The Restless, Jealous Dead

This isn't a dance,

and there's no plan, scene to scene,

even though moment to moment flows

from every prior moment and scene.

All those moments and scenes,

that all came before,

contain no sharps and no flats,

and they rely on no score.

And time beats on,

in what feels like four four.

There's no stage, and no visible cues,

we aren't mere players shoehorned into preassigned shoes.

There's no audience but us, and the voice in our heads,

no audience but us, and the restless, jealous dead.

The dead who so envy the living,

that they wish to make them dead.

The ancient who resent the new,

so they wish to strangle them in their beds.

And the living, the still living,

so covetous of the lives they've been living,

will find they are now living,

as the restless, jealous dead.

Reverse mortgaging our commons and poisoning our roots,

dancing the Danse Macabre, with spurs jangling on their boots.

Exiting the floor and leaving behind

nothing more than a bombed out, stripped mine.

Exiting not as they entered, booming onto the scene,

but leaving behind, instead, a sign of their great esteem.

Towering above us, crushing all of our means,

a bile and phlegm laden, assuredly bankrupt dream.

***

“Lucy!”

The corpse serving as the bloated arm swinging down with all the hatred the soon-to-be-dead have for the living. Maggots pouring from the eyes and self-serving, hypocritical admonishments pouring from the mouth. Hard to know for sure what exactly it is yelling, every mouth on the great stitched together monster has a different message. Most wordless, others simply inarticulate, but those as equally useful as the others.

Using my metallic, disconnected appendage to constrict, forcing the torso to twist and sending the monster's downward blow off course. Keeping my hands focused on what they were doing and my feet focused on what they were doing. Stepping slightly to the side and swiping upward with the hatchet, and slicing through a thick looking stitch. Its arm falling useless but the rest still moving. Not the right one. Focusing on my feet to back up while not releasing the chain's stranglehold. Difficult being in two places at once mentally, but doing better with it now. Keeping my hands and feet separate from the chain had been a bit of a struggle, at first, but thinking of it like an extension of myself and not an external puppet to be controlled makes it more manageable.

Magpie coming from behind it and slashing with her sword, once, twice, and there, the Flesh Golem ceasing all movement and crumpling to the ground. Turning in the direction of the person who'd called my name with such apparent concern.

“You were just staring off into space,” says Wolfe. “Are you alright?”

“Kate, she's in the zone.” Riley jogging up behind her. “Isn't that right? You didn't even flinch.”

Shrugging. “I guess.” Riley satisfied with my answer and pulling out her holy symbol. Heading over to join Magpie who was slicing along the main stitching she'd cut to retrieve the flesh fetish.

“What's wrong?” Wolfe deciding to be stubbornly persistent.

“Nothing.” Narrowing her eyes. “Really, I'm doing fine.”

“You were such a jumble last cycle, full of frustration and anger, but today you've been like the opposite. You're so,” making a circular gesture with her hand, “muted.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“You're never like this when we're out here. You always feel, what's the best way to describe it,” her hand making the circular gesture even faster, “a sort of eagerness held down under a blanket of periodically melting snow.”

“You can feel all that?”

Wolfe momentarily looking unsure, but giving a slight shake of her head. “What's going on?”

“Kate, sometimes when a door is locked you'll find the window is open and you can just climb on in.” Wolfe frowning at that particular metaphor. “That is, I didn't plan for things to end up the way they did, but I think everything may end up working out.” Her frown deepening. “And I'm trying to get this whole chain thing down. It's like I've got an additional, I dunno, tail that's not attached to me, and part of me is keeping the tail moving around while the other part is keeping my feet and arms separate and doing their own thing. My master told me to do it sort of like that. I'm just trying to focus on what I'm doing, here and now, while leaving every else aside for the moment.”

The explanation not having its intended effect. Giving her my most carefree smile, but Wolfe not looking mollified in the slightest.

“What's going on with you, Kate?”

“I'm fine.” Putting her hand on my arm. “C'mon, let's get the next one.”

