@cosmicgrapevine - Tumblr Blog

After speaking to the others, Kacheram entered his fourth auditorium of the morning. Over his years in this job, he’d learned that his maroon skin and broad, pointed ears made earthfolk think poorly of him. He was apparently a close match to any number of demons. Not that it mattered what they thought. Still, he wore his finest silk robe and combed his golden hair. No need to scare them without reason.

He stepped to the center of the room, where his voice would carry. “Good morning to everyone. My name is General Kacheram of the Ukhadi Army. But seeing as how none of you are my troops, you may call me Mr. Kacheram. I am here to tell you the truth. You may hate me for it. You may spend months, or years, not accepting it. But the truth is the truth.”

He reviewed his notes from Dr. Swaff, these in his own language. The 268 earthfolk assembled here made up two-thirds of a town called ‘Murrysville, Oregon.’ Several days ago, in the dead of night, they and their homes and belongings were violently flung through the portal that connected their and Kacheram’s worlds. One of the biggest Crossings he could remember, and one of the most eclectic. Plenty of elders, frail and confused. Children, too. Kacheram wondered sometimes at what point such children thought their old lives were the fantasy, this world the only truth.

“To those of you who demanded to know from your handlers whether you have traveled from your world to another—‘Isekai’d, as some of you put it—the answer is yes. Welcome to Ki Maak. Hope you enjoy your stay.”

“Now, the good news is, you’re not the first. In fact, according to our records, we’re coming up on forty thousand since the Crossings began, from 171 countries. If you count their descendants, we’re well past six figures. Many of their colonies are within a day’s travel. None of you are alone. Frankly, you all have a far better chance of living privileged lives than most people born here.”

“But none of you are ever going back home. Not now, not ever. Almost all of those forty thousand tried, one way or another. One hundred percent of them failed. What’s more, there will be no communication with home, even one-way. Perhaps the disappearance of Murrysville, Oregon has become a national obsession back home. Perhaps reality has been remade, as though it never was.” He clapped his hands. “Hell, perhaps you are duplicates of those people, and they are living their lives like nothing happened, which, to them, it didn’t. You do not know and you will never know.”

“I recommend accepting these truths as quickly as you can, and beginning to move on. I won’t pretend Ki Maak is safer than your world. I won’t pretend we have achieved your level of technology. I like to think we’re getting there. I wish you no ill will; I hope every one of you can make a new life for yourselves. But I simply do not care to hear about the family or friends or career or coffee shop you’ll never see again. I assure you, everyone within a hundred miles of this room has heard it before and then some.”

Melanie had a strange dream. It had been a recurring theme since they left home, peaking that first weekend and subsiding as things went back to normal. Or whatever passed for ‘normal’ now. Dreams of being sucked into the Viabract or the Black Rose, dreams that warped Travis or Florentino or someone else into monstrosities. She hadn’t told anyone. She knew how the brain worked; dreams were meaningless. Neurons firing just to keep themselves busy. She was already fighting like hell to be taken seriously; going to Mommy or Daddy whimpering about her scawy nightmawes would not help. But this one felt different. She couldn’t remember such a physical dream before, in Florida or otherwise. She found herself standing in the hallway of an older-looking house, and could smell the dust in the air, feel the tightness of her shoes and hear them click on the floor. And it definitely was a dream: there were no mirrors to be seen but she was clearly not in her own body. Her arms were creamy-white, long blonde hair fell over her ears and shoulders, and she was wearing a flowery yellow dress that looked a few decades out of date. It felt as real as the rest. From nowhere in particular, the womp-womp-womp of a trombone sounded. It was soon accompanied by footsteps. “Now you listen to me, Rosie!” A gruff man said. “I don’t wanna see you with that no-good beatnik again!” “Aw, Daddy, but he loves me!” A woman, with a harsh New York accent. “He even wrote a poem about me! It’s called ‘Ode to a Jezebel.’ Oh, by the way, what’s a jezebel?” An invisible piano plunked a minor chord and a laugh track sounded. Am I…dreaming about that stupid TV show Ruth was in? Her question was soon answered. The duo came up the stairs, and the lovelorn young woman was a younger Ruth, or ‘Rosie’, pre-sangria and boob job. She did not expect to see Melanie standing there, and for a moment the soundtrack died out. “Daisy?” The man said. “Criminy, if I needed a girl to just laze around and not cook or clean, I’d hire a Puerto Rican! When’s dinner?”

“Daddy, did Rosie do something bad again?” Melanie said. She didn’t want to; the words just popped out. “Don’t worry about me, sis. It’s not like he can chain me to my bed for the rest of my life!” A sprightly clarinet tune sounded, and ‘Daddy’ might as well have gotten a cartoon lightbulb over his head. He marched Rosie over to one of the bedrooms and slammed the door. “Daddy, what are you…put those ropes down! I won’t go see him again, I promise!” The man emerged looking quite pleased with himself. “Alright, sweetie, it’s been a long day and Daddy needs some rest. Just bring my dinner into the TV room when it’s ready.” “What about Rosie?” “Eh, she needs to lose a few pounds anyway!” Laugh track. Like every kid of her generation, Melanie sometimes stumbled across old shows in the dead of night, on those weird cable channels with nothing else to air. She didn’t remember them being this dumb, or this…cruel. Made sense that Rita would love it. But if she was in a dream, and knew it, why had nothing changed? She couldn’t leave the house. She couldn’t even change this stupid dress into something less embarrassing. Maybe it wasn’t her dream. She tried very hard to ignore the tinkling arpeggio that followed the click of her shoes to “Rosie’s” room. Rosie was lying in bed, wrists cuffed to the headboard. “There’s Rosie, and Daisy, and silly little Lily…” she sang to herself. “And Melanie Kitz, who gives me the fits!” as Melanie opened the door. “What are you doing in my dream, honey?” “You tell me. It sucks here. People watched this and thought it was funny?” “Well, it only lasted one season,” she admitted. “Could you cut me loose? The script says I sneak out to see my boyfriend, and Daisy has to keep Daddy distracted while we— “Quit playing dumb, Ruth. I don’t know how, but I know it’s you. I’m not dreaming-dreaming. So why did you bring me here?” She saw herself in the mirror—her real self—even as the blonde hair and flower dress swished around her. “Wasn’t me. Why on earth would I let you inside my head, kid?”

