You are cordially invited
to attend a
Dinner Party
hosted by
Mr. & Mrs Harold Shaker
on the Twenty First of October
Before Dinner Cocktails Served at 6 PM Sharp
Riley's handwritten note underneath the invitation. Hey, I got invited to this and I'd really appreciate you being my plus one. Jack thinks you going is a good choice, too. I understand if you don't want to go, but I want to see you. No excuses. Evie.
Evie, after meeting with Kate yesterday, this is a great pick me up. Rereading the invitation, written in flowing script, and then her note once again. The twenty first? Next day five. If Evie's been invited then it's got to mean she's on their radar and needs backup. This is actually a debut of sorts, isn't it? Reentering public life on a grander stage. In that case need to get an outfit and shoes for the occasion, personable, professional, and pretty. Then maybe spend some time tonight trying to figure out Engrave and make Evie something nice. Alright, that settles it, need to duck out soonish.
“An invitation from the Director?” Bailee reading the invitation from over my shoulder. “You're as popular as ever. Every day it's something else.”
Feeling the gazes of every single person in the vicinity on me. Most trying to watch without seeming like they were watching, but a couple of the more honest ones not bothering to pretend.
“If I could trade this for the relative peace and quiet of a couple cycles ago, I would. I was wondering if I could leave early.”
“I figured. Just like every other day. Jacob told me I should be keeping a closer eye on you.”
“I'm sure he's only worried about my well being. Jacob's such a nice guy, isn't he?”
“He's great.” Bailee replying without hesitation or a hint of pretense. “We're lucky to have him. He really does care.”
“Yeah. He's, uh, yeah. Can I get going? I need to go somewhere before it closes. A couple places, actually.”
“You owe me extra on day two.” Pointing at the exit. “Go.”
Cobbler and clothing store to place my orders – it's for a dinner party, so something that looks good, but maybe a little subdued, no need to stand out, thank you – then northwest to Ink's Charms. The once rundown, humble little building nearly three times the size, but the flowerboxes on the windowsills still permitting it to retain the former homey charm. Maybe even more inviting - more windows means more flowerboxes. A couple workers loading up a wagon out front giving me nods in greeting. The bell jingling on my entrance and making an odd half jingle while closing behind me.
“Ms. Macarthy,” the woman at the front desk saying in cheerful greeting, “it's been a bit. I hope you're doing well.”
“Things could certainly be going a lot worse. Thank you.”
“What do you have for us today?”
“I was actually hoping to talk to Ink. I have a custom order I'd like to get her thoughts on.”
“Ms. Inkathius is busy at the moment, but I can relay the message. What do you have in mind?”
“I need something to cancel out the effects from another item.”
“Is it a cursed object? You'd probably have better luck attempting to have them to cleanse it at the temple.”
“Not exactly, it's this necklace I'm wearing, it's been marked by an Augur. It's one of their, what do they call them, beacons. They can use it to see and hear me whenever they want.”
“I not sure if we can help you with that.”
“I'm not sure if you can, either. That's why I'd like to ask Ink.”
“You'd like to ask me what?” The woman wandering into the room and bringing with her the earthy, sulfur and ozone smells of the workshop. Her sleeves rolled down, perspiration running down her face, despite the weather outside, and drinking water from a tall glass.
Giving her a quick rundown of my predicament and her brow knitting in thought.
“This may seem like an obvious solution, but you could always, you know, take it off.”
“That's not really an option.”
“And magically interfering with it is?”
“Yes.”
Ink opening her mouth to say something, but then enjoying a long, carefree laugh. “You're an interesting group, and you may be one of the most interesting of the bunch. Tell you what, I've never run into this particular request before, but I'll see what I can do.”
The jingling bell my only warning, a hundred plus pounds of lupine cunning, ferocity and dignity barreling in. Overjoyed. Paws dancing and spinning in circles like a puppy. His owner, more felt than directly seen, following behind with a couple other members of his House.
