“They say ‘a lie can get around the world before the truth has got its boots on’. Well, now the truth has its boots, and it is time to start kicking.” -The Truth, Terry Pratchett-

_____

“Okay, so, the important thing to take away from all this” James was saying to the friends around his table in the Lair’s dining area, “is that I was right. I am always right, my word is beyond reproach, and we should always all listen to James.”

“I don’t think…” Sarah started to say, waving a forkful of salad like a magic wand.

“Now, there may be some objections to my new, benevolent, dictatorship of knowledge.” James continued pontificating. “But I think we’re all understanding of the circumstances wherein I, your glorious leader, am always perfect.”

Anesh crossed his arms and leaned back from the table. He didn’t have food to ignore, he just had a laptop, making him the odd one out at their lunch. “Hey, hang on. I literally saved you from a fate worse than death not even ten hours ago.”

“Perfect in both my correctness, and also my choice of consorts.” James was standing up now, hand over his heart as he gave an impassioned - and absolutely hammed up - speech. “Truly, the era of my…”

“If I apologize again do you think he’ll stop?” JP stage whispered to Sarah.

She shrugged and devoured another tomato wedge. “Try it and find out. Can’t hurt.”

“Wanna bet?” Dave asked, looking ready to toss money onto the table.

“No.” Sarah flatly stated. “Try it.” She prompted JP.

“Hey, can I…” JP cut off James’ ongoing nonsense, which hadn’t actually stopped. “...can I actually say I’m sorry? I really, honest to god, did not mean to almost kill you. I thought…” He looked away, and James actually did stop goofing off and sobered up as JP, for the first time since James had known him, *tripped on his words*. “...I thought I could help.” He said, lamely. Hands spread on the table, still making eye contact with James, but with none of the defiant snark he normally had. “I thought I could help you. Fucking finally. Like, a real solution, you know? And of course its a stupid idea and you almost die. That’s just… that’s obvious. Right.” JP huffed. “That’s just where we’re fated to be. You depressed and me not that useful after all.”

“Okay, for real, I’m not mad.” James said quietly. “I’m just being a ham. I didn’t actually think you tried to kill me.”

“No? Why not?!” JP demanded. “You fucking trust everyone, and it’s a *terrible* idea. Eventually you’re gonna get stabbed in the back, might as well be me.”

James sat back down, and stole a cucumber from Sarah’s irresponsibly large salad. “I get the feeling you’re not really that mad at me.”

“No shit!” JP snapped. “I’m mad at *me*! I fucked up; you didn’t do anything wrong, you just survived. And you aren’t even mad! What the hell was your plan if I’d betrayed you, huh?!”

James stared at him as the whole dining area went silent. HIs face went from concerned friendship to an iron gaze in an instant, and when he answered, JP froze in his seat. “There are six camracondas with line of sight on you right now. Two of them are armed with conventional weaponry, as are the other eight human diners. Two more dungeontech weapons, and two infomorphs on standby to attempt a kill or surrender command if possible. There are four primed grenade drones in the rafters above you, and you will note that from where Nate is standing at the serving line there is no one between you and the wall, so that if he has to fireball you repeatedly, he can. Also your chair has a thermite bomb under it.” James held up his phone, which currently showed a pre-dialed number and a big green ‘place call’ button. His eyes showed a *fury* that JP had never really seen him express before. “JP, we asked if you wanted to teleport back for lunch to make sure you weren’t hostile or compromised. And, if needed, capture or kill you, with as much force as needed.”

James stopped talking, and silence took over the whole room.

Eventually, JP slowly looked around, careful not to make any sudden moves. “Oh.” He said. “Well. Good.”

“Yeah.” James leaned over and stole more cucumber from Sarah’s salad, to her protests. “Fortunately that’s not the case, you made a mistake, and that happens. I’m alive, the problem is contained, and you can have lunch now.”

JP looked down at his plate. “I am… very not hungry.” He said. “I think I’m gonna go, actually. DeKay and I have work to do.” He stood up, flicking a telepad into his wrist. “I told her I was coming back for supplies or something.” He admitted, not making eye contact with anyone.

“Hey.” Sarah said, as JP wrote an address on his pad. “We’re still friends, right?”

James asked something slightly different. “Are you okay, man?”

“I dunno.” JP admitted, putting on a false smile as he glanced up. “I guess I got used to you trusting me.” He said. And then, was gone.

“Well.” Dave said. “That went well.”

Everyone else stared at him.

“So, show of hands,” James raised his own hand preemptively, “who was surprised by how hard he took that?”

Everyone at the table, and half the people within earshot, put their hands up. James almost wanted to laugh as more experienced knights explained to the newer members what was going on, and a few new hands got raised.

“I actually kinda expected it?” Sarah said, wavering her own hand side to side. “I mean, okay, yes, JP likes to pretend to be really aloof and holier than thou, right?”

“Right.” “Correct.” “Absolutely.”

“Wow, no one even hesitated there.” Sarah raised her eyebrows. “Anyway, the point is… he’s not wrong. He got used to being trusted. Now he probably feels like he heckered that up with this whole ‘almost replacing James with a puppeteer husk of mysterious origins and intent’ thing. And he’s not mad, really, just worried that things are gonna change again and we won’t want him around.”

