She dreamed of better, kinder days. Of warm summers and snug winters spent with family. Of innocent smiles and games played in green parks while their parents talked. Slowly, the warm memories gave way to that other dreamworld, yet for once, it too was kind. Or as kind as it got.

Taylor spoke to scribes among a library’s worth of bookshelf’s, smiled at an adept that brought her warm recaf and felt the warmth of his hand in hers as they danced to a beat that echoed in her bones. She put on makeup and lied their way into an exclusive club to see the nobles and their rainbow of colors. Weeks later she was the center of attention among a circle of friends as she showed them how the nobles danced.

Through it all there was a thread, a warm line of light that told her that it was alright. To be herself, to be friendly, be confident, beautiful, loved. On this Saturday, Taylor woke with a smile. Then having already told her Dad she wouldn’t be going anywhere early, she flipped to her other side and went right back to sleep.

***

Eventually, she did have to get up. If only to take her meds and get some breakfast. She was feeling lazy today so didn’t spring for anything complicated, settling for cereal. With a full stomach, she slouched in the couch, just enjoying herself.

Taylor was in that empty space, where her mind was freely drifting when she picked up on the slightest hum in the web of light in her.

Suddenly, the web consumed her sight from within in a whiteout. She could see flickers of herself, sicker, her temperature up, Dad worried, before the web started eating them. For but an instant, it was as if she could feel her powers and the medicine fighting off the fever. They were winning, but she didn’t have to be a simple observer anymore. She pulled on that pool of light and poured it into the web of stars.

She felt it give, the infection burning, but not burn out. Not yet. Even as one wave retreated another was rising from her stomach. It occurred to her that if meds and her powers were going to affect her healing like this, maybe she shouldn’t take all her pills, all at once.

The whiteout was longer this time, the visions bleak. She saw her Dad with her in rooms marked by a familiar blood red ribbon. Whispers of doctors talking of “living with her condition” and “expected lifespan” as classmates shied away from touching her. Becoming more of a pariah then she already was. Living in fear of every cough and wondering if this is would be the one.

The vision horrified her. Taylor could feel all she was reject it, deny it could ever be. Another torrent of light and heat joined the pitiless stars that shined bright, brighter than she’d ever seen them go as if each was a sun of its own.

They winked out, one by one, these suns in her mind. They left behind a world of shadows. Shadows, but not a hint of the terrible future that could have been. Taylor felt suddenly wrung out and found herself covered in sticky sweat. Her breaths deep and harsh, but quickly slowing.

“What was that?” She asked the room, not really expecting an answer.

After more than a minute without one, she went up for a shower and to change her clothes. It wasn’t until she’d warmed up and calmed down that it occurred to her that it was shadows, not darkness that was left.

Shadows which had to be cast by something.

There was a new star in her web, one stuck to her Card. It felt like… defiance. Defiance before the cold, the shakes and fevers. And an absolute denial of the Red Ribbon. It was gone. Just like that.

A part of her wanted to weep in relief. But some of the warmth from her dreams still lingered and so she cleared some room in the living room and instead? Taylor turned up the TV on a music channel and she danced. She celebrated. Because whatever else happened? She was free from this, from the worst case.

Free.

She wasn’t sure how long the exuberance lasted, but eventually she collapsed into the couch, all danced out.

“Thank you.”

Taylor wasn’t sure who or what she was thanking, but it felt right. Her arms came up to her chest, crossing, palms to her lungs, thumbs meeting and she bowed.

Taylor wasn’t sure if she imagined it, but for a moment, she almost felt like the touch of feathers beneath her fingers, the slightest prickle of beaks upon her thumbs, as the thumbs bent back until it clicked. Until it was right. In a detached view that seemed to look at her from the outside, it felt almost like watching a devout Christian cross themselves. But instead of an Amen, there were different words, other words that could almost come from her lips.

Then the moment was past and she just felt a bit silly.

***

Alright. Alright. She still had a fever, but the really nasty stuff was out. So she could probably count on her powers to deal with the infection. So what did she actually know about her powers?

