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Chapter 14 - The Fungal Entity

A pattering rain steadily pounded against the roof, and gently woke me up from a deep slumber. I fumbled for my phone, charging on the coffee table, and noticed that I had woken up around seven in the morning, which was entirely unusual for me. The sun hadn’t even risen. Touchstone remained on the couch overnight, and I endeavored not to wake him up with my tustling. His head was resting on my thigh, and I felt it imprudent to wake him up just yet. Forseti seemed to have retired to his own room this evening.

As I started to fiddle through my phone, ignoring my leg as it buzzed from a lack of proper circulation, I noticed a dozen or so missed calls and texts from my would-be Mentor, Marianne the Sphynx. Throughout the course of last night, I had turned my phone to silent, and started to mentally beat myself up for being so foolish in such a regard.

As it turned out, the Sphynx had wanted to make a visit, but found that the Temporal Key was no longer affixed to the keyhole in Forseti’s hallway door. The circumstances were dire enough. I gently woke up the red-winged blackbird, then went to rouse the other fox in the hopes of finding an answer. I didn’t typically go into Forseti’s room, especially considering that a weird, moldy smell permeated from under the door, but I bit the bullet and knocked.

He opened the door, wearing a pink hoodie and a burgundy pair of boxer briefs, seemingly failing to notice that he was partially nude. After wiping the tiredness from his eyes, he fought through a yawn to ask, “Hey there, what’s up?”

“Oh, sorry, did I just wake you up?”

“Nah, I was already awake. I did Creepy too much last night, and now my phone won’t turn on. I've been trying to figure that out.” He then proceeded to yawn again. “Should have made coffee.”

“Um, not to interrupt what you’re doing, but Marianne called, something about the key falling out of the-”

Forseti’s eyes went wide, “Fuck me.” The vulpine witch shambled past me, key in paw, and basically fell down the hallway in front of the closet door we had been using as a teleportation linchpin. “I, um- Word of warning, Marianne’s going to be very pissed.” A sense of dread welled up within my chest. I hadn’t even messaged her back, I merely read the texts.

Forseti shoved the key into the door and twisted, calling out into a hallway in Houma. “Marianne, I opened the door, so sorry! I fucked up my phone!” For some reason, he chose not to actually go through the door. I managed to fetch my phone from the living room, and shoot the feline Foulgydan a response, but by the time I returned to Forsy, he still hadn’t made his way into the cat’s house.

“Why is Marianne going to be mad at you?”

“Long story short, I found out something I shouldn’t have, and- um, Marianne opened up another Temporal Doorway to Chicago-”

Before I could even respond, the gentlemanly gargoyle, Palais, appeared from the left side of the doorway. He was noticeably displeased “Good morning, Forseti. Good morning, Florence. Forseti, I might recommend that you put on some pants.” It was a weird comment to come from a creature that was normally nude, but the gray-scaled gargoyle’s sensitive bits were internal, as opposed to us mammals. Forsy stammered a quick, “Op, sorry,” and scrambled into his room, and with his gentle, French accent, Palais turned to address me, folding his wicked wings in order to cross the threshold,.“Has Forseti briefed you on the going-on’s from last night?”

“I, um- You two opened a Doorway to Chicago? Sorry, Forseti only just now told me.”

Palais cocked his head, “He didn’t tell you last night?”

I blushed a little and shifted my gaze to the floor, “I was, um, perhaps a little high.” A flash of hindsight crossed my mind, it was probably smart that he didn’t share that information last night, I would have quickly panicked.

And then, Marianne appeared. Wielding her straight, black cane, she floated gracefully into the home of Forseti, wearing a rather gothic-looking purple-and-black lattice dress, though it looked to have a comfortable fit, and didn’t use up too much fabric.

The Sphynx sniffed at the air twice and muttered, “Fucking- that idiot fox, it smells like mold in here. He should have visited the Entity weeks ago.”

I wasn’t taken aback by the cat’s normal habit of randomly bringing up conversational topics from out of the blue, but I had to ask, “What are you talking about?”

She threw her furless arms up carelessly, in a gesture that indicated bewilderment at the fox, “I’m just talking to myself. You-” she pointed the tip of her cane at me, “-and I have things to discuss, but first, I must-” Forseti reappeared in the crowded hallway, having changed into a pair of black, tight sweatpants remarkably quickly. “Fox, why haven’t you visited the Fungal Entity this season? I can smell your-” she waved her arms again in disgust, “-fertility from here.”

Forseti flashed a look of annoyance back at the cat, “What are you doing with a Doorway to the Archlitch-”

“So I take it you haven’t been checking your texts-”

“I fucking- I broke my phone last night!” He waved the black-screened device uselessly.

“Well, if you weren’t an utter idiot who decided to- And I can’t believe I’m accusing you of this, because believe it or not, I actually thought you were above pranks- who decided to sneak into my home and prank me, maybe you’d have a working phone. I am absolutely baffled as to how you came up with this idea, when there’s a diabolical, malevolent being eager to kill everyone in this room as quickly as possible.” Her rant had worked up to a fever pitch, until the cat was a mere inches away from the fox’s face. Marianne was slightly taller than Forseti, but made it so that the other fox looked like a little kit, no older than three.

Forseti shuffled his paws and almost spoke in a mumble, though I could make out what he was saying, “It honestly doesn’t seem like it was that big of a deal- As big of a deal as the fucking- You teleporting to Chicago.”

“Well, since you didn’t check your texts, I set up the Doorway when we visited Chicago, so that when I figured out how to kill the Archlitch, I could kill it as quickly as possible.” She stepped backwards, “You smell like shit. Get out of here, consort with the Fungal Entity.”

Forseti shook his head, but nevertheless agreed, “Fine, yeah, I’ll knock that out.” He shuffled off to the magical laboratory in his home, and fetched the mason jar containing the reagents for the Andle’ehnban Doorway spell. I cocked my head in confusion, but the Sphynx was quicker in asking, “What are you doing with that?”

“Teleporting to the Fungal Entity. The gateway to his lair is corporeal, but the lair itself isn’t exactly-”

“Not what I was asking. Isn’t that your last spell?”

Forseti shrugged, “Fine, I’ll drive.”

