Month 12, Day 7, 4:00 AM

Marie

In the early hours of the morning, when Marie woke, she decided that she had not slept particularly well.

The dank cellar provided no comfortable place to sleep. For one thing, the cellar had a dirt floor, and the walls were dusty. Sleeping meant dirt in her hair, on her dress, and in her boots.

Also, she imagined there was vermin everywhere: bugs, mites, spiders, and almost certainly mice. Marie could smell the mouse pee.

But, this was mere external discomfort; her arms and shoulder developed bruising that she could feel most of the night, but not see, because the moonlight through the little window was only enough to see the shapes of things in a pale monochrome. She wished desperately for the glowing bottle of moonlight sizzle Frank had shown her.

When she’d woken in the darkness, her mind first had to adjust to the unfamiliar surroundings, then she remembered the events that put her in this sorry state. When Dinky threw her in the cellar, he’d locked door. It was an old lock, and probably pretty simple. But it was still more than enough to keep Marie stuck there.

After banging on the door, and giving that up, Marie had searched the cellar for something she could use to escape. The primary contents of the cellar were wax-sealed and opaque unlabeled jars filled with wet somethings: Could have been peaches. Could be pig brains. Could have been spell components. Could be rat poison. In fact, it could have been all four. If there was a way to tell one from another without opening them, Marie couldn’t discern it, even before the light failed. She considered prying them open with her knife, but she decided against it. She was thirsty, but not that thirsty. Not yet.

The other items didn’t seem all that helpful to an escape either. Marie found some dusty butcher’s string, a big pot of salt, some discarded and dirty rags in a box, and a dusty tin with a few forged nails rattling around in the bottom. But, even though Millie had nails, she apparently did not bother with useful door-breaking things like hammers, mallets, or crowbars.

Marie tried to turn the lock with her knife. She succeeded in pushing the old fashioned key out of the lock, but no more. The door fit well enough in its jam that it had scraped a groove on the floor. There was no clever way to sneak the key under door though the nonexistent gap.

She had no idea how to pick a lock, so even with the nails, it made no difference. Marie threw them back in the can.

Before settling on a place to sleep, Marie ticked off the qualities of her accommodation: No bed. No water. No food. Unless she broke into the mystery jars, which may, or may not, have had anything to eat in them.

All in all, Marie would be writing a one star review.

Eventually, all Marie could find of interest was a black feather that sat under the “window.” When she found it, she just collapsed against the wall, hoping she could hear someone, and then she could shout to for help.

Before sleeping, Marie had plenty of time to think about what must have happened to Millie. But, there was nothing to do but mourn.

Sure, the aberrant still lived. But, Millie Parker … seemed gone. A fey creature of pure fascination and adoration took her place in the world.

Marie figured that if she’d only visited sooner, maybe she could have talked Marie out of trying whatever dangerous magic she’d cast. Or maybe Poe could reverse the spell? Poe had said it was hopeless to save an aberrant, but maybe the Red Guard had magic that would help. Marie knew she didn’t know everything; surely, Poe didn’t know everything either.

Even to Marie, this denial felt hollow. She could reason well enough.

This wasn’t a mere spell.

Even in the cellar, Marie felt it: the magical effect attracting everyone to Millie Parker’s home. The aberrant spreading adoration and awe.

That magic wouldn’t change Marie. She refused. If she could remember Frank Poe, she could certainly remember herself.

For her whole life, Marie grew up around people who wanted things. Marie knew well enough what the Hands, Hearts, and Palms sold. Its clients wanted fine food, alcohol, potions, money, or sex. They wanted an escape. They wanted connection. They wanted to feel good. They wanted to be wanted.

As long as she could remember, Marie had refused to exist for other people, and she wasn’t about to start now. She would not want things to want them. Maybe that’s why Poe’s curse never worked on her. She didn’t know. But, if Marie was to work her will on the world, it would be for her purposes, and she wouldn’t be dissuaded so easily.

Millie Parker, however, wanted to be wanted more than anyone Marie knew. Millie was desperate to be loved.

‘No. Not loved.’ Marie thought carefully about Millie’s magic. Marie remembered how beautiful the glamours appeared; like a fine lady dressed in the finest cloth and perfect skin. ‘Millie Parker wanted to be desired.’

Millie must have been desperate to recapture that grace after she was beaten. So, Marie guessed, Millie found a spell she didn’t understand, or one that was too powerful for her, or maybe she thought she could make a spell of her own. Then she cast it, and she’d obviously broken. Millie ended just as Poe described.

Maybe it could have been avoidable. Maybe Marie could have stopped her. Maybe if Millie had understood that so many people would have been happy with her the way she was. Without glamour, Millie was never beautiful, but Marie never minded.

How many more people could have kept Millie from this fate, if only she’d understood that beauty was not the only thing? What right did strangers have to demand that Millie be beautiful?

