ASAIO

I lean against Ellie-Darlin as she tells Michie, pretty loudly, “We can either go back to Punnet or we can go to the apothecary.”

Michie just nods, rubbin his blackened feathers that peel from his boney arms. They’re startin to grow some sort of mold or fungi. Because of the mask on my face, I can’t exactly make out his expression fully, but he seems so damn tired.

“Are you feeling okay?” Flynn asks her. “You’re the one that needs to go to Sans the most.”

“I am okay. Asaio?”

“Don’t wanna bother Sans yet,” I tell her.

Seht wheels on Asher. “I wanna know who this is.”

“My name is Asher,” says Asher.

“Intro…ductions should wait tills after we get movin,” Michie suggests slowly, noddin at Ellie-Darlin and I. We must look worse than I feel.

Seht narrows his eyes. “I don’t like you,” he says to Asher, very decisively.

Asher just shrugs. His gaze lingers on me. “You’re different,” he says. “Are you the reason the trees were moving?”

I remain silent.

“I already saw your face, earlier, so you do not have to hide it.”

When? Seht makes a face. It takes a bit of effort to make sure no one sees me in action cause, even if talkin to leaves ain’t the most unusual ‘gift’ it’s enough to warrant my death. The lickers are always lookin for unusual people to send to the Slaughter Houses. Someone like Flynn could be considered a threat, since he can speak to live snakes and ain’t just equipped with the usual extra strength or eyesight or somethin.

“He is not a danger to you, Asaio,” Michie assures us.

I pull off my hood. No point in keepin it on if he’s already seen my face.

We move quickly so that we avoid any incomin Lime Men that realize their carriage ain’t comin on time. We stick to the wet alleyways, huggin the shadows. The bug lickers will be comin soon enough and we definitely don’t wanna be here when that happens.

Mecraentos City hardly reacts to the violence that just took place–everyone’s seen worse than a could-be murder and a crashed carriage. Most of the civilians just stay away from the windows and keep their eyes shut so that they ain’t lyin when the lickers come through and ask them what happened. The coach is gonna cause the most uproar cause it was expensive and desperate civilians are gonna try to rob it of its engine or wheels. If those folk get caught by the lickers or Lime Men, they’re done for. If not, they’re either a step closer to payin off debt or a step further from starvation.

None of us say it aloud, but we all know we’re goin back to Punnet Street over the apothecary. It’ll take us longer to get proper medical care, but we ain’t gonna trust a stranger to know where our stashes are.

Asher lets us take the lead, not complainin, not speakin at all, while Michie hobbles along awkwardly, havin to make a few stops to catch his breath. We can’t get mad at him since it’s mostly due to the plague, but it’s hard not to be annoyed when the one slowin us down is not the one with an arrow stickin out of her back.

We cross a couple bustlin streets. Like its people, Mecraentos City never sleeps. People are comin home from late shifts or startin their late shifts. Street urchins that ain’t so lucky as us beg on the streets or in front of the Slaughter Houses. And, everywhere, there is the lingerin smell of death.

A few recently deceased plague victims on the corners of the streets, sat next to weak bodies that will become the recently deceased within the next week. Lines are formed in front of the Slaughter Houses–they take in dead bodies, clean em of the plague and turn em into edible food. We’re alloted our monthly amounts of meat based on our class and Purity. They’re dingy, horrible places with lines that never move and the worst smellin meats. A lot of people are figurin that relyin on a gang gives you better chances than the Fair and Equal food compensations the nobles and the Industries provide us.

“I’m assuming that the Lime Men wanted you because you’re a seeder?” Seht asks when Michie asks for a third break, stoppin us beside a rancid smellin sewage drain. I’m glad for it, as my vision was startin to black out again.

Michie nods. “Theys wanted to stake me before the lickers could.”

“They came to your doorstep again?” Flynn asks.

Michie nods again. “The lickers says it ain’t fair that I’ma eatin more than the rest of yous.”

Lookin at his skinny legs, I know that can’t at all be true.

