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Chapter 4 - Marianne

I am lost in space. There is no atmosphere, and no air to breathe. I gaze upon Polaris, the Dog Star, brightest star, and know that it is the only real trajectory I can follow. There is nothing else I can do to affect this void around me.

Somewhere in Mississippi, I purchased a couple of spiral notebooks at a Dollar General off of the highway. One of the notebooks was simply for me to keep track of each new Awngaimene piece of lore that Forseti shared with me, but the second would be a personal journal. The first yellow, the second purple. I bought them with cash.

I find that journaling, or writing in general, helps me organize my thoughts. I don’t think I’ve ever gone back and read any of the entries that I’ve scribbled down throughout the years, at the risk of inflicting self-torture. It’s truly the writing itself that helps me condense my thoughts into little narratives that are capable of surviving inside my head. Little streams of consciousness. It helps me focus, and realize what’s truly the most important thing going on in my life at that moment. It’s the only tether preventing me from slipping into the black hole that is my fear.

But with the events of the past pawful of days being what they are, I imagine I’m going to be writing down every single thing that happens to me. I’ve seen more reality-warping things this week than I’ve seen in my entire life, and with there being as much mystery as there is, I feel like getting each and every detail recorded can only help, from the horrifying to the mundane.

No one’s ever going to read this. I’m even playing around with the idea of literally setting it ablaze once I fill out the pages, especially considering that the Psychic Wardens have probably killed animals for less. But for now, this is going to possibly be the most grounding and calming thing I do the more I get myself integrated within Awngaimene society.

That’s another thing that’s been weighing on my mind, now that I’ve brought up the Psychic Wardens. They seem to be an extremely literal entity, and they don’t even appear to be fully biological. They stick steadfast to their goal of keeping the Awngaimene society safe, but outside of that, I sincerely doubt that they’re actual, living animals. So when they bring up my mother, and claim that she’s the animal that sent that Shadow after me, I really can’t think of any reason why they’d lie. And that horrifies me. She kept the entirety of the magical world a secret, and I can only assume that she did so to protect me. She participated in all of this wonderful and terrible magic, and willingly set it aside so that it wouldn’t put me in danger. In my heart, I believe that she would never have sent something evil after me. I know the Shadow doesn’t want me dead, it only wants to bring me back to Chicago, but my mother could have convinced me to come over without a terrifying entity to literally carry me there. That claim had been weighing on my mind for the rest of the night, I hardly got any sleep.

All I know is that there’s more to this whole mad, magical scenario than one could pick up at first glance. I know that I only have maybe a quarter of the information I’d need to draw conclusions. And I know my mother loves me, she would never send something like the Wardens of the Shadow after me. I float in front of the yawning black hole, but I know it’s true.

Today’s the day that I meet Marianne the Sphynx.

It’s not difficult to tell that Forseti’s relationship with the mysterious feline is an odd one to parse. I can tell that Forsy has a lot of respect for this woman, but everyone in Marquette seemed to have this harboring resentment towards her for whatever reason. It’s not too tricky to imagine that each and every Frote Foulgydan probably bears a bit of that. Forseti talked about Marianne here and there on our long drive south, in between him complaining about the pain stemming from his rapidly-healing stab wounds, and him thankfully letting me know that he wasn’t disappointed in me for slipping up on the Awngaimene’s secrecy. But after the whole ordeal with the Psychic Wardens, the topic of Marianne got pushed towards the back of my mind, until we were only three or four hours away.

After the situation involving Forseti and his Fungal Entity, Marianne was the first person from the society to actually meet the fox. She’s a three-hundred-year-old sphynx cat who was originally born in Southern France. Forseti doesn’t know what specific form of magic has kept her alive this long, though it doesn’t seem to be malicious. I guess this is important. Some life-extending magic comes with evil, dark consequences. Marianne has traveled to every continent, met with most of the important figures in the Awngaimene society, and has a great magnitude of magical spells at her disposal. However, since World War 2, she has since completely retired down in the swamps near Houma in Louisiana, participating rarely with the Foulgydan of the Awngaimene society. Additionally, Forseti tells me that Houma, and New Orleans to a certain extent, have a fairly strong Awngaimene presence as well.

But, back to Marianne. She lives alone, save for a gargoyle servant named Palais, who Forseti assures is quite gentlemanly. Marianne also keeps a massive indoor garden of magical herbs, and a rather large menagerie of magical creatures. When she leaves the home, it’s a toss of the coin whether or not she’s simply looking for a spell ingredient, or making a pact with an ancient deity. She’s ill-tempered, often annoyed at everyone around her, and highly secretive, even with fairly mundane information. She’s never impressed with anyone, and thinks very highly of her work and her intelligence. But despite all of that, Forseti assures me that she’s a very charitable and wise person, and even though she’ll never share a word of praise to anyone, she wouldn’t hesitate to save the life of anyone in danger. Other Awngaimene accuse Marianne for hoarding secrets and knowledge while planning something nefarious, and other Foulgydan completely mistrust the furless cat for having lived as long as she has, but Forseti trusts her.

