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Chapter 9 - Two Dragons

Literally the next day, I gave birth. The deities of dramatic tension threw a plot subversion my way, and decided to let me give birth at a time that wasn’t altogether inconvenient, considering how confident I was that the birth would take place in Chicago. I sat down on Palais’s bed, set out a towel, and laid five bowling ball-sized eggs. I know that a few of the animals reading this right now just crossed their legs unconsciously, but rest assured, this was far from the only time that I’d ever had to, shall I say, stretch my limits. It took less than a half-hour, and went fairly painlessly. Palais then proceeded to coil his warm reptilian body daintily around the clutch, comfortably resting on his bed as he kept the eggs warm. I was very thankful that he held my paw during the birthing process, which I will not go into too much detail about.

Evidently, the Sphynx had a lot of things going on this week, and wanted to transform my genitals before she forgot about them. We traipsed on down to her dark, cool lab, and I watched as the feline produced my, shall I say, original genitalia from a deep freezer, and proceeded to sew them back onto my body before performing a complicated surgical incantation that changed my vagina back into a functional fox sheath and balls; a new, fresh take on the Frankenstein story. And no, this is not the usual way that animals go about performing this sort of magic. It happens to be specifically convenient for me, because my Fungal Curse makes it easy for me to cut off and reattach body parts. Apparently, it’s cheaper.

Meanwhile, Florence was fast asleep at my own home, and Touchstone was at the home of some Awngaimene Apothecary in Houma, with whom I’ve never met. But there was one other loose end I wanted to tie up; not that I had to tie it up in Louisiana, but I figured that I had time before Touchstone arrived.

I sat on a wicker chair out on Marianne's front porch as I unlocked my phone and dialed Beck. I had left them a text after our encounter with the Archlitch, but it was supremely ominous: We’re alive, we had to leave immediately, don’t go back to your apartment, I’ll call tomorrow, I am so sorry. The hedgehog picked up after five rings, and though they weren’t outright in an angry tone, there was a distinct lack of warmth. “Hey Aaron, thanks for calling.”

“Thanks for picking up, I am so, so sorry. I’ll just- I’ll get into what happened, and then answer any questions. Where are you right now?”

“Yeah, I’m at Jade’s right now.” I assumed that Jade was one of the hedgehog’s friends, but it wasn’t someone I knew.

“That’s good, yeah, so, um-” I took a deep breath, sweat pouring from my face like a faucet from the Gulf Coast humidity. “OK, so, as it turns out, um- OK, so I’m gonna start from-”

“Do you want to rehearse this first, or…”

“Sorry, it’s kind of messed-up; watch out. So, I forgot what I told you about Florence, so sorry if I repeat stuff-”

“I am begging you to get to the point, bestie.”

“Gah, sorry! So, Florence’s mom is evil, and also, like, centuries old. She made a bargain with a lich; like Adventure Time, and this spell happens that lets Florence’s mom take over her child’s body, and then the lich takes over the old body, and basically, they’re immortal, and it sucks. Florence wasn’t supposed to be in Chicago, but Marianne didn’t tell her why- she didn’t even tell me. So Florence came, and we all got very close to dying horribly.”

Beck took that moment to cut me off, “Did you stop the lich?”

“So, um, no. It’s alive, and also in Chicago. We had to run away. I don’t think it knows where we are, but it’s probably gonna try some shit, and I don’t want you to get involved. I don’t think the lich knows who you live, but just in case, you shouldn’t go home.”

There was a little moment of quiet, “Should I, like, leave the city?”

“I mean, if you can go to your parent’s or something- Yeah, I think it’d be safe if you went to Michigan for a bit.”

“Aaron, I have a job right now.”

I exhaled, trying to settle my stomach from the awkwardness, “I know, this really really sucks of me, I’m sorry.”

The hedgehog went quiet once more, and then returned with the same cold amiability from before, “Sure, yeah, thanks for letting me know. I’ll, um, I can come up with something, but yeah, I’ll leave Chicago for a bit. How long should I go?”

Guilt shook up my voice a little. “I don’t really know yet.”

“For sure, um… I can do that. Just let me know when it’s safe.”

“I’m so sorry, Beck.”

“I mean- It’s- I’m glad you’re all safe, and I’m glad I was able to help out a bit. I’m not mad at you, bestie.”

“I appreciate you.”

The phone call went on for a bit longer. It’s easy to forget, the sheer impracticality of living within the secret underbelly of the real world. The real world still affects your life, and the secret side can easily affect the real world in turn. Merely getting a job was a dangerous gamble when you have to skip town at a moment’s notice, should horrifying monsters come. And Beck wasn’t even involved in the society; I was fully aware that I was the one who selfishly asked the hedgehog to get into contact with the Mulgywai, so we could still hang out. It was me who decided to up and disappear for a month instead of living my normal life with my normal friends. And now, Beck had to give up a pretty sweet job in order to stay away from the Archlitch’s wrath, and a large chunk of that misfortune was my fault.