-They fought disease, and could burn out even something serious like XIV

-She healed fast, not regeneration fast, but fast. A nasty cut that needed stiches mended in days.

-Her skin was harder to cut, and ignored minor wounds. She was harder to bruise as well.

But that was starting at the end. No, for starters:

-She had something in her, a space, a place. It kept Cards. There were Eight of them.

-She could take one and use it. This gave her powers. Each one felt different, so probably each one granted different powers.

-The one she was using right now felt like a Clerk, or some kind of functionary. But a weirdly militant one.

-The Card grew in power over time. Would the others?

-She had Encyclopaedias and Towers in her head, and could likely gain more. There was some kind of dream thing going on that seemed to at least somewhat coincide with them.

-She had pools of power she could use to twist time, or something. But only for a few seconds. They could also be used to push things so they went better in some way.

-The powers could shape her. Change her. Like the knife, or the crowd thing. Even now, she didn’t feel comfortable without some weapon on her, and she could blend in crowds. Sort of.

What else? The Cards could want things, or talk to her, or something. There was something going on with all this. Oh, and Taylor was getting better at sensing the power in her. Where it was, when it acted, what it did. That was good.

Things to keep in mind?

Well, she still needed to change her bandages and keep some. She’d be going back to school, so that wasn’t going to be great. She wasn’t going to let anyone lay hands on her again without regretting it. Was that all?

“I’ve spent a lot of time sleeping and resting, but was that really it?”

…

“Time for some experiments.”

Taylor settled in, wrapped up in her blankets and focused inwards. She had a Card to examine. It was getting easier. Or she was getting better at it. The more she poked and prodded at her powers, the more she figured them out, the easier it got. Like pulling on a thread. The more she pulled, the more threads showed up, and it all was easier to unravel. Like now. She could differentiate. Not just look, but see.

First, the faint mesh, the web of lights all through her. Then the ball of light around the Card, the pool she used to fuel some powers. Inside that, the Card. The Card and the star stuck to it. Her eyes and her head pulsed, pressure building as she looked at them. Something about that star…

It was at the tip of her tongue, like a word that just wouldn’t come. She felt somewhat foolish, like something obvious was looking her right in the face and she was just missing it. There was a twinge in the final pool of light. Taylor considered her plans for today. Messing with her powers was the most dangerous part of her plans for the day, and it wasn’t like she needed it for homework and reading. And she was feeling well, so just for this one time, Taylor decided to push it. For science. It didn’t hurt that maybe without the final pool it might be easier to see the Card, clearer.

The world twisted and flickered as the pool of warmth flooded upwards into her head. But five minutes later nothing had changed. She was still stumped. The disappointment was a hard rock digging into her soft happiness, but she let it go. Better to learn this way then when she really needed it.

-Her reality twist power could fail.

There. That was a discovery, right? Still, it was frustrating. The star, the Card, there was something about it, like almost a pattern, kind off, if she squinted. It wasn’t that she couldn’t see it, it was more like an anagram. Taylor could see the lines of the Card, some dimmer, some brighter, almost like smaller stars, but the pattern just wouldn’t click. In frustration her mental hold of it shook the Card in place.

Taylor blinked. She shook the Card again. Carefully, filled with trepidation, this sight, this mental self, reached out and pulled at the corner of the card.

The pattern broke. Not entirely, not even mostly. But bit by bit, she slowly, carefully peeled the Card away. Away from what? It was like the Card was a picture, and around it was a thin, dull frame. Hard to see in the light of the Card, and something that integrated into the general mess of lights when joined. But as Taylor carefully, slowly, peeled it away, keeping an eye on the edge, she could see it. Keep it in focus as it dulled.

It was hard. Like trying to look at a bright star mid-day, past the sun. It was the new star that helped. It didn’t fit. Taylor couldn’t make out the pattern, but as she gently pulled them apart, even without that, this much she could tell: It didn’t fit. This new, bright star, the denial of sickness didn’t fit. It was trying to go deeper.