“You wasteful little prick, you can’t be bothered to drive a single hour to see them? Tell me you never used that spell for this before.”

Forseti was already on his way back to his room, “I did it a couple of times. I won’t do it again.”

Marianne threw her cane at him. Forseti yelped in pain and surprise. Palais waltzed over, picked the cane up, and handed it back to Marianne. “It’s incredible that you’re even alive still, especially after last night.” Marianne turned, not allowing Forseti to have the last word, “Florence, if you’re ready, there is much that needs to be discussed.”

I was hypnotized by the entire exchange so much that I forgot to be an active participant in it, “Uh, yeah, I’ll be ready shortly. I just woke up.”

“Don’t take too long. You look hungover.” Marianne had already made it back into her own home. Forseti was already in his room, and I assumed he was packing for whatever his trip to the Fungal Entity entailed. Palais turned to me, bowed, spoke a brief, “See you shortly, ma’am, unless the sun comes up.” and left.

We had no official lessons. Marianne invited me over for discussions on magic and the Awngaimene society, and she allowed me to sit in on her work. She even lent me a few old tomes to practice my own spellcraft. But she wouldn’t take me on as her Apprentice. For the first few days, I’d bring up the arrangement here and there, and each time, the furless cat told me that she’d think about it. She was my Mentor without having completed the ritual, and as such, I could physically feel the vast wealth of information that the Frote Foulgydan had kept from me. And when I asked as to why this contractless arrangement wouldn’t allow for me to learn from the cat, I found myself bereft of a straight answer.

But the ritual to establish a bond between a witchy Apprentice and Mentor was far from a meager exchange of old phrases and a paltry spread of lit candles. Marianne even explained that spit and fur would suffice for most rituals, but the Pact Between Mentor and Apprentice was wrought of pain and forged with shed blood. It occurred over the span of an entire night. Moreover, it would create what was referred to as a Hold of the Heart, or a minor curse that had the ability to stop an animal’s heartbeat if a certain requirement failed to be met. In the case of the Pact Between, there were no stipulations. The Mentor would forever have the ability to cease their Apprentice’s heartbeat at will, for the rest of their lives.

It was a severe and horrifying process, even though I knew that some animals could simply cast the Heartstopper spell regardless of any curse. And considering all of that, I still told the cat that I remained comfortable going through with the process. And even then, I couldn’t help but ask why the Pact Between needed to be so dramatic. Thousands of years of tradition would not suffice as an answer alone. The Sphynx explained that the Archwitches of old were none too keen on freely distributing their secrets and their power to anyone who asked. They wanted not only to cut the life short of any Apprentice they deemed treacherous, but also to keep as in-depth of a catalogue as possible, of the magical secrets passed from one witch to another throughout the years. A catalogue written in blood.

Naturally, with the leadership of Chaaya of the Waxing Crescent and the foundation of the Awngaimene society, the tradition of the Pact Between was only upheld by Frote Foulgydan, though the Mracksionge and Apothecaries within the society still practiced the tradition, both occupations proving too important for their practitioner’s to rely on self-taught knowledge alone. The Mulgywai of the Awngaimene society passed along all known information freely and willingly with the Libraries.

One thing bothered me, though. With as much as Marianne bemoaned the Awngaimene society for keeping their secrets from the world as a whole, she still refused to teach me any of her magic without first going through with the Pact Between. It wasn’t as if there were some magical force preventing her from sharing her esoteric knowledge, the furless cat refused the notion by her own free will, and wouldn’t tell me why. We’d meet regularly, and she’d assist with my integration into the magical society, but she would not become my Mentor.

The strangest aspect of the whole situation was a little habit I noticed within myself. I had lied to Forseti and Touchstone about the nature of my meetings with the Sphynx. Perhaps it was to salvage some tattered piece of my ego, or perhaps it was to simply avoid complicated explanations, but I couldn’t tell my friends up in Marquette that the Sphynx had so far refused to take me on as her Apprentice. It wasn’t the sort of hidden truth that felt as though it would unravel an overdramatic web of lies, but I had gotten used to the habit.

Yesterday, during our little liaison, Marianne surprised me. She told me to pick a spell from a common manuscript of texts titled Zinzwense’s Beginner Spells for Modern Fangdyne Tystwoles: 2019 Edition. And though it was paltry beginner’s magic from an Awgnaimene text, my heart leapt in my chest. I felt more sudden joy than I imagined a lottery winner could muster. I was finally going to learn magic, in a dedicated, academic setting, after twenty-one years of waiting. The patience I kindled for my entire life was about to pay off.

I got dressed, cleaned myself up in the shower, and told Touchstone that Forseti and I would be gone for the day. He tapped away at his computer, not particularly eager to draw out any further drama regarding the altercation in the morning.

Moments later, I found myself in the Sphynx’s stone circle, where she defeated the Shadow a week-and-a-half prior. Her rumbling mood continued to build electricity, though at the very least, she confided with me the grounds for her ill temper.

The furless cat sat down on a sideways stone column, using it as a bench, and let a heavy sigh escape from her muzzle. “I’m going to tell you a few things, Florence, and I’m not certain if Forseti has told you them already, but we’ve reached a point where you have to know. So I apologize if I bring up something harrowing, as I imagine will happen.”

I nodded, preparing myself as best I could. There was no world in which I could try and predict what exactly the Sphynx would tell me, but my mind couldn’t keep itself from racing towards the darker possibilities. “I’m ready.”

“Good. First, I’ve kept it from you, because I wanted to read it entirely before discussing it with you. But the thief, Touchstone, found your mother’s spellbook.” I felt the severe gravity of the black hole, starting to pull at me immediately. “OK.” I spoke blankly, allowing Marianne to continue.

“A majority of the book was filled with spells that Mary had collected over the centuries. Very little personal information, I’m afraid, and what little information she wrote, she only wrote after you were born.”

The black hole beneath me yawned, tightening its pull on me. “I’m sorry, did you- Did you say centuries?”

Marianne pinched her forehead again, “God, Forseti didn’t tell you anything, did he?”

“I don’t- I don’t think so. About my mother?”

