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Chapter 12 - The Summoner and the Adacauis

Consequences are the currency of this world. Hardened folk know that it’s wiser to suffer in the present than to indulge. One may experience greater indulgences in the future, or maybe they suffer greater punishments, should they falter. I shoulder any suffering that comes my way, and I seek to pave a future full of passion and pleasure, and I smoke a little mary jane in order to pacify my nerves in the meantime.

But consequences don’t just come about in times where you indulge in the present. They can grow just as high when you start to get negligent, in matters of the physical as well the sentimental. And so. When my grandfather, the Thief of Night Breezes, asked me a favor, I was indulgent enough to grant it to him, to make him proud of me, and I was negligent enough to fail to ask what that favor might be for. And in my moments of weakness, I let a garden of consequences grow in my wake. Today, I must act as a reaper-of-weeds. A steadfast ship through treacherous waters. The night that the students of the Teleraine Academy came to town, I microdosed on a few of Forseti’s mushrooms, and let my mind expand. I needed to come up with the best possible plan to mitigate all consequences.

I woke up the next day, and knew one thing. I had to write this one chapter in Forseti’s book. I asked, and he agreed. Throughout my small, little trip, one thing kept popping up in my brain, shining more adamantly than the matters concerning the theft at the Academy. This book was of immense importance. Not to me. Not to the world at large. But to my friend, the fox. The artist. Or perhaps even both of the curious foxes, for Florence had written as well. And in every fiber of my being, a yearning was felt to help contribute to that importance as much as I possibly could. And once again, that yearning proved to be an indulgence, instead of the beacon I regarded it to be. And the next day, I saw the consequences come about once more.

I also came clean. When I was first reading the fox’s book, the day we came back from Chicago, I erased a large number of adjectives used to describe me, and wrote in the word “Cool” instead. An expression of my ego. But a foolish expression. A moment of indulgence. I ask, Forseti, that if you read this, I apologize.

Forseti here. Yeah, Touchstone is writing this chapter. Don’t worry, he tones it down a little after this opening paragraph.

I took my coffee black. Florence took it with sugar. Forseti made excellent use of the meager pour-over implement. But an animal can’t spend his entire day in the blissful moments of the morning where he sips his coffee in peace alone. No animal may live their life in perpetual peace. Florence couldn’t participate in this particular journey, Marianne had successfully bargained for her attention. Around ten in the morning, Forseti got the call. It was time to pick up Clare and Zuma from their motel. It was time to share my plan with Forseti. The plan to exonerate the two of us from our involvement with the burglary.

I called my grandpa last night, but he failed to pick up. My parents wouldn’t respond to my texts either. A sign of an older generation, not knowing the modern habits of animals, who check their phones every minute? Or a sign of spite? Of my family failing to respect their son? I could not say. It was a strange relationship. I could always rely on them, come home and find a hot feast waiting in the dining room, find my own childhood bedroom left in pristine condition, save the dust. But I damned myself to be forever the prodigal son. I was the sibling of my generation who left the home. Failed to contribute in the family’s politics. Failed to find a nice surrogate and sprout further branches on the family tree. I kept my weapon, my thievery craft, aimed solely at the deserving, and didn’t let a lust for wealth poison my mind. A family that hoarded gold and spent it on the finest wines. The finest jewelry. Voted for the politicians who would keep taxes out of their lives. Failed to distribute their wealth when an animal in the community came in need. Stole from those who should not be stolen from. The Teleraine Academy and the lowly tenant renting a single room in their mansion.

And yet, I called them last night. I wanted to know why they’d ask for my help in such a theft. Would they blackmail me? Or simply ask a favor they knew I could aid in, with my close friend being an Apothecary. That night, in the middle of my trip, I held the phone as though it were a thorny branch, pricking at the skin beneath my feathers, but it proved to be a tether I couldn’t unfasten. My family had grown its roots into my flesh, and still I remained, always begging for their approval. The trait within myself I considered most damning.

The heavy rain from yesterday had lightened up, but a daunting overcast sky prophesied a heavier rain’s return. There was a noticeable chill in the air, close company with a noticeable damp. The heater in the fox’s car put in extra work to bite back at the cold.

“So what’s the plan?” said Forseti.

“I’ve opted for the persuasion route,” said I, “I know I’d normally opt for planting evidence, or getting rid of it, but I’m not getting working legs until the end of the week.” They’d been recovering faster than expected.

“I could try sneaking around for you.”

“No, I think we should go for the persuasion route.” Bless the poor fox’s heart, but there was little doubt in my mind he’d find little success sneaking around the Mulgywai’s offices.

“Alright, who are we persuading, then?”

“We’re going to be throwing Jouxlya under the bus.”

“We really shouldn’t-”

“No, no, no. Hear me out. The Potion of Altered Blood doesn’t necessarily have a shelf life, correct?”

“Well, it does have a shelf life, but properly sealed, you could probably hold onto it for five-or-so years? Seven years max.”

The last necessary piece fell into place. “Good, good. Then here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to pick up Zuma and Clare, like we promised, and then make a little visit with Sappha. I’m going to ask to come inside, and then confide with Zuma that I don’t want to be stuck in a car with you, what with you complaining about Sappha the whole time. All I ask from you is that you play up your rivalry a bit. I’ll mostly be monitoring things, keeping certain intelligence concealed, and when we make it back to the car, you’ll have figured it out. It was Jouxlya who made the potion, and probably a while ago. Obviously, we can’t visit her, so there’s nothing to do but visit the Mulgywai’s offices again, ask for any records that she left behind, and potential sales. And since that bridge was certainly burned, we’ll probably find nothing, end up with a dead end, and buy more time until my legs heal.”

The fox hesitated. “So we’re just buying time?”

“For now. I can pull a reverse theft once my legs work.”

Another pause. “From the Thief of Night Breezes?”

“Burgluring my family will probably be the easiest part.”

“What?” said Forseti. He seemed to forget about my unrestricted access to my childhood home.

“Trust me,” said I.

And yet another pause. “That plan is, like, so mediocre.”

“You’re finding an issue with it?”

“Yeah, like- No, it makes sense, but I feel like there’s something we’re missing.”

“Tell me anything about the plan that you think can go wrong.”

The fox hummed quietly in contemplation as he continued driving. “I’ve got nothing. I trust your judgment.”

“It’s not the flashiest plan, but you don’t get results from drama alone. To be fair, the only issue I see happening is that Sappha may accuse you, in which case, we claim naivety, or maybe we do find records of Jouxlya’s customers, in which case, it’ll just lead to another dead end, and we spend a little bit more on gas. Either way, my potion was gratis, and therefore transactionless.”