Something's not- well, she says she's fine.

***

Arriving at Ink's, the once small building had easily doubled in size since we'd first seen it. Several workers out front loading up crates into a wagon. Up the steps and into the shop. Ink, her back to us, holding a clipboard and talking to one of her workers.

“-need to get this out, we've got less than an hour to get it across the city to the harbor.” Ink looking over to see who's tromping in.

“Ms. Macarthy, Ms. Riley, Ms. Upton and Ms. Wolfe,” she said, “how very nice to see you all. I'll be with you in a second.” Ink pointing at a few places on the clipboard, issuing a few more instructions and then returning her attention to us. “What do you have for me today.”

“Same as usual.”

“Great,” she says. Riley noticeably smug, at that. “Oh, I have to ask, from that last set your friend brought in a couple days ago, where did you get those cloudy blue-green stones?”

“Swan Lake. The cloudy ones, um, I think those were from the Deep Ones. Either the Warlocks or Witches. Why?”

“They have a very interesting property.” Ink looking around and grabbing a drawstring pouch lying on the table. “This was my initial prototype.” Opening the pouch and reaching her hand in, too far in, her whole arm disappearing inside. Pulling out a two foot long stick from the seemingly empty six inch pouch.

“Holy shit,” says Magpie.

“Indeed,” says Ink. “These are going to be very much be in demand.”

“How much?”

“I thought you'd be interested, but this size isn't really maximizing the potential. Those stones provide enough energy for something about the size of your pack, or maybe a little larger. Giving you a discount, I'll let you have this for a thousand.”

“Eight.”

“You're haggling?” Ink letting out an incredulous laugh. “No. I could sell this for twice that in about fifteen minutes due to sheer novelty alone.”

“I'll put it to better use, for both of us.”

“No doubt. The asking price is still a thousand.”

***

“You definitely know to pick 'em,” says Wilde, his arm around me as we settle in, the view of the night sky unobstructed from our camp on the side of the mountain.

“We've been lucky, summer's really holding on this year. Way better than the last one, it rained every day for like three cycles in a row.”

“I was just thinking how much better this year's been.” Turning his head for a quick kiss.

“Definitely has its moments.”

My eyes closing. Starting to drift off.

“Lucy, I was wondering,” says Wilde, causing my eyes to open sleepily.

“Yeah?”

“After going out with you on all these trips, which you definitely seem to enjoy, right?”

“I do. I've really been enjoying it.”

“That's good,” he says, slowly, “I was speaking with Lane and your name happened to come up.”

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Not a surprise. Barnes obviously started running his mouth.

“Did it?”

“My friends know I'm making a lot of money now, not the exact amount, but it's way more than I used to, and he wanted to know what I've been doing.”

“I see.”

Throwing off the roll and sitting up, the slight breeze and cool night air bringing me to full wakefulness. Reaching out to my pack and pulling it over. Digging through. Finding my pipe, a box of matches and, after a bit more searching, the tin with the tobacco. Packing the pipe half full and striking a match. Shielding the flame from the breeze and taking a few puffs to get it going.

“I didn't know you smoked,” he says.

“Not very frequently. Trying not to make it too much of a habit, but,” stretching my arms, “it's a wonderful night. And, if we're going to have a chat, I figured why not. Bailee really has an excellent blend. Would you care for some?” Shaking his head. Shrugging and taking another puff. Blowing it out the side of my mouth. And then another. Wilde leaning to one side, his forearm on the shirt he'd been using as a pillow, watching me keep the pipe alive. Neither of us in any particular hurry, but Wilde finally breaking the silence.

“He was wondering if you'd be interested in joining the House.”

“Can't say I'm interested.”

“I thought not. I told him the chances of that were remote, but he said I should ask nicely because you may be willing. He also knows about our rematch.” Wilde sighing and shaking his head. “Everybody knows about our rematch. I've been getting an endless amount of shit about that. How about we make that the stakes for the fight? You joining the House.”