“And so, the responsibility falls to me.” Marianne cast a long gaze out into the Bayou of Louisiana, but continued to talk, “I shouldn’t- This isn’t about me.” But then, she returned the gaze. “Florence, your mother was older than I am, and she was able to live for such a long time because of a pact that she made with the Archlitch. The pact allowed her to transfer her soul, essentially, into the body of one of her children when they became a certain age. This, in turn, allowed the Archlitch to inhabit the body that was left behind, because the Archlitch’s presence can only sustain in such a corpse for around twenty years. This process killed the child every time, and your mother was on the verge of performing the same ritual on you, until something happened, and someone told you to go up and ask Forseti for aid.”

Her voice never wavered once. She spoke plainly, and clearly, and I heard every single word. In fact, I could only hear only her words. Neither the lazy lapping of muddy water onto grassy land, nor the heavy drone of swampland insects could penetrate my awareness. The black hole pulled harder. I felt actually, physically dizzy. I was hearing information, and etching every single word into the stone tablet of my mind, but I failed to process anything as factual. I was listening to the strange lore of some fantasy novel, the horrific actions of some fictional villain. None of this information affected me in any way-

“You’re quiet.”

-Until Marianne brought me back from the event horizon. This was real. This was my life. These were the actions of someone I love, or more accurately, someone I loved, for she was dead. “I’m, um-” My pause lingered for a long time, “I’m sorry, my mother did that?” My shaky voice could have tricked an animal into thinking an earthquake was occuring.

“Yes, for hundreds of years, and I am sorry. It seems I should give you a moment, unless you-” Now, her voice lingered. I heard a barely audible tint of sadness color her words before evaporating into the soundscape, “-Unless you need someone.” Marianne was looking at me, sitting with her paws in her lap. She looked weary, instead of sympathetic, as if this conversation was particularly draining for her. Maybe it was. “I, um, not it’s-” I swallowed an errant choking feeling, “Thank you for letting me know.”

Marianne cleared her throat. “There’s more.”

It was less that I was stunned, and more that I quietly resigned to receiving more horrible information. Part of me was finally glad to be left out of the dark. “OK.”

“Your mother lived a long time, and had the ability to cast a wide array of spells, in addition to developing theories on other magical phenomena that one can only do if they’ve achieved functional immortality. To start, she learned how to summon the Psychic Wardens-” a quick sigh escaped the cat’s nose, “Because the Psychic Wardens aren’t an entity unto themselves. They were a spell, and a construction created by witches thousands of years ago, in order to keep the society a secret. Do you understand what I’m implying with this?”

The truth shone like the light of the Northern Star, “I was being pursued by the Psychic Wardens because my mother summoned them to go after me before she died.”

“Exactly. Whether she was trying to kill you out of mercy, due to the Archlitch situation, or using the Wardens to bring you back into custody, I can’t say, but otherwise, there’d be no reason why they’d be so focused on killing you particularly, like they were when you at Forseti drove down here. When your friends visited you, in Marquette, the Wardens appeared within seconds of you revealing your arm, right? I’ve never heard of that happening before.”

I let the information pass over me. These were the actions of a sociopathic serial murderer, who also happened to be my mother, who loved me. Or more precisely, my mother, who spent the entirety of my youth pretending to love me. These were actions that didn’t make sense, but they couldn’t feel false anymore. “What else did she write?”

“One thing that caught my attention- She considered magic to be evil, there’s a certain feeling you get, when you perform a spell, as if you open your body up for some outside force to control. You’ve asked me about it. Your mother started to theorize that any being that would take over a person’s body like that could only be evil, and that magic needed to- Well, in her words, come to an end.”

Marianne broke eye contact for a moment, and stared into the swamp as she continued speaking, “Well, that’s less important for you to know- It’s not as though every spell evokes that loss-of-control feeling, but-” She turned her gaze back to me, “What is important, is that she never performed a single spell after your- I don’t remember exactly, fifth birthday or something, but she never wrote why. Something about you seemed to have changed her- Well, outlook on magic.”

“Did she mention what it was?” I didn’t allow myself to hope.

“I’ll give you the Spellbook once I’m finished transcribing a few things, but- I’m truly sorry, Florence. This isn’t something any animal deserves. I wouldn’t want this fate for my worst enemy.” The Sphynx stood up, and patted around the pockets of her dress, before cursing, “Dammit, I left my cigarettes inside. Do you smoke?”

“No- Well, not cigarettes.” I hadn’t smoked in a long time, but the urge to partake swelled up within me, almost to an overwhelming degree.

“If you do get into it, they’ve got really good healing magic to keep you from burning a hole in your lungs. Still can’t stop from burning the hole in your pockets though.”

“I probably shouldn’t.”

“That’s respectable.” The cat stood up, patted her dress, cleared her throat, and continued. “I’ll be right back, and we can- if you want, that is- focus on something else entirely. I had you look up a spell you’d want to practice, right? We can work on that.” She started to walk off, but then spat, and muttered, “Millions of animals get lung cancer a year, and the Awngaimene still keep that magic hidden, you know?”

“Wait, we can cure cancer?”

“No, not that, we can just prevent it- Well, a few types of cancer. Not that I imagined we’d share the cure for cancer if we found it.” Marianne went into her home, and left me sitting in the stone circle.

I simply sat there, stuck in the gravitational pull of my own thoughts. I had processed every new piece of information as soon as I heard it, but I needed to organize it all. To connect the dots. I needed to justify this new information existing alongside my established memories. I needed to reorder my thoughts in a way that made everything fit. It’s funny, the memories from early childhood that stick in your brain.

“The day you were born

Far gone in time. Sweet child of mine

You were born of stardust, but I've half a mind

To always keep you safe and sound…”

The voice of Stuart Phillips Pontracht creaked and echoed from the slowly revolving disk of vinyl. The flat circle had trapped the folk singer's voice, but a thin, scratchy needle freed the voice from its prison. A thousand other voices were trapped in a thousand other vinyl disks, and yet, none could bring my mother to cry apart from Spaceman Superman.

I wasn’t a child anymore. Jacksie’s mother had just dropped me off. It wasn’t too far of a drive, for she also lived in Schaumburg.

A glass had been knocked over, spilling its contents all over the linen tablecloth, and onto the tile of the kitchen. It was water. I would have smelled it if the clear liquid was anything else.

