though, when she didn’t know Ada was looking, the tiredness couldn’t be missed.

At last, Ada counted one hundred. She dropped her arms at once, bringing her hands up to rub her deltoids. “I’m going to feel that tomorrow,” she said, though she knew Hecate wouldn’t hear her. She cut the heat from the cauldrons and left the contents to cool.

“Let me have her,” Ada said, reaching for the kitten.

Hecate started, blinking rapidly before she handed the kitten over. She leaned over and looked in the jar before she frowned and dumped the ground snail shells back into the pestle to measure again.

“Leave it, dear. Come have a bit of tea and a rest.” She squeezed Hecate’s shoulder before moving to settle onto the sofa.

Hecate looked at the mismeasured snail shells and the slight tremor in her hands. “Perhaps for a moment…” She waved her hand and the tea kettle started to whistle. In a moment she had two cups of tea poured. “I believe you take…two sugars?”

“Three.”

Grimacing, Hecate added another spoonful and handed Ada her cup. “We’ve made good progress,” Hecate said, mostly to have something to say. It was harder now, she realized, dealing with people. Gwen had encouraged her to make friends as though it was something easy, like a duplication potion or transference.

Thinking back, it was easy with Indigo – when the adventure and excitement of breaking the rules had cemented their bond. Of course, she’d been Joy then, a completely different person. It had been harder with Pippa. She’d been determined to endure her punishment alone. For reasons she still didn’t fully understand, Pippa had been even more determined that she wouldn’t. Pippa hadn’t been put off by her silence or awkwardness. It didn’t matter if Hecate didn’t know what to say – Pippa kept talking until she did. She wouldn’t let Hecate retreat into silent solitude, not too much, anyway. And Hecate had loved her for that – enough to set her free in the most unequivocal way imaginable.

Ada didn’t do that, at least not as much. For some reason, Ada seemed to want to hear what Hecate had to say, even when Hecate didn’t know what that would be. She didn’t seem to mind the quiet though, and gave Hecate however much time she needed to work it out.

“Hecate?”

“Mp?” Hecate leaned forward, her eyebrows rising in question. Ada had asked her something. She had no idea what. “I’m sorry…”

“I asked if you were all right. I think I have my answer, though.” She stroked the black fur on the kittens back. “You’re overtired.”

“I’m fine.”

Ada raised an eyebrow. “I can smell the Wide-Awake potion from here. You need to get some proper rest. It’s not healthy to go without sleep for so long.” Try as she might to avoid it, Ada could hear her mother’s voice in every word.

Hecate raised a brow of her own. “And I can smell the cigarette smoke from here. You’ve promised to stop. It’s not healthy to smoke.”

Ada held her gaze, keeping her expression stern for a good thirty seconds before dissolving into a fit of giggles. “At least I know you won’t be blowing the smoke up my arse because I’m the Headmistress’s daughter.”

“I’m so sorry!” Hecate said, dropping her head into her hands. “I don’t know what came over me!”

Setting her teacup down, Ada placed a hand on Hecate’s knee. “You’re exhausted. We’ve been working all day on the potions, and you’ve been up all hours taking care of this wee one.” She stroked the sleeping kitten’s back. She pulled her hand back. “Why don’t you let me take her tonight? I’ll see to it she gets fed and you can get an honest-to-goodness real night’s sleep.”

Ada watched the battle between sleep and responsibility play out across Hecate’s face. She decided to try and tip the scales. “You’ll be more efficient tomorrow, you know.”

Finally, Hecate’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “I’m sure you’re right.” She glanced down at the kitten. “You’ll feed her every two hours? And keep her warm?”

“Cross my heart,” Ada said, both relieved and suddenly nervous. She knew how seriously Hecate took her work. She’d only realized yesterday how seriously she took caring for the kitten. Ada had made the mistake of asking Hecate if her familiar would help care for the kitten. Hecate had quietly explained that she didn’t have a familiar. That her familiar, Warwick, had been confiscated after her first infraction. He’d bonded with a girl a couple of years below her, and Hecate had never had another. Ada wasn’t sure if that was due to lack of desire or if it had simply been another part of her ridiculous punishment. “Tell you what, why don’t I finish bottling up the potions from today and get set up for tomorrow. You can finish whatever you’re working on and we can both start fresh tomorrow.”

“That would be… very kind of you.”

 At first, Ada thought the early morning sunlight was playing tricks on her. She leaned forward, increasing her speed. She felt the kitten writhe against her stomach; she didn’t like being squashed. Blinking against the wind, Ada realized that it was smoke she was seeing rising above the trees. Exactly where Darkwood Cottage sat tucked into the forest. Green smoke, Ada could see now, definitely a potions accident. She flew even faster, skidding to a stop at the edge of the gardens.

“Merciful Merlin!” she exclaimed when she spotted Hecate sitting on the ground outside with her knees against her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. Leaping from the broom, Ada raced to Hecate’s side. “Are you hurt?” She knelt beside Hecate, checking her for injuries. Other than red, swollen eyes, Hecate seemed to be unharmed. “Can you see?”

“Well enough to watch weeks worth of work go up in smoke.” Hecate’s words seemed to claw their way out of her throat.

Ada tried to place a hand on Hecate’s cheek, but she jerked her head away. “Shhh… let me see.” Gently, she pulled Hecate’s head around so she could get a better look at her eyes. Tears streamed down her face. Ada had no idea if they were caused by the smoke or the frustration. “Keep crying, dear. It will flush out your eyes.” She summoned the pitcher of water that usually sat on Hecate’s kitchen counter. “Tilt your head.” Ada boosted herself onto her knees and carefully washed Hecate’s eyes. Finally, Hecate waved her away.

“I’m fine,” she croaked before taking a drink straight from the pitcher. “Such a waste.”

“Do you know what happened?” Ada shifted until she was sitting cross-legged beside Hecate. The smoke streaming out the windows was beginning to thin. At least there didn’t seem to be any structural damage. “Here, someone missed you.” She handed the kitten over to Hecate, who immediately cradled it under her chin. “You’re going to have to give that kitten a name soon.”

Hecate shook her head, tears spilling anew. “That’s a privilege that belongs to her new mistress.” She kissed the kitten’s head, nonetheless. “It destabilized when I added scales from an adder. I believe the scales to be correct; however, it appears I miscalculated when choosing the species.”

“We’ll sort it, Hecate. Don’t you fret. You know I’ll help however you need me to.”

Hecate wiped fresh tears away. “I know. Thank you. Ada.” Perhaps this friendship thing wasn’t so difficult after all.

