[https://cdn.substack.com/image/fetch/w_1100,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fbucketeer-e05bbc84-baa3-437e-9518-adb32be77984.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F3501a378-9d0e-4e23-9455-6224822abcac_1890x1417.png]“General Washington continues to evade Howe but for how long, I do not know. Winter approaches and I am running low on ink.”
I opened my eyes. The party was still in full swing around me, as if no time had passed. I squinted at the harsh light of the real world and I felt beads of sweat dripping down my forehead. Whether the people around me were actually talking out loud or if I was still hearing their thoughts, I wasn’t sure, and I felt a growing urge to vomit for the second time that day. Suddenly, one of the waiters ran past me toward the kitchen. I took that as a sign that Beatrice had caused some sort of commotion and I staggered off to the front door. Luckily, the valet stand was not crowded and I was soon winding my way back through the dark country roads.
I was halfway back to the house when I was sure the voices had stopped, which was about 10 minutes before I realized I left Duncan at the party with no car. I had bigger problems to deal with now though. I finally pulled into the unlit driveway of the rental and found my phone flooded with dozens of texts from Duncan, who had been scouring the party looking for me.
“Sorry, Dunc. Felt sick so needed to get out of there,” I texted him. Also, you’re a dick for thinking that I can’t dress myself.
“U could have told me,” he wrote back.
“I know. But didn’t want u to feel obligated to leave”
“It’s fine. Some stupid waitress knocked into Clarice and she smacked her face against the marble counter. Blood everywhere. Jeff took her to the hospital.”
“Oh. Wow. Is she OK?”
“Not sure. Might need another nose job.”
“Haha.”
“Wasn’t trying to be funny.”
“Oh”
“i need to stay until Jeff gets back.”
“OK.”
I got out of the car and walked to the front door. The night was quiet and starless, the only sound coming from the crunching of my heels on the gravel walkway. It was a marked change from earlier, when the combined chatter of the partygoers’ thoughts had threatened to overwhelm my sanity. I sat down on the stoop and stared out into the darkness, letting the silence wash over me and clear my head, but my thoughts kept drifting back to those stupid apples.
That’s when I remembered I still had two in the kitchen. I headed inside to the kitchen counter where I had left them. I picked them both up and weighed them in my hands, as if they now were the golden apples of Eris. What were they truly capable of? And what else was out there, lurking in plain sight? I put them in the freezer, climbed the rickety stairs, and collapsed on the bed.
[https://cdn.substack.com/image/fetch/w_1100,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fbucketeer-e05bbc84-baa3-437e-9518-adb32be77984.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fe8c33a5e-5b6f-4a35-a389-6c075266600d_2550x202.png]
I woke up to an empty bed and a text from Duncan that he had stayed over at Jeff’s and was getting a ride back with him to the city. Whatever. He would be on his way back to Hong Kong tomorrow and by the time he came back, last night would be ancient history. Well, nothing to do now but pack up and head back home myself.
It was a long, lonely ride west and I spent most of the time trying not to replay my encounter with Beatrice. Looking back, it was a miracle I had escaped from her clutches unscathed. If she was actually capable of controlling my mind, there’s no telling what she would have made me do.
As I sat in traffic approaching the Midtown Tunnel, I felt like I was trapped on a small boat in the middle of a rushing river with only a worn wooden paddle to navigate, while Steve and Polly and Beatrice and everyone else passed me by on fancy yachts or huge clipper ships. The wake from their boats made my pathetic dinghy rock from side to side. I tried to steady myself with the stupid paddle but it was so useless, I chucked it in the river and just gave myself to the whims of the river.
After what seemed like hours, I finally reached home to find the door to my apartment slightly ajar and the noise from the TV filtering out into the hallway. That wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, as my roommate had a bad habit of leaving the door open with her keys still in the lock.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Marnie, you left the door open again,” I called out as I entered the apartment. She didn’t respond.
Great, I thought. I just went through a hellish weekend only to come home and find out we’ve been robbed. Or worse, Beatrice had tracked me down and was waiting for me on the couch watching Real Housewives. A quick search of the apartment revealed nothing other than my roommate’s stupidity, so I retreated to my room, shut the door, and pulled out my laptop.
Before I realized what I was doing, the familiar whizzing of the Quest list appeared on my screen. I began scrolling through the text looking for promising leads, discarding Quests that were too easy or too cheap, and was about to accept one to fetch some Khat leaves when I stopped myself. What the hell was I doing? Any one of these Quests could deliver me right into the arms of another psychopath. Or the same psychopath. I couldn’t stay away though. I had taken the red pill and I needed to keep going down the rabbit hole to see where it went.