My mother sat in her white nightgown, to match her white fur. She sat as if posing for a portrait, and composed a fair deal of posture, gently resting her paws on her knees. But she was crying.

Pontificus Stu continued. “...No child could e're be

From me, of mine. But child, I find

You were born of stardust, and born for all of time

I'll keep you safe so long as I'm around.”

And as the album came to a close, I rushed in to hug my mother. “Mother, what’s wrong?”

“Florence, it’s- I’m-” Her voice failed to find its footing, and the older fox failed to return the embrace, simply letting me cling to her instead. “I have taken quite a fondness to the music of the nineteen-sixties, music hasn’t succeeded in grabbing me since that decade, I’m afraid.” He muzzle held a smile, but her eyes continued grasping onto its hoarded pain.

“You’re listening to ‘Andrea Doma Lullaby’ again?” I observed. I had never seen the song bring her to tears like this.

But my mother ignored the question. “Florence, I’ve never told you before. But now that you’ve come into your own, as a woman, you’ve begun to remind me of…” Her voice trailed off, and she broke off her gaze.

“Mother-”

“I’m sorry, it’s hard for me to talk about. it” She shook her head as though she had silently sneezed, “I’m an old woman, I’ve lived for so long. So long. I’ve had- It is just… you remind me of your sister now, my sweet, intelligent fox.” She paused. I simply rubbed her shoulders, urging her to continue.

An evil, twisted part of me believed she would finally tell me about magic.

“Her fur was white as snow, not ash, like your other sister. And she- She looked more like you than she did me. It was- And I couldn’t-”

I was old enough to know of death, but I wasn’t old enough to feel comfortable watching someone I love succumb to what looked like dementia. Dementia that typically steered clear of animals merely in their fifties. Her words were senseless, and I sat there, quietly unable to dissect them. It was the only time I witnessed an episode like this with my mother.

And then, her eyes softened, her breath became less stifled, and it looked as though she was able to collect herself. “I’m so sorry, Florence. My beautiful, dazzling little vixen. It’s hard for me to think about these sorts of things. They’re not… So much time has passed.” She sighed gently. “I’m so sorry, Florence, I thought I was able to talk about this with you today, but I don’t think I’m able to. I didn’t mean to traumatize you-”

“No, no, it’s fine. Whatever has happened- I’m- I’m sorry it happened.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, my darling. I hope I can share the story, sometime. It was- Something about the song.”

She would never bring up my siblings ever again. I didn’t repress the memory by any means. It would float through my mind’s eye on darker days, when my emotional state would falter from something else entirely. But I knew I couldn’t ask my mother about my siblings. I had to wait for her to do it herself. And I waited, and waited, and waited, and my mother never told me the story. But I couldn’t ask her. Very few things horrified me as much as watching my mother slip into an episode like that.

Very few things until the day the Shadow came.

My mother stood up and approached the record machine and gently retrieved the vinyl with delicate claws, silently slipping it back into its sleeve.

“Have you eaten, Florence?”

“We had a few snacks, but I haven’t had dinner yet.”

“I apologize that I haven’t made anything- Which is always a good occasion to order pizza.” She turned the knobs to a small little radio from the eighties that sat atop the counter. It even had wood paneling. The voice of a still-living pop singer occupied the space that Pontificus Stu sat in a few moments earlier, and my mother gently hummed to “Maybe Call Me” all the same.

“Yeah, let’s get pizza. Comfort food sounds good.”

“I’ll place the call, then.” said Mary Johannson.

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

“So you’d like to learn the spell for Cast Fire?” I had mustered together a considerable amount of enthusiasm. My heart sank when I suddenly found that enthusiasm met with a scowl from the cat.

“Is that- Should I not learn that one?”

A few hours had passed. Marianne had smoked half a pack of cigarettes on her porch. I took a brief walk up and down the dirt road outside of her home. I knew I wasn’t going to travel far, and I couldn’t imagine that the watery swamps would hold any real trails for me to traverse, but the drone of insects and the swirling patterns of flowing duckweed were enough to clear my head despite the fact that I was pacing along an old road like a hitchhiker. Allegedly, I was urged to keep an eye out for feral alligators and poisonous snakes, but I was lucky to have avoided them. And as promised, even though Marianne hadn’t officially become my Mentor yet, she had finally offered to teach me a spell. A spell from one book, and none from personal experience. It was a perfect distraction, and the object of my desires for my entire life, so it hurt to see that the spell I sought was something that seemingly offended the feline Foulgydan.

“What, are you planning on- I don’t know, becoming a National Park ranger or something?”

I cocked my head in confusion, “No?”

“Then why would you pick this spell?”

I shrugged, still not entirely certain as to what the cat was getting at. “I guess- It seemed useful, something to protect myself with.”

“Have you ever caught on fire before?”

“No, not really.” I could drum up the memory of brushing my arm against an errant candle or a gas stove top, having singed my fur a bit. I still couldn’t fathom what point Marianne was trying to make.

“It’s one thing to get shot at, or, I don’t know, have your throat slit, but burning to death is a particularly painful way to die.”

I suddenly felt hot embarrassment wash over me, under the impression that my intentions were misunderstood. “No, I wouldn’t- I didn’t want to hurt anyone-”

“Walk me through your thought process. Do you see yourself needing to learn magic for self defense?”

I furrowed my brow, trying to retrace the mental steps that lead me to this mistake. Though I could come up with no concrete answer, I decided to answer as honestly as possible, “It seemed to me to be a basic spell. Fire magic felt… I don’t know, standard to me. Like a good place to start.”

Marianne pinched her forehead, “That’s quite incorrect. Cast Fire is very situational, especially since fucking lighters exist.” She sighed, and softened her tone. “No, no, that makes sense. I bet you read a lot, wizards in old fantasy novels throwing fire balls and shit like that.”

I regrettably found myself more drawn towards Stephanie Meyer than Tolkien in my youth, but I did dabble in a small bit of fantasy, “Yeah, I think that’s what I was thinking.”

“This spell is usually for wilderness survivors or serial arsonists.”

“OK, but what if I wanted to start a bonfire or- Wait a second, why is it in this beginner spellbook then?” I waved it around to further prove my point.

