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Chapter 8 - The Archlitch

It’s always a hassle to drive from one suburb to another in the Chicago area. Despite me ignoring all speed limits, it still took me forty-five minutes to get from Wilmette to Rosemont.

I had stranded Touchstone, upon Marianne’s instruction. On the phone, she spoke with a voice I’d rarely heard from the cat; quiet, calm, and completely devoid of snark. And when I told her that Florence was en route to Chicago, I had expected her to snap, to chew me out, to showcase her usually pissed-off nature upon hearing the news. She simply replied with a quiet request to drop everything and come as quickly as possible. I had stranded Touchstone. But it wasn’t as if I could wait around; Marsden would call the police, or perhaps call something even worse. And considering I practically poisoned his partner, I imagine vengeance wasn’t out of the question. And the blackbird was completely unresponsive.

And then it dawned on me; his phone was still dead.

So I sent a text, telling Touchstone that we’d been made, and that Marianne needed me as soon as possible. Hopefully, he’d get out of the house, find a gas station, buy a charger, and get back to me at some McDonald’s somewhere, but I wouldn’t know anytime soon. Guilt churned within me, a bellyache within my stomach. Every other second was spent resisting the urge to throw up, feeling horrible about decisions that were entirely my fault. And despite all of that, I had committed to stranding Touchstone.

At a traffic light somewhere, I wrote up a quick reply to Beck. Get Florence and Palais and get out of there ASAP. Marianne had told me that, whatever the Archlitch was, it was headed towards Beck’s apartment.

It was almost midnight when I pulled in front of the quaint townhome. The front door stood completely ajar, and the odd scent of rotted produce was noticeable from the street. Marianne was smoking a cigarette on the sidewalk. As soon as she saw my car, she carelessly tossed it onto the cement and practically ran towards the passenger door. The Sphynx flung the door open, and before any other word was exchanged, she simply commanded, “Drive.”

Rain had started to fall, pattering against the windshield. A calming juxtaposition to the toxic feelings festering within my brain and my gut.

“So, I had to leave Touchstone behind-”

“That doesn't matter right now.” I was expecting that answer. “Just- Get to your friend- Beck’s apartment. Just focus on that.” The unnerving quietness and calmness from the phone call persisted, as if a dark and terrible fear was hiding under this shell-shocked demeanor. I was hardly paying attention to the road, thankful that the lateness of the hour discouraged any real traffic from manifesting.

“What’s the Archlitch, Marianne?”

Marianne pulled out another cigarette, not even asking if she could smoke in my car. But I wasn’t mad. I’d never seen her like this. Something within me told me that such a vice was warranted. the consequences of the Sphynx’s secrecy will lead to death and ruin.

“It’s a- I don’t know, fox. I’m not particularly skilled at describing these sorts of things.” She at least rolled the windows down enough to blow the smoke out. “It’s an ancient entity, something more than just a mortal, and it has been completely lost to history. I honestly thought it was a myth, until Florence came to your door.”

Marianne didn’t speak any further. I decided to press. “And so you think that Florence’s mom summoned this thing? Or someone summoned it to take her out?” A chill went up my spine as I realized that Mary Johannson wasn’t in the home.

“Florence’s mother is dead, Forseti. She was dead before Florence left her dorm. The Archlitch…” Marianne exhaled sharply through her nose. “Very little was written about the Archlitch, but what is known is the fact that it can grant someone immortality. It has the ability to transplant one’s soul and mind- or whatever your philosophy is on consciousness. It can transplant it into the body of another animal, but in doing so, you essentially kill the animal whose body gets taken. So, according to what I found in my writing, one strikes a bargain with the Archlitch. Typically, the Archlitch can inhabit a body for twenty-odd years before it deteriorates, which… And it is thought that such a process is easier if the body of the second animal is related by blood, some writings say that consent is a requirement… and it’s easy to trick your children into making that bargain.”

“Jesus Christ.” The sick feeling in my gut tripled in the strength of its intensity. I pulled over to the curb to throw up. Marianne confirmed my horrifying conclusion as she continued. “And so, the parent kills the child, takes their body over, forfeits their old body to the Archlitch, and the burned-up, old body becomes the Shadow Thrall for a few weeks, which must have been the Stag- For fuck’s sake, fox keep driving.”

I was too dizzy to continue driving safely, but I did as I was told. I felt hot anger well up within me. “Florence doesn’t know-”

“It gets fucking worse, fox. Keep driving.” Marianne felt it too, the wicked insinuation that the situation entailed. She exhaled a terse breath once more. “The Archlitch has about twenty years to use the body of Florence’s mother to convince the fox to return to Chicago, which worked immediately apparently, considering she fucking ignored us and came down anyway.”

“What can we do?”

“I need you to devour the corpse of Mary-”

“What the hell do you mean by that-”

“With the fungal curse, understood? Maybe if you start to plant potent decomposition spores in your… or better yet, the Archlitch’s body, it could kill it. It’s not even a foolproof Hard Counter, but there’s no spell I know that can defeat the Archlitch. When I performed Eviscerate on the Shadow, I felt… It almost didn’t work, and that’s merely the discarded corpse of this being. Something that cannot live.” it would rend the Sphynx’s soul entirely to tatters.

I kept my eyes fixed on the road. The situation wasn’t even about me in particular, but silent tears began to mat up the fur underneath my eyes. “What will it do if it takes Florence’s body?”

Marianne lit yet another cigarette, her third in the last few minutes.

“Well, fox, with Mary dead, her contract with the Archlitch is now broken, leaving the fucker unbound, without a cycle of immortality to perpetuate. Its only course of action is taking over Florence’s body or your body, and even then, it’d have twenty years to find another sociopath to start the cycle anew. And if it doesn’t, then the Archlitch will have twenty years of life left, and I can’t claim to know what it’ll do, but do you honestly think something this powerful is going to go quietly into that good night?”

Cold rain fell. Tears blurred my vision. I asked a question I already knew the answer to. “And if I can’t devour the corpse-”

“Then one of us has to kill Florence.”

Almost immediately, I began to regret my decision. Marianne was quite clear about the dire nature of the situation, despite leaving it in secrecy, but it was the betrayal of Forseti’s trust that ate at my conscience. In any event, I was quite certain a half-hour into my drive. It was my mother who was in danger. And sure, I lacked the magical prowess of the other Awngaimene, but I wasn’t entirely without use. I knew a sampling of magic, and wanted no longer to be left in the dark, even if I contributed little in the grand scheme of things. I wanted to be there when we rescued my mother, if she were even alive. I couldn’t let that doubt creep in though, no matter what nervous feeling crept up within me unto itself, no matter whatever impulse told me to turn the car around, and whatever the degree to which I had developed a new tic. I scratched at the scales of my fore-finger with my clawed thumb, but only when I was alone in the room.