James glumly traced lines on the table with an unenthusiastic finger. “Oh.” He said, sadness in his tone. “I should text him.”

“No, you should wait for him to contact you.” Sarah said. “Let him do it on his terms. Let him feel like the bad guy for a bit, and get over his self pity without help. He won’t, like, *thank* you for it, but you *know* that’s what JP does.”

Everyone glanced at Dave, who flicked his eyes around the table and then shrugged. “I mean, yeah.” He admitted. “He’s my best friend, but I don’t think he’s ever really felt like he had to apologize for anything. It’s probably weird for him.”

“Can I just say,” Anesh cut in as he stood and closed his laptop, preparing to head back to one of the basements, “that it’s kinda weird being in a group where someone literally almost died, and we’re more worried about the feelings of JP than the potential murder victim?”

“Ah, whatever.” James flipped a hand with casual grace as he also stood up from his chair. “I’m fine, and you comforted me enough last night.”

Sarah’s eyes sparkled. “Oh *really*?!” She leaned in with an expression that demanded juicy details. James and Anesh, having a quick hug before one partner left, both looked at her, then rolled their heads away so they could face the other direction while the blush spread across their collective faces.

<| Corridor Filled : Bond Formed - Embarrassment : Share - Speed : Vector - Eyesight : One Corridor Established : Zero Corridors Empty |>

“*That* does it?!” James burst out suddenly as the second circular marking on the back of his hand flared with a brief pink and red glow before reshaping itself slightly. Anesh’s matching mark doing something very similar, if not the same. “Months of searching for Alanna together, a half dozen delves, fighting Officium assassins in parking garages, a million tiny things that make me love you, *lots* of sex, and *this* is the fucking thing that unlocks the Attic link?!” James hammered his knuckles into the unyielding surface of the table, rattling the dishes still on it. “No! This will not stand! I refuse to be embarrassed into being magical!”

“Sooooo, the syntax on that changed.” Anesh casually acted like James wasn’t in the middle of passive-aggressively ranting at the dungeon magic. “It looks like it dropped the numbers and just straight up lets us share a thing now. Did you feel anything change with your bond with James?” He asked Sarah.

Sarah didn’t answer. She was flopped over the table, without regard for her hair getting in her salad, as she let out peals of laughter. Eventually, gasping for breath, she cut off James’ rant to inform everyone that “I’m helping!” In a gasping squeak before mirth overtook her again.

“Do you want to try this out?” Anesh asked James, embarrassment replaced by amused exasperation at his friends.

“Nah.” James said, snapping out of his rambling and into a casual tone. “Not right now anyway. Because I promise you that we are going to hurt ourselves testing it out, and I don’t need bruises today. You *especially* don’t. We’ll hang out later tonight. Maybe shoot some hoops. Simon and Momo want a duos rematch anyway.”

“Sounds good. We can humiliate ourselves on the field of valor.” Anesh said, saluting James dramatically. “Alright, I’m off. Sarah, please don’t forget to breathe. And if JP comes back, let him know I’m only a little mad.”

“Can do.” Dave nodded at Anesh, while James gave him another, better, hug, before he left for real.

James stretched his arms overhead. “Okay. I’ve gotta go talk to Nate. You guys have fun with whatever you get up to. Sarah, do you… you’re still dying, okay. Well, if you need someone for your podcast recording later, let me know. I’ll be here all day, and I doubt I’ll actually have that much to do.”

“Oh, don’t say that out loud.” Sarah chastised him.

“Wanna join my Response shift?” Dave asked.

“Sure. Later. Got a thing, now.” James nodded at them. “And… yeah, thanks for being here. I know I don’t say this too often, but… fuck, thanks.”

“I knew you were too cheerful for someone who almost died.” Sarah accused him with a pointed finger. “You… yoooou…”

“I’ll get back to you on whatever I am. Later.” James walked off, not sticking around to hear whatever non-swear his friend was going to come up with.

_____

The kitchen was, as always, a bastion of order in the otherwise chaotic domain of the Lair. The Response teams were learning, and developing a kind of militant organization, but everyone else?

Research was so overwhelmed that they regularly just *forgot* about magical artifacts. Not even forgot in an antimeme context, they just couldn’t keep track of everything. The basements were in a constant state of motion without any real direction, with at least one of them having literal excavation going on, and another being remodeled into a bathroom that Nate was *reasonably sure* someone had modeled after the one from Harry Potter.

No clue yet if that was a good idea or not, but if anyone tried to put moving staircases in here, he was shooting them. Nonlethally, probably, but still. It was the principle of the OSHA violation.

Oh, and the engineers. God damn, the engineers. Yes, he was aware that many of them were nice people. But they kept asking him questions, assuming he knew more than he actually did just because he was here first. At least DeKay left him alone once he told her that he was only slightly less new than she was. The engineers kept coming back, trying to get his opinion on things anytime they couldn’t find James. And then leaving cables and soldering iron burns on his tables. Well, not ‘his’ tables, but… dammit, he’d gotten attached to this place.

No, no. Nate was perfectly happy to just work in the kitchen, listen to heavy metal, sometimes go fight monsters as a hobby, and be left alone. His prep cooks understood that. They also understood how to do the damn dishes, which was a minor miracle on its own, and it really added up to a kitchen that was all at once clean, organized, and comfortable.