With a gasp, Taylor felt her powers flicker as the last corner came apart. Not all of them. The empty pool still sat in place, undisturbed. The rest, less so. There was a thin, thin layer of the glowing web that went through her that was coming apart from the rest, unstuck. Pulled, linked to the Scholar. A headache was building, as the Towers and Encyclopedia pulsed, in and out of her head. Frail links, as tiny as threads of a spider web still linked the Card to… to.

Gently she moved the whole construct, or no, she moved herself, her point of view. It was surreal, and hard to put into words. Like her eyes had gained new bits, that moved the eye itself. She was blind to the world around her, but in this place of light and dark, free to fly. Taylor followed the frail links, and they grew, firmed in her wake, the headache retreating. She’d slipped in, behind the Card, between it and a frame. The frame, dull compared to the other lights, but also filled with incomprehensible patterns.

It was only lit up in a few places, apart from the threads still connecting it to the Scholar. Two things stood out, even being lost in the lines.

There was a hole in it, a sucking void that wanted, needed something. Not dangerous, not like that. No, as she looked at it closer her eyes were drawn back to the Star stuck to the Scholar. Stuck to it. That was the thing. It didn’t fit. Not there. Looking from one to the other, Taylor could feel the pull. This denial of diseases, it didn’t fit there. It didn’t belong there. It fit here. Right there. It wasn’t the Scholars.

It was hers. Not some Card, some aspect of a Face, but Taylor, her own. It was new, but the Defiance belonged here. Here, at the base. At the Foundation of her soul.

Trying to pull, to force the Star past gave a twinge of pain, of warning. It couldn’t be forced, but there had to be some way to make it right. To let it past the Card and settle in place it so clearly fit.

A part of Taylor wondered if she might have been going just a bit mad. What kind of power instilled in its owner the certainty she was looking at her soul? That was crazy and not something she was ever going to tell anyone. Even so. It felt right, true. And a bit surreal. Her soul was a frame. Had it always been so, or did it change, adapt to it when she gained her powers? Or was this merely some metaphor, something out of the books: a way for her mind to cope with things beyond its ken?

She didn’t know. Taylor only saw what she saw. Felt what she felt.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Of one thing she was certain. The power was real, and it responded to her. She left that tangled, thorny issue for another day and went after the other standout. It was an empty window in the middle of the Foundation. If she divided the whole thing with lines into thirds, so there were nine equal rectangles, each the shape of a smaller Card, the middle one was empty. No, not empty, but see through. For a moment, her vision distorted, like a funhouse mirror, then she was through.

She felt the Scholar settle back into place behind her and turned to look at the back. Nine fields. Eight around, and one in the middle. The back of the Scholar rested in the middle, fully seen through the distorted glass. Of the eight outer spaces, one was empty. The other seven Cards slept in the others. Resting, waiting to be called. Taylor reached out and tugged on one, feeling it slip out of the holder with ease.

There was power here, yes. But until it was placed on something, until it had a place to stand, it couldn’t do much. Looking at them, even asleep, each had its own patterns. They were alike, yet not. Like brothers and sisters, a disjointed family.

***

Taylor spent over an hour in there, looking over her Cards. Trying to figure out the patterns and what they meant. It refused to click in her head and only built frustration. She did discover one thing during all that. Something all the cards had. They could be opened. Like booklets, or flyers, the Cards had pages in them. Not many, and all but the Scholar were dark inside, lost in shadow, the pages sticking. But they had pages in them.

In her current Card the first two were lit up. They just made for more incomprehensible patterns. With a sigh, Taylor gave up on it for the day. Bashing her head against the problem didn’t work so she coped a couple of the patterns into her notes and left it at that. She couldn’t spend all day on this.

***

Usually, studying on her own was a bit dull. But with how frustrating her past couple of hours have been, having assignments before her that can be solved, that have instructions and make sense is a relief. Perhaps, in another school, there would be a lot of it. She did miss a whole week. But she’s already done the homework and when you got down to it: Winslow isn’t that hard. Her grades suffer because her assignments get stolen and she can’t take a test, any important test, in peace. Not because it’s hard.

And nowhere is it more obvious than here. Taylor blitzes through her lessons with ease. If only the rest would leave her alone, her grades wouldn’t be an issue.

With her studying done, she could finally get into something that matters. Like making sure she’s never helpless again.

