Two years later
“There are no pens!” Jemina wailed. The ex-intern and now junior editor dug her fingers into her hair, messing with the braids she’d so carefully woven only an hour before. When she was nervous she plaited hair, usually her own, but Nif had had the pleasure of her anxiety this time as well and was secretly quite pleased with how her own usually dead straight hair was woven into a complicated knot.
“What are you talking about? There are plenty of pens,” Nif answered, digging into her own pockets and pulling out three alone.
“But Mr Salem insists he’ll only sign with a Pilot G2 Premium! I don’t even know what that is! I’m assuming it’s a pen, but what if it isn’t? Are the shops still open?” Before poor Jemina could dash out into the cold night – and if her knee was anything to go by it would be snowing by the end of the night – Nif grabbed her by the shoulders and took exaggerated deep breaths until Jemina copied her. The colour returned to her cheeks and Nif smiled.
“I’ll go speak with his majesty regarding the pens. I need you to go check the display by the entrance and then tell the manager to allow people in.”
“Okay, I’ll go do that right now.” Jemina dashed off.
All this fuss over just a book, but Nif was thriving on the bustle and noise. They’d chosen a small indie bookstore for the book launch because both Nif and Oliver had fallen in love with the place as soon as they’d stepped inside. It had been on their first official date after the Baskerville Murders, a date that was incredibly magical because of how normal it was. Though Cup and Chaucer was by no means a normal bookshop.
The place was a warren. The passageways between shelves were narrow and winding, the sections were seemingly chaotic but on that first date when Nif had attempted to find Oliver’s books on a lark, they’d discovered that instead of the shop’s inventory being ordered alphabetically, the books were clumped together by similarities. What better way to find something new and exciting than to find a favourite and see what it had been paired next to? The shelves were also on wheels so the layout was never the same each time they visited.
So when it came time to pick Oliver’s book launch venue, they’d both thought of this place. The owners were a young couple who were a matched shift pair, both ravens, and had been delighted to host. They’d moved the bookshelves back to open up a space to squeeze in a hundred people.
“What’s all this about pens?” Nif asked once she’d found Oliver.
Oliver glanced up at her voice from where he was crouched over his signing desk, rearranging the small stack of books over and over again and mostly just making a mess.
“I need a G2. They don’t smudge and other pens make my hand cramp.”
“Do you really need one or are you just trying to put off the launch?” Nif tugged him away from the table and started straightening his hair.
“No, well, not really. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. It’s not like this is my first book or anything. I’ve written how many now?”
“Enough not to be so stressed. It’ll be okay. All your die hard fans will be there. I swear, they seem to get younger every time.” Nif made a face and Oliver snorted.
“I’ve only eyes for you so you don’t need to worry about me running off with a younger fan.” He exhaled sharply. “I’ve not had a chance to ask, but how’re you doing?”
Nif didn’t need to ask what he meant. The trials of Baskerville and his siblings had been all anyone had been talking about for weeks. Nif and her team had done their best to ignore the chatter. They’d worked hard finalising Oliver’s newest book while attending the first of many script readings for the Fragmented Chronicles television series, scheduled for release in time for next winter Solstice.
Today the wolf family’s final verdicts had been announced.
“You’d think I’d be glad it’s all over,” Nif admitted. “But it doesn’t bring Morris and the others back.”
The two older brothers, Daz and Baskerville, had received life sentences, Oscar 25 years and Dougie was charged as a juvenile and his sentence remained undisclosed. Initially Nif had been angry. The punishments weren’t nearly enough for all the harm the family had caused, but as the trials had progressed, the backgrounds of Dougie and Stella had come to light. Daz and Bas were just as monstrous as their father, creating almost a cult and isolating their younger siblings. While the older brothers would spend all or a good portion of their lives locked up, Nif was glad Dougie would have the chance to have a real life.
“Morris would’ve been here tonight, you know,” Oliver said, looking out over the gathering crowd. “He’d have been front of the line to get his book signed, wearing one of his suits and a flower in his hat.”
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“He’d have been so proud,” Nif murmured.
“I wrote this book for him,” Oliver admitted. “For Moira, Josephine and Phillipa, Clint. You. All of you mean the world to me. I only hope everyone likes it.”
Nif could tell that by everyone he meant the support group.
“They will. Now come on, worry wart. Let’s get you a drink and then we’ll prove how wrong you are to be stressing over this. Don’t forget, you had an awesome editor working with you.” Nif gestured to herself. “And a pretty rad team.”
Jemina took that moment to dart towards them – the woman didn’t ever do anything at a slow pace – and she shoved a muffin into Oliver’s hand.
“Eat that. Clare’s bringing you your damn gel pens from the office. She’ll be here soon with her girlfriend.”