Marie’s didn’t lack of empathy for Millie. Marie understood Millie well enough. Marie had a similar desire in her heart. She wished—from time to time—that her daddy, whoever he was, would have loved her enough to stay in her life.

But, Marie rejected the premise that being desired and being loved were the same thing.

She felt furious at Millie, furious at the man that had beaten her, furious at the injustice of the Morrows, furious at their healers. She felt especially furious at the stupid locked door that kept her trapped in this dirty cellar.

She should have been furious with Dinky, but she knew that he wouldn’t have the will to fight Millie’s magic. As big and as tough as he could be, he also followed orders. He wasn’t willful enough.

Of course, when Poe didn’t come for her immediately, she felt furious at Poe too. Well, maybe not too much. She was just hopeful, and he let her down. She heard people arriving periodically. There was quite a crowd, if all the footsteps were an indication.

Eventually, she had heard Poe arrive. It was late; nearly dusk. Poe called out to her. She’d jumped up, ran to the door, and called to him, but he must not have heard. He did not come.

She did, unfortunately, hear someone fall. And Poe didn’t call out again afterward. That made her sick and afraid. Dinky knew her, but no one knew Poe. Would they restrain themselves when protecting their Moon Fey?

Marie sat and shivered under the window. Cellars are cold, and they were designed that way. Clutching the feather, she’d cried for a bit. Not because she was sad, but because she was so angry. Then she realized she was furious at herself. Why couldn’t she have been bigger? Or stronger? Or just have run away when she realized something was wrong?

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It seemed that Millie Parker got what she wanted after all. Anyone who looked upon her would stay with her. Forever. Until they likely died of starvation or dehydration. Marie was likely trapped here until the Red Guard came, or until she died.

After the sun fully set, Marie sat and leaned against wall with the window, even though the wall was dusty and the floor was literally hard packed dirt.

She held the raven feather in her cupped hands, and as the light faded into moonless evening, she watched it become a black silhouette in a room of deep shadows.

She stared at the feather for a long time. She imagined she was a Raven Queen that could turn into shadows and escape through the little barred window. Really, it wasn’t much more than a hole; but it was far too small for her to escape as a girl. But, if she was a raven, she could escape.

Finally, she’d slept. Badly.

The now-risen moon cast a glow through the barred opening in the cellar’s wall.

Her body reminded her that it was done trying to sleep against a stone wall. She really wanted a bath.

Everything hurt: her bruised fists from hammering on the door, her head where it rested against the white stone, her cramped legs, her much abused shoulder where she’d apparently landed when she fell, and her forearms that were sore and tender from rolling down the stairs. Her shin hurt too, but she wasn’t sure why. Her scalp itched from the grit in her hair.

She really wanted a bath.

The feather had fallen from her grasp and was lying in a moonbeam on the floor. Marie sat up.

“I am a sorcerer.” Marie said aloud.

She had her conduit. She had string and nails to mark a circle in the dirt. She had memorized the spell array to attract the attention of the Frigg. It made a noise. Even if Frigg didn’t come, someone might realize there was something wrong if Marie made it loud enough.

Or, maybe Frigg would come. Marie didn’t know how Frigg would help, but she might be some help. At this point, with a vague sense that spiders could at any moment fall in her hair, Marie would take any help.

There wasn’t much light. But there was enough. Marie could see the dirt in front of the window to make a spell array. Marie found the discarded nails and the string, then pushing one nail into the hard packed earthen floor. She scraping her palm in the process and it hurt, but she hissed and fought the urge to rage. She wrapped one end of the string around the pivot, and the other end on a second nail. With the most crude compass ever made, she began making a circle.

Her circle was barely visible in the dark, but she managed a deep groove. Stretching the string out, she used the straight line it made to make the triangle she needed inside the circle.

Salt. Salt could make a conductive circle, and she had a big jar of it by the door. Marie took a handful of it and carefully carried it back to her circle. She ignored how the salt burned where it touched the scrape on her hand. She filled the grooves in the array with it. Marie tried to make it as perfect as possible. Then she placed the feather in the array; she did not have all the original components, but she did know all the symbols for what she needed. She would convert the heat in the air to sound.

A raven sound.

Marie had a moment of concern; this would be the first time she cast a spell alone. No. That wasn’t true. Poe watched her, but she already cast the spells on her own. She’d cast this spell without his help. She merely needed to focus.

She heard the sound of the raven in her head. She knew what the sound needed to be. She knew it needed to be as loud as she could make it. The spell array waited for her to stretch her will to it. Her conduit was in her had.

Kneeling next to the ciricle, Marie bore down with her will, and activated the array.

“KRAA.”

The array burst with a booming raven call. It was so loud, it rang in Marie’s ears. Marie instantly felt dizzy, tired, and disoriented. In the small cellar, the noise had been amplified.

