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Chapter 10 - The Magic of Silence

It is difficult to write about the state of my mind the night I’d learned that my mother was dead. I recall in my youth, when I’d visit a water park, these odd, mushroom-shaped structures that stuck out of the water of the pool. A manufactured waterfall flowed from the circumference of the mushroom’s cap. It was a perfect circle. And in my youth, I’d sit directly underneath the torrent and allow the flowing of water to flatten my pointed ears, until I could hear nothing but the carnal roar of an artificial tidal wave. And yet, the torrent wasn’t forceful enough to knock me away. I’d simply close my eyes and allow my sense of sight and sound to dissolve, feel nothing but the cool rush of water.

It was that same sound that poured over me, on the couch in Forseti’s home, in a room without rain. The other fox slept directly next to me, having forfeited his actual bed to the injured bird. I scratched at my scaled arm, unable to feel the full gravity of yet another aspect of this magical world that could have killed me. I only stared at the ceiling and imagined myself as under water. And yet, I cannot claim to be a victim of insomnia. We all prepared for bed, the hallucination of cool water poured over me, and I fell asleep not too long after.

My mother was dead. A small part of me was certain of that fact for a while. I told myself that going to Chicago was some heroic gesture to save her, but deep down, I knew that I was only satisfying my curiosity. I wanted desperately to revive the artist necessary to finish that unfinished painting. And I couldn’t even earn that. I was completely submerged. The roar of grief, of regret, of embarrassment and disappointment. And then I slept.

I woke up to the sight of streaming sunlight and the scent of brewing coffee. The way that the sunbeams were shaped indicated that they had only barely penetrated through a slight break in the clouds. I noticed a few spots of mold, seemingly growing in the corner of the plaster ceiling. There was also the scent of sliced bread, in the process of getting toasted. I heard the low, quiet voice of the other fox, but a quick glance told me that he was on the phone. He hadn’t noticed that I was awake yet.

“...Yeah, I’m sorry to flake out. I’ll be in the gamer headspace soon, but yesterday was fucked up.” A small pause indicated that the animal on the other end was speaking. I couldn’t fathom why this wasn’t just a text message, and was horrified for a moment that the other fox actually enjoyed phone calls. Forseti continued, “Yeah, no, for sure. I guess the short story is that- Well, you know the Fangdyne Tystwole fox situation, yeah? We finally confronted, like, the Shadow thing, turns out her mother was killed, er- possessed by the Archlitch- Yeah, the Archlitch is real. Touchstone got pretty fucked up I’ll tell more details once I figure it out though, but yeah.” Forseti had crooked the phone in between his head and shoulder and continued speaking as he started to spread jam over what looked like four different slices of bread. I could make out a particularly striking orange-colored mushroom cap growing out of the tufts of fur behind his neck. “Oh shit, what’s Zuma’s excuse? Well, I don’t know, he didn’t tell me he was going on a trip. No idea where he’s-” Forseti noticed me and changed the topic, “Oh hey, Florence just woke up, I might need to hang up, but I’ll chat soon! Yeah, love you too, tiger!” He hung up. “Hey, morning! Want breakfast?”

I couldn’t suppress the yawn manifesting in the back of my throat before speaking. “What have you got in mind?”

“I have toast, oatmeal, eggs- or, like, I could make an omelet. French toast.”

“I’m fine for now.” I proceeded to crack my neck slightly, “Who was that?”

Forseti fetched his plate of precariously-stacked pieces of bread and sat it in his lap as he made his way to the couch. His other paw held a cup of coffee that seemed to be filled to the brim before spilling slightly to the carpeted floor below. “A tiger from Scotland, he’s a close friend of Zuma’s and mine. We do a lot of online gaming.”

I recalled the fact that Zuma was from Europe. But that still seemed to be a particularly wide gap between both Germany and America, in terms of distance. I couldn’t imagine anyone I considered a close friend that didn’t live in some corner of Chicago. “You have a lot of friends in random places.”

The other vulpine tilted his head, “Oh yeah. I’m the popular kid at Awngaimene high school.”

“Aren’t you a theater kid?”

“So was Sharpay.” answered Forseti smugly, though I didn’t have a habit of watching Glee, so I didn’t get the reference.

“How do you and your German husband have a close Scottish friend?”

The fungal fox sipped his coffee slowly before clearing his throat, “Well, like- OK, so, Zuma and I actually met through Zippo, who has another mutual- um… friend with me. We had, like, a two-month-long seminar for the Apothecary’s Guild in Scotland, of all places. Long story. Zuma’s also in the Guild, as well as the Academy. Zippo’s another Apothecary friend, and we play, like, silly little co-op games and Dungeons and Dragons and stuff, so I guess I kinda got sucked into that circle by merit of getting married to the puma. The tiger’s great though! Er- the tiger, his name’s Zippo. And Mako and Heinrich, from our little group, also live at his house. I think everyone else in that group are in American time zones- or, uh, Canadian. Which is, you know, in North America.” He shrugged as though he were begging forgiveness for being bewildering. “But yeah, he’s the only other animal awake right now. I have no idea what games he thinks we’re gonna play at, like, nine in the morning.” He then proceeded to point at me with a piece of toast. “You sure you aren’t hungry?”

No part of me felt as though I could keep food down. “Not yet, but maybe later.”

“I am gonna make sure you get at least one meal in you today, ideally two.” He chuckled lightly, though I doubt his comment was merely a joke.

“I’ll let you know when I feel up to it-”

Forseti’s eyes then lit up as though they held stars. “Wait, I have an idea.” And before I could inquire after that idea, the fox had scrambled into another room and returned with his laptop. He plopped it onto the air mattress, using it as though it were a table, and starting opening up Discord.

“What are you doing?”

“Heinrich is, like, a really old hyena. Maybe he knows something about the Archlitch.”

“And who is Heinrich?”

I noticed that Forseti had accidentally started a call with someone under the name of Mako instead of Heinrich. “Uhh, that one’s a long story. Just trust me.”

“I don’t think you clicked on the right name-”

“Just trust me.”

The discord notification rang for an amount of time Forseti could have used to tell a long story. The two of us sleepily stayed silent until finally, someone had answered.

The torso of a lithe, brown-furred otter popped up on the screen, a mammal seemingly unaware as to where the camera was aimed. Instead of a normal shirt, he wore a black harness. He spoke with a noticeable flamboyant theatricality.

“And so Forseti comes to Heinrich the Chaste, seeking a boon. I’ve been eavesdropping from the aether. The Archlitch is, indeed, real?”

Forsy responded casually. “Yep. I wanted to ask if you knew any lore about it.”

The otter’s belly rumbled with deep, mocking laughter. “I will miss our little chats, fox. I’ve grown quite fond of you over the years, it’s a shame you aren’t going to survive this.”

“Well, you don’t gotta be so defeatist-”

“I’ll save a space inside of the otter for you, if you’d like. You know how fond the otter is of having other mammals inside of him.” What seemed like a joke went completely over my head.

“I’ll take you up on it if we can’t beat the Archlitch. Do you know what it does, though?”

“Well, aside from the immortality, you’ll have to assume that the entity has a full millenia’s worth of spells at its disposal. Far more than either Zippo or I have learned, that’s for sure. And thousands of years to refine them.”

From somewhere out of frame, a voice with a Scottish accent shouted. “I heard my name.”

“Don’t worry about it, dear tiger. Do ask the fox if we’re in his will, though-”

The voice of Zippo then interrupted. “I thought you said you couldn’t game today.”

Forseti jumped in. “I just wanted to ask Heinrich if he knew anything about the Archlitch.”