Apparently, Forseti sneaked a peak into my journal while I was driving the last portion, and says, quote; “You sound like you’re writing a mystery thriller. It’s just a journal, you can lighten it up a bit.” Also, yes, this little section was written by Forseti. You should read my journal, Florence. I make jokes. I do bits. It’s fun

It wasn’t too long after that minor invasion of privacy that we arrived at Marriane’s home. In my mind, I pictured a Baroque mansion, bedecked in grotesques and flying buttresses, despite the fact that we were very much so in America. And it makes me feel a bit guilty, but visions of an old, uncomfortably-Antebellum home also surfaced in the back of my brain. But neither prediction was true. After a beaten-up gravel road revealed an even more derelict dirt pathway, weaving hap-hazardly around a thick, verdant swamp, we came upon her abode only to reveal a medium-sized, two story home with French Quarter-styled railing, and a larger barn-type structure that I could only imagine housed the cat’s menagerie and garden.

And there she stood herself, on the front porch, directly in front of the door. She wore a white blouse with a tight-fitting collar, and a straight, deep purple skirt, with intricate little floral designs embroidered with white string. She stood straight-on, holding onto a simple black-painted cane, and while she definitely was leaning into the cane, it almost looked as though it was the Earth itself holding onto it, keeping the gravity of Marianne from leaving a dent. She was, indeed, a furless cat, with her thin, white whiskers being the only sign of hair on her body. Though I imagine a sphynx cat’s pink skin was naturally a bit wrinkled, Marianne seemed to possess an amount that indicated a woman somewhere in her early sixties, though I knew she was far older. She held a stoic expression, and while Forseti prepared me for an extremely crotchety person, she almost looked fully relaxed, if devoid of any smile.

And though the home was far from the Notre Dame, there was, indeed, one grotesque standing on the porch, completely made of stone. I imagined that the gargoyle wouldn’t remain petrified for long. But considering the fact that it was the middle of the morning, there was time before that transformation.

I couldn’t find a garage, so I simply parked the fox’s car directly in front of the house, as far away from any body of water as I could manage. I didn’t really know to what degree I’d need to worry about flooding, but the sheer amount of water held in Louisiana’s Bayou made that sort of thought stick out in the front of my mind. This far removed from civilization, it was a miracle that we didn’t plunge into a swamp considering the fact that Forseti’s abilities to navigate are quite lacking. I turned the ignition off, handed the fox his keys, and opened the door.

“See how quickly the trip takes when you don’t fuck around?” Marianne’s voice was clear and alto, without the gravel present in a few elderly beast’s voices.

“Marianne, it is a twenty-hour drive.” reposed Forseti, “I think I normally deserve a hotel. When I don’t have someone to split the drive time with.”

With a dry sarcasm bereft of any smile, the cat retorted with, “Oh yes, because being awake for twenty-four hours is surely the worst torture a person can endure.” Forseti grabbed his bag, as well as a smaller backpack with my essentials, and the two of us made our way towards the house as quickly as possible. Despite it being autumn, the heat and humidity of the nigh-tropical swamplands were immediately palpable. I could hear mosquitos invade my body almost immediately after leaving the car, and a strange, pale mushroom shelf actually started to grow from the other fox’s neck right before my eyes.

Marianne opened the door gracefully, and beckoned us inside, but not before turning to me and adding, “My name is Marianne, I imagine after spending a while with the fox, you probably have an opinion of me. I hope you’ll make your own judgment first, that fox’s opinions are often tedious.”

I could hear a pitiful, “Hey-” escape Forseti’s lips before Marianne continued immediately. “I’m told that you’ve been unfortunately thrust into this whole magical business against your will, but I’m afraid that’s all I really know about you. In all of his infinite wisdom, Forseti forgot to tell me your name.”

“Oh, um…” I lost my command of the language for a moment. Marianne’s imposing nature certainly intimidated me. “Florence, um, Johannanson is my name.”

I noticed no response to my last name. She seemed not to know of my mother. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Florence. I only wish it were under better circumstances.” We entered into the cat’s home. Burgundy wallpaper blended nicely with dark-wooden trims, and the staircase to the second floor stood immediately in the front hallway. The home was very clean and organized, but odd, esoteric crystals and magical artifacts still filled out enough shelf space to deter anyone from calling the home minimalistic. Still, there was a complete lack of portraits, pictures, or tapestries on the wall, and though each room had a ceiling fan, there wasn’t any air conditioning in the home. Those of us with fur were most likely going to sweat heavily in the Louisiana daytime.

The Foulgydan shut the door behind us. “I’m glad you made such good time. It’s very important that you made it here as soon as you did, Florence, I need you for a protection spell.”

Almost annoyed, Forseti cut in, “You need us for a protection spell? In person? You didn’t tell me that was part of the deadline.”

“I told you to come down here as quickly as possible.”

“I assumed it was a general danger thing, it would have been nice to know we needed to be a part of the spell-thing.”

Continuing with her dry, emotionless sarcasm, Marianne answered, “Oh, I guess I have a reputation for having stupid and careless instructions up until the point where the context gets revealed. Thank you for insulting my intelligence. You’re the one who went out chasing the G’hialgiange, with nary an black wry oar in sight.” Without skipping a beat, she turned towards me and changed the subject. “Admittedly, I was only joking earlier. Being awake for an entire day isn’t the most pleasant activity. I’m sure you’ve got questions, Florence, but I’m also assuming you’re more eager to sleep in a bed more than anything.”

She wasn’t wrong. Though I was able to nap a bit in the car, mobile sleeping hardly constitutes a full night’s rest. And I do typically sleep more than most animals I know. “That’s not a bad idea.”