“That all makes sense.” Hesitation remained in the fox’s voice. “I feel like an asshole lying to Zuma though.”

“This is about getting Clare out of the picture. You can tell Zuma as soon as they go back.”

“What if I tell him now?”

It was a tempting prospect, but too risky. “We have to be sure he won’t tell Clare, and on top of that, make sure that he’s a good actor.”

“I think he’s a good actor.”

“But are you sure?” Forseti was probably right, but I decided to put the pressure on him anyway. Telling Zuma felt too risky. And no, I’m not just writing this section in case Zuma reads this later and gets mad at his husband for lying. The plan in full begs unto itself to be recorded.

Forseti groaned. “No, I’m not sure.”

“Good fox.”

“Is it bad that I kind of want Sappha to be an accomplice to this robbery-” said Forseti. I cut him off.

“Burglary.”

“Burglary. Whatever. Like, she’s kind of petty about a lot of things, I don’t doubt she’s got beef with the Academy. Like, am I bad for that?”

Zuma appeared to be entirely finished with this conversation. “Well, we’re not going to throw her in a dungeon or anything.”

“You have a dungeon?” said Forseti. His tone was entirely curious. The bastard was kinky.

“No- That’s what I’m saying, we don’t have a dungeon. We’ll most likely bring her to the Academy for questioning, since Clare and I aren’t registered to use Truth Magic, and there’s a holding cell if she’s guilty, but- You make it sound like we’re going to torture her.”

“Well, don’t torture her,” said Forseti, “Just, like- If she were outside of Marquette? For an extended period of time? I wouldn’t be unhappy.”

“Sure, hun,” said Zuma.

“She hasn’t shown up at Esu’s in a while though, now that I think about it. That’s weird.”

“Sure, hun,” said Zuma.

Picking up Clare and Zuma proved to be a task free of hassle. Marquette’s notorious traffic jams were nowhere to be seen that morning. Though she didn’t live as far from town as Forseti, the nuthatch healer still found it prudent to live on Marquette’s fringes, towards Ishpeming. There’s a benefit to living in an apartment, but a crafter-of-potions needs a greenhouse more often than not. It wasn’t too long before we found ourselves on the dirt road leading to Sappha’s modest little one-story home. Her front yard was neatly kept, though her brightly-colored flowers had turned brown with the changing of the seasons, and her dirt driveway had turned into a river of mud from the constant precipitation. A purple light glowed from a basement window. The average animal would guess its purpose to be mary jane adjacent. An Awngaimene animal knows the merit of purple light when growing more magical foliage.

“Gods, we’re here,” said Forseti, “Do you all mind if I wait in the car?”

“Don’t you need to come in with us?” said Clare.

“I mean- I would rather not, if that’s OK. Sappha’s just gonna be so fucking-”

“I’ll come with,” said I, “if you don’t mind pushing the chair.”

“That works for me,” said Clare. The puma and pine marten fumbled around in the trunk of Forseti’s car and prepared my wheelchair, folded down in order to fit more compactly. With a bit of effort, the puma transferred me from the front seat of the car to the chair. Before too long, we were at Sappha’s front doorstep.

“Thanks,” said I, “I don’t think I’d last long if I were stuck in the car with Forseti.”

“Why does Forseti dislike Sappha so much?” said Clare.

“I’ll tell you when we have the time, my friend.”

Sappha the nuthatch opened her front door before we knocked. She wore dirty overalls, with an ill-fitting white T-shirt hanging off of her small, avian frame. The Mulgywai Fons had warned her of our coming. “Zuma, Teleraine guy, welcome to my- Touchstone, what are you doing here?”

“Yeah,” said Clare, “Why did you come?”

I was quick on my hind-talons, “I need Forseti to drive me to my apartment after this to take care of a few things. We’ll probably drop you off first, don’t worry.”

“It’s fine,” said Zuma, “I think we were going to hang out with you two later anyway.”

“Is the fox in the car?” said Sappha.

“Yes,” said I.

“And he’s,” she pinched her forehead with her dainty wing-paws, taught in annoyance, “He’s actually decided he’s just going to stay in the car?”

“Don’t let my husband’s annoying habit of doing bits speak for me- er, us,” said Zuma.

“Oh, I have nothing against you, Zuma- Really, though, he’s making eye contact with me right now. He’s just going to stay in the car?” I snuck a look back towards the car. Forseti was, indeed, glaring. All of us stood there for a brief moment, drinking in the palpable shame.

“He’s probably going to stay in the car,” said Zuma.

“Power to him,” said Sappha, She sighed. “I guess- Come in, I don’t imagine this will take a while.”

Zuma and Clare cooperated to lift me into Sappha’s living room. A small staircase proved too difficult to roll up. The nuthatch Apothecary’s “living room,” if one could use that phrase honestly, saw to a minimal amount of actual animal life. Plants of all variations covered every table, and even some sections of the chairs and couches. Old, yellowed, wrinkled newspaper lay beneath clay plant holders, and loose soil was scattered across every section of the tile flooring. Instead of a practical lamp, the room was illuminated by light sources more powerful than the standard fare, in order to feed the plants. A majority were filtered through a violet lens. “You’ll have to forgive the mess, “said Sappha, “I don’t have a lot of guests.”

“You don’t have to worry about finding a seat for me,” said I.

“I was gonna ask, Touch, how did you break your- What did you break?” said Sappha.

“Archlitch. And both legs, a wing, and some ribs.”

“Oh yeah, the Archlitch is real. I just got the newsletter-” said Sappha, until she was interrupted by Clare.

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but we’re in a bit of a hurry.”

“We’re not in a hurry,” said Zuma.

“There’s an element- We shouldn't waste time, Zuma. Sappha, what did the Mulgywai Fons tell you?” I watched as the pine marten awkwardly shuffled his paws, yearning for a place to sit, but languishing against the fact that a few particles of soil would stain his khakis if he deigned look for one. Zuma, the tallest of the four of us, slouched slightly in the face of the nuthatch’s low ceiling.

“Fons told me that Teleraine animals were investigating a burglary, and that I may lead to- Well, a lead. I also wasn’t expecting Zuma to be here, don’t know why he didn’t mention that.”

“Because of Forseti-” I said, until I was interrupted by Sappha.

“Yeah, probably because Forseti. But, what lead is it that you two are looking for?”

“A burglary took place at the Academy. A rare and powerful artifact was stolen that needs to be returned immediately. Our Forensics Witches deduced that DNA left behind at the site of the burglary was forged, and found the source to be a Potion of Altered Blood. Furthermore, they were able to deduce that it was brewed by an Awngaimene healer from Marquette through Record magic, which brings us to you.”