“Well, whatever you are, you’re not just the poor innocent wife who had no idea what Grissom was involved in. And when I wake up, I’ll tell everyone.” Melanie walked over to the door, and opened it to reveal a brick wall. The laugh track thought it was hilarious. She turned around. Rosie, untied, was sitting on the foot of the bed, kicking her feet like a little girl. “Who says you’re waking up?” Melanie closed her eyes. Tried to force herself awake. Pinched her arm. Nothing worked. “Wake up,” she finally resorted to telling herself. “This isn’t real. Wake up.” “Oh, there’s a change of tune!” Rosie laughed. “Just because I didn’t bring you here, you think you’re the one in charge? You’ve got no idea what you’re involved with, and if you did…you couldn’t stop it.” Rosie’s body changed too. She was shrinking and aging backwards. Her tight sixties-swinger dress got frillier and more innocent. When Melanie recognized the woman’s new form, all she could say was “Don’t you dare.” She looked like Tabby, age nine. The Kitzes and Jelenskis had gone together to some fundraiser dinner for the police union, the girls in matching lacy holiday dresses (hers green, Tabby’s red). Many polaroids were taken, and many cheeks were pinched. It was something of a religious experience for Rita: the childish hellion had grown up, the angsty teen was still years away, and maybe, just maybe, she was finally getting the pretty demure little daughter she knew she deserved. She kept one of those photos in her wallet to this day, using any excuse to whip it out and wonder aloud what happened to that wonderful girl. No doubt that’s how Ruth had seen it. “Aren’t I pretty?” she said with a giggle. “Too bad I grew up. Mommy thinks so too.” “Stop that. You’re not her.” “Mommy and Miss Rosie are gonna bring me back. You wanna do it too? It’ll be fun!” “You’re not Tabby!” Suddenly, Ruth was her old self again, from the apartment. The skyline through the window had vanished, replaced by a black void. The soundtrack was silent. “I can be whoever I want to be, honey. I’m an actress. And Rita’s my new understudy.”

They couldn’t get in—they were invisible but they couldn’t walk through walls, and Jordy couldn’t exactly hold the door for them. But an ear to the wall, thinner than cardboard, was enough. “So,” Eddie said, “What’d the doctor say?” “Transverse patellar fracture, right knee,” said a softer voice (Will?). “Crutches for two months, probably a brace after.” “Brutal. Who’s the next man up at second base? “Ferrera, and he sucks.” So much for team spirit, Tabby thought. “This was supposed to be my fucking year!” He whined. “So…you got something?” Ryan asked. “Do I got something?” he chuckled. “Boys, I’m gonna ask you a few questions. ‘Yes’ or ‘no’ is all I need, please. Have I kept my end up? Nothing getting back to your coach?” “Yes.” “Have I ever asked for anything but the fair market value for my goods?” “No.” “And—be honest now—did you suspect that, someday, I’d ask you for a lil’ more than that, given the nature of our transactions?” Tabby could feel the energy in the room shifting, even from outside. “…Yeah?” “Smart answer.” “Mr. Scarborough, if this is about the money— Eddie belly-laughed. “My man, this was never about the money! It’s about loyalty. I just wanna know you boys have my back. Otherwise, well, I’m not sure our business can continue if we can’t trust each other. And don't 'Mr. Scarborough' me, you disingenuous little shit." There was some whispering among the four of them. “Okay,” Ryan said. “What do we gotta do?” “Any of you know this guy?” He must have had a photo or something. They all said they’d never met him. “Good. Be awkward if you did, because you’re gonna kill him.” The boys spoke one over the other, saying that was way too much to ask, and why was he marked for death anyway? “Fellas,” Eddie said, still jovial but more menace creeping in with every word, “Do you think I’ve been slinging pulled pork my whole life? Hell, where do you think I get the drugs from? Those guys need him taken out and that’s that. So you do what I say or I burn you. College ball? Shit, you’ll be lucky to stay out of jail. Oh, go ahead, rat on me. Cops will never, ever find me. But I’ll find you.” That quieted them. “Well? We got a deal?” “Could you…give us some advice?” Quincy asked. “You seem like a…y’know. You’ve done this before.” “Now we’re talking,” Eddie said. “And you’re right: no guns, no break-ins. You kids would fuck up and get caught. He lives nearby, takes the Route 60 bridge to Clearwater every morning. Drives a silver Nissan. Here’s the plates.” A piece of paper crinkled. “He’s a day manager at a hotel, so we’re talking like three, four in the morning. Bridge is almost empty. Twenty glorious miles of open water, without a cop or a traffic camera in sight. So you run him off the road. Box him into the right lane from the left and behind, a third car playing chicken coming head-on. And he will break first. I’ve met the guy, he’s a pussy. Not at all cut out for what he got into. Not like you.” “And if we do it,” Kyle asked, “you’ll fix his knee?” “He’ll be good as new by regionals. Can’t work miracles, they just raise questions, but I can do an unexpectedly fast recovery.” “Your dad’s the lawyer, man,” Quincy said. “Car crashes happen all the time, Florida’s full of shitty drivers.” “Think it’s worth it?” Kyle asked. “You know we’re not winning shit with Ferrera at second.”

“Did you think you could fool me with this garbage?” Rita said, scattering the pictures across her coffee table. “I know my daughter. I had to twist her arm over homework for years.” “Believe what you want,” Janet said. “The photos are real. Perhaps the homework wasn’t the problem?” “Yes, yes, you win, Janet. You and your husband and his cult-leader dad, you finally destroyed my family for good. Isn’t that why you’re here, to gloat?” Janet sighed. “Where’s Steve?” “I’m not taking that bum back. I let him know the first day. He made a new friend down the hall, some other good-for-nothing, that’s where he’s staying. He’ll find a job soon, stop drinking all day; he’d better.” “Mm-hm. Who’s paying your room and board, then?” Florentino was willing to waive the payment for particularly desperate cases, but Rita and Steve didn’t qualify. “Funny you should ask. Here she is now.” The lock clicked open, and a curvy, sun-baked woman in a gaudy orange dress came bustling in. She carried two grocery bags, each of which held a case of wine. “I got dinner, hon! I’ll just put it on ice, and…oh. Didn’t know we were having company. Are they new guests?” “Oh no. They’re too classy for this place. Rosie, this is Janet and her daughter Melanie. You could say they’re the reason I’m here!” Rita smirked at them, like the name was supposed to mean something. “You really don’t recognize her?” Rita said after an awkward silence. “Rosie Bryce! Flowers for Flowers! Melanie’s too young, obviously, but Janet?” “Rita, that show went off the air thirty years ago,” Janet said. “Well, it’s still a classic. Mr. Flowers, see, he was a mechanic, and he wanted to have sons to take over his shop, but his wife kept having girls! So he had to open a flower shop instead! And Rosie was the, y’know, rebellious hippie girl, always giving him guff…it was really funny.” Rita clearly thought her new ‘celebrity’ friend would be worth a little more respect. “Yeah, sounds hilarious,” Melanie said. “Was that a stage name? Just curious.” “Oh, right, to you I’m Ruth Grissom. Ruth Blaskovich back in Jersey, and a couple times since. Like right now.” “You’ve moved on quickly,” Janet said, voice thin and dry. “What gave it away, honey? I don’t wanna get too ugly in front of your kid, but he was an ass. The whole marriage was one of those, you know, impulse buys. Nice shoulders and a military pension. And then he starts, what, stashin’ drugs for some Colombian mobsters?” She shook her head. “Whatever thug took him out, I oughta send him a card.” “And I’m moving on too,” Rita said. “Tabby wants nothing to do with me? Fine! Can’t fix stupid. That old creep will send her on a suicide mission and move onto the next runaway brat with a hero fantasy. All she’s done since the divorce is disobey me and act like a gutter whore. Actions have conseq—” She was cut short as Melanie’s open palm landed on her face. “Yeah,” she finished the sentence. “They do. Like that one. Sure, the pictures were staged. But she is thriving without you. Does that bother you? Do you care about anyone besides yourself?” Her eyes bored into Rita’s. “I can’t believe I ever felt sorry for you.” “…you know what would help everybody be pals again?” Ruth said. “Good ol’ peach sangria. I know you’re underage, but if your mom’s here—” “No, thank you. We’re leaving.” Janet said. Rita finally woke from her post-slap catatonia. “D-damn right you are!” she snapped. “I don’t wanna see either of you ever again! I’ll call the cops, I’ll call the feds, I’ll call everyone! I’ll tell everyone what you are— Janet slammed the door shut. Lynd, who had been sitting on a bench waiting for a cue, sprang up, but Melanie shooed him away. “Never mind. Sorry you got dressed up and all, but this was a big waste of time.”