“Then follow me upstairs.” The three of us climbed up towards the second floor, where Marianne immediately opened the first door across the hall from the flight of stairs, revealing a guest bedroom that I would actually consider minimalistic, though the full-sized, white-sheeted bed therein did look appealing. “I invite you to use this guest bedroom while you stay. Sleep as long as you want. This door-” She pointed to what I thought was a closet, “-leads to a washroom, with a bath, should you need. I need to have a private word with Forseti, but in the meantime, relax as much as you can. I wouldn’t wish this sort of Tystwole situation on my worst enemy. Take as much time as you need.”

“Thank you, Marianne.”

The furless cat simply gave me a curt nod, and then a quick look towards Forseti. I could tell that the other fox was far more tired than I was. I could almost see dark circles under his eyes, dark enough to show through his facefur. The two left, and I was alone in my thoughts.

A bath sounded nice. I hadn’t taken one since the last time I was in a hotel. My mother’s house only had a walk-in shower, as did my dorm. And with as humid as it was outside, I wasn’t too worried about my fur drying in the first place.

I am lost in space, powerless to control my trajectory. That was the first thing that I thought about, as I dipped into the cold water of the bath. Marianne looked at me like I was the victim of something far worse than I felt like I was. And I got the impression that the Foulgydan rarely felt sorry for anyone, though I guess I didn’t know her too well.

But then, I thought about my mother once more. She was still very much in danger. And even though I did almost die a few times in the past few days, and had every right to worry about my own safety, I silently beat myself up for not worrying about my mother as much as I could. I kept taking for granted that she was in some static situation. I thought she might be a prisoner? Caught in a trap? I had no idea what ordeals my mother was forced to face the past few days, and despite Forseti’s optimism, I wasn’t even entirely certain she was still alive. I certainly wasn’t going to take the Psychic Warden’s warnings literally, either. They didn’t seem to use their telepathic words in a grammatically normal way. Whatever they knew about my mother, there was no reason that she’d be some sort of dark, twisted mastermind in a plot of evil. In some weird, irrational way, I think I was almost sort of comforted by their warning. I was comforted by the notion that they knew she was involved in this situation in the first place. It made it feel as though she were still alive.

Either way, thoughts kept turning towards Marianne’s pity. I wasn’t about to break down in tears at the sight of anything magical, and I was worried that she would assume me to be some sort of hapless, frightened mortal, too afraid to confront magic. It was important that we found my mother, and stopped the Shadow from stealing my own self away, or Forsy for that matter. But I wasn’t going to let Marianne shelter me from this hidden world.

I didn’t stay in the bath for long. Strangely enough, the modest little bathroom didn’t actually have a shower attached. It was just a bath, a sink, and a toilet, with a few shelves. I was a full minute into the arduous task of drying my fur when there was a knock at the door, and in a panic, I scrambled to put my clothes on as quickly as possible, despite still being wet. I was almost afraid that the feline was going to barge into the bathroom unannounced, and some nervous part in the back of my brain was worried that the cat would be quick to misgender me or something. “I’m coming!” I called out, flinging the door to the guest room open, then the door to the hallway.

Marianne stood in the hallway next to an old, brass server’s cart. Her cane leaned against the wall. On the cart was an old pair of scissors, a glass jar, a strange, red-colored tea, a plate full of triangle sandwiches, and a plastic bottle of water that looked almost anachronistic amongst the other articles.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your bath, but there are things I need to take care of.” She picked up the scissors and aimed them at me. The automatic look of apprehension was apparently plain on my muzzle. Marianne retreated and sighed, “I only need your fur, Florence. If I do need your blood, I’ll ask first.”

I nodded, regaining my composure, and maintaining a confidence towards magic. “Of course. For the spell? I imagine.”

“Yes.”

“Sorry for startling, I think I’m a bit sleep deprived.”

“Of course.” Something in her voice felt a bit dubious of me. Due to what? I couldn’t say. “I won’t take too much of your time by explaining it, then.” Dammit, a chance to learn magic squandered. “It’ll be an involved process, but you don’t need to be awake for it.”

“I’d love to watch, maybe.”

“Oh no, you should get your sleep.” She held my arm aloft, and gracefully snipped a white tuft of fur, placing it into the glass jar without so much as leaving a single strand of hair astray. “This is a chamomile tea, and a minor meal, should you be hungry. Feel no compulsion to eat if you’re not. They’re just cucumber sandwiches. Your fur is all I need from you, so again, sleep as long as you need. I’ll give you a small little tour once you wake up again, but if you do wake up before I collect you, just make sure to not go to the building out back, nor any of the rooms towards the east side of the house. Am I clear?”

It almost felt like I was being condescended to, but still, there was no merit to me ignoring the Foulgydan’s bid for privacy. “Oh, yes. Where would I find you?”

“What was that?”

“When I wake up, where should I look for you?”

Marianne squinted. “You say that like this some sprawling castle. It isn’t that large of a house, I should be easy to find.”

I nodded. “That’s fair. I’ll avoid those areas, though, for sure.”

“I appreciate your discretion.” The sphynx cat pushed the cart into the room, leaving me with the tea and sandwiches, half-forcing me to step aside, and left without so much as another word.