Beck’s phone number wasn’t too hard to find. Forseti wrote the password to his computer on a sticky note adhered to the side of her laptop. I just had to convince the hedgehog that I was a part of this situation as well. Which, to be fair, was entirely true. This was my mother we were attempting to rescue. Though I couldn’t muster up the courage to text Forsy’s old roommate until I was near the Illinois-Wisconsin border, at a gas station near Kenosha.

I opted to text and wait around the parking lot for an answer. The cheap gas station coffee did very little to assuage my anxieties. A half-hour passed, the entire time spent in intense deliberation as to whether or not I should text Forsy or Marianne. I even gawked at the notifications on my phone, telling me that my friends in Chicago were worried for me. I hadn’t texted them for days. My roommate, Rowena, had called half-a-dozen times. I left my ringtone on silent. The sun was on the verge of setting over the flat Wisconsin grain fields by the time I received an answer from the hedgehog. They gave me an address, mentioned that they’d be coming in late, and that there should be a gargoyle in the apartment to let me in. I still couldn’t fathom why Palais was brought.

The sun had vanished completely, replaced with a meager crescent moon, by the time that I had arrived in Edgewater. Back when my life held a semblance of normalcy, I remember many wonderful bar crawls spent here and in Andersonville and Boystown. Now, I wanted to walk the streets as little as possible, just in case I came across someone I recognized. Driving through the traffic-filled, poorly-maintained, labyrinthine neighborhoods was as easy as the flick of a wrist for me at this point, but I still drove well under the speed limit, entirely too nervous to actually face the fox or the Sphynx. That guiding star burned brightly, but they burned hot as well, certain to sear my flesh should I draw too close. When I found parking, two blocks away, I had lost enough nerve to keep myself in the car for ten whole minutes, eyeing my contacts without any conviction whatsoever to call them. A brief, gentle rain that began on the drive over was letting up.

A hyena was walking passed with his arms full of groceries, and we accidentally made eye contact for a few seconds, before he walked off at a quicker pace. I could tell he could see the tears matting the fur on my face, the snot streaking down my nose. I couldn’t place why, but it was the awkwardness of that interaction that pulled me out of my car, even though I waited a few minutes until he was out of sight.

The cool, crisp Chicago air met my wet fur with violent intentions. I started to shiver immediately after exiting my vehicle, though perhaps my nerves and over-caffeination contributed as well. With paws consisting of lead, I shambled slowly towards the address that Google Maps told me belonged to the hedgehog, Beck.

I found the door, located the buzzer with the artist’s name, took a deep breath, and buzzed. Despite his jarring appearance, I was almost hoping to meet with Palais before Marianne or Forsy. I suspected he’d be disappointed in me the least. Deducing from a lack of texts, I imagined I wasn’t lucky enough to have come across Beck first.

Seconds passed. Nothing happened.

I steeled my will and buzzed again, holding the buzzer for a full ten seconds this time. No response.

With a heart full of courage, I pulled out my phone. I’d call Touchstone first, thankful that I’d asked for his number a few days prior. No answer. Perhaps Beck was finally finished with their theater work? No answer. I hovered over Forseti’s contact, took a deep breath, and called.

No answer.

My heart was beating fast enough to cause me to worry about my circulatory health. To abate any sense of panic, I decided that I could perhaps try Touchstone again, when the apartment speaker came to life. A delicate, gentlemanly voice with a detectable French affectation answered.

“Deeply sorry, I’m not entirely certain how this contraption works.”

My heart caught in my throat, and I spoke the gargoyle's name with an awkward voice crack, “Palais! I’m- I’m so sorry, this is Florence-”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ve been expecting you.” That was horrible news. “Does this button next to the- if I press it, will that let you in?” The door unlocked for the span of a single second, too fast for me to open it.

“You have to hold the buzzer, Palais.”

“Ah, yes, quite-” The door was held unlocked, but as soon as I went to open it, my phone had started to ring. Forseti was calling me.

Preferring to delay, I opened the door first, and responded through the speaker, “I’m on my way up, Forseti is calling me, I’ll be there right away, though.” I ducked into the building before the gargoyle could respond, answering the phone as it neared its seventh ring.

Marianne was on the other end.

“Florence, don’t speak a single word. Listen. Stop driving right this second, and leave Chicago immediately. You’re being chased-”

I gulped hard, then committed to speaking anyway. “I’m already at Beck’s apartment-”

The rise in volume was ear-shattering. “Shut up for- God-fucking-dammit, you’re at the apartment already?”

Weakly, I squeaked, “Y-yes, I’m here. I’m sorry-”

“Listen- Just, listen. Get Palais, get in your car, and leave, quickly. Drive to- fucking, where are we Forseti?” There was a pause on the line for a moment as I imagined the two were mid-conversation. “Alright, this entity has already left your mother’s house, and is after you, and you’re not going to outrun it. Take a wide berth, but meet us at Schiller’s Woods. Don’t-” She exhaled audibly, “Apologize later. When we’re not on the verge of fucking dying. I’m ending the call now, just go.”

Marianne hung up. I was fully shaking, in an immutable state of shock, right outside of Beck’s door. It wasn’t until the door creaked open slightly, just enough for Palais to speak through, that I was able to move again. “Florence, ma’am, please, come inside.”

It took every fiber of my being to step into the apartment without bursting into tears, Marianne’s tone bringing to the surface every guilty impulse within me. But my wits returned to me. I needed to keep myself and my friends alive. I needed to save my mother.

The hulking, scaly mythical creature lurking in the hallway delivered me from my inner monologue. “Ma’am, I would have you know that I am not upset with you by any metric, so please do not mistake my urgency for derision. But Marianne has given you clear instructions, I imagine, and we should start at them right away.”

I exhaled a great deal of air, focusing on lowering my pulse. “You’re right. We’re- Um, we’re driving to Schiller’s Woods, I think that’s not too far. Should we warn Beck?”

“I imagine that Marianne and Florence had already warned them, but send a text, by all means.”

“OK, how- Are you going to try to walk outside in full view of everyone?”

Palais’s voice shifted slightly, to indicate a modicum of discomfort. “Marianne would, hm, have me perform the Glamour.”

“Ah, that makes sense- Is something wrong?”

“It is a distasteful ritual, if you would recall its main component.” I was reminded of the affair surrounding the escaped Kozghai from earlier this week.