And now James was in it, saying hi to Knife-In-Fangs, and asking Nate questions.

James was *like* an engineer, with the questions, except Nate was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to glare his boss out of the room. He’d tried once, and James hadn’t actually noticed.

On the other hand, the kid - and Nate did think of him as a kid still - had seen more combat in a year than Nate had in two tours. He’d fought for his life, and the lives of others, and he’d killed when called upon to do so. He’d earned a few answers.

Especially since Nate had technically asked him here.

“So, you wanted to talk about the Old Gun?” James was asking.

Nate wiped his hands on a mostly dry sanitizer towel before balling the cloth up and pitching it across the room and into one of the strategically placed buckets around the place. “No. Originally, yes, but not anymore.”

“Oh. So nothing happened?”

“Nothing. Yet. Myles is tailing the woman the Gun made contact with, but so far it just looks like she’s a factory safety inspector for a medical conglomerate.”

“Is she?”

Nate frowned. “You do understand that just because I worked for the bureau, doesn’t mean I have special powers to know things, right?”

“I forget sometimes.” James admitted. “A lifetime of bad American TV. Okay, so, we haven’t seen the Old Gun around, we don’t know what she’s doing, and that’s worrying all on its own, but you wanted to talk about her?”

“I had wanted to talk to you about what the most possible force we could bring to bear was.” Nate said. “Potential preemptive solutions to it.”

“What, like, just kill her as soon as she surfaces?” James asked.

Nate nodded, leaning his shoulder into the thin strip of corner wall near the coffee machines. “Ayup.” He agreed without hesitation. “It’s obviously not human, and doesn’t have our interests at heart. Plus from what you said, it wasn’t really *trying* that hard and you only got away on a technicality. The only downside to a preemptive strike is not knowing if it’ll work, and also it might disrupt whatever supernatural power ecosystem there is out there.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask about that, too.” James said, sniffing a probably unused mug before pouring himself a cup of coffee into it. “Have we managed to locate anyone else like the Order?”

“Just the alchemists.” Nate shook his head. “And from what you told us earlier… fuck. Just, fuck. Bad news for everyone.”

“No kidding. We’re gonna need to get on that. But, like, it’s weird, right? That there *isn’t* a power game going on? Big groups like dungeon nations, absorbing or forming treaties with smaller organizations like us. Ideologies and practices coming into conflict and alliances. You know, human shit. But with magic.” James sipped his coffee and burned his lip, swearing lightly. “But there’s almost nothing. That just feels *wrong*.”

Nate didn’t really have an argument against that. “Yeah.” He said. It *did* feel wrong. “I think what worries me the most is that the bureau is starting to get involved.” The chef admitted. “They’re not stupid, honestly. People are going to catch on, especially the analysts, once they know what to look for. We *have* a window where we’re on top of things, but it won’t last.”

“We?” James gave him an earnest grin, but let it fade as he moved back to the original topic. “Well, as for killing the Old Gun before she kills us… I have no clue. The thing is, she’s impossibly fast. Fast to the point that the camracondas couldn’t contain her. It took two of them to slow her down to the point that I could shoot her without her doing a Neo impression, and even that wasn’t really enough.”

“What about explosives?” Nate asked.

“I mean, maybe? Sarah blew her leg off and she just rebuilt herself. So.”

“Well fuck.” Nate rubbed at the tattoos on his arm. “*Can* she die?”

“I mean, that’s largely the problem, isn’t it?” James answered. “We could try literally nuking her. I’m still pretty sure we could…”

“No.”

“...But just one…”

“No.”

“Fine. Our options become limited, then. Thing is, and I was talking to Anesh about this the other day, we don’t have a lot of typical fantasy bullshit in our armory. We don’t have force shields and wards and health potions. No one can cast fireball. Yet.” James shrugged. “We can come up with solutions to a lot of weird problems, but I don’t think she’s one of them.” He admitted. “Which I suppose is why it’s a good thing that wasn’t what you actually wanted to talk about, and now I’ve sidetracked us a few conversational miles in a weird direction.” He winced, stepping back against the wall to let the camraconda prep cook slither by.

Knife-In-Fangs was humming to himself, using his actual voice and not the connected speakers. A set of the prototype manipulator arms was strapped to his back, the collection of servos and motors allowing the camracondas, with enough practice, to experience the gratification of having hands. He was also ignoring the conversation going on between the two humans; fighting monsters and risking life and limbs wasn’t his style. He was here for *food*.

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Nate and James watched the enthusiastic snake move past, before Nate looked back up and resumed their chat. “So, you had a whole thing about poverty and logistics a while back, right?”

“I distinctly remember that I have never actually shut up about this.” James said.

“Great. I’ve got a suggestion.” Nate bluntly ignored James’ sarcasm. “Expand our usable cold storage, and buy direct from farms.”

“How does that solve anything?”

“It doesn’t. It’s proof of concept. You’re going to want to centralize food storage and production, though, for your city thing.”

James gave his chef a look. “I know you know the word.” He said. “Also, this doesn’t actually solve the main problem, which is logistics.”

“Just teleport everything.”