And a question had been burning in my mind for far too long. I needed to address it. “Forsy, I thought you said Heinrich was a hyena.”

“Heinrich is a hyena.”

“But that’s an otter.”

And then, there was a knock on the door.

Or more accurately, three dull, thudding pounds, as though whoever was knocking wasn’t concerned for the further integrity of the door.

“If you’ll excuse me. I’ll have to call back.” spoke Forseti, who precariously balanced his laptop on the raggedy seat of the couch. The plate with the pieces of toast wobbled hazardously, and I almost leapt across the couch to catch them when the otter spoke once more.

“I will say this, fox.” It took me a moment to realize that Heinrich was now addressing me. He’d finally tilted his own laptop upwards so that I could see his face. The brown-furred otter was completely covered in piercings, and his eyes were closed. “I know I tease, but I’m extremely thankful to be across the pond from the Archlitch. I may be a powerful Foulgydan, but my power’s a drop in the bucket when compared to something that old.” The otter only looked ten years older than me. I would never have assumed that he was Marriane’s age.

“So what do we do?”

“My advice is to explore necromancy. You can’t run forever, but you can plan for your afterlife. It’s worked out well for me so far.” And then, the otter opened his eyes, as though someone had just startled him a fit of sleepwalking. He blinked twice, and said, in a voice farmore mundane than he had seconds prior, “Oh, hey Florence, nice to meet you.”

This was by far the most bewildering Discord call I’d ever been a part of, and that included the call in the presence of the Psychic Wardens in Missouri. “I’m sorry, what’s going on?”

The fox’s home was quite cluttered, with the floor space being taken up by the air mattress, my bags of luggage, and a blackbird’s wheelchair. It took him a while to finally reach his front door. “Call us again later tonight, when Forseti doesn’t have guests.”

“I’ll remember to, thanks. Is that Touchstone?” I then asked the other fox, curious as to who would be visiting at this hour.

“Nah, he’s asleep still.” Forseti then proceeded to open the door, revealing the skunk Claudia. She wore a ripped, massive, army-green jacket and gray, ripped-up jeans. She held an unopened, black umbrella in one paw, and the handle of a leash in the other. Claudia was once again accompanied by a massive umber-and-white St. Bernard with a droopier face than most other dogs. “Hey, Clauds, what’s up?” Mako had ended the call.

“Nothing much.” Some strange part of me thought that the mephit Awngaimene was a vampire until she crossed the threshold without getting first invited inside. I entertained the thought for longer than I’d like to admit, considering that vampires were apparently real. I meekly uttered a high pitched, “Hey Claudia!” I was met with a curt, thoughtful nod. Bernard the St. Bernard wasted no time lying on the first available patch of open floor and falling asleep.

“What can I do you for?” asked Forseti, as if he were some general store owner on the Great Plains.

The Awngaimene skunk wasted no time getting to her point as she pulled out a wooden chair and sat into it backwards. “Trying to learn the Record.”

Forsy’s eyes widened, “Oh, that’s rad as hell! Yeah, how can I help?”

“You got books or something?”

“Yeah, lemme check my room. Help yourself to some coffee if you want, in the french press. You too, Florence.” The yellow-furred vulpine then marched towards the room towards his door once more, before adopting a stealthier stance and exasperating its unoiled hinges, completely failing to not wake Touchstone up. I heard a soft, “Forseti, you’re not stealthy.” I was left alone with Claudia, who opted not to get up for a coffee. I slowly leaned into my question, the awkwardness palpable in the air, “So, uh, Claudia. We don’t chat much.”

“I guess we don’t.” She shrugged, without it feeling too cold a gesture. But then she proceeded to check her phone. It completely lacked a case, but I could still see a spider web of cracks.

“What sorts of things do you do?”

“I’m learning the Record.”

“Or, uh- I mean, outside of that.”

“I work at Meijer.” The Midwestern superstore chain. I couldn’t figure out why the skunk was so terse in her word usage, but I remained adamant in my pursuit to learn her story. At least I was able to wrestle her attention from her phone with that question.

“What sorts of magic do you practice?”

Claudia shrugged again, “The basics.” A pause hung in the air, long enough to be noticed, but short enough to not seem rude, “I’m good at Glamours.”

“Oh, I saw that sort of magic down in Louisiana. Though, um, what do you use them for?

“Mostly for the Blade.”

“The Blade?”

“Yeah, I have a Blade.”

Forseti then burst once more into the living room, ruining the momentum that I’d carefully cultivated “I can’t find my books on it, I think I borrowed them from the Library.”

Claudia nodded a deep, slow nod, then stood up abruptly. “I can head that way.” But then the fox interrupted once more, “Actually, wait, Florence and I might tag along- if you wanna, that is, Florence. Now that she’s registered-” Foresti then turned to me and changed who he was addressing, “You can get into the Library. I know you’ve been wanting to read more Awngaimene stuff.”

A spark lit within me, the combustion of dense, superheated gasses. The thought of perusing old magical texts pulled me from the void of despair with nought but a single paw. I could feel my bushy tail wagging as soon as Forseti asked. “I’d love that!”

“Is that cool, Claudia?”

Claudia nodded, “Assumed you were coming.”

“Hmm?”

“Dunno which books I need.”

“Oh yeah, for sure-” Forseti shot a gaze out the window and failed to spot a third car. “Claudia, did you walk all the way here?”

“I was walking the dog.”

Forseti looked baffled. “That’s, like, so many miles.”

“Bernard likes long walks.” The dog in question seemed to be asleep.

At first, I imagined that the Library at Marquette would be some small corner of the Great Lakes Gas building’s basement. I couldn’t imagine too many texts were written by members of the society, let alone the fact that Marquette didn’t necessarily seem to be the ideal place for a large number of them to end up.

Forseti instead drove directly downtown, parking in a modest public parking lot, nestled amidst the quaint three-to-four story brick buildings and the clean, concrete tourist town businesses. The sky was completely overcast at this point, without a single trace of blue, but neither rain nor snow fell. Puddles of melted snow soaked the asphalt, and a plethora of dried, brown leaves coated just as much surface area. Forseti and Claudia let me sit in the passenger seat, so as not to be crammed in with the feral dog almost twice my size, but that didn’t stop Bernard from sticking his head over the seat’s shoulder and panting heavily in my ears.

We left the car, the crisp fall air prompting me to zip up my black jacket entirely, lest I start to shiver. Forseti explained to me the nature of the Awngaimene Library of Marquette, in a hushed enough voice to deter any potential Tystwole eavesdroppers. I wasn’t too worried, there didn’t seem to be a single other animal within my line of sight on the streets of Marquette.

“So, each Awngaimene community has a library connected to where the Mulgywai do their work, but the Marquette Awngaimene couldn’t figure out a way to convince the city to let us add, like, a whole other building to the existing gas station, and they didn’t wanna deal with the, like, bureaucracy of it. So the Mulgywai just bought that coffee shop-” He pointed a claw at a quaint corner coffee shop with a black-and-white color palette, and dying plants out front trying to pass as attractive decoration. “LA Danse Roasters. There’s an Awngaimene that runs it. But the Mulgywai also bought the apartments upstairs- we own the building. They took out the walls, and built the library.” Forseti’s eyes then went completely wide, and he started to stare off into space. Claudia spoke before I could. “You good?”

The fox shook himself from his stupor, “Nothing, just Record stuff. Too brief for me to get the details.”

“Should we worry?” I poised, laughing dryly to cut the new tension.

“Nah, but I think today might be a chapter day.” A new term the fox developed to describe a day worth writing a chapter for.