“Hey, Mel,” Fawn said. “Mind taking the scenic route with me? I’ve got a few things to tell you. From one dork to another, you know?” “S-sure,” Melanie said. “So that’s all true? With the giant tree and stuff?” “I dunno about ‘as big as a mountain’, but yeah, it was real, far as we know. So were dinosaurs. Doesn’t mean they’re still around. Anyway, I trust him. Mr. C wasn’t talking about him with that ‘stay alert’ stuff. That was aimed straight at me, and he was talking about Shanti.” “Jordy’s ex?” Fawn looked surprised. “So he acknowledged her existence? That’s an improvement. She was on the Foundlings most of last semester at Jordy’s request. Definitely not mine. I thought she had a mean streak and one day it would show. Over winter break, I was proven right. I wish I wasn’t.” “And I’m sorry, but that’s all I’ll say. I don’t like remembering it, and it’s Jordy’s story, not mine. He screwed up, but he’s my friend and he’s paid his dues. I won’t apologize for being right about Shanti, though. That’s why I’m captain now, not him. And it’s why Miss Vernon owes me one.” “And now, three months later, I’ve got deja vu. A girl who thinks Wardenry is her path to the good life. A guy who’d kiss her feet if she asked. Sorry if I’m a bit cold on the power of love right now. And if the Foundlings melt down the second the gender ratio approaches 50-50 for the first time? Because of some teenage love affair? A lot of Florentino’s old fart buddies think I stole Jordy’s rightful place and they’re waiting for me to break down. And don’t get me started on what they’ll think of Lynd. So I’m asking you—because girls like Tabby don’t listen to girls like me—do not fuck this up.” Melanie laughed. Something about Fawn’s intensity, splayed across the cool-blue light of dawn and the rustling of palm leaves, was hilarious. It was the wrong reaction. “You’re not listening.” “Yes I am.” “I don’t get mad about it anymore,” she lied, “but my grandpa was kind of right. Five-foot-zip, voice like Minnie Mouse, glasses…taking orders from me goes against five million years of monkey-brain instincts, even for other girls. I get it from my dad’s side: he always trained me more on the social side of things.” “Fawn Hanson!” came Miss Vernon’s sharp voice. She was storming down the footpath toward them in a nightgown and bathrobe. “Was this your idea?!” “What do you mean?” Fawn said sweetly. “Oh, just—come here.” She turned and stormed back to her house. Tabby and Lynd sat on the front porch, surrounded by the latter’s luggage. “She’s not going for it,” Tabby said. “Of course I’m not! If he was ‘just’ a random kid I didn’t know, I’d say no. But a new student? What on earth are you thinking?” “Miss Vernon, let’s be real, you’re not getting in trouble” She cocked her head back towards Acquaviva Circle. “He needs a place to live, more help getting started than I can provide—he’s never gone to school before, you know? Like, at all.” “I suspect I won’t be in your class, if that helps,” Lynd said. “I’m not smart enough.” “I just thought maybe you’re in the mood to do a good deed. Melanie and Tabby are new too, we can’t put it all on them. I won’t pretend I’ve fully vetted him, but he got this far with a police detective watching him, I really don’t think you’ll regret this.” “I promise you, all I need is four walls and a roof,” Lynd said. “And an education.” Every word, Melanie could tell, was meant to say something, without saying anything, about the Shanti Incident. It occurred to her that Fawn and Miss Vernon were at most seven years apart. The latter’s crossed arms and flinty expression said I’m not your cool older cousin who will break the rules for you anymore. I’m an adult now and you’re going to treat me like one. Fawn’s affable grin responded No you’re not, and no I won’t.

“Education,” Miss Vernon repeated. “This is a long shot, but were you at Hanging Rocks?” “No. The Ash Branch sent Otho as our parlier.” “It was a summit,” she said to Melanie and Tabby. “Three years ago next week. West Virginia, waaay up in the mountains. First time that many Wardens negotiated with that many Marksteppers in decades. I was in Florentino’s delegation. We were hashing out territory claims on the East Coast. Negotiations were a bit one-sided.” “Otho came back wishing he could destroy your safehouses brick by brick.” “First time I met any Marksteppers. Mostly Lowbranchers. Only one each for the Big Nine. I wanted to go. And after years of hearing Travis and the rest of those yahoos talk about how Marksteppers were savages, I was going to see the truth.” “First day, I talked to these kids, maybe ten years old, two boys and a girl. Asked them if they knew anything about the outside world. If they’d ever wanted to go to school. The girl looked at me and said she’d kill me if I tried to make her. I said, perhaps unwisely, what if the Wardens teamed up and made you go? You can’t kill us all. ‘Then I’d kill myself.’” “They made a snare trap for a woodchuck and let me watch after they baited it. Poor thing must have been hungry, because it didn’t take long. Then the two older kids started a fire and got a few sharp sticks. The youngest dug into the burrow and got the pups. I guess you can digest burnt animal fur if you really want to.” “Early spring is the worst time for foragers. I’m sure they were all hungry.” “Oh, that’s not the fun part. The girl said they were gonna do the same to me. And they did! I heard them outside my tent that night. My bunkmate waited until they set the snare, then came out, ripped it up and chased them away with our rifle.”