“See, that’s the thing.” James threw his hands up. “The telepads are very cool, but they only teleport things you are carrying. Clothes? Backpack? Sure! But just touching a car doesn’t bring it with you. We’ve tried, a *lot*, and there’s no way we can blip a truck full of tomatoes across state lines.”

“I’ve got another suggestion.” Nate said. “And this is the real one. Just carry the truck.”

James took a sip of coffee, cocked an eyebrow, and waited patiently for Nate to explain, saying nothing about how dumb of an idea that was.

“So here’s the deal. It has to be ‘you’ carrying it, right?” He didn’t wait for an agreement. “So, you need to have a different body. The notepads come from the same dungeon as the purple orbs, so I’m assuming that the same rules apply. And we’ve already got someone who’s had limited success getting the purples to apply to a drone body.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah, the girl in Research. The one that was helping you with making acid two months ago. Nik?”

“Guy. Also why didn’t I know about this?” James asked. “Wait, is this *about* the LSD?”

“Guy. My bad. And it absolutely is.” Nate worryingly confirmed. “According to some of the support group, the disassociation it causes makes using the skulljacks a lot easier. So, Nik started testing it with the drone controller, and I guess at some point got at least one purple to transfer over. If you *believe* your body is a different body, that’s good enough, I guess.”

“Is it bad that it doesn’t bother me that a good chunk of our organization is dropping acid when I’m not around?”

“It bothers me that they didn’t invite me.” Nate grumbled. “Do they think I’m a narc?”

James snorted, then pointed out, “You don’t have a skulljack.”

“I’ll get one if they’ll share their drugs!” Nate laughed gruffly. “Ah, whatever. Anyway, that’s my point. Use a different body with the teleporters to move stuff. That’s it.”

“How do you know all this and I don’t?”

“People keep asking me questions because they think I know stuff, and all the new kids think they aren’t allowed to go to your office.”

“I’m setting up a desk in the goddamn lobby.” Another sip of coffee. James’ mind slowly turned the ideas over in his head. “Okay, but how would we…” he stopped as a number of previous ideas and facts collided in a glorious connection. “I have to go. I have to go talk to Momo. Right now.” He said. “Wait here.” Setting down the half empty cup of wisdom coffee, James turned and sprinted out of the room, nearly clipping someone on the other side.

Nate stared at the swinging kitchen door for a few seconds, before bellowing after James, “I work here!”, and then turning to get back to his actual job. “Jackass.” He muttered under his breath. “Hey, you got that parsley chopped?” He asked Knife-In-Fangs.

The camraconda nodded. Order returned to the kitchen.

For now. Nate was sure it wouldn’t last. But at least for a little bit, he could relax.

_____

“And now, the small news!” Sarah spoke in the crispest voice she could manage into the microphone. It had been shocking at first, when one of her purple effects had helped her out with that. It had taken her a while to realize that whatever gave a plus one to ‘memorability’ helped her with *this*. Public speaking, maybe. A distinctive voice. A good first impression. Who knew?

That was fun trivia, but it wasn’t why she was here now. She had a job to do, and a pretty fun one at that.

“Three things this week,” she intoned with a smile. The small news was her favorite; it wasn’t a put down, at all. It was the news that wasn’t warping the world, or about impending doom. It was little things, that mattered, that were special, but that weren’t going to kill them all. It was *nice*. “First off, yesterday was the name choosing ceremony for Myriad-Shining-Sparks-Overhead. According to her, she’d like to go by Myri. Thanks to everyone who was there for this special occasion, and hello to Myri for the first time on air!”

Sarah laughed, happy and infectious. “Second off, a community announcement that there will be guitar lessons every other Thursday in the front room. Your two teachers will be competing to see whether ten years of experience lets you play Smoke On The Water better than two skill ranks, so… honestly, that sounds like a blast. I‘m gonna go to that.”

This was probably the eighth thing Sarah had committed to going to. It would have been a problem if she ever actually ran out of energy.

“And finally, due to a completely harmless accident in Research,” she absolutely needed to frontload that qualifiying statement, “there’s a new orange orb absorption available!”

Sarah gave a grateful nod to the intern helping her run the sound board as she passed Sarah a tablet screen with the reminder information on it. “If you’d forgotten, because we barely ever find them, the orange orbs warp space, give licenses when cracked, and when absorbed, give you a job. Well that’s nice! I don’t have enough jobs!” Her intern let out a surprised laugh that was just audible enough to be picked up by the mic, and Sarah smiled. They’d leave that in the edit. “Info on absorbing is in the manual, obviously, and you can requisition a copy of the orb if you want to, but remember that so far, as far as we know - my favorite phrase! - you can only absorb one and you can’t ever change it.”

She paused to double check the line that the intern had handed her. “Really?” She asked, facing slightly away from the mic. The other girl just shrugged at her, curiosity and excitement in her eyes. “Alright, I guess!” Sarah turned back to record cleaner audio. “This one asks you to pull a hundred and twenty six weeds - and as with all of these there’s probably some kind of pedantically specific definition on that but whatever - and if you do, it generates an *eight ounce cube of diamond* and this cannot be right.”

Sarah paused, then she giggled. “Ah, whatever. Of course it’s right. Well! I look forward to everyone getting really into gardening!”