“Or Forseti,” said Sappha.

“You didn’t brew anything like that recently?” said Clare. That answer seemed to catch the mustelid off-guard, but Sappha didn’t mean it in an accusatory fashion. She was simply finishing his thought, inferring that both the fox and the bird were suspects. But with Clare’s retort came the burgeoning clouds of suspicion.

“Or- I was just saying- You wanted to collect a list of customers from Forseti and I, who would have bought that potion, right?”

“Ideally, yeah,” said Clare.

“Just give me a moment. I’ll go grab my receipts- You asked for Forseti’s receipts too, yeah? You’re answering in a weird way that makes me think that you didn’t actually ask Forseti.”

It was time for me to enact this portion of my plan in full.

“Oh yeah, Zuma’s apparently a bit too smitten to incriminate his husband in a crime.”

“Well, it’s not like he’d try to rob the place his husband studies at,” said Zuma.

“He definitely could have sold the potion to someone though- But now that I think about it, we brought it up at the bar last night, he probably would have said something.” I was leading the Academy students to the truth while withholding the vital pieces.

“The fox is a bit of an idiot,” said Sappha, “But that’s neither here nor there. Let me grab my receipts.” The nuthatch strolled on over to a rusty filing cabinet, covered in potted ferns and spices. The rusted metal rollers shrieked in agony as the bird pulled a drawer open, before she began to thumb through manilla envelopes. “I organize these by date, instead of potion, so this might take a moment. Though, off the top of my head, I don’t actually recall making that potion. Sorry to bury the lede.”

“I appreciate you checking through them all, either way,” said Clare. It was clear that he was expressing a strong desire to see Sappha actually check through all the files, a task that seemed less and less desirable to the avian Apothecary, from what I could intuit from the expression on her face.

“You know, now that I’m thinking about it, does Forseti even keep records of his potions brewed?” said Sappha. Nobody responded. The fox’s home was certainly devoid of filing cabinets.

“Well, it’s not like you need to keep track of them for tax reasons,” said Zuma, “At least I hope not, we haven’t been doing that.”

“You don’t have to do that,” said Sappha. It took the nuthatch’s entire body weight to shove the rusty door shut before she popped open another one. “What did the guy rob, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Burgle,” I said, quietly.

“That’s classified,” said Clare.

“You’re going to have to indulge my curiosity, my guy. I’m losing interest now that I’m pretty sure I’m not involved.”

The pine marten sighed. “Well, the Two Pricks of All Knowledge were what was stolen.”

Sappha nodded, and was now apparently of a mind to offer advice for the investigation “Hmm, does the Academy have any enemies that would want that specifically, and nothing else? It’s crazy that someone managed to break in and only stole one thing…”

Does the Academy have any enemies?

The Thief of Night Breezes has no personal vendetta against the Academy, and I would know, because the Thief of Night Breezes has a plethora of vendettas that he rarely hesitates to bring up in private. The Academy never featured on that list. And what would my grandpa even gain from stealing the Two Pricks?

No, there was no reason for the burglary. No real, tangible, useful reason. It was a stunt. It was a dare. The odds were, my grandpa was chatting with an old friend or two, and the idea crept into the conversation. Wouldn’t it be fun to try and steal from the Academy? It’d be a challenge. It’d be something to gloat over. Every part of me knew that this was a careless, pointless theft, benefiting my grandpa by stroking his ego and accomplishing nothing else. And because I was naively roped into the heist plans, a feral mule tasked with carrying a simple potion, the problem was mine to handle. I had to bury this evidence or face the scorn of my family. I had to lie and cheat the investigation or face the scorn of the Academy, and force Forseti down that hole with me. I couldn’t even fathom why the great Thief of Night Breezes would need such a potion in the first place, when I knew for a fact that he’d stolen far greater things with far fewer resources.

“You weren’t the one to steal it, were you, Touch?” said Sappha.

I snapped back to the conversation, silently cursing myself for letting my thoughts wander. I cooled my nerves, and honeyed over my words with sweet thespian training. “I have yet to try a wheelchair burglary, but I’ll let you know if I pull one off.”

“Heh, you’re gonna want to get on that. I know Alicent’s work, you’re not in that chair for long.” Sappha slammed the last drawer shut. “I hate to break your hearts, boys, but I’ve never made that potion in my life. Your investigation ends here, I’m afraid.”

“There’s no one else in town who could have made that potion?” said Clare.

“Nope, only Forseti and I do any apothecary work these days. Maybe someone somewhere brewed a potion with ingredients from here, but I couldn’t make any helpful guesses. I don’t do Record stuff. Sorry you came all the way out here- Well, sorry Clare. I can guess why Zuma came out here.”

Clare exhaled a long, slow exhale. It was clear that he was frustrated, but he certainly wasn’t going to snap at the nuthatch. “Thank you, Sappha,” said Clare, “I guess we’ve failed, Zuma.”

“Maybe the Deans figured something else out. Either way, it’s out of our paws now,” said Zuma.

“It is a shame that the buck stops with us.”

“Not to kick you out, but my house is in no state to host guests right now. Don’t be a stranger, though, Zuma and Touch,” said Sappha. I noticed the absence of any pine martens from that invitation. She then put a wing-paw on Zuma’s shoulder, “Actually, Zuma, could you do one favor for me?”

“Sure.”

“I was actually expecting Forseti to not be a little asshole and come on in, but that didn’t happen, so send him a message for me. You gotta get him to call up Jouxlya, he’s the only person she’ll talk to. It’s coming again, from what the- I have a few of the fox’s things, the other fox. Something’s up with it. And my contacts up north have seen signs.”

Zuma looked perplexed. “What’s it?”

“Gods, I’m not gonna try to pronounce it. But just get him to talk to Jouxlya. She always kept track of the- Well, Forseti knows.”

“Sure thing, Sappha.”

“Thanks.”

We were driving once again, towards nowhere in particular, when a look of brilliant inspiration flashed across Forseti’s muzzle. “Guys, guys, I think I figured it out!” he said.

Clare’s eyes lit up like Christmas lights. “You have a lead?”

“OK, so, I don’t think I’ve ever actually made one before, so I’m not entirely certain, but a lot of potions have a crazy long shelf life, right?”

“Go on,” said Clare.

“I think Jouxlya might have made the potion, and someone really, really bided their time, holding onto it.”

“OK, her name keeps getting brought up, who’s Jouxlya?” said Clare.

“Marquette’s old Apothecary, the one I apprenticed under. I bet the Mulgywai held onto her records after she got banished.”

“Wait- Sappha told me to ask you,” said Zuma, “Apparently something’s coming, and you need to talk to Jouxlya.”