Marianne pointed at me, having come to a revelation. “Zinzwense was a serial arsonist.” That made sense. There were a half dozen spells relating to fire in the book. “And it’s very easy to, as I said, start a bonfire, because lighters exist.” Marianne grasped at the thin air with her furless paw, beckoning, “Let me see that book. Did you have an alternative idea?”

Earlier in the day, I could list ten different spells I would be interested in learning. But in the face of this sudden onslaught of confrontation, my head felt dizzy as I passed the spellbook over, “Um, I guess- I don’t know, what would you recommend?”

“Most animals start with Close Wounds, Painkiller, or Cast Light- Or, I suppose Cast Light’s fallen out of fashion a bit. Everyone’s got a light on their phone these days.”

Still, it sounded interesting, and unlike the aforementioned healing magic, I had yet to see the spell for Cast Light performed. “I believe I’d be interested in Cast Light.”

“Even though you have a light on your phone?”

“To be fair, I also have bandages and ibuprofen in my bag.”

Marianne liked that answer, and frowned in the strange way animals do when they’re impressed with someone, “Cast Light it is.”

We didn’t get far whatsoever that day. Over and over again, Marianne told me to focus on the same feeling I had when using the Wand of Sutures, and over and over again, I felt myself mentally grasping at straws. There were magical implements known as Wands of Illuminance, which allowed an animal to perform the Cast Light spell, as with the Wand of Sutures, but the Sphynx was adamant about me learning this spell by intuition. Without any other outside aid, entirely through my willpower alone. It was frustrating. It made me feel stupid. It saw me more directly in Marianne’s verbally abusive crosshairs that were typically aimed at the other fox, but the cat was entirely correct. None of the effects that I sought to perform with a magical implement lasted to any degree. I felt the cold grip of magic hold my body, but I couldn’t achieve any real power. I found myself scratching often at my scaled arm.

But this was natural. Most Cwalborde youth, born into the Awngaimene society, would take months to learn and perform a spell by intuition. And Fangdyne Tystwoles, having been less exposed to the effects of magic, took even longer. There was no world in which I was going to perform an entire spell with only a day’s worth of practicing. And yet, I couldn’t help but succumb to a deep sense of frustration and embarrassment. Embarrassment in particular, because waving your paws around, trying to perform an impossible feat, tends to make one feel very stupid, especially if one tries it for hours on end. It didn’t help that my pseudo-Mentor was constantly belittling me, blowing up at me whenever I so much as grumbled, and grumbling at me whenever I complained that I couldn’t do the spell.

At one point, the cat disappeared into the building which housed her menagerie, and brought forth what looked like a feral bird-of-paradise. Its feathers were dappled in every color within the rainbow, its long feathers curled around it like kingly robes, and the bird practically sparkled under the light of the sun. But I knew that such birds existed without automatically being magical in nature. Marianne explained that this was the Fictum Lux Bird-of-Paradise, which actually spent its life in hidden caves in the Indonesian isles, but had the ability to create a light far more intense than natural bioluminescence. It had the natural ability to Cast Light. The Foulgydan had thought that watching a feral magical creature work its spellcraft intuitively would aid me in doing the same. The bird illuminated like an entire lighthouse everytime the cat put a falconer’s hood over its head. I watched intently, trying to meditate on the merits of self-produced magic, and came up empty-pawed. At one point, I asked Marianne if she would finally show me her menagerie, and she was quick to decline. Intuitive magic required every ounce of my attention. And besides, there were too many magical rules to follow regarding Marianne’s dozen-or-so magical creatures, that I would be in active danger if I so much as set hind-paw into the building.

The entire afternoon was spent underneath the hot, penetrating sun, swimming in the moist air of the swamplands. I sweat more than I’d ever sweat, and considering the fact that the cat would yell at me whenever I sat down, my legs ached with soreness from standing for hours on end. I was not a particularly thin fox, but I could have sworn that the day’s extremities had slimmed me down yo a twig from how much my body ached and sweated. I had performed no magic by the time evening approached.

And I couldn’t have been happier to be in such a situation. I was finally, actively learning magic.

Marianne started to stare into the sun. Streaks of orange and red started to fringe the edges of the horizon, but the heavenly sphere wasn’t about to set just yet. “I’m hungry, are you hungry?”

We’d been working on this task for a majority of the day, and though I felt a gnawing in my stomach, I was too absorbed by magic to heed its call. “I think it would be smart to eat.”

“Usually I wait until the sun goes down, but I’m fucking starving today for some reason.”

“What did you have in mind?”

Her gaze focused on the sun, “I got frozen meals in the freezer. Could make a sandwich. Unless you’re in the mood for something fancier, but we’d have to wait for Palais to de-petrify.”

I was wondering why Palais hadn’t shown up that day. I had forgotten that the gargoyle was, indeed, a gargoyle. “I don’t need anything fancy. Sandwiches work for me.”

“Grilled cheese?”

I chuckled gently, hazarding a joke, “I thought you were French.”

She didn’t seem to get offended, and simply talked as she walked towards the house. “Yeah, poor French. I was never in France when I actually had money.”

“I thought that, I don’t know, you’d still have a few European culinary tricks up your sleeve.”

Marianne then chuckled herself, “I grew up poor, was French, and am around two-hundred-and-fifty years old, Florence, do the math.”

I felt my eyes grow wide, “Oh, you grew up during the French Revolution. How come I didn’t think about that?” The cat had completely lost her European accent, and rarely brought up her past, but still, I had forgotten that being centuries old means that you’ve been alive for unbelievable historical events.

“You’re a fox, you don’t think about a lot of things.”

I assumed that the cat was endeavoring to make fun of Forseti instead of actually being a speciesist. I playfully brought my paw to my muzzle in fake astonishment, “Ugh, how dare you!”

We were out of the glaring sun and wrapped up tightly amongst the dreary, dark-colored walls of Marianne’s home, though a bit of dreariness was far superior to constant exposure to the punishing sun, even without air conditioning. “Are you going to follow that joke up with anything? You’re not leaving me a lot to riff off of.”

I shrugged, “I’m not the fox with a theater degree.”

“You know? That’s a clever enough response that I’m starting to think a theater degree might actually be useless.”