The ping of my regular inbox interrupted my moral quandary and I clicked over to see who was bothering me. An email from the New York Public Library was waiting for me with the subject “Book on hold available.”
My eyes widened. Had someone finally returned one of the mystery books? I put all thoughts of Questing on hold and ran out the door to find out.
It was unexpectedly pouring when I exited the subway and I sprinted the last few blocks to avoid getting drenched. After waiting behind an old man trying to return a DVD for 20 minutes, it was finally my turn at the circulation desk. A familiar visage greeted me as I stepped forward: the librarian from my first visit. She looked at me with unknowing eyes and quickly walked to a room in the back after wordlessly looking up my hold on the computer, returning a few minutes later with a large book wrapped in a plastic dust jacket.
“Here you go. Due in two weeks. Next!”
I grabbed the book and scurried away before she changed her mind, retreating to a carrel in the basement to inspect my prize.
The outside was hardened leather and had no discernible title. The bottom of the spine had a small piece of paper taped under the dust jacket: the call number that matched the one Polly had written out on the freezer case so many months ago. I opened the cover to the first page. The texture of the paper was coarse and the weight of the page substantial. Three words and a number were written in dark green ink:
Rita van Asch, 1777
The pages that followed were similarly handwritten in the same dark green ink. Some of the ink had faded. Other pages were incomplete, either with pieces torn out or with the writing stopping halfway down the page. I read the beginning few lines of a couple of random pages, which seemed to recount the history of the settlement of New Amsterdam/New York, although not one that I had ever read.
I flipped to the last page, which sported an entry dated December 31, 1777 and read the first few lines.
> “Finally arrived at Valley Forge with some of the other officers’ wives. British army retreated back to Philadelphia. According to Henry, we will be camped here for the better part of the winter. The area has good natural defenses and my survey yesterday indicated the presence of several promising sources. Hid Compendium in the usual place before I left, which is unfortunate, but troops will provide plentiful supply of testing subjects. Any resulting deaths can be blamed on starvation.”
I closed the book. The account was cold, methodical, and it made my head spin. This woman, whoever she was, sounded like a sociopath, like someone who would throw away lives as if they were lab rats. In short, she sounded like a certain person with a penchant for apple pie. I shuddered and turned the last page over to see if there was another entry on the opposite side, only to be greeted with an envelope taped to the inside back cover. An envelope with one word written on it.
“Jen.”
I felt my insides turn to jelly as I traced my finger across my name. What the heck was going on? Maybe Polly had had the book this whole time and was waiting to see if I was worthy enough to receive it. That made sense. If I were her, I wouldn’t have trusted this book to me either.
I ripped the envelope from the book and carefully opened it to find a piece of paper folded in three. Unfurling it revealed a short handwritten note with something taped to the bottom.
> “Jen,
>
> Yes, I know your name isn’t Jade. That’s what happens when you join minds with someone, things are bound to leak through that you didn’t expect. It’s how you probably know my name too. It’s also how I knew you were looking for this book. Consider it a gesture of goodwill on my part.
>
> Because I have great plans for you, Jen. You see, I’ve reached an inflection point in my Questing progression. I’ve come a long way since I fetched that 90/10 beef, tillandsia, apple popsicle, and the handful of blueberries all those years ago. But I need help to keep climbing the mountain, to take on the Guild. And after searching for a long time, I think I’ve found the person who’s going to help get me there.
>
> See you soon,
>
> Beatrice”
My eyes drifted to the bottom of the letter, where the writing continued in a darker black ink.
> “PS: Put this ring on.”
A simple silver ring was taped to the letter just below the words, which suddenly began echoing in my head, in Beatrice’s voice. They got louder and louder and louder, until my own thoughts were suffocating under their weight, and the only thing I could do was comply, and I watched as my left hand ripped the ring from the paper and place it on my right index finger.
Beatrice’s voice immediately faded into the back of my mind until my own thoughts resurfaced, and I stared at the ring now adorning my finger. The initials RvA were inscribed along the band. Horrified, I grabbed the ring with my left hand and began to pull, only to hear Beatrice’s voice rise again in my mind, commanding me to put on the ring. I stopped pulling and the voice subsided. Three additional attempts yielded the same result.
Just then, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. I pulled it out to see a new text message from a number I didn’t recognize.
“You can’t take it off, Jen. So don’t try. See u soon. Love, B.”
What had I done?
Next: an interlude.