Meetings in the alleyway next to the school at the end of the day became so commonplace that Callum offered to both house Mira for the time being, offering her a sanctuary away from the clinic and Thalia as a confidant, and taxi the girls to the school building at the end of the day to meet with Janie and Callie in the nearby alleys.

It was a welcome change of pace; Mira didn’t know how long she could last sitting beside her father who had only gotten far more anxious being around the hospital that he spent most of his time outside of it running errands. At the same time, Mira also didn’t want to be left alone with Amelia and be subjected to not only the beeping of machines keeping Magic alive, but the depressive aura that the seamstress seemed to emit from her skin like radio waves.

The only break in the melancholy was when Mira caught Amelia working on fixing all of the cloaks and gowns by hand with a new box of sewing thread and needles that Benji had bought her (as far as he knew, it was just for her to pass the time and Mira had no intention of ruining that facade). It was in those moments that Mira found it easier to bear Amelia’s presence. She spoke highly of her fondness for the craft, of the materials and what they were commonly used for, and of her son’s prowess in sewing, even from a young age.

Once the seamstress began speaking of Magic, she slowed down, got noticeably quieter and, eventually, stopped altogether. Mira learned very quickly to change topics when they got too depressing for Amelia to handle.

On Friday afternoon, Thalia’s father (at the insistence of his daughter) escorted Mira, Janie, and Callie to the Regali residence in Grimmshollow. They would need to be close by in order to get to the party on time and neither Callum nor Tammi had an issue with all four girls staying over the house. Benji, however, did give Mira a look when she informed him. The kind of look that said I don’t know what you’re doing, but be safe doing it.

Mira intended to honor that as best she could.

When all four girls were settled in the house, Callie dropped a bunch of different masks on Thalia’s kitchen table, the only noise in the wooden room being the clattering of planting on the furniture and the occasional popping of logs and embers from the hearth in the living room. Janie sifted through the masks, taking up one that looked almost like a frog. It covered the majority of her face, with little slits for eyes where the nostrils of the amphibian would have realistically been.

“They really went all out with these designs,” said Janie, adjusting it on her head before growing dissatisfied with it and taking it off. She dropped it back on the pile. “Where did they even get these things from?”

“Would you find it hard to believe,” said Callie, “if I told you that the demon twins have a family member in the capital and got them all for free?”

Thalia rolled her eyes, placing the mask of a bird—an eagle, perhaps, Mira wasn’t sure—over her eyes. The beak of it hooked over so much it nearly poked at the girl’s mouth. “Not in the slightest,” she said, adjusting the headwear.

“Then you have your answer to that question.”

Janie plucked at her mask string. “Why animals?” she asked, exchanging the one she had for what Mira thought was an antelope. Or a deer. Whatever it was, it lacked antlers. “They could have picked anything in the world with the money they have in the family.”

“Animals are easier,” Callie replied. “Besides, dressing up as people isn’t half as fun as dressing up like animals.”

“They don’t really need to try that hard,” Mira muttered, her cheek resting in her palm as she propped her elbow on the table. She’d been fidgeting with a wide-set mask that looked almost like a lion and, once she saw her friends—well, two friends and an acquaintance—put on masks, she caved and dragged the lion’s face over her own. “Still doesn’t really answer anything.”

The former Pepper gave her an appraising look. “Since when do the Harsyle twins do anything that makes sense?” she asked.

Mira shrugged. “I assumed that, for a party with such a specific dress code, there had to be some kind of reason.”

“That was your first mistake.”

Thalia pouted, then tipped back the chair she was sitting in. “How did Amelia do with the fabrics, Mirabel?”

It was a needed topic change. Mira didn’t want to consider thinking about the Harsyle twins any more than she wanted to think about her mother figure’s soft, somber facial expression and the words she’d heard the woman whisper as she took the bag of fabrics and left.

Please come back.

Those words echoed in Mira’s head the entire ride to Thalia’s house and now with a sense of direction, she was happy for the change.

Cloths and cloaks fluttered onto the wooden table like torn butterfly wings, gracefully spilling onto the furniture in pools of golds, blacks, and deep greens. Some of them were new—Mira could tell by the lack of fraying at the edges—and looked like the outfits that sages would wear. The other girls looked at them in awe, bordering disbelief.