“Vesper! Hey, I'm glad to see you, too. Hello. Let me see you. Man, you need to be brushed. He's not brushing you, is he? I guess he's busy doing other stuff.” Like betraying me. “You never betrayed me though. I told you all sorts of things and I asked you to keep them to yourself and, you know what, you did. As far as that goes you're way better than he is. Way more reliable. A way better friend, by far.”
Have to look up at him. Can't just keep looking at the wolf. Steeling my heart and calming my emotions. He betrayed me. Looking up and all my preplanning, my carefully constructed shield of acid and bitterness, falling apart. He looks good. Wilde, hair windswept, and covered in dust from the road. It's so good to see him. Should crawl over on my hands and knees and beg him to forgive me, and then to take me back. Trying to stifle the desire. To crush it out of existence. Not really working. Getting to my feet.
“Nico, did you get my message? I really need to speak with you.”
“I've got nothing to say to you.”
“Five minutes - give me five minutes - then we can go back to being strangers.”
Wilde glancing over at his companions, one of them noticeably out of place among the group, a member of my Runemage class on day two. “I need to deal with this. I'll be with you guys in a second.” The rest of his party going to conduct their business with Ink and Wilde looking back at me. “What do you want?”
Trying to figure out what to do with my hands. Settling on putting them to my side.
“Well, I know that our relationship didn't exactly start off as normal. I know we basically spent all our time in the field working, and we never really had a chance to do normal relationship things, but I really feel like we got to know each other pretty well out there. Maybe even better than we would've otherwise. I know I kept stuff back from you about my past but, like, I never lied to you about any of it. That whole situation is beyond my control and I've never pretended to be someone I'm not. That was all me. I want to you to know that I really enjoyed the time we spent together and I'm sorry if I did anything to make you want to hurt me, and I'm sorry that things turned out the way they did, but I don't want our relationship to end the way it did. So I was wondering if we could, I dunno, get dinner, or something, somewhere, at some point. I'm on house arrest at Haven but I can schedule to meet you some time, if you want.”
Vesper bumping into me. What's he- oh, Haven.
“Hey, bud, I may be at Haven, but that girl doesn't like me all that much.” The wolf making a complex expression, mostly annoyance. “I mean okay, fine, I'll try to talk to her but I can't make any promises it'll work. That may end up being your unrequited love.” Vesper almost seeming to smirk. Giving his head a vigorous series of pets. Missed you.
“Macarthy,” Wilde saying, in that special tone reserved exclusively for when people said my name, or when they were cleaning up dog vomit, “out of everything that's hard to believe, do you know what I find the hardest to come to terms with? That you weren't originally born a woman in the first place. Duplicity and treachery just comes natural to you. Whatever you feel at that moment, that's what comes out. You can say two contradictory things in a single sentence and it doesn't even phase you, because at the beginning you feel one way, and by the end you feel another. It comes so natural to you that I have a hard time even believing that you're actually Macarthy, except for one very important thing. What you did to George and the way you acted when you did it. That shows me everything I need to know and, because of that, I'll never forgive you.”
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
George. That must be the name of that guy back in the weapon shop, that same guy who lost his hand the other day at The Red Lion. A mere target of opportunity, an easy mark to steal a weapon and to make a point, but clearly they must be friends, and doing that must've crossed a line.
“I'm sorry about that. I was in a bad place at the time. You just tried to ship me out, if you remember, and he was right there. If you want I'll do what I can to make it up to him, I'll even consider returning his weapon, but I didn't do that to him to hurt you.”
Wilde not responding. Staring at me. His features darkening. Glaring. Scowling. Getting angrier and angrier. Furiously angry. “You don't even know who George is, do you?” Opening my mouth but nothing coming out. There's no good answer to that question. “You killed George. I know you probably don't remember because he's just one of the many, many, many that you've killed, but I remember it clearly. I remember you doing it with a smile on your face. I think back on that incident, and I think about how you acted at the time, and I'm so upset with myself for not seeing who you are sooner. Koln saw through you, he even told me, but I didn't take him seriously. He calls you a jackal, and that's exactly what you are, a skulking, laughing, lying, amoral jackal.”
George. Laughing about killing a George...