Before she could let herself go off on any more tangents, Sarah wrapped things up. “And that’s been the small news! And as always, that’s gonna be it for us this week. Everyone make sure to tune in next week when we’ll be asking federal agent Tiffany DeKay awkward questions about her hobbies, and also talking about an end to cancer! Or, you know, download a file of someone else tuning in. *I know what you’re doing, you can’t just...*”

The intern decided to clip the audio there. Sarah agreed that it made for a much more dramatic ending.

_____

“Problem.” Harvey opened the conversation with James. Unlike the high schoolers, the engineers, the support group, and basically half the Order at this point, Harvey had zero problem approaching James in his own office.

“Okay.” James set down the pair of wire cutters he was idly twirling while he stared at his laptop screen and tried to figure out how to phrase the part of the Operations Manual on the importance of giving dungeons dramatic names in a way that didn’t make it seem silly. “One to ten it for me. One being poor buffet selection, ten being nuclear apocalypse.”

Harvey gave James a look. Almost an angry one, but more the kind of look of someone who doesn’t have time for fun right now. He didn’t say anything right away, waiting to see if James would course correct on how he wanted to approach this conversation.

The head of Response had changed since James had last really talked to him. He had a neatly trimmed goatee now, and his face looked... sharper, almost. “Have you lost weight?” James was a little concerned. Harvey, like most of the people they’d rescued from Officium Mundi’s conference room oh so long ago, hadn’t exactly been in the kind of physical condition where losing weight was a good idea. “Also, sorry. What’s the problem? Anything I can help with?”

And now Harvey answered, desire for a baseline of seriousness suitably met. “I’m not sure. The problem is that we’re on the internet.”

“Again?”

“Worse, this time. Someone uploaded videos of two of the paper pusher interceptions to Youtube.”

“Ffffffuck.” James bit his lip. “Okay, that’s bad, but…”

“One of them got some notice. Most people think it’s an ARG of some kind, they haven’t been picked up by any news wire yet, though, which makes sense, because the police haven’t actually made it public that they’re looking for us. So people can believe that it’s a fan film or something.” Harvey sighed and settled into one of James’ guest chairs, leaning back but not getting too comfortable. “There’s a lot, a *lot*, of comments asking for more information. There’s also a lot of people who think we’re terrorists.”

“Why?”

“A lot of the attention came around because we got mentioned on a conspiracy theory talk radio show, and the host kept referring to us as ‘tools of the globalist agenda’. Also as ‘brainwashed programmed killbots’. So.” Harvey sighed, and rubbed his palms into his forehead. “I do not know what to do here.”

“Wait, hang on. Did we get mentioned by fucking *Alex Jones*?” He smirked. And then, when Harvey just gave him a dead look, that smirk turned into a worried frown. “Wait, seriously? *Really*?” James had rebounded from his frown, and now a worryingly excited grin sat on his face. “I literally wrote in the manual that we’re not a conspiracy! That’s hilarious! I’m getting a tee shirt made that says ‘official globalist killbot’ now!”

“Please don’t.” Harvey said. “This is a real problem. We aren’t going to stay secret by accident for much longer, and we need a better first impression than rifle fire in a loading dock.”

“Okay, okay.” James smothered his wild smile. “Being perfectly serious? I’ve been worrying about this for a year now. How we come out, who we talk to, what we do. I dunno, it’s overwhelming, and I’ve been putting off planning. We *probably* have a leg up on a lot of people, which is good, but we can’t count on it. Have you talked to Nate recently?”

“Only operational questions. Why?” Harvey asked.

“We’re building a picture of what the magical political landscape looks like.” James told him. “And it’s not a landscape, really. It’s more like islands. Points of light. A few scattered groups, barely anyone getting too big, and those that do just don’t... talk? The alchemists clearly know *something*, because they knew that Status Quo died. But they didn’t know about us.”

“So, we’re the first, or at least only current, group like this?” Harvey asked. “How the hell did that happen?”

“That’s a worrying question, isn’t it?” James tried to smile, but couldn’t. “You know… you know how I like to joke that we’re not a conspiracy? Well. I’m wondering if maybe that’s a bad idea. If maybe we go underground, pretend the videos were student films, shut ourselves off, and work in secret.” James gave a sigh that matched Harvey’s own earlier, and stared at his desk in silence before he looked up. “I dunno, wanna convince me that’s a bad idea?”

“Yeah.” Harvey’s voice was as deep as ever, but with a hint of apprehensiveness in it that couldn’t be missed. “But I dunno if I should.” He sounded bitter.

“We’re doing good work.” James said.

“Yeah.”

“Healing people. Saving lives. Helping.”

“Yeah.”

“Can we keep doing that, if we vanish?”

“Well, we can vanish pretty goddamn easy, can’t we?” Harvey tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling tiles while he thought. “Telepads don’t mean we give up the dungeons. We could cut loose anyone who’s not strongly invested, and just set up somewhere new with the core membership. Keep costs low, do your arcology thing on a small scale. Middle of the rainforest maybe, or somewhere else where we’re hidden. Problem is, we’re basically not gonna be able to keep up Response, no matter what. Not if we want to go quiet.”

“Hm.” James growled. “Do *you* think we should? Go quiet, that is.”