And Taylor? Taylor had an idea.

She combined it with her plans to clean out more of the basement. She needed room for practice, and while she could practice regular stuff at home or in the backyard, it would be best if she had a space that was private, quiet and easy to clean if she made a mess with her more power related stuff. So she returned to the basement and set about with a will, keeping an eye out for anything useful.

But before she could really roll up her sleeves and get stuck in it, she powered up the old computer and spent a couple of minutes looking up just how plausible it was to make a sling of her own.

***

Winslow doesn’t have a shop class. She supposed it used to. Dad had told a few stories of his own High School and shop class was part of them. Winslow didn’t have one. Taylor had picked up a bit of sewing, but she wasn’t the handiest person around. Still, slings were fairly simple and she’d been able to repurpose some of the stuff in the trash and sorting piles for her project. It was as she had the strip of leather in her lap, needle in hand, that there was a tiny shift. Like clearing her throat before speaking, but at the tips of her fingers.

It was a bittersweet mix, to sew again. She hadn’t, for a while. Maybe she didn’t think of it, or didn’t want to be reminded. But now? With hours to search and all the space cleared, it wasn’t hard to find them. Mom was her own woman. A professor and a firm believer in equal rights. She fought for them. Practical too.

“A skill is a skill Taylor. I did not truly appreciate my grandmother’s lessons until I moved out to college. Being the girl who could adjust or patch an outfit and make it look good? It isn’t the grandest claim to fame, but a small kindness can make a large difference. It wasn’t the weirdest way I’ve started a friendship and you’ll appreciate it when you grow up. You’ve had your own number of accidents, little owl. Just you wait, someday it will be your turn.”

***

Taylor had taken old leather from a torn pair of boots that had been sitting in the basement for a long time. While the boots were ruined, the leather was still supple and firm under her fingers. It took some doing, salvaging metal bits, like a handle from a broken screwdriver, but after several hours of work, she was done. She’d cleared enough room in the basement to move around, and had a workbench for projects. Sitting on it was her first creation.

Taylor picked up the sling and an old dart board. For bullets, she could use pebbles and rocks, but for when things mattered she had better ammo: short, thick bolts with nuts screwed tight. She set up the board on the fence and for the first time, let fly. Maybe she should have been worried by the neighbors, but from the moment she’d picked it up, the sling felt like it belonged in her hands.

It swung, around and around, so fast there was a hum in the air. Finally, she released and like in a dream, she knew it was on target.

There was a loud crack and the board jumped. In pieces. Taylor took a bit of time to comb the yard and recover her bullet before inspecting the damage. The thin dart board was split in halves, and looking at the fence, even it was marked. The wood wasn’t especially tough, but the bullet had left a shallow pit in it. Maybe half-inch deep. In that moment, she knew. If she hit somebody in the head like that, they might not get up after.

Taylor couldn’t count on such a lucky strike, but as long as she hit, they’d feel it.

***

In the end, Taylor wavered. It had been easier, going through it, when she had a goal. A clear, deliberate purpose. It was harder when she was doing it for herself. She shied away from Mom’s personal notes. Yesterday weighed heavy on her and the talk was still waiting tonight. She didn’t need more of it. So that was out. Between the class notes and the clothes, with the way today was going, she leaned towards clothes. Most other days, the books would have been first. But today, she tried something a little different.

A lot of it didn’t fit. Or didn’t fit well. Taylor eyed the cuts and she figured with a bit of adjustment, she could make it work. But until and unless she solved her school problems, she would not be bringing any of this to school. There were a lot of collared shirts, some elegant, a few fancy. They could sort of fit, but she still had a bit of growing up to do. It wasn’t anything that Taylor would wear on the regular, but maybe that was the point. If she was going to turn over a new leaf, to start a new chapter in her life, maybe she needed a new wardrobe to help.

For now, she left most of it in the back, to wait for a better day. There were a couple of exceptions. A few pieces that made her power respond. It was a high collared jacket and long skirt combo, made out of thick warm leather, for the northern winter. Probably went with solid boots, as the wide skirt fell to half-calf. The color probably had a name, but to her it was a deep, darkened brown. Not dull, but serious.