"I need both of you to stay focused. I split you up now, all you'll do is worry about each other, which is a distraction and vulnerability." He gave them a police-detective stare, exhausted with his own smarts. "Am I wrong?"

"Um..." Lynd looked at her, blushed, and looked away. "N-no, you're not wrong." Tabby nodded. Lynd mumbled something about needing a shower and stumbled into the bathroom.

"Just to be clear," Fred continued, "I don't think Brantley'll start any shit. Wardens are old-fashioned. Like how back in the day, Duke So-and-so might have been the biggest asshole in England, but even the king couldn't just boot him out, not without starting a civil war. Brantley can 'requsition' this, 'take initiative' on that, always keeping his toes right behind the line. Like a lawyer with a book full of technicalities. That's the culture. If you don't commit a little treason, you're not trying hard enough. Keep each other sharp."

"Woof. Not doin' too good, is he?" The Centipede said with mock concern. "Right now, my Wards are suffocating him from every angle. Maybe his heart gives out first, maybe his brain. Either way, I'd give him inside of fifteen more minutes." He paused to let that simmer. "So you can watch him die, or you can hand him over."

"And then what?" She snapped. The cicada-shaped thing loomed in the distance. "That's Bill Grissom, isn't it? After a few years of sucking down your poison? You're not turning him into another monster."

"Not what this is about, kid." He reached into nothing, into oblivion, and pulled out a familiar crystal. Iron-red, veined with blue and black, half as big as her head. "You know what this is."

"I'm not bargaining--

"Do you know what it does?"

Her silent glare was answer enough.

"It's a one-way trip to the Vine. You saw Coyle go down the drain; he' still in here. Grissom too, soon enough. I'm done with him. They'll join a whole lotta poor bastards. All alive, all hungry, all fuckin' psycho from years trapped in Magic Alcatraz. All loyal to me and only me once I finally get the missing pieces back and spring 'em. My own private army. Ain't that nice?"

There was yelling outside. "What do you mean you can't--" "I'm trying! They fucked with the locks on this one!" "Then someone find a fucking fire axe!" One of the voices was Fred's.

"And I, and every Warden and Markstepper and other freak that's ever lived," he snarled, regaining her attention, "would trade it in one second for your boy's cargo. Valunya stashed it deep inside him, Unwyn and Cervantes cooked up some story together, but they all know the truth. 'Cept for the mule."

"What cargo?"

"You wouldn't even believe me. But I'll extract it, have him back before the day's out, won't remember a thing, won't even feel different. Look, I get it, I'm a bastard, but you'll think me later. You do not want Cervantes getting his hands on this thing."

There was a grinding noise outside. An axehead pierced the wall, leaving a crack of light in its wake. A round of excitement from the onlookers, then another crack.

"Limited time offer, kid," he rasped. "Very limited." He held out the Rose. "You ain't gonna like it in here."

Tabby smirked. The air had shifted in the room. Once the Centipede heard Fred's voice, he'd backed off. Gone from dangling the deal in front of her to begging her to take it. From taunting her with his secrets to bargaining with them. Because this was him; the Chicago mafia's in-house Markstepper, the one who got away in '92, the guy who'd hired Randall, destroyed her family, ruined her life...he was standing ten feet away.

"Here's my offer," she said. She grabbed her necklace. The zugan glowed a brilliant emerald, sparkling with purpose. The bristles grew long, thin, sharp. Crystallized into a single blade, like Lynd said they would one day. It was finally happening. She had her weapon.

"Lay a finger on him, and I'll squash you like a bug."

how attached are you to the assignment of trees to the branches? i like the powers but many of them don't match the trees they're named for

Cedars are strong. Willows are calming. Alder as in 'elder'. Sumac as in 'poison sumac'. Maple as in those groves that are one single organism. Birch was used in corporal punishment iirc? Ash for Yggdrasil. Elm and Oak were a coin flip. Those are my reasons, some better than others clearly. But I'd love to hear your thoughts as well.

The Nine Greatbranches

Most Marksteppers are fundamentally human. Sure, they live apart from the rest of humanity, have a closed-practice religion (and language!) and have interacted with Great Vine magic enough to deeply change them (traditionalist Wardens see Marksteppers the way Puritan pastors saw witches, essentially), they still are born, live, and die the normal way, in communities much like 99% of human history's.

The Greatbranches are not.

The most ancient among the Marksteppers, the Greatbranches serve as the aristocracy and leadership. The total population of Marksteppers on Earth is estimated at 20,000, but the number of Greatbranchers is eternal: 999, dispersed evenly across nine branches. This is allowed by their defining feature: eternal recurrence.

If a Greatbrancher is killed by a sapient creature other than their chosen heir, that creature will assume the powers and standing of its victim. If they die by other means, their standing will pass to a chosen heir. If there is no chosen heir, the powers will pass to the nearest sapient creature. Like Asimov's robotics laws, there are many bizarre and unexpected edge cases and rules-lawyer moments surrounding their implementation, particularly what 'sapient', 'chosen', and 'nearest' all mean in practice. And, of course, if Greatbranchers dodge both targeted and natural death, there's no known upper-bound to their lifespans.

Once someone joins a Greatbranch by any of the above means (which Marksteppers refer to as "being reborn"), they cease to physically age. They are not 'invulnerable' to illness per se, but have much more powerful immune systems. (And as such, they also shake off much more readily the effects of weight gain, drunkenness, exhaustion, and the like.) They cease to be capable of biological reproduction, and roughly 2/3 report significant decreases to their sex drive. Their eyes will change color to match their new Branch, and they will develop a tapetum lucidum, allowing incredible night vision at the cost of undisguisable glow-in-the-dark eyes. They will attain a weakness to anything derived from the tree of a rival Branch, and their blood will become mutually incompatible with human blood, causing great pain to both if blood is mixed (but not other bodily fluids, nyuck nyuck).

Each of the nine is tasked with protecting, enforcing, or regulating a certain aspect of humans and our works. Each Branch has a Branch-Lord, a leader with unique powers and attributes. They believe they were charged with this by the goddess that created them in the distant past; Wardens believe that to be a simple fairy tale. Rumor has it that when all 999 are assembled in place again, the truth will be revealed.