Evening had rolled around by the time that Marianne’s friend pulled up in an old, rusty pickup-truck. More mud than paint was visible on the vehicle’s surface. A woman alligator pulled up to the porch, dressed in jeans and a faded orange T-shirt, advertising some local beer brewery. I assumed she was the Apothecary who helped with Florence’s cast. There was a wheelchair in the bed, tied down with bungee cords. Without a sound, the Sphynx appeared at my left side, standing in the doorway. I smelled her cigarette before I picked up on her feline scent. The furless cat was dressed in a white button-up, black long pants, and suspenders.

“Alicent,” announced the Sphynx, as the gator climbed out onto the driveway.

“Cat.” responded the reptile, the one syllable enough to showcase her thick southern drawl. I spotted Touchstone in the front seat, who remained in the front seat as the alligator named Alicent went to fetch the wheelchair.

“How’s the bird?”

“He’s still fucked up, reckon he ain’t gonna be able to walk for a few weeks, and that’s with my magic. I’ll want to see him next week. You got my money?”

Marianne produced an envelope, stepping from the porch, “Two-thousand dollars.”

“Obliged.” For some reason that I couldn’t parse, both women spoke with noticeable resentment. I could sense that an entire other book’s-worth of plot had transpired between the two of them. But despite the tension, Marianne and Alicent were able to get Touchstone out of the front seat and into the wheelchair. His left wing-arm was in a cast, as were both of his legs. Bandages were placed around his torso, to relieve the stress from his broken ribs. In stark juxtaposition to his woeful plight, the avian thief sang out in his usual cool, dulcet voice, “I almost lost eligibility for one of those ‘I survived Chicago’ shirts.”

The gator ended up cracking a smile, and chortling a little, “It ain’t too often you find a smart-ass that actually has a pain tolerance.” I imagined that the medical magic performed was anything but painless. Marianne passed off the money, and neither the cat nor the alligator felt compelled to engage in any more conversation as the gator healer climbed back into her truck.

Despite the fact that Alicent was already driving off, I spoke just above a whisper, and asked the cat, “An alligator named ‘Alicent?’”

Marianne smiled a little, “Her parents are assholes.”

The cat and I helped push Touchstone up to the house’s front stairs, and proceeded to lift his wheelchair onto the raised porch. In order to get him back to Marquette, we needed to use the Temporal Doorway within Marianne’s home, attached to some unused closet. At first, the cat was in no mood to keep us around for too long, until the bird chirped, “So, I’ve been keeping it lowkey until now, but I imagine one of you probably has a use for this.” He proceeded to pull out a black, wood-bound notebook. I had no doubt that it was Mary’s diary.

Marianne’s eyes went wide, as did mine, “Oh yo,” I began, “You waited a bit on that one.”

“Yeah, I kind of got distracted when Florence’s mom broke half the bones in my body.”

But the Sphynx was quick to respond, taking the notebook first, “You’re a credit to your trade, bird. Thank you.”

“Shouldn’t we give it to Florence?” asked Touchstone, but Marianne immediately started flipping through the pages. “Y’know, give her more information about her mother?”

“This isn’t a diary, bird. This is just a spellbook. And considering it’s a spellbook containing the spell to summon and bargain with the Archlitch, no, I’m not going to let anyone read it.”

That sat wrong with me, “Personally, I don’t think any of us, uh, really want to bargain with the Archlitch, I wouldn’t worry about that.” I half-joked, half-contested. I didn’t get a glimpse into the book myself, but there was no chance that it completely lacked anything Florence would find closure with.

But Marianne closed the book and stuck it under her right arm. “Starting now, you mean?”

I started to pout. “Well, I’m not gonna do it again.”

“I know.” The cat spoke in a way that indicated that the topic was now finished, and I didn’t feel confident that I could persuade her otherwise.

And so, the three of us stood, or sat, in Touchstone’s case, in the front foyer of Marianne’s home, none of us really striking up a conversation for a moment. I was the first to break the ice. “So, yeah, I guess we’ll head back up North. What’s the next move?”

“I need to look into a few things, but I’ll find you once I have a plan.” The Frote Foulgydan shook Mary’s journal to indicate that the answers lay within. “Like it or not, it’s up to us to stop the Archlitch. I don’t trust the Awngaimene with it.”

“I guess.” I wasn’t expecting to make any particularly dramatic moves a day after we fumbled the bag. We didn’t stay in the Bayou for much longer. I went up to see Palais, and bid him a quick farewell. Touchstone stayed downstairs. I was eager to leave the hot, humid south, and once again feel the cool breeze of the North blow across my sweat-soaked fur. I was also very eager to have a drink again. But as we crossed the threshold, back into my own home, I asked the blackbird, “So, um, you wanna stay here for a bit?”

