Archive of Our Own

First witch of Kennet. Who meets you with open arms if friendly, and unsheathed arms if not. Second witch of Kennet, who flanks and travels further afield. Third witch of Kennet. Waiting in the wings, preparing big fucking shit.

Their roles were not codified in concrete, but they were ones they had settled into, arrangements and tendencies that complimented each other. Not winter, or at least not the strict Winter of the Fae; rather, the sort of winter where you huddled from the cold in a comfortable chair, one that had been moulded to perfectly hold you over frequent use.

The triumvirate ritual had in turn held that connection up to the spirits, formalised what they already knew. A familiar ritual gave an other more humanity, and a practitioner a bit more otherness – Lucy was confident that ritual had been conducted in such a way they weren’t receiving any inadvertent bleedover, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t see coincident in things, and interpret it as receiving a little bit of the second witch, Avery.

Travelling far and making allies.

Because seriously, Indiana?

“I’ve said it before,” She mused aloud, though the only other person in the room didn’t need to hear it. “But I’d never imagined going to America for university.”

She’d already said it twice today, whilst her family gad helped her deposit her stuff. Grandfather just looked at her as she stuck a band poster on the wall, sprawled out on the single bed, which had started untouched and now was already becoming as crumpled as his jowls. Maybe he could have helped, but if anyone caught him it would lead to questions.

Questions such as from the person approaching down the corridor.

“Knock knock,” Someone said; standing in the door was a woman not that older than Lucy, a clipboard held in one hand. Her hair was a natural shade of red, that made Lucy think of the word “flat”, though without the negative connotations she knew it would have if she said it. Not orange enough to be called ginger, or deep enough to be called bloody, carmine. “I’m Ruth, and that’s a very big dog.”

“His names Grandfather,” Lucy said. “Don’t worry, he’s well trained. Ex-military.”

Grandfather made as close to a nod as would be believable, without anyone thinking Holy shit that dog understands us.

They’d hashed out cover stories and believable half-truths to explain his appearance, both like this and in human form. Part of their plans would be dependent on what the local community was like, what places there were, and whether circumstances would actually conspire for a foreign veteran and an international student to explain how they knew each other, but that just meant they had to be flexible.

‘No plan survives first contact with the enemy’ was a common piece of wisdom. They’d just made a plan that was loose enough that its current form would not survive, but it could adapt, evolve. And part of that was getting the systems ready.

“I know, I was warned in advance,” Ruth frowned for a moment, seeming to think something over. “We don’t normally allow pets, but they said they were making an exception. Do you have an in on the board or something?”

“Nothing how you’re thinking.”

An eyebrow was raised.

“No, really.” Lucy said. There was a chance she could be gainsaid, but she didn’t think it likely. This wasn’t Kennet – the lines of innocence were far starker than they had become back home.

She was anticipating America being more religious, but that was a far cry from the universe conspiring to keep a dog and his girl together.

Ruth shrugged. “Fine, I’ll allow it. Your Canadian too, right?”

“Yep.”

“Opinion on hockey?”

“When my friend plays, I support her.”

“That’s better than other answers you could give, I suppose,” Her green eyes flickered around the room, taking it in. “National pride means by default you’re my favourite, and you’re in a single – you’ve caught me in a bit of a bind. They’ll think I’m going soft.”

Focusing again, she scowled. “Is there anything you can do to make me mad?”

“I could play music loudly?” Lucy offered, gesturing to her guitar.

“No, this is Reed Hall. Music majors are everywhere. Intimidation is a lot harder when someone has a massive dog in their room. Ex-military, did you say?”

“He served in warzones.”

“Think I could borrow him?”

That was an odd question, and not a route she particularly wanted to go down. Lucy tried to move the conversation along. “Sorry, you are the RA, right? Is there anything I should know?”

“Not particularly. No drugs, no alcohol – no pets, but that doesn’t apply here. Theres a floor meeting at seven; be there or I’ll choke you with your own spleen.”

“I’ll try.”