-----

A week had passed, and Ada and Hecate had fallen into an easy, comfortable working relationship. Thankfully, the damage to the cottage from Hecate’s lab accident had been minimal and they hadn’t lost much time. Once the smoke had cleared, they’d spent the morning cleaning out the spare bedroom, scrubbing the cauldron and casting cleaning spells over everything else. The astringent smell had lingered for a day or two, but they’d managed. Hecate’s eyes remained red and watery even longer, but that had faded as well.

No, the physical damage had been minimal. The toll it took on Hecate, though… Ada sighed as she felt Hecate hovering again. “Any problems?” she asked, forcing brightness into her voice. She couldn’t fault her for being overly cautious, but the constant monitoring was beginning to wear.

“I’m sorry.” Hecate stepped back. “You know everything is correct. You don’t have to humor me.”

Ada smiled, genuinely. “Of course, I do. You’ve only just now stopped looking like you have distemper. I don’t blame you for being extra careful.”

Hecate arched a thin, slightly scorched eyebrow but said nothing. Instead, she walked over to the storage shelves to get more swampweed.

It wasn’t there.

She ran her hand along the neatly labeled jars. St. John’s Wort, starfish, stevia, tarragon, toadflax… She checked the list again. “Do you have the swampweed?”

Ada kept her eyes on the immunity boosting potion as it simmered. If it boiled too fast, it would lose effectiveness, leaving the familiars susceptible to a particularly nasty immunodeficiency virus. A familiar with the virus would be unable to resist the effects of stray magic, not so dangerous once the cat – and its mistress – were fully grown. It could be devastating to a young cat surrounded by young witches with poor control, though. “No… I think it was one of the ingredients damaged by the smoke. Absorbed it, as I recall.”

Hecate remembered now. She’d have to gather more before they could make the last potion. Sighing, she turned back to Ada. “We’ll have to replace it before we can brew the next batch of the immunity potion.” It would put them even further behind, but it couldn’t be helped.

“Tomorrow then?” Ada cooled the cauldron a bit. Behind them, angry mewing rose from a basket near the fireplace. “Someone’s hungry.”

“Someone’s always hungry.” Hecate summoned a bottle of the kitten’s food and set to feeding her.

Ada’s stomach growled in sympathy. Hecate wouldn’t allow her to smoke in the cottage, so she’d put her mind to quitting. Now all she thought about was having a cigarette. Or sweets. She’d never had much of a sweet tooth before, but the lack of nicotine left a vacuum that cakes and biscuits were filling with a vengeance.

“Ada! She’s opened her eyes!” Hecate held the kitten up for her to see. “Look at you, little blue eyes,” she cooed. “You’re getting to be such a big girl.”

Shaking her head, Ada added one sliver of cat’s claw root to each cauldron. No one would ever believe that the stoic Miss Hardbroom would ever talk baby talk to a kitten. Even watching it happen, Ada wasn’t sure she believed it.

She knew the kitten wasn’t out of the woods yet, but it had been more than a week now and she was still alive – growing even, though she remained far smaller than the other kittens. Ada certainly hoped the kitten continued to thrive. She shuddered to think how Hecate would react if she didn’t survive.

At last, the potion turned clear and Ada could cut the heat entirely and leave the cauldrons to cool. She glanced out the window, eyeing her smoking log with longing. She settled for broken biscuit pulled out of her jacket pocket instead.

“I have more nutritious food, Ada.”

“I’mpf shurr you doo,” she said around a mouth full of biscuit. She swallowed. “I don’t want anything nutritious, though.”

Hecate looked up from where she’d been wriggling her fingers in front of the kitten’s eyes. “I expect you want one of your loathsome ciga-rrrrettes.”

“More than you can imagine, thank you for reminding me.” She decided to let the overly dramatic rolling of the ‘r’ in cigarette pass without comment. Ada scratched at her scalp with both hands, making her already wild hair even wilder. She needed to change the subject. “About the swampweed… What do you say we go gather more tomorrow? This time of year, there should be plenty at the south end of the lake. I could stand to gather a few other plants myself. How would you like to make a day of it?”

“A d-day?” Hecate looked behind her, as though Ada might be talking to someone else. “I don’t… I can’t imagine you’d enjoy spending the day with me.”

Ada’s face softened. “Then you need to broaden your imagination. I’d like nothing better than to get out of these four walls and into the sunshine and enjoy the lake, a bit of nature, and perhaps even a picnic. And I am quite certain that I will enjoy all of those things even more whilst in your company.”

Hecate wanted to argue, to demur, to make some sort of excuse… But in her head she could hear Miss Bat saying – very clearly – not to overthink this and simply say yes. “Very well.”

“Splendid!” Ada clapped her hands. “Meet me in mother’s office just after dawn. We’ll let her kitten-sit for the day.” She saw Hecate hold the kitten closer. “You can leave her detailed instructions.”

  The sun had been up for ten minutes, and Ada was beginning to think that Hecate might not come. Had she pushed her too much to take a day off? She moved to the window, scanning the tree line. She stole a glance at her mother. She’d expected to find her irritated, both with the hour and with Ada. Instead, she sat serenely at her desk, sipping her tea.

“You’re going to worry yourself into a right state, Ada. She’ll be here.” Alma summoned a pastry and nibbled at the edges. “I’m so glad you ordered from Cosie’s. It’s been ages since I’ve had one of their butteries.”

“That’s why I ordered double.” Ada forced herself away from the window. “You don’t think I pushed her too hard about it?”

“It’s possible. It’s also possible I’ve been so keen to give her privacy that I’ve allowed her to isolate herself.” She conjured a plate and placed her pastry on it. “Don’t think of it as pushing her in a direction she doesn’t want to go. Think of it as pulling her along an unfamiliar path.”

Before Ada had a chance to respond, Hecate transferred into the office, appearing with a soft pop. “Apologies, Ada.” She held up a woven basket with one hand and a bulging satchel with the other. “I underestimated how long it would take to feed the kitten and gather her things.”

“Aye,” Alma said, shooting Ada a knowing look. “Children will do that to the best laid plans. It doesn’t matter how furry the child in question may be.” She took the basket from Hecate and peered inside. “She looks a great deal better than she did last time I saw her.” Alma eyed the satchel. “Are you sure you brought enough supplies? She’ll be here most of the day.”

Ada tried to stifle a snort with her hand but failed miserably. Hecate colored. “I didn’t know what she’d need.”

“Never you mind, Miss Hardbroom,” Alma said briskly. “I’ve tended kittens before. Get on with you then.” She gestured towards the door. “Have a good time.”

Ada transferred them to the front gates before summoning their brooms. In no time they were airborne, skimming over the treetops. Hecate’s hat sat smartly atop her head, but Ada had left her auburn hair loose and she relished the feeling of it streaming behind her. There would be hell to pay later when she tried to brush it, but right now she didn’t care.