I was still jaded that the cat wouldn’t let me be a part of the ritual, but she wasn’t wrong. I was tired, and there was no real need for me to be involved in the spell. I was just curious, and I almost got a bit mad at myself for almost acting like a little kit in the name of curiosity. I moved the cart over to the bed, munched on the sandwiches, and drank the tea. There was certainly more than simple chamomile petals involved, but I was under the impression that the herbal infusion was more like a medicine ball than anything else. It all tasted very nice, and I was glad that it was the sort of meal that was light enough for me to not get a stomach ache if I decided I wanted to sleep right away. I polished off the entire plate and tea cup, and actually checked my phone for the first time in days. Sure, I used it to connect to Forsy’s aux cord in the car, but I hadn’t looked at my texts or emails since Marquette. The entire notification bar was completely filled up. Dozens of friends were worried for me, even after I explained the faux family emergency, and I had left them on read. I thought that now wouldn’t be a bad idea to just check. I was going to brush my fangs, plug my phone in to charge, and then write to my friends. But then, a wave of tiredness suddenly washed over me. It almost made me feel nauseous. I lied down in the soft bed, and felt my eyes close involuntarily. I was tired, but I wasn’t at the point of falling asleep at the drop of a hat. Something was wrong. The void yearned.

Within seconds, I was asleep.

I woke up. All of the decorations in my dorm room were gone, as were Rowena’s, my red deer roommate. And North Chicago was undergoing some sort of muggy heat wave in the middle of autumn. I was forgetting something. Something that had far more gravity than just homework, or studying for midterms. I think my mother wanted me to do something, and I forgot what it was…

But then, I blinked the grogginess from my eyes, and it didn’t take me long for my brain to catch up to the present. I only ever felt that sort of disoriented waking up when my anxiety spikes and my sleep paralysis strikes the night before. Or was it the morning before? I looked out the windows. I didn’t even close the curtains before passing out, and now I could clearly see that night had fallen over Louisiana. A waning half-moon hung right outside the window, the only source of light outside. And stranger still, there was a dull throbbing in the palm of my paws. My phone was dead, so I got out of bed to flip the lightswitch on in order to investigate my pulsing left paw.

There was a single, strangely clean cut that wasn’t there yesterday. Like someone had sliced it with a blade in my sleep.

I felt my heart race a bit faster, and my blood pressure rise. But I couldn’t let fear get in the way of my chance to reveal the present mystery. I always thought that I could muster the willpower necessary to keep my head cool, should anything supernatural occur in my presence, but the past few days alone shook my confidence in my willpower almost too much. A minor cut was nothing compared to psychic bounty hunters, though, especially a cut that had healed so quickly. Magic had to be involved.

I had fallen asleep in my clothes, so I had no need to change, but I wasn’t going to go downstairs without applying a bit of deodorant first to combat the fox musk that developed. I slept fully clothed in my own sweat. I left my phone on a cable to charge, and made my way downstairs to see why exactly Marianne needed my blood.

The house was quiet, and my loud pawsteps on the old, creaky floorboards immediately gave my position away, not that I was trying to stay hidden. I descended the stairs, but before I could make my way towards the front landing, some shadowy form suddenly moved towards the bottom of it.

It was unlike anything I had ever seen. At first, the brief panic that accompanied the Shadow pursuer resurfaced, and for a moment, I thought that it had already made its way down to Louisiana, but it was only the dim lighting that made it appear shadowy. My vulpine eyes soon took in the details, still working through the deep sleep that may have been drug induced. It almost looked like an anthropomorphic dragon, like a mythical creature, with a wide, toothy reptilian maw, though it also had a pig’s nose, curved ram’s horns, bat’s wings, and a hunched, scaled, dark-green body. Despite looking rather grotesque, the being had a gentle-looking grin, and polite warmth in his glowing yellow eyes. He almost appeared to stand like a gentleman, were it not for his hunch. He wasn’t wearing any clothes, and though I didn’t look towards his waist at first, I soon began to notice a lack of genitalia.

After a few seconds of standing on the staircase dumbfounded, it hit me. This was Palais.

The gargoyle spoke first, and though I expected an English accent, he spoke with a delicate, polite French affectation. “Oh, Miss Johannson. You’ve awoken far later than expected. And-” He turned his hips sideways, “Forgive me for failing to dress myself first.” His voice remained polite and professional, failing to betray any bashfulness.

I remained on the stairwell. “Oh, I can- um, leave you to it. I assume you’re Palais?”

The gargoyle nodded his head in a polite bow, “Yes, miss. That is my name.” Palais then proceeded to walk towards a closet, and pull out what appeared to be a skirt or a kilt, with a dark-colored design. While fastening on the garment, the gargoyle continued, “I’m certain you have a thousand questions, at least. Unfortunately, the lady is currently occupied with something, as am I shortly. May I request that you remain in the lounge? Or perhaps your room, if you’d be more comfortable? I trust you still have water.”

“Oh, I still have my water. Palais, what- um, is going on right now?” I had kept my composure cool, eager not to offend the magical being.

Without awkwardness, yet without maliciousness, he responded, “I’m afraid it’s not up to me to say.”

“Oh, are you coming upstairs?”

“Yes, ma’am, if you don’t mind. The wings get in the way.” He flexed his bat wings, almost as if to show them off.

“I’ll, um- Here, I’ll go get my water bottle and then head to the lounge.”

“Thank you, miss.” We both made our way upstairs, and I entered into my room so that the bulky gargoyle could pass me. Seeing Palais at the same level as me, as opposed to at the bottom of the stairs, led me to notice that he was easily twice my size. The gargoyle gave me a polite nod, then walked down the hallway as I made my way down to the first room at my right. I was glad that this magical being stressed me out far less than the cut on my paw.