The Nine Greatbranches are listed below, in rough ascending order of power and importance:

Melanie tossed her arms up in frustration. “Then why the hell are we taking this massive, stupid risk? For one guy? Lynd’s fine! He’s got a whole new wardrobe, a paid hotel room, a five-year-internship…” my best friend falling madly in love with him. “You want me to put twenty thousand people at risk so he can, what, pretend he’s just a normal kid? Why? What makes him so special?!”

Anthony didn’t flinch at her rant. She reminded herself that he was just dressed as an adult, younger than her in reality. It didn’t feel that way at the moment. “I don’t want anything,” he said. “These are your grandfather’s terms. Take them or leave them.”

Well, that answered that. As dangerous as this seemed, she couldn’t just walk out and…and not know. “One week ago,” she said, “I had no idea what a Ward was. Now I have to crack the most complex one ever built, in three tries or less? And I’m getting off easy?”

“Think of how you got here,” he said with a smug, know-it-all look. “Got here? You mean this?” She took the battered photocopy of 1485 Sunflower Court out of her backpack. “How is this going to help?”

“You…what?”

“I went street by street until I found a house that looked like a match.”

“You were supposed to…where’s the puzzle?” Melanie handed it over. Anthony held it in front of his face. “If you’d looked through the middle it would have showed you the Ward. It would be like a neon sign pointing to my house. You didn’t try to…?”

“No, Anthony, I didn’t look through the middle of the incomplete jigsaw puzzle. That is the literal opposite of what you do with a jigsaw puzzle.”

“Well. Um.” He fiddled with the control panel. He had the expression of a teacher who had an unexpectedly difficult question sprung on him and was trying to maintain his authority. “In recognition of the…self-imposed difficulty, I’ll disable a few of the traps and dead-ends and so forth. Keep it fair.” True to his word, the onscreen Ward simplified. Some of the colored lines and buildings disappeared. “And I prefer ‘Antonius’ when I’m like this, if you don’t mind. ‘Anthony’ is a 16-year-old loser who couldn’t run a twelve-minute mile at gunpoint.”

“Yeah, about that…so what are you now, exactly? A hologram or something? Like, could I punch you, if I wanted to?”

“I’d rather you didn’t, but yes, I’m really here. You can look like whatever you want in here! A customized form would take a few hours to render, but I do have a few defaults.” He snapped his fingers and a ring of images appeared around Melanie. They were all of women, roughly the same age as ‘Antonius’: a sci-fi chick in a latex catsuit, a samurai girl with very loose robes, an angelic lady clad in devilishly skimpy metal ‘armor’. Each one had more ridiculous curves than the last. “If you’re interested,” he said, clearly hoping she was.

“You don’t bring a lot of girls in here, do you?” She said, inspecting a dark-skinned avatar in a leopard-fur bikini and cat-ear headband.

“No, why?”

“Maybe some other time. This shit is weird enough already.” In truth, it was more tempting than it would have been a month ago. Watching Tabby strut around in her cute new outfits and daring haircut had brought on some unexpected and unwelcome jealousy. Melanie normally didn’t care that she was plain-faced and flat-bodied, except for those unplanned moments where it felt like nothing else in the world mattered. “Now buzz off. I need to concentrate.”

"I watched you look me in the eyes as you abandoned me. I watched these two idiots..." she said, glaring at Melanie's parents, "enable you all the way to Florida. And oh yes, I watched one cop kill another one before taking you to chit-chat with my mob thug brother-in-law. What'd he tell you? Who knows!" She sneered. "I am still your mother, and this entire farce exists at my leisure. You do as you're told or I blow it up. I have enough to get everyone in this room arrested for child trafficking." She looked proudly at Mrs. Hanson, whose similar threat Tabby remembered well. Mrs. Hanson looked like she regretted sharing that tidbit.

Well, fuck her. Fuck 'em both. Rita thought she could waltz in, like nothing had changed, like Tabby was still her helpless little...! Anger roiled in her chest like magma ready to erupt. She wasn't going back. Not now, not ever. She slammed a hand on the table. "I don't think you get it, Rita. I chose to let you and Dad come here, to keep you safe. But I don't need you anymore. I'm working for Mr. Cervantes now--they told you about him, right?--and I'm learning things you couldn't imagine."

She put a hand on her zugan, ready to rip it off and--this time, for sure--bring it to its full power. Melanie suddenly leaned back and stretched, with 'yeahthat'snotagoodidea' escaping in one whispered breath. Unfortunately, she was right. Tabby changed tactics. "Yesterday I saved a woman's life. Ask Mr. Cervantes. And she won't be the last; I'm getting stronger every day."

Rita gave the table a slam of her own. "You're not some hero, you little shit! And I will not be dragged into this...this cult, just to watch you ruin your life twice!"

"Hey!" Steve called. He'd been exploring his half of the duplex, and stood in the threshold between them. "There's no furniture here. Not even beds."

"Yeah," Travis said, finally speaking up. "What did you think 'unfurnished' meant, dumbass?"

"I thought there'd be something..." Steve rubbed his head. "I can't afford a whole house worth of furniture. If I knew that I'd have stayed home."

"You can afford it, you cheap bastard," Rita said. "Quit whining. That was always your problem."

"I pay for your whole medicine cabinet, you bitch, why do you think I'm broke?"

Tabby stood, fists clenched, tears of anger ready to drop. So maybe the zugan would bring the ceiling down. So what? She wanted these two out of her life, tell them to never talk to her again. She didn't notice that Travis was just as furious. Not until Melanie grabbed her and pulled her out of the way.

Travis grabbed the new coffeemaker from the kitchen counter. He yanked it out of the socket and spiked it like a football, inches from where Tabby had stood. The glass pot cracked, and what was left of Fred's morning coffee leaked out. It stained the carpet as the lid rolled to a stop. The smell made Tabby retch. Unlike Mel, she couldn't stand the stuff.

It quieted the room. Mrs. Hanson was the first to speak, grumbling "What is wrong with you?" in a tired, resigned way, like she knew she'd never find out.

"Just needed to get y'all's attention. And lookit that, I did! So, let's all listen to cousin Travis, huh?"

They did. Everyone was too afraid to do otherwise.

"Loath as I am to admit it, lady, the brat has it right. Mr. C thinks she's some kinda prodigy, and with that comes certain benefits. He told me that if you three can't function living under the same roof--and clearly, you can't--Tabby's happiness takes priority."

"Meaning what?" Rita said.

"Meaning there's a couple of extended-stay hotels in town with enough room for you and your ex. Furnished, even. And that's where you'll stay, while she's here at 240B, until she wants you back."

Tabby couldn't believe it. She bit her tongue and hardened her face to avoid jumping and screaming for joy. Rita couldn't believe it either. "What IS wrong with you?! She's seventeen!"