I half expected the bird to succumb to his ego, and insist on staying in his apartment on the fifth floor somehow, but he simply snorted coolly, and responded, “Yeah, that’s for the best. I appreciate it, Forsy. Though if you’d stop by and water the plants, I’d also appreciate that.” We were back in my living room. Florence was snoring loudly on the couch, and the both of us moved to the kitchen in order not to rouse the vixen, speaking in low, whispered tones.

“Yeah, man, no prob. I thought it’d be good to crash somewhere with people, and, y’know, where the magical-teleporting-door-to-your-doctor is.”

“Oh yeah, I keep forgetting you don’t live in town.”

“I just gotta, like, set up the air mattress, Florence took over my couch- Actually, you know what? Take my bed, you probably shouldn’t sleep on an air mattress.”

But Touchstone was dubious. “I’m not going to grow strange fungus if I do that, right?”

I stuck my tongue out in mock-awkwardness, “I’ll, uh, wash my sheets with, um, bleach.”

“I appreciate it. Also, I think we need to pick up special pillows or something. I’m not entirely certain how this works, I don’t think I’ve broken a bone before, let alone half of them.”

“Yeah, I can Google it and pick up something on the way back from-” My words stuck in my throat. “Oh fuck, I forgot I had to do that thing.”

“What thing?”

Mulgywai Fons had texted me that Foulgydan Annandax of House Ozgillian, the Crucible’s Flame, had wanted to register Florence into the Awngaimene society of Marquette now that we were back from Chicago. I know I wrote it in that chapter that I set on fire, but High Sage Marsden and his boyfriend, Mark, immediately went to consult with the Awngaimene of Marquette; the exact opposite plan I had in mind with Florence, and ended up telling the Mulgywai everything before Marianne or I had a chance to explain the Archlitch situation. After all, the Archlitch wasn’t even an Awngaimene boogey-man; most animal witches hadn’t even heard of it before, and those who had heard of it placed it very firmly into the metaphorical box labeled: “Not-actually-a-problem, probably-isn’t-real.” But Marsden chatted with Foulgydan Annadax, and the Foulgydan decided that he personally wanted to have an interview with me, Marsden, Mark, and Florence this very evening. Notably, he had no interest in speaking with Marianne.

And said meeting was in a couple of hours, sometime around 7:00 PM, which was fine, because Meijer would still be open, and I could probably find Touchstone’s special pillows there. To the uninitiated, Meijer is a Midwestern take on Walmart that’s slightly better.

“You’ve been staring off into space for a solid fifteen seconds. Were you looking into the Record or something?”

“No, I just, um- Annandax wants to speak with Florence and I, and I was visualizing how I wanted to write that paragraph for my book. I just destroyed the chapter where I wrote that down.”

“For your book?”

“Oh yeah, I’m gonna turn this adventure into an autobiography, for Briar- y’know, Hawthorn’s publisher friend.”

“Mind if I see it? I need to make sure you’re characterizing me correctly.”

“Yeah, I think my manuscript’s in my room. Fucking, be careful, though, it is the only copy.”

“Never had any animal more delicate talons than I.”

And so, I woke Florence up, thrust a cup of coffee unto her, and helped Touchstone to the couch, leaving him with the book that you’re currently reading. All the while, I filled Florence in on our minor misadventures down in Houma. She was curious about the quick birthing process, and curious about how Touchstone’s health was faring, but it didn’t escape my notice that she didn’t ask a single question about what had gone down in Chicago. It was very clear that the arctic fox was not in the headspace to unpack that situation yet.

I changed out of my loose-fitting maternity clothes, and Florence switched from a mismatched pajama-shirt combination into an astonishingly long black skirt, a concert shirt from an old Jezebel Loves Gene tour, and combat boots that I failed to spot from her luggage. The large white plaster cast on the fox’s right arm failed to truly match the aesthetic, however. After a half-hour, we started our drive towards Great Lakes Gas.

The Lady Juxtaposed was notably absent, as were Chance and Fons. Instead, it was Hauksborque Stoney that manned the register, looking completely out of place. The rat was barely taller than my stomach, but had an almost religious devotion to bodybuilding, and could probably lift me up over her head without any difficulty. She didn’t even use magic to augment her workout, she just spent every week in the gym. And additionally, being a Hauksborque, she practiced the sort of spells that a magical night-watch would benefit from knowing; paralyzing and stunning mortal beings, putting mortals to sleep in an instant, shooting a ray that only caused pain without damaging tissue. She was wearing a neon pink tank top, despite the bitter Upper Peninsula cold and gas station air conditioning, and looked up from her phone as the bell to the front door rang. “Ahh, Forsy,” the rodent spoke, with the deep alto of a professional woman wrestler, “Dahbin io?”

“Awngaimene.”