“Are you talking about your cat?” It wasn't even a real cat. Looking down at Vesper, who'd put his nose to my hand. That isn't a convincing argument. “You're still upset about your cat? Fuck you, you're the one who tried pushing me around in the first place because you thought you could get away with it. If that never happened you never would've gotten Vesper, and you never would've gotten to do any of that other stuff. Our whole relationship occurred because of that.”
Wilde turning an almost unhealthy shade of purple, but then taking some breaths and calming himself down. “That's right. Without that it wouldn't have happened. Everything that happened - everything – it was all a mistake.”
The guy not saying anything else. Turning to leave. The other members of his group had already finished with their business and were holding their bank note. A variety of stones sitting on the counter, but one type standing out from the rest. The cloudy blue-green stones from the Deep Ones at Swan Lake.
“Nico, wait, I'm sorry about-”
“Charlie, let's get going.”
Vesper giving me a look in farewell and turning to follow. Wait a minute, he called him Charlie. That's not new, that's what that girl at Stormhawk called Vesper that night. No, not some random girl, more like some thieving Stormhawk skank. My roiling emotions, anger and guilt and disappointment at myself, all changing course.
“Hold on, you're not going anywhere. Just how long have you been calling him Charlie?” My voice not loud - at least, no louder than it had been moments before - but something about it causing hands to go to weapons. “Just how fucking long has that been going on?”
“He's mine. I can call him whatever I want.” Wilde's forked tongue making the claim, his skull swiveling around on a pivot, ready to be fitted for a traitor's necktie, his uncaring, detached expression breaking as he makes eye contact. The dead man bringing his spirit weapon to hand. Our relationship was a mistake? Funny, that's all he seems to look like right now, a mistake that needs to be erased.
Era-
“Mac.” The word suddenly spoken in my ear, interrupting my concentration and causing the spell to fizzle out. My master, my old master who'd abandoned me. Keeping one of his hands firmly fixed on my shoulder. “You all be good boys and run along.”
The walking corpse and the rest of the Stormhawk group getting themselves together and then heading outside under my old master's watchful eyes. Vesper giving me another last look before the jingling bell separates us.
“What do you think you're doing here?”
“Merely a spot of good luck. I was stopping by to pick up an order. Cynobel, I assume it's ready?”
“Y-yes,” Ink stammering, completely overwhelmed by the near fight, and his sudden appearance. “I'll get it right away, my lord.”
“Good.” My old master offering a genial smile. “Miss, would you mind giving us a moment? I need to speak with my former student.” The woman sitting at the front desk getting out of her chair, bobbing a curtsy and leaving the room a few steps behind Ink.
“What do you want?”
The man chuckling. “I must say it's refreshing to talk with someone who doesn't default to scrambling when I show up. Mac, I couldn't help but overhear that conversation you were having earlier, and I may have a solution for that beacon around your neck. You should bring it to Rudy.”
“I don't think he's going to want to help, and not for free, if he does. I'm not going to be willing to pay whatever price he's going to ask.”
“Nonsense. It's true that things didn't work out exactly like you or he wanted, but Rudy got basically everything he claimed he was asking for. He owes you a good deal for that. If he's annoyed at anyone, it would be at Savras for forcing his hand or, well, maybe with me for siding against him.”
“I still don't think it's a good idea.”
“Mac.” The word coming out sharp. “Listen, that stunt you pulled in the harbor, I took your side during negotiations. I understand you may not like your present circumstances, but it could be much worse. I want you to know that. I need you to talk to Rudy and see how he's doing, and make a note of what he says. You understand? And, if anyone around here has the particular talents to assist with your problem, it's him.”
“Does this have to do with what happened at the Monastery?”
“That's exactly it. We were so close to getting all these little problems sorted out, getting everything back to being stable, and then all of a sudden we have a legion of undead walking through the city. Ugh. Blood Mages.” Shuddering. No, doing his best impression of a shudder. “Am I right?”
“Yeah. Right. I thought I wasn't a member of the guild, why're you trying to give me an assignment?”