"I did a lot crazier, a lot younger."

"My God...'cult' was too nice, clearly. This is a goddamn criminal front. You said this Cervantes guy was a businessman? He's a gangster!"

"Damn right he is!" Travis hollered. "Leave one mob town, move to another, ain't that a bitch? But see, we're the nice kind of thugs. We don't break your knees or drain your pension, we just ask that you shut the hell up. Can ya do it, Rita? Are you physically capable?"

She folded her arms. Looked him in the eyes. Let her silence speak for itself.

"The Centipede is having me watched, and if he figures out what I'm doing, I'm dead. I was told the extraction happens today at 3:00. That...is why you're here, right?"

"So you're with the Sumacs, huh? One of them said he wanted to help me, then he tried to kill my best friend's dad. So prove you're not just stringing me along."

"I've owned and managed the salon on the third floor since the mall expanded. They started selling me lutum-infused cosmetics a few years ago, and for a while it was great. My customers all came out looking like supermodels and I made a big pile of money. And then...it very suddenly turned into a nightmare, and I want out. If you're deadset on not trusting me I'm sure that's not enough. But Travis didn't either, until he did his homework and found it all checked out. He seems like a hard man to convince."

"He got called away. Unexpected business," Tabby said. "But don't worry, he told me everything." What's that son of a bitch up to? "I've done this lots of times."

The lady didn't quite buy it. "How old are you?"

"Thirty-six, how old are you?" Tabby snapped without missing a beat, scanning the crowd herself. She told Lynd she would wait. But circumstances had changed, and now he was out of each. She chuckled, realizing his makeover had made him far harder to pick out of a crowd. Maybe he could spot them.

"I was just expecting someone a bit more...bodyguard-ish."

"I'm not here to intimidate anyone, I'm hear to get you out quietly." She abruptly stood, grabbing the bags and handing some over. "Anyone asks, you're my aunt, it's my birthday, and we're shopping together." As huge as the mall was, its hidden skeleton was even bigger. Plenty of places to slip out where even the janitors wouldn't look until closing time. Now she just had to find one.

There was one thing Tabby couldn't resist asking. "'The Centipede?' Who the hell names himself after a bug?"

"He can call himself what he likes," the woman said. "No one's gonna tell him otherwise. We were all given codenames like that. I'm the, um. The Silkworm."

She sounded quite embarrassed. Well, worms were one thing, but centipedes could bite. They could skitter up your arm in half a second. And they were hunters; if humans were small enough, they'd be on the menu too.

She hated feeling like prey. So she tried to convince herself that the four guys she kept seeing (two flanking them on the ground floor, two giving air support from the second) were just going about their business, not tailing her at all. And that was true, she wasn't being tailed.

She was being hunted.

Clothing was next, as the credit card got the workout of its little plastic life. Baggy lowrider jeans, miniskirts, camisoles, crop tops, wedge heels...everything she'd ever envied on some TV star or magazine model. Everything she'd had to pitch after Rita inspected her shopping bags. Melanie's school visit yesterday had confirmed that the dress code was quite permissive (in her words, "just don't cause a pileup in the hallway and you'll be fine") and Tabby was going to take full advantage.

Rita wouldn't like the new Tabby. Good. She wanted her mother to know, as soon as their eyes met tomorrow, that the old days were over. Mrs. Hanson was in Chicago now, tying up loose ends with the cops and giving her parents The Speech: magic is real, your kid is neck-deep in it, you're coming with me. She'd dragged an unwilling Travis along as backup. Tabby hoped the bastard was in his usual bad mood and took it out on Rita and Steve.

She wouldn't tell them about Lynd. They didn't deserve it.

Lynd was easy to shop for, not just because he was a guy, but because he cared. He had opinions on what looked good on him and what didn't. She loaded him up with jeans, shorts, and tees, but he kept veering toward the nicer stuff, even getting measured for a suit that Tabby insisted he'd never have reason to wear. "You never know," he said.

He'd also talked her into a blue sundress that she thought was too fussy and old-fashioned. "It's beautiful," he insisted. Boys back home--and probably here too--would sooner punch themselves in the nuts than say anything so gay as their feelings about a dress. But Lynd didn't know he wasn't supposed to care. And he was right. It was beautiful.

As they moved through the promenade, they checked names off Florentino's list. Each store got a little marble of lutum hidden within; nestled into a discount-rack handbag, or wedged in a potted plant. He wanted them out of sight for now. That night, he would switch them on from afar and scan for traces of the Rose.

"So I'm stuck with you for five years, huh?" She teased. They'd settled in at the food court, surrounded by shopping bags. It was mid-afternoon, and the mall was quickly filling with after-school shoppers.

"The 'proper' response would have been indignation at being under a Warden's thumb so long, and at making Unwyn wait," Lynd said with a shrug. "But he can keep waiting."

"This guy Unwyn, he's your dad or something?"

"Hah. No. He's my liege lord, and I'm his least-favorite squire."

"Hey, fuck that, this is America. We fought a war to get rid of that shit."

"You did? When?"

Tabby gave him a weird look. It didn't seem to be a joke. "I'm starting school again in two days. I'll steal you a history book."

He stood and stretched. "Enjoy it. I wish I could come with."

Okay, that had to be a joke. But no, his face was as serious as ever. "Dude, trust me, there's nothing you're missing out on."

"There's a photo booth. You wanted a souvenir, right?"

Hard to turn down a request like that. But also hard to ignore that he suddenly seemed very agitated. She hoped she hadn't hit a nerve, but just...couldn't believe her ears. She asked again inside.

"Tabby, I can barely read," he said as the camera whirred to life. "Don't bother bringing me books. I know nothing about the culture and history of my new home. The Warden-King is right, I need to be discreet, and that's more than clothing and a haircut, that's being able to hold a conversation without sounding like I was born yesterday." Click-click-click. "Where am I supposed to learn these things?"

Tabby paused to blow a kiss and flash a peace sign at the camera before her frown returned. "I'll put it this way. If you find a school, in Kahoti or anywhere, where you can just show up and say 'I need knowledge! Teach me these things!' and they actually do it, and treat you like an actual fucking human being the whole time...then I'll enroll too, because you've found the best school in America."

He pondered that but didn't respond. He was enraptured by the photos as they printed. So was she. No wonder Shanti thought they were dating; they looked great together. "I've never had my photo taken before," Lynd said. "It's funny. I've been this...new person for a day, a few hours really. But I feel more real now than I ever did." He pocketed some of the photos. Tabby took the rest. "There is...another reason I wanted some privacy," he said.

Oh FUCK, is he really--are we--Tabby tried to keep a straight face.

