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Chapter 20 - Euchre and Malört

a thousand years ago, a Witch King yearned for immortality. he called upon an old and ancient Litch. he was more powerful and more cunning than any other Litch, for indeed, instead of killing to fill his phylactery, he was able affix his soul into the body of a willing heir. as he’d done for another thousand years. it was as such that the Litch was able to outlast each and every one of his brethren. but it was at this time when the Litch was bereft of an heir, and though none could recall the reason therein, the Witch King knew this well, and sought to strike a deal.

he callously sent armies to attack a neighboring kingdom, and Magic was said to have been seen by the Tystwoles in the skirmish. an inquisition was called. a war broke out, under the cause of stolen land, or stolen valour, or for a stolen bride. the cause is not what is important, for it is no mystery that men go to war. and in the confusion, and under the guise of conscription, the Witch King and his men kidnapped the youth of his kingdom, searching for a willing heir, as the Litch lurked in the Witch King’s dungeon, watching.

there was a peasant Fox in the kingdom with two sons and five daughters. her husband had perished in a war before the youngest was born. the youngest was now twelve years of age. fur as white as freshly fallen snow. the Fox matron knew not of magic. knew not of the power of the Witch King for whom she toiled. and when the names of her sons were called in the town square, beckoned to follow in the Witch King’s war, she would never learn of their fate. the Litch lurked in the shadows of the town as he did in the Witch King’s dungeon, watching.

fire ravaged the village one night, as fire is wont to do in wartime. and in the chaos of all, all but one of the Fox matron’s daughters had made it to the hills. the second youngest would never be found again. the Litch lurked in the shadows, watching. naught but a week had passed when fire ravaged the village once more, as fire is wont to do in wartime, and in the chaos of all, all but one of the Fox matron’s remaining daughters had made it to the hills. the middle child would never be found again. the Litch lurked in the shadows, watching. naught but a week had passed when fire ravaged the village once more, as fire is wont to do in wartime, and in the chaos of all, only one of the Fox matron’s remaining daughters had made it to the hills. it was the youngest. fur white as freshly fallen snow. the second eldest child would never be found again. the Litch lurked in the shadows, watching. but the eldest daughter ravaged and raged like the fire which consumed her life. and in return, the fire itself ravaged and raged the eldest child’s body. her once marbled fur had been mostly burned away, and her flesh was scared, as it would remain for the rest of her life. and the eldest child had achieved nothing. the insurmountable pain she would endure could do nothing to save her sister from a doom she knew to be inevitable. but she did watch, watch as the Witch King’s soldiers bound and gagged the fox’s sister, and carried her away to oblivion. it would be this conflagration in which the village would never rebuild. the Litch lurked in the shadows, watching.

the ashen sister shambled through the burning village and found her way to her Mother and sister, and told her tale. the Fox matron and the ashen sister then knew, that the youngest daughter would be taken next. fur white as freshly fallen snow. and for three days and three nights, the three foxes waited on the hillside overlooking the smoldering remains of what was once a home. they hid in bushes. they hid from soldiers, and the inquisition, and the wild untamed beasts of the realm, and on the third night the Fox matron and ashen sister would finally succumb to slumber.

the Witch King knew well the ways of ancient magic. no mortal means bar the all-seeing eye of the scrying pool. and his soldiers possessed the gift as well. and one afternoon, as a small company of soldiers on feral horseback had marched past the village. a village they knew not the name of, nor that it had been annihilated three days prior. they noticed two sleeping foxes, and one child awake. and they did as they were ordered. they knew not of the Witch King’s yearning for immortality, they knew only of their orders. and they snatched the little fox kit from her bush and bound and hooded her. and through her gag, the youngest fox snarled and foamed. and the Mother awoke. and the Mother ran straightaway towards the soldiers. and the Mother was skewered by a soldier’s spear and left on the dusty road to die as the soldiers laughed and carted the Fox matron’s youngest daughter away. and the ashen sister awoke and ran straightaway towards the soldiers. and the soldiers were already far afield on the backs of feral horses. and the Fox matron looked towards the sky and knew only of death. and she closed her eyes and invited it in. for all in the world is too much to bear.

and the Litch lurked in the shadows, watching.

the Witch King knew well of the Litch’s flippant nature, floating about here and there in his rotting body, only lurking in the dark, black shadows of the dungeon when summoned. but the Witch King knew not of the Litch’s strange fascination with this peasant Fox. and as the Fox lay in the dirt, accepting death, the Litch appeared and called out to her. the ashen sister watched in horror as the shambling corpse began to speak.

but what is the use of offering immortality to one who longs for death? what could the Litch whisper to the Fox for to convince her to commit acts of wicked, unforgivable evil? and for as many times as the Witch King had tried to invoke the Litch’s promise of immortality, why had it failed, over and over again?