“I’m so sorry, Palais-”

“Nothing to be done, ma’am, best not dwell on it.” The gargoyle had been holding the same flask as Marianne, down in Louisiana, and I gave him the space to consume the mixture while I found my way to the kitchen for a much-needed glass of water. While I couldn’t completely shake the feeling of regret regarding coming down here, I had at that point slowed my pulse and stopped the shaking. Don’t panic yet. You’re not dead yet. A cool glass of tap water swallowed in one gulp helped with that process. A few minutes later, Palais had returned to the kitchen to fetch me, but I completely failed to notice that he was in the same room as me until he gingerly placed a claw on my shoulder to get my attention. I yelped slightly, still surprised at this partial invisibility, but Palais’s soft voice eased the apprehension immediately. “Very sorry, ma’am, but I do believe now is the time.”

We flew down the stairs, tripped into the night air, and practically ran towards my car. Palais climbed into the backseat, finding far more space than the passenger seat could offer. I started blindly driving north, waiting to put in directions towards Schiller’s Woods until I began my circuitous route, as ordered.

The streets were far from empty, but the traffic was clearer at this point, so that devoting a portion of my focus to the grotesque in the backseat wasn’t impossible. “Palais, what can you tell me?”

The gargoyle paused. He was parsing over what to say very deliberately. “I can only imagine the degree to which Marianne’s mannerisms regarding information can be difficult. Naturally, by merit of our relationship, I am privy to far more information, but naturally, it is to be expected that I manage such information at the same magnitude as Marianne, you must understand.”

“You’re not allowed to tell me anything?” I had made my way to one of Chicago’s more arterial roads.

Another measured hesitation. “No, you’re right, ma’am. You’re very right. That which has pursued us- That which has attacked your mother, it is no mere mortal. Which- I would not insult your intelligence and assume you’d think this was some mere witch. This being, the Archlitch, is ancient and only known to scattered texts and dubious records. It has been quite successful in avoiding the Awngaimene eye, let alone the mortal public eye. And now, it has been discovered here.”

That word. Archlitch. I had dabbled enough with the fictional fantasy genre enough to have an association with it. “This is a lich? As in, someone who achieved immortality through… undeath?”

“You’re familiar with litches?”

“Yeah, certain fantasy shows, or- Books, I guess, feature them.” And Adventure Time.

“I alas rarely read from that genre, or at least the modern variation of it.”

My mind should have been more focused on the topic at paw, but that comment caught me off guard. “Are you- Do gargoyles live long?”

“Yes. In fact, Marianne and I are of the same age, and it is-”

I had gotten in a car accident. I had lost track of the road, and was completely blindsided by someone hitting my sedan on the right-paw side. Our entire forward motion was completely nullified, and the car was violently pushed onto the sidewalk and into an old, derelict-looking building. The airbags went off immediately, and completely consumed my vision. They deployed loudly enough to drown out all other sounds, save for the tenor staccato of raining glass. Not only were my car's windows broken and punched inwardly, so too were the display windows to the building I had collided with destroyed, completely shattered.

I had never gotten in a car accident before. Every errant sound was sickeningly loud, far more than I would have assumed. The first thing I felt was an intense, pounding headache, and the painful feeling of an airbag coming full-force towards my face, though it wasn’t enough pain to cause me to break from my state of shock and cry out.

For whatever strange reason, the amount of terrifying events occurring in my life didn’t culminate in the straw that broke the feral camel’s back at this moment. And indeed, the opposite effect happened. I registered immediately that I was in an accident, but that I couldn’t just freeze up. I had to continue to Schiller’s Woods somehow. I only cursed myself for getting distracted enough to hurt some civilian in the process. I had enough wits about me to realize that I had gotten into my accident at the intersection. The light must have been red, and I missed it.

I then registered that I had a passenger. “Palais!” I called out, “Palais, are you OK?” Miraculously, the answer was immediate. “Yes, ma’am. I’m unscathed. And yourself?”

“I think I’m fine.”

It took a great deal of strain to push past the inflated obstacles and find the door handle, but I found it with remarkable ease. Though my luck had run out at that moment, for my door was pressed up against the brick wall of that old, unused building, too close for me to open the door past an inch. I had to begin the arduous task of sliding over to the passenger seat. But Palais spoke up, with enough alarm to stop me in my tracks.

“Florence, I’m going to pull you out from your seat. We must move.”

I couldn’t agree more. Whatever was after us had a lucky break now that our vehicle was incapacitated. “Pull me!”

I felt warm claws grip tightly at my arm, before the second one moved its way to my other shoulder. The grasp was tight enough that I could feel the claws pierce ever-so-slightly into my skin, in the places not covered in scales, but I wasn’t of any mind to complain. As soon as the gargoyle pulled me to the backseat, I felt what I dreaded the most. A shooting pain yelled angrily from my right arm, from the bicep to the wrist, where my reptile’s claw began. It shared fierce competition with a similarly shooting pain in my chest. There was no doubt in my mind that my arm and a few of my ribs were broken. My shock expertly masked that fact until I had the arm physically pulled. I cried out, causing Palais to pause in his pulling, but we didn’t have the time. “Just pull, we need to go!” The gargoyle wordlessly agreed, and started to pull once more. I gritted my teeth, but still couldn’t help the errant cry of agony from escaping my muzzle.

The magical being in my backseat opened the door, and pulled me far enough so that the oppressive weight of the airbags in the front of my car were no longer an issue. Like a newborn baby deer, I found my footing on the glass-covered pavement with a total lack of stability, but I took a look around, trying to see how the other car had fared.

We were entirely alone at the intersection.

A creeping dread began to gnaw at me as the slow realization that this was no mere car accident dawned on me. “Palais…” I whispered weakly, “Palais, what happened.”

“Florence, hold onto me tightly. I’m going to fly.”

I was only able to grip at the grotesque’s torso with my left arm, the writhing throb in my right arm proving too intense to make moving it easy. But thankfully, Palais spread his bat-like wings to their full length as he used his arms to hold me tightly. He pressed hard, agitating my ribs, and I lost control of my ability to stifle my wailing once more. The gargoyle lightened his grasp, but as I did with the wrecked car, I couldn’t let him feel discouraged. “It’s fine, go!”

I looked up to see a face of abject worry showcased with such magnanimity, that I would smack anyone who ever dared refer to this gargoyle as ugly. He spoke, “Are you sure?” To which I only nodded weakly. He held tight, and took aloft, leaving the scene of the accident behind. The pain was agonizing, but we were flying at such a speed that it would be impossible to pick out my voice against the wind. I cast one look back towards my car, as we were almost a hundred meters in the air.

I saw a single figure standing under a streetlight. It wasn’t dressed in any particularly distinguishing clothing, but at this vantage point, it was easy to tell. The figure was an arctic fox.