“Fuck no.” Harvey barked a laugh. “I think we should be making *more* noise. I think we should be reaching out to activist groups, and turning them into more Response teams. I think you should go on CNN tomorrow and declare that you have a privatized, nonviolent, functional, magical replacement for the corrupt and brutal police system in this country. And then next Friday, I think you should do it in another country. I think if we skip lunch, we can unify humanity by April. Hiding? Hiding just means you’re letting the fuckers win.”

James blinked. “Hell of a birthday present that’d be.” He muttered. “I like the way you think. I don’t think we can keep up with that pace.” He winced as he admitted it.

Harvey stood up, started pacing back and forth. “Then I’ll settle for just doing a little more each day.” He said. “But you already know you don’t wanna back down. People with guns have already tried to stop you. Why would you be afraid of people with smaller guns, and fewer superpowers?”

“Well then. We’re gonna need something weirdly specific.”

“What?” Harvey stopped and turned to look at the leader of the Order, who was currently spinning in his office chair. “A bigger basement?”

James shook his head. “Worse.” He said. “A PR team.” The young man shuddered. “We’re going to need to hire someone to run social media for us. Do you think we can get away with not having a Twitter account? Or should I just give in to temptation and grow our own social media site?”

The look Harvey gave James this time was less upset and more just incredulous. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve been spending too long on one thing, and I missed a lot. Is… growing… a new Facebook, something we can do?”

“We’ll find out!” James said gleefully. “Because fuck Twitter!”

“I’m going back to taking calls from people in life or death situations. It’s less stressful than this. Thanks for the talk, though.”

“No problem. And I will take it seriously.” James nodded at Harvey as he headed for the door. “We may not be ready to grow, but… well, the world’s gonna keep rolling anyway, ready or not. May as well do it on our terms. Right?”

“Always.” Harvey nodded back. “Good luck.”

_____

The sun beat down on the asphalt and scrub grass in a way that was familiar for two reasons.

El’s hometown of Towton, Tennessee, was an almost insignificant speck on the map that just happened to be close enough to a real city and a highway intersection that it could support not one, but *two* strip malls. She’d grown up here, escaped to go to college, been dragged back by social gravity over the summer, and then escaped again to go nearly die in an office building on the west coast. Over the years of her life, El had ‘vandalized’ probably a fifth of the non-house buildings in town. Being back was warm and inviting, both literally and metaphorically, in that it was still ninety degrees out in the middle of January somehow, and also that it just felt comfortable to come home and not be in mortal peril for a bit.

El’s hometown also abutted a rift in reality that led to another highway. A place that she had finally given a name aside from ‘the highway’, just before she’d left the Order. El hadn’t been able to stay with them, but she had to admit, their naming scheme was excellent. And so, she’d called her mythic road ‘Route Predation’, and the name had stuck in her head enough that it felt real to her now. And the way the sun was coming down now, the smell of baking weeds and the glazed look of the air over the pavement, it all reminded her of hours of driving the winding hostile roads of that other place.

“So that’s everything.” El finished her story abruptly. “And then I came home. Well, started to. I got sidetracked. And you know how that goes.” She stopped talking, and focused on containing the leash of the incredibly enthusiastic golden retriever she was walking.

Next to her, El’s mother nodded. She kept a well disciplined control of the four dogs she had walking at her side; almost a military unit of canine fur. “So this is the book you’re writing?” She asked.

Eleanor glowered at her mother. “Mom.” She said, voice coming out a little sharper than she really meant it to. Or, perhaps it would be more accurate to say she wasn’t really trying to control her tone at all. “Come on.”

Her mom shook her head, and despite not coming up past El’s chin, still gave her daughter a chill feeling that she was a parental figure and maybe don’t speak to her that way. “Well I’m sorry, honey! It’s just not a very believable story, now is it? Paper men and snake things and secret societies? You can just say you broke up with Cindy and needed some time away from home. Though I’m still mad you didn’t call!”

“Mom, Cindy and I were roommates, we weren’t dating.”

“Oh, honey, it’s alright! I’m not going to judge you, I’m a *cool mom*.” El’s mom playfully elbowed her in one of her cracked ribs.

El stifled a bark of pain. And also a sigh of exasperation. “Am I cursed?” She asked, looking up at the sky as if expecting an answer. “Is this the Cassandra thing? I’ve read enough Greek tragedy to know this reference!”

Her mom ignored her pseudo-prayer. “Well, I’m still glad you’re finally home and safe. And, if you broke up with your roommate, maybe you’ll have some time to help me around the house? It gets so lonely around here, what with you vanishing for a whole year, and your sister being away at school. Just me, by myself, in that big old house…”

“Mom it’s a three bedroom house and it doesn’t even have a basement for anything nightmarish to grow in.” El rolled her eyes. “Also, come on.” She said, her voice strained. “I’m trying to be honest with you, and you’re just… making it a joke.”

‘Well can you maybe do some magic, then?” Her mom asked.

El paused. She… technically could? “I mean, I guess? None of what I have is very impressive, though. Unless you could the spell that lets me defy fate, but I don’t have the charge for that.” El glanced over at her mom, who was now giving El an eye roll of her own in a very sarcastic response. “Oh, come on! What am I supposed to do, tell you that I can sort through boxes super well? I could show you my old car, because it had magic parts in it, but *apparently* that one didn’t survive me being gone for a little while.”