“Oh, that’s not going to happen anytime soon. She hates my guts,” said Forseti.

“Sappha said you were the only person she’d talk to,” said Zuma.

“Sappha’s a fucking dumbass. We’re not gonna get Jouxlya to talk with us, is all I know,” said Forseti, “But, we can go to the Mulgywai’s again and ask for Jouxlya’s records!” Forseti certainly had experience as an actor before he turned to the life of a witch, and even though it was clear to me that he was steering the Teleraine students towards the Mulgywai like feral cattle, he did a decent job at hiding the fact that he was playing the role of cowboy.

“Are you sure you can’t talk to Jouxlya?” said Zuma.

“I’ll try later,” said Forseti, “But we should probably handle this first.”

“If you say so,” said Zuma.

“God, Forseti,” said Clare, “Could you please drive the speed limit?” We were going five miles-per-hour over.

“Sure thing, Clare,” said Forseti. He didn’t want to instigate.

Great Lakes Gas was busier than normal. A whole two additional cars were parked alongside the fuel pumps. It wouldn’t have been reasonable to go about Awngaimene matters while Tystwole animals were shopping for Twizzlers and Monster Energy Drinks, so the four of us decided to blend in by doing the same, stockpiling snacks for later. I always found myself drawn to Arizona’s RX Energy Herbal Tonics, and I held a cold can in my clutches while the other members of our party shopped. I wasn’t feeling particularly hungry.

The skunk, Claudia, managed the counter, and clocked the four of us immediately as we entered the store, which was strange, because the skunk wasn’t a Mulgywai. One tends to be far more conspicuous when they’re rolled around in a wheelchair, and we all silently agreed to hold off on our secret Awngaimene phrases until the store was fully cleared out. The skunk didn’t even say a meager “hello.” The Mulgywai are taught to be very strict with their mannerisms in the presence of Tystwoles, and the skunk managed to emulate that tradition.

But enough dawdling had passed, and the customers filed out, none the wiser. “Dahbin io?” said Claudia.

“Awngaimene,” said I.

Claudia normally kept to a grunge aesthetic, wearing baggy clothes with muted colors and hundreds of little tears. Today, she was forced to don the Great Lakes Gas uniform. The skunk closed the store, and all of us filed into the Mulgywai office. The mephit who wasn’t a Mulgywai fished a few scented candles out of her deep pockets, and lit them with a Zippo. The woes of being a skunk. And in no time, Clare sprung into action. “My name’s Clare, of House Bondwynn. I am a pupil of the Teleraine Academy, along with my colleague Zuma. I’m certain that your colleague, the turtle Fons, has filled you in on our situation?”

“No,” said Claudia. She rarely spoke more than five words in a sentence.

“Fons didn’t fill you in?”

“Nope. Hey Zuma.”

“Hey, Claudia,” said Zuma. “Missed you at the bar last night.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t there.”

The skunk’s mannerisms tended to both commandeer, and then derail any ongoing conversation. “What are you doing here, Claudia?” said Forseti, finally satiating everyone’s inner curiosity.

“Working.”

“You’re not a Mulgywai,” said Forseti, continuing.

“Taking over for Chance.”

“Are you…” Forsy’s question hung in the air, “Qualified to do that?” Claudia simply shrugged.

“OK, fox? Quiet. None of that matters,” said Clare. “And Claudia, was it? Since you haven’t checked the important-matters briefing, or whatever-”

“Chance didn’t write anything,” said Claudia.

“Either way,” said Clare, “We’re here investigating a robbery-”

“Burglary,” said I. Too quiet to hear.

“-And after this wild, insane goose chase- Sorry if you have any goose friends- We figured out that the old Apothecary, Jouxlya, may have brewed a potion that aided in the robbery-” I didn’t bother, “And long story short, we’re looking for a list of potential customers to try and find out our suspect.”

“Those probably don’t exist,” said Claudia.

“Jouxlya didn’t keep records?

“She might have taken them.”

“Do you have her address?” said Clare.

The mephit simply shook her head.

“You don’t have her address, or the Mulgywai don’t”

Forseti asked his question a second time. “Yeah, you don’t work here, Claudia, is this a bit or something?” Not one time up to this point in the conversation did Claudia motion to check any drawer or file.

“Taking over for Chance,” said Claudia.

“So you’d know this Jouxlya’s address?”

“Nah, she got banished,” said Claudia. “Maybe Forsy knows?”

“As I said before,” said Forseti, “she won’t talk to me either.”

Clare was on the verge of flipping the table, from what I could divine in his auger’s eye. “Can you at least check? Anything? Any single piece of paper?”

Claudia, without breaking eye contact, stood up, pulled a few drawers of a cabinet open, failed to regard them completely, and then said, “No dice.”

Clare screamed and stormed off. He even took one of Claudia’s scented candles on the way out, and I swore that I could have seen him angrily lick the flame from the wick before briefly crying out in pain. Zuma groaned in absolute annoyance. “You didn’t have to be like that, Claudia, now I have to deal with him for the entire flight back.”

“Well, don’t be a bitch.” The skunk then proceeded to check her texts.

We were once again at the Foxhole, or whatever Forseti was calling his cabin these days. I had long since gotten used to the yellow-furred fox’s home bearing a thick fox musk, but with a second fox now living in the home, the infamous vulpine scent was once again noticeable every time I came back to the house. Florence was there when we returned, reading from a dusty history tome. Something from Marianne’s collection. Zuma and Forseti helped me get into the home, but Florence was quick to notice that the pine marten was missing. “How did it go? Where’s Clare?”

“Having a temper tantrum in the woods,” said Forseti.

“He went for a walk,” said Zuma, “We’ve hit a dead end. But I didn’t expect Clare to have that big of a stick up his tailhole, so he’s- He’s pissed off and it’s pissing me off.”

“Sorry about that, Zuma,” said Florence.

“It’s fine. At least we can hang out tonight,” said Forseti.

But Florence sighed in annoyance. “Marianne wants me to read this entire book, and then another book, in the next two days, so I don’t think I’m going to be any fun tonight. Sorry.” The old manuscript looked to weigh the same amount as a pawful of bowling balls.

“Eh, that’s fine, I’m not in the mood to get drunk or anything, anyway,” said Zuma, “I think I need a moment to just- Watch memes or something, for a bit.”

“That’s fair,” said Forseti.

And so, the four of us functionally split up for the next hour. Forseti went to work in his greenhouse. Florence retired to the guest room to devour the book. Zuma and I lingered in the living room.

I got to writing.

“What are you writing?” said Zuma.

“Oh, did Forseti not tell you? He’s writing a book,” said I.