“So I gotta start givin to the Industry more,” he says. “Ain’t worth bein a seeder, at this point. I told the Lime Men that too and they said theys could help me make a profits.” He shakes his head. “Not worth it.”

I make eye contact with Seht, frownin. He wipes a bit of blood off his cheek with the back of his hand. This don’t bode well for us. If the authorities are gettin on him for his crop, and he’s got different gangs gunnin for him, he’ll stop growin and that means we won’t get any of his extra crop. Part of the deal with his sister was that we would get forty percent of his harvest. And, as bad as I might feel for this man, when you live in this City, there ain’t a such thing as a free favor. We can’t go back to Vernon and say we did all this just out of the kindness of our hearts.

Flynn glances nervously at Asher. He’s the youngest-lookin of us all despite bein the tallest, with big eyes and real lanky limbs. His hair’s long and curly and peachy, a shade lighter than his skin, always braided back with twine. He strokes the backs of Nep and Pen, whisperin to them a bit, as if those whispers can ward Asher away.

As block spots begin to dot my vision again, I decide to make conversation to give my brain somethin active to do, instead of lettin myself slip into unconsciousness.

“Asher,” I say, “it’s impressive, switchin with the coach driver like that. How’d you manage it?” Actually, loads of what he did was impressive, I note, glancin at the bow slung over his back.

His face remains still. “When I found out Mister Michie was kidnapped, I–”

“How’d you find out?” Seht interrupts.

“He lives with us,” Michie answers.

I raise a brow. Less and less families are havin kids these days, plus Michie ain’t married.

“We did not know you had kids,” Ellie-Darlin admits.

“I dunt,” Michie says. “Asher started livin with us… two weeks ago? Just appeared and asked for work. I–” Suddenly, Michie breaks out into violent coughs. Asher walks over to the old young man and slaps him on the back a few times. “–thank you. Is was gonna send him to you Garnets, since I know I’ve ain’t gots much time left but… dunno how well yous would take that.”

Seht turns toward Asher. “Just appeared and asked for work?’

Asher nods. “It’s a long story.”

Seht turns away. “Okay.”

Asher barely hides his surprise at Seht’s easy dismissal on the matter, but that’s cause he don’t understand what us Garnets are.

We ain’t really a gang, just a bunch of street scrappers and stragglers that’ve managed to group together to keep ourselves alive, all of us round the ages six through nineteen, since our eldest keep dyin off from the plague or malnutrition or just plain bad luck before twenty. A good number of us all got ‘long stories’ that brought us to where we are. Outta the four of us here, I’m the only one native to Mecraentos City. The others have lived here for less than two cycles, each with their own ‘long story.’ We know better than to press.

“When you found out Michie was kidnapped…?” I prompt Asher.

“When I found out Mister Michie was kidnapped,” Asher starts again, “I figured it was either your authorities or one of the gangs, and the Lime Men have been brooding around the apartment for the whole time I’ve been living with him. Found out through some factory workers that Mister Michie was last seen in an old apartment a little northbound of the Fyi Streets, so I went there and found nothing, but there were tracks, sign of struggle. I followed them. I guess it could have been anyone, but I figured, from how isolated that back alley was, that the blood on the walls was Mister Michie’s.”

“Impressive,” I say again.

Asher shrugs. “I was raised to track people. I snuck into one of the Lime Men’s hideouts and mimicked one of their men. I don’t know his name–”

“So it was you that mimicked Seht’s voice,” I say.

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

He smiles. “Thanks.”

Ellie-Darlin blinks. “He mimicked Seht?”

“Yeah. Right before he shot you.”

“Oh.”

The one time you hear my voice,” Seht says, rollin his eyes.

“I hear you when you argue with Vernon,” Ellie-Darlin says. “I hear you when you argue with Crimson. I hear you when you argue with Mustletop. I hear you when you argue with the lickers. I hear you when you argue with Nep and Pen. I hear you when you argue with yourself in your sleep. I hear you–”

Flynn and I burst out laughin while Seht shoves her lightly on the shoulder. “Shut up, Ellie.”

“Sour thumb,” I say.

“Damp match,” Flynn says.

“Foot carpet.”