“Again, I'm not interested.”

“Okay. But even if those aren't the stakes, I have to ask if you'd be willing to do the rematch there. At the House.” Taking a puff of my pipe and giving him withering glare. “It's so people give me less shit about losing to, no offense, a little girl.”

“None taken.” My annoyance fading. “What happens when you lose again? It'll be even worse.”

“I mean, that's not going to happen, but I'd rather lose to you in a completely lopsided fashion and have them see it, than the current situation where they're making it sound like I lost to a child holding a lollipop.”

Nodding and then taking a puff. A completely lopsided fashion? That can be arranged. What were the rules, no flaring weapons? That leaves plenty of wiggle room for all kinds of underhanded tactics. But Stormhawk as the fight venue? Taking another puff and glancing off to the side. Long past time to end my self imposed exile.

“Let's say I agree to fight at your House-” his eyes brightening “-can you guarantee they're not going to hassle me if I win.”

“Of course they won't.”

Glaring again. “I'm going to bring some people with me to help make sure of that.”

“By all means. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Alright.” Looking off to the side and taking another puff. “Let's say I agree to your terms, to join your House if you win – I'm not, by the way, this one is purely hypothetical – and then I decide to throw the fight and they don't want me as a result. Would you consider that upholding my end of the agreement?”

Getting visibly confused. “I can't imagine you'd do something like that.”

“If losing meant winning down the line I'd cheerfully opt to lose. I'd even make a show of it.”

“That,” he hesitates, “if you did something like that, I guess I'd have to. They'd be the ones not following through, not you.” Looking back at me. “I don't think you're going to do that, though.”

“I won't have to because I'm not planning on agreeing to those terms.” Holding my hand up to stop him. “For several reasons.” Counting out on my fingers. “One, if I do join, I'm going to come in on the bottom. I don't really feel like going through the motions proving myself.”

“You'd have to do that no matter which House you joined,” he retorts.

“True. But at Stormhawk I'm not even going to start at zero, I'll be at like negative ten. Do you even have any girls in the House?” Visibly brightening. “As actual members, not fuckbuddies.” Brightness clouding over. “I'm probably going to have to end up killing a few people just to set some boundaries, and that'll cause all sorts of problems.”

“Jail time, for one,” he says, trying to be cute.

“You can kill people in town without going to jail, but you need to be a little more creative. That said, sometimes jail time is worth sending a message.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes.” Taking a last puff from the pipe and tapping out the charred ashes.

“I see,” he says, with the beginnings of a frown. “In that case, you dueling me at the House will help establish your credibility, but you may end up with more duel requests as a result.” Pausing. “Which, I suppose, would be one way of killing people in town without going to jail.”

“That would be one way, yes.”

“I see.” Now with a full blown frown.

“Definitely not the only way.”

“Out of curiosity, what would be another way?”

“Traps, but they can be iffy. Poison via an indirect method, like putting it in someone's drink. My paralysis thing and then pushing someone into water, to drown them.” His eyebrows going up. “I haven't actually done that, may still get popped for it. Capturing a monster and letting it loose. There are any number of ways.”

Wilde clearly regretting that he'd asked the question. “I think you'll be fine.”

“Okay, yeah, maybe, as far as that goes. But, number two,” putting out my index finger, “they're going to want to put me on patrol duty hunting boars, or something stupid. That's a complete waste of time - you're currently putting up with it, and I'm not sure why. I'd tell them to go fuck themselves.”

“I'm not the only one sick of that,” he says, “Like I said, a number of people are seeing how much I'm pulling in and they're starting to grumble. You bring it up as a sticking point and you could make a number of friends.”

“Three.” Putting out my middle finger and pressing on. “The House is going to want to take a cut of what I'm doing. I really don't feel like sharing.”

“I don't- well, maybe,” he acknowledges. “But there are perks of being a member: room and board, and people who have your back.”

“I like my apartment. It's not the cheapest, but that's part of why I like it. As far as people who have my back, I'm more than satisfied with what I have.”