“Don’t try. Do.” Fixing a friendly smile on her face, Ruth strode out of the door. “I’m off to scare the bejeezus out of people without a guard dog.”

She pushed the door behind her.

“Well…” Lucy exchanged a glance with Grandfather; He pulled himself up on the bed, before stepping off. “Your impression?”

“An interesting reaction.” He ‘said’ – he was still in canine form, but the way he was positioned, away from both door and window, meant that should he turned, the only sign of him an outsider could be able to see was his shadow. “She wasn’t just joking about wanting to use me.”

An impression came with the words. As a Dog Tag, Grandfather had technically never received any formal training. His ‘role’, so to speak, came with it even less – but the second-hand experiences and hazy memories that had made up his earlier days carried with them another idea; the drill-sergeant, someone who woke soldiers up at the butt-crack of dawn to whip soldiers into shape. Seeking fear, as a form of respect.

“She wants people to be scared of her.” Lucy said.

     “I can’t imagine its forever, but she’s setting the groundwork.”

It was something which could be troublesome, depending upon the direction it went in.

One of her connection charms pinged, just as another knock came from the door.

A second woman stood there, also in glasses, though for her they magnified already large blue eyes into something that was distinctive, near fishlike or insectile. Purple hair was formed into a bob cut, and her skin was as pallid as skin went; in ancient times, maybe such a combination would have pegged her for mystical immediately, but in the modern day now it was just another face in the crowd.

“Hey neighbour. You’re Lucy Ellingson? Grandfather?”

She spoke with an accent, but to Lucy’s ears so did everyone here.

“We are. By neighbour, do you mean you live here?” Lucy replied. A flicker of sight corroborated her expectations – what little connections had been attached to her room had vanished. Staining was thick around the girl, a chaotic swirl so dense they almost washed together, like someone had took a brush and an easel and went crazy. Tiny swords dotted here and there, and where they did colours folded like cloth. Needles, holding the skin together.  “I assume this is the standard.”

“Yes, and no. May I come in?”

One shut door later and she continued. “Yes, I do live here – college student Animus, and no, I’m not the real envoy. Just a herald. Your proper welcome comes tonight; I reckon your safe though.”

A shrug.

“People want to talk to you.”

If a snowboarder could form, and a doppelganger – Lucy did think it was a very general archetype, but that wasn’t her problem. Verona would get a kick out of it. “And I just happen to fall into your remit.”

 “I’m not omniscient, if that’s what you fear. Imagine knowing everything in a dorm. But yes – having an ear to the ground in universities is good practice for practise, so I’ve been told. Not like I’ve been to any other.”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

Lucy could imagine, however. People came to uni looking for something to direct the course of their life – good for recruiting, if you thought that way.

“Does that tend to happen here?” She asked.

“Recruitment? No. Heads up – hanging around the campus are a bunch of zeitgeists. Their harmless, but if you see any little temporal anomalies that’s why. The rest of the city will be covered in the meeting…” Suddenly, the girls face fell. “I’m not giving too much info at once, am I?”

“Not at all. But you have forgotten to introduce yourself.”

“Fuck. Great, yeah. Most years, there’s no one, only one practitioner at most, so I’m not used to dealing with you – and this year there’s two. I’m heading by Forest after this to give the same spiel.” Clenching her glasses in her hand, she sighed. “Having an embarrassing name doesn’t help.”

“I’m good friends with goblins.”

“It isn’t that, it’s…” Another sigh, louder than the first. “Innocents I can get by with. Everyone else?”

“You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.”

“No, it will be more convenient in the long run. Other Rachel.”

Lucy raised an eyebrow. Of the emotions that twinged down the familiar bond, the one she felt now could be summarised as ‘really?’ If it weren’t a lie, she would have said you’re kidding.

Instead, the question that came to mind was “Is it always Rachel?”

 “The student population’s large enough that there’s always a Rachel, or someone who knows one. I pass it off as a nickname that stuck if not.”