"There's a woman with red hair and a blue jacket a few hundred feet away. She's been following us all afternoon."

When they made it to the ground, the Mantis wasn't waiting. The ring was in the hands of a young woman. She was dark-skinned and dark-haired, dressed in a crop-top and baggy jeans, surveying them from behind large sunglasses. "You drop this?" She said. "Hit me in the head just now."

"...Yes, thank you," Lynd said, gripping it tightly and stuffing it in his pocket.

She raised an eyebrow. "You wear a lot of jewelry for a guy."

"I...suppose so?" he said, ignoring her to scan the area for Sumacs.

As he peeked behind the dumpster, the girl gave Tabby a sympathetic smile. "Men, right? Beg you for dates and then you can barely take them out in public. He's lucky he's cute. And you're lucky too."

"Oh, we're not dating."

"You're not? Then can I have him? He'd look real good on my arm at prom."

"Prom? You're in high school?" Tabby knew she was on the prettier side--many of her problems sprang from that, in fact--but looking at this girl's perfect makeup and brilliant smile made her feel like a pig in slop. "You could have said you were twenty-one and I'd have totally bought it."

"Aw, you're so sweet. Yeah, three more months at the Kahoti High gulag."

"Oh? I'm, um, I might enroll there. It's kind of complicated." After an awkward silence, she asked "So you're just...skipping?"

"I don't really do Mondays, you feel me? Or Fridays."

"And they don't catch you?"

"Well, sometimes. But they've got 4,000 kids to worry about. The guys cover for me when I skip. I don't even have to ask anymore."

This girl was living Tabby's ideal life--gorgeous, independent, drowning in suitors--and barely acknowledged it. Eager to impress, Tabby volleyed back. "Cool. I'm living on my own right now. My parents are split, and honestly fuck 'em both. I'm starting a new life."

"On your own? God, that's badass. I like you. I'm Shanti."

"Tabby."

"You're making the right friends, Tabby. Next time the rich kids throw a party I'll get you an invite. You and the hot guy you aren't dating." She sucked down the last of her smoothie. "I'm peaceing out. Stay cool."

Lynd approached after Shanti left. "The Mantis is hiding somewhere near--could be anywhere. But he's stopped trying to summon it." He took out the ring, which had gone inert. "For now, they're not making open war."

"Then we gotta let Florentino know! He could clean this place out in an afternoon, then there is no war."

"All nine Greatbranches would unite against such flagrant Warden aggression. It would be not a war but a massacre. No, for now, I trust only you with this."

"Dude, I'm not worth that."

"Of course you are." His eyes looked wet. "You're the only one who stood up for me. You'd rather live on the street, with me, then enter the Warden-King's palace because...because you didn't want me to be alone. You thought I deserved better." He laughed. "How could I not trust you?"

Tabby cringed internally, reminded of her plan to end her "protest" no later than Thursday. "I've gotta at least tell Melanie. Tell her to stay out of this mall."

"Not even her."

"She's my best friend, and smart as hell. She could help you."

"She's quite intelligent. Intelligent and honest enough to tell her father everything. This thing is part-Mirebeast, already vermin to Wardens, likely powered by Markstepper magic. Its existence is a declaration of war in the eyes of most Wardens. That will be all the reason he and Travis need to drive me away. And..." he looked back at the mall. "I can't do it. I can't come so close and then...I won't. I won't run away. So, do you trust me too?"

And she did. It made taunts from Rita and Jenny spring back to life: all a boy's gotta do is look at you, huh? She hated that, right now, she couldn't dispute them. And she hated that thirteen years of friendship could apparently not stand up to puppy-dog eyes and a pretty speech from the hot guy she wasn't dating.

Men, right?

Melanie wanted to ask about the school’s supernatural aspects, but Fawn was determined to keep the conversation to the natural ones. “…Get Mr. Vandemeer for a history class if you can, he’s great. He also does debate team. What extracurriculars did you do at your old school?” “Oh, you know. The usual Catholic school stuff. Only like 400 girls total, and it’s in a pretty shitty neighborhood, so not a ton of options.” “Wow,” Fawn said. “Prepare to have your world rocked, Melanie Kitz.” She turned the corner and pulled into the student lot of Kahoti High School, Home of the Knights. It was roughly clover-shaped, divided into four wings and a central section, each three stories high and connected by walkways on every level. Its glass and white stucco and blue-gray granite sparkled in the sunlight. “Take that 400 and add a zero,” Fawn laughed, pulling into a spot marked ‘Reserved for Leadership Committee’. Everything glimmered with Florentino’s signature touch. “How much money did he pour into this place?” Melanie asked. “He wanted a nationally-recognized school, and he spent until he got one. He gives so much back to the town. Wait ’til you see the baseball field.” She put the keys in her purse. “Honestly? It was weird hearing your parents lay into him like that. He is beloved around here. Santa Claus is right, except it’s not an act.” “Yeah, they had some big falling out years ago and hate him. It’s a whole big thing. Which brings me to why I’m here at all, then.” “Yeah, I can tell you don’t want to talk about debate team. You want to talk about…that.” Fawn waggled her eyebrows. “It’s coming. Like my dad said, you’re not the first. But there is something you need to know now.” Her voice dropped slightly. She suddenly no longer seemed like a chipper, geeky model student with a dad in the dean’s office. Like Florentino dropping his kindly-old-man act, it revealed an observant and calculating mind hidden with the stereotype people expected to see. “As you’ve surely figured out, your grandfather is freaking loaded. He also, as far as anyone knows—as far as I knew, until two days ago—has no family, no living relatives. No one really knows where the money's going when he dies. So, when his granddaughter shows up out of nowhere, in a town where him and his money are basically the sun around which we orbit?” Melanie looked at the masses of students milling through the parking lot. “Point taken.” “I mean, maybe you like boys pawing over you because all they see is a walking checkbook. No judgment here. But if you don’t, I’d recommend keeping quiet about it. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’d stick with the jeans-and-sneakers look. It’ll throw ‘em off.” That, plus a plain green t-shirt, was what Melanie had changed into before arriving. She had no idea how girls here would dress, and opted for something invisible. Asking Tabby for fashion tips would involve revealing something that would horrify her: Melanie kind of liked the uniforms. She liked not having to care about what to wear every morning. As they left Fawn’s car, a heavily-tanned girl walked by in a sundress, showing an amount of cleavage that would have the St. Agnes nuns calling for an exorcism. Maybe blending into the background wouldn’t be so difficult after all.

"So this school, is it the normal kind?"

"Depends. Are you the normal kind of student?"