She grinned across at Hecate and was rewarded with a full smile. The younger witch sat easy and relaxed on her broom – her form was impeccable. Ada remembered seeing Hecate’s name on more than one trophy for broomstick aerobatics. She noticed Hecate slowing and pulled up herself.

“We’re nearing the edge of the Academy grounds,” Hecate explained, looking embarrassed.

Ada circled around and pulled her broom alongside Hecate’s. “Can you feel it? The boundary?”

Hecate nodded. She didn’t like to talk about it, but she didn’t sense any malice from Ada, only curiosity. “When I get too close there’s a… thrumming… in my chest. The closer I get, the more powerful it becomes.” And more painful, she thought.

“We want to avoid that, then.” Ada thought for a moment. “Have you ever tried it?”

“Tried what?” Hecate asked, even though she knew exactly what Ada was asking her.

“To leave the grounds.”

Half a dozen times at least, she thought. “Once or twice. It isn’t pleasant.” She remembered the first time she’d tried it, less than a week after the sentence had been imposed. Her skin felt like it had been on fire, while her muscles spasmed and her head felt like it had been stuffed with an angry hornet’s nest. She’d been immediately transferred into Mrs. Cackle’s office, sobbing and gasping for breath. She didn’t know what she’d expected when she’d looked up into the Headmistress’s shocked face, but it hadn’t been getting helped gently to the sofa or the tea and biscuits she’d received.

“No, I don’t imagine that it is,” Ada said softly. “I’m sorry if you don’t care to talk about it. I’d just rather learn about it from you. But please, dear, don’t hesitate to tell me to mind my business.”

“I – I don’t mind. Really.” And Hecate was surprised to find that she didn’t. Ada might be curious, but she didn’t make Hecate feel like a curiosity. “We should get on with it, though. The swampweed can be gathered at any time, but it’s most potent if it’s picked at noon.”

“Quite right, Hecate, quite right.” Ada glanced at the sun, which still hung low in the sky. “We should be able to restock our sneezewort, slug’s eggs, and ninetailed mushrooms before we head to the pond.”

 By the time they made it to the shady end of the lake, Ada was more than ready to roll up her trouser legs and wade into the water. “It’s a bit warmer than I expected.” She stepped into the cool water. The morning had been most pleasant, save for an unfortunate incident with the sneezewort. They hadn’t talked much, but the quiet had been comfortable. Ada had watched Hecate’s shoulders loosen, and she’d smiled more as the morning progressed. Once, Ada thought she’d heard her humming to herself as she’d picked a basketful of mushrooms. “I don’t know about you, bu – bu – BUCHOOO!” Ada sneezed for the umpteenth time since she’d stumbled into the patch of sneezewort. “Bloody hell, will it never stop?”

“It should wear off… eventually,” Hecate smirked. “I told you that you were trying to carry too much at once.” She magicked her skirt into a pair of shorts and followed Ada into the lake.

“So you did.” Ada spied a particularly robust growth of swampweed and waded over to pick some. “Be careful, the bottom is a bit mossy o – o – OOOCHOOOO!” Ada’s sneeze knocked her off balance, sending her teetering on the edge of falling, arms flailing, basket of swampweed flying into the air. With a great splash she toppled onto her arse in the water.

“Ada!” Hecate hurried over, slipping and sliding, nearly losing her balance herself.

Trying to stand, Ada slipped again, this time tumbling headfirst into the swampweed. She came up sputtering, her hair sopping wet and hanging in her face. “Bugger all,” she wheezed.

“Are you hurt?” Worried brown eyes roamed over Ada’s face as gentle hands flipped her hair back so she could see.

“Only my pride.” Ada wiped the rest of her hair out of her eyes. She looked Hecate up and down where she stood, thigh deep in the water beside her. “You’re too dry.”

“What? I don’t know what you—” Too late, she saw the mischievous glint in Ada’s eye. “No, no, no!” She tried to scramble away but slipped as well, plopping into the muck beside Ada.

“There you go! That’s better, isn’t it?”

“Hardly,” Hecate groused, splashing a face full of water at Ada. Belatedly, she realized what she’d done. “I’m so sorry!”

Ada carefully plucked a bit of swampweed from her cheek. “Oh. You will be.” She splashed Hecate back. Within seconds the pond erupted in all-out war – water and muck flying as each woman squealed and tried to inflict as much damage as possible.

Each time Hecate tried to stand, Ada would push her back over. Finally, Hecate retaliated by dunking herself and grabbing Ada’s feet, tipping her over and dunking her before she retreated to deeper water, Ada in hot pursuit.

Ada tried to catch up, but Hecate was faster. She beat Ada to the bank, scrambling up and collapsing in a fit of laughter. Finally, Ada managed to crawl up beside her, flopping on her stomach in the sun.

“You… look… like an… absolute… bog witch,” Hecate gasped, laughing so hard she was crying.

“Have you seen you?” Ada said, giggling as she pointed at Hecate’s mud-caked knees and what was left of her bedraggled bun.

Hecate looked down at herself, causing the rest of her bun to flop forward into her face. She laughed even harder, tears streaming down her face. She tried to wipe them away but succeeded only in smearing more mud across her cheek. She shifted until she was on her back next to Ada. Still giggling, she turned to look at her. “Thank you for inviting me, Ada. I needed this.”

“We both did, I think.” Ada closed her eyes, basking in the sun. “We both did.”

-----

They were everywhere. Moving, writhing… meowing. “How on earth are we meant to keep them all straight?” A quick check over her shoulder told her Hecate didn’t share her concerns. In fact, the younger woman looked quite serene, save for the tiny, bemused smile on her lips. “There’s something about all this that you aren’t telling me.”

“Have you really never done this before?” Hecate couldn’t believe it.

“I told you, we weren’t allowed.” She fussed with the cuffs of the long-sleeve denim shirt Hecate had recommended she wear. “The one time Mother allowed us to help, Agatha had them so riled up before we’d even started that she called the whole thing off for the day. Needless to say, we were shuttled far away each time after that.”

“I would think so,” Hecate said, smirking.

Ada rolled her eyes but said nothing. It had been four weeks since they’d begun brewing potions for the kittens, and now it was time for their first doses. Ada had no idea how to manage it. Hecate had been seeing to it for the past several years and had been subtly teasing her about it.

Hecate hadn’t been as open and free since that day at the lake, but she’d seemed more at ease with Ada. She smiled more often, laughed occasionally. Rarest of all were the times Hecate would gently tease Ada. Even her mother had noticed the change. Speaking of… Ada thought.

“Mother did say she was coming, didn’t she?”