Stoney smiled. “Annandax and Entwinner are downstairs already with those city bitches, just head on down.” But then, she noticed Florence, “Ahh, you must be the Tystwole, didn’t get a chance to meet ya when that fucking cult was in town, the name’s Stoney.” We had made our way over to the counter at that point. Florence and Stoney shook hands with vigor and gusto, not unlike that scene from Predator.

“Pleasure to meet you, my name’s Florence.”

“Oh shit, like the sprinter, I can remember that.” I didn’t know my famous athletes, so I just stuck my thumb out. I cannot express how baffling it is that Stoney has, like, one hobby, and zero other interests as far as I know. “Yeah, just head on down. I think they’re waiting on ya. I’ll be down there once I close up.”

Stoney opened the locked door behind the counter, and ushered us inside. “Tell Entwinner to tag me out for register duty, if you don’t mind.”

“You got it,” I chimed before heading down. There was a pitiful breakroom to the right, and a closet-sized bathroom to the left, but directly in front of us lay the white-walled staircase, completely devoid of any detail. I led the way as Florence and I descended the stairs into the basement, making our way to a small office that continued the bland complete-lack-of-decoration motif, outside of a few pieces of furniture, filing cabinets, and a single, broad-leafed plastic plant.

Foulgydan Annandax of House Ozgillian, the Crucible’s Flame, was as old as Marianne, and often chose to dress in fashions often attributed with Arthurian nobility, despite having been born in 18th-Century England. his actions will define the fox forever. However, he was born to one of the Awngaimene society’s wealthier families, and was graced with all of House Ozgillian’s magical resources and funds, leading to a fairly convenient life. When he moved to America a century ago, his knowledge of magic helped secure a top place within Marquette’s Mulgywai circles, though his well-spoken manner and equally polite tone of voice weren’t entirely useless in that regard.

The fact that Annandax wore literal purple velvet robes in a gas station basement wasn’t the first thing to catch Florence’s eyes, nor was his massive stature, easily taller than seven hindpaws. Before any introductions were made, the first thing that Florence blurted out was:

“Holy- wait, I’m so sorry, are you a dragon?”

The Crucible’s Flame was, indeed, a dark-orange scaled, curved-horn dragon, sporting a wicked set of quasi-leathery wings. True, the Foulgydan walked on two legs, but over time, dragons developed a particular proclivity towards transformation, masking their true size with a powerful half-glamour/half-space-warping magic that could trick the unsuspecting eye into thinking that the dragon was an ordinary, non-magical reptile. It was the sort of magic that also helped dragons fit into small gas station basements. A few millennia ago, dragons were content with brandishing their full size and quadrupedal nature free from shame, but superstitious witches and prideful dragon slayers proved too dangerous a threat, even despite the eponymous dragon’s legendary power. And so, for thousands of years, the dragons of the world have kept hidden. I had a hard time imagining that there were more than a few dozen dragons left.

Mulgywai Entwinner was also there. He was a robin in his low thirties, and I don’t think we’ve ever really hung out that much.

Sitting in a red computer chair, behind an old, wooden desk noticeably lacking a computer, Foulgydan Annandax bellowed out, “I must admit, Forseti. I’m a bit confused about why you didn’t warn the Tystwole that I was a dragon.”

“I don’t know, man-” I countered nonchalantly, “I’ve been busy-”

And suddenly, a familiar voice called out to my left, behind the door that I had rendered ajar. “Wait a minute,” spoke High Sage Marsden, leaning forward from his waiting room chair, “Weren’t you pregnant? And also a woman?” The vibrant, multicolor array of the peacocks plumes clashed horribly with the dark blue, green, and burgundy striped pattern of the chair. Mark, the wolf, continued to sit upright with a visible look of bewilderment. Both of them were holding onto clipboards.

“Well, Marsden, it was- y’know, magic, man. This is how I am usually.”

“It’s just- You’d think that would have been brought up once on the way up here.”

“I’ve been busy!” I yelped, admittedly in a testy way. But Foulgydan Annandax took the conversational reigns once more, and asked, “Forseti, the Tystwole Fox- And yes, dragons are real- Would you mind taking a seat, and Mulgywai Entwinner, would you mind?” He bowed his head to a third clipboard, sticking out on top of the only non-cluttered portion of the desk, and the lizard sprung to action, passing it off to Florence. I then remembered; “Oh hey, Entwinner, I think Stoney wanted to switch out.”

In an airy baritone, the bird replied, “Sure thing,” and then started upstairs.

Annandax continued, “I’ll go over these materials in a moment. I was in the middle of asking Marsden here details concerning this-” he waved his claw in a dismissive manner, “-this Archlitch. I confess, I’ve never truly taken the time to investigate this particular legend. Though it’s still quite amusing that Forseti here thought it was a- what was it again?”

“You are all never going to let up on the G’hialgiange thing, aren’t you?”

The Crucible’s Flame chortled mockingly, “I find it particularly funny. I was actually in the same room as the G’hialgiange’s argent tether a fortnight ago. But please, Marsden, tell your tale.”