“Malcontent marplot.”

“What in this sweet world is a malcontent marplot?” I demand. “Those ain’t even letters that’s ‘sposed to fit together!”

Flynn shrugs and blushes, while Seht says, “You’d know if you were smarter.”

“I was not bestowed any sorta high-brown education, actually.”

“High-brow,” Flynn says in an overly-pompous accent. Nep, who has gained consciousness at some point between now and when we first started movin, hisses in laughter. She moves to rest her head on her sister’s.

“We should keep moving so we don’t get caught by the lickers,” Seht says.

We pass beneath green shroom lamps and across damp roads, steppin over bloody gutters and broken drums, while Asher continues his story. “Yeah, well, I mimicked one of their men. Got the information on where they last took Michie, then I met the coach, begging for a morsel. he shooed me away, so I shot him, took his clothes, and took the coach.”

We cross towards the openin of Punnet Street. It’s a deprived, decayin block of dilapidatin wooden buildins with more holes than not, stacked up high on top of each other. Bags and bags of trash and debris are more common on the lawns than playful children or watchful elders. To keep the rain out, thick woven sheets are laid over all the buildins, but they bend beneath the weight of the droplets. The look of the place shocked Flynn and Ellie-Darlin when they first moved here.

I notice Asher’s extremely cautious. He keeps glancin over both his shoulders after we cross any street, double-checks each face that looks out way. Good. If he wants to be a Garnet, that’s good.

“I was going to drive the coach into a back-end alley and deposit the other two guys,” he says.

I nod at his back. “That bow of yours is nifty.”

“Yes,” Ellie-Darlin agrees. She tenderly touches where she was shot in the back. “When did you learn to shoot?”

“Started when I was very young.”

“How old are you?” Seht asks. “You don’t seem that plague-ridden.”

“I feel fifteen, or maybe older,” he says after a pause. Older than the rest of us then, by a cycle or two.

“Don’t we all?” Seht snorts, rubbin Mono Man’s necklace of eyes.

Seht is right. Asher has no veins on his pale, freckled skin. Seht’s plague is mostly visible on his arms, when he is not wearing his cloak. There are patches of black skin beneath it that bubble a bit, as though it is boiling. Ellie-Darlin’s eyes and ears are infected, which is why she needs lenses and cannot hear very well. And Flynn frequently has to tame his mood–since I ain’t infected I don’t know how the plague affects his brain like that, but he says it does.

We reach Michie’s apartment complex. It’s two stories, squished, as though two small homes were dropped on top of each other and forced to stand on their own. Each should only fit a family of four, but they’re housin up to twenty per room in there.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Asher glances at us. “Why would we come here if your medical care were at the apothecary?”

Ellie-Darlin hoists me tighter as we make our way towards the horrible lookin ladder contraption that hugs the side of the apartment, ten legs up. If I’d had to climb it, I wouldn’t have made it, makin me even more reliant on Ellie’s gift of strong legs and jumpin capabilities. The black spots are already returnin to my vision once again.

“What do you mean? What medical care?” Seht asks as Michie takes to the ladder first.

“Don’t want me knowing where your doctor is located. That’s who Sans is, yes?”

Sharp.

“I might be new, but I doubt there are many apothecaries in this City,” Asher says. “I will not hurt your doctor.”

“Really, Ellie?” Seht says irritably.

“Don’t blame me!” Ellie-Darlin cries.

“You brought it up!”

Asher glances at me. “He looks really sick, and the rest of you aren’t much better.”

“We’ll be fine,” Seht says.

“At least let me help bandage her up, as an apology for shooting her in the back, so it doesn’t get infected.”

“Thank you,” Ellie-Darlin says. Asher gestures for her to climb up the ladder before him.

“What a gentleman,” I note.

Ellie-Darlin, with me in clutch, leaps ten legs into the air and lands shakily on the front steps of the front enterance of Michie’s apartment. Second floor. Michie reaches out a thin hand to keep her from tumblin backwards, arms flailin a little bit. He pulls us inside. The room reeks of a spicy, foreign scent that I’ve never been cursed with before. I immediately burst out coughin.