“Not exactly,” Hecate reminded her. “She said she’d send reinforcements.” A plaintive yowl sounded from the doorway. “And I believe said reinforcements have arrived.” She knelt down and rubbed the ears of Alma Cackle’s crotchety old familiar, Astra. “Good morning, Mr. Astra. Don’t you look handsome today.” Astra rubbed his head against Hecate’s palm before turning and biting her thumb. “Ouch! That’s enough of that then.” Hecate stood up and cast a quick healing spell on the bite marks. “Let’s get on with it, then.”

Ada watched the exchange, puzzled. “She sent Astra? How… what… We already have enough cats!”

“If you send for Pendle, he can learn to help as well.” Hecate opened the box holding the phials and droppers. “Wouldn’t hurt to be prepared for when your mother retires.” Hecate looked up at her and raised an eyebrow. “She will you know, like it or not.”

“Don’t remind me,” Ada said, sighing.

She picked up the nearest kitten and carried it over so Hecate could squirt a dropper full of the first potion, then the next and then the last. By the time the third dropper came ‘round, the kitten wanted no part of it. Ada struggled to hold it still enough for Hecate to administer the dropper, getting rewarded for her efforts with a handful of scratches. She healed them before picking up the next kitten.

Slowly, they made their way through the kittens. Ada tried to keep track of which ones they’d dosed but was lost by the third one. “We should have marked them,” she said.

“If we didn’t have Astra, that would certainly be true.” Hecate turned to Alma’s cat, who sat in a square of sunshine, lazily licking his leg. “Would you please fetch the next one?”

Alma watched as Astra slowly climbed to his feet, stretched magnificently, and ambled over to a kitten that was busy chasing its tail. He gave it a sniff and a lick before grabbing it by the scruff of the neck and dragging it over to Ada.

As the morning progressed, Astra dragged kitten after kitten to Ada. Almost every time the routine was the same: a sniff, a lick, and a grab followed by Hecate dosing and Ada bleeding. She’d drain her magic dry healing scratches before the day was over. At last, only one dose was left.

“Where’s the last one?” Ada asked Astra. Unsurprisingly, Astra didn’t answer. “Twenty kittens, twenty phials, correct?”

“That is correct.” Hecate turned to Astra, waiting with her arms crossed. After a moment, he hopped off the table and went to stand near the corner. “I should have guessed. Thank you, Astra.” She turned to Ada. There’s always one that manages to hide away in the far corner. I’ll be right back with it.”

Hecate crouched behind the table before crawling under on her hands and knees.

Just as Hecate disappeared, Geraldine Gullet stepped into the kitten room. “Potions day for the little ones, hey? That’s quite the job. You should have asked me for help.” None to gently, she nudged a kitten aside with her boot. “At least you don’t have that Hardbroom girl with you – strange one, she is. What sort of a witch doesn’t have a familiar?” She lowered her voice and leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, “I tell you there’s something not right about that one. Mark my words. You’d do well to give her a wide berth.”

Ada’s eyes narrowed. “While I appreciate your concern, I believe I’ll keep my own counsel as far as Miss Hardbroom is concerned.”

Geraldine shrugged and made her way back to the door. “Suit yourself, then, but don’t say I didn’t warn ye. Anyways, if you see her, tell her Mrs. Cackle is looking for her. She’s got a visitor – that same stuffy old toff that comes every year about this time to meet with her. Don’t know what that’s about, but it can’t be anything good. Mind yourself, Miss Cackle.” She closed the door with a click.

Ada hurried to the corner as Hecate slowly rose to her feet, holding the recalcitrant kitten. “She’s right you know… you would do well to give me a… wide berth.”

“Nonsense. I’d be a poor witch indeed if I took Geraldine Gullet’s advice over the evidence of my own two eyes.” She waited for Hecate to dose the last kitten. “About that woman…”

Before Hecate could find the words, the door opened again. This time it was Alma, followed by a woman Ada had never seen before. She certainly fit Miss Gullet’s description of a stuffy old toff.

“Miss Hardbroom,” the woman said, stepping in front of Mrs. Cackle and lifting a hand to her forehead. “Well met, Hecate. It’s been a while.”

“Well met, Mistress Hagsmet.” She glanced quickly at Ada before turning back to the woman. “I believe it’s been a year.”

“Yes.” She smiled gently. “Shall we take a walk?”

“As you wish.” Hecate handed Ada the empty phial and followed Mistress Hagsmet out of the room.

Once they’d gone, Ada turned to her mother. “Who is that woman?”

“Eudora Hagsmet. Remember when I told you that I’d retained a counselor for Joy after the incident?” Ada nodded. “She’s the one. She’s been seeing Hecate since she was thirteen years old. Several times a week to start, then weekly, then monthly. Now I ask her to come once a year. On the anniversary of the day Indigo turned to stone.”

“Today?” Ada wrung her hands together. “She never said a word.”

“Would she?” Alma cocked her head and regarded her daughter. “Aye. I think she would, eventually.” She gestured towards the door. “Come, daughter. Let’s go have a spot of tea.”

 As the afternoon crawled along, Ada alternated between sneaking out for cigarettes and going through the motions of sipping tea and nibbling biscuits with her mother. For her part, Alma dutifully ignored the faint odor of tobacco smoke while trying to keep up conversation in fits and spurts. A thought occurred to Ada during one of the bouts of silence. “Is this the tenth year? Since it happened?”

“Eleventh.”

Ada nodded. At least there was that. Ada couldn’t help but feel as though a significant anniversary of it should have been marked somehow. She felt the magic shift as Mistress Hagsmet transferred into Alma’s office.

“I thought I’d take my leave, Alma.”

Alma pushed herself out of her chair and met her in the middle of the room. “Thank you for stopping by, Eudora. How did she seem to you?”

“Now, Alma… you know I can’t discuss our session. How has she seemed to you lately?”

Alma considered her answer. “Less isolated, I suppose. To be honest, you’d do well to ask Ada, my oldest daughter. She and Hecate have been working together on inoculations for the familiars all summer.”

“That may explain it, then,” Mistress Hagsmet said, not unkindly.

“Explain what?” Alma didn’t like the way that sounded.

“As I said, I can’t go into the things we discussed during our session.” She smiled gently at Ada. “I can say I’m pleased that Hecate is increasing her social interactions.” Her smile faded and turned sad. “She could use a friend about now.”

Ada didn’t need to be told twice. She cast out her magic in the direction she thought Hecate to be. Finding her hunch to be right, Ada transferred out of the office.

She appeared at the edge of the clearing where Indigo stood, frozen in stone. She found Hecate lying face-down on the ground. One arm cushioned her face while the other one stretched out over her head, her hand resting on Indigo’s foot. Where she stood, Ada could hear her sobs.