‘That worked.’ Marie thought. “Now, will someone come?’

She tried to stand, and was dizzy for a moment. Her hand fell on the salt circle and knocked salt across the floor.

‘That’s right; I’m not supposed to do magic. I should hide this.’ Marie stood and scuffed way the array with her feet. As she finished, she heard a tapping at the barred window. When she looked up, there was a familiar black shape looking down on her.

“Frigg!” Marie said. “Do you have some way to help? I need help.”

Frigg bobbed her head. She had something in her beak, and she dropped it through the window.

“Kraa. Kraa.” Frigg replied. She cocked her head.

Marie looked for the thing Frigg dropped. In the dark, metal glinted. When Marie picked it up, she recognized it. It was the pin Frigg had stolen. A pin made from half of a broken skeleton key.

Marie looked at it dumbly. Did Frigg just … give her a key? Marie ran up the steps and fit the key into the lock. It was hard to turn, but it did turn. She desperately twisted the slippery pointed end until the lock gradually slid the metal bar into the lock. She pulled the key out and slipped it into a pocket. If she ended up back in the cellar, she’d want a way out.

She glanced back at the window, toward Frigg. Frigg nodded.

“Kraa.” Frigg called. She beat her wings, and the raven disappeared into the night.

Marie felt a wave of nausea and her head was pounding. The magic of Her was stronger here. Marie needed to get out of this house and warn people.

Marie reached to the sheathed knife tucked in her dress. She wasn’t going to get caught again. She would fight her way out if she had to. She gripped the knife tightly, and carefully, slowly, turned the knob, then gently cracked open the door.

It was dark in the hallway, maybe even darker than the cellar. A crowd of people milled about, moving jerkily with vacant expressions. Most of them seemed to be men; Marie figured they were the sort of men who visited an expensive prostitute at night.

Marie shivered, and she felt sweat beading up on her forehead. She swiped it away with her forearm. Her mouth was so dry, and she sucked on her teeth for some moisture.

These men were all bigger and stronger than her. Dinky was her friend, and he’d practically thrown her into the cellar. Marie did not want to think what the strange men could do.

She hoped that she didn’t find Dinky. The knife wouldn’t be much use against him; she couldn’t stab her friend, even after what he’d done.

Through the open door, Marie felt an even stronger pull. The magic of Her. She was close; perhaps on the landing at the top of the stairs, or in the front room by the front door. She had drawn more and more people to Her. The adoring crowd jostled gently to stay close to the moon fey.

Marie dreaded it, but she looked at floor to see if she could see where Poe fell. But, she didn’t. It was dark, but the floor still appeared clear.

This was bad.

‘He must be in the crowd somewhere.’ Marie figured.

Marie tried to slide unnoticed along a wall, where the fanatics would not notice her. A dim light shown from the front room, but she had to sneak past its doorway to escape the house.

As she hunched down and gently pressed herself along the wall, and nudged people out of the way, Marie slid along. It seemed to take forever; although it probably took no time at all. Still, she didn’t want anyone to become alert to her. It was hard to know what they’d do. The pale glow in the room illuminated faces with a eerie light. There was light enough that Marie could discern color. Millie Parker had trapped Morrows and ordinary folk alike; Marie could see the occasional flash of red bandana or scarf.

Marie eventually got a view of parlor room.

The glow was from Her. What was left of Millie Parker had taken residence in the room, and continued to dance for Her adoring supplicants. Marie saw Her, and she was just as fey and beautiful, but Millie resisted it easily. Her friend really was gone; the fey creature took her entirely.

Bare inches inside the doorway, holding his pipe in one hand, and conduit in the other, a familiar figure stood. In the illumination of the pale light, Marie recognized his brightly colored coat.

“Poe!”

Marie realized—to her own shock—that she had called to him. Poe had his back to Marie, seemingly enthralled.

In an instant, from behind, someone grabbed the arm that held her knife. Marie tried to wrench herself free; she was pretty sure she’d cut whoever had tried to grab her. But, when trying to pull away with the knife, she’d been let go with a jolt.

Her arm pulled free with a jerk, slamming into her own chest, with the knife in her white-knuckled grip.

Stabbing oneself hurt. Her body told her, in no uncertain terms, that a few inches of knife did not belong between her ribs.

Marie screeched. That somehow hurt more. She staggered with her back against the wall; no one else seemed to want to grab her. She let go of the knife immediately, and didn’t even try to pull it out. It hurt so bad. And she was dizzy. And her head was already pounding.

Marie saw Poe turn toward her, breaking his eye contact with the Millie Parker. His face was entirely in shadow, so Marie could not see his expression. Did the koi on his coat move?

Marie felt dizzy. Blood loss? Will strain? Exhaustion? The last thing Marie saw before the blackness took her was the tip of Poe’s pipe flaring with an orange glow.