After I replied with a brief dose of vulpine, chittering laughter, the two of us finally made our way into her kitchen. It wasn’t a particularly interesting room, none of the curios or decorations found themselves atop the white, laminate counters. The brown, retro-style microwave sitting directly next to the wood-paneled radio did remind me of the sorts of design choices common in the sixties. It was an anachronistic room when compared to the others in the house. I found myself compelled to circle back to the previous subject. “I was curious, though, what ended up bringing you here from France?

The Frote Foulgydan looked away, towards nothing in particular. “That story’s too long, and not any fun. You’ll have to get me drunk if you want it out of me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry if it’s private-”

Marianne started to spread margarine on pieces of white bread. “Don’t apologize like that. I’ll tell it to you someday, I’m just not in the mood right now.” I nodded, a bit dejected to find that conversational avenue closed. I wouldn’t dare spoil the sense of levity we shared by asking her to be my Mentor once more, either. But in my search for a conversational topic, Marianne gifted me by asking, “You’re not going to be home alone tonight, right?”

“Is Forseti not coming back?”

“No, Forseti should be staying overnight with the Fungal Entity.”

“Either way, Touchstone’s staying with us until he heals.”

“Oh, that’s right. That’s good.” Marianne had turned on the heat. Her stovetop was electric. It then dawned on me that I’d never gotten around to learning the lore regarding Forseti and the Fungal Entity. Something had always come up whenever he began to speak of them. “What exactly is the Fungal Entity?”

“God, do not ask me about the Fungal Entity while I’m making food.”

“Is it that bad- Is Forseti going to be OK?”

Marianne had started cooking two sandwiches alongside each other in a single frying pan. She then sighed in resignation, “What did the fox tell you about them already?”

“Well, I know that he’s cursed- The fox, that is. It causes him to grow mushrooms, create spores, and reattach limbs. I think he said that the Fungal Entity is actively living inside of him, or a part of the Entity, I’m not too sure on that front. But I also know that it makes him eat a lot, and I seem to recall the Fungal Entity being the reason you two met, actually.”

Marianne stared at the pan with intense concentration, “Forseti had been in the Entity’s den for about a month by the time I saw him, did he mention that?”

“It sounds familiar.”

“The Entity is… well, they’re an intelligent fungus, and with my limited mycology knowledge, I know that their mycelium- the main part of a fungus- seems to have an ability to possess an animal’s brain and use it to… well, I guess express their intelligence in a way you or I could understand. I don’t entirely understand it, this is the only such entity I’d ever met. The Entity seems to have taken over the body of a bear for as long as I’ve known them. The poor beast’s got much more mushrooms growing out of it than the fox does-

And that’s the crux, I suppose, as to why I don’t entirely trust the Fungal Entity. It has the ability to hypnotize and lure animals to its den- Their den is in a pocket realm, like the Windenbeste- because it needs a living host in order to reproduce and not starve. It’s also led a few animals to their death, and I know that as a fact. And if the Entity were behaving like some feral animal needing to feed, I could understand it, but the Entity’s intelligent. They speak, and yet feel comfortable with killing. But I don’t think they would survive on just rotting matter alone, like a normal fungus. They don’t seem to understand morality entirely, which, I know, is unlike the whole intelligence thing I was talking about before.

With the fox, though, the Entity behaves differently. They’re still able to feed and reproduce with the fox like they did with other animals, but Forseti apparently accepted the Entity’s mycelium willingly. I don’t think any other animal did that for the Entity before. They’ve even seemed to develop a rapport, which- Don’t ask me what they talk about, I don’t want to know. But Forseti visits the Entity every couple of months, exchanges nutrients, gets fertilized, and goes out into an entirely different forest to release his spores, or something like that. I don’t like to ask.” Marianne suddenly hissed loudly and jumped back, seemingly having burned herself. “Fuck! Stupid shit-head pan! Bastard!”

I had absolutely no way to compartmentalize this new information in a way in which everything made sense. Something menacing and evil lurked in my suspicions, but I asked an innocuous question to banish those thoughts. “So Forseti’s… pregnant again?”

The cat had started to flip the grilled cheeses. They were very burnt, but I didn’t mention it. “Yes, Forseti’s pregnant again.”

“And is he… or is she- How exactly is this-”

Marianne made direct eye contact and filled me with a newfound fear for an angry God. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Completely understood. I’ll ask their pronouns tomorrow.”

“I think he’s gender fluid, you just use whatever. Or, at least he told me he was comfortable with me just using whatever.”

I kept finding myself getting surprised at how up-to-date the two-century-old feline had kept herself on LGBTQ+ matters. “OK, one last question- And it’s not about anything uncouth, I promise. But why did Forseti accept the Fungal Entity’s mycelium? Did he think it would bring him magic or power or something?”

“Forseti didn’t know that magic existed until he met the Entity.”

That surprised me. Though I knew Forseti to be a Fangdyne Tystwole themself, I always assumed that they'd been searching for the existence of magic. They never gave me the impression of someone who just fell into the world by complete accident. “What could Forsy have possibly gained?”

Marianne sighed a heavy, weary sigh. Apparently, the answer to my question was uncouth after all. “Because, Florence, it’s one of the fox’s fetishes to be infected with spores. Can we please, please stop talking about Forseti and the Fungal Entity?”

Though my jaw hung low, I sought an urge to defend myself. “How was I supposed to know about that?!”

“Now you do! Change the subject for the love of God!”

I could smell the other side of the bread start to burn as well. A casual glance told me that Marianne decided to use the stove’s highest setting.

It wasn’t too long after that evening had come, and Palais had broken out of his stone form. I couldn’t stay for too much longer, however, there were countless, endless things that the Sphynx had wanted to work on, and only so many hours in a day. Having gotten up far earlier than I was used to, I didn’t particularly feel opposed to sleeping before midnight, even though that was still a few hours off. The three of us sat in the lounge, eating poorly-made sandwiches. Marianne had decided to make a few for the gargoyle as well. At one point, the cat then unceremoniously rose to find the restroom, and Palais was quick to whisper, “You don’t have to finish that, I’ll eat them.” He pointed a single claw towards my burnt grilled cheese.