it is not these questions that the Fox had asked. and it is not these questions that the Litch had answered. for it was very clear that the Litch had brought something more valuable than immortality to the bargain. the Litch had offered the Fox revenge.

but the Fox shook her head. for even though the Litch would claim the Fox’s body, he had required an heir as part of the bargain. and indeed, the bargain would claim the life of her eldest child.

but the ashen fox begged and pleaded her Mother to agree to the Litch’s bargain. and it was not that she had feared a life of permanent disfigurement. and it was not that she had feared a life of permanent pain. but it was out of immense and terrible love for her younger sister, and the blind hope that she may be saved from the Witch King’s terror. and the Fox matron shook her head no, and the ashen sister asked once more, and the Litch lurked in the shadows, watching. and the Fox waited for death to come. and the ashen sister pulled the spear from her Mother’s body and stood in the road, ready to fall upon it should the Fox shake her head a third time.

the Fox matron shook her head, and the ashen sister fell onto the spear, and lay there, dying. and she had forced upon her mother an ultimatum.

and the Litch smiled.

a Shadow formed of the Litch’s original body. a Shadow that had been dead for nineteen years. and the ashen sister died, allowing for the Fox to take over her body. the Litch had closed the spear wound with utter ease.

the Fox knew not of the nature of magic until the Litch had whispered his secrets into her pointed ears. the Litch knew that magic was a gift borrowed by animals by entities in worlds beyond, for it was not their own. and the Litch knew of animals who had hoarded it. killed for it. commit acts of unforgivable evil for to savor its sweet taste. and he made it no secret to the Fox that he was no different from the most evil of them. a simple twist of fate had prevented the Litch from being present at the Affair of the Blighted Court. but he knew all the same that mankind was unworthy of its gift.

that night, desolation came to the keep of the Witch King. hundreds upon hundreds of men died as the Shadow ripped their feeble bodies asunder, regardless of the magic they were capable of casting. and when the Fox and the Litch arrived at the full tide of blood, they entered into the dungeon and found that the Fox’s youngest daughter had already been killed. the Witch King, a fanatic for immortality, had gone mad, attempting the Litch’s ritual without the entity’s presence, killing each victim, one by one, and achieving nothing. the Fox knew not of magic, but did not flinch as the Litch held the Witch King fast in an unseen grip of magic. the Fox had picked up a mace. the Witch King’s body was unrecognizable thereafter.

the Fox had buried her youngest child. and in her last act of goodness, she set the rest of the children free, and vanished entirely. the Litch lurked in the shadows, as always, for all time, watching. until his death at the paws of the Fox’s daughter, for whom revenge was sought. and was born again. born of grief and poison. with fur as white as freshly fallen snow.

“I was under the impression that Euchre is played with only four players,” said Touchstone, “There are-” He recalled that Beck was remarkably quick with the count last time and beckoned a talon towards the hedgehog’s direction expectantly.

But Beck responded before the blackbird could even begin comedically hanging on a syllable. “Fifteen.”

Three days prior, Beck found The Lady Juxtaposed half-dead in the middle of the forest.

Four days prior, The Lady Juxtaposed and the Archlitch’s Shadow had a brutal, hellish skirmish. Try as hard as The Lady Juxtaposed could, The Lady Juxtaposed couldn’t utilize enough psychic magic to shut down the Shadow’s brain. There was very little brain left intact in the first place. Psychic magic would prove useless. However, The Lady Juxtaposed fought back with a myriad of other spells as the Shadow attempted to run after Florence and I. The fight lasted for an hour, and was dragged towards an entirely different part of the forest. The Shadow delivered punishing blow after punishing blow, and broke The Lady Juxtaposed’s jaw, ribs, shoulders, and left femur. The Shadow struck The Lady Juxtaposed’s throat with a powerful blow, and something about The Lady Juxtaposed’s voice failed to work as a result. The Shadow then proceeded to slink off, not towards my car, but instead in the direction towards my home, where it would wait patiently for Florence to finally be left alone a day later.

The Lady Juxtaposed lied down in the snow, gazing towards the stars that The Lady Juxtaposed was sure would be The Lady Juxtaposed’s last sight. But The Lady Juxtaposed wouldn’t die. The Foulgydan reached out to any sentient being with a brain in the nearby vicinity, but couldn’t find a single soul within range for an entire day. The Foulgydan was used to pain. The entirety of the Foulgydan’s life after the beginning of that wretched curse was pain. And yet, The Lady Juxtaposed became disappointed that The Lady Juxtaposed couldn’t just hurry up and die, if only because the immobilization caused by a dozen broken bones started to seem monotonous in comparison.