Ada crept closer, careful not to startle Hecate, but not wanting to disturb her either. When she was close enough, she sat cross-legged on the ground. She was close enough to touch Hecate, but she didn’t. Instead she simply waited, letting comforting waves of magic roll off her body. She knew Hecate would feel it.

After a while, Hecate lifted her head and turned her red, puffy eyes on Ada. “I forgot today was the day. How could… What kind of person forgets something like that?” Sobs wracked her body even harder.

“A good person. A person who’s been grieving a long time.” She shifted until she could rest a hand lightly on Hecate’s forearm. She gave it a light squeeze and settled in for a long evening. As long as Hecate was here, she would stay beside her.

-----

“I do wish you’d consider it,” Ada said as she stoppered the last phial of the last dose of Anti-Hex potion for the new familiars. “Just because you have your teaching credentials doesn’t mean you’d have to use them; you’d simply have another option available to you.” She couldn’t miss the dubious look in Hecate’s eyes.

She held the sealed phial in front of the kitten, allowing her to sniff, then lick it. Still small for her age, the now six-week-old kitten had taken to sitting on the edge of the table like a tiny black sentinel, watching them work and occasionally meowing her approval – and once, hissing at Ada when she’d picked up the wrong ingredient.

“Ada. You know… why I’m not suited.” Hecate shifted her eyes to packing up the vaccinations. Tomorrow they’d give the kittens their third and final round of potions.

“Nonsense! Who better to instruct young witches on the importance of adhering to the Code than someone who understands the temptation – and the consequences?” Since the anniversary of Indigo’s turning, Hecate had been more open with Ada about it. She almost seemed relieved to have someone to talk to besides Mistress Hagsmet. “If you’re worried about moving back into the castle, I assure you that wouldn’t be an issue. You could live here in the cottage, but you’d have a full potions lab at your disposal as well as all the ingredients you can’t get as an individual.”

Hecate rolled her eyes as she snapped the satchel closed. “You’re pulling out the large cauldron, I see. That’s hardly sporting.”

“Perhaps not. It makes it no less true, however,” Ada said, thinking back to the incident in question.

It had been just over a week ago when Ada had arrived at Darkwood Cottage to find Hecate in something of a state. After some gentle – but persistent – inquiries, Hecate had finally summoned a letter, which she angrily shoved into Ada’s hands before shutting herself away in the spare bedroom she used as a lab. The letter, from some bureaucrat whose name Ada didn’t recognize, was little more than a form letter denying Hecate’s request to order more adder scales. They were very sorry, but Magic Council regulations required anyone ordering restricted ingredients to fill out a standard form detailing the requester’s background, credentials, and intended use of the requested item. Ada had seen it before; in fact, she’d filled several out while restocking the potions stores for Cackle’s.

She’d knocked briskly on the bedroom door before opening it and letting herself in. Inside, Hecate sat on a stool, leaning over the scattered ingredients of a potion in progress. Compared to the ordered brewing stations in the living room, the overturned jars and disorderly equipment spoke volumes about Hecate’s level of distress. Though Hecate hadn’t said so, and Ada hadn’t asked, Ada was certain that this lab was reserved for Hecate’s most important work: searching for a potion that would restore Indigo Moon.

“Have you tried filling out the form? I’ve done several. I could help.”

Hecate had looked at her with utter despair – despair for herself and despair at Ada’s apparent stupidity. “Do you honestly think I would pass the background check? A witch with a lifetime confinement for misusing magic?”

Embarrassed that she hadn’t realized it herself, Ada snapped back, “Well you got them before! How did you manage it the first time? Or should I not ask?”

She’d seen the change at once, the way Hecate had stiffened and her eyes had shuttered. The way her face smoothed into an emotionless mask. “I’m sorry,” Ada had said at once. “That was uncalled for on my part. It was stupid of me not to realize the problem, and I hate being stupid. I shouldn’t have barked at you, though. It was inexcusable. How can I help?”

“You can’t.” Hecate had whispered.

They’d spent the rest of the day working in strained politeness; Ada cursed herself every time she saw the wariness in Hecate’s eyes. At the end of the day, before she’d mounted her broom to fly back to Cackle’s, Ada had grasped Hecate’s hands and apologized once more. “I am truly sorry, Hecate. I hope that I will be able to earn your forgiveness – and your trust again. Meanwhile, I know how I can be of some small help: let me order the things you need. I know you need more adder scales, but make me a list and get on it straight away.”

 It had taken two more days for the wariness to leave Hecate’s eyes and another three before things felt normal. Yesterday, Hecate had shyly given her a list of ingredients that required a permit.

“I suppose you could simply order me to do it,” Hecate said, quietly.

Ada looked up sharply. “What?” Lost in her thoughts, Ada realized she had also lost the thread of the conversation.

“I said you could simply order me to do it. To get my teaching credentials.” Hecate’s voice sounded even, but the rigidness in her posture gave her away.

“I most certainly could not! You may be confined here, Hecate Hardbroom, but that gives me no more authority over you than anyone else.” The tension visibly left Hecate’s shoulders. “I can’t tell you what to do, Hecate.” She grinned ruefully. “That doesn’t mean I won’t tell you what I think you ought to do, though. Apparently, I’m a bit of a busybody. According to Agatha, it’s my worst flaw.”

A smile crept across Hecate’s face. “She’s not wrong.” She summoned a small blue box and held it out to Ada. “But since it’s a flaw I also seem to possess… I’ll try to overlook it. I wanted to thank you for… everything you’ve done for me this summer.”

Ada knew Hecate meant more than just the potions. “It’s been a pleasure.” She took the box, admiring the fanciful bow tying it shut. “You needn’t have…”

“Oh. I needed to, believe me.” She gestured for Ada to open the box. The kitten walked across the table and sniffed the box, gingerly batting at the ribbon with a tiny paw. “That’s not for you, little one.” Hecate scooped the kitten up and scratched behind her ears.

“She can have this part,” Ada said, pulling the ribbon free, shaking it in the kitten’s face, and then dropping it to the floor. She waited as the kitten half climbed, half fell down Hecate’s skirt to chase after it. “She’s definitely a spunky little thing, isn’t she?”

“She’ll make some lucky girl an excellent familiar.”

Ada looked up in time to see a stricken look pass swiftly across Hecate’s face. “Indeed she will,” Ada murmured, as she slowly recognized what had been in front of her for weeks. “In fact, I’d say she—”

“Please, Ada… just… open the box.” She reached over and lifted a corner of the lid, forcing Ada to finish the job or risk having the lid flipped to the floor.