“Thank you kindly.” I quickly passed my plate over, and watched as the magical creature devoured it quickly. His grimaced face told me that this was not a labor of joy for him. He patted his claws onto his kilt and offered to take my plate.

“Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.”

But curiosity gripped me once more, and I followed Palais into the kitchen. “Wait, or- So sorry if I’m intruding, but I was asking Marianne earlier about her past, and I guess I always meant to ask. Where do gargoyles… well, come from, I guess?”

The living grotesque nodded curtly, keeping my gaze as he spoke in a matter-of-fact manner. “I’m afraid I don’t know, precisely. I’ve never actually met any of my own kind-. I know they’re still around, certainly, but they’re quite talented at keeping discrete, and I’m afraid paths have never crossed.” His voice maintained its typical soft, polite timbre, but I could almost see his porcine-and-reptile features sink into slight sadness, barely detectable.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, dear Florence.”

“So… how did you and Marianne meet?” If I couldn’t get the feline to open up about herself, maybe I could subtly interrogate her close confidant.

Palais smiled. “We grew up together.”

I tilted my head in confusion, “You knew each other in youth?”

“Why, yes. She found my egg when she was a kitten, in France.” He started to wash the dishes. “We were both children at a time when it was very unfortunate to be poor.” He paused in contemplation. “Not that there is any time in which it would be fortunate to be poor, but still. It was… You must forgive me, I make it sound so tragic. It was so long ago, it feels silly to bring up. We were both orphans, and relied on each other to find food, and naturally, to hide from the Tystwole world, both of us for- well… That’s a secret Marianne would not appreciate me telling. I didn’t know my parents, I knew not how a gargoyle was supposed to hide and such, outside of lingering atop churches.” Palais looked towards me, smiling. “I’m very happy to have met Marianne.”

“I’m so sorry that I haven’t asked earlier, because it seems so obvious now, but are you two…”

“In a romantic relationship? Yes, but of course.”

I returned my own, toothy smile. “I’m very happy for you two.”

“Thank you kindly, ma’am- Quick, speak of something else, I hear Marianne returning, and imagine she’d be cross if she caught you showing interest in her personal history.” I heard the cat’s pawsteps on the creaky floorboards as well.

“Thank you for letting me actually learn about you two, Palais.”

“Feel free to ask me more when she’s not within earshot.”

It was a lovely day.

I couldn’t have stayed for too much longer. Marianne needed to spend the rest of the evening, tending to her magical beasts and magical plants as only she knew how. A hard part of my heart burned. Marianne had successfully turned my mind away from thoughts of my mother, but the trauma wasn’t going to be a mere injury. It was going to be a scar. I couldn’t help but stare at the door directly next to the one with the Temporal Key inside, leading to Marquette. My mother was behind that door. The Archlitch was behind that door. It remained incredibly patient, over the span of days. I had little doubt that it would remain incredibly patient for the next twenty years, until its body finally disintegrated. My mother’s body. I crossed the other threshold and found myself back in the chilly atmosphere of the north. I could immediately smell that snow had started to fall. Rime and frost clung to the fringes of the window, and the mildewy leaves were already covered up by a thick layer of snow.

My mother had wanted me dead after all this time. At every key point in our relationship, in every memory I held of the woman, I had to come to terms with the fact that something truly evil was lurking in the back of her mind. Something entirely wicked guided each and every one of her actions. The only thing that prevented my death was a single note, left by some mysterious benefactor. A single slip of paper, scribbled over with Sharpie, was the only thing to stop a perpetual cycle of death and suffering. My body would have been used to kill further. A bleak eternity awaited like a star that comprehended its inevitable demise, thousands of years down the line. And yet, every memory of my mother’s love lingered like some photograph, doctored to showcase the warmth of her smile, and the tenderness of her paws. It was indeed true, that I wasn’t privy to all aspects of the situation, but the fact remained that the older vixen had an ocean of blood on her paws, even if one were to disregard my own. She had even summoned the Psychic Wardens to take my life prematurely. Maybe she wanted to end the cycle by ending my life. Or maybe the Wardens could be controlled to achieve some unforeseen goal. And what could be said of the fox’s apparent hatred of magic, when she would so freely cast spells around the home when I was three and four? But what could a five-year-old fox do to inspire such a burning hatred for spellcraft? There wasn’t any good in assuming I was some exception. That I was the one who could change my mother’s mind. But I continued, yearning for my memory to be rectified. Yearning for the older fox’s affections to have been real.

But it had been a lovely day. It didn’t take long for me to read and re-read the passages from Zinzwense’s spellbook, combing through the text for a secret crumb of advice that would allow for me to Cast Light. I sat next to Touchstone on the couch as he continued his own work on his laptop. We had, of course, made friendly introductions with each other, but felt no need for further conversation. I was as comfortable in the blackbird’s silence as he was in mine. He seemed to have made an herbal tea, which sat steaming on a small table. The air mattress had started to deflate a little, but there was no merit to re-inflating it if the fox was predisposed with the mysterious Fungal Entity. At some point, I texted Jacksie, to see how her and Rowena’s progress regarding the Chicago Awngaimene went. She was quick to respond, their case was still being processed.

I then decided to borrow the other fox’s winter coat and stepped out into the wintery backyard, eager to practice Cast Light in a wide, open space. The snow coated my already snowy fur, and a bitter chill quickly crept into the tips of my hindpaws, but I diligently wrapped a scarf around my neck and committed to performing the spell for hours. I felt less frustrated, now that there wasn’t a cat nearby to mock me. But I made no visible progress. I simply waved my paws around manically, looking like some dancer, prancing about in the snow drifts under a cloudy sky. It was a good day.

At some point, Touchstone appeared, sitting in the middle of the door frame without me having noticed him. He even managed a high degree of stealth while still bound to his wheelchair. A piping hot mug sat in his wingpaw.

“Have you caught frostbite yet?”

I was thankful to have caught a glimpse of him, for I would have startled if he snuck up on me flailing around like a lunatic. “Believe me, this is far better than the swamp.”

“I suppose you are an arctic fox.”