A day later, Beck ran off towards the forest after having caught a glimpse of the Daggrebosko. Beck had never really come face-to-face with any significant magical threat before. Sure, Folgydan Resurrection Mary was a ghost, and it was rare to see Forseti without mushrooms growing out of him, but the thin, wiry assassin was something else. Beck lost track of the time, and lost track of the distance at which they ran into the woods. The hedgehog then began to panic for an entirely different reason, and shrugged off any pretense for stealth to begin madly calling for help.

The Lady Juxtaposed was the first and only animal to hear.

Hours later, after Florence had killed the Archlitch, Beck and The Lady Juxtaposed were in the back of the Mulgywai Chance’s little blue hatchback. Despite the Foulgydan’s immense psychic prowess, Chance’s phone number was the only phone number that The Lady Juxtaposed memorized. Chance took the two animals to the Apothecary Sappha. The Lady Juxtaposed remained in the nuthatch’s care during the little party that I decided to throw at my place, and despite my enormous hatred for fucking Sappha, I was glad that she was due to completely heal The Lady Juxtaposed.

The Lady Juxtaposed told Beck to send a message to Florence; The Lady Juxtaposed had caught a fleeting glimpse of Mary Johannson’s mind while facing the Shadow, and could parse absolutely none of her thoughts, outside of the vague, abstract inclinations of grief and sorrow.

“Well,” I started, “Once Briar gets here, we’ll have sixteen animals, and I have at least a half dozen decks of cards, so we’ll be good to go.

But Lavitia killed the vibe by standing up and putting on her coat. “I appreciate the party invitation, but I can’t leave Willoughby for too long. I’m just here for the Malört, you’ve been hyping it up too much-”

“Oh Hells,” moaned the tabby cat Jacksie, “If you’re just here for that, you might as well leave now.”

“It’s not that bad,” grumbled the doe, Rowena.

Lavitia practically blew up my phone while I was under the influence of the Fungal Entity and unable to answer it. It wasn’t as though she felt guilty about our argument, but she wanted to make sure that Florence wasn’t hurt, regardless of if Marianne had been the perpetrator of such a circumstance.

After the Archlitch died, all animals were released from the Carving of the Moon. They’d been choking for almost an entire minute, but miraculously, no one had died, let alone fell unconscious.

Everyone had caught their bearings, and Hawthorn was quick to dash towards the door. Except the temporal key was now missing, whisked away to Schaumburg, and the remaining witches were now abandoned in the State Park.

Everyone has a phone in their pocket these days, though, and Jacksie and Rowena were quick to call their friends, asking for a lift; preferably with multiple cars. Hawthorn was quick to drop a call to a member of the Mulgywai in Chicago, to report the situation, and hopefully make sure that it didn’t affect the local Tystwoles in any way. But more than anything, the wolf had begged the Mulgywai for any news regarding Florence or I. No one had any answers. It was a harrowing night for everyone.

When I finally came down from my unintentional psilocybin high, and caught my wits enough to look at my phone, I immediately started texting Zuma regarding my safety and whereabouts. But halfway through writing the text, Lavitia started calling again, and it was because the impala kept calling me that she was the first to learn that Florence would heal completely; save for the wicked scar on the vixen’s face. Hawthorn would come pick us up the next day.

Marianne would remain missing until the next night. Hawthorn, Touchstone, and the rest of our party were unsuccessful in finding her while they waited for Jacksie and Rowena’s friends to arrive, and the meager numbers of Chicago’s collective Mulgywai didn’t find much success either.

“Remind me again why we’re drinking…” Zuma intensely scrutinized the back of the bottle, “A full-bodied, unusual botanical. They literally had Jäger-”

I was quick to cut my husband off. “Oh my God, Zuma, it’s tradition-”

“What tradition?”

“Well, I made pasties and am about to teach you all Euchre for the Yooper vibes, but half of you are from Chicago, so I felt like I had to do a Chicago thing!” Touchstone began wordlessly pouring sixteen shots into cheap plastic shot glasses from Meijer.

“How is this a Chicago thing? It’s literally Swedish!”

“So, according to Fox’s logic,” started Zippo sarcastically, “I should start cooking up some haggis. Ciro and Mako- oh wait, Hawthorn too, you guys can get started on the Nanaimo Bars. Zuma should start invading France, sorry about that, Marianne-”

Marianne came to consciousness the next morning, and unlike the Lady Juxtaposed, she didn’t want to be found. Lycanthropy could expedite the healing process of any wound, but her injuries were more than just physical. Palais was dead. The person with whom Marianne was in love, with whom she trusted since childhood, was no longer alive, and it was entirely her fault. Damning intrusive thoughts invaded her brain. The Awngaimene society could disintegrate. The menagerie could starve. Even Florence, and all the other animals on the beach, could choke to death. She didn’t care.