When she shrugged on the jacket, the weak web of lights grew a frail extension, sinking into the jacket. When she took it off, the link broke, the extension fading after a few breaths, only to return when she shrugged it on again. The jacket and skirt felt the same way. Like there was potential in them. They felt… safe, somehow? Taylor wasn’t sure what it was, but she could look into it later.

***

Sometime during all that, her pools had partially refilled. She was too busy with work to pay attention, but a part of Taylor wished she could nail down just how quick they refilled. Or if the rate was constant.

Another time, perhaps.

Right now, it was time for a family dinner, and she was already feeling pretty wiped out. This had been a long day, and the dinner was late. But she’d waited up. She had reason to. Dad had been back for a couple of hours, but they’d danced around each other. He’d left her to her work and he had plenty of his own to do. But it was enough of avoiding it.

Taylor was tired of it.

They cleaned up after dinner and still it was hard to start. It took over five minutes on the couch, feeling her bed calling before she mustered the strength to open the talk. They’d danced around it long enough. She was angry and hurt. But more than that. It mattered, but it wasn’t the crux of it. He was tired too. She could see it. But he stuck around, the TV filling the silence until she was ready to speak. That was the thing. She had to speak. She had to start. That wasn’t fair, but what did that change?

“The world isn’t fair either.”

Taylor started small. Simple. Told him about school, blitzing through her studies. She kept Greg out of it. Wasn’t important right now. It would only be a distraction. Used it as a lead in, a bridge. Studying to books. Books to Mom.

…

“I am trying here Taylor.”

“I know. It isn’t enough.” He started to pull away, tensing, but she didn’t let him go. Not this time. She kept her head on his shoulder, an arm on his knee, keeping him there. It was easier when she wasn’t looking Dad in the eye when she spoke. Easier to focus, to make it clear. Clean.

“Listen. I could see it Dad. Yes, you said you’d look into it. Not to rush to judgement. You couldn’t understand how Emma could lie like that, or why would she. But that’s the thing, that’s the point Dad. You don’t. You don’t understand. You can’t comprehend it.”

“Taylor I-“

“Listen.” she nearly hissed, begged. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Because I do. I’ve come to. Understand. Because it’s simple. It just hurts too much to admit it.”

“What does?” There was frustration in his voice, tone. Frustration and irritation. He was tired. They both were. But there was always an excuse, always a reason not to push. Not today. Not tonight.

“You know Dad. You already know. You just don’t want to.”

That brought him up short. “I don’t know what you mean. Why would Emma lie like that? She’s your best friend.”

But she could hear it. Just there, on the cusp. The edge of a ravine, looking down.

“Is she Dad? When’s the last time she came over? When’s the last time I did?”

It’s that simple. A few ordinary questions is all it takes.

“Well I’m sure that… But there was that time… Alan was just telling me about this last week…”

And then, there’s silence. But it’s just a symptom. It isn’t the cause, the core of it. So while he’s distracted. While he’s already confused, her hand squeezes softly, and she rips the wound open:

“You’re never here, Dad. Morning and night, hi and bye. How’s your day and how was school.”

Part of her wants to be angry. Hells, part of her is. But that fire, that flame is nothing to the rest.

“Days, weeks, months. Rote and shallow, because you’re busy. Because it’s hard, already too hard and you are dealing with your own shit.”

“Taylor!” He warns, but she is far past caring about language.

“You’re never here Dad. Even when you are home, you’re miles away. Working, or dreaming of the docks. While I sit in my room. Fight in my school. Alone.” He tenses, suddenly tout as a cable as she keeps speaking softly, each word true but painful. She feels cruel. She doesn’t mean it that way.

“And I get it. Yesterday was eye opening. How can I blame you for struggling when I’m stumbling myself. But I’m supposed to be the kid. You’re the parent.”

“But I’m never here.” He whispers. There’s anger in that. Outrage. But underneath is a bleak, dark tide, slowly rising.

“And I’m fine. I’m never hungry. Not beaten,” Taylor snorts, “not at home anyway.” He flinches at that.