I cried out once more. And again, the winds rendered my already-weakened voice mute. The fox lifted its arms towards the sky. Towards us. And suddenly, we were caught in what felt like a downdraft. Palais was violently jerked downward, almost twenty entire meters towards the Earth in under a second, but he continued flying. Such a motion taken at such a speed caused me to scream out on behalf of my broken bones. I could feel the tears on my face starting the freeze the more we were exposed to the winds. But I held tighter, and Palais kept flying.

Another violent force pulled us downward, but we had flown far enough away so that its effects were noticeably lessened. I gripped tight once more. Palais kept flying.

I wouldn’t normally consider myself afraid of heights in particular, but being held aloft by the mere grip of a person, hundreds of meters in the air, wasn’t something I was automatically comfortable with. The fact that were were flying faster than my car could drive didn’t help either. I dared enough to look out on the Chicago suburbs for a few moments, taking in the orange glow of the massive city, culminating into towering buildings further south. I noticed where a thin line of lights stopped abruptly, right at where Lake Michigan met with land. For the first few seconds, it was a beautiful sight, but a vague sense of vertigo began to set in, and I buried my face into Palais’s warm, scaly neck. The autumnal, night air was frigid when taken at such a speed, but the gargoyle’s warmth kept my tears from freezing. He shouted out at full volume, though I could only make out a few of the words. “Where’s… Woods?”

I tried to call back a similar volume, mustering up the necessary strength despite the burning sensation in my chest. “Towards the airport! Towards the airport!”

I knew enough of the city to know that the park would probably constitute as the only real dark spot closest to O’Hare International Airport. My words failed to reach the gargoyle the first few times, but after Palais yelled out his fourth “What?” I was finally able to convey my message. I felt him shift direction, and fly at a slight descent, peeking out from his body once more to make sure he was heading the correct direction.

Minutes passed, until I started to notice more lights in my periphery, signifying that we were closer to the ground.

The forest was dark, but we were too deeply within metropolis for there to be any degree of stars or moon to light our way. Palais took careful consideration in landing somewhere without a streetlight, and I waited patiently for my vulpine eyes to adjust. However, I couldn’t stand for long, once we had landed, and found the nearest tree to sit against as I caught my breath, clutching at my breast in pain with my one good arm.

Palais sat beside me. “Ma’am, I am deeply sorry that my carrying you in this manner has caused you pain. Do you know which parts of you are injured?”

I exhausted too much energy speaking in competition with the wind. My words were accompanied by deep breathing and an everpresent wheeze. “Arm… ribs… broken, I… I think.”

“Marianne will have the means to ease the pain. Are you under the impression that anything is life-threatening?”

I shook my head slowly, despite the low light making it a moot gesture. “No, should… should be good.”

“I will not leave you, worry not, ma’am. But I must ask, can you walk?”

“I… in a moment… yeah.” I felt a bit of my strength returning. Though each breath remained an utter agony, the pain lessened the longer I sat. Palais remained next to me dutifully, holding my paw in his claw. “That was the power of the Archlitch, I am afraid.”

“That was my mother.”

A long, deliberate pause. “I know.”

I asked a question I already knew the answer to. “Is she OK?”

Another deliberate pause. I chose to interrupt it. “I’m an- It would be better for me if I knew the truth, Palais.” I had known the answer for days at this point. If she were alive, we’d have come down to Chicago to solve this situation far sooner.

I felt the gargoyle grip my paw tightly. It wasn’t his burden to answer this question, it was Marianne’s. “Yes, ma’am. She has been deceased for quite some time.”

And I wanted to get up. I wanted to go, to find and meet up with everyone, and get out. I wanted to wait until we were safe before processing the information. But I didn’t. I started crying. It was an ugly cry, wet with tears and snot, and full of guttural, ugly noises. Palais held my paw tightly. It didn’t matter how loudly or quietly I cried. I lost sight of the fact that I shouldn’t panic, I shouldn’t freeze, I shouldn’t die. I lost myself entirely inside of a moment of grief and consequences, catching up to me. I surrendered to the black hole, pulling me in. Palais remained beside me silently, the only tether keeping me safe from such a violent display of gravity. I couldn’t have been more grateful for his presence.

It’s funny, the memories from early childhood that stick in your brain.

There were so many dolphins, sharks, and colorful corals at the Shedd Aquarium, but for whatever reason, at the age of four, or maybe five, I was fascinated with the cichlids. I didn’t know the scientific name of the freshwater fish at the time, naturally, but there were so many of them. Blue and yellow and red. I’d been watching them for thirty minutes at that point. My mother sat on the bench and watched me. Both of us, content with their prospective activity.

I don’t remember why, after a half hour, I decided that the time had come, but I skipped over to the bench my mother was sitting at, grabbed her left paw with both of mine, and begged, “Mom, mom! Are there any- Are there any rainbowfish in Lake Michigan?”

My mother floated behind me with the grace of a fog bank. I couldn’t notice it at the time, but I now remember her voice as unfathomably sad. “No, dearest. They live in the rainforest, where it’s warm. In places like Africa, or the Amazon.”

“Is the Amazon in- Is the Amazon in South America?”

“Yes, dear. Very smart.”

“South America is a thousand miles away.” It wasn’t worded as a question, but it was certainly asked as such.

“Even further away.”

I spoke as a child does, organizing my thoughts far slower than saying them. “Why are the rainbowfish- How did the rainbowfish get to Chicago, mom? Shouldn’t there be more fish from- from Lake Michigan?”

My mother pulled me into a sideways hug, and stared into the water. She held me tightly, but not without tenderness. “You’re such a smart fox. The smartest animals in the world are the animals that ask as many questions as you do, did you know that?” My deadname.

“I love you, mommy!”

“And I love you too, dear.” There will never be a part of me that doubts those words.

She continued. “They keep the cichlids- the rainbowfish- here, because not everyone in Chicago has the ability to go to places like Brazil or the Congo like your mommy has been able to. And if they didn’t bring them to this aquarium, then those animals would never be able to see these pretty fish.”

“That makes sense.” I became quiet, hypnotized by the watery ambience, and the brilliant display of shining scales. We spent most of the day in the freshwater section. I remember that day fondly, and it was far from the only loving excursion my mother would take me on. Me and her. A little team, making day trips every weekend. She raised me alone. She sat and watched the cichlids with me for hours at a time, as opposed to spending her life doing anything else. And in the moments where the creeping sadness didn’t color her voice, she would smile.

It’s funny, the memories from early childhood that stick in your brain.

A velvety, utterly unstressed, yet totally familiar voice called out from behind my left, behind the tree I was sitting against. It was a voice I wasn’t expecting to hear first. “Florence, are you out here alone?” asked Touchstone, the avian thief.