Marsden leaned forward and brought his talons together to form a triangle shape, indicating his introspection. It was dawning on me how little I knew about the peacock. Considering how little he asked about my affairs on our road trip, I never really asked the peacock and wolf on theirs. This was the first time I heard this story. Annandax was taking notes at the speed of a stenographer.

“Well, in all honesty, I met her mother-” He pointed a semi-curved talon digit towards Florence. “-For the first time last week. She was in the audience of one of my shows. She came to me, at the stage door- I remember she wore a hood and headscarf, no jacket. She put in effort to conceal her face, but she said that- you know, the ‘Dahbin io,’ and I thought to myself, ‘Oh, great, one of the Awngaimene, here to chew my ass out.’ I don’t make it a habit to hang around you lot often. But she said- And I remember, she said something about wanting to work together, teach our skills to each other. She told me that she didn’t really fraternize with the Awngaimene either, and she had real power, too. Telekinesis. So I was won over.”

My curiosity prompted me to interrupt, “So that was real telekinesis in your show?”

Marsden’s eyes went wide, “Oh, God no, are you kidding me? You think I could learn something like that in a week? No, that was a trick.” The colorful bird then proceeded to snap his fingers violently, as though he was trying to remember a thought that he’d lost. “Dammit, I remember there was someone else in the audience, who the fox came in with. A mammal, I think? I remember fur- shit. It probably doesn’t matter, he left after the show-” And it was at that moment that Stoney emerged from the stairwell, sticking her head through the door as if she were the comic relief in a seventies sitcom. “Y’all started without me?”

“Hauksborque Stoney,” spoke the dragon, “You know there isn’t much that needs doing by you, ‘lest I’m in need of someone to break up an unwanted fight.”

“You never let me take notes.”

Not to be taken out of her good mood, the rat took her place next to the silent Mark, slapping him on the shoulders and declaring, “Ahh, this guy works out, I can tell.”

Mark smiled a little, “Well, I never learned any magic. I gotta win my fights somehow.”

The Hauksborque slapped his shoulders again. “Love that answer! Peacock- sir, you were telling a story?”

The half-faux psychic held an expression of mild annoyance, but carried on. “As I said, I exchanged emails with Agnes- the arctic fox told me her name was Agnes, even though her name on the email was Rowen or something. I dunno. And the next night, I met at her house. And I suppose it needs bringing up, but as I explained to the yellow fox, I did not make any bargain with that vixen. I simply gave her my notes on the Record, she gave me her diary, made a weak pot of coffee, invited me to another study session next week, and that was all. The house smelled, like the garbage hadn’t been taken out in a while, but otherwise, it seemed normal. She also wanted a show poster, so I brought that as well, and that was the last time I saw her until- Well, until you all showed up and fucked up everything.”

Marsden sighed, exhausted. As much as he aggravated Marianne and I with constant complaining; refer to the chapter I omitted from this book, I knew that the psychic was pretty much only bait for Florence. Not even the peacock himself drew the vixen towards Chicago, only the fact that he had Mary’s diary. But it never really hit me that he completely didn’t deserve to be thrust in the middle of this situation. He was probably just the first Awngaimene that the Archlitch could find. He was a mere fly caught in this tangled web, trapped in a position not undeserving of pity. Marsden continued, “I learned whatever the hell the Archlitch was after everyone else in this room did- Well, honestly, I still don’t know what it is or what it does, outside of the telekinesis. I’m no help here, Annadax, sir.”

The dragon turned his gaze towards Florence. “Which brings me to you. Would you mind telling me what you know about the Archlitch?”

Florence spoke up for the first time since she entered the room, outside of asking about Annandax’s draconic nature. “Well, um- My name’s Florence. I guess- Well, my mother was possessed by the Archlitch last week. I, um- From what I’ve been told, she made a bargain with- Well, whatever the Archlitch is. I was a part of the bargain, and Forseti also made herself- er, himself a part as well. So, I guess it’s sort of like a demon- I don’t know if demons are real.”

Annandax shrugged. “I’m afraid that term’s a tad bit broad.”

“Either way, I’ve never seen it’s, um- real form. I just know it can move things with its mind. It broke my arm, and Touchstone- the blackbird, um- a fair amount of bones with him.” The arctic vixen took a deep breath, then said, “I believe it killed my mother, somehow. I don’t know if it happened when it first started to possess her, or if it happened later, but I know she’s dead.” An awkward silence hung in the air for a few moments before Florence continued, swallowing hard first, “Either way, I never saw the Archlitch when I was younger. And my mother never cared to discuss magic with me in general, so I can’t imagine I’m much of a help either. Your best bet is to find the diary.”

I didn’t bring up the diary. There was no way I was going to be the reason Annandax might start sniffing around in Marianne’s affairs.