Except she did care. Because those were only intrusive thoughts, and the Sphynx was better than them.

And then Marianne thought about her unborn children, incubating safely in their eggs. Palais would no longer be able to protect the clutch that he and the vulpine surrogate mother had made together. It was now Marianne’s sole job to look after her children, and she couldn’t do that lying on her back in the middle of a forest, four states away.

That night, Marianne found a pay phone, resisted the paranoia regarding people screening her calls, and called me first. She needed me to look after the eggs as soon as possible, to make sure that her children were safe. I dropped Resurrection Mary a call as soon as Marianne told me the closest address, and the ghostly Foulgydan sent someone to drop the furless cat off at O’Hare as soon as they possibly could.

Stoney agreed to look after the eggs for the evening, and strangely enough, the wolf Mark decided to join the rat in that particular babysitting adventure. He and Stoney had become fast friends, and the wolf and High Sage Marsden were allegedly contemplating moving to Marquette.

I shook my baffled, tired head, “What are you even getting at, Zippo?”

“This is a weird party. You can’t just say ‘Oh, here are a few pastimes that Yoopers do. We’re having a Yooper party.’ It’s weird, fox.”

“But you like pasties.”

“Yeah, but they’re not even from here. They’re from bloody Cornwall!”

Marianne said, “I’m all for bullying the fox, but I can’t be the only person who’s noticed that the red-winged blackbird has graciously poured us all shots.” She took one of the tiny shot glasses and held it aloft.

Lavitia then nudged Marianne’s shoulder as though they were friends. “And if you don’t want half the bottle leaking all over the table next time, ask me to do it, bird.” I didn’t notice the blackbird spilling anything, considering his excellent paw-eye coordination, but I still let the bovine bartender leverage her expertise in order to make fun of him.

I held my shot glass high. The amber liquor twinkled in the incandescent glow of my living room’s lamp. “Thank you, Marianne. To us! To you guys who came all the way up here, just to help out a friend! To us defeating the motherfucking Archlitch! To Florence, who’s going to get gender-affirming magic with Jouxlya performed tomorrow, if I don’t feel too hungover to drive! To The Curious Foxes, which I’ll probably finish in a couple days!” I had to stop my voice from suddenly breaking. “And to Palais! Prost!”

But before everyone could even so much as lift their little glasses a few centimeters higher, Touchstone hollered out, “Wait!” The room stood still. “This isn’t so much of a toast, but there’s something I need to say. Clare, Zuma, I know this is all water under the bridge, but I’ve lied to you- Which- Y’know, it’s not much of a confession if you’re all going to read the book when Briar publishes it, but I know who stole the Two Pricks of All Knowledge, and I want you to hear it from me first. It was my grandpa.”

Without the influence of the Adacaius, Clare didn’t immediately snap back in raw anger. The pine marten instead sunk into his seat on the couch, not entirely eager to be in the spotlight now. His brow was furrowed as though he was hurt. Zuma, on the other paw, nodded knowingly. “I appreciate the confession, Touch, but you have to know that the chapter you wrote was the second chapter I read, because I wanted to see how Forseti wrote me-”

Clare looked even more hurt. “Wait, you knew-”

“Yes, Clare. But if you’ll recall, we’ve been a bit too busy this week to worry about Teleraine stuff.”

The Summoner somehow sunk even further into the cushions. are you afraid. “Yeah, that’s fair. I appreciate the confession anyway, Touch. Rest assured that we won’t hire an assassin for him-”

Touchstone shook his head. “Do what you want with the information, my friend. My grandpa’s an asshole.”

Then, Clare symbolically raised his shot glass high, “If we’re confessing, I’d like to apologize for only being an active detriment to every situation I’ve been a part of-”

The whole room broke out into a chorus of sympathetic beasts cooing variations on the general sentiment of “Nooo! You’re not useless! You’re great!” And then, to my surprise, Lavitia thrust her gleaming amber glass higher into the sky, in order to command everyone’s attention.

“If we’re confessing shit, I’ve got to be honest. Marianne, I hate to say it, but I’ve always thought you were bad news. And I’m real sorry about that. You and I probably disagree on a lot of things, but that’s not- That’s not what I wanted to apologize for. A few days ago, I tried to turn the fox on you because I thought you were going to take advantage of him and Florence… Truth be told, I exorcized someone the Archlitch killed, who told me that he watched you visit the Archlitch. And instead of confronting you directly, I was a coward about it. I don’t… You and Forseti are good to each other, and I’m really sorry I tried to mess with that.”