Michie’s got eight roommates, but all them except his sister are out for work. Despite the place bein empty, if the six of us Garnets (and Michie)sat with our legs crossed, we’d be nearly knee to knee. It’s dark and wet, with nothin for decor but two sleepin carpets and a wooden table that comes up to my knees.

I move away from Ellie to prevent from coughin into her hair.

“Sorry, sorry,” I say to the wide-eyed woman in the ocrner of the room.

Thin and sickly like her brother, Madge is similarly covered in feathers. She’s a little older than Michie, so she’s already hunched, but her hair ain’t fallin out like his. It’s healthy and full of volume and a sad contrast between the rest of her. Her mouth is even more closed up than his, the skin tied together with black growths. Looks damn painful.

She nods at me, gesturin towards a metal pot in the back. I have no idea what that means so I turn back towards the door for fresh air before the smells and exhaustion can do a double number on me.

Asher steps inside at that moment, followed by Flynn. He immediately moves to Ellie-Darlin’s side.

“You haven’t asked our names yet,” Flynn notes.

“I don’t need them,” Asher says.

“Oh.”

“You told me you’re the Garnets.”

“We ain’t all got the same name, root-brain,” I huff, before realizin that Asher might not take too kindly to friendly jests.

He takes it well, though. “That’s not what I meant,” he says through a smile. “Boot. Brain.”

“And that ain’t how teasin works.”

Asher’s hands hover awkwardly over Ellie-Darlin. “Is it alright if I bandage you up, missus. I have to lift up your shirt.”

“Missus?” she says with a wrinkled nose. “Do not call me that.”

“Is it alright?”

“Yeah. My back hurts a lot,” she admits. She moves over to sit in front of him, while she lifts the lower part of her shirt so he can pull the arrowhead out. I watch as he uses a different tip to cut parts of his cloak into strips.

Seht walks over to Madge, who’s whisperin with her brother. “The crop,” he says.

Madge steps away and pulls back a floorboard. Inside is a sack of fresh crop.

I don’t know the names of any of the vegetables Michie’s planted with his magic soil. There’s a total of thirty, I think. Enough to feed all the Garnets at once without havin to split, without havin to find steal some poor body from the Slaughter Houses. My eyes follow the sack hungrily. As sweet as meat is, when we first tried a sweet potato, it was more heavenly than any liver I’d known. It soothed the stomach, didn’t have us reelin. Michie explained that, once upon a time, before the plague hit and before we ate human flesh, these things used to be a bunch more common, and we lived longer. But they don’t grow well in our dyin soil. There’s a load of dry patches and the rain don’t nurture the same as it used to, so they can’t grow as well. But Michie managed to work his magic. I don’t know where he got all that wisdom.

Michie cries, “Yous can’t give them the rest!”

“Theys just saved you,” Madge snaps. “Get off your high hind!”

“The lickers will–”

“We dealt with the lickers before,” Madge says. “Don’t–stop it, this was the deal, Mich!” She struggles against her brother’s weak grip as he tries to hold her back.

Before Seht can, Flynn calmly steps forward and takes the sack out of Madge’s hands. “Sorry, Michie. A deal is a deal.”

“What else dids you demand?” Michie demands.

“This, a promise that we continue to get a fourth of your crop next season, and your loyalty,” Seht says.

“My loyalty?”

“Yes,” Seht says. “We saved you. We want you to be the first establishment under the Garnets’ name.”

“The–” Michie begins to physically stutter so hard he stops speakin and unstutters himself.

Asher’s, who’s made considerable progress with Ellie-Darlin, her stomach bandaged up tight, glances up, concerned. “Mister?”

“Es… estab–” Michie’s sewn-up mouth struggles to pronounce the word. When he does, it sounds as lopsided as his face looks. “Establishment? What establishment? You want me to be one of y’alls Coin Men? This no business, no ones was supposed to knows about my crop! The lickers ares already gettin on me fors my crop, I can’t go havin yous kids under my name, my belt. No.”