We jaywalked and made our way into the coffee shop. The entryway bells chimed. Claudia brought her dog in without asking if it was allowed. A young-looking sheep manned the counter, wearing an apron and button-up combination that matched the color scheme from outside. No one else was in the coffee shop, and the ovine continued to feel comfortable being on his phone.

“Hey, Achilles!” shouted Forseti enthusiastically. The sheep looked up and flashed a smile. I took it upon myself to initiate the Awngaimene introduction, considering I’d never met Achilles before. “Dahbin io?”

“Awngaimene.” responded the barista as he clumsily slid his phone into his apron. “I take it you all wanna go upstairs?” The jingle of a key ring chimed as Achilles fumbled about with the register drawer.

Forseti oozed towards the counter, answering, “Yes, please, and if I may be so bold, may I have an americano also. Black, please.”

“London Fog.” tacked on Claudia.

“You want anything, Florence?” asked the fox, “I can pay.”

I cast my gaze to a minimally stocked display cooler. “Just a bottle of water for me, right now.” I answered, but the sheep cut in as he swapped the key ring with Forseti’s debit card. It certainly seemed as though this new character was younger than I was by appearance, but I didn’t let his youthful air serve as the whole burden of proof, considering the fact that he seemed to run an entire establishment. “Oh, you can just take one, Miss…” He held on the last word with intrigue, as a means to ask for my name.

“Oh, Florence.” I answered, making my way towards the counter to shake his paw.

“Pleasure! I’m Achilles.” The ovine Awngaimene bowed gently before completing Forseti’s transaction.

“I gather that you run the Library?”

Achilles blinked in confusion. “I’m nineteen.”

Forseti chuckled gently, then explained. “Mulgywai Miguel’s upstairs. Achilles just works here.”

But then, it was Claudia who shifted the conversational topic suddenly. “Definitely explain Miguel’s whole thing.”

“Oh, yeah- No, he’s not a normal person-”

“I won’t tell him you said that.” interrupted Achilles.

“Touchè,” snapped Forseti, accompanied with finger guns, “but yeah, Miguel is, um, a member of the Society of the Magic of Silence, which is a little club dedicated to a type of magic that cancels out other magic.”

That seemed like a classic sort of magic to learn. “Oh, so they can silence other Awngaimene to prevent them from casting spells with verbal components and such?”

“Not quite. It’s- for whatever reason- it’s a secret to me why it’s the case, but the Magic of Silence requires that you yourself refrain from speaking. A lot of the members actually, um-” Forsy coughed awkwardly, “Cut out their own tongues, which is what Mulgywai Miguel did, so he doesn’t speak. But he’s not deaf, he can hear you and write and stuff. I’m really glad nobody else is in here so I can talk about this sort of thing at full volume.”

Achilles returned his own finger guns, “And I like getting paid to do nothing.”

“Don’t sweat it too much, Florence. Just don’t freak out if he doesn’t talk to you.”

The sheep finished crafting the other two mammals’ beverages, and proceeded to whip out his phone once more. It didn’t seem as though hot drinks and feral dogs were banned from the Library, but if that were the case, Achilles didn’t bring it up. We climbed a narrow staircase, lined with a soft, deep purple colored plaster and white wainscoting, and then we made it into the library itself.

The space seemed massive and filled with open air, though the aroma of dust and old books hung in the atmosphere heavily. I wouldn’t have been surprised if an entire floor was removed in order to increase the library’s sense of openness. The shelves themselves were seemingly constructed of light-colored pine, but the rest of the room was filled with rich earth tones. The walls were a deep green, and the chairs and other assorted furnites were a rich red. The flooring consisted of a shallow, rich brown carpeting. The entire color palette was decedent enough to invest in the stock market. There seemed to be various nooks for various sections of books, while other spaces were kept more open, save for a few armchairs and tables. A massive table sat in the immediate left corner, and the right corner in the back seemed to be furnished with a small computer lab, though there was no world in which the computers in question were younger than I was. Jade-colored lamps plucked straight from a bank in the fifties decorated the desks and tables, and a single glass chandelier hung over the center of the room, failing to penetrate its dark atmosphere.

As for the books themselves, there seemed to be four different sections, each labeled with a sign. Towards the left were the Reference and Spelling sections. I couldn’t parse what that meant. And to the right side was a handful of shelves dedicated to the General Nonfiction section, and a single, pitiful shelf that constituted all of Fiction itself. The library seemed not to prioritize the standard fare one might find in a public library, and none of the books in the Fiction section seemed out of place in a high school English teacher’s required reading list.

As for the Reference and Spelling sections, a madcap array of what looked like binders filled with printed out sheets of paper sat directly next to dusty, century-old tomes. Books published in the modern paperback format were far and few between, though I recalled Forseti mentioning that there weren’t exactly many Awngaimene publishing houses outside of the one his friend managed for nonfiction books. A sign hung over a doorway towards the left-paw side of the room, reading only the words: “Archive.”

And in the direct center of the room, towards the back wall, was the librarian’s desk. Sitting in a wheeled office chair was the aforementioned Mulgywai Miguel. He was a turkey buzzard with dark brown feathers and a red, fleshy face. He looked as though he was in his early fifties, though a vulture’s skin was more wrinkly than other animals, and it was tricky to be certain. He wore round, wiry glasses, and a tan button-up underneath a purple-and-green argyle sweater vest. Atop his feathery head sat a simple straw Panama hat with a white band. There were no other beasts in the Library. As soon as the three of us entered the room, Miguel stared at me with a penetrating glare, but Forseti was quick to explain. “Hey there, Mulgywai Miguel. This is Florence, Fangdyne Tystwole, just got registered yesterday.”

The vulture’s gaze softened, and he tapped away at his computer. Silently. Before returning his stare towards me directly and nodding, seemingly in approval.

The yellow-furred vulpine then turned to address me. “So, not explaining the right side of the room. We have normal books in case you want to read a normal book. But the Spelling section refers to spellbooks, and the Reference section refers to, like, Awngaimene encyclopedias, history books, cultural guides. There’s way more here than that stack of papers Annandax gave you, but if you haven’t poked at that yet, probably read The Oxcotton Guide for Fangdyne Tystwoles, written by Chaaya of the Waxing Moon.”

I had completely misheard the other vulpine. “Oxycontin?”

Forseti then looked flustered, “No, no, like- ‘Ox’ as in, like, cows, and “cotton” like what shirts are made of. It doesn’t mean anything, that’s just a Chaaya thing.”

“And Chaaya is the Ajai Foulgydan, who unified Awngaimene society?” I couldn’t resist the impulse to verify information that I already knew.

“Bingo! Or, she was. She’s passed away now. But she did a lot of writing in her later years, like- She wrote a straight up A-to-Z encyclopedic collection for the community. The Oxcotton Encyclopedia Collection on Awngaimene Matters.” I turned to glance at the Reference section once more and noticed a half-dozen different sets of the collection, taking up an entire shelf on their own. It was the only section without old books or anachronistic office binders.

The fox continued, “Claudia and I need to get into the Archives for our little-”

But the silent vulture simply nodded his head in disapproval. His face held a similar, stoic grace to Mike Ermahntraut’s from Breaking Bad. Forseti looked flabbergasted. “What? What do you mean, you let me- I’m so sorry, I forgot.” The vulture once again shot a deadly glare as he wrote something down in a notebook without actually looking at his moving talons. An awkward silence filled the room for half a minute. The dog Bernard lazily strode towards the underside of the largest table and fell asleep.

I then proceeded to interject, “Um, unless you need me, Forseti. I’ll-”

“Oh yeah, for sure! Don’t wait up on my part, read what you want.”