“Touchstone, where’s- what’s going on-”

“Oh, Palais, I didn’t see you there.” He said that in a tone of actual shock, but carried on. “Florence, Forsy told me you’d be here, but-” He noticed my tear-soaked face, “What’s going on?” But before I could answer, the blackbird continued, “Marsden, Mark, get over here!”

An unfamiliar voice answered back, from somewhere behind me. It held the gravel of age, and the terseness of an impatient beast. “I can’t follow you when you keep disappearing like that- Did you find the fox?”

Touchstone crooned out, “Not the fox that can cure your wolf, sad to say, but this fox will lead us to her.”

Another voice, gruff, yet soft, like a scholar’s, added on, “If, you know- if my life is destined to- wait, no. If my mind is afflicted in this way, for all time, then that is simply-”

“Mmhmm,” interrupted the thief, “But the pregnant fox can take it away, so we’re going to find her.”

I had no idea what was going on, but it was jarring enough to take me out of my moment of grief. Palais, at least, came to an explanation, to prepare Touchstone and the two strangers for what had transpired. Wait, it dawned on me, Wasn’t Marsden…

“Touchstone, sir, I must inform you that Florence here has suffered an immense tragedy. We have taken this moment to allow her to lament.”

“I got that vibe a little. What happened, fox?” asked Touchstone, not without sincerity.

I decided that honesty was a fine enough prospect, even though admitting it hurt. “My mother, um- We found her, she’s no longer alive, I think.”

My eyes had adjusted enough to make out Touchstone’s expression. Where normally, the red-winged blackbird kept an ever-stoic demeanor of confidence, I had managed to break it. I also noticed a peacock emerge from behind the tree, followed by a slow-moving wolf. The peacock had heard enough to know not to interject. The wolf, on the other paw, was apparently high on something.

“Wait, someone died? People are dying because of the fox- I am so sorry, miss. I know-”

“Mark, shut up,” yelled the peacock.

The red-winged blackbird nudged me on the shoulder, heedless to the fact that it was my broken one. I winced quietly. “Forsy hit this wolf with a dose of magic mushroom spores, so I would kindly ask him to wait-” The avian had directed his tone towards the two new animals, “While we look for the fox, because wolves on shrooms are not too helpful at the moment.”

But the peacock looked unto Touchstone with disdain. “It’s interesting, then, that your friend decided to get my partner high-”

“It’s crazy, because you wouldn’t be in the situation if you didn’t steal a woman’s diary-”

“I’ve told you a dozen times already, she gave it to me herself.” That struck me as odd. I had little doubt that the two were talking about my mother’s journal. “Just make sure you find her. Mark can’t stay this way forever.”

Palais cut in, rather unhelpfully, “Doesn’t Forseti’s magic wear-”

“Palais, quiet.” warned Touchstone, for whatever reason. But thankfully, it was at this moment that the Glamour fell, and both the wolf and peacock looked unto him with sudden surprise. “Jesus!” stammered the colorful bird, “I didn’t- Sorry, I wasn’t expecting a gargoyle to pop up.” The wolf simply looked at him wordlessly, probably under the impression that the gargoyle wasn’t real.

But the avian thief paid the peacock no mind. “Either way, it’s best we find the cat and the fox.” Touchstone then flashed an optimistic look, smiling with his eyes. “You’ll have to forgive me if this is naive, but considering the fluid nature of this situation, maybe there’s a chance we can save your mom.” Palais said nothing.

A few minutes later, Forseti texted me the coordinates. She and Marianne were underneath a picnic pavilion in a grove towards the center of the park, while we were more towards the northern end. The walk would take fifteen minutes, which seemed long enough to justify the use of a car, but apparently, Marsden was against it. Thankfully, the prolific rogue didn’t ask what I was doing in Chicago.

Instead, Touchstone told us about his own escapades from the last few hours. According to the blackbird, Forseti had botched the reconnaissance mission at the theater that Marsden was performing at, and the peacock grew suspicious immediately. His wolf lover, who apparently also worked as Marsden’s security guard, even came across the fox. They canceled the show, drove to their home up past Evanston, and stumbled across the fox right away. Forseti drugged the wolf, Mark, and sped off, leaving Touchstone behind. It wasn’t a completely selfish move, for Touch’s phone was dead, and it was impossible to contact him, but it didn’t change the fact that Forseti left him alone. The avian thief gave up on pursuing the journal, and approached the wolf and peacock.

Though it wasn’t said in clear terms, I picked up on the fact that Touchstone had made a bluff. He told the psychic bird that the drug trip would only cease should Forseti cure it in person. I knew full well that the trip would subside on its own. So, the thief forced Marsden to drive him to a gas station, charge his phone, and get into contact with the fox witch, who told Touchstone to meet her at Schiller’s Woods. Touchstone also took a moment to call Forseti at the restroom, but did so out of earshot to the peacock and wolf, which annoyed them profusely. Now that we were here, I had no clue why the blackbird didn’t drop the bluff, though perhaps he was afraid of losing a fight, should the wolf and peacock instigate one. Either way, I couldn’t imagine that Marsden and Mark would be thrilled about the lie, especially considering that they, too, would have to face the demonic presence possessing my mother. A demonic force that had already totalled an entire automobile.

The forest was tranquil, but this close to the city, it wasn’t entirely devoid of light. No real stars pierced through the light pollution without a telescope, and the sounds of nearby automobiles made it difficult to call the forest “quiet.” There were even a few night joggers, and a single homeless animal, trying to find respite, dipping casually out of our field of view. Apparently, the gargoyle’s Glamour still held strong.

We were less than five minutes away, according to Google Maps, so I decided to ask the High Sage Marsden before it became too late. “So, you knew my mother?”

He didn’t really look my way as he answered, he just kept walking, speaking low. “So you’re Agnes’s daughter?”

I was taken aback. “Her- Did you not meet with a fox named Mary? You said earlier that she gave her journal to you.”

“I don’t know any foxes named Mary. The arctic fox told me her name was Agnes, though- And she gave me the book, I didn’t steal it.” That comment seemed pointed at Touchstone.

“I don’t know why my mother would use a fake name-”

And then, Marsden turned to face me, obviously irritated. “Look, kid, I wouldn’t ask me any questions if I were you. I probably know the least about your mother out of all of us-”

“I need to sit down,” spoke the drugged-out lupine.

“You know, hold that thought,” retorted the peacock. He seemed entirely fed up with this situation, and I dropped the topic.

We were within a mere hundred meters of the other fox’s coordinates when I saw a vulpine shape underneath a streetlamp up ahead.

But it wasn’t the shape of Forseti that I saw, boldly striding towards us in the distance. The fox’s fur was white. It was my mother, or at least the being that took over her dead body.