Inside the box sat thirty small doses of a potion Ada didn’t recognize. She picked up one of the phials and uncorked it, sniffing its contents much like the kitten had sniffed the box. Brilliant blue, it smelled faintly of flowers and smoke.

“It’s to help you stop smoking,” Hecate supplied. “You take one phial each day, in order.” She turned the bottle in Ada’s hand so she could read the label: Day Seven. “I mixed lobelia to mimic the nicotine, mugwort to negate any jitteriness and to help you relax. It also contains passion flower to ease the symptoms of withdrawal, like your cravings. Perhaps you won’t need quite so many biscuits.”

“Hecate… I can’t… you made this? I mean, you came up with the potion? For me?” Ada couldn’t even begin to imagine the time Hecate had spent on this. On her.

“You’ve been… kind to me… No.” She shook her head, frowning at herself. “You’ve been the first friend I’ve had in years. I’d like to keep you around.”

“Stacking the odds in your favor?”

“Bringing out the big cauldron,” Hecate replied, grinning broadly now.

Ada tucked the phial back into the box and replaced the lid. “I’ll start it first thing in the morning.” She leaned over to pick up the ribbon but saw that the kitten was busy wrestling it into submission against Hecate’s foot. “I think I’ll just leave the ribbon here.”

Hecate’s smile faded. “I’ll bring it tomorrow when I come to dose the kittens. I’ll bring her too. It’s time she joined the others to get ready for her new mistress.”

“Hecate,” Ada said, gently. “She has a mistress.” Ada leaned across the table, bending down enough so she could look up into Hecate’s eyes. “You.”

“My familiar was confiscated.” Hecate wiped a small tear away as it slipped from her eye. “I – I couldn’t choose another.” A second tear joined the first.

“I understand. I’d never be able to choose another if something happened to Pendle. But sometimes it’s not up to us. Sometimes, it’s the familiar who does the choosing.” She gestured down at the kitten who was now waging a great battle against the hem of Hecate’s skirt. “You, my dear, have been chosen.”

Stifling a sob, Hecate bent down, picking up the squirming kitten with as much reverence as possible. “You’re sure?” She paid no attention to the tears tracing down her cheeks and dripping onto the kitten.

“Positive. Now, it’s high time this little girl had a name. What’ll it be?”

Hecate held the kitten up in front of her face, staring into eyes that hadn’t quite yet decided if they would be green or yellow. “Morgana. Her name is Morgana.”

“An excellent choice.” Ada reached out and scratched the kitten’s haunches. “Well met, Morgana Hardbroom. Well met, indeed.”

#hackle summer trope challenge #tww2017 #hackle #hecate hardbroom #ada cackle

[randomwordprompts]

Intimate Friends | Part Seven

A/N: Damn, this took longer than planned but we near the end of the tunnel babies! It’s a little long but once you read it you’ll see why.

Word count: Little over 2.5k

Taglist: @bartierbakarimobisson @wakandas-vibranium @dramaqueenamby @lostgalaxies @storibambino @maya-leche @yaachtynoboat711 @wakandan-flowerz @blackgirloneshots @great-neckpectations @flowerdelreaper @babygirlofwakanda

Warnings: violence, blood, death, assault, cursing(?)

Diana and Amira had a spare room in the expansive house that they kept most of their relics in, usually for spell casting, even having a skylight put in. They also kept various sprays and tinctures, stones, crystals, and spices as well as candles of varying colors. They closed themselves in the room and started to make space in the middle of it for what they planned to do, both sitting in chairs once they’d moved the furniture to sit against the walls. The older woman noticed that her daughter had a distant look on her face and sighed, standing and moving over to place a hand on her shoulder, pulling her attention.

“Hey, I need you present. You know how this works. I’m going to get a photo of your father, do me a favor and set up the candles?”

Amira nodded without a word and stood to start grabbing the candles only to be stopped once again, meeting her mother’s gaze.

“Amira, I mean it. You’re too focused on the wrong things. Take some breaths and clear your mind, use some of the sprays if needed with something to keep you alert. We’re going to find him.”

With those words and a kiss to Amira’s forehead, Diana turned and left the room, closing the door behind her. The young woman huffed just a bit but knew her mother was right. Before touching the candles she went to the box of tinctures and grabbed the tranquility spray - a combination of lavender, orange, and marjoram oils - and sprayed it over herself in three spritzes, inhaling the scents deeply and letting the fragrances do their job. The next thing she grabbed was the bottle of myrrh, pulling the dropped and placing a drop on her finger to place behind both of her ears. She got another drop and made a small ‘x’ over her heart with the protection tincture. Finally, Amira grabbed the peppermint extract and placed three drops into the palm of her hand before putting the dropper back in the bottle and rubbing her hands together. Once the oil was rubbed in she brought her hands to her face and inhaled deeply, the fragrance immediately waking her up and making her more alert. She took two more breaths before finally feeling focused enough to move on, though she left out what she used for Diana once she returned.

As Amira began to place the seven candles - red, yellow, orange, green, blue, two purple, and indigo, - there was a knock at the door. She finished her placements before going to open the door, finding Elisha looking back at her.

“I brought you the map you wanted, it should be big enough. It goes down into New York and even Northern Pennsylvania and up through Quebec. Let me know if you two need more?”

Amira smiled and took the map, nodding.

“Will do, but I don’t think we’ll need anything bigger. It’s been just under 48 hours so he couldn’t have gotten far. Thanks, mama E.”

Elisha nodded and turned to leave just as Diana was coming back, the two exchanging a hopeful look before the latter joined Amira in the room and closed the door, locking it behind them. As Diana began to use the tinctures in the same ways her child did, Amira placed the map inside the circle before grabbing something Hannibal had written and tore it with the picture Diana brought into seven equal pieces and placing each in a candle jar. By the time she placed the mixed papers and grabbed the matches, her mother was ready to go, standing back to let Amira work.

Amira took a deep breath and struck the first match, beginning to chant over each one before lighting both the candle and photo together as she called out every chakra to find her father, starting with red and ending with blue as her mother called out every other one after her until they reached the blue candle and spoke together under the light of the moon and the candles.

“By the fire of his soul, I call candlelight to guide us, so that Hannibal may be found.”

“By the stars in his soul, I call Starlight to guide us, so that Hannibal may be found.”

“By the scent of his soul, I call smell to guide us, so that Hannibal may be found.”

“By the heart of his soul, I call instinct to guide us, so that Hannibal may be found.”