“Mac, your talents may not be the best fit for the guild anymore – granted, discretion has never been your strongest suit – but assets come in all shapes and sizes, and they all have their own particular strengths. You may not be an official member, but I'm not done with you, not by a longshot.”
***
“Mac, you in there?”
It'd be easier not to answer. Instead stay curled up like this forever. The door shaking again on the now loose hinges as the knocking repeates. Trying to muster the energy to get out of bed. Trying to will myself into a sitting position. It'd be easier to die. That may be preferable.
A familiar scraping sound of metal on metal rendering that desire null. The lock simple enough that it doesn't even need to be picked, the bolt only needing to slide over with some leveraged force. A classic example of keeping honest people honest.
“What do you want, Omen?”
“An answer, for one.” The guy peering into my tiny room from the doorway. “You look like you need some cheering up. Let's go.”
“I dunno. I've got some stuff I need to do tonight.” Evie's gift. Haven't even started on it. Haven't even thought about starting on it.
“You're not dodging me tonight. I've only talked to you here and there since you've been here. You owe me a sitdown.”
“That's not going to cheer me up. Everything's not going great right now.”
Omen momentarily at a loss, his insufferable grin almost disappearing. “Okay,” he says, “then we're only going to talk about good things tonight. Nothing bad. C'mon, let's go out. I know things have got to be tough for you, but you've got to do something to shake this funk.”
Guess he's not going to let me sleep it off. Aright, whatever.
“Give me a second to get dressed.” His insufferable grin back. Not closing the door. “At least avert your eyes, I'm not wearing a shirt.” Or underwear.
“You can come like that. I don't mind.”
“Give me five minutes to get ready.”
Omen chatting as we left Haven behind. Chatting about stupid things, mindless things, things just to fill the space. Not managing to hold up my end of the conversation, only giving monosyllabic replies, and probably not even when appropriate. Half closing my eyes and leaning against him, his unceasing baritone running through my head. Arriving at our destination, not his apartment, an inn several blocks away with a spider on the sign. Getting a table for two in a corner.
“You need a drink,” he says.
Not bothering to refute that. Getting drunk and making bad decisions, that's what's on tap for this evening. Our pints arriving with some food scheduled to follow soon after. Copy. Starting to pull the pint apart and Omen's mouth finally shutting up to watch. Picking up the pint on the left and chugging the whole thing down.
“How many girls you juggling right now?”
“Babe, what are you-” The guy about to lie - clear as day ready to lie - the typical two timing, cheating manwhore's instinctual defense mechanism to spout lie after lie after lie - but then something clicking and Omen thinking better of it. “A couple.”
“Do you talk all of them to death?”
“I like to think they hang on every word.”
“You're confident. And handsome. They probably don't even follow half that babble. At least I hope they don't. They probably enjoy watching you talk and listening to the sound of your voice.”
His usual game thrown off course. “How're you doing, Mac? You look like you've got a lot on your mind.”
“My plans are progressing. I got clearance to go out next day four from the Garlands, but the people I'm going out there with are probably going to try killing me when I do. Do you mind having a chat with some of them?”
“I,” still thrown off balance, “could, if you think it's necessary.”
“Please, and thank you. I'm so grateful you're here.” Reaching out my hand to put on his. Making my intention obvious, basically throwing myself at him. “If I was forced to deal with all this without you it may already have fallen apart.”
Looking down at my hand. “What's going on with you, Mac?”
Does he need it spelled out? No, that can't be, it should be obvious. Maybe he doesn't like forward women? That's somewhat understandable. Chugging my second pint down and our food arriving. Working up the nerve to spill my guts.
“Today I found out the guy I was dating wants nothing to do with me. Not even for this, or for my reputation, though those probably factor in, but for something I did to him that can never be undone. It's irrecoverable. We had a confrontation a few hours ago.”
“I did hear something about you dating some guy.”
“He's in Stormhawk. He was in on trying to ship me out. I'd been hoping that maybe if we talked we could work past it, but he's not receptive and that's going to be that. It's not going to work out.” Some tears gathering. Figured they'd all been cried out earlier. “I just don't want to be by myself tonight.”