I found Chaaya’s introductory book fairly quickly. It was at the very end of the encyclopedic collection, due to it not actually being an encyclopedia. I eavesdropped on Forseti’s protestations and figured out quickly why the fox wasn;t allowed near old, fragile books. “I promise I won’t get mold on this one! Claudia’s going to be taking it home anyway, not me.”

“Can I go in alone?” asked Claudia. I gathered that the answer was a nonverbal “Yes.”

It is not a convenient activity, to describe the contents of one book while also writing your own. From what Forseti told me, I’m currently in the process of writing a novel meant to be enjoyed by the Awngaimene society, albeit a nonfiction one pretending to be fictional. I would hazard a guess that a majority of the animals reading this book have also read The Oxcotton Guide for Fangdyne Tystwoles, and if not, they could pick up a copy with ease.

But in the interest of being thorough, the text is front-loaded with information on the structure of the Awngaimene society. Explanations on the duties of a Mulgywai, and where to go in order to register into the society. And though it was information I already knew, I foolishly scoured the text for any piece of information that I hadn’t yet gleaned. The only thing that stuck out was a list of the major Awngaimene communities across the world. Trondheim and Punta Arenas and Arusha and Inverness and Asahikawa. Any medium-sized city with a close proximity to nature without actively being removed from civilization.

I saw myself looking towards the map of the United States of America more than the others, knowing that I was more likely to recognize the cities. A few names stuck out. Marquette and Houma, of course. Morgantown in West Virginia seemed sizable, as well as Taunton in Massachusetts, though it was labeled also as the Teleraine Academy. New York City stuck out as an Awngaimene hotspot for some reason. The entire Voyageurs National Park was labeled as a community, while also being directly tied to the city of Thunder Bay, despite it being in Canada. A town named Payton out in the Mojave and a town named Bright Harbor out in Appalachia. Laramie in Wyoming and Rolla near the Ozarks and Pinetop-Lakeside in Arizona and Bangor in Maine and a chain of cities near the Big Bend in Texas. No real community seemed to have made it out on the West Coast, nor any large city other than New York. If a place was too plagued with suburbia, or sat in too high of a tax bracket, it seemed as though it was less likely to be populated by Awngaimene.

I had begun to feel my eyes glaze over by the time the book finally switched topics, pivoting to the Psychic Wardens. Another topic I felt well versed in. I went to check the time, and realized once again that I let my phone die. It almost brought a sense of relief, the fact that I didn’t have to stare at the dozens of texts I hadn’t responded to for an entire week. But then it dawned on me that we were directly above a coffee shop, and that I still had a few bills lying around in my purse. Even if I’d only been reading for half-an-hour, a momentary caffeine break seemed to be a good idea after all. I silently slipped away from my seat and made my way downstairs.

But I was stopped by Forseti as soon as I reached the doorway. He was simply petting the dog under the table, texting folks with his other paw, when he suddenly rose to his feetpaws, as though a puppeteer had violently pulled him heavenward by a set of strings. The fox’s gaze was anything but casual. He almost looked shocked. “Where are you going?”

“Downstairs for a coffee.”

“Don’t.” His voice was dull, as though he were sleep-talking. But then he shook himself out of yet another trance. “Or do, I guess. Sorry. I think the Record told me to say that.”

A slow, creeping dread pulled gently at my heart, “So I shouldn’t go get a coffee?”

Forseti donned a look of severe contemplation, and seemingly came up frustrated, “I can’t get a hold of it. That usually means it’s probs not that intense though.”

“I can live without getting a coffee.”

The fox shrugged, “Nah, you’re probably good. If you’re worried, just don’t leave the building.” That seemed sensible enough, but I couldn’t help but notice the yellow-furred vulpine once again wear a look of frustration as I left the Library.

I descended the stairs, and entered into the lobby of the coffee shop.

And there, at a round table against the window opposite the counter, sat Rowena and Jacksie.

My old friends.

Rowena, my roommate in college. The tall, clumsy white-tailed deer, sensitive to large crowds and eager to study classical cello and guitar. Dressed in an oversized, pastel pink hoodie, with the thick, black straps of her bra visible. Wearing her blocky, turtleshell glasses that looked far too large to be practical. A doe with antlers. A major mover and shaker at Northwestern’s GSA.

And Jacksie, my oldest friend from elementary school, who moved over to Evanston without actually enrolling at Northwestern, working at a pagan reading room and sharing a house with her coven. Wearing a black turtleneck with the design of a Ouija Board printed on it, and a brown witch’s hat with a minimalist style to make it stick out less in public.

Her fur was orange. She was the exact tabby cat the Psychic Wardens impersonated a week prior.

I physically felt my heart stop beating as I lurked in the doorway. I couldn’t duck out of the way before Jacksie called out after me, “Florence? Oh my Gods-”

“Jacksie, you’re here-” I couldn’t stop myself from responding, even though I was dead certain this wasn’t truly my friend. There was no way they could have found me up here. The Psychic Wardens were once again hunting after me. And yet, I could focus on her face. It wasn’t blurry.

I watched as Rowena sank awkwardly into her seat, clutching a large, ceramic mug with both of her paws. Jacksie wasted no time in calling me out, “Are you going to fucking explain where you’ve been these past few weeks?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the ovine barista, Achilles, casually ask, “Dahbin io?” Rowena and Jacksie failed to notice.

“Jacksie, I couldn’t-” I stammered, lurking in the doorway as though I was the subject of a painting, bound within a frame. “How did you find me?”

“Bitch, I asked first.” spat the cat half-sarcastically, before shifting her emotion entirely. On the verge of crying, she flew across the coffee shop lobby, going in for a hug. “We were so worried about you, you haven’t been texting.”

Her tiny arms wrapped around me, squeezing like rubber bands. She was corporeal after all. Slowly, Rowena rose from her chair and approached the two of us. It took every fiber of my being not to state “You’re real,” as though I’d gone mad. Instead, I answered, “I’m- It’s not been easy for me lately.” But if these weren’t the Psychic Wardens, that didn’t mean that the threat of the Wardens didn’t loom. “I’m so sorry.”

Rowena then chimed in, with a voice creaky with worry, “Florence, you d-don’t have to go into it now, but please- D-don’t just run off without letting us know.”

I gulped audibly. The grief proved hard to swallow, “I’m sorry, I just- I…” My voice trailed off. What could I even get away with revealing? Even the death of my mother seemed as though it had a chance to summon danger. Achilles was spying on us intently from the counter.

But then the tabby cat said something that answered my question from earlier. “Listen, Florence. I’ve had my eyes glued on the Find-My-Friend app for weeks-” I had completely forgotten that my friends and I had the ability to track each other’s phones in case something horrible befell us. “And I wasn’t going to pry, but then it said that you came back to Chicago, after not texting us, by the way, and then they found your car, all fucked up in Rogers Park, and you were just gone from the city. What in the many hells is going on?” Her coven believed in various levels of Hell, though not a Christian Hell particularly.

I felt as though someone had shoved cotton balls down my throat. I wracked my brain for an answer sufficient enough to satiate my friends’ curiosity without throwing them into danger. I stammered for a few seconds, until my exhausted mind finally settled on: “How did you even find out about the car?”

This time, it was Rowena who answered , “A raccoon, um, p-police officer- he, um, showed me a picture of the wreck, and asked me t-to identify it. T-told me to check in on you.”

And that was when Jacksie said. “Florence, is something paranormal going on?”

It wasn’t the sort of question a normal animal would ask, but Jacksie and I had spent our entire lives obsessing over the idea that magic existed. I was dejected, but I wasn’t surprised that such a topic would be the first thing the cat would ask about.