As they continued to the last candle, Amira placed the last ball in the middle of the map, holding the flaming ball for a moment as she created a thoughtform before placing it on the map. As the map began to catch fire Amira gasped as her eyes flashed black, seeing snapshots of a journey from Mason’s camp to an old cabin in the woods. She winced as she felt as if the air was knocked out of her and nearly fell over onto the candles as Diana held her up suddenly. For a moment she felt close to death only for the feeling to leave just as quickly. When she blinked she was looking down at the map and saw that the ball had stopped burning at a specific spot.

“Oak Island...he’s in New York.”

(Mason’s Cabin)

Hannibal was barely conscious when he first felt it. The sensation started in his chest and spread through his body, a heat like he was being lit with flames from within nearly engulfed him to the point of discomfort. He was nearly about to scream when it left as quickly as it showed up, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Mason noticed it though, immediately voicing his thoughts.

“You seem very relaxed for someone that’s going to die, Doc. What’s on your mind?”

Hannibal smirked to himself before he spoke again, the ability to breathe growing more and more difficult.

“Oh, nothing. Just thought of my family. You know they’re going to find me, don’t you?”

“I doubt that, Lector. They’re resourceful I’m sure, but it’ll take a miracle to find you here.”

Hannibal smirked a bit and tried to ignore the pain going through his body, feeling himself slip back into the darkness.

-Present Day-

After the spell was cast, Amira passed out from the drain of energy. Xavier was worried that she’d hurt herself but Diana reassured him that she’d just overextended herself slightly. While she was recovering, the others worked to learn more about the kind of demon Mason is and the best way to kill him. They poured over information on him that they could find, but none gave them any hints as to what he is. Elisha was typing away furiously, Jonathan and Francois on their respective laptops while Diana and Pauline poured over books on how to kill demons in their various forms, meanwhile Xavier was calling people with Will to see if anyone had any info or memory of Mason that would be helpful.

Just when they were running out of people on their list Jonathan let them know he found something and Amira made her way into the expansive office.

“Isla Devereaux, sister of the Prime Minister of Canada.”

Amira spoke up quickly, asking the question that popped into everyone’s head.

“Devereaux? I thought the Prime Minister was Trudeau?”

“He is, but his sister is married to one Nigel Devereaux. He’s one of the richest men in Quebec if not all of Canada and was one of Trudeau’s biggest financial supporters.”

“My, I can’t imagine why that would be,” Francois remarked with a snort.

“Yeah, but get this: Devereaux only became a sponsor to the campaign after he lost in the early race against Justin. He originally wanted to run for Prime Minister but he couldn’t get the votes.”

Pauline shook her head before speaking. “That’s because most of his supporters were either closet or open racists. I remember when he tried to get support from your father until he found out about us.”

Amira sat down next to Jonathan and looked at his screen closely, reading more about the Devereaux’s exploits before looking back around the room.

“I think I had a vision. When we did the tracking spell I could see where dad was and I also saw a glimpse of Mason. His face was disfigured, right?”

All three of the older women exchanged looks before revealing they didn’t know since they didn’t see him when he came out. Amira grabbed Jonathan’s laptop as she continued.

“Okay, well y’all might not have seen him but I can promise you he doesn’t look like this anymore,” she said while showing them the photo.

Diana grabbed the laptop as Pauline and Elisha came up beside her to look over his face.

“His face was disfigured horribly like he’d been burned or something. And his eyes...they were red, nearly glowing.”

As Amira continued to speak she grabbed a discarded book and flipped through the pages until she found what she was looking for.

“From what I’m reading here, he has all the makings of a reborn demon. He sold his soul while he was still alive in exchange for eternal youth. It seems that he didn’t read the full spell though, because there’s a warning. ‘If one is killed by someone close to them, they will be restored but their inner darkness will become revealed to all.’ So maybe the Devereaux person worked with him, but I don’t think it extends into the realm of soul-selling.”

Placing the book down on the desk, everyone looked at the words, Will being the one to read it out loud.

“So the only things that can kill him are pure sunlight and a...seraph blade?”

“It’s a blade infused with the spirit of angels. We actually have one already…”

Everyone besides her sister-wives looked at Diana when she said this, confusion and surprise evident on their faces. They were prepared to ask questions but Amira reminded them that they didn’t have a lot of time because Hannibal was hurt. With that in mind, everyone went to get ready for travel, choosing to use a truck to get there and a motorboat to get across the water. It was a lengthy trip but to anyone that saw them, they just appeared to be a family going on a fishing trip with their boat.

-Oak Island-

Once they came to be across the river they set the boat up to cross, rowing instead of turning on the motor. Once they reached the opposite shore everyone except Jonathan got off the boat and prepared to go into the forest, each with their own weapons. Will had a sawed-off shotgun, Francois brought their personal machete, Xavier had his 9mm, Amira her knives, and the three Lector matriarchs held their own items. The seraph blade was being held by Diana but kept covered so that Mason wouldn’t realize what it was until it was going through him.

A cloaking spell kept them from being discovered going through the thick forest, but the sound of faint grunts nearly had them giving themselves away early. Mason was beating Hannibal rather relentlessly, wanting his death to be a slow and painful one. It’d become a cycle of the past day, Mason landing blows until the doctor passed out and waiting until he was awake to begin beating him some more. By this time Hannibal was barely recognizable due to his injuries, his face bloody and bruised, eyes nearly swollen shut, a possibly broken nose, and a dislocated jaw were only the blatantly visible ones. He was barely breathing and was starting to think he just might die before he was rescued. Just when he was slipping out of consciousness again the door to the house was blown open to reveal Will standing there with his shotgun, blowing a hole through Mason before disappearing outside. The blast was enough to alert Hannibal to what was happening but he didn’t have the energy to try and see where his family was.

Mason fought between Will, Xavier, Elisha, and Pauline, but every time he tried to strike he would either be shot, stabbed, or sliced. Meanwhile, Francois, Diana, and Amira had snuck into the house undetected. Francois untied their father and slung one of his arms over their shoulders before heading for the back door just when an inhuman screech sounded from outside. Amira went to the door and found everyone on the ground except Xavier, though he looked as annoyed as she felt. Just when he landed a shot to Mason’s jaw Amira said a quick spell over her knife, the blade heating until it turned red. She threw it and watched the blade land in Mason’s shoulder with a sizzle. Mason gave an agonized yell and turned to find the petite young woman staring at him with deadly intent. While his back was turned Xavier saw Francois taking Hannibal back to the boat and went to help them move the man faster.

Mason grinned at Amira before pulling the knife from his shoulder.

“You’re cute. It’ll take more than a pretty little knife to kill me, though.”

“Oh, I think we’ll just have to agree to disagree there, Mason.”