“Yeah, he told me that. Are you writing one too? I know he and Hawthorn were racing to see who could write one first, for Briar’s thing.”

“You know Briar?”

“Yeah, they live near one of my Canadian friends, I think they’ve been talking to the ‘yote about publishing- well, to be frank, smut, but fiction nonetheless.”

It was honestly surprising how little smut Forseti had put into his book. “Well, I’m not writing my own thing, I just wanted to write a chapter for the fox’s book.”

“Forseti’s not writing the chapter where his husband shows up?”

“Nah, this is- Well, I s’pose this is a two-part chapter. He’s writing the first part- But I just got caught up on the part where he met the Archlitch in Chicago, so I wanted to write something before the Archlitch- I don’t know, kills off a major character or something. Forsy can flex his writer’s muscles for the heavier, emotional stuff. I wanted to write this lowkey chapter.”

“Do you know where the manuscript is?”

“Yeah, actually. I kept it- I’ve been sleeping on Forsy’s bed, but I brought it out here yesterday.” I kept it in the coffee table drawer.

“I might take a look at it. I’ll only read the first chapter, though. I told the fox I’d want to wait until the book’s completed to read it, but I’m curious how his writing style sounds.”

I pointed out the drawer. Zuma pulled out the manuscript. I was eternally grateful that his fear of spoilers deterred any urge for him to read the incriminating chapter I was working on. For a moment, the two of us kept to our task. Zuma was reading. I was writing. All was peaceful, until:

“Dammit fox, you asshole!” Zuma thrust the manuscript onto the couch and stormed out towards the greenhouse, cursing with the tongue of a sailor.

I pulled myself out of the wheelchair and landed on the couch, investigating the manuscript to see what triggered him. It didn’t take Forseti more than a single chapter to mention the Potion of Altered Blood.

I climbed back into my chair and rolled myself to a room with a view facing behind the cabin. I knew that’s where Zuma and Forseti were going to have their altercation. Part of me wanted to meet up with the two mammals and come clean myself, but another part of me wanted to suss out the situation. It didn’t help that I heard shouting.

What I saw out the window reinforced the notion that I should stay inside.

Clare had returned from his walk, and though his whiny voice was muffled, he was shouting loud enough for me to make out the words. “Don’t you fucking dare talk back-”

“I’m not talking back,” said Zuma. He was loud enough to hear as well. “I was just- Here! Caghzioq Fuilpouk. I cast Imbound!”

Black, ethereal tendrils sprang from thin air and suddenly wrapped themselves around Forseti’s legs and arms. They had the thickness of a roll of paper towel, and the strength of raw iron. They were as black as ink, but still seemed to glow with a strange, magical black light. “W-wait, stop it-” said Forseti. But his words were cut off when a tendril entered his maw in order to shut him up. Zuma had cast the Imbound spell, an old, foolproof spell to perfectly detain an animal, favored amongst the wardens and students of the Teleraine Academy.

“There, Imbound-ed my husband. You can de-summon the Adacaius now.”

That’s when it hit me. There was another shape. Casting a shadow. Just standing out of view from where I could see from the window. Its shadow was twice the size of Clare’s.

“We need the blackbird,” said Clare.

“He’s in a fucking wheelchair, what’s he going to do?” said Zuma.

“I don’t trust the Awngaimene-”

“He doesn’t know magic, Clare.”

“Oh, well then yeah, then I shall go get him. I don’t trust the fox though.” His voice deepened. “Noble Adacauis, I charge you to watch the fox.” I could hear a low, bassy growl tremble loud enough to vibrate the wooden walls.

“Hey,” said Florence, “What’s going on?” She had completely startled me. It hadn’t even crossed my mind that I went to Forseti’s room, which the vixen took over to find a quiet space to read. I silently cursed myself for slipping up this badly. But my shock was mute, and I spoke in a whisper. “Get me out of here, Clare’s going to try to capture me.”

“OK,” said Florence. She expressed no hesitation. I counted my blessings. “Wait, I won’t outpace him, he’s already at the backdoor.”

“Touchstone?” said Clare. His voice rang out with an almost sadistic, sarcastic tone Though it felt like minutes, it was a seven-second long walk from the backyard to the kitchen. The next three seconds felt like an entire hour, as I wracked my brain for a way to buy time.

“Say these words exactly:” said I, “‘He just ran out the front door. Weren’t his legs broken?’”

Florence nodded. “Got it.”

I flung myself onto the floor, landing on the side with my healthy wing-arm. I had enough space to roll over under the bed, and within seconds, I was concealed from view as the pine marten appeared in the doorway.

Something was different about him. His eyes were a dull gray, devoid of pupils or sclera. And he seemed slightly bulkier, though closer inspection revealed that it wasn’t muscles that contributed to his bulk. It was a series of thick, leathery growths that grew into him like armor. An effect of his Summoning.

“Where’s the blackbird?” said Clare.

“He just ran out the front door. Weren’t his legs broken?” Florence was a perfect actress.

“That little prick was faking his injury? No matter.” Clare then raised his paw towards Florence, defying my expectation. “Caghzioq Fuilgouk. I cast Imbound,”

“Wait,” said Florence, “That’s a spell, what-” But it was too late. The eldritch tendrils manifested magically and completely constricted the fox’s ability to move. I heard her mumbling, and knew that a tendril had wormed its way into her mouth. Florence was bound, just as Forseti was. An impulse burned within me. An urge to play the hero. But with three of my four limbs out of commission, I would contribute nothing. And so, I waited. And I cursed myself for it. It was cowardly, and self-serving, but I knew that if I could bide my time, there was another ace up my sleeve that I could pull out as soon as Clare left the room. I had my phone in my pocket.

Florence fell to the floor suddenly, unable to keep her balance in the face of these new restraints. Our eyes met immediately, and I saw a wild fear stretch the fox’s pupils wide. But she quickly looked away, trying hard not to give away my position even in the face of this new spell.

“I know you’re new to magic, Florence, so I want to be clear,” said Clare, “I’m only restraining your movement until I find the blackbird. Too many animals have been lying to me, and I have decided to stop taking any risks. Believe me, though, you won’t come to any harm.” I watched as the khaki-clad legs, bursting at the seams from the pine marten’s added girth, strode boldly from the room. The outer seam on his left leg even began to rip. Florence looked towards me once more, but took care not to make any suspicious sounds.

I pulled my phone from the pocket of my black chinos and waved it silently. The fox nodded.

Clare had met up with Zuma once more. The two started conversing again. This time, however, they were too quiet to drop any eaves unto. I was paying too close attention that I almost missed noticeable, heavy steps tread outside the doorway. Florence twisted around to get a better look, and mumbled a panicked noise into the tendril. Florence’s new positioning blocked my view to the doorway. Whatever the Adacaius was, it was only a few meters away.