“When I awakened, I tried to be formal, and called myself Lucille.” Lucy offered. “It’s my full legal name, and I hated it.”

“It’s one thing to be given a nickname because you earned it. Another because they want to humiliate you.” Added Grandfather, leaning against the wall as he did so. It was subtle, and the ritual was long enough ago that her memory was a little blurry on the minute details, but Lucy could imagine the Grandfather of three years ago contrasting against the background of the dorm room a heck of a lot more than the Grandfather of today. She could imagine the Lucy of three years ago too, seeing university as a big, abstract potential in the future, if she could see it at all.

How close would it have been then, to the end of summer?

Other Rachel looked him up and down. “You’re not her actual grandfather?”

“Dog Tag”

“I don’t know what that is, but I’ll be suitably awed.”

“Like you, but violent.”

“Got it. If he was your grandfather, I was going to have a go at you. Bringing family like that…”

Her voice trailed off.

Lucy got the impression she’d caught herself before she continued. She wanted to say a lot more, but was holding herself back.

“How so?”, she asked.

“Practitioners don’t tend to appreciate my view on this. I have a tendency to get…” The animus clawed for a word. “Impassioned on a subject they nearly always disagree with me on.”

“Bringing family?”

“Not per se. Staying influenced would be a better way to put it. I’m not against families. Their useful in a whole lot of ways! Moving in, calling for advice, free meals – not that I’ve ever done them. But bringing family? Older relatives? Hell, helping a younger sibling too much? It would ruin the experience. This is a time to get away from your blood’s thumb and sprout.”

Suddenly, there was an intenseness on her face, one which wouldn’t normally be associated with the subject matter. The sort which said this idea was more than just important. That it was an ideal. “Whatever plans your families sworn you to? Whatever roles your meant to fill, or purposes your meant to act on? Toe the line.”

“Toe the line? An interesting way of putting it.” Grandfather said

“I’m not going to ask them to foreswear themself. Nor ask you to foreswear yourself. Just encourage you to carve your own path. Discover who you really are. Theres few things that make that harder than an ancestral spirit encouraging you to marry for the first dowry that offers a smidgeon of power.”

Lucy screwed up her face. “An arranged marriage? No.”

“You’ll have to let the council know that.”

“I’m not saying I’m adverse to meeting peers or the politics involved…”

“No need to explain that to me. Save it for tonight.” Rachel cut her off. “I’m not expected to report back unless your problematic.”

The conversation had fallen into a bit of a lull.

“I agree with what you’re saying though.”

“You do?”

Another emotion began to filter into her expression. Relief.

“Not on a personal level, maybe. I think where I am now is a pretty good place – I think I have already sprouted, and blood in the sense you use blood doesn’t have that sway.”

If she hadn’t had the same skin, she wouldn’t be the person she was today. If she hadn’t had the same experience with family, she wouldn’t be the same person as she was today. Blood influenced her, but it wasn’t blood in the same sense of expectations that came with, say, a Blue Heron Family. Expectations came from outside, not projected inwards.

“I’ve built things. Achieved things. Made connections.”

“As yourself?”

“I think so.”

“Then make sure you keep building then.

     “What courses are you taking? We may share a class?” She made a face. “Okay, we will share a class. When its needed.”

Lucy told her.

Things were hashed out.

Not wanting to attract the council’s ire, even if they did feel positively about her, Lucy kept practice to a minimum. The most she did was ward her room; there were tricks to it, hiding runes and diagrams beneath mattresses and posters to keep them out of sight. Many of the posters had been prepared in advance, ready to slot into the larger work when she had the go-ahead – one even had diagrams actually built into the art itself, a gory piece advertising what appeared to be a b-list, schlocky horror movie, the one that went from slasher to splatter.

When the slasher club had ramped up, then posters had begun appearing around Kennet below as a forewarning; like the adverts Ken had created for the Carmine contestants. The principle had been similar to how death became more karmically justified if the victim ignored a given warning – below had been warned, and the slasher had a pattern behind them, increasing their power.