At first glance, one might assume that the impala was trying to start shit by ratting out the cat for privately beseeching the Archlitch in order to learn an old spell. But the impala’s tone of voice, and her calm, relaxed posture, indicated that she was completely sincere in her apology, and Marianne picked up on that as well, for she began to go into her own honest confession.

“Eh… You’re not wrong.” The Sphynx didn’t really raise her shot glass up in a toast or anything. She held it as though it were any other beverage. She took her time to find the words she was looking for. “I really thought I could bargain with the fucker and come out on top. I read about Rend Magic Asunder in that spellbook and… I couldn’t figure out what Mary did to… I don’t know, even make that bargain in the first place? I had goddamned stars in my eyes. And I did go in to visit the fucker, talk at it, see if it’d bite back, but it just stared at me. It never said one word. Even on the day we killed it. It just wouldn’t… regard me. I wasn’t going to let it live, that’s a fact. But I guess maybe it could tell, so it didn’t speak to me. And I regret it. Palais is gone, and it’s my shitty little habits that lead to… these sorts of things. I’m sorry.” Marianne took the shot unceremoniously. Only Lavitia followed suit. “As for that animal that that asshole killed, I honestly didn’t see anyone getting tortured or anything. I know I’m old, but my memory isn’t getting foggy yet. I think I recall the presence of ghosts, so maybe he was already dead and just… I don’t know, confused? What with him being a ghost… And it’s my word against anybody else’s word, but Lavitia, I would never have just let someone suffer in that house. You have my word.”

Lavitia had often talked about Marianne, and Marianne had often talked about Lavitia, but neither talked about the other enough for me to truly gauge the nature of their relationship. They could have been close friends in some tales, or despised enemies in others. Though one thing was certain; the two had known each other for a long while. Except not hundreds-of-years long. Lavitia was only in her fifties.

“You just stay the hell out of my bar if you learn a spell like that, I swear to God-”

“Only if you don’t harbor… I don’t know, an Awngaimene variation of Hitler or something- Holy fuck, this tastes like shit. Why does it linger on your tongue like that?”

Lavitia took the cat’s admission of disgust as a cue to shake her own head in disappointment. “Yeah, fox. Rest assured, I am not stocking Malört anytime soon-”

I stood my ground. “I’m just baffled that you both just, like, took the shot, without waiting for anyone.”

Ciro then cut into the conversation. “Fox, you know that we don’t really drink, right?” Mako and Zippo nodded their heads in agreement, as if I was the one that was pouring the shots.

“It’s crazy that you got Touchstone and I confused-”

“You were talking as if you wanted all of us to do shots. You’re not even college-aged anymore-”

I thrust my plastic vessel high into the air, and spilled half of its contents into my armfur. Lavitia’s Irish Goodbye didn’t escape my notice. “Alright, Forseti confession time. I was gonna make this all cool and sentimental, like Marianne and Lavitia, but no. The vibe had to go and get killed. Hawthorn!” I brought my arm down and pointed towards the one-eyed wolf with the half-full glass. “I want to apologize about something.”

The lupine Mracksiogne was absolutely flustered, not expecting to be the next subject of conversation. “Oh- Wait, what? No, um. I’m sorry?”

“No. I’m sorry. There’s been a lot of ‘Oh, have I been talking to Jouxlya? Have I not been talking to Jouxlya? How often do we meet? What’s the secret?’ And I’m pretty sure you’ve, like, figured out one-hundred-percent of the information already, especially after that heart-wrenching monologue you delivered, but I’m really sorry I was a real bitch about not being perfectly candid with what I was doing. And that goes to everyone in the room.”

The shock on the wolf’s muzzle melted into a sudden, subdued sadness. are you holding your breath. It wasn’t a conversation topic that Hawthorn enjoyed talking about, and I knew that. I could practically see Azelfrey’s death, and the gouging out of his eye, in the wolf’s remaining eye.

“So, like… No, yeah. Just to be clear. You’ve been meeting with Jouxlya these years, in-person, and you’ve also been going after the Oiggy-”

“Nah, that’s-” I sighed. “That’s probably the big thing that I haven’t told folks yet, I think. We’ve been actually meeting with the Oigd’yiadttigdeit, both of us. She was trying to find a way to nullify the curse, but we couldn’t figure it out in time. After I visited Jouxlya a couple days ago… She thinks that’s why it came back to Marquette so soon. It was looking for my help. I have no idea why it was looking for help at that particular moment-”

“Well, I can tell you that,” responded Hawthorn. “Those Hauksborque from Thunder Bay- Or, um, do you remember those guys, from earlier this week? They were talking about how they were on the hunt for the Oiggy and all that… Turns out it did some serious damage up near Yellowknife a few months ago, more than I’ve personally heard about… I won’t get into it now, that would completely bring the mood down. But Dancer and Kepler noticed it coming down their way and feared the worst. Maybe it had something to do with that.”