Standing directly behind the feline, I watched Rowena shrivel up in embarrassment, “Jacks, c-come on-”

“No, I’m serious. There are too many weird things at once, Florence, is something paranormal-”

“Jacks, stop, please,” Rowena warned, “you d-don’t have to talk about it if it’s personal, Florence.” I could see the conversation in my head. Jacksie rambling on about insane conspiracy theories on the drive up to Marquette, and Rowena talking her down, in case I was going through something traumatic for real. I hated that both of them were correct.

“It’s fine, Row,” Jacksie was always persistent in her interrogative strategies, I wasn’t going to fault her for it now. “I really-” I took a deep breath. “Recently, my mother, um, passed away.” I waited for a moment. Part of me was testing the waters, to see if that statement alone would draw the Wardens, but I also knew that such a statement pulled the same emotional degree of gravity as a black hole. Jacksie completely switched off her interrogator mode and pulled me in for another hug, crying right away on my behalf. Rowena was quick to pull into the hug as well, towering over the two of us, her furry chin resting between the gaps of my ears. We formed an awkward clump atop the coffee shop tile. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Awngaimene sheep lean against the counter, trying to gauge the situation without actively looking as though he was completely eavesdropping on a particularly emotional moment for a group of strangers.

“Florence, I’m so sorry, that’s- Gods, that’s way too fucking young, I’m so sorry…” sympathized the cat. She’d met my mother, and knew that the fox was the only one of my family members that I actually knew.

“Thank you, Jacks. I’m- I’m doing fine today, but I appreciate it.” And then, for whatever reason, I decided that I had to explain why I was in Marquette, ascending close to the sun with my wings made of wax. “I’ve actually been staying with, a- um, a cousin of mine that I reconnected with, his name’s Aaron.” I recalled Forseti’s old roommate using his pre-Awngaimene name.

There were stars in Jacksie’s eyes, “You reconnected with your family?”

“I, um-” Both Rowena and I knew exactly where Jacksie’s train of thought was now headed. The doe spoke before I did, “Jacks, don’t-”

But not before the cat could finish her sentence. “Wait, is he on your mom’s side of the family? I’m sorry, Row, what were you saying?”

The deer’s voice dropped to a whisper, “Please, Jacks, not now. Please.” She tilted her head towards the barista, indicating that talking about magic in public would be awkward for her, even if the barista in question actively practiced it.

“You’re right, you’re right, so sorry, Florence. I can totally ask later, but is he… you know-” Her voice dropped into a whisper as well, “Is magic real?”

Suddenly, an eerie noise filled the lobby. The creaking of old, wooden floorboards underneath somebody’s paws. Forseti was on his way downstairs, and I was eternally thankful that the other fox would be able to explain this situation away, far better than I could.

But a different figure opened the door from the Library, one with dark brown feathers instead of ochre-tinted fur.

Mulgywai Miguel started to wordlessly stride towards the three of us.

Without gauging the situation whatsoever, I shouted, “Run!” The Mulgywai must have figured out somehow that the secret was jeopardized. I couldn’t imagine that he would have come downstairs for any other reason. I pulled at the sleeves of the cat and deer, and didn’t so much as throw a single glance towards the vulture or the sheep. Thankfully, my two friends followed suit, and the three of us spilled out into the frosty air. The streets remained effectively empty, and I couldn’t so much as even hear a car in the immediate vicinity, but I waved my arms frantically to my left, indicating that we should run down the street that didn’t directly end at the edge of Lake Superior a few blocks away. For a moment, I could hear the tabby cat demand, “Florence, what’s going on?”

But I could only shout back, “Just run!” My voice was run ragged due to the sudden combination of sudden exercise and cold air. We flew past various shops selling camping supplies, fudge, and more coffee. Thankfully, the low season meant that less animals blocked the street, and shops didn’t feel compelled to place signs or merchandise out front. We had sprinted the length of three straight blocks, until we ended up in a modest little patch of grass without a single tree, statue, or even bench. It was merely a stretch of sidewalk through dying, winter grass. A pitiful excuse for a park.

I glanced over my shoulder, we weren’t followed. But I couldn’t catch my breath for too long before Jacksie continued her trademark onslaught of questions. “Who was that guy? Did he hurt you?”

Through my panting, I reassured her, “No, no, no- He’s, um-” I looked around for any animals. A few Marquette citizens were walking about in the distance, but they were naught but tiny, formless shapes, nowhere close to the three of us. “He’s not- it’s nothing like that. It’s hard to explain.”

“Should we find my car?” posed the doe. I remembered that Rowena was a regular jogger, and this meager distance failed to bring her to breathlessness completely.

“It’s fine, it’s- Or, maybe we could- I don’t know-” I still didn’t see any sign of the Wardens nearby, but they had appeared so suddenly at that rest station. I couldn’t have perceived them until it was too late. I couldn’t risk it. “This situation is dangerous, though, I must admit.”

I met my friends’ gazes, and beheld an ocean of concern. There was no world in which I could safely explain my situation, and though I realized that the two of them had taken the time to come up north, all for the purpose of keeping tabs on my well-being, I had to betray their trust in order to protect theirs. “I can’t explain it right now, you have to trust me.”

“What do you mean-” blurted out Jacksie, “So then, what do we do?”

“I appreciate you coming all the way up here-”

But I couldn’t complete my apology. “You know what? I evoke the vow.”

And I just knew that Jacksie would play that card. When we were young children, playing witches and wizards at recess, I would dazzle the young cat with stories about my mother. Some based on little snippets of magical lore that I could remember, and some made entirely out of whole cloth in order to make for an interesting playtime. And just like me, Jacksie developed an incorrigible obsession with the occult that persisted throughout her entire life. We had made a vow, that whenever we learned any deep, esoteric, magical secret of the world, we would tell the other immediately. Considering the fact of who my mother was, we both knew that it would be me to discover it first.

That was why I immediately disclosed the secret of the Awngaimene at the Denny’s in Iowa. And now I knew how dire the circumstances were, should I make that error a second time.

But Rowena blew up verbally before either one of us could speak. “‘OK, Jacksie, I’ve had enough- I d-don’t know if this is some game to you, or- or, I humored you on the drive up, OK? But you c-can’t just-” She turned to me, “God, Florence, if something’s going on, you know you can always tell us, right? You can trauma dump with me anytime you need-” She turned back to the cat, “B-but persisting in this- in this delusional fantasy is the exact opposite of helpful, Jacksie. Please, please know that I’m not trying to, like, d-dissuade your religious beliefs, but right now? At this moment? Magic isn’t happening. I don’t know who that guy was, or- Whatever’s going on, but-” Rowena took a deep, tired breath, “Just- right now, magic isn’t real, OK? Let’s just- Let’s just all go back to Chicago, OK? You can text your cousin, or- whatever you need first, but-”

“Rowena, I can’t come back with you.” My voice threatened to break completely.

“Can you at least tell us why? Just on that point exactly?” begged the doe.

And then, with a deep voice tinged ever-so-slightly with malice, Jacksie persisted, “I know you won’t understand, Rowena, but Florence, I evoke the vow. You have to honor it.” Rowena covered her face with her paw, but said no more, under the impression that she wouldn’t reach the cat with a second monologue if the first one didn’t work.

“Jacksie, I-”

“Florene, I evoke the vow.”

The cervine nevertheless tried once more, “Jacksie, this isn’t helping-”

And then I removed my glove to show off my scaled, draconic arm.

It was a stupid, idiotic thing to do. But it wasn’t that my willpower crumbled out of a fear of disappointing my friends. It was out of honor, a dark, twisted sense of honor that recognized the obsession within both Jacksie and I. The gnawing black hole yearned inside both of us, never understanding satiation apart from the ambrosia of knowledge. A desperate curiosity that hurt far more than physical pain.