The dragon nonchalantly looked down at his phone, and then looked up, before announcing. “Well, the Lady Juxtaposed is in the next room over, and has informed me that both of you are telling the truth, and for that, I am appreciative.”

And now I really wasn’t going to bring up any information whatsoever. Fully aware that The Lady Juxtaposed had the ability to probe thoughts, I cleared my mind immediately, with the dedicated reflex that spawns from being near psychics often.

Annandax continued, “Marsden, Mark, considering you’ve already been registered with the Awngaimene in Chicago, you are free to go. Though I must warn against returning home just yet; there is little doubt in my mind that the Archlitch wants you dead.”

The two lovers rose from their seats, with full peacock feathers and a bushy lupine tail completely smothering Stoney in the process. She took to standing on her chair precariously. Marsden was in little mood to stick around, and simply told the dragon; “You have my number if you need me. We’ll be at the Landmark Inn.” And with that, Marsden and Mark left, though the wolf at least snapped finger guns at the Hauksborque on the way out.

“Which brings us to the pamphlets,” continued the Foulgydan, “In a moment, we are going to perform the Vow of Secrecy, so the topmost form is a confirmation that you have completed that ritual. The next is a general contact sheet. We ask for names, addresses, and any institution that currently has you on record; occupations, schools, social clubs, basically any institution with your social security number that might ask after you. The third form is optional; for if you’d like to begin the process of faking your death. The fourth is for animals born outside of the United States, so it’s not for you. The fifth is a sign-up sheet for an Introduction Course, performed by the Mulgywai here. I assume you’d prefer to stay in Marquette for that?”

Florence shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Actually- I don’t know if that applies here, but I’ve decided to become Marianne’s apprentice- er, Marriane the Sphynx.”

Annandax’s reptilian eyes narrowed, as a noticeable look of disappointment fell across his orange face, but his words didn’t betray that first impulse. “If that’s what you’d like to do, then the introduction course is entirely optional. Though I must ask; are you sure about training under the Frote Foulgydan?” Florence nodded quickly, not unlike a feral hummingbird’s wings. The anthropomorphic dragon stood up and fetched a needlessly thick stack of papers from a filing cabinet. “Either way, I doubt that the Sphynx has access to our resources, so here is- well, essentially, a printed out textbook filled with Awngaimene terms, histories, social studies.” I saw Briar Pulpwood’s name under the title on the topmost sheet of paper. “I know you youths would prefer we create an-” he used literal air quotes, “‘-app,’ instead of us mutilating an entire tree to print this, so I’m afraid I must ask for forgiveness instead of permission.” The Foulgydan failed to bring forth a folder or backpack to stick such a stack of papers into.

But Foulgydan Annandax had no time to waste, and immediately retrieved old, white candles from the desk before so much as handing the arctic fox a pen to sign her forms. “The Vow of Secrecy is an old, dead practice. The language is lost to time; do not mistake it for the pseudo-language developed by Ajai Foulgydan Chaaya of the Waxing Crescent. However, you must focus on the intention of the words, without knowing their meaning.” The dragon casually spit small embers to light the candles with scary precision. “The world is full of monsters, and full of violent forces that seek to cause naught but utter destruction. One would hazard to call them evil. The world is also full of blind fools, those with loose lips that could unravel matters that have persevered for millenia. Above all, an Awngaimene is to uphold secrecy. An Awngaimene owes their life to secrecy. An Awngaimene is the harbinger of cursed and old knowledge, and must die with those secrets held fast in their heart. An Awngaimene is the first and last vanguard against violent forces, and against the ignorance of all animals as a whole. Lagam’iour lag’schantgliamactie!”

And as soon as the words of the old, dead language passed those draconic lips, the power went out. Eerie candlelight was the only source of illumination in the room. But this was no accident. The Ritual of the Vow of Secrecy is a very old and very quirky ritual, and one of the quirks was to cause the complete and utter failure of electrical devices. I had no doubt that it would drain my phone battery.

Florence scrambled throughout her pamphlet on the clipboard to find the sheet of paper that, as Foulgydan Annandax explained, was actually the topmost sheet of paper. Towards the middle was a script. The vixen took a deep breath, closed her eyes in deep meditation, and proceeded to answer the challenge called forth in the ancient tongue. There wasn’t a hint of awkwardness to be found in that fox’s muzzle, she spoke with the gravitas of King Lear himself, even if she stumbled with a few of the words.

“Gliamactie, Chtar’glia lamgour!”

“Ougmour lagam’plouctiegmian?”

“Plouctiefmian, Chtar’glia lamgour!”

The candles went out. A brisk breeze filled the otherwise draft-less room. Annandax continued, in a low, borderline-menacing voice.

“Scour’tgliamgour for randlgminagniam. Nabiou lamtachnia anam.”