“A year!”

“A little year.” El sighed. “I dunno. I wish I’d brought something back with me to show you. Or had one of the Order’s weird powers. But I didn’t, don’t, whatever. I’m just me. I can make a car go faster, if you want? I can take you into the Route when I make sure the entrance is safe again, but I doubt you’d want that. But I will, if it’ll prove it to you.” El paused. She’d been looking off to her left, partially watching the dog sniff every tuft of grass they passed by, and partially avoiding eye contact with her mom. So she hadn’t noticed that her mother had stopped walking, and was chatting with one of the other people out walking in the simmering sunlight.

El tried to hold an indignant look on her face for when her mom finally finished her random conversation and came back over. But it just kept going, and going, and… eventually, El found her self sprinting across a dry grassy field with her new dog friend, the two of them occasionally tackling each other in puffs of pollen and dirt. By the time El’s mom finished her chat, El was both covered in grass seeds that clung to her shirt, and glad she didn’t have allergies.

“Old friend of yours?” She asked her mom as they started walking again, this time with El having to put a little more effort into not limping or showing off any of her less obvious injuries.

“Hm? Oh, no dear. Just someone I wanted to say hi to.”

“No, I mean… where do you know them from?” El shook her head as she tried to pick bits of plant debris off her shoulders.

“Nowhere, honey. I was just saying hello, and we got to talking. Say, would you like to get some ice cream?”

Was her mother trying to bribe El with dessert? “Mom, it’s been fifteen minutes. Don’t you have to actually return the dogs that people pay you to walk? Like, at some point, surely.” El sighed.

Her mom didn’t seem concerned. “The sun’s still up! And they all know me! Mrs. Patterson especially will be glad you’ve tired out Goldie there. I’m so glad you came with me today.”

“Yeah…” El glanced away, not sharing the feeling. “Wait, the golden retriever is named Goldie? Come on. That’s not… you know, I know people who name things professionally. I can call them, we can get better dog names.”

“Oh, you can call them, but not me?”

There was a silent pause. “Hey, you know what would be great? Ice cream.”

“I knew you’d agree!” Her mother’s smile flicked back on like a switch was thrown. “We can go to the place just down the road. You know, the one the sheriff caught you breaking into when you were twelve?”

“Oh my god mom, I wasn’t breaking in. I was trying to get on the roof so I could draw up there.” El’s shoulders slumped. “Why does no one ever believe me about stuff like this? I haven’t, like, spent my whole life fucking lying or anything, have I?”

“Language young lady!” Her mother said.

And El went quiet. All that, and what her mom took away from it was the swearing. Was this how normal people were? Was this why James was never worried about being found out? Tell people straight to their face that magic was real, and they just called you a liar? Or, worse, changed the subject and pretended you weren’t important?

By the time they reached the cluster of buildings down the road, where the sidewalk was more than an ancient path that was more cracks and holes than anything else and the streetlights weren’t spaced out by the mile, El wasn’t feeling much better. Her chest hurt, and she couldn’t tell if it was because of the scar tissue or just the feeling of not being accepted. Also, it was a million degrees outside, and Tennessee still hadn’t invented the concept of shade.

Not that she’d trade it for whatever grim Pacific Northwest weather Oregon was having right now. A little too much sun was preferable to a little too much freezing rain and everything getting dark at four in the afternoon.

It wasn’t like their walk had been quiet. El’s mom had been chattering to her the whole time about things El had trouble focusing on. Maybe this was what magic stuff felt like to her mom; just a little too much cost in terms of brain power to really engage with.

That said, there were lulls in the conversation, one sided though it was. And it was during one of those that El brought up something that was bothering her.

“Hey mom?” She asked, before her mother could get back to talking about learning a recipe for a vegetarian quiche. “Where is everyone?”

Because El hadn’t been through hell and back to get casually ambushed at the end of it. She had eyes, and a general instinct for trouble, and she kept her senses alert even when her mom just kept talking and talking and talking. And it had taken a few minutes for it to click what was bothering her, but now that she realized it, it was a feeling she couldn’t shake.

There just weren’t that many people around. And in a town that was mostly a population of campers and hikers, mixed with retirees looking for a quiet place to settle down, and the scattering of job seekers that followed for the cheap rent and fresh air, it was *weird* that on a beautiful day like this, there weren’t more people out. Out walking dogs, getting lunch, teenagers hanging out in groups after school, anything like that.

Her mom didn’t seem concerned. “Oh, that! Well, you know how it is.”

“The pandemic actually keeping people inside?”

“No, silly. People are just moving away. Or spending more time inside since we got broadband here finally! I can watch cooking shows on Netflix now, you know?” Her mom’s grin was almost infectious.

And it was almost enough to make El relax. Almost.

She was so on edge, she just shrugged and told her mom to surprise her with an ice cream flavor while she stood outside the little shop’s glass door with the dogs. Behind her, a cheerful ‘hello!’ from her mother as the older woman swept in and greeted the tired looking kid behind the counter. El smiled a little, but kept watching the street, some kind of rogue suspicion bubbling in the back of her mind.