“Yeah, that makes sense… I really should have told you years ago, what we were doing. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” The wolf hung on that one syllable, and I half-expected that he was waiting for a response from me, but the wolf then wagged his gray head in the same flustered way he always did whenever he felt awkward about something. “Or, um- That sounded rude, I’m sorry-”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry.”

“But, I-” He quickly shook his head one last time. “I’m sorry, about-”

“Stop apologizing!”

And then, Jacksie interrupted. “It’s not really a confession, but I, uh, decided I’m going to try and be a Mulgy-whatever in Chicago! I should probably learn how to actually pronounce that word.” A round of cheers and congratulations filled the room as the tabby cat successfully rescued the conversation from an emotional pit.

Rowena, towering over the cat despite also sitting, added on, “I’m, um- I’m p-probably just going to do what B-Beck here’s doing. We’ve actually talked a lot about being in the c-community without actually doing m-magic. This is all… a b-bit too much for me, I think, but I do really enjoy being around you all. So thank you.”

Beck, who was on the other end of the circle, crossed over to the doe and also made themselves heard. “Yeah, I’m going to be her non-magical magical mentor, I guess.”

Hawthorn cast a hundred-yard stare towards the hedgehog and deer. “You’re not going to do the Hold of the Heart, are you?”

“Bet,” said Beck ominously.

But then, another cat decided to interrupt, and this time, it was Zippo who barged in. “OK, wait, it’s been bothering me all week and I have to know; I never see you two outside of the context of each other.” He pointed at Jacksie and Rowena with his shot glass before passing it off to me. “Are you two a thing?”

Rowena blushed bright red, enough to almost create an optical illusion that made it look as though the fur on her face itself had changed color. Jacksie burst into maniacal laughter immediately before collecting herself mere seconds later. “Wait, are we dating?”

“Oh my God, Jacks, p-please not now, in a room with so many p-p-people-”

“Holy shit, Row, do you wanna go out with me?”

The deer grabbed one of my throw pillows and buried her face into it and proceeded to squeal something incomprehensible, that I guess Jacksie heard. “Oh Hells, I’m so sorry. I’m being a bitch. We can talk about it later, though, for real. After the party.”

“Oh my God, please stop talking.” This time, Rowena’s words were shrill and completely easy to make out, even despite the pillow.

Beck proceeded to already prove themselves to be a fantastic mentor, and commandeered the conversation. “Alright, we need to actually do this shot guys, is everyone ready-”

And then, Claudia cleared her throat. “I’d like to toast.”

Dubiously, everyone looked towards the skunk and foolishly expected her to continue into a sentence with any considerable length. Zuma was the first to speak up. “Toast to what?”

And Claudia answered as though her intentions were obvious. “What you all were toasting.”

“But-” it was then I who joined my husband in the confusion- “Yeah, we did that already.”

“So let’s toast.”

“Do you… do you mean take the shot?”

“Yeah, that.” And Claudia then took her shot of herbal liqueur without asking permission or subsequently flinching. And one by one, completely devoid of ceremony, so did everyone else, except roughly a third of the other party-goers, either because they didn’t drink, or took their shot already. As it sat on my tongue for roughly the span of a second, I immediately regretted buying specifically Malört and made a loud gagging sound right as Briar Pulpwood opened the door.

“Hey everyone, I’m Briar Pulpwood.”

The brown-furred hare wore their long ears down, and dressed in a stunning outfit not out-of-place on a fashion runway. A massive, black sun hat sat atop their head, and an evergreen peacoat hung over a cream-colored top with the neckline skewed enough to show most of the hare’s right shoulder. Their black pants had an almost indiscernible gray tartan pattern to them.

Those of us who weren’t actively struggling to keep the Malört down responded with a warm verbal welcome. Mako was the first to hug the lagomorph, “Hey, glad you made it!”

“You didn’t drive all the way over, did you?” asked Ciro. The eight-hour drive between here and Thunder Bay didn’t sound altogether pleasant.

“Well, if I flew, I’d have to come to Toronto-”

“You do know that you can take a ferry via Grand Portage and Isle Royale, right?”

Briar giggled. “I forgot about ferries. But all’s well that ends well, because-” Briar then reached down to pick up something that they concealed at the side of the door; a gift basket. “It’s easier to get champagne across the border if they don’t check your bags at the docks. Thank you so much for writing this book, Forseti.”

It was now my turn to get all sentimental and hug the hare. “Aww, Briar! You didn’t have to vaguely break the law on my behalf!”

“It was my pleasure.”