Palais and I were the first to spot her. I was a mere second away from speaking up, from calling out to our little party that we should scatter, to ask about the impossibility of the fox having traveled such a distance, but Palais extended his arm to my muzzle, holding it shut gently. “I see her, too,” he alluded, speaking far calmer than the situation warranted. Touchstone, Marsden, and Mark stopped, with the blackbird inquiring, “Something wrong?”

Palais offered his advice. “No one panic, but I’d recommend that we double back, running, if possible.”

I couldn’t heed his direction though, and in a moment of weakness, begged for answers first. “How is this possible, she should- it should be miles away from us-”

We were hundreds of meters away, and still, the malevolent entity was able to raise my mother’s arm, and pull me towards her telekinetically. Where the two birds and wolf were smart enough to heed the gargoyle’s warning, my need to question things had already harmed me. But it didn’t damn me. I was pulled forward somewhere, somewhere about five meters. It felt as though an unseen, massive paw had grabbed me, but it lacked articulation, and I was thrust to the ground as opposed to pulled the entire distance. I fell to my knees, and then entirely prone. Even without seeing them, I could tell that my knees and arms were scraped up immediately. I was close enough to see her outfit, illuminated underneath a streetlight. She wore a casual, gray cotton sweater, and black pants. She, or it, wore my mother’s clothes.

Palais moved quickly. He flew with an impeccable speed towards the arctic fox, gliding parallel to the earth, and clearing the distance between us in the matter of seconds. But the gargoyle was too slow. He was nearly within arms reach by the time the evil entity within my mother raised her other armed and forced him towards the ground with a violent, telekinetic force. I could even see the asphalt crack in the process. He grunted and struggled against the psychic force, but couldn’t shake it off. In a stunned daze, I simply watched. And then, the white-furred fox raised her arm once more towards me.

The full weight of the consequences fell upon me, as if the world doubled in size upon Atlas’s shoulders. I had no strength, no magic, no means to protect myself, and resorted to the one option I could think of as my mother pulled me towards her once more.

“Mom, please! I’m your daughter, I know you’re in there-”

“She’s not.” shouted Palais, struggling against the magical gravity inflicted unto him. I couldn’t fathom why it was important for the gargoyle to shout that.

And then, another voice called out, from behind my mother’s body. It was raspy, old, and miraculously familiar. “Palais!” screamed Marianne the Sphynx, “Forseti, go to Florence!”

The entire scene unfolded so quickly, and my full mental wherewithal was far from present. I crawled backwards, in a manner similar to a crabwalk. The telekinetic force weakened, and I could struggle against it with more ease. I couldn’t crawl towards Maricanne, after all, with the entity between the two of us.

Talons rested upon my shoulders, and red-and-yellow feathers filled my peripheral view. Touchstone had come to me. “Florence, run!” He shouted, his cool demeanor completely dropped. Though no amount of coolness could ever compare to the red-winged blackbird’s courage, in regards to coming to my aid.

His courage found no reward. My mother raised her arms once more and thrust his body forcefully into some concrete structure to the right of us. I could audibly hear his bones break. One errant look partially registered his mangled body. It twitched twice.

And again, the entire scene unfolded so quickly. I was paying attention to each of its pieces in piecemeal. Indeed, Touchstone had foolishly rushed in, and it was the blackbird that I was watching, but I didn’t notice Marianne rushing towards the gargoyle’s side, and I didn’t notice that the entity controlling my mother had decided it prudent enough to walk towards me in a slow and self-assured manner. She hadn’t even bothered to use her magic on me. “Touchstone, are-” My words caught in my throat. His twisted, quiet body was the only thing that had captured my attention. My mother was already far closer to me than Marianne was, and Touchstone was harmlessly cast aside to my right. The entity controlling my mother had casually pinned Palais to the ground, and Marsden and Mark had effectively vanished. I had completely forgotten about my own broken bones. Never in my life had I felt more like a feral deer in the headlights, entirely helpless. I simply stared into my mother’s face, and saw the face of an animal entirely prepared to kill me.

“Mom, please.” I lacked a follow up. The white fox said nothing.

A voice screamed out from behind me. It lacked bassiness, as well as gravitas, but it possessed a scrappy, confident timbre. “You, Archlitch. I will fucking devour you if you come near me.” Forseti Fox had snuck up from behind me.

My mother’s body had stopped in its tracks.

“You have to kill her!” howled Marianne. I had my doubts that the yellow-furred fox could defeat the entity controlling my mother. But still, it remained stopped in its tracks.

“Forseti, you-”

But Forseti cut me off. She was far more serious than I’d ever seen her before. “Florence, please take my paw.”

Marianne, in a mad desperation, screamed once more, “Forseti, you have to kill-” But Forseti cut her off as well, screaming “Marianne, stop!” It didn’t matter, if Marianne had a response. The entity controlling my mother raised its paws towards her direction, and the cat immediately fell asleep, with Palais still straining against the weight of intransigent, magical gravity.

But Forseti remained stoic, and even cast her gaze towards the structure that Touchstone lay in front of. “Oh fuck, Touch, are you OK?” The blackbird didn’t answer, and Forsy grunted in distress before continuing. “Florence, you gotta take my paw, OK?” My mother remained completely still.

I climbed to my hindpaws and took the fox witch’s paw in mine own. She proceeded to guide me over to Touchstone, but exposited in the process.

“Archlitch, I have infected Florence with spores from the Destroying Angel fungus. And if you come to possess me, you’re not gonna get far. We’re both infected, so go away.”

The being known as the Archlitch remained still. Forseti had employed the same gambit as she had the first night we met. I felt a familiar discomfort churn in my stomach. But I held my breath. There was no way this Archlitch was going to fall for it twice. Wordlessly, the pregnant vixen guided me over to Touchstone and knelt beside the bird, touching his shoulder in the process. I imagine she was employing some sort of fungal magic to ease his pain.

In a voice verging on crying, Forseti called out once more to the being possessing my mother. “Go away-” But the Archlitch raised my mother’s arm once more in Forseti’s direction, and I braced for the worst. And yet, no telekinetic force came. “Go away, she’s already dead.”

My stomach had begun to cramp fiercely, far worse than the faux poison the fox had injected me with earlier. Doubt crept into the corners of my mind. My mother’s body remained static, with her arms outstretching towards the gargoyle and Forseti. It pushed the fox towards the same structure it flung Touchstone, but it was far gentler, as if the Archlitch was apprehensive towards something. And then, it pulled me once again towards itself, the invisible paw gripping on my entire torso once more. But unlike the first time, the ethereal grasp lightened almost immediately. I stumbled, but was able to catch myself this time.