She’d treated it, of course, so her room would not carry the same violent taint. It was just a little slice of home, with emphasis on slice.

Much of the time she spent just looking around, observing the people who moved to and fro. Getting the lay of the land – things were busy, parents and family members ferrying in belongings, people introducing themselves, feeling each other out. So many faces in the crowd, so much variety.

Dizzying.

The floor meeting was at seven, and Lucy arrived a few seconds after that. Grandfather entered before her, as she knew first impressions were important; leaving room for shenanigans, for being as young and dumb as she could manage was important, but hiding an entire dog was not something she wanted to try.

The room was spacious as they went, several brown couches and chairs arranged around a blue carpet. Standing in a corner was a pool table – had Lucy never seen a pool table in real life before? Surely she had, but she couldn’t think of any example, not even an other with a gimmick. It beggared belief.

A small part of her wanted to play pool now. Not out of spite or malice – it had simply caught her attention.

Up for a game at some point?

If circumstances could be contrived.

Three girls were already in the room: two white and blonde, the third Asian, young-looking, the hat on her head decorated with scowling yellow eyes and pointed white teeth. A dinosaur was on her t-shirt, making Lucy’s mind immediately go to all the other people she knew whose clothes all carried an animal motif. Not lost or spirit, the girl should be entirely human.

Neat.

The shorter of the two white girls was wearing glasses, and a mix of green and yellow which toed the line between colourful and eyesore. The taller wore a sweater vest, with blue eyes that were vivid where Other Rachel’s where rheumy, and it was she who first spotted the pair of them, a pyramid of a smile spreading across her lips.

“Hi! I’m – is that a dog?”

“His name is Grandfather.”

“Can I pet him?” The girl was already crouching to do just that. 

Outside her head, she raised an eyebrow to Grandfather. “I don’t know, can she?”

It was the sort of question that could pass as sarcastic, when really, she was asking it very much honestly.

Grandfather was not fazed by much, to the answering signal was practically a given, but that didn’t mean she shouldn’t ask.

With intensity, the girl began stroking Grandfather’s fur. His jowls practically vibrated from the motion, bagging and crumbling, though his face was impassively steadfast.

“Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy?”

“If he’s called Grandfather, surely he’s a man in dog years?” The other girl asked.

“Don’t be silly. All dogs are good boys, unless their girl dogs. Is it you? Is it you?”

“I’m Lucy” She introduced herself.

“Dorothy. I didn’t know they allowed dogs here.”

“He’s quiet and well-trained. They allowed us.”

The newly named Dorothy looked at Grandfather’s shaking form again. “Huh.”

“My dog at home is much more excitable.” Unnamed sweater vest girl said, relenting her assault as she rose to her feet. “He definitely wouldn’t be this quiet.”

A sentiment from Grandfather, something along the lines of I’d call it professional.

“Unless,” the smile intensified, a switch clicking from enthusiastic to gleeful. “Are you blind? Is he your service animal? How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Four. Or three and a thumb.”

“Oh.” It was barely a dip in the girl’s energy. “Are you one of those super blind people then? I heard there’s a superhero with that, but he promotes satanism.”

More girls were entering the room.

“Daredevil’s catholic.” Another interjected as she walked by.

 “Exactly!”

“I am not blind.” Lucy said – as she did her earring twinged. “And I do not have superhumans senses.”

“Floor meeting! Out!”

The voice sounded like Ruth’s.

“That’s a shame. I was looking forward to seeing someone who’s remained blind – oh!” Her hands covered her mouth. “Do you think they’d be offended if I said looked?”

“As long as you don’t draw attention to it.” Dorothy said.

“Up! Orr you’ll be waking to a nightmare!”

“Why do you have a dog?” Someone else asked. She also had dyed hair and glasses.

“I was allowed” Lucy said. “He’s disciplined.”

You’re a real conversation starter.

“Wouldn’t hurt a fly?”

Something like that.”

“Up! Out!”

“You’re not the boss of – urp!”