Despite the fact that all three of us had no context whatsoever for the words, the Foulgydan had them memorized. Ten seconds of sheer silence passed, and then, the lights quietly returned. The dramatic moment passed, and the dragon retrieved a cheap plastic pen from the desk. “You just have to sign and date where I’ve circled on the form, that’s all complete now. The actual details of the Vow can be found in the introductory materials, though considering you’ve had a brush with the Psychic Wardens, I’m certain you get the general…”

My sheets were in the wash. I had treated my bed with all manner of highly-toxic household cleaners to fight the mold. Regardless, Touchstone had decided to remain in the bleach-smelling room, with nought but an open window, continuing to read the book. My skin started to itch a little, even though I was in an entirely separate room.

I had cooked a quick-and-lazy stir fry for the three of us. The remnants of those dishes graced my counter and coffee table. For a moment, the three of us were shooting the breeze about movies, and TV shows, and songs, but Touchstone left the room, and Florence once again looked as though she had been recently shipped in from the trenches of a major World War. She sat very still, her legs cross-legged on my beat-up couch, with her gaze entirely unfocused. I was very much so not a therapist, but I couldn’t just sit there in awkward silence.

“So, um, I’m not gonna be awkward and be like, ‘So, tell me what’s going on.’ I can not imagine that you’re at a place where you can unpack all of this. But if you organize your thoughts and want to talk, just let me know.”

A faint smile crossed Florence’s muzzle as she looked over towards me. “Thank you kindly, Forseti. I’m OK for now.”

“Are you OK-”

“Or, you know, I’m not doing ‘OK,’ but I’m OK with waiting to talk about this.”

I nodded deeply. “For sure. Um, I have weed or, like, if you want a drink-” As I said, I am very much so not a therapist.

It wasn’t the most sensible recommendation, but thankfully, Florence shook her head. “I’m fine, I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.”

“You’re probably right about that, sorry-”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” Her tone didn’t indicate outright annoyance, but it was clear from the splaying of her ears that my constant badgering wasn’t helpful in any way.

I snuck a look at my phone, it was really only nine in the afternoon. There weren’t really any Apothecary orders lined up, and no part of me was in the headspace to do podcast work. I simply got up and started collecting pieces of trash to clear up coffee-table-and-couch space. “I might do dishes in a sec’. Sorry I don’t really have any activities right now.”

“Actually- I know you’re also going to be sleeping out here, but I might want to sleep in a moment.” I was surprised that she even could get to sleep.

“Sure- I mean, I have to blow up the air mattress first, so it might be loud for a moment, but yeah, we can sleep.”

But then, the Fangdyne Tystwole caught me off guard, and decided to blurt out, “It’s just- It’s- Why? Why go to the trouble of keeping me from magic if I was already a part of some cursed bargain?” It took me a moment to realize that the vixen was talking about her own mother. “I don’t get it. I don’t get any of this. I just- I really don’t like being left in the dark, and I don’t want to resent my mother, especially- especially now, that she’s gone, but I can’t figure this out. She could- I could have gotten killed.”

And I found myself at a crossroads. The evil knowledge lit up in my brain like a baleful bonfire. The hypothetical played out, leaving a wretched taste in my mouth. If you were planning on raising a child with the purpose of killing them, taking over their body, and perpetuating the violent cycle for centuries, all in the name of immortality, what was the point in telling your child about magic? What was the point in even treating them like your child? Why take the closest relationship an animal can have, and even go to the effort of tricking your child about its authenticity if you also have the mental wherewithal to go through with their murder?

I knew about the nature of the bargain, and the nature of Florence’s mother. I even knew about the location of the diary. I even knew that Marianne, too, would easily have killed Florence for the sake of convenience. The arctic fox began to cry, burying her muzzle in the raggedy, burgundy cloth of the couch, letting go of all abandon, and openly weeping with the strained, explosive utterances of a vulpine in grief.

And I told her nothing.

I knew, at the bottom of my heart, that I was planting the seeds for a particularly painful liar’s reveal. But to those reading this book, tell me honestly if you have the strength of character to tell someone something like that. Because I honestly do not, and I accept that I may be a bad person for it. I could have at least warned her about Marianne. I could have at least brought up the journal. Though in my brain, I assumed that the Sphynx’s last resort plan to stop the Archlitch was entirely situational, and couldn’t be repeated. the Sphynx is not easily predicted. something is hidden yet.

I went to the couch and put a paw on the fox’s shoulders, simply letting her cry while I silently drowned in my own thought process. But eventually, the vixen wiped the snot from her muzzle; or at least, she tried to wipe it away, but her arm was in a cast. She spoke in a shaky voice, “Gods, I am so sorry, this is the third time I’ve had a breakdown in front-”

“Florence, I swear to God, if you’re apologizing right now.” My own voice couldn’t fight being a little shaky either.