But it was a stupid thing to do. I studied my friend’s faces for a reaction. I started to feel a dull chill work its way into my cold-blooded limb, now bare in the late autumn air. A tear welled up in the cat’s eye. She felt the same euphoria that I felt, the first time I witnessed Forseti cast a spell. Or the first time I saw the Shadow.

“Florence, that’s- That’s magic.” Jacksie’s voice was soft and reverent, as though she were in church. The scales failed to gleam without sun, but they were small enough that no one could mistake them for a Halloween costume’s glove.

“I’m so sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner, it went against- I couldn’t even bear to look at my texts this whole week, the guilt was eating me alive, but I can’t break the vow. I’m so sorry it took me this long.”

“Magic is real, Florence.” more tears started to mat the orange-and-white fur of the feline’s face, accompanied with a touch of mucus.

“Yeah, magic is real.” I put the glove back on, “But right now, for just now, it’s horrifying, and dangerous, and there’s something that I need to do regarding my mother. But please, trust me, once that’s finished, I’ll- I’ll find a way to tell you two everything-”

“Jacksie,” started Rowena, “that’s you, over there.”

I didn’t even bother looking, “Oh my Gods, run!” I had just killed two of my closest friends. It didn’t even take a minute for my consequences to catch up to me. It turned out that the Psychic Wardens had been watching me closely this entire time.

I had bolted across three meters of the open, empty field when I remembered their one weakness. “Quick, film me!” I prayed to the deities of fate that my words were intelligible, and my friend’s reaction times were quick. I pulled out my phone, only to once again realize that it had died. But when I spun around, I found myself entirely lucky. Jacksie had begun to film me.

And as I spun, I failed to perceive a single Psychic Warden, but I knew they weren’t far. Jacks followed my orders with the diligence of a protagonist in a fairytale, keen on following the orders of a fae trickster with litigious discipline. “What now?”

“Rowena, you too, and then toss me your phone.” The doe was clumsier than the cat, and fumbled with her device for a few seconds. But in the end, she found her grip once more, and ran up to me in order to carefully hand it off. It was then at that moment that I noticed the figure of a well-dressed vulture calmly making his way towards the park from a block away, but I couldn’t worry about the Mulgywai just yet.

I flipped open Row’s camera and aimed the frame towards my two friends. The fact that we were this lucky was too good to be true. “OK,” started the cat, asking a second time, “what now?”

“Something’s after us, but it can’t appear on camera, so we have to get out of here, but don’t let me out of the frame, no matter what you do.” I had no doubt that the Warden’s blades would perpetually stay an arm’s length away. But where could we go? Not to Rowena’s car, it’d be a struggle to keep the camera trained on all three of us at all times while driving, and the phone would die either way. We could meander towards Forseti once more, or perhaps even Marianne, who could potentially eviscerate the Wardens altogether instead of bargaining. But we’d have to meet up with Forseti before we could meet up with Marianne, and all options lay on the other side of the avian Mulgywai, silently inching closer as each second passed. He had gotten close enough for me to see the red of his face.

“We have to meet with Forseti.” I declared, but Jacksie was quick to ask, “Who’s Forseti?”

“Oh, sorry, my cousin, Aaron, he has two names.”

“The guy from the coffee shop is right there.” warned Rowena.

“Walk quickly. Don’t run. We’ll try to ditch him and loop back.” While he seemed less threatening than the Psychic Wardens, there was no telling what Mulgywai Miguel would do once he caught up, and I couldn’t risk my friends’ lives if the vulture’s plans involved violence.

And so, the three of us power-walked towards the other end of the park, painstakingly keeping the cameras zoomed out and level. A pair of Tystwole college students were casually walking down the sidewalk as we reached it, a bundled-up frog and a shorter vole. They looked at us strangely, but didn’t say anything. Too many people were filming seemingly mundane things to post online these days for a stranger to make a public spectacle out of it, though I could see Rowena’s shy blush from under her pale facefur. Mulgywai Miguel continued to nonchalantly walk towards us, not having picked up his pace. It made me feel far too uneasy.

But our paws tread heavily on the sidewalks filled with leaves. Considering that my phone was dead, and the other two mammals were preoccupied with theirs, I couldn’t Google where LA Danse Roasters was located. We had to go off of memory alone, though the fact that the café jut out from a corner would help.

“He’s just walking t-towards us,” warned Rowena once more, “he’s not even running. What does he want?”

“I don’t know…” I replied in a terse voice. I was too adamant on keeping the camera steady to not mumble.

“Is he who we’re t-trying to film? He p-probably showed up on the camera-”

“He’s another problem entirely.”

Then, Jacksie began to speak up, with far more ease than I found myself able to speak with, “Is he also magical?”

“Yes,” I answered, “but I don’t know what he wants. He can’t talk.” We had reached a crosswalk and started to cross, completely heedless to the traffic. An old car came to a screeching halt, but made its break with an ample amount of space away from us. Rowena sheepishly raised her paws up and muttered, “Sorry.” even though I doubted that the driver could have heard her. Miguel continued his slow march, now at a further distance. “I just met him today, but I think he could tell that you two showed up somehow.”

The tabby cat then suddenly grew worried, “Wait, are magical folks a bunch of narcs? Are they gonna fuck us up-”

“Jacksie, I don’t know! He can’t talk!” The three of us continued, taking up the entirety of the sidewalk with our strange cinematography. An older turtle paced out into the road in order to give us space, also eyeing us strangely.

“What’s after us, then?” demanded Jacksie. I could see the doe try to salvage the situation by quietly explaining to the turtle, “So sorry, student film.”

I proceeded to answer the cat’s question, “They’re the- the, um-” They were already on our trail, it was no use keeping it secret, “They’re called the Psychic Wardens, they’re a complicated entity, but the long and short of it is that they can manifest out of nowhere and kill anyone who threatens-” I couldn’t tell the truth here, I didn’t want to inflict such a weighty degree of guilt onto my friend, “Who threatens the order of things, and I think it has to do with that vulture.”

“Who you just met today?”

“Right.” We had reached another street, and this time, had the wherewithal to have Rowena check and see if any cars were coming first. “We’re c-clear.”

Without a polite conversational filter, Jacksie then proceeded to ask, “Are the Wardens what killed- er, what led to your mother’s death?” Within the span of a breath, Row scolded with a quick, “Oh my God, Jacksie.”

“No, it’s OK, I can talk about it.” I said, in an attempt to soothe my white-spotted cervine friend’s worries. “No, that’s-” I took a measured inhale, “That’s something else entirely. But once I deal with that, I promise, I’ll explain everything in full detail. That being is the reason I can’t come back to Chicago.”

“It’s in Chicago?” screamed the cat with worry.

“Yes, but it’s only after me, it doesn’t know about the two of you.”

“Wait, is that what fucked up our room?” asked Rowena, with the same degree of panic, albeit in a softer voice.

“Yes, but it doesn’t know about you, I promise, Row.”

“In all honesty, is it OK if I stay with you and the coven, Jacks? I think I’m- That’s a bit too much for me to feel comfortable-”

“You don’t even need to ask,” answered Jacksie, “you can even take my fucking bed- Holy hells, that’s the coffee shop, over there!” The feline witch pointed a claw towards her right side as soon as we crossed another block, and sure enough, there stood LA Danse Roasters. I even recognized Forsy’s car in the municipal parking lot.

But then, Rowena’s phone froze up.