I ushered the lagomorph into my home, so as to make sure they weren’t freezing in that stunning outfit that I imagined lacked any form of insulation. I didn’t want to comb through the gift basket like a greedy person before I made my guest feel comfortable, however. I set it down on the table directly in front of where I was sitting, and from passive observation alone, noticed a Canadian label of champagne I didn’t recognize, and a bag of Lindt truffles.“Glad you made it all the way here for the party, Briar. We were just about to play Euchre. Can I get you a drink? We all did shots of Malört, but I have things that taste better.” I was happy that the party was going so well, and even happier that I had the time to clean any off-putting mold spots. you’re stepping out of the book now.

“Rum and coke?”

“I can make a rum and coke.”

I slipped into the kitchen in order to craft the complicated cocktail, setting aside two glasses because the concept of drinking a rum and coke myself sounded very enticing. I didn’t really pick up drinks with any real plan in mind; just a few liquors, orange juice, coke, and tonic water. I even picked up a few bottles of wine for the people that wanted wine. And considering the fact that some animals weren’t planning on drinking, I also picked up a large swath of finger foods; half of which I was probably going to end up eating myself. There were chips and dip, veggie trays, cheese platters, a bunch of boxes of mozzarella sticks and jalapeno poppers, and lastly, Nanaimo bars for the Canadians for real. I would proceed to hide them from Zippo, out of fear that he’d make fun of me. Conversation continued in the other room, and I called out, “Hey everyone! Feel free to help yourself to food and drinks and stuff! I’m going to start warming up some of the hot food!”

I looked out my window and saw Florence gazing towards the treeline.

Making my way back into the living room. I passed the hare their beverage while Touchstone was in the middle of a sentence at my expense. “...after that entire recurring joke, the G’hialgiange hasn’t even showed up this past week-”

I snapped. “Nobody bring up the G’hialgiange for a thousand years, I swear to God!” The room exploded in laughter as though clowns had just performed the 1812 Overture. I fumed as though I were one of the spent cannonballs used on behalf of the orchestra. My feline husband came to my defense. “OK, so actually, explain to me this one thing, Briar.”

The hare perked up and almost murred like a cat instead of responding verbally.

“Fox keeps telling me that you’re starting a publishing company for the Awngaimene community, but now Mako’s telling me that you’ve already been running one for the past six years. I’m confused on that.”

Briar took a sip of their drink and then clumsily slammed the glass to the coffee table with a loud thud, before fanning their paws slightly as though they were a film major about to explain the plot to their student film. “Oh, wow, yeah, that’s- Zuma, you have no idea, that’s the whole project I’m working on.”

“So for the past six years, I’ve been publishing spellbooks and encyclopedias and, you know, non-fiction pieces for the community. And that’s really important, don’t get me wrong. But it’s not like I’m the only person doing it, so I’m not going to claim I’m a hero or anything. It’s really important for a society like this; that we all know our… our knowledge, and… and our context, available to read. But last year, I was traveling to Christchurch in New Zealand- To make a long story short, all the publishing houses that print books in English get together for a little trip every couple of years. But anyway; one of my friends was this iguana named Beryl, and she introduced me to her friends from this circle of witches all the way out by… I think it was Cropp River or… one of the rivers out there. And this was the Circle of the Water Dancers, which is a school of magic I’d never even heard about- I don’t even want to call it a ‘school,’ it was an expression of magic.”

“The Water Dancers have a very limited ability to manipulate the flow of water. They can’t do anything… I guess the word I’m looking for is ‘intense.’ They can’t reverse the flow of a stream or shoot a blast of water like they were Squirtle or something. What they can do is dance. And when they dance, they do so in puddles, in shallow pools, or shallow streams, and when they kick up the water, it dances around them. Shapes get formed, for sure, but the Water Dancers don’t choose the shapes. The shapes manifest themselves, in response to the dancing. It’s one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen. There are these long, flowing costumes. There’s an unbelievable amount of precipitation in that area, so there’s always water. And when I was watching the Water Dancers, it got me thinking.”

“This magic serves no practical use. But then again, neither does the Mona Lisa. It’s just art. And I’m not going to act like this is some big revelation, you all probably understood the significance of art. But I was thinking more… All the spells in all the spellbooks that I’ve published, all the important Clandestine Wars and great Awngaimene leaders, all the things that we pass down through the literature that I publish… I’ve never once read a single passage about the Water Dancers. And I think that’s sad, because we all have this great duty, to learn magic and to protect the world from it’s threats, but we’ve gone through so much as a society, and we’ve developed this rich, beautiful culture through everything we’ve gone through, and I want to be someone who shows that more expressive side of us, as well as the dramatic, historical side.”

