Vivienne stared at her for several moments, her lip trembling. Momo wasn’t sure if she was about to pummel her or storm out.

Ultimately – she did neither.

She laughed. Laughed hard. Head thrown back and everything.

“How naive are you, seriously?” she said between fits of laughter, nearly choking on her own words. “Do you just trust people mean what they say? How do you know I’m not just playing the long game? God knows I’ve done it before, and for much longer than this.”

Momo shrugged.

“I think you underestimate how much I hate meeting new people,” she replied, cringing at the thought of it. “I’d rather trust the traitor I know over the one I don’t. Less small talk that way.”

Vivienne stared at her blankly, laughter slowly dying in her throat.

“You’re kidding. That’s an insane principle to live by. How are you not dead yet?”

“I don’t think it’s insane,” Momo said, shrugging again. “Take you for example. I know exactly who you work for – or worked for. I know your family. I know your deepest personal conflicts. I know all the skeletons in your closet. But that random guy named George working at the docks? For all I know, he could keep women in his basement. Do you think I want him on my boat?”

The click-clacks of stilettos began to echo from down the hall.

With a frustrated huff, Vivienne scowled at her. It wasn’t an angry scowl, though – it was more annoyed than anything. Pissed off that Momo had made a point that was either too stupid or too genius to refute. And the worst part was she wasn’t sure which one it was.

“I’ll give you some time to decide, okay?” Momo said, offering her a small, kind smile. She reached for the door handle and cranked it. “If you want to join this fight on the right side of necromantic history, you can meet me at the docks at nine. Otherwise, just… I don’t know. Send me a postcard or something.”

Vivienne opened her mouth to speak, but was silenced by Kelly’s face materializing on the other side of the breakroom window. The sight made both of them nearly jump out of their skin.

“Hello ladies,” Kelly grinned, feral as ever. “Time’s up, don’t you think?”

—

Kelly’s interview room was nowhere near as austere as the breakroom. While it was similar in size, a shoebox of an office, with space enough for only two chairs and a messy, newspaper-laden table, it was very… cozy. Like visiting your hoarder aunt’s house for the holidays, it was simultaneously like being held hostage and being doted on all at once.

Whether by plain intuition or by Intelligence points, Momo knew instinctively that it was all a ruse. That Kelly had designed the space to put the subject of the interview in a very specific mental space – one of faux intimacy. It was the same sort of feeling you got sitting with a stranger at a bar, their face too close, their breath too hot.

And that wasn’t just allegory. When Momo sat, Kelly’s face floated mere inches away from her, the snakes in her hair dancing by Momo’s forehead. Momo studied her skin – unable to find a single pore on the whole surface of it. Kelly’s cheeks were red with blush, her nose brushed with full coverage foundation. She emitted a cheap sort of perfume, like the type of thing you’d find at Claire’s. It was all perfectly constructed; an elaborate, visual trick.

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This was how she was better than any other journalist in the nation, Momo realized, watching as Kelly poured them both a cup of boiling hot coffee. Two cappuccinos – frothing and bitter.

The woman didn’t have interview subjects. She had interview targets.

“So, Queen Momo,” Kelly said, face wide with a grin as she removed a pencil from behind her ear. “Tell me everything.”

—

“And then she took you by the horns and kissed you?” Kelly gasped, eyes glowing like she was reading a cheap, dollar-store romance novel. “Oh my. Now I need me a man like that.”

“I – I think we’ve gotten away from the important part of the interview…” Momo stuttered.

If it was possible for Momo to get any redder, she probably would have died.

Kelly waved her hand. “I disagree. My readers are going to go wild for this whole forbidden love bit. A former Holy Knight and a necromancer… Gods, I’m blushing just saying it outloud.”

“Maybe you could just omit that part from the published story, actually…”

“Are you kidding? If you want Approval, this will get you approval,” Kelly cackled.

Momo sank further into her chair.

Despite having a sixth sense for exactly how Kelly operated, Momo played perfectly into her hands. She couldn’t help it. She was a people pleaser. And beyond that, Kelly’s Charisma points exceeded her own paltry amount by the hundreds. Momo didn’t need to see a stat sheet – it was plainly obvious. She could feel a spell being cast around her, as if Kelly had poured a row of shots and made her take them in succession.

Momo’s eyes fell to the cursed cappuccino in front of her, now completely empty.

On second thought, it might not have been a spell at all. Kelly had drugged her in plain daylight.

“What’s in that thing?” Momo muttered.

“Oh, the coffee?” Kelly said, innocently raising an eyebrow. “Just caffeine, honey.”

Momo stared at her. Right.

“So. I think I got everything I need…” Kelly said, biting her lip as she reviewed the notes in front of her.

Unlike your average modern day journalist, Kelly transcribed the entire interview by hand. For any normal person, that’d be too slow to keep up with conversation, but Kelly’s hand moved with a wicked, inhuman swiftness. She didn’t even have to look down at the page. Her fingers moved autonomously, scribbling so fast that they blew small gusts of wind around the room.

That explains why this place is such a disaster, Momo thought, gazing at the cluttered floor. So maybe it wasn’t all an act – Kelly just happened to have a mini fan attached to her wrist at all times.

“Now, to review what I’ll be publishing,” Kelly said, smiling politely. “Out of courtesy.”

Right, Momo thought. As if I actually would have any say.

“One. You’ll be corroborating Ms. Bellafor’s story, that the Holy Resistance is indeed a sham, a ragtag group of necromancers posing as members of Jarva’s Knighthood,” she said, licking her lips. Momo could tell how excited she was to publish that bombshell. “Two. You’ll be cutting your campaign short to make sure things are going smoothly in Jarvirium. Oh, sorry. What did you call it?”

“Morganium.”

Momo had thought of the name on the spot, if it wasn’t obvious.

“Right,” Kelly said, quickly crossing out a few things on the page. “Morganium. And you’re returning the continent to its original name, correct? Aloysius?”

“Correct.”

Another abrupt, caffeine-driven decision, but one she felt good about. She needed to erase all evidence of Jarva’s rule. Taking his name out of the common vernacular was about as powerful a tool as she could think of.

“Wonderful. And finally, your sizzling love affair with your Military Advisor, Sumire. Do you have a last name for her? Just Sumire?”

Momo choked on her own spit.

“I think we can cut that part –”

“Just Sumire is fine. Lends such mystery. Ah.”

Before Momo could get another word in, Kelly rose from her chair, her snakes hissing happily.

“Well, your highness, this has been just charming,” she said, jutting out her hand. Momo took it reluctantly. “I would keep you for longer, but I have another very important interview in five minutes. A piece about this rising chicken religion. They call themselves Followers of the Holy Bird. Have you heard of it?”

Momo frowned.

“Yeah. I’ve heard of it.”