"I'm the lousy kind of student. Just never been good at it. Oh, don't give me that look, Mel, they'd realize eventually. But if I'm studying this instead of, freaking, Nathaniel Hawthorne? Now that's an incentive to show up. Behave myself, even."

"You're a 17-year-old runaway delinquent. One anonymous hotline tip and the FBI drags you back to Chicago," Mrs. Hanson said, brandishing her phone. "That's your incentive. Don't think for a minute that you're holding any cards here." She folded her arms. She had a glare that would make an owl blink, which her short iron-gray hair accented. But then it softened and she sighed. "That said..."

Tabby gleefully punched Melanie in the shoulder.

"Slow down, missy. Let's talk about your parents."

Tabby's expression did a 180. "They suck," she blurted. "Dad openly wishes I was never born, and he's the better one. If they were actually good parents and good people, I'd have brought them with. We could have started over together."

"It won't shock you to learn that a lot of us have stories like that. Things we've left behind, willingly or not. But Mr. Kitz tells me the Mafia might come for them. They've both got police protection for now, but that will lapse. So, your first test." Her stare was intense again. "Should I, with Mr. Cervantes' assistance, go extract and enlighten them? It's a yes or no question. And there is one right answer."

Tabby's teeth ground as she debated which one it was. Melanie wasn't sure either, really. It seemed obvious--be a hero. Do the right thing. But was it a trick? Perhaps the right answer was that sometimes you did need to make a clean break. And that people from your past didn't deserve to know.

"Yes," she said. "We have our issues, obviously, but...they can't die because of me."

Mrs. Hanson allowed her to squirm a bit before answering. "Correct. Mr. Cervantes himself would say the same. Wardens aren't perfect, because nobody's perfect. But all the Wards, the safehouses, the fortresses--his life's work--it's about protecting people. Even when they don't deserve it."

"Now, officially, my husband and I, as authority figures, would be obligated to terminate something so dangerous and unethical as an on-site, student-recruited, underground Wardenry training program. If we were to find one, which we haven't. Officially."

Melanie smiled. Some people just had to act like the rules were always on their side, even in the process of making confetti with them. Dad was the same.

"You may, perhaps, make a few new acquaintances, including our daughter, who can tell you more. Discreetly, that is: for 99% of the students and staff, it is the 'normal kind' of school, and I'll thank you to keep it that way."

"Wow..." Tabby muttered. "That's...awesome. Tabby Jelenski, normal high school girl on the surface, but secretly a badass monster-hunting wizard." She mimicked Florentino's spellcasting. "Wait, it's a public school, right? So there's guys? And no uniforms?!"

Mrs. Hanson sighed. "Dear, why am I not getting through here?"

The mantis-monster barreled toward them, leaping up, wings spreading with a loud buzz that echoed into the fog. Its blade-like arms were big enough to cut all four of them in half at once. Its face was still human, sort of. Human enough to grin with delight, thinking it had won, which turned to horror upon realizing whom they were with.

The old man raised both arms this time, cane tucked under his left. Ten beams of light, one from each fingertip, shot into the air, and hit the mantis at ten points: six legs, two wings, head, tail. He was instantly trapped, thrashing about like, well, a bug in a spiderweb. As he descended, the wings retreated into his shoulder blades, the fangs dulled to teeth, the extra limbs disappeared, and soon he was fully human, in body at least. Thankfully, even his clothing reappeared.

The station wagon pulled up, the other new guy at the wheel. His weapon was sheathed, but he looked like a weapon himself, with his sharp crew cut and bulging biceps. He was much younger, mid-twenties maybe. He parked at the side of the road. Traffic was picking up on both sides. Melanie wondered what the drivers made of this spectacle, for the half-second they glimpsed it. 'I imagined it'. 'It was foggy out'. 'I'm too old to believe in monsters'. That had to be most of it. How could any of this stay hidden otherwise?

"Yes, most people do talk themselves out of noticing my works," the old man said. "But also, this is Florida. It blends in with the rest of the chaos. All I can say is that they have not caught me out yet."

"Did you just..."

"Read your mind? No. But I am a reader of faces as much as I am a Warden. If the traffic drew your eye more than this..." he nodded at his captive. "It was a safe inference. And as you have surely inferred, I am Florentino Cervantes, your grandfather. Lovely to meet you, Melanie. This is Travis, my second-in-command.

Travis grunted as he popped the trunk.

"H-hey! Don't stash that freak in my car!" Dad yelled.

"Relax," Travis said, as Florentino lowered the prisoner in. The light had broken from his fingertips, but the prisoner was still encircled by the rays, bound tight. "He's 'bout as scary as a sack of potatoes like this. 'Sides, how old is this shitbox? Ain't it time to upgrade? Your pops'll buy you something nice."

Dad slammed the trunk so that their eyes met. "My car's just fine. And I'm not a charity case."

"Gentlemen, please," Florentino said. "This should be a joyous occasion. We finally caught a very dangerous individual. Your reservation is in twenty minutes, so behave."

"Our what?" Melanie asked.

"The Suwannee Cafe, downtown. Delightful little place. Prepaid, of course. You deserve something nice after getting through that mess. I recommend the baked clams." He checked his golden wristwatch. "Unfortunately, I must depart. The reservation is under Graham Larson's name. He'll meet you there."

"Wait, hold on!" Tabby yelled. "We came a thousand miles to find you--almost died, all of us, more than once--and that's all you've got? 'I bought you lunch, see ya'?"

"Oh, yes, the runaways. Perhaps you're neglecting to mention something?" Florentino pointed at the trunk with his cane. "I'm a busy man, and I can't wait four hours for you to get to Kahoti. We will talk later." He looked at Lynd. His face was unreadable. "Rest assured, we do have much to talk about." He turned and sauntered down the highway, cane clicking on the asphalt. It was clearly a '90% fashion, 10% function' kind of walking stick, even though, based on Dad's age, he had to be seventy at least.

"Drive safely, yes?" He called back. "Don't give anyone a reason to pop that trunk." Fifty feet on, he swept his cane through the air like he was signing his name. A crack of blue light appeared in front of him, he walked into it, and disappeared.

"Well?" Travis asked. "Just like you remember, or not?"

"Personality, absolutely," Dad said. "But skill level? Jesus. Jesus goddamn Christ."

"Heh-heh. Yep, you're all in for some surprises, I'd say. Popped your shoulder?"

"Yeah, before we left. I'd caught this luted up mob thug and we were--NRGH!"

As they walked, Travis grabbed his shoulder and wrenched it back into place. Dad breathed heavily, face red, good arm clenching the car door as he tried the bad one. It didn't look bad anymore. "Fuck you," he grumbled.

"Hey, if I warned ya, you'd have flinched."

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