“We can protect you,” Seht says. “We just went and along and done proved that, didn’t we? We–”

“I’ms a-goin to die in less than two cycles, Seht,” Michie says. “No, there ain’t nothin yalls want here. No-how.”

I suddenly learn what the source of the strong, irritatin smell is. Madge steps forward with a small, hand-carved cup full of whatever liquid was in the pot in the corner of the room. The smell reeks from it.

“Tea,” she says softly. “Ooze your pains. An old family tradition lost.”

“Teas are made from marrow,” Ellie-Darlin says. She was given a similar cup. “What is this?”

“Cinnamon tea.” She tries to smile, but her mouth ain’t capable of doin it all the way. “Please, try.”

“It’s good,” Asher says. “Promise.”

I take a sip and nearly melt into ecstasy. I feel my enery reserves seepin.

Seht rejects his cinnamon tea. “Michie–”

“No, you kids outta run away, far, far from this City,” Michie says. “Don’ts go playin games with gangs and affiliations; it ain’t worth it. Yous only live for so long, for who? Yous gotta find ‘for you.’ That’s what yous gotta do! Don’t go playin this game. The board y’all are lookin at ain’t even the one yous playin.”

Mono Man, Christy, the Gem Lady, Sans from the Apothecary–all these adults that’ve walked in and out of our lives, either taken by the plague or by circumstance, have said somethin similar.

They don’t realize most of us Garnets came into the City. It can be worse beyond the Mecraentos borders. Even if people live to thirty out there. Even if it’s more common for families to be raised out there. Even if it’s easier to get an education out there, somewhere like the Ten Islands, beyond all management from the noble’s authorities.

Mecraentos is a tight-knit city full of tight-knit people. Once we Garnets are weaved together, there’s no chance we’re goin to be undone.

Michie can see it in all of our faces.

He sighs heavily. “I’m goin to die. The plague–”

“We all are, eventually,” Ellie-Darlin says softly. “It gives you a lot less to lose, yeah?”

Michie stares at her for a few seconds before turnin away. His black feathers make his silhouette seem bigger than it is, as though the real him is a ghost of himself. “No. It gives yous less to hope for.”

“I think that’s stupid,” Seht says.

“Nah. It’s true.”

“That’s stupid too,” Seht says adamantly. “But okay. Go on and keep thinking that way. We’re just asking for food and loyalty–your assurance that, if we ever need extra coin, you’ll be there for profit in exchange for our own protecting you. I think that’s fair.”

Michie sighs. “Fine. I agree. This puts yous in danger more than helps.”

“That’s okay,” Seht says. “Here’s what this alliance means: we protect you from the Lime Men or the lickers. You're giving us some of your crop. You’re showing us how to grow our own. The authorities don’t know about any of this. We feed ourselves, we teach you how to defend yourself. Easy.”

“And cinnamon tea,” I say. “You show us how to make it.” Madge smiles.

“This won’t make the Lime Men more… aggressive?” Asher asks. He’s finished bandaging up Ellie-Darlin. It’s clear from the color returnin to her face that he did a good job. I’m close enough in this tight room to reach out and poke her stomach.

“Hopefully it doesn’t make us look like easy targets,” Seht says. “Easy meals. That we’re better than any other street urchins.”

I can see the disapproval, the disbelief, in Michie’s eyes.

Everyone kills street urchins. We’re less rotted, less plague-ridden, and therefore of better quality once we’re dead. Orphans like us, who’ll miss us? There’s always stories of kid-gangs goin missin, like the Rats or the Snarls. Us Garnets are tryin to make a name of ourselves before we all end up missin like that.

“A better plan would be to go and hide,” Michie says.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Seht says. “We live off maybes.”

“Wait,” Flynn says, glancin at the basket. “This is all of your crop?” When Michie and Madge nod, he takes two of the largest vegetables and sets it on their laps. “We’ve still got enough for us.”

“Thank you,” Madge says.

“That’s that, then,” Seht says. “Our watch-outs will keep a special eye on you two.”

“Watch-outs?” Michie asks.

“We always got someone watchin Punnet Street,” I say.

“You do? Why?”