Mira couldn’t help but grin. Amelia was a veteran seamstress after all. It was good reminding people of that (she took a special kind of satisfaction on the surprise in Callie’s eyes).

“I’d say we have our options for tomorrow,” she said, unable to hide the wild grin on her face.

Thalia ran her hand along the materials. Emotions shifted on the girl’s face, flashing across her dark skin like a flickering light. First shock, then awe, disbelief, resolve. She looked up at Mira, light dancing in her brown and amber eyes. It was the first time Mira could remember Thalia ever being this … excited for a plan.

The other girls seemed to grasp the excitement, attracting it towards them like lightning rods. A deeply rooted hunger existed in the eyes of all four girls, all for different enough but similar reasons.

And when Thalia pressed her palms against the table, dragging her fingers through the fabric costumes like water, she closed some of the loose pieces in a fist.

“First thing’s first,” said the girl, dancing around the table to grab something nestled between the couches, “we’re going to set the beds up upstairs.” She handed one to Mira, who then briefly registered it as a cot. “Second,” Thalia added, the words sounding like an afterthought as she shoved another one in Janie’s direction leaving Callie (purposefully, Mira suspected) unhanded before motioning them to follow her, “we’re going to pop some popcorn.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Mira was a few steps behind Thalia when she frowned. “What do we need the popcorn for?”

This time, it was her friend who wore the mischievous grin that Mira was so used to having on her own face. “We’re going to need something to snack on while we plan.”

Friday night, Mira snuck out of Thalia’s house, avoiding the cots provided for Janie and Callie, who dozed away peacefully. In the interest of saving space, Mira bunked with Thalia in the girl’s bed. From the mattresses, the girls came up with a plan of action, one that made Mira’s heart race at the mere thought of going through with it. She’d been waiting for this. Nearly a whole week’s worth of time just waiting to give the assholes she had the misfortune of calling peers what they deserved.

And maybe she’d get to add in a few extra punches just for the hell of it, too.

After an hour or two of discussion, they’d spent the rest of the time making small talk, as though they were all friends again. For the moment, Mira could believe it. She’d longed for some sense of normalcy—specifically with Callie. And for once, she got to be in the presence of Callie’s laugh, her smile, all of which caused a riot of conflicting emotions in her chest until, eventually, evening came, followed shortly by night, and sleep dragged them all down one by one.

Except for Mira.

Something gnawed at her chest. Kept her awake.

Every time her eyes closed she heard the beeps. The shuffle of feet down a hallway.

Mira sat up slow, careful not to ruffle the covers and disturb the girls. Her legs gingerly swung around to face the edge of the bed, meeting the ground first with her toes then the rest of her body weight. Nearly thirteen years of practice had trained her to get up at night without disturbing people. She may as well put it to good use. Besides, sleep would not come for her tonight. Not until she did something first.

She tiptoed down the stairs, shifting her weight to keep the wooden steps from creaking. Her fingers grazed one of the large jackets with a hood lined in fox fur and plucked it from the coat rack. The heavy scent of fruit circled her as Mira draped it over her shoulders, zipped it up, and walked outside into the snow filled night with nothing more than her slippers and sweats.

She was careful to avoid the sheets of ice on the ground from the cold, which whipped at her face, her hands, her ankles. Anywhere not sheltered from the elements. It was fiercely windy outside; loose snow sprinkled into the air like shimmering diamond dust, catching the moon’s silver glow.

Had Mira not been walking to the Grimmshollow clinic, she might have enjoyed the sight more. Might have—if she were home—forced her father to indulge in her antics and watch her kick up a storm like she did when she was a child.

By the time she arrived at the clinic it was empty; the lobby was cleared and dark. Only a single light flickered in the ceiling, casting the rest of the room in shadow, ominous and foreboding.

Mira didn’t dare linger longer than she needed to.

She had a room to visit first.

Making her way to Room 174, Mira slowly pushed the door open, cringing at the squeaking of the hinges only to find … no one in the room. No one, that is, except for Tammi, who was lounging in the armchair with her eyes trained on the screen of numbers next to Magic’s bedside that Amelia had previously claimed.