The white-furred vulpine managed to wipe her face with her left arm instead, “I’m- no, I’m so sorry, I’ve wept for a bit, I know, but I don’t- I’m not ready to talk about it, but I promise, it’s not because I’m worried about bringing the mood down. I promise.” She chuckled nervously, accidentally slamming her broken arm against the arm of the couch. “Gah, I was expecting that to hurt my arm. That woman; Alicent, I think she completely healed my arm with a single spell. I honestly don’t think I need to be in a cast right now.”

“I mean, you should probably keep it on if she said so.”

Florence shrugged, “Honestly, I broke a few ribs as well, and my chest feels completely fine now.”

“I guess that’s good enough for me. I can- OK, so I don’t think I know how to take a cast off. I’ve never broken a bone-”

“Forseti, you cut your own arm off-”

“I’ve never broken a bone before the, you know, fungus thing.” I hastily Googled how to take off a cast.

“Aren’t you an apothecary?”

“Let me live!”

I wasn’t expecting the vixen to take to comedic relief so quickly, but I imagine she doubled down on jokes as long as I was in the room, in order to make me feel less awkward. “Speaking of chests, how would a trans Awngaimene hypothetically get hormones?”

I struggled to find the right place in the WikiHow article while I answered, “Honestly, ask Touchstone, I think he knows how to get every pharmaceutical, legal or otherwise.” Bingo! You just unravel the cloth, and use scissors when necessary.

But I was a bit slow to the punch. Florence began to awkwardly untangle the parts of the gauze that she’d already picked at with her non-dominant paw. “I’ll ask him in the morning, I did manage to come up here with, you know, my medication, but I keep forgetting to ask about it.”

It didn’t take too long before Florence was able to pull her arm from the plaster. But where I was expecting there to be an arm covered in matted, white fur, was instead an arm covered in scales the color of moss.

“Florence, what happened there-”

Her eyes went wide immediately. Suddenly, it dawned on me why the fox was wearing a single, arm-length glove for the past few days.

The fox pulled her arm behind her back, probably unconsciously, but she sheepishly brought it out again right after a few awkward seconds. I’d already seen it. “I, um- I’m going to be completely honest. When we were going after the Windenbeste, I investigated the contents of your backpack, and found the, um…”

“The Oigd’yiadttigdeit blood.” I stammered, with far too much ease on the pronunciation. I had completely forgotten to take it out of my backpack after a completely unrelated adventure a few months ago. But if that were the case, if Florence had really touched the blood… “You didn’t, um, you didn’t touch the blood, did you?” Of course not. She’d be dead.

But I was wrong, “There was a- Not a ritual, but-” She exhaled, clearing her tension. “I wanted to get a feel for magic, and when I saw that the blood was useful in transformation magic, I thought- I wanted to try that after the Wand of Sutures.”

Complete bewilderment took over me. “So, um, that’s totally my bad, for not warning you first, but never touch anything related to the Oigd’yiadttigdeit if you can help it.” My adventure from a few months ago was a particularly traumatizing one. A story for another book. The Oigd’yiadttigdeit was a menacing presence able to bring maddening, Lovecraftian transformation unto its victims in an entirely chaotic and life-threatening manner. Some animals were left with barnacles instead of eyes, poisonous skin instead of fur, and appendixes instead of a functioning brain. I could rest easy knowing that the monster was far, far away from Marquette. the Oigd’yiadttigdeit would make its return.

But here stood Florence, brandishing nothing but a dragon’s arm after coming into contact with the beast. “Does Marriane know?”

“I brought it up, that whole situation’s on the backburner for her, I think, as long as I don’t touch anyone with it for too long.”

“Probably, um, let her know immediately that it’s the Oigd’yiadttigdeit.”

“That’s what I was saying, she already knows.” My head was in too much of a daze to register that fact the first time.

“I’m sorry, that’s just- That’s completely crazy.”

“You say that like I should be dead. I only have a lizard’s arm.”

“I think it’s a dragon’s arm.”

“Either way, it’s not that unmanageable. I’m quite used to it.”

And then it hit me. Florence was the latest in a long line of powerful spell casters, painstakingly bred with the purpose of creating a magically-skilled body for Mary Johannson to slip into without losing any of her skills. Florence had the genetic capacity to become an all-powerful archwitch, should she practice her abilities. She brushed off the Oigd’yiadttigdeit’s curse as though it were a fledgling witch’s pathetic Beginner’s Hex.

But that was a conversation for the apprentice witch to have with her mentor, especially considering how little I knew about the Oigd’yiadttigdeit, and how inconvenient it would be to visit Jouxlya.

“Yeah, no, your arm should have, like, the features of a half-dozen different species. It’s really crazy that it’s just one- though yeah, the whole my-encounter-with-the-Oigd’yiadttigdeit is a crazy story.”

Florence surrendered to a yawn that she was suppressing for the last half-minute. “I’m excited to hear about it, though I must confess, I’m probably going to be more receptive on a different night.”

“Yeah, for sure. I just gotta do the air mattress, but we can sleep, for sure…”