“Where do you live?”

“I'll probably show you at some point. Four,” putting out the ring finger, “unlike the others this one is going to be very difficult. Lane's thing, your House patron, doesn't like me very much.” Likely completely irreconcilable differences, now.

“But Lane wants you in, so how important is that?” he says, puzzled.

“Extremely. I'll probably always be a second class citizen there no matter what I do.” Fiddling with pipe, wishing it wasn't empty. “Nico, before you joined Stormhawk, what were you doing?”

“I was in the guild, and then Haven came in and took over. The Druids were fine with it, for the most part, but we were more divided. Stormhawk made their pitch and a few of us decided to go with them. Some stayed at Haven, a handful went to Koln, and the rest went and did their own thing.”

“And how have you liked Stormhawk?”

“It's honestly pretty good. I know I've complained about patrol duty, but the fact is they're one of the few Houses out there that's more than a social club. As a result, it's attracted like minded people. That's why I thought you'd like it. I've got a bunch of friends there.”

“Friends can make even the worst places tolerable.”

“I can't disagree, but, by that same token, they can make mediocre places great.”

Doubt there'll be any friends to be found there. Not that it matters, victory should be overwhelming.

“Let's say I agree to join Stormhawk if you win. For my side, then, if I win, I have an organization I'd like you to join.”

“I don't want to leave the House.”

“You won't have to.”

“You want me to come to your book club?”

“God no, I wouldn't be so cruel as to subject you to that. It's,” trying to get the words out, stuttering and fumbling, “I can't talk about it.”

“So you want me to agree to join some mystery group? I don't know about that.” Both of us sitting in silence for about a minute. “You know, thinking about it, I don't think we should have that be the stakes. For either of us.”

“But-”

“I know I brought it up in the first place, but hear me out. It may end up causing resentment for whoever loses. I don't want you to join over some stupid bet. I definitely wouldn't mind if you joined, but not if you don't want to.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Feeling extremely relieved. Leaning in for a hug, warm and secure.

“Thank you, that's a load off my mind. Let's just do low stakes, there's already enough on the line.”

“Low stakes, huh?” he says. “Okay, for low stakes, I was thinking you'd look really good in a tight dress. I want to show you off.”

“Sure, I'll spiff up my wardrobe, but do you not like the outfit I have?”

“What? No, that looks great, I was just thinking you should get something else. I mean, we've got all this money coming in and you've only got that one outfit.”

“I have three of that outfit.”

The guy getting a goofy grin. “That's adorable.”

My face getting hot.

“Listen, I've got no problem getting another outfit, or several, for you, but you've got to understand my current one is specifically designed. I could do some aesthetic changes to it, but right now it provides the perfect presentation. I like the way it looks, it's extremely functional, the shoes are comfortable and, most importantly, it succeeds at making me appear harmless. Helps to get along with normal folk.”

“Most importantly...? That's why you wear that outfit?”

“I don't want to get hassled. When I go to that book club I'm going to need to wear it. I came in my field clothes last time and they weren't exactly thrilled to see me. I certainly didn't apologize for it, fuck 'em, but the mood in the room was a pretty blatant not welcome.”

His arms pulling me in closer. “I'm really sorry, I had no idea. Why are you going back to that place?”

“My master asked me to come and I owe him a great deal.” Leaning my forehead into his chest. “Much more this cycle than the last, and the debt was already gargantuan.” Looking back up at him. “And they're not all bad, I'm exaggerating.” Not really. “Sent one of them down into the sewers to hunt rats and we'll see if she has an attitude adjustment.” In a much lower voice. “Thank you.”

Wilde leaning down and giving me a kiss on the forehead.

Getting re-situated and laying back down. Listening to his breathing level off as he goes to sleep. Number five, counting off to myself, joining with them means being completely under their thumb. No reason for it. Not anymore. Not going to happen. Not with now being almost five inches closer to reclaiming the guild.