Seven seconds passed. Not a soul moved. Time dilated. I held my phone in my wing-paw, too nervous to unlock it. Too nervous to shine even the dimmest light underneath the bed. Though I’d harnessed the ability to hold my breath for two straight minutes, I could do little to silence the beating of my heart. Beating that any predator could hear without a drop of difficulty.

The Adacaius stepped away. Florence nodded, indicating that we were in the clear.

Come to Forseti’s ASAP. Danger. I texted Hawthorn. I then called him, while leaving my phone entirely silent. He picked up, and I hung up immediately. I just wanted the wolf to pull out his phone, so he could check his text as soon as I sent it.

No, yeah, certainly. In my truck right now. I’ll be there in ten, are you fine? Should I bring backup?

Safe for now. Clare summoned monster. Forseti Imbound. I’ll call if anything wrong.

Yeah, for sure!

I had to buy time for ten minutes.

I flashed Florence a thumbs-up, opting to avoid whispering if it could be helped. She nodded once more. The only communication she was capable of.

I wracked my brain, desperate to drum up any details on the Adacaius that lurked around up there. The name sounded familiar enough to evoke a sense of déjà vu, but nothing more. A dull pain throbbed in my broken limbs, and I had just begun to register it. I couldn’t move my legs in order to scratch them against the carpet, and my unbroken wing-arm had begun to fall asleep. But I could endure a bit of pain in order to keep quiet. To keep safe.

I then noticed that Zuma and Clare’s muted conversation ceased. I listened closely, in order to pick up on any pawsteps. Sure enough, two bodies had re-entered the house. A normal-sized animal, and a massive one.

“I’m told that Touchstone is a master thief,” said Clare, “I need advice. I feel like it’d be stupid to traipse off into the woods after him.”

The dark, glowing tendril pulled itself from Florence’s mouth. She coughed a little before responding. “You want advice from me?”

“You know the bird more than I do.”

“I’ve only been here a few weeks, Clare. I don’t know Touchstone that well.”

Clare only hummed softly. He remained suspicious.

“You didn’t ask Forseti?” said Florence.

“Forseti didn’t offer any help. But you- You aren’t entirely untrustworthy-”

“Then why did you restrain me?”

There was a small pause. “You aren’t entirely trustworthy, either.”

“But why?” I couldn’t entirely fathom why Clare would mistrust Florence, either. It seemed completely irrational. Almost as if something was wrong with the mustelid’s thought process. Echoes of last night’s conversation resonated in my mind. A Summoner is permanently altered by the being he summons. I was in a dire state to know what exactly the Adacaius was.

“You’re close friends with potential thieves-”

“I’m literally a Fangdyne Tystwole, I promise I’m not scheming anything.”

Another pause hung in the air. “Just let me go, you’re being completely unreasonable” said Florence.

“I will, once I find the bird.”

“But- Why? What the fuck? Clare?” Clare was leaving the room. I noticed immediately, that the Summoner failed to gag Florence a second time. She continued to call after the pine marten, demanding that he undo the Imbound spell, but it was mostly an act. She wasn’t expecting him to see reason. She knew it would be suspicious if she didn’t keep trying to convince him, and she wanted Clare out of the room. Only one set of footsteps left the house, and they were anything but heavy.

Florence turned to me and mouthed something silently. Thankfully, I had experience muzzle-reading. I was very happy that Florence didn’t have a beak. “Who did you text?”

I responded by covering one of my eyes with a wing-paw.

“Hawthorn?”

I nodded.

“Anyone else?”

I checked my phone. Hawthorn didn’t text further. I shrugged.

Florence’s eyes suddenly went as wide as saucers, and she twisted to face out of the room. “What are you- Can you speak?”

A low growl resonated through every beam and floorboard. The Adacaius was once again close enough to smell me, or hear me, or track me in a thousand primal ways.

Suddenly, Florence’s eyes glazed over, forming the same, gray shade that Clare’s eyes held. Her pupils disappeared. “Touchstone is under the bed,” said Florence.

Reflexively, I tried to move my legs. I wanted to push myself out of the way, before the Adacaius even ripped me away from my hiding spot. But it was all in vain. I then realized that I couldn’t even control my thoughts anyway. Without even speaking, I knew that the being demanded sheer honesty out of me. It exuded an aura that forced me to obey every law and answer every question with absolute truth. I absorbed the information that the Adacaius was a being of absolute law, and that it could invade the mind of anyone to spread that pure lawfulness. This being was capable of turning even the most prolific thief into an animal who cowered in fear if they saw someone jaywalk.

The Adacaius ripped me out from under the bed.

It was twice the girth of the largest anthropomorphic rhino that I’d ever met, and had to cock its head to the side, lest it burst through the ceiling. Thick, gray, leathery plates covered each corner of its body like armor, and even concealed its eyes, mouth, and nose, save for two tiny gaps that allowed the eyes to see. I couldn’t fathom how it ate, let alone breathe. It had two legs, but three arms, also covered in leathery scales. Each arm ended with a paw that held two fingers and a thumb, each wider than my wrist. The closest thing I could compare it to was Juggernaut from the X-Men.

As it held me aloft, the Adacaius asked me a question. But it didn’t speak, and it didn’t communicate telepathically. I felt a sudden and random urge to share information with it.

“I know who stole the Two Pricks of All Knowledge. Take me to your Master.” I said. But then, I suddenly absorbed more knowledge. “Master” was an inaccurate way to refer to Clare.

I continued talking. I could hear the voice coming out of my beak, droning like an audience member at a hypnotist’s show. The words were not my own. “My legs are broken. You must carry me, or push my wheelchair.”

The lawful entity decided on the latter recommendation, and started pushing me towards the two Teleraine students without lifting me. The agony was excruciating.

“I would like for Clare to remove these restraints,” said Florence. She, too, spoke in a dull monotone. The Adacaius ignored her.

We were in the backyard. Zuma stood over a bound-and-gagged Forseti, at a noticeable distance from the mustelid. I could tell that the Adacaius’s influence over Clare was more than mental, for the leathery plates that grew underneath his fur were identical to the giant being. “OK, good,” said Zuma, “You found him. De-summon the Adacaius now-”

“Zuma,” said Clare, “The word is ‘Unsummon.’”

“English isn’t my first language, you know that.”

Clare ignored his mission partner. “Where were you hiding, Touchstone, you little pain in the ass?”

Words continued to flow from me against my will. “I hid under the bed.” Miraculously, I stopped talking, even though I was actively thinking about my grandpa.