I hurriedly swiped through the phone to break the sudden buffering, and realized that a call was being made, seemingly having a bit of difficulty doing so while the camera was running. The deer had a noticeably outdated phone model, I remember her complaining often about freezes like this. Our other mutual friend from the GSA, Damien, was on the other end. Jacksie was quick to notice the technical difficulty, and screamed once more, “Shit, are we fucked?” I awaited the coming blade even more as she spoke.

But no such blade came.

I tried desperately to decline the call, finding this screen to be partially frozen as well. In a blind panic, I shoved the phone back into Rowena’s paws and demanded, “All of us stand together, selfie mode!”

Jacksie quickly changed to the self-facing lens as Rowena and I squished into the cat’s left side. She then saw fit to make a joke. “If those are your last words, Florence, I’m going to kill you-”

“We’re not dead! We’re not dead yet! Don’t panic!” It felt unreal, that the Wardens didn’t take advantage of that slip-up. I recall them stabbing Forseti twice in half as much time.

Jacksie ignored my premature celebration. “So what? We fucking shimmy to the coffee shop?”

“Yes, yes. We have to find Forseti!”

It was slow, awkward, and absolutely foolish-looking, but the three of us shuffled along the sidewalk, now headed down towards the Awngaimene Library.

It didn’t take long for Mulgywai Miguel to pass the corner and catch up to us.

Once again, the cat was the first to notice the new calamity, and stutter, “Shit, we’re fucked!”

But this wasn’t a Psychic Warden. This was an Awngaimene animal, and maybe he could listen to reason. “Please, please, Mulgywai Miguel, I’m so sorry-”

He simply brought up a digit of his talon to his beak, as if to say “Shh…”

“Wait, isn’t he deaf?” asked Rowena.

“No, he’s just mute.” I decided to leave out the bit of trivia involving the vulture cutting out his own tongue, and wasted no time in addressing him once more. “Please, please, I’ll get these two registered right away, I didn’t think the Wardens would- They would come so quickly, and-”

It took me a brief moment to realize that the vulture was simply shaking his head. He didn’t approach us any further, he simply stood there, almost looking serene. The vulture even started to shiver a little, wearing nothing but a shirt and vest, each with light fabric. Miguel then pointed towards Jacksie’s phone, and shook his head once more.

“But the Wardens.”

He continued to shake his head.

“I don’t understand.”

He pointed towards the Library.

But I couldn’t trust him immediately. “What are you going to do to us?”

He pointed towards Jacksie’s phone again, then pantomimed writing with his other wing-paw.

“You want to write on that- But the Wardens-”

He shook his head again.

Jacksie then cut in, “Florence, I’m going to give him my phone- Wait, don’t you have a phone?”

The vulture pointed towards the Library.

“Oh,” spoke Jacksie, “that makes sense.”

Miguel proceeded to hunt for a simple Notes app, then proceeded to write one simple line of text.

I dispelled the Wardens at the park. You’re safe.

Rowena and Jacksie were beyond relieved, but I felt the black hole yearn within me once more.

Mulgywai Miguel could dispel a Psychic Warden?

Was the Magic of Silence that powerful?

And could it kill the Archlitch?

I was once again back in the Library with Forseti, Claudia, and Bernard. The Mulgywai Miguel remained in the lobby of the coffee shop, no doubt explaining to Jacksie and Rowena that they had now become Fangdyne Tystwoles. I had beaten myself mentally to such a degree that I doubted a single tooth remained in the metaphorical mouth of my id boxer.

But Claudia was still in the Archive. Evidently, Forseti had gotten away with sneaking into there while the Mulgywai stepped out to deal with me. The strange, blunt skunk was now quietly cooped up in the other room, photographing the pages of old texts that she planned on reading later.

“So you got a Find-a-Phone app, huh?” asked Forseti.

“Yeah, it slipped my mind this entire time. I can’t even think of the last time I opened it up.”

“Nah, I get it, I had that sort of app when I was living with Beck. They- or, you know, nonbinary folks also gotta worry about that sort of thing- But when they were identifying as a woman, they always worried about that sort of thing, walking home from the L at night and stuff. I get it.”

“Did Beck come up looking for you?”

“I actually, um, turned it off before I, um…” His voice trailed off and he stared off into space.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up something-”

“Oh, you’re cool, you’re cool. No, yeah, that was a dick move of me, for real.”

“So, what’ll become of Jacks and Row?”

“What did you tell them?”

I cleared my throat and opted for honesty, “They know magic exists, they know about my arm- I didn’t touch them with it. They know about the Psychic Wardens, and they know that Miguel is extremely powerful, I guess? Oh, heads up, they think we’re cousins.”

Forseti chuckled a little, “That’s so crazy, you’re, like, way shorter than me, and your face is pointier-”

“And I’m an arctic fox.”

“Yeah- I was getting to that, Florence.” We both chuckled at that point, thankful for the levity. Forseti then went on, “OK, wait, wait- I wanted to ask one thing.”

“Yes?”

“So, Miguel comes downstairs, and he’s coming up to you, wanting to ask you stuff.”

“Yeah?”

“Why did you run away? Like, what’s he going to do to you? You don’t know magic.”

He had an extremely correct point, “Oh, Gods, you’re right-”

“You literally are, like, his Hard Counter.” I remember Forseti talking about that concept at some point this past week. The idea that there are no degrees of power to magic, and any expression of magic can be defeated by another practitioner’s use of wits in any given situation.

“I guess- Well, I know that I panicked, but I was also thinking that, perhaps he knew other magic as well, or had another means to do something to us.”

“Nah, I think that’s a Society of the Magic of Silence thing. You’re not allowed to practice other forms of magic- Oh fuck, we totally didn’t bring that up.”

“So you’re the idiot, then?” I said in a joking tone.

“No, you’re wrong, I brought it up. Or Claudia did. You’re remembering wrong.”

“Oh fun, gaslighting.”

The two of us moved from light chuckles to full on laughing. We even woke up Bernard, the St. Bernard. But then, reality sunk in again. “I should really go downstairs and- I don’t know, approach the situation.”

“That’s for the best. I think Miguel’s gonna send your friends home. Well, y’know, he can’t do that as a legal thing, but he’s going to strongly encourage them to leave.”

“I’m sorry I’ve made today that much more difficult.”

Forseti then shrugged, “Florence, I’m sorry that everytime I try to organize something fun, it’s blown up in our faces so far.”

I cast my gaze away, “It’s usually my fault though.”

“Not at all, I’m just not a good teacher, all of these things could have been prevented if I were, like, smart enough to remember these basic things. Don’t beat yourself up, Florence.” The words felt hollow, for I had made the same mistake twice.

But I aimed a smile towards the yellow-furred fox, “I’ll try.” He returned his own smile.

I steeled my nerves and made my way towards the door to the staircase, but not before Claudia emerged from the Archive finally. “Got what I need.”

The other vulpine nodded gently, “I think we have to stick around. Mulgywai stuff is happening. I’ll explain in a sec.”

Considering the fact that the mephit had spent the last hour alone in the Archive, I doubted that she had the context for this situation. And still, she turned to face me, nodding deeply. “Good luck.”

“Thanks, Claudia.”

I took a deep breath and went downstairs.

Achilles, Jacksie, Rowena, and Miguel remained the only animals in the black-and-white coffee shop lobby. Rowena wore the same look someone might wear if they were just fired from a job they worked at for a decade, but Jacksie’s eyes were wide with wonder and possibility. They both mumbled some form of “Hey, Florence-” but the Mulgywai started to communicate with me immediately, pointing towards me and then towards the ceiling.