“I was talking to another one of my friends soon after that trip; he’s a raccoon named Poet. He’s… well, an actual author, in the sense that he makes books for the Tystwole society. He’s out in New York. But I’ve been trying to convince him to write fiction- Awngaimene fiction. He’s got a really wonderful knack for prose and I wanted him to be the first author on my little project- No offense, Forsy and Hawthorn, you are both wonderful storytellers, it’s just that Poet’s a professional. But… Well, not that it matters, Poet has contractual obligations with a publisher out there anyway, but… You know? Awngaimene fiction, our stories getting told, without any purpose or utility; just artistry. That’s my vision. And sure, Forsy kind of misunderstood that and decided to make this a nonfiction book- no offense, but it kind of worked out the same way anyway. You’re telling our stories, Forseti. And that’s, you know… That’s the expression I want for us to all indulge, as a society. Does that answer your question?”

Claudia was strangely the first to answer instead of Zuma. “So do you write?” Softly, under his breath, I heard the puma mutter, “Nevermind.”

“Oh no, I tried, but it’s completely overwhelming. It takes way too much time.”

Touchstone nodded reverently. “I understand completely.”

“Oh, do you write?” Briar’s tilted their left eyebrow towards the bird as would an investigator.

“Nah, you’ll see.”

it is all as well as it can be.

Time skipped, and I was outside.

I was standing next to Florence in the cold, snowy yard, gazing out into the forest. In the fugue state, the Godhead didn’t find it prudent enough to bring a coat or anything, so I shivered in silence, sticking it out next to the arctic fox who wore a thick, black coat.

“Oh, Forseti, hello! What are you doing out here?”

Now wasn’t the right time to explain it truly. “Oh, I’m just checking in, seeing how you’re doing.”

“In a general sense, as opposed to an overarching emotional sense, I assume?” She giggled dryly.

“Mostly, yeah. It’s kinda cold.”

“I’m an arctic fox.” It was my turn to giggle a little.

We stared into the woods. Snow had fallen again yesterday, so that no trace of leaf or grass could be seen under the snowdrifts. The imposing, dull brown trees were the only thing that could be considered colorful in between the snow white ground and the pitch black sky. Neither of us made eye contact. We were hypnotized by the bleak forest.

“There is one thing I’ve been thinking about,” said Florence.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve noticed a sort of unspoken rule within the community, of changing names, or adding titles to your name. Since I’m trans, I already went through an unprecedented amount of mental gymnastics to come up with a personally satisfying first name, so I’m not going to change that. But I was thinking about changing my last name.”

“Oh yeah?”

She removed her long, black glove. “How does ‘Florence Dragonheart’ sound?”

My nod was deep and reverent. “That’s an incredible name.”

“It’s not appropriating… I don’t know, dragon culture or anything?”

“Not as far as I know, I think it’s good.” It was more indicative of English heraldry anyway.

“I’m not going to claim that I’m a full dragon or anything, just because of the arm, but… yeah, this is an important part of me now, I want to honor it.”

“That’s a really good name, then.”

Florence laughed, once again dryly. “Especially since the Oigd’yiadttigdeit’s curse can’t really be cured.” She’d gotten quite good at pronouncing the name.

“Yeah, though Jouxlya and I are probably going to make that our next little project after the ritual tomorrow-”

“You don’t have to.” She didn’t say that with doubt or anger. She was proud of her arm.

There was another brief moment of silence, but then Florence spoke up. “I haven’t been entirely honest about my meetings with Marianne. She hasn’t agreed to be my mentor in magic, we mostly only talked about things. And I did ask her, numerous times, but… Now that she’s going to be a mother, I should probably let her focus on that and go through the normal channels.”

“Gonna stick around Marquette, you think?”

“Yeah, most Awngaimene animals I know are from here, or- well, I guess there are Awngaimene in Chicago, but I have no car now.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. Don’t worry about Marianne too much, she’s… you know how she is.”

“I have become very familiar with how she is.”

“I feel like she’s gonna sneak up on us any second, now that we’ve brought her up.”

We laughed.

“So you probably need a place to stay for a while?” I asked.

Florence turned towards me. “Forseti, I don’t think I can ever ask another favor-”

“That’s so crazy, that you’d say that.”

“You have done more for me than most people do for their literal family members!”

“Yeah, and now I’m just gonna be like; ‘It’s been fun, but now you have to figure out how to lease an apartment and secure a deposit under a fake name. Break a leg!’”

Florence gently grabbed my shoulder. “OK, fine. Thank you very much.”

“Anytime.”

“And I will be constantly learning and constantly integrating myself into the society the entire time that I am living under your roof, and find a way to make it up to you.”

I turned around. “Do you wanna go back under that roof right now? I am not wearing a coat-”

“Yeah, why aren’t you wearing a coat?”

“I- Florence, I’m not a smart person.”

the night, in autumn, and all things end, quiet and still.