Marainne’s lounge was quite cozy. One could find an old, velvet sofa, a smaller velvet chaise, and elegant wooden tables and chairs. A huge grandfather clock was the centerpiece of the room, ticking away amidst what was otherwise silence. A few bookcases lined the walls, filled with books that appeared to have been printed in the forties at the latest, and a few shelves here and there held strange curios, from ornate metal candlesticks to skulls of creatures I’d never seen before. There even seemed to be a crystal decanter filled with what looked like wine. The burgundy and dark-colored aesthetic continued into this room. It almost had the same color palette as the Awngaimene bar up in Marquette.

And so, I waited. I was a bit annoyed that my phone wasn’t charged, but I was hellbent on following my instructions to the letter, so I remained in the lounge, staring at the grandfather clock. I went to investigate the books, hoping to find ancient magical tomes, or records of mystical lore, but there seemed to be mostly old novels, as well as antique nonfiction books and biographies. I recognized almost none of them. The collection felt rather mundane compared to the idea of some sage figure’s collection of esoteric tomes, but looking at the old, worn covers and reading the titles of old botany guides and fictional mystery novels staved off boredom for a little while.

Minutes passed, until I spun around to notice Marianne standing in the doorway with a stark look of surprise. When earlier, she wore a classy, vintage outfit, now she almost dressed like a farmpaw, wearing only jeans, suspenders, and a dark gray button-up shirt.

“You’re awake.” she declared, as though lightning bolts had just shot out of my pawpads. Though I speculated about it before, the fact that the furless cat was now so utterly surprised drove home the point that she had drugged me. I couldn’t let her think that I’d lost trust in her though.

“Oh, I thought maybe that the tea was bewitched or something, but I’m fine- I’m comfortable with it, I imagine there was a reason.”

The feline’s wide eyes relaxed a little, and she resumed her normally stoic visage. My response worked far better than I thought it would. “Good. You must forgive me for inducing sleep, Tystwoles are prone to-” She flipped her paw back and forth, searching for the words, “Sleeping poorly.”

I choked out a little laugh, proving that I could keep it light, but it still baffled me how little the cat regarded my cut. “Believe me, I could fall asleep in a plane crash. But I appreciate the thought.”

A brief pause. “It’s wise to not be that trusting. I apologize for indulging a bad habit.” Marianne declared ominously before she walked across the room with her eyes darting about, as if she were looking for something. As she made her way towards the door on the opposite end of the room, it dawned on me that we weren’t going to be having a full conversation.

“Marianne, what’s going on right now?”

The cat stopped in the doorway and let out an audible, almost annoyed sigh. She didn’t even turn to face me. “Explaining what I’m doing is a completely moot point for at least three different reasons, so please have patience.”

“I can help you look for-”

She turned to look at me. “I didn’t explain well enough. There is no way that you can be of any help to me right now, apart from having patience, and letting me do my work.”

I felt sudden butterflies in my stomach. It wouldn’t be accurate for me to describe Marianne’s look as a glare, but the tired feline eyes were icy all the same. I believe I audibly gulped before saying, “Yes, Marianne. Sorry.” She said nothing further as she continued into her own home.

A surge of social anxiety welled up within me, as well as the additional awkward feeling of not knowing what to do. At that point, I decided to go write in my journal again, while the past few conversations were still fresh in my mind, but nothing could make the awkward feeling within my chest go away.

As soon as I set my journal down, I rubbed my arm unconsciously, and pulled my wet paw back to find red blood sticking to my white fur. I had randomly received a rather long gash in my arm, and this wound wasn’t magically closed. But the strangest thing was that I could have sworn that my arm was fine when I was downstairs in the lounge. I went to clean my wound in the bathroom.

The familiar, antagonizing voice of the furless cat then spoke in the doorway.

“Florence, shut this door, and whatever you do, don’t leave the room.” She stood there with her arms crossed, but definitely snuck a glance at the gash in my arm.

“Gahh!” I shouted, once again startled by the Foulgydan’s unannounced entrance. “What’s going on-”

“Just- Sit still, give me a goddamned moment.” She shut the door, and I could hear her mutter under her breath, not that I could pick out the words. The social anxiety returned. I couldn’t chalk this up to normal crankiness, something was clearly going wrong, and I hadn’t a clue as to what it was. I just wish it didn’t result in Marianne starting to hate me out of nowhere, her outburst seemed uncalled for.

I simply sat at the end of the bed for a moment, not even taking the time to check my phone. And then, I heard Forseti scream. Apparently, he was in a room just down the hall, and something was happening to him.

I stood up with a jolt, ready to run towards the other fox. Marianne’s warning rang out in my head for a brief moment, clear as a bell, but I shook it aside. Whatever Marianne was afraid of had gotten to the yellow-furred fox first. Or, even worse, perhaps it was Marianne herself who was doing something terrifying to him. I pushed the thought to the back of my mind.

I heard him scream out again and again as I flung the creaky door open, rushed into the hallway, and found the room where his cries were coming from. Blind panic thrust aside any thoughts of caution or rationality. I gripped the handle to the door at the end of the hallway, ready to swing that one open as well, when something massive punched the middle of my chest and knocked me onto my back. An awkward, gagged yelp escaped my muzzle. The wind was knocked out of me, and I was unable to scream properly.

I sat up as quickly as I could and scanned the hallway. Nothing was there.

Just then, the door to Forseti’s bedroom was thrust open, nearly ripped off of its old hinges. The menacing, bulky figure of Palais towered over me in the doorway.