“Um, Miguel, sir,” started the cat, “could we talk to Florence first?” She then turned to address me, “He wants us to go down to Chicago pretty much immediately.”

I recalled the hurried road trip a week prior, and the necessity of its expedience. “That’s for the best, I had a similar situation.” The vulture was already nodding his approval to the feline as I cut into the conversation, but I failed to spot that first before I asked a second time. “Is that alright, Mulgywai Miguel?” With measured patience, he continued his nodding, but tipped his straw hat to further make his indication more noticeable. The bird then turned quietly and climbed up the staircase. I had left the door open, and the vulture was quick to shut it immediately.

Jacksie was the first to start. “This is all my B, Florence, I shouldn’t have been so pushy.”

I shook my head, “No, no, you couldn’t have known the-”

“Bitch, do not apologize. The vow is, like, completely whatever compared to dying. You were just trying to keep us alive, I’m the asshole for being pushy.” Her apology was sincere, but I could tell immediately that there was a bubbly undertone to the way in which the tabby cat spoke. She was practically pacing back-and-forth in her spot, her thin tail swishing in the air. She was excited.

“That’s just the way these things go. If you don’t have all the information, you’re never going to make perfect choices. It’s just bad luck, you shouldn’t blame yourself either.”

“I remain the p-pinnacle of m-morality.” joked Rowena, though a heavy layer of shock and trauma colored her tone.

Then, to my surprise, Achilles the barista spoke up. “If we’re all apologizing, I want to say ‘sorry’ for texting Miguel to come down here. Though to be fair, I wasn’t expecting you to freak out and run away like that.” He was smug with his last sentiment, keeping his gaze on the black granite counter that he started to clean with a rag and cleaner. In my head, I imagined that the vulture was partially psychic, and knew that my Tystwole friends were treading upon Awngaimene secrets. A simple text conversation with the barista made far more sense.

“To be fair,” I countered, “I didn’t know that Miguel didn’t know any magic. I thought he was going to-”

“Men-in-Black mind erase pen you?”

“No!”

Jacksie then grew suddenly worried, “Wait, is that something that can happen?”

I was quick to reassure her, “No, that’s not a spell people can do.”

“That’s good, that’s good.” The worry drained from the cat’s expression. Achilles the sheep dropped out of the conversation and worked on his little barista tasks as he casually eavesdropped once more.

“So, what does Mulgywai Miguel want you to do?”

The cat produced a small slip of paper from the palm of her paw. A note was written neatly in cursive. “We need to drive non-stop to this address and meet up with a-” she squinted as she read the note but still managed to pronounce the word flawlessly, “Foulgydan Mary? Those Psychic Wardens, that you mentioned earlier, are on our trail, I think as we speak, so I don’t think we have too much time to chat.”

The deer then asked, “Are we meeting with your mother?”

I quickly realized how confusing that could be, “Oh, no, that Mary’s a ghost.”

Jacksie excitedly wondered, “Your mother’s a ghost now?”

“No- Ladies, there’s two animals named ‘Mary.’ I haven’t met that Mary before.” She wasn’t entirely incorrect though. My mother was some form of undead at that moment. I continued. “Row, Jacks, please text me the entire time. I’m worried about you-”

Jacksie responded in a joking manner, “Florence, that is so funny coming from you.”

I half-joked, half-fought back tears, “I promise I’ll be better at that.” The three of us went in for a deep, passionate hug.

“I guess- We should probably get going?” asked the cat.

“Yeah, again- I am so sorry that you all came up here, and now… Just, all of this.”

“Please stop apologizing, I actually swear to the Morrigan on that.” The Celtic Goddess of War. Jacksie meant business.

“I can do that. What do you think you’re going to do, when you register? Be a part of the society, or…” My voice trailed off.

“I think I want to join.” answered Jacksie. Rowena remained noticeably quiet. “There’s, like, no way I’m going to be able to tell the coven?”

“No, probably not.”

“Then I’m comfortable being an asshole. Maybe something will change down the line, I always felt weird about secret societies that actively keep magical secrets,, you know, secret, but you all get a pass for having psychic murderers lurking at every turn. I’m fucking talking too much. I love you a bunch, Florence.”

Rowena echoed that sentiment, “Love you so much Florence, I’m glad you’re safe.”

“I love you two, too.” Tears lingered on the edge of my tear ducts.

Achilles cut in once more. “Florence, you better go upstairs, but if you girls need caffeine to go, it’s on the house. This is a front and money doesn’t matter.” The ovine’s sense of levity allowed for us to end our tender moment without crying. I waved a simple wave to the cat and the deer, and made my way upstairs.

Forseti and Miguel were in a one-sided argument. The fox claimed, “I didn’t go into the Archives, Miguel! And don’t tell me you noticed mold or whatever on any of the books, even if I went in there, which I didn’t, it-” He paused noticeably, “Probably wouldn’t have even gotten on any of the books at all.”

The vulture raised his arm and pointed up into the corner of the room, towards what looked to be a security camera.

Forseti had egg on his face. “Yeah, no. Yeah, that’s fair. Um-”

“I won’t tell Touchstone.” added Claudia.

“Thank you-” the vulpine Apothecary noticed I had arrived, “Florence, hey! Miguel wants Claudia and I to go. I’m gonna grab the car and pull around, just come downstairs when we’re done.” He turned to Miguel, “If anything’s damaged, I am willing to pay for-” He paused mid-sentence again, “Anything as long as it isn’t a thousand-plus dollars because that might bankrupt me.” He left without waiting for a reply. Claudia brought her paw to her muzzle and let out a shrill whistle. Bernard the St. Bernard stirred from his slumber, and meandered towards the skunk, completely without making a sound. The three animals had left the room, and it was just Miguel and I.

The vulture began to write. I simply sat there in the awkward silence, not one to interrupt. After a few minutes, he slid a piece of paper over to me. Again, in neat cursive, it read:

You and your friends would have died if I weren’t there. I have to report this breach of security to the Foulgydan of Marquette. Do not worry. This is your first offense, you will likely get a warning. But it is not the Foulgydan who you should fear. The Psychic Wardens do not give out warnings.

I nodded, deeply disappointed in myself. Guilt swallowed me up as though it were a vacuum. “I understand. It won’t happen again. I accept this.”

He nodded. His red, wrinkled, vulture’s face held its own ocean of understanding. He wasn’t mad at me, he was simply deeply concerned.

“Is there anything else you need from me?”

He shook his head.

“Thank you for saving us.”

He nodded.

I pivoted and began to scurry out of the Library as though I were a cockroach, and the vulture had just flipped a lightswitch. But right at the threshold to the staircase, that same, perpetual curiosity overtook me once more. “Wait, I had one last question. You can just-” I snapped, “-destroy the Psychic Wardens, like that?”

He made no movements.

“Please, wait- I don’t know if the other Mulgywai have kept you in the loop about my situation, but the Archlitch… Could you-” I took a deep breath. “Could you do the same to him?”

The vulture then began to look sad, and started writing on another piece of paper. Less time passed. I made my way to his desk and read his neatly-written note.

It is a secret of the Society of the Magic of Silence. I am honor-bound not to say.

“I understand.”

But then, he held his talon up, as if he wanted for me to halt. I waited, and he began to write once more, taking his time on this note. After a few minutes, he slid the piece of paper over towards me.

I apologize. I can write this. You know of the feeling you get, when you cast a simple spell? You surrender your body to forces you cannot see nor hear, and they take possession of your body as though it were a puppet? That is the magic I have the ability to Silence. The Archlitch makes his own magic.

At least, according to the legends.

And at the very bottom of the note, Mulgywai Miguel wrote a simple:

I sincerely wish you good fortune, Florence.