“Because,” I say, “we know that, one day, us Garnets are gonna turn this street into a rich district, I can promise you. And you’ll be alive to see it.”

Michie’s eyes say it’s a fool’s dream. It’ll happen. Maybe it won’t be us that turns this place on its head. We might be dead by then. I might be shot in the stomach or pushed off a roof or starved to death or somethin. The others might be taken by the plague. But it’ll happen.

As we prepare to leave, I walk two steps towards Michie and Madge and wrap them both individually in a tight embrace. They reel back in surprise.

“Sorry,” Seht says. “He’s touchy.”

“Lovin,” I correct.

“Invasive.”

I squeeze them both tighter, then pull away. I turn to Asher and give him a mock-solute. “I expect we’ll be seein you again soon.”

He nods. “We are well-met.”

We turn to head out, sack of vegetables and a newly acquired alliance in hand.

***

On nights like these, we would’ve run across the roof like heathens, free and uncarin, as the rain grows harder and nourishes us, lappin our dehydrated mouths and fillin our water caskets. But we’re too tired for that, so we painstakingly blend into the streets that grow steadily more and more crowded as the City awakens.

“We could use him,” I decide as I leap over a giant hole in the ground, filled with fluffy black mold. The others follow suit.

“Asher?” Ellie-Darlin says.

I feel better again after the rest, but I hold her hand as we walk, just for holdin’s sake.

“Yeah. He’s smart, he’s got the mimickin thing, he can use a weapon, he’s a survivor. We should ask him to come back with us.”

“Cunning,” Flynn says.

“What in this sweet world is cunning?” I say.

“Basically what you said. Smart.”

“Then why’d you have to say it? That ain’t very cunnin.”

Flynn’s snakes have wrapped themselves comfortably around his neck, nestled beneath his long hair. “I’ve heard that accent before but I don’t remember where.”

“Your butt-crack,” I suggest.

His snakes hiss at me. I scratch both of them behind the head and they calm down.

“Suck up,” Flynn says.

I look up overheard. There is a drapin awnin above us, the rain rollin down in steady streams with its funneled mouth. I know that, somewhere on that rooftop, Ana and Lahla are keepin watch, lookin for trouble. One will be lookin over Punnet Street like we promised Michie while the other will be lookin round Carnum and Catum for a few other friends of ours. They’ll probably mug a few tourists, simple theft, while they’re at it to keep busy.

I wave a hand, knowin that Ana will have seen it. We continue forth.

“Do you think he would want to join us?” Ellie-Darlin asks.

“Michie was already thinkin of sendin him to us,” I say as we dodge a coach that’s barrelin so fast it would run us flat as a leaf. “So maybe.”

“Seht? What do you think?” Flynn says.

“Yes,” Seht says simply.

“Yes to tellin the others about him and bringin him in?”

“Nah. I’m saying yes to cutting off his head and offering it as a sacrifice to Vernon.” We all laugh.

Sans’ Apothecary is within the busy Blackrook block, full of a bunch of “miscellaneous” businesses, but hard to find. It’s not exactly a business but a side hustle that does free physical therapies in exchange for ‘highly appreciated’ coin donations, so debts can be paid. They don’t make much, no more than two or three coin a day in donations from tourists–any more than that and they’ll be ‘looked at’ by the lickers and Industry–but it helps.

It’s owned by Isaela and her mother, Sans.

Isaela ain’t a Garnet. The Garnets are for the lost souls, the hurt souls, and she’s got her mother’s support. She ain’t interested in bein part of our shenanigans either, despite bein in more rumbles and quicks than either Seht or Ellie-Darlin. She and I actually grew up together, meetin when we were real young after I accidentally kicked dirt into her face, back when I was still in one of those horrible orphan homes a few streets down, before our Mother died of the plague and we had no one left to take care of us. Isaela was actually the person who first let me know that the tree-whisperin thing ain’t normal, the first person to help me listen to control it.

The place ain’t decorated at all. It’s about as small as Michie’s apartment, with two stone slabs for rest beds and a counter with a tin for donations. The floor’s kept with shaved leaves so that it’s soft and comfortable, while the walls are adorned with weaved branch blankets. I helped with both those as a thank you to Sans for takin care of us at our most desperate.