My head swam with wretched accusations, and I couldn’t fathom what the gargoyle could have done to cause the other vulpine to shout out so suddenly. But then, the gargoyle began to shuffle about frantically, as though he were embarrassed about something. A quick, cursory glance into the room saw Forseti wrapping himself up in sheets, seemingly unharmed. Palais suddenly found what he was looking for, wrapped his kilt around himself, and stammed, “Miss Florence, I should have locked the door-”

I had realized what was going on. “Oh, no, I’m so-”

Just then, Marianne ran up the stairs and appeared at its landing. “Florence, I told you-”

“I know, I just heard Forseti-”

Forseti then shouted over me. “I’m fine! Sorry, I- I got loud-”

Marriane’s eyes went wide. “Florence, duck!”

I got to my paws and knees as some strange, mysterious force pushed its way past me, scratching at my face. I brought a paw up to my cheek to reveal that I’d been afflicted with another bleeding cut. Marianne and Palais’s gazes turned towards the bedroom. Forseti screamed, “Marianne, it’s on the ceiling!”

I turned my gaze, and there was nothing there.

Palais flew up, faster than a wild bird of prey, and immediately brought himself down to the floor. It looked as though he’d tackled something, but there was nothing underneath him.

I tried to fight my natural shock response, but couldn’t figure out what I should be reacting to. “Somebody please tell me what’s going on!”

Marianne had come up to the threshold, put a claw on my shoulder, and barked, “Florence, focus. There is a creature in the room.”

“Yeah, I met Palais earlier-”

“Under the gargoyle, Florence!”

I felt the presence of panic come onto me. Focusing seemed like an impossible task. Regardless of whether or not I could see the creature, Marianne continued her ordering. “Palais, don’t kill it-”

“Ma’am, I’m not going to kill it. I’m holding it down!”

The sphynx cat went into the room, drew forth a gnarled, blackened wand with her right paw while grabbing a small cotton bag with her left, like Forseti had done in Marquette.

Suddenly, Marianne called out something in French, pulling out an unexpected authentic accent. The lights went out, and the little sachet burned to ash in the darkness.

In that darkness, the gargoyle spoke first. “That seemed to work. And the Kozghai has a pulse-”

“Of course it has a pulse. I’m good with my craft.”

Palais responded shyly, as though the Sphynx had just greatly offended him. “I just thought you’d like to know.”

The lights flickered twice, then came back on completely, and I noticed right away that Palais was indeed grappling something to the floor.

It was a creature unlike any that I’d ever seen. It had leathery, dark green skin from its head to its tail, and while that trend continued to its upper arms and legs, the lower arms were made of what looked like black chitin. A hook-like, chitinous appendage grew from its tail, and a similar, rib-shaped growth seemed to grow out of its torso, wrapping around the entire trunk of its body. The strange bone-like growths that grew out of the creature's body paled, however, to the intricate, twisting growths that grew out of its face, almost shaped like the roots of a tree if you were to look at it from underneath. As soon as I looked past the facial intricacies, though, the resemblances to an insect stopped. It almost had a lion’s maw and nose, and a furry, black mane grew out of the top of its head and chin, but it did still possess black, insect-like mandibles. It looked to be only slightly smaller than myself, and its eyes were closed.

Despite the panic I had been mentally fighting all evening, I was relaxed enough when I took in the sight of this creature. Marianne was the first to talk. “Help me carry it back to the lab, Palais, and then you can…” she sighed audibly, “Continue what you were doing.

“Yes, ma’am.” responded the gargoyle, dutifully. I shimmied out of the way of the door’s threshold to let the hulking grotesque pass. I hazarded a response. “What just happened?”

“And queue Florence, asking questions again.” Marianne pinched her forehead with her claws. I sheepishly bit back my tongue.

But it was Forsy who came to my defense. “Marianne, did you not explain the Kozghai to Florence? I literally told you about how I didn’t explain the Psychic Wardens, and it bit me in the ass.”

“Put some fucking clothes on, fox.”

The fox was still wrapped up in a gown consisting entirely of eggshell-colored bed sheets. “That seems counterproductive.”

Marianne was apparently not in the mood to deal with the lewd-minded fox, so she just turned to me. “Are you familiar with what a Glamour is, Florence?”

I gulped, “I mean, yeah, sort of. I think that’s a sort of witchcraft spell- Should we leave Forseti alone?”

“I’d appreciate it!” shouted the other vulpine.

Marianne sighed again. It was a wonder that she inhaled enough air to remain alive considering how much she sighed. “Me as well. But Florence, I need to get to the lab shortly, and you can’t follow.”

I got up and nevertheless followed Marianne into the cramped hallway as she continued. “The Kozghai is a magical creature from across central Eurasia that naturally mastered the Glamour. It can’t turn invisible, but it can trick your brain into not seeing it. You’ve been in the same room as it three times now.”

“Oh.” was all I could muster, following behind the cat as she went down the stairs.

“I’ve raised one as a part of my menagerie, and it’s easily one of the most annoying beasts that I’ve ever raised, but it’s urine is potent for Glamour rituals, and it’s also potent in protection magic, easily one of the strongest ingredients, otherwise I wouldn’t drink it-”

My stomach turned “I’m going to have to drink-”

“I’m going to have to drink it, Florence, when the Shadow comes. But I’m only one-third of the way through the ritual, and every other step is equally annoying.” We had reached the front landing once more. “So please, give me the rest of the fucking evening so I can save your life. I know you’re curious. I know that this sort of thing is impossible to ignore. But I need you to fucking-” The feline Foulgydan had worked her way up to an angry fervor once more, but before getting into another outburst, she took a deep breath.