I started to make my way towards the bird, snow crunching underpaw. “Did you make me…”

“Hot chocolate? Yeah, the fox had some stocked. Made some for myself, thought I’d make a little extra.” Upon closer inspection, the massive mug, which required two paws to steadily hold, was bedecked in little prints of fly amanita mushrooms. I thought back to what Marianne had said of the other vulpine’s supposed fetishes, and grabbed the mug with a nervous grip, trying not to imagine the other fox eroticizing it in any way. I did eventually take a sip of hot chocolate. I didn’t want to seem rude.

“Did you make that from your wheelchair, you didn’t have to-”

“Nah, it’s completely fine. Boiling water is one of the easier things an animal can do.”

I took another sip, burning my lips intentionally. Hot chocolate was never meant to cool. “Either way, thank you very much Touchstone.”

“Much obliged.” He rolled backwards into the home, and I politely shut the door, shutting out the chilly air. I had practiced more than enough.

“One more day, huh?”

“Yeah, thank goodness for magic. I haven’t built up enough of a nest egg to have recovered naturally without going broke.” I thought back to what Marianne had said about the Awngaimene hiding the cure to cancer if they discovered it through magic, but kept my thoughts to myself.

“What was her name, Alicent? The crocodile-”

“I believe she’s an alligator.”

“Oh, yes, you’re right. I was thinking of talking to her sometime. I know Forseti’s an Apothecary, but she seems to have practiced the craft longer, and I’m still confused as to why some medical procedures, or- spells, I guess, take longer to study than others. Because Forseti can’t fix broken bones, right?”

“No, he cannot.” Touchstone nodded, coolly.

“I’m curious how long something like that takes to learn, if the spell to close a gaping wound seems up the fox’s alley.”

The blackbird then shrugged, “I wouldn’t know. I don’t practice magic.”

I kept forgetting about that. It seemed utterly baffling that an animal with access to the means to gain wonderful powers would avoid doing so. “Oh yeah, that keeps slipping my mind.” Following the energy of having picked Marianne’s and Palais’s collective brains, I decided to start on Touchstone’s. “Might I ask why that is?”

“Well, I consider myself an artist, and I want the way in which I approach my craft to be completely natural.” He was talking about burglary.

“I remember you saying that, but why haven’t you learned- I don’t know, Close Wounds or Cast Light, or something unrelated to your craft?”

The red-winged blackbird shifted his stare ever-so-slightly, deep in contemplation. “I don’t know.” I gave him another moment to continue, but the bird simply repeated, “Yeah, I don’t know. I guess that’s not entirely true, I accept healing magic from others, and, you know, trip out on Forsy’s magically-grown shrooms sometimes.” I also thought back to Forseti’s fetishes, but decided entirely against bringing that topic up once more..

“I guess I don’t quite understand that. I’ve been dreaming about magic my whole life, I couldn’t imagine- I guess, leaving it on the table.”

The rogue chuckled lightly, “You bring that up a lot.”

A twinge of offense flared up within me, but I beat it down, “Well, yeah, these two weeks were completely life changing to me, I couldn’t imagine thinking about anything else more than magic, now that I know magic exists.”

“Eh, that’s fair. And it’s not like you don’t have hobbies. Never trust an Awngaimene without hobbies.”

I laughed gently. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Not to- I guess I made that sound like a joke, but I’m serious. If you meet someone who practices magic, and isn’t interested in anything else, they’re probably a megalomaniac.”

“You know that from personal experience?”

The blackbird leaned back, wearing a smug look with his beak, “Well, you know, I’ve got to figure out who to morally steal from.”

“Well, in that case, I’m glad my possessions are safe.”

Touchstone chuckled, “As far as you know.”

I was already halfway through my hot chocolate, having sipped whenever I wasn’t actively talking. I cloud practically feel the brown tinge stain the white fur at the tip of my muzzle. “Well, I’m not going to check. I trust you.”

“I truly appreciate that, my dear Florence.”

And it was at that moment that I felt another twinge. But this, instead, was a different impulse. It was the impulse of attraction. I unconsciously giggled nervously, and cursed myself for it immediately. There was no way that the bird didn’t notice.

And though I threw my gaze away from his, staring religiously into my beverage, I couldn’t deny it. The bird’s smug nature and oozing charisma pulled me in with a noticeable gravity, and it wasn’t as though the charm was inauthentic. Touchstone was quite fun to talk to, and seemed to possess a palpable ability to be in touch with another animal’s emotions. He was definitely sincere underneath his roguish facade.

But I wasn’t in the emotional state to start looking for a relationship by any means, and I instinctively deflected, “Well, um- What sorts of things did you have planned for the evening?”

Thankfully, Touchstone took the cue and retreated from further flirting respectively, if he was, indeed, flirting in the first place. “Well, I’ve been putting it off, but I wanted to fine-tune the chapter I was writing for Forseti’s book.”

“The one with Clare and Zuma?”

“Precisely.” He set his laptop on top of the air mattress. “I’ve read your chapters, I cannot fathom how you write so much, so quickly, with it still feeling like quality writing. You and Forseti, both.”

A meager blush colored the white of my cheeks. “Well, thank you, Touch. I am excited to read your chapter, though.” I then laughed a little, “Despite the odds, I think that was one of the least traumatizing days I’ve had this week.”

“Well, in that case, I am both excited for you to read it, and also sorry that the whole Adacaius situation was technically your least-interesting day.” His tone then shifted towards a more somber note. “Did Marianne mention if she had any plans for the near future?”

“She told me a few things. No concrete plans, but I think she’s almost ready to make a move against the Archlitch.”

Touchstone nodded. The sort of deep, slow nodding that a wise person does. “I really hope that’s the case.” He then slapped his knees, “I hope she doesn’t make her move until after tomorrow, though. Personally.”

“Is it selfish of me that I’m going to miss hanging out like this, once your legs work?”

“You’re currently roommates with who I’m certain is my best friend, I wouldn’t worry too much about me not visiting.”

“That’s good to hear.”

The rest of the evening was spent casually. We proceeded to watch more YouTube, without the addition of marijuana this time, and mostly relaxed in each other’s company. Conversation was casual, and everything felt as though it were graced by an intransigent peace. Eventually, I pushed Touchstone towards Forseti’s bedroom, and retired once more onto the couch that I had made my own bed. It had been a lovely day, and the loveliness was far from waning as day turned into night.

The next day would be the beginning of the end.