Clare didn’t respond to me, though. Instead, he turned to his summoned being, “How did you know he was in the house? I didn’t think you could sense him or anything.” The Adacaius didn’t respond, though I assumed that Clare got his answer psychically. “I keep underestimating you.” I never found out what the answer was.

The pine marten walked towards his hulking, armored creature and my tiny, broken body. He began to monologue. “I’m thrilled that we can finally get to the truth! You’ve pissed me off more than- more than anyone has ever pissed me off, you know that, Touchstone? I absolutely despise lying, and I hate having my time wasted, and I hate- I hate your flagrant disregard for my authority. Everybody has been-” His head practically vibrated with anger, “-doing that. But now I’m thrilled, because the Adacaius can get the truth out of you here and now. Zuma, bring the fox over here.”

“You mean my husband?” said Zuma.

“Don’t be facetious. Just bring him over. I want to question them both.” Zuma hesitated, but then began the slow process of lifting up the fox and carrying him over. It wasn’t as though Zuma lacked the strength to lift up the smaller mammal, though. He was stalling.

Clare didn’t notice. “First question. Did you steal the Two Pricks of All Knowledge?”

“No,” said I.

“Second question. Do you know who stole the Two Pricks of All Knowledge?”

“The Teleraine Academy,” said I.

“OK, I walked into that one.” The pine marten wasn’t blind to the institution’s colonialist tendencies. “I’m not really going to have to ask all my questions like you’re a fucking genie, am I?”

“Yes,” said I.

“Shut up.”

Then, unprompted, Forseti’s eyes went gray as he said something completely out of left field, even with what looked to be massive, writhing tentacles gagging him.

“Zuma didn’t actually cast Imbound on me. This is an illusion.”

Clare stared daggers into the mountain lion, then slowly started to march over to him. “What did the fox say?”

“Clare, you’re acting entirely unreasonable,” said Zuma. But he didn’t rely on words alone. Suddenly, twelve different pumas filed throughout the backyard, running amongst each other.

“Which one of you is the real one?” said Clare.

“I am,” said each and every puma.

“Fucking-” said Clare. But he interrupted himself. He made a few strange, esoteric gestures with his paws, and an inky, black circle materialized out of thin air, fringed with a glowing, orange eight-pointed star, stretched out to appear more circular in shape, and flanked with old, mystical symbols. This was the Summoner’s Circle.

“Zuma, give up,” said Clare, “I can summon two entire beings at once, your illusions aren’t going to stop the Daggrebosko-” But the circle was interrupted, and Clare fell to the floor, screaming and clutching his head. The pine marten was apparently eating his words. The illusionist seemed to have given the summoner something horrifying to behold, but it wasn’t visible to me. Whatever the illusion was, it caused him to then stand up suddenly, run four meters to his right, then fall to the ground once more, moving his paws in a series of magical gestures. “No, no! I unsummon thee!”

The Adacaius then vanished.

“No, not you!” Apparently, the puma created the illusion of a second summoning gone wrong.

In the middle of the mustelid’s sudden panic, four different puma illusions approached him, each of them talking in unison. “Hun, I can’t cast Imbound on him, knock him out!”

“I don’t think there’s a fungus that can do that,” said Forseti, “Unless I, like, actually fatally poison him-”

“Don’t do that-” said Zuma.

“Which I don’t want to do- let me finish!”

The conversation seemed to snap Clare out of his stupor, and he went to face the fox. “Caghzioq Fuilgouk. I cast Imbound!” And with that, the fox was magically restrained for real.

“And you know what?” said Clare, “I’m just going to close my eyes, what’re you going to do?” And indeed, the summoner closed his eyes, and proceeded to materialize another summoning circle. One of the pumas just ran up to Clare and kicked him in the nuts. He made the sound similar to a tire squealing mid-drift, and doubled over.

“Clare, listen to me,” said Zuma, “You have to sever your pact with the Adacaius, you can’t handle its influence.”

In that moment, Florence nearly ran out to the backyard, though she merely lingered in the doorway, watching. Imbound can only be cast on one animal at a time, but I doubted that the vixen knew that. I couldn’t blame her hesitation, there was no world in which Marianne taught her enough to succeed in a witch’s duel.

“I won’t give up, Zuma- I, I have to bring the bird to justice. Everyone has to know the truth!”

“Clare, you know that’s absurd,” said Zuma, “That’s the Adacaius influencing you, you’re too weak.”

“No- never!” said Clare. Zuma just decked him upside the head again.

And it was just at that moment that the tell-tale sound of a truck’s engine squealed in the front yard. The familiar voice of a particular one-eyed wolf rang from the front yard. “Fox, bird, where are you?” said Culver.

Everyone turned their head to face the voice. Everyone but Clare. I noticed it a second too late. He had begun to silently materialize the Summoner’s Circle, and by the time I called out, the Adacaius was already in the process of pinning the puma to the ground.

Clare crawled away from the two married mammals, despite the fact that both were incapacitated. Hawthorn kept calling out, this time from inside the house. The Adacaius knelt a single knee into Zuma’s chest, but it then proceeded to bring one of its three arms down onto his throat. The rest of the illusory pumas vanished. The mountain lion gasped for air, and fought hard to speak despite the sudden choking. Clare looked on, suddenly mortified. “No, wait, don’t-”

The puma’s words then reached open air. “Cl-clare, I-I con-consider you a cl-close friend. You are t-too weak to c-control this.” The Adacaius pressed further. The pained speaking turned into a gurgling, wordless choke. Forseti writhed like a wild animal, screaming wordlessly into the black mass gagging him.

“I unsummon thee!” Whether or not it was a change of heart, or an overcoming of the Adacaius’s influence, Clare had decided to sever the connection.

But a new piece of information entered my brain, as I’m sure it did with everyone at the scene. The contract was now broken. Clare was no longer the being’s master. The hulking form continued to choke Zuma. For whatever reason, the cat’s deception offended the Adacaius most. The puma wouldn’t remain alive for much longer.

The deafening report of three gunshots exploded from the cabin. Hawthorn had brought out a revolver, and was attempting to kill the Adacaius. The bullets glanced harmlessly off of its leathery armor.

“I unsummon thee!” said Clare. He failed once more. The armor that had grown under his fur disappeared, which seemed to be a painful enough process unto itself. The pine marten started groaning violently, and doubled over onto his side from his sitting position.