“The thing- The Shadow is almost at the threshold of things that I can handle. Almost, and there’s room for me to doubt. It’s dawning on me that you’re just like Forseti, and you want to be a part of this greater, profound thing that all of the Awngaimene are a part of. Don’t get caught up with that until we’ve taken care of this situation. Understood?”

For whatever reason, I was on the verge of tears. “I understand.”

“Just go to your room- Or, if you hear the fox with Palais, you’re welcome to wait in the lounge again. That noisy bastard can’t fuck quietly.”

Marianne’s brash reaction to Forseti sleeping with her gargoyle servant snapped me back from the brink of crying, especially considering that he had a husband. “If you don’t mind, I have one more question, what’s going on with Forseti and-”

“She’s doing a favor for me-” Marianne’s voice suddenly went quiet. “We- I need a clutch of gargoyle eggs, she’s getting pregnant for me- for the eggs.”

“Isn’t, um, isn’t Forseti a man?”

“Forseti’s gender fluid. I changed her physiology a few hours ago, so she can bear the eggs.”

My eyes became saucers, and my jaw hung down to my chest in response to how in-touch with modern sensibilities the feline suddenly seemed to be. I was also absolutely enraptured by the reminder that this was a magical procedure that the Foulgydan could perform. “That’s something you can do?”

“Yes, though it’s difficult for me specifically to perform it if you aren’t cursed by a Fungal Entity. Are we having fun with this whole continuing-to-ask-me-questions thing?”

I shook my head quickly. “Yes, sorry Marianne. I just, um- I had no idea-”

“It’s a quid pro quo for me helping you. Make sure to thank the fox later.” Without saying anything polite to conclude the conversation, Marianne disappeared behind the door, towards the eastern side of her house.

In a daze, I sauntered over to the lounge and plopped down right onto the chaise, completely unable to focus on anything in particular.

One night later, the Shadow came.

It was a dark and stormy night. The winds reminded me of a hurricane, though Marianne assured me that those sorts of winds were far worse. She was glad that it was night, however. Palais would be free from his stone form.

Forseti accessed the Record to deduce a rough time-frame for when the Shadow would make it to the home, but as soon as she made the prediction, Marianne forced the other vixen and I into hiding safely away in a room, fortified against magical runes drawn in Kozghai urine and other vile ingredients. Part of me was curious to see the magic that Marianne would be performing against our persistent stalker, but I knew that victory wasn’t automatically assured, and the risks, though unexplained, seemed too high.

But then, Marianne offered a solution. We could witness her work through a scrying pool. We could also look through a security camera she placed in her backyard. I elected for the more fantastical option. And so, we watched the Sphynx get to work. Outdoor lighting illuminated the scene. She and the gargoyle moved heavy, black stone monoliths in a circle in the outdoor part of the garden behind her house, and painted more runes in the sides of the stones. A cauldron filled with what looked like blood was placed in the center of the circle. Marianne chanted over it, and though I could hear voices through the scrying, it was difficult to make out the language. And then, the cat sat down cross-legged, and closed her eyes in meditation, occasionally taking a swig from a hip flask filled with what I doubted was only alcohol.

And then, the Shadow came.

It moved quickly, as though I was watching an animal walk at triple the speed, despite its stride remaining relaxed. It maneuvered up to the cauldron, oozing black fluid that dissipated in the air, and dipped its antlered head into the cauldron, pulling it back to reveal a faceless head dripping with red blood. The Shadow hadn’t noticed Marianne, due to the effect of the Glamour, but she took another swig, stood up, withdrew a wicked, black-steel curved dagger, and approached the dark entity that stalked us. In a clear, demanding voice, she called out a challenge.

“Do you speak?”

But the Shadow didn’t respond. It snapped its head in attention towards the cat, looking directly at her without eyes, but it was as if a gaze was connected between the two all the same, because I saw clear, abject, unexpected fear in Marianne’s eyes.

The Shadow ran towards the cat, though despite her age, she was able to roll safely out of the way. Gliding on his bat-like wings, Palais swooped in from out of frame to try and knock the Shadow over, but it passed right through the entity’s incorporeal body all the same. But Marianne noticed, and acted immediately. She held her curved blade aloft, and chanted something guttural and full of consonants. Where most of the cat’s incantations seemed to be in French, this seemed like something else entirely. The runes on the monoliths began to glow. The Shadow seemed to be held still by some unseen force, but then it snapped back into a crouching position, and ran at Marianne.

She couldn’t get out of the way in time. The Shadow punched Marianne in her stomach with an abnormal amount of force, sending her to the floor. I could easily hear the sickening thud. The Sphynx spat blood, but came up from her knees, swinging the blade. It connected with the entity, jamming into its back, but the Shadow swung once more. It was impossible to parse when the being existed as solid mass or otherwise. Palais had returned to the fray, and tried grabbing the Shadow’s arms, and though I imagined that the gargoyle possessed unnatural strength as well, he couldn’t seem to pull the Shadow away with any ease. It couldn’t pull free, however, and Marianne shoved her dagger into its chest, holding it in place this time, screaming her incantation.