“Alright!” Fingernails gripping the doorframe, the RA leered in the entrance, bestial glee reflecting in her eyes. Lucy had seen worse. “Nobody leave this room, or you’ll be expelled from the hall in a casket.”

The sadistic light faded. “I’m going to catch more stragglers.”

Drill sergeant?

      She’s more eager in her sadism than most.

How much of it do you think is an act?

    Most. Unless universities made a habit of letting authority figures rip out vital organs.

I think that’s only med lecturers…

Two more girls were flung into the room.

 -then again, you’d need exercise to carry people

   I smell pizza. How far away were…

“Show me.”

Oh shit no. One of the girls -not one of the one’s who’d just been chucked, but one of the later arrivals, a white girl with black hair and a numbered shirt that may have been sports related was squaring up, goaded by the RA into balling her fists. The tactic – get someone to attack you, prove them overconfident, gain respect, was a recognisable one, but also, what the hell. She began pushing her way through the crowd, as a sentiment arrived over to her; Grandfather staying back, not wanting to shift from oddity to threat, assuring her.

“I give you permission.”

If the other girl hadn’t hesitated, maybe it would already have escalated. That hesitation was a good thing – they were close. If she hadn’t hesitated, Lucy would never have managed to intercept before she readied her hands and…

“Woah there.” Lucy held her hands up, trying to break them from going any further. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“The scrawny geek literally asked for it!” Ninety-seven yelled. Ruth just smiled.

 “I did, didn’t I. Come on cheerleader, just backflip over her.” She taunted.

Lucy wanted to massage her brow. She was well aware she was attracting attention, shifting dynamics. Oaths and promises that were in sentiment only, letting other people fight, not having to take responsibility at every juncture – this was nowhere near what those agreements were meant to help her monitor. “Why are you escalating? Why did you start this in the first place?”

“I gave you options to stop being my favourite. You didn’t have to pick this one.”

“Your picking favourites!” Ninety-seven girl tried to swing past her with her fists, but Lucy twisted, keeping herself between them.

 “Can it tubbo. Guess where you are.”

“This isn’t helping anyone.” Lucy insisted over her shoulder. Switching tactics, she addressed the other girl specifically. “What would it do if you hit her?”

The girls face screwed up. “What sort of question is that? She’s literally asking to be hit!”

“Which means she wants you to attack, so she’s clearly ready for it.” Turning her head between the two reminded her of juggling. “What would you have done?”

“Thunder thighs would have been on the floor thanks to rad martial arts skills.”

“So, you were goading her in hope you could show off,”

That wasn’t normal, surely. Lucy did not want it to be normal. All she wanted was a place without problems, where she could learn, make something in peace. Meet people.

This was how she met people?

Figures.

“Nothing like that.”

Lucy could press further, but this was where the RA chose to back up. Straightening from her stance, she addressed the room.

 “Alright, listen up. My name is Ruth Lessick, but some people call me ‘Ruthless’. Tonight may not have demonstrated why, but trust me you should glad for that. When I say to show up, you show up. When I say to shut up, you’ll shut the fuck up.”

 “As your resident assistant, I will be supervising your dorm life. I went through two whole weeks of training to learn how to handle your problems and be a knowledgeable resource. If you have any questions about anything, do not hesitate to ask me in my room.

“I’m off. You get three questions.”

 “Your off?” Someone said.

“That’s what I said. Answer one.”

More people talked as she walked out of the room. A second later, the girl who’d introduced herself as Dorothy followed her. Lucy played over the near fight in her head; should she expect more of that?

Unlike Ruth, the girl she’d stopped was fuming. “What the hell was that about?”

“Really?” Lucy said “That’s what you ask?”

Absently, she thought she recognised some Asian features. White-passing then. Cool,

“I could have handled her!”

“It doesn’t matter if you could have, there were other ways you could have responded. How she acted was wrong, but you were playing into her hands. “

The girl straightened her shoulders. “Piss off.”