The woman snapped her head to the side, eyes wide. Tammi must have been able to see the question written all over Mira’s face as she looked around the room wondering where Amelia was or where her father had run off to, because she pushed the chair back and stood up. “We moved Amelia to a different room for the night,” said Tammi. “She was complaining that her neck was sore, so we put her next door. Still close enough for her to check in on her son when she feels she needs to.”

Mira frowned. She wouldn’t be surprised if the seamstress got up once an hour—or less—to sit back at her son’s bedside even if it killed her. “Are you waiting here until she gets back?”

“Mostly. The last time Magic was in our care, he didn’t want to be left alone. Well, he didn't want his mother to leave him alone with us, but I think he knows us enough to be comfortable being around the staff.”

Tammi paused, looking Mira up and down. She was still standing in the doorway, unsure of exactly where to go. It felt weird sitting in the room with Thalia’s mother, if only because Mira was almost certain that the jacket she’d taken from the coat rack, buried in perfume, had been Tammi’s. In fact, she almost expected to be yelled at for it, but the nurse only stood up and motioned to the couch. “Take a seat,” she said, and Mira tentatively approached and sat down. She patted Mira’s shoulder. “Sit tight for a minute,” added the woman. “There’s something I need to go and get.”

Nerves buzzed in Mira’s limbs like a restless hive of wasps. It felt childish, but she didn’t want Tammi to leave. She didn’t want to be left here, not by herself. And yet, she felt the need to be here. It was why she came here in the first place. To speak with her brother as she once spoke with her father: placing words into the air and hoping they would not only clear her conscience, but find their audience through the veil of unconsciousness.

“Are you coming back?” Mira managed to ask.

Tammi managed a tired smile. “I will. And eventually Amelia will, too. Sit with him for now. It might help you both.”

Then the door closed, leaving Mira alone with her brother. It was a deafening thing, the silence. It reminded her too much of being home as a child. Of being awake during nights of her father’s indulgence. Of stilling her breath to make sure she could hear signs of life.

She didn’t know how to begin or what to do.

So Mira did what she did best.

She talked.

She talked about Amelia, and how often she spent her time in the room, barely allotting herself time to eat or stretch her legs. About how each time Amelia fell asleep, she always did so holding Magic’s hand. About how often Mira caught the seamstress singing or reciting poetry in that strange, melodic tongue that Magic sometimes spoke to calm his nerves.

She talked about Benji, and how much it pained him to see both Magic and Amelia suffering this way. How hard it was for him to linger in the doorway and offer his support because of the resemblance it bore to Mira’s mother. How often he ran errands for Amelia so that she didn’t have to get up and leave her son’s side.

And by the time Mira finished talking, babbling into the void, she knew this was supposed to be the part where she talked about herself. The part where she mentioned how much agony it put her through to even look at Magic in the condition he was in. The part where she was supposed to talk about how much she wished he’d just open his eyes and say something—Mira would have taken a whole lot of sass over the unsettling silence in the room.

But she couldn’t.

None of the words would make their way out.

Her throat dried, a lump forming in the center of it.

And she sobbed.

Mira didn’t bother stopping the tears. She’d spent too much time trying to repair the broken dam that it may as well be left to shatter. Part of her tried to keep the sound quiet, as if any loud noise would wake Magic up, bring him back to them.

Of course, it didn’t.

Nothing that she or her father or his mother could do was enough to revive him.

Mira took a long indrawn breath, then let it out through her nose in an equally long huff. Once she’d gotten her bearings together, being sure to wipe away the tears as they streaked down her cheeks, she dragged the chair closer. “There isn’t much I can do to take this back,” Mira went on, her eyes trained just above her brother and the cascade of tubes surrounding him like a cocoon. “But I am going to make them wish they’d thought twice about doing this to you.”

Magic lay there, still and unmoving.

A steady beeping mirrored the pounding in Mira’s chest.

She clutched his hand, squeezing it like a lifeline. As her elbows came forward to rest against the mattress, Mira rested her chin on her forearms.

“You aren’t going to be happy about it, but here’s the plan.”