“But life is more than that. More than this. I want, need more. And you’re never here.” Her voice nearly breaks at the end. Because it hurts to say. Hurts more to follow.

“So I can’t. Can’t anymore. Can’t try, can’t wait. I can’t depend on you anymore Dad and be disappointed, failed. To try, to help. Not for that. Because even when I did, when it mattered? You were so far away, so distant from reality, that you believed Emma over me, when she’s the one who put me in there!”

He lurches to his feet then. Red in the face, arms clenching.

“And there it is. Anger and wrath, and pointless in the end.” She pokes, words bitten off.

His eyes focus on her, but no words come out. Taylor knows what he’s doing. Her dad has a temper, so he’s biting his tongue. But she’s done waiting.

“You’ll cool down. Maybe go shout at the school or Alan. But it won’t change anything. And while you were looking into things, I did it. I called the cops. I made sure they were doing their jobs. I went back to school to get my records and turn them over. And at no point did I think to include you.” She told him to his face.

“Why would I? You were “looking into it”. Well Dad, what’d you find?”

He took several deep breaths. “Taylor, you could have told me.” he grit out. The anger was still there. Over everything. It was easier that way, she understood that now.

“So nothing. I get it. Bills to pay, family and friends depending on you. You were busy. It’s ok.”

“I wasn’t busy, I was working on it.” He replied, but it was frail. “When I could. But if they’re all lying; how could everyone be lying?”

“Not everyone.” she corrects him. “I get it Dad. Hard enough being a single father in this economy.” She stood up and kissed him on the cheek. “But I can’t, won’t, wait anymore. I’m solving my own problems. And if I find a decent part time job, I’m taking it” she told him.

Because that was the thing. More than anything, she wasn’t mad. She was disappointed. In herself, in how she saw him. In him.

“Taylor, that’s not how it works. You can’t just take any job. I have to make sure you’re safe.”

“That’s not your job anymore Dad.” She told him with a bitter smile.

“I’m your Father. The parent, it’s always my job.”

She gets it, she really does. He still doesn’t. Doesn’t see her, doesn’t understand. That, at least, she can fix.

It is surreal, how easy it is. To break the image, the illusion in his head. How the shank slips out of her sleeve with nary a whisper and fits in her fingers. He barely has started reacting when she swings, putting her whole body into it. Buries the point in the table with a solid thump that makes the whole thing jump. He takes a startled step back, while her other hand comes up, over the false bandages on her stomach where the worst wound had been. Taylor might not be healing anymore, but the memory is still fresh.

Taylor avoids his eyes for this. She doesn’t want to witness him crumple. Because how can he help her when he can’t even help himself?

“You’ve already failed, Dad. You’re not here. You’ll never be there. Not in the moment, not when it matters. You’re a parent, but I’m not a child anymore. I can’t be, can’t afford it. I don’t want to die Dad. So I’m taking care of myself from now on.”

Her hand lingers on his shoulder as she passes him by, leaving him in the lunchroom. She lingers in the doorway.

“Thank you for doing what you could. It just wasn’t enough. Goodnight.”

The “Goodnight” she gets back from him while going up stairs is strangled, defeated. It doesn’t feel good, or right, doing this. To hear him finally see her, not the child she was. It just hurts, the pain fresh. It hurts and it’s hard, heavy and tiring that she has to be the one to do this.

But maybe now, it won’t be poison anymore. That’s what clearing the air is supposed to do, right?

***

Sleep wouldn’t come, leaving her tossing and turning in bed. She was tired, but it didn’t seem to matter, so she settled in to read, hoping to drift off. The story of a man smuggling himself on trains and struggling with alcoholism turned out surprisingly witty and human, for the subject matter. “John Barleycorn” was interesting but not gripping. It turned out a decent book to lay down with, take her mind off things.

Once she wasn’t going over the conversation in her head anymore, sleep snuck up on her. It wasn’t the disappointment that kept her up, or the talk, for all she lingered on it. It was fear. Because now that it was out in the open, she was alone. It was all on her. She’d have to solve it and deal with the consequences.

A part of Taylor feared she would fail, and it would have end in blood.