Isaela sits at the counter, her mother sleepin on one of the slabs, shudderin and twitchin. Unlike Ellie-Darlin, who’s small and girlish, Isaela is tall and lean, a result of her livin in this City and fightin for both herself and her mother. She’d be muscular if she were fed more. It’s been a bit since we’ve checked up on her, and she looks even less healthy. Her eyes don’t work right, so she has to wear lenses like Ellie-Darlin that her mother took off a client once.

She perks up when she sees us. It immediately turns into concern.

“Y’all are hurt,” she whispers.

“Had to save Michie,” I say. “The usual, hero things.” Seht snorts.

“Don’t wake up Sans,” Seht says. “No one is that badly injured. We just want you to look at Ellie’s back and my face and we’ll be going along our way.”

I walk over to the back wall where one of the blankets hang. There is a hole in the wall. “What’s this from?”

Isaela, who has sat Ellie-Darlin down to inspect how well Asher treated her wound, says, “Oh. Some angry men. I don’t know if they worked for someone or if they just had their heads twisted, but they barreled through yellin for mama to let them in. Kept screamin, ‘We know you hide the pretty ones, Quinn, you crazy bitch!’”

I scowl and let the world slowly fade away from me. I concentrate on the wood, which I know is alive and connected still to its roots because I can feel the energy seepin from it. The wood’s drawn to me, like it wants to become one with me, sap my reserves and be left in utter submissivness.

Seht walks up real close. I think he’s goin to hug me, but he just whispers, “I think Asher followed us here. I could hear him.”

“Think he’s watchin me? Should I give him a show?”

Seht clicks twice. Yes.

I wrap my arms around his shoudlers to pull him in an embrace and then wave my hands, swishin them around the same way I do for Flynn’s snake dances. As dramatically as possible, I listen for the whisperins. When they come to me, a beatin, melodic harmony, I whisper back. Verbally. The rest of the world seems to drain away.

“Why does Asaio look like that? Should I knock him in over the head?” I hear Isaela ask.

“Shh,” Seht urges.

I wave my hands one way, then another, whippin my head in each direction as I do so. I whisper loudly, copyin the sounds of the branches. They’re laughin at me, a soft ticklish sensation at the front of my brain, where the headaches normally form. I push, puttin all my bodyweight into it. I begin to hiss in a made-up language, “Ash wasa vas po, Ash wasa vas po….”

That’s when I direct the branches to move, all at once. The cross-sections of the wooden wall are undone, with the speed and skill of an extremely talented weaver. I eventually begin doin ‘fightin poses’ to match each new thread weaved into the wall. “Hyah! Hyah!” I say. I raise my fist dramatically into the air as I shoot a branch forward to cover up the center of the hole. This goes on until the entire thing is patched up and done.

Seht has to pinch Isaela to keep her from cacklin at my thematic demonstration. Ellie-Darlin and Flynn keep their faces straight as can be for the show.

While I do all this, I pull at the leaves just outside of the apothecary. It’s a stretch, feels like when I try to reach down and touch my feet–which I am not flexible enough to do without strain. I use the leaves like a second pair of eyes, wigglin them just enough to be blamed on the wind, but I am searchin.

One leaf brushes against an unknown skin. A cloak, watchin and listenin from about ten legs away, hidden quite cleverly in a trunk but with perfect view into the apothecary entrance, thanks to the lack of doors in this City.

I look out, then, towards that direction, smilin. I click three times.

Three clicks come back. Then laughter. High-pitched, disturbin laughter that echoes through the street. This must be Asher’s idea of his own sort of prank. A response.

Seht cocks his head. “Maybe I do like him.”

That’s when he passes out. His knees buckle and he topples backwards. Flynn grabs him just in time to keep his head from hittin the ground.

He must have been hidin his nausea and light-headedness for the entire duration of the trip from Punnet to here. When Seht sets his mind to somethin, it gets done–whether that be a petty pick-pocket job or stayin awake until he is completely assured the rest of us are all out of danger.