“Moira said she had to work though,” Oliver said from around the mouthful of muffin followed by a swig of water.
“She said the essays can wait one more day to be marked,” Nif said. “Though you better thank her because I’m pretty sure she pulled a muscle saying that.”
“I was going to say that doesn’t sound like Moira. She’s working too hard.”
“She’ll get into the swing of things once she realises they’re not going to take it all back.”
Moira had gotten one of the rare, elusive teaching positions at a rival university and kept asking to be pinched to see if she was dreaming. It had meant they’d not seen her much over the last few months as she went above and beyond to prove to the university that they’d not made a mistake hiring a partial-shifter. Nif imagined a time not too far off when being a shifter, non-shifter or partial shifter didn’t affect how people saw you.
She glanced over to the signing table. Behind it was a massive painting of the sun. Like always, Nif’s heart skipped a painful beat. Morris’s second death anniversary had only just passed and he rested on top of her thoughts more frequently than usual. Morris would’ve been so pleased to see how far their little support group had come.
The room slowly filled with Oliver’s fans and he shuffled himself behind a bookshelf, hiding his big frame with a shyness Nif found adorable.
“We’ve been through rougher things than this,” Nif cajoled. “Just imagine the audience is naked.”
“How is that meant to help?” he asked, bemused, but he was smiling down at her, the crowd momentarily forgotten.
“You’ve got this,” Nif insisted.
Clare arrived to pass off Oliver’s pen and he clutched it like a talisman. Moira waved enthusiastically from her spot near the snack table, her fierce joy causing her ears to shift into something fluffy and pointy. She almost took out Leon’s eye as she swung her arm above her head, Nif’s tall boss ducking away smoothly even as he radiated a certain smugness. He had no doubts about Oliver’s writing and Nif gave him a fond little smile when his eyes met hers. He mimed giving her a round of applause.
Fellow Never Archives author and last year’s Thornton science fiction award winner Sarah Thompson took the stage and the crowd buzzed with excitement.
“I’m sure we all were expecting another Fragmented Chronicles book,” Sarah began in her loud, booming voice. “But I can’t begin to tell you how delighted I was to get a first reader’s copy of Weaving Snow. You lot are in for a treat! I instantly fell in love with the sassy Morgana Snow. She’s a character that’s a meeting place for conflicting opposites. She’s fiercely strong and yet oddly vulnerable. A character who grows and learns and never stops fighting. What I personally liked the most was how she navigates a magical world without magic. She hasn’t a drop. Morgana takes on monsters and evil wizards and supernatural creatures and does it all with panache and not a speck of magic. It's a thought-provoking meditation on what it means to be different and how we can find our own path in a world that doesn't always accept us for who we are. You’re going to love it. But we all know that you’re here for the author himself. May I introduce Cliff Salem!"
Oliver squeezed Nif’s hand before he took a deep breath and stepped out to greet his fans.
“Thank you all for coming out tonight,” Oliver began and Nif felt she could burst with pride as everyone cheered. Oliver waited for the applause to die down but his neck flushed when the clapping didn’t look like it would wrap up by itself.
Sarah, the author Nif had found and then given up to Charlotte, was a force to be reckoned with and cheerfully told everyone to quiet down.
“Yes, well, thank you.” Oliver cleared his throat. “Weaving Snow has been near and dear to my heart for what feels like forever.”
Nif knew the very moment Oliver had begun writing Weaving Snow. After their ordeal in the woods, Oliver had refused to leave her side, at first by Nif’s hospital bed and then (when she was released) on her couch beside a somewhat amused Sapha. He’d read aloud as his fingers typed out each sentence, barely a pause between chapters, as if the story had been begging to be told.
“I’m often asked where I get my ideas from, as if I can pluck them off a grocery shelf full formed, but Morgana Snow materialised, piecemeal, from the people I love.” He searched the crowd and shot Moira a big grin. “Moira, you gave her your determination. Clint, your steadiness.” The two men exchanged a nod. “Josephine, she has your kindness and Phillipa, your fierceness.” Josephine flushed pink and Phillipa gave a short gleeful huff.
Oliver paused before continuing softly. “Morris, she has your hope. Hope for something more.”
Oliver’s eyes met Nif’s and the room fell away until it was just the two of them. “And Jennifer,” he said, her full name rumbling up deep from his chest. “Morgana has your heart. Just like you have mine.” Nif blinked away the heaviness in her eyes, her cheeks aching from her smile. “Thank you for being … you.”
And Nif realised, suddenly, that the ever constant pressure inside her body of not being good enough, not being whole, not being like everyone else, had disappeared. It had been absent for some time, slowly easing with her friendships with the support group, as she’d proven herself at work, when she’d fought for her and Oliver’s life and won. Nif wouldn’t change anything in her life for the ability to shift. She was just fine the way she was.