With those words, she backed into the cabin and Mason followed quickly only to have Diana throw holy water in his face the moment he crossed the threshold. He howled in pure pain and swung before the older woman could move out of the way, knocking her into the nearby wall. Amira quickly started to fight him, trading blow for blow until his back was turned towards her unconscious mother. Suddenly Mason landed a hard blow to her gut, effectively knocking the air from her before grabbing her by the throat and slamming her into the wall. He lifted her from her feet and tightened his grip, chuckling darkly while he watched her struggle and scratch at his arm, her legs kicking wildly. Leaning into her face until they were nearly touching noses, his disfigured face pulled into a sickening grin.

“What was that you said about your pretty knife, pretty girl?”

Before he could say anything else a blade came through his chest, the wound burning at the edges until he dropped to his knees, releasing Amira as she looked down at him with a smirk.

“Oh, you thought I meant my knife? No no, I meant that blade my mom has. Enjoy hell, Mason.”

He screamed as he died for the final time, Amira rubbing her throat lightly before checking on Diana as she placed the blade back in its sheath. Once she saw her mother was okay the two of them joined Pauline and Elisha outside to make their way back to the boat. They found the others waiting for them with Hannibal, patching him up as best they could at the moment. When they climbed in the boat he mustered up the last of his strength and spoke, surprising everyone.

“Let’s go home.”

#my writing #random stories #intimate friends #the lectors

[furibotgd]

Sneaky little Soul Secret (Wait he can do that?) (Oneshot)

(Takes place during It simply cannot be, Tunnel hunt, and A Small Sapling)

“What about…the entrances? If they were blocked off…that might force his hand? Maybe trap him?”

Indigo was pondering what Dixie was saying to him. He was somewhat eager to help, but he knew this would spell doom for either Dixie and his men, or all the dragons, or both. He had to be careful.

He was aware of Tael behind him and the Fury's train of thought.

Indigo brought his hands together, thinking. “That could perhaps work, if you blocked them off enough. It’s possible they could make their way out anyway. With that being said…” He poked about a half dozen spots on the map, a few very far apart. “These are the exits to the caves that you have on this map. There’s a couple more, but if you can block them all off enough a Fury can’t get through, they’ll be trapped… and they’ll all die eventually.” His fists tightened for a heartbeat as the thought of them all suffocating or starving struck him in the heart, but he managed to keep calm. “That would end it.”

He watched as Dixie regarded the marks, and then snatched the map back up and rolled it into his bag. “Then there isn’t a moment to lose.” He took a few paces away, and then paused. “I’ll tie up loose ends there as best I can.” His head turned ever so slightly back towards Indigo. “And then I’ll finish my business here…”

Indigo had a hunch exactly what Dixie meant by that, but he decided not to address that.

Phantom tilted his head to the side slightly and seemed to give Dixie an odd look. “Dixie, if I may make a request. I know you hold a lot against me, and would do anything to see me dead. However, if any of the furies surrender, may I ask that you won’t treat them with the same wrath you aim at me? Give them a chance to redeem themselves too. I got a chance I didn’t at all deserve, and I feel it’d be wrong to not give them a chance if they change their ways.”

He had a hunch Dixie would not take these words seriously, but he had a hope. A thin hope that a few dragons could still be saved and turned around. He also glanced at Tael behind him, and they shared a look. I already know what I'm going to do, Tael. Be prepared for it. I'm not going to trust Dixie to do this alone.

“Also, if you need someone to help you, Tael could be trusted to help you, and would go with you if I asked him to help.”

Dixie stood in quiet contemplation for a moment, his eyes flickered, a clear sense of conflict suddenly within him. “I…” He said cautiously. “Do hold dragons in a high regard…Their errors are not like mans…”

Indigo was having a hard time buying these words. He could sense intention Dixie was trying to hide. The hesitation... not putting it into direct words. There was no promise there. Empty words.

He had to hide his distrust in his face, staring at Dixie and trying to give nothing away.

Dixie hummed once, and then nodded his head. “The help would be…welcome.”

Without another word, he walked back over to retrieve his cane, and then set off towards the carting station. 

Indigo had been pondering it starting the moment Dixie suggested trapping the Furies. Now he was certain. He could not trust this man to give the dragons mercy if they switched sides. Though, he would only step in if needed.

Indigo let out a small sigh, rubbing a hand across his face as the three furies walked over to his side. Indigo turned to Tael and gently patted the dragon. He was ready for the swap.

A meaningful look passed between them, and then the Phantom nodded. Tael understood immediately.

I am coming with you. I do not trust Dixie whatsoever. Go with him. Be safe, and stop Scarface. I trust your judgment with anything that may come up. Please, do not make rash decisions. If I need to, I will take over. We end this together.

Tael gently nudged him with his nose and then turned to follow Dixie.

After a short chat with Scoot and Song, giving them vital instructions, Indigo returned to the prison and sat on his bed, going very still.

He hadn't done this in a while, but fortunately the Warden wouldn't be around. And even if he didn't get away with it, he felt he had to do this. For their sake. He knew Scarface was the only one who truly believed in that murderous cause, and if he died, the others would abandon it. He had to make sure those who gave up the genocide got a chance like he did.

They were his family.

He focused all his magic and mind and soul out... and left his body in its silent state. He hadn't done it in years and he immediately felt a chill, but as soon as he found Tael it would be safer.

He zipped as fast as he could to Tael and went into into the dragon's body. He felt the Night Fury shudder slightly, and he stared through Tael's eyes as they went on their way to stop Scarface.

He was there for the battle. For the whispering death. For the storm. He watched Scarface slain, but still took no action.

It was afterwards that made him interject.

He had to hold back, but it was hard. Especially after he'd seen Zipshot switch sides. And Dixie adamantly insisting to take some of the bodies. And after losing so many friends. He almost slipped a few times.

But no one noticed.

After a painful, horrid few days after the battle, Indigo returned home to find his body just where he'd left it. A small relief after all of that.

No one had discovered that he'd left Haligan, technically escaping prison for a short time.

As he transferred back and Tael quickly made an exit, he began his emotional outbreak, slashing the walls and crying and trying not to scream.

He wanted to punch Dixie so bad. But he couldn't.

Hours and hours later, Indigo began pondering if be would be honest and tell Grey about his... outing. She had put a lot of trust into him, and under most definitions, he had violated it. She deserved to know, for certain.

But it would mean several steps back in the fragile trust he'd earned. He knew that, he wasn't stupid.

Throw himself at her mercy again? Or keep it hidden and hope? With any luck, no one would ever know of this ability of his. There was a reason he kept it close to his chest, it was useful.

Indigo decided to stay quiet. He had to hope he wouldn't regret it.

#indigo #tael #dixie #oneshot #also the hidden part of several threads #:)))))))) #botgd1 moment #surprise suckers #dont hold back tell me what ya think #hehehehehhehehehe