And as it had before, the entire scene unfolded so quickly. When one is home alone, the entire deluge of context and meditation on a situation seeps in. One can easily figure out who to trust, and whose plan remains foolproof. One can suss out the entire meaning behind one’s actions when given the time to study it, but I hadn’t the time. A smarter fox would worry that the fungal fox had, indeed, doomed them to death. But I still trusted blindly when Forseti bid me to. “Florence, come over here.” What was the Archlitch to think? That this fox had infected me with incurable poison, and still demanded I heed her will? Perhaps that’s why the being in control of my mother had decided to act at that point, even after it had let me go. Even after it had determined that my body was too infected to use.

I didn’t have the time to fully contextualize the situation. Forseti produced a cloth sachet from her brown hip pouch. It was an accessory straight out of a renaissance fair, and an anachronism to the rest of her outfit.

“Sschizcahnne schnizor liguiahmme!”

And despite the quickness of the scene, I remembered that phrase. I knew I only had five seconds to act. The Archlitch moved with an inconceivable quickness towards the yellow-furred vixen, but she would not budge. All of the inertia had been nullified in regards to the elder arctic fox. I scrambled madly towards Forseti, who in turn thrust a once-concealed key into a random, metallic door at the side of the utility structure. The ravenous claws that once belonged to my mother scratched and swiped at me, as far as my eyes could tell, but I couldn’t feel so much as the slightest tickle. Forseti held back the being with incredible ease. I stumbled into the door without asking for instructions, and fell to the floor right away. Hot, muggy air caused my white fur to stick up immediately, and it was almost impossible to breathe. The door slammed shut behind me. Forseti had left me alone in this building. It almost seemed to look like a hallway, which would have been impossible considering the structure’s dimensions.

Maybe I did so out of a lack of trust, or an urge to bring Forseti into this structure with me. Maybe I considered the building a trap, and maybe I considered it a sanctuary. I couldn’t parse my thoughts through the panic and adrenaline, and as such, I couldn’t really justify my actions. But either way, I rose to my hindpaws, rushed towards the door, and opened it once more.

It revealed a mere closet, completely empty.

And at that moment, the full weight of context crashed into me. I was alone, yet safe, in Marianne’s home in Louisiana.

A serving cart stood in the middle of the hallway, containing a sickly-green-colored potion in a glass bottle, in addition to a note. The note read: “Florence, please, please, please forgive me. I actually poisoned you this time, I didn’t think a bluff would work. This is a potion I ‘borrowed’ from Marianne, and it’ll cure you. It’s going to taste horrible, and it’s going to feel worse on your digestion. Don’t have much time to write much, so sorry. -4C”

I figured that I had about a second left regarding Ouray’s Spell of the Moment, and with a quickness that would personally harrow me for the rest of my days, I managed to pull the temporal key out of the random door, bring it to my mouth, and swallow it within the matter of a second. Florence was completely safe by the time the Spell of the Moment subsided. I was left alone, face-to-face with the Archlitch. The husk of an arctic fox backed up slowly, even after the spell had petered out.

“Yeah, sorry fucker, I’m the only one left here who you made a bargain with. Sucks that your body’s gonna immediately decompose if you do.”

Then, the being raised a single arm and aimed it at me. With a violent rapidness, I felt my left arm get ripped off. The force was blunt and wide, and ended up ripping off my entire left shoulder as well. A clean snap echoed throughout the park; the shattering of my bones.

But honestly, I had expected something like this. I gritted my teeth hard, and stifled what would have been an agonized cry into a deep, guttural groan. I mustered every ounce of my willpower to stand strong, and trick the Archlitch into thinking that this little attack meant nothing to me. And all the while, I had prepared spores that would release violently if I were to suffer bodily harm, spores able to quickly consume any dead thing they came across with a horrifying rapidity. Spores, not from a known species of fungus, but instead from a magical species infamous for the harrowing speed at which it consumes dead material, quickened tenfold by my curse’s virility.

“I hope that’s not the only trick you got up your sleeve,” I challenged. My voice cracked, and I wasn’t entirely able to hide the fact that I was in excruciating pain. But I held my posture, and didn’t even bend to pick up my severed arm. The Archlitch stood there, watching.

It was a checkmate. Despite the fact that I’d never come across telekinetic magic before, I could tell right away that such magic lacked pinpoint accuracy. My entire shoulder had been ripped off instead of just my arm. The Archlitch would never be able to pull the key out of my stomach, unless it came into close enough contact for me to work my spores; or to work my spores even quicker. Maybe the Archlitch could rip open a massive hole in my chest. But in that case, even more spores would become airborne.

And indeed, that was a gamble with very slim chances of paying off. I was betting without so much as a matching pair of cards, but for once in my life, I would bluff my way to payday. I had snatched the temporal key from my own door, and couldn’t even recall what drove me to snatch that in the first place. I was able to pivot wonderfully when I found out that Florence had come to Chicago. As quickly as I could, I used the key on the car door find Marianne’s anti-me potion (which I found personally rude); strong enough to nullify the deadliest of funguses, and write a quick note before Marianne confronted the Archlitch.

And now, all I had to do was keep the depraved entity close enough to infect it with my spores.

But there was still so much up in the air. I wasn’t able to stop the Archlitch from breaking an unpleasant amount of bones in Touch’s body, as well as Florence’s. I couldn’t keep my own facade going for too much longer, in regards to stomaching my own gut-wrenching injury. And I wasn’t able to snatch Mary’s journal from High Sage Marsden in order to figure out more information about the Archlitch, but I was still able to prove Marianne wrong. I came up with a plan that didn’t result in anyone’s death.

I couldn’t make that claim just yet, though. The Archlitch had no grounds to try and possess Touch, Marianne, or Palais. None of them had made a bargain with it. But I couldn’t assume that such a malevolent force was completely devoid of murderous pettiness, and had to keep it as close to myself as possible. I opted for reverse psychology.

“Go away. The vixen’s dead.” Cold, lifeless eyes stared directly into mine. The Archlitch remained silent. “You haven’t come up with a plan at this point. I’d give up.” I stood over Touchstone protectively, with my footpaws straddling both sides of his torso. I couldn’t let the Archlitch come that much closer.

in any event, the Archlitch would notice. the fungal magic proving too obvious.

Quick as the Shadow, the shambling body of Florence’s mother disappeared into the darkened foliage. Not a sound was uttered aside from the brief rustling of leaves. I went down immediately to check up on Touchstone. The unconscious rogue was completely unresponsive, and though I could feel a pulse, it was obvious that the bird needed immediate medical attention. Bones were visibly sticking out from his left leg, and his right wing was completely bent backwards. His neck remained straight, but there was no telling what internal injuries the Archlitch had inflicted. I scooped up my own arm and held it under my right shoulder, adrenaline being the only thing that kept me from passing out.