Hawthorn whispered the required words to cast Applied Force, a spell that granted a brief boost in muscular strength. The gray fur of his arms crackled with what looked like blue electricity, and the wolf ran up to the Adacaius, trying to grapple with it. But despite the aid of magic, he couldn’t get the being to budge. The leathery figure didn’t even register that the wolf was exerting himself. He simply took his second arm around his neck and started to clench. Clare began to hyperventilate, terrified that his inability to control his magic would soon get someone killed. Forseti kept screaming, desperate to get the pine marten’s attention, so that he’d withdraw the Imbound, but he couldn’t breach the panic attack. The Adacaius even seemed to take notice, and managed to reach out towards the yellow-furred vulpine in order to strike him. What looked as though it would be a mere strike changed into a firm grasp as the fox tried to roll away. The Adacaius grabbed hold of Forseti’s pine tree tail and managed to pull it off. Forseti mumbled an agonized scream, having gotten dismembered for the fourth time this month. The hulking entity let go of the severed tail with its third arm, and the appendage started leaking a green ooze, in the stead of normal blood. For a moment in time, a dark, agonizing doom covered the entire situation.

I took a deep breath and analyzed the scene.

Foresti was bound by spectral tendrils. His tail was ripped off. Zuma was being forced into the wet grass, on the verge of choking out. Despite the fact that Hawthorn was a Mracksionge, and expert on magical beings, he didn’t seem to be exploiting any weak point, so the Adacaius was impenetrable for all extents and purposes. Clare no longer had the ability to recall the being, and was in the middle of a mental breakdown. I imagined that a summoner breaking a contract brought a certain degree of mental trauma, if it also caused such a shift in their personality. The aura of honesty still took effect. It would be impossible to lie or deceive the being. The Adacaius also seemed surprisingly vindictive, prioritizing Zuma over Forseti and I, so it would be difficult to bait it into attacking someone else. Florence stood right behind me, placing her two paws on the handle of my wheelchair. Except they weren’t two paws, because Florence had apparently fallen under the influence of the Oigd’yiadttigdeit. One of her arms was now a draconic claw.

“Florence,” said I, “You have to run up and touch that thing with your dragon arm.”

“Are you sure?” said Florence. I could feel her starting to grip the chair tighter.

“No,” said I. I had no clue how that shapeshifter’s magic functioned. I only recalled that Florence had normally worn a glove. This was entirely a hunch.

“OK. Then I can do that,” said Florence. She took a deep breath, steeled her nerves, and sprinted towards the Adacaius. She scratched at its leathery breast with her own scaled arm. Almost immediately, the armor began to bubble and boil. A low growl emanated from the Adacaius. The skin transformed into the soft, dark green skin of an amphibian. With its third arm, the Adacaius clotheslined Florence as the momentum carried her forward, and she was knocked to the floor. Howevcr, Hawthorn was able to clock the situation. He withdrew his pistol. Thankfully, Zuma and Florence were both prone, leaving a clean shot. Two loud reports rang out through the forest. One of the bullets had found its mark. The Adacaius staggered back, letting go of both the puma and the wolf. Putrid, rot-smelling blood poured from the wound, but the Adacaius stayed standing.

But it had no projectiles. No means to stop a gunslinger, standing at a safe range. Hawthorn and Zuma took deep breaths, then climbed to their hindpaws. Hawthorn steadied his six-shooter. One bullet left in the chamber. The one-eyed wolf shot once more, and hit his target. The Adacaius staggered once more, then fell over. Dead.

As it turned out, Clare’s rigid, aggravating attitude was mostly influenced by his pact with the Adacaius, as well as the paranoid Daggrebosko. The latter being never manifested, at least in reality, so I hadn’t a clue as to what it looked like. As we returned to Forseti’s living room, licking our wounds and collecting our wits, the pine marten admitted to his own naivety. The Adacaius was physically powerful, sure, and Clare wanted to utilize that raw power to his own advantage, considering that none of the beings he could summon were particularly tanky. But it was too strong of will. His nerves writhed and burned in the face of lawlessness. Such a being caused intense migraines and lapses in coherent thought. The Circle of Adacai, plural, codified a thousand-page text. The Law of the Adacai. And almost miraculously, Clare hadn’t slipped up on breaking any of the laws for an entire month. This was the only requirement of Clare’s pact with the particular Adacaius that now lay dead. The Circle only wanted a vessel in which to bring forth more lawfulness into the world. And when Clare broke through the Adacaius’s mental influence, in an attempt to save Zuma the Puma’s life, the contract was broken. It’s easy to be annoyed at someone like Clare, but it’s also important to know that three separate beings had influenced his personality in a dramatic way. The pine marten wasn’t himself, and he would never belong entirely to himself ever again. Such is the trade-off for a Summoner’s power.

Forseti and I had come clean. Despite the fact that the Adacaius’s presence no longer affected the mustelid, Clare and Zuma were very pissed that we lied. I wanted to take the blame entirely, and tried to convince both of the mammals that the entire plan was mine alone, and that I had to practically beg Forseti to not rat me out. The image of an injured fox literally holding a dismembered tail in his paws certainly gave him a few sympathy points. Despite all of that, I couldn’t tell the truth about my grandpa. I lied, and told Clare and Zuma that a close friend and fellow thief in Morgantown, named Sandra “Eyespy” of House Amaranthe, was to blame. A thief who doesn’t exist.

But it’s hard to hold a grudge after cooperating with someone to stave off death. We had all worked together, and came out alive. Clare didn’t force Forseti or I to come back to the Academy, especially after we told him that Florence’s situation was the utmost priority. The arc had concluded. And despite a severed pact, a few injuries, Forseti losing a body part again, and a liar’s reveal plot beat, everything had worked out perfectly. There’s little more for me to write about. My chapter, essentially, could come to a close in a satisfying manner.

But there was one more conversation I wanted to have.

I called my family once more. I fingered through my contacts list until I found my mother’s name. The tone rang three times, and Osman, the Thief of Night Breezes, answered in the stead of his daughter.

“What do you want, little chick?” he said.

I didn’t startle. “So what’s with the potion, grandpa? Why did you need to change your DNA? You’re better than that.” I said.

“I didn’t need to change anything. I wanted to frame your friend, force you to cut ties with the Marquette Awngaimene. So you would live with your family again, as you should. I take it from the fact that you’re calling now, you’re banished?”

I fought the urge to lash out. “No, we figured it out.”

“Shame. I’m not surprised though, little chick. You’re quite talented.”

I could never refer to myself as intelligent as long as I prioritized this man over my friends.

“Where did you even come up with this plan?” I said.

“You talk about your friends too much when you get high. I took notes last family reunion.”

“I’ll be sure to remember that.”

“You owe us, Touchstone St. Nicholas.” He emphasized my last name. “Don’t get comfortable.”

“Sorry, grandpa. Bit too late on that front.”

I hung up.