They’d finally fixed the pothole at the intersection here while she was away. The smooth strip of repaved road standing out like a black bandaid. Someone had, at some point, whitewashed over the giant pineapple she’d spray painted on the side of the bank one fun midnight a couple years back. The city had new street lamps, with what were probably supposed to be hanging flowerpots swinging from crossbars. The reality of the burning sun hadn’t been kind to those plants, though. There were a few cars around, including one fairly nice looking Volvo parked in the angled space in front of the ice cream parlor itself. But not, like, ‘secret agent nice’. Just ‘regular sleek car nice’.

El shook her head. Maybe she was letting this get to her a little too much. So the town where everyone seemed to disdain television didn’t have anyone outside. So what? There was a pandemic on. Maybe everyone was just being responsible.

She paused, then snorted an unhappy laugh at herself. Yeah, right.

There was a metallic jingle and a thumping noise from behind her. El dropped half the leashes she was holding and spun, hand already going to one of the knives hidden on her person, when she saw it was just her mom kicking the parlor door open. “El! Here, hold this!” She awkwardly passed off a cone of frozen treat, while maneuvering several other items with her arms and free hand. Eleanor took the dessert while her mother knelt down to place a few bowls of cool water on the ground for the dogs, before settling herself on the metal bench next to where El was standing. “Sit, sit! Eat your ice cream!” She said, taking the dog’s leashes.

El grinned slightly. Before she sampled the dessert she was holding, she used her now free hand to see what else her mom had pressed into her hand with the cone. A slip of paper? With… a phone number?

Her mother noticed her noticing, and nodded sagely. “The nice young man in there was kind enough to give me his number for you. You know, since you didn’t meet anyone on your trip. That you told me about, anyway?”

“Mom.” El felt herself turning red, and wasn’t sure if it was sunburn, or an equally damaging flush of embarrassment.

“Honey, you know I just want you to be happy! But I wouldn’t mind grandkids some day, too.”

El wanted to hide behind her melting ice cream. “Mom!” She groaned.

“His name is Steve and he’s *very* nice.” Her mom said.

“Mom…” El realized she wasn’t going to have the words to win this fight. So, she just shoved half a scoop of ice cream in her mouth and hoped that the brain freeze would kill her swiftly.

Her mother’s laugh told El that she’d been mostly kidding. But probably, certainly, not entirely. El decided to be humiliated anyway. Though being fair, at least her mom hadn’t tried to hook her up with a date while she was standing there.

“You reminded me of your father, for a second there.” Her mother’s voice was gentle. Worried. “Any loud noise behind him, and he was reaching for…” She trailed off. “Eleanor, what happened to my daughter?”

“I told you, mom.” El said, not looking at her mother.

It looked like her mother was going to say something else, when the door to the ice cream parlor opened again behind them, little silver bell jangling with the motion. And then, the tense mood was shattered as a young girl’s voice cried out.

“Dogs! Look mom! Dogs!” And a second later, a pattering of small shoes on the sidewalk before the owner of that voice, a girl maybe twelve years old, leapt with both feet to land directly in front of the pack of four perfectly behaved poodles and one flagrantly excited golden retriever. “Hi! Can I pet your dogs?” The girl asked El with a beaming grin.

“Sure!” El replied, unable to keep an answering smile off her face. “The fluffy one is the most fun.” She whispered, as if the other dogs might hear.

From out of the parlor, following the young girl, came a woman who was probably her mother. “Ava!” She called. “Don’t bother people!”

“Oh, no bother at all!” El’s mom replied. “Eleanor, this is Ava and… Jeanne, was it? This is my daughter, Eleanor. She prefers a nickname, of course.”

“Of course.” Jeanne gave a wavering smile in reply.

El rolled her eyes again. “Mom, do you just talk to everyone you run into? Or are these actually old friends.”

“They’re on a road trip, honey. When would we have become old friends?”

“Oh, of course, silly me.” El huffed, and then yelped as her mother tried to slap her on the wrist. “Mom! Stop embarrassing me in front of the kid who likes dogs!”

“Ava!” Ava chimed in. “And yeah! Be nice to the pretty wizard lady!”

El’s mom laughed, and Ava’s own mother joined in, still seeming nervous but otherwise happy her daughter was having fun. Ava, oblivious to all of that, just kept trying to give the biggest hug possible to a dog that was basically the same size as her. El, though, went silent, trying not to stare at the little girl, but finding it hard to not be instantly suspicious.

“Alright, Ava, come on. We need to get back to the motel. You’ll find more dogs tomorrow, okay?” Jeanne said. “Thank you,” she quietly addressed El, but also mostly her mom, “she’s been having a hard time lately. It’s good to see her cheerful.”

“Oh, bless her heart.” El’s mom said with an almost smothering sincerity. “Well, I hope your trip goes well! And Eleanor, we need to be getting these good boys and girls back to their owners. Why didn’t you *tell* me how late it was getting?” Her mom asked indignantly as she checked her watch.

“Mom…” El’s vocabulary had been reduced to a single word by this point in the day.

It was only hours later, laying in her old childhood bed, staring at the ceiling at two in the morning, that El voiced the question that had been in her head ever since the little girl had waved goodbye an bounded away, covered in shed dog fur.

“How did she *know*?”