“Consider it pissed.” Lucy shrugged. “If you’re thinking of her as an enemy? Fighting on their terms isn’t always the best course of action.”

One last scowl crossed across her face before the girl left the room. Other people were talking, getting to know each other – a few of them approached her. They began to speak.

It was nice, getting to know people. Wanting to be known about. Some people were evidently impressed by what she’d done, though personally Lucy’s feelings were mixed.

Could it have gone worse? Definitely. They could have actually seen the sick-ass martial arts.

Could it have gone better?

Unless they were petty, she doubted she’d made enemies. She hadn’t made friends either. Lucy was not naïve enough to believe that there would have been a perfect set of words she could have said, to not just deescalate but ensure such a conflict never happened again. But it would have been nice.

If it hadn’t been for the fight, the floor meeting had been where she’d planned to check everyone with the sight, when they were all in one place. She didn’t want to check people frequently, but it did feel important, keeping track of these things. Watch the connections forming, but beyond that watch out for any surprises: black sheep, curses, people who may cause issues or need help. Which she supposed she’d found, but that didn’t mean she’d expected it to be so loud, so sudden to start it off. And she didn’t even know enough names.

New place. New problems. Small, personal problems, but problems nonetheless. And this was a university – she didn’t need to be a genius to know there would be an ocean of drama to sail through.

How much should she try and calm the waves?

“Here.”

Before she’d left, Other Rachel had reached into her pocket. A rectangle of paper had been in her hand – Lucy had taken it.

“A business card?”

“The Lord’s family likes to do things professional. Or they recently discovered printers and have gotten overly enthused with them.

Typed out on it was an address and a time, with words beneath it. Be there, it said, quite plainly. With her sight, she could see a simple connection blocker, hand scrawled compared to the professional black text. Just enough to stop anyone asking questions about why someone had a card like that.

“That was a joke?”

“Yeah, but not as much as I’d wish it was. Ask someone to imagine a hidden society of wizards, and they would probably imagine people behind with the times, technology wise. The lord’s family is probably as close as they can get to that stereotype whilst living among innocents.”

That was worrying. Not in of itself, but in the picture it painted for her of what the lords may be like. Lucy hoped that when she met them they would defy her expectations, but based on the track record she wasn’t holding her breath.

She’d had to leave earlier than she may have liked to make sure she got there in time, though she’d had plenty of time to look up directions. No real lines marked where campus ended and town began, and shops sat nestled on the borders, twilight of place and twilight of time marking things blurring lines. Some shops were making use of the moment, café’s open to host new students’ icebreakers, pharmacies and corner stores there for last minute supplies.  Others were closed, grey windows opening into empty rooms.

She’d messaged home, ensuring everyone she was settling in okay. Sending photos had been a consideration, but she wasn’t really the sort of person to go mental with them, and nothing she’d seen had been particularly photo worthy, especially when compared to what Avery would sometimes send. In all her time in her moving bookshop, Verona had only sent a single picture that could passably be construed as that sort, and even then, it had been of some graffiti that looked remarkably like Montague. Not any photo that could be, for lack of a better word, like a tourists.

Passing down an alley, the sudden sound of boots on stone marked Grandfather shifting his form. There were more alleys here than Kennet, and Thunder Bay too; the colour of the night was a different shade, and different bricks made the buildings.

“This will be my first time staying in another country. Without family, that is.”

“You’ve said before.” Grandfather replied. A moment passed. “Is there a reason you’re bringing this up now?”

“It just struck me, that all.” Somewhere, a fan whirred. “Do you have any advice?”

“On tour there was never a chance for tourism. Maybe if circumstances had been better, we could have interacted with the local culture, seen sights which weren’t rubble.”

Going unsaid was how if circumstances had been better, Grandfather would have not existed.

“There could be chances for that in the future. It won’t be like you can sit in on all my classes – you could go out and enjoy the sights.”

Grandfather grunted. An impression came to mind. Him, in a t-shirt, “I went to Indiana and all I got was a stupid…”

It wasn’t that funny, but she chuckled anyway.