The Shadow pushed Palais aside suddenly, but Marianne held fast, repeating her spell over and over again. I recognized certain repeated phrases. The dark being went for another slam, but Marianne held on, until she suddenly pulled back, performed a backwards somersault, and remained there in a three-point pose as the Shadow remained still.

There wasn’t much panache. The inky blackness of the Shadow seemed to drip, then dissipate into thin air, much faster than it normally did. In a matter of seconds, not a trace of the sludge remained. There was simply the corpse of a tall, wide-set stag, clearly dead. His body almost seemed mummified. It certainly wasn’t decaying, but it was far from fresh. The deer slumped to the floor, completely still. Marianne spat out blood once more, then took a swig from her flask. She shined with the light of a supergiant star.

Forseti and I met Marianne in the garden. The Sphynx cat was groaning in pain, smoking a cigarette. She didn’t seem to be in any dire medical condition, until she grumbled, “The thing broke my goddamned ribs, but that went far better than it could have.”

Palais, wearing a worried expression that looked strange on the gargoyle’s chimeric face, offered, “Should we call an Apothecary-”

“I’ll be fine. I can patch myself up. Might break out the morphine though-”

“I hardly think-”

Marianne placed a claw on the gargoyle's shoulders, almost affectionately, “I’m mostly teasing, Palais, don’t worry.” She then seemed to stare blankly, not at anything in particular, “I had to break out the Eviscerate spell on the shithead though.” Palais’s face of worry then went cold, as if he were told the worst news imaginable. I opened my muzzle to ask, but Marianne beat me to it. “Yes, yes, Florence with the questions. It’s a violent exorcism-type thing, only for dire situations. It’s not a good spell.”

Silence hung in the air alongside tobacco smoke as I contemplated just what “not good” meant in this case, but I asked something else entirely.

“So, what was that?”

Marianne still didn’t meet anyone’s gaze, taking her time to answer. “I’m sorry. It’s…” She sighed, “You’re not finished with this yet, and it’s best if you don’t ask me anything further, but for the time being, nothing like that’s going to hunt you.” She walked over to the mummified corpse. “There’s only one of these Shadows.”

“Is my mother OK?”

Another pause. A long, contemplative look at the stag’s corpse. Despite what the cat would say, I had a feeling about the answer. “There’s nothing you can do to help her that won’t get you killed, Florence. I’m sorry. We’re going to need to wait.” But then, the feline fished through her pant pockets and pulled out an unassuming silver key. This time, it was Forseti’s eyes went wide as saucers. “Whoah, you’re pulling out the Key-”

“Yes, Forseti. I’m going to need to get to you at a moment’s notice.”

“It’s just that- Marianne, I’ve driven down here, like, more than a dozen times-”

“You know, it’s always just completely enchanting to hear you complain-”

The other vulpine cut the tension by making a faux whining noise, “And I can’t even use it until I drive all the way back up to Marquette, Marianne.”

I decided to cut in, using context queues to make a guess. “Is that a teleporter?”

The Sphynx pinched her furless forehead in annoyance, “When you use science fiction terms like that, it sort of cuts out the mystique. But yes, it’s going to form a bend in space using two doors, so I can get to you if needed.”

I knew the annoyance wasn’t personal. With everything that the Frote Foulgydan was doing, I couldn’t help but feel entirely grateful. Nodding, I answered. “Thank you, Marianne. I really appreciate the help.”

“Thank me if we make it out of this alive.”

“So,” I hazarded half-awkwardly, “You’re pregnant with… Palais’s eggs?” Every conversation with the other fox revealed five more bizarre character traits. Being gender fluid was one thing. Having it literally demonstrated through a surprise impregnation was another. We were far from crossing the border into Mississippi on our long drive back to Marquette.

“Yeah…” Forseti bashfully rubbed a paw on the back of her head while she drove with the other, “Sorry you had to walk in on that-”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Forseti spoke slowly for a moment, “But not with a gargoyle, right-”

“Well, I mean- No, the gargoyle’s new.”

The pregnant fox laughed sheepishly for a moment, “There’s a very good reason for it, but promise me you won’t ask just yet. Marianne wants me to keep it a secret.”

“Aren’t you going to- Your belly-” Despite the fact that the fox’s top breasts weren’t filling out, it would be entirely impossible to miss the vulpine’s gender transformation with how swollen her belly had become.

“Oh, not the pregnancy itself, just the, um, reason for it.”

I guess that made sense. “Yeah, I won’t pry, if it’s personal.”

“I bet you’ve had a billion questions about that the past few days, I didn’t wanna bring it up while Marianne was around, ‘cuz- She’s weird about getting asked questions.”

I opted to ask the polite question first. “So, should I- Does ‘he/they’ still apply?”

Forseti shrugged, “Gender fluid vibes. Changing day-to-day. I do feel like a woman now, but not just ‘cause I have a pussy now, for sure.”

“And… is having a child something you’ve done before?”

“Not with Palais, and not with normal people either, but, um, yeah. The Fungal Entity… mostly-” Her eyes went wide, “Oh shit!” Forseti screeched, “Lemme pull over real quick. I gotta tell Zuma I’m pregnant.”

I turned to the fox with a completely baffled look “You didn’t tell your husband?”

“He’s comfortable with it. So are, like, our other partners- And more importantly, I was distracted. The Shadow thing was distracting.”

“That is just the most complete understatement I’ve ever-”

“Shush, you didn’t get your tail ripped off…”