As soon as Palais was once again able to sit up, I knew that the menacing, ancient entity was no longer in the vicinity. I threw my phone towards the cat and gargoyle, watching helplessly as my poor aim earned the device a few more cracks as it came into contact with the pavement. “Call 911- Or, call a Chicago Awngaimene- dammit, who do we know here?”

“I don’t fucking know anybody-”

“Then call 911.”

“Forseti, we can’t-”

“Marianne, just- Touchstone is too messed up for me to heal him. We can’t let him die.”

Marianne didn’t answer. It’s easy to forget how casually the Sphynx would solve the Trolley Problem. I pinched back the panic in my voice and continued, “Just- Call Beck, they’ll get into contact with their Mulgywai handler, and maybe Chicago has a Hauksborque, or Apothecary- I don’t know, just call Beck. Or someone up in Marquette-”

“Just get me to Houma.”

After a few minutes of attempting to regurgitate the temporal key, I was met with unsanitary success. Palais offered to carry Touchstone across the threshold, but the Sphynx insisted that she and I stay behind, and get the magical artifact as far away from the Windy City as possible. The red-winged blackbird was still unconscious as the gargoyle carried him to Louisiana, but at least I was able to make sure that Florence had finished the potion before severing the connection between the two doors. I treated my own injury with a Wand of Sutures and a roll of gauze, knowing that it’d take all night before I could regain motor control with it. Overwhelmed with exhaustion, I sat down in the wet grass, leaning against the dirty, concrete wall of the random park structure.

And so, Marianne and I were left alone in the park near Chicago.

I only left an awkward silence to hang in the air for a few seconds before climbing to my hindpaws and moving toward my car. But evidently, the sigh that I thought was too quiet to hear got a response from the cat. “If you’ve got something to say, say it. I don’t want to deal with you being in a pissy mood the whole drive back.”

I resisted the bait. I didn’t want to force a confrontation. “Marianne, I’m tired.”

“God, get a spine for once, just- It’ll be better for both of us if you speak your mind.”

I slowed my pace, allowing the Frote Foulgydan to catch up, before taking the bait after all. Delirious pain threatened my ability to form a sober thought process. I never once made eye contact with the feline, I just kept my eyes on the pavement. A few stray clouds started to block out the already-meager assortment of stars.

“It’s- OK, so this entire time, everyone’s been giving me shit for trying to keep the whole Florence situation lowkey, and I probably wouldn’t have been so weird about it if you didn’t immediately tell me ‘Hey, Forseti, your life is in immediate danger and also I’m going to give you zero information.’ Just, so many red flags. So I thought, ‘OK, I gotta make sure I don’t take Florence down to Houma just to have her killed, I need more information,’ which is, you know, ironic- I’m too tired, I think that’s the right word. I should have called Zippo. I should have called Zippo or Heinrich or anyone- But no, I try to see if Lavitia or someone knows anything, and my shit luck brought us to The Lady Juxtaposed, and I- I really didn’t want to deal with The Lady Juxtaposed either, but then The Lady Juxtaposed goes and says ‘It doesn’t matter. Just go down south,’ instead of bothering to register Florence, and- And it’s probably because The Lady Juxtaposed’s psychic, but in the back of my mind, I could just feel The Lady Juxtaposed saying ‘Go and get yourselves killed as far away from Marquette as possible. I don’t want to deal with this here. Maybe if you’re lucky, the Psychic Wardens will get you first.’ And it wasn’t even- And I shouldn’t care, but The Lady Juxtaposed wanted Florence and me gone, just- And then, The Lady Juxtaposed had the audacity to fucking ask me to deal with that whole cult situation without even so much as acknowledging that The Lady Juxtaposed was completely comfortable with me being dead a few days prior, and- Well, and, of course, I was gonna do it, like, it was a fucked-up cult, but it’s just-” I was talking too much without getting to any actual point, and could feel a cough coming on. My voice ran ragged, as if I were fighting a cold. “I’m just- I’m sick of the entire, like- Just everyone being like ‘Oh, it’s OK if a few people die, we’ll have saved Awngaimene lives. Oh, it’s OK if a few people die, the secret will be safe,’ and it’s- It’s like we’ve decided we’re better than everyone else, and then people die.”

Marianne finally interrupted. “You know damn well that I actually care about them, the Tystwoles. That’s why I wanted the Archlitch dead, don’t you dare fucking compare me to the Foulgydan like that.”

And I just rubbed my eyes, “Marianne, I just- You immediately went to the ‘Kill Florence’ headspace, just as I feared, and that’s just really fucked up. I’ve never seen you panic that bad before.”

For a few seconds, the Sphynx said nothing. We just walked forward, gravel crunching underneath our paws. And then, “Well, I apologize, Forseti. It’s good that you were able to prevent Florence from dying.”

Marianne was never so aggressive or petty without any reason behind it, but neither had she really apologized like that before. A childish urge manifested in my chest; the urge to gloat, to rub it into the feline’s face that I was right and she was wrong. But I responded differently, “I’ll forgive you in a bit, Marianne, I’m just- I’m tired, this whole Archlitch thing has just put me in the worst mood.”

“I won’t stop you if you want to tell Florence that I planned to kill her.”

“I don’t know, Marianne, I gotta figure out how to tell Florence that her mom was fully prepared to kill her first, I don’t think she knows.”

I was anything but eager to drive all night with a useless left arm and only Marianne to keep my company. And the High Sage Marsden remained the furthest thing from my mind, but the psychic peacock was already waiting near my car, with the wolf bouncer Mark rolling around in front of it.

“Hey, asshole.” barked the peacock, “You need to cure my partner now.”

I hadn’t a single clue what Marsden was talking about. “It’ll clear up in a few hours, it’s just psilocybin.”

“The blackbird told us it was permanent-”

“Well, he lied.” No part of me was in the mood to handle this half-faux psychic, but Marianne continued to ruin my day when she demanded of the peacock, “Did you make a bargain with the older arctic fox?”

Marsden wasn’t in the mood either, “What’s that got to do with anything-”

“That fox is the god-damned Archlitch, and if you don’t come with us now, both of you are going to be dead within the hour. Am I clear?”

The furless feline spoke with enough authority to completely disarm the peafowl of any snark, though it didn’t stop him from slamming his talons on the roof of my car. “God-dammit, fine. You promise that the wolf will be fine?”

The lupine figure, covered in dust, cried out a mournful wolf’s howl, then asked somberly, “Are you going to be annoyed with me? I’m going to be really sick if we do a car ride”

“Yes, dear. Yes I am. So please, just be quiet”

And with that, the four of us began what was easily the most miserable car ride that I’d ever endured.

Edit: I wrote that chapter, actually, and then read it, and couldn’t help myself from tossing it into the fireplace immediately. No power on Earth could compel me to rewrite it.