“That could be them.”

Another girl was walking in the same direction as them. Short was a word that came to mind, for everything about her except actual height – she was wearing shorts, her sleeves were short, and so was her hair. A bag slung over her shoulder only added to the impression.

“You think?”

“Just a sense.”

The connection between her and her satchel was far too strong and distinct to just be mundane; people didn’t tend to have actual connections to what they wore. Sensing their presence, the girl turned – the fact that she noticed them, and actually reacted, seemed to confirm it.

Lucy was aware she could have a resting bitch face at times. Looking at the other girl, she got the impression this was what that looked like from the outside, and that was before her expression fell further.

“Oh, I see. This is a power play.”

It took Lucy a second to guess what she meant. Dressed in her witches regalia, maybe she did appear dramatic. She was just trying to look formal. “Because I’m wearing a mask and cloak?”

“You trying to intimidate me? Dressing up like its Halloween?”

She doesn’t anymore.” Grandfather stated.

“How can you be more Halloween than…” The girls’ eyes widened. “Youn wore a pointy hat, didn’t you.”

“I did. We awoke with them. Hat, mask, cloak.”

“Now that I don’t know how to feel about. Hat and cloak, I can respect, but mask? Were you fakey from the very start? You wanted to become a fox?”

“No, that was my friend. And it was a cat.”

“Jeez, how childish can you be? She wanted to turn her bullies into frogs too?” Her tone of voice was dismissive, like she was rankled at the very idea.

“Woah. That’s where you jump to?”

“Turning people into frogs? That’s a logical jump to make – it was a black cat, wasn’t it?”

“Calling her childish.”

“Changing the whole course of your life just to turn into a cat? Would you not call that childish?”

“The second I tell you about a friend, you insult her? Why would you even do that?” There were so many things she wanted to say – there were mitigating factors, that if anything Lucy would have been the most likely to practice on bullies had there been any. A small, irrational part of her wanted to list all Verona’s accomplishments, titles and status; there were better ways to do things than bludgeoning someone into a dick measuring contest, but she couldn’t deny it could be satisfying as a fantasy. She was glad that Kennet’s development had never had a chance to go to its head.

“I’m just saying it like I see it.”

“Whenever I’ve heard someone say that its because they’ve been an asshole.”

“So you admit that just because you can’t lie doesn’t mean your honest.”

“One, what does that have to do with anything? Two, I don’t admit it, but I do agree with the idea. Of course you can mislead with the truth.”

“Fuckface smells the glamour on you. You show up, and your dressed like a tryhard. You say you awakened with a mask – I bared my fucking self to the world. Tell me what part of that doesn’t make you suspicious.”

“The mask was an aspiration,” Fuckface? A familiar? They weren’t visible, but the name implied goblin. The girls words were angrier than the way she said them, making it hard to peg if she was actually being confrontational or just acerbic. “And I have no intention of misleading you. Can’t he smell other things?”

“I could smell smoke, and war, and goblin tricks.” Observed Grandfather.

“Yeah, well, glamours tricky – but I’ll play along for now. I still think your trying too hard; bet you no one else here will be caped or masked.”

“Sure. My name is Lucy Ellingson.”

Something obtuse passed across her face at her name, though what it was Lucy couldn’t say.

“Grandfather.”

“I’ve had enough of intros today – But Malaya. You were going to hear it anyway – I don’t even need to say what I practice, do I?”

“Goblins?”

“Got it in one. Goblin king. Not queen. Listen to it, it sounds so soft. Kwuh. Kweeheen.”

Goblins made her think of many things. Gerhild included. Probably not the best thing to bring up in first meetings, that.

“Trifold duellist.”

“Good for you.”

Maybe living in a small town had given Lucy a disproportionate sense of how places fitted together. It wasn’t that she didn’t know places could be big, or had experienced, but that also didn’t stop her from feeling maybe a bus would have been a more practical way to get to the location. It didn’t help that Malaya was emitting a sort of distaste like a fire projected heat; all manageable, but still irritating. Where Lucy had thought “short”, now she was thinking “dis”: dislikable, disagreeable, disgruntled, causing her to feel dismayed.

“Could we meet Fuckface?” She said.

“You could.”

Several seconds passed, but less seconds than it would for anyone who wasn’t a practitioner or an English teacher.

“Does he want to come out?”

“If you cared about his feelings you’d be trusting his judgement.”

“That’s not always how it works.”

“See? Distrust.”

That didn’t stop Malaya from pulling the zip down the duffel bag’s length; a scaled snout poked out between the teeth. For a moment Lucy was confused as to which form he was in, before he pulled himself out and began to climb up Malaya’s arm – an iguana could sort of pass for a goblin, in the right light.

By the time they were scowling from around her head though, clawed hands grasping at her ears, there was no mistaking it. An iguana didn’t have stitches of thread running from chin to just above the lips, red scabs contrasting wartier scales. Its mouth wouldn’t be affixed in a permanent scowl. Fuckface was like every grumpy old man ever had become constipated at the same time, and the result had been clumped into an utterly done goblin, staring out at the world with enough apathy to puff out a sun.

“Hi.”

Grandfather gave a half-wave, half-salute.

They may as well have been empty air.

“Don’t take it personally if he doesn’t speak to you. Actually, do take it personally. He’s currently telling me just how much he hates you.”

What were you supposed to say to that? “Who does he prefer?”

Malaya smirked. “Like I’m going to say. Don’t want you getting comfortable.”

She laughed at an unheard joke. “Good one Fuckface”

There was a possibility that he hadn’t actually made a joke, and she was pretending he had.

You’re not a very pleasant person, are you?

“Okay, out with it. I know your just dying to ask the question.”

Somewhere a bird hooted – it wasn’t the same type of bird as at home. Note to self, Lucy thought, check if they have foxes here. She didn’t want to draw suspicion that way.

“You know how when a quiet person swears, there’s more power to it? They finally show their true feelings? Same ideas what he’s doing.”

“Got it.” Lucy said. “Cool.”

Painstakingly slow, one clawed hand inched its way upwards. Two of its three claws lowered down; he may have been reptilian, but Fuckface flipped the bird at them.

It was a very different energy to other goblins.

They could have tried to converse more. But given everything else, Lucy decided to not. Instead, every one of them shared in the oath of silence as they made their way to the council.

Their destination was in a rough square, that looked as if it could have been a town hall before the town grew bigger and left it behind. Pillars that weren’t pillars but just bumps in the wall to give an impression of such architecture rose up to a pseudo-roman roof. Grey tiles paved the ground, and the sole bench that sat to one side gave the impression of an architect’s afterthought; it could have done with some greenery.

“Here we are, I guess.”

The shadows on the ground grew more solid as they approached, their surroundings more hazy, and then with a great rush of vertigo Lucy felt the world tilt. Darkness became substance, substance dwindled to a flat, two-dimensional sheet on the ground, and she found herself looking at a copy of the hall, feet trying to keep their footing after rotating one-hundred and eighty degrees. Malaya stumbled. Its roof was black as black, the square leading up to it grey starlight; even its windows were the sort of dark that could be put in lenses and worn on a sunny day – the exact opposite of the current atmosphere. Any summer heat had vanished, and though her mask stopped her breath fogging, she could see the clouds puffing from the other’s lips.

Up ahead, the doors of the hall swung upon on their own. Beyond was pitch and obscured.

“So extra.” Malaya scoffed, though there was a note of hesitation as she began saying it.

Where anything would cast a shadow, instead a patch of the physical world shone through. The contrast would likely be greater in the day – at night, the pavement was still shaded, just lighter. The shadow of the bench was wooden planks, lampposts metal strips with illuminated pools at the end, light flickering with the footfalls.

Grandfather glanced at her. Lucy glanced back.

Together they crossed the threshold, towards the final meeting of the day.