Frozen Ashes master list (Calendula Chronicles, Book 3)
The Code Veronica arc of the Calendula Chronicles.
Story synopsis: Albert Wesker molded his captive into the perfect, pliable bait for taking out Rockfort, and cracking open the Ashford family’s secrets. But who’s really in control, once chaos breaks out?
The stakes have never been higher for Marigold, but she may not be fast enough to save everyone.
Regarding Frozen Ashes and The Antarctica Incident (Q_Alias)
Frozen Ashes was written as the other side of Q_Alias' The Antarctica Incident. Marigold actively enters that story around chapter 23 27 (5-1 in their narrative), and moves out of it as an active participant at some point after chapter 30 35? (6-5 in their story) eventually. However, she's very active in the background of Q's narrative. We started to soft-merge our respective plots back in October 2022 plots, rather than a strict collaboration (like 1981). When I started writing, I set up a little timeline of events for reference, so I'll link when relevant events are happening at the same time in that story.
Frozen Ashes playlist
This is a rough list. After chapter 30, what I have in place is approximate. There may or may not be extra chapters or an extra section. Ha, YEP part 4 expanded into two separate parts already!
Chapter 1 will be posted March 21, 2023 and be update weekly on Tuesdays on AO3 (Blood in the Water and Homecoming Queens chapters will be Tues/Fridays.
Subscribe on AO3 for updates, or follow along on here!
Save Point chapters are interludes.
Chapter list:
Chapter 1: Sanguine Standard I (AO3)
Chapter 2: Sanguine Standard II (AO3)
Chapter 3: Sanguine Standard III (AO3)
Chapter 4: Sanguine Standard IV (AO3)
Chapter 5: Sanguine Standard V (AO3)
Chapter 6: Save Point: I The Matilda Murder (AO3)
Chapter 7: Blood In The Water I (AO3)
Chapter 8: Blood In The Water II (AO3)
Chapter 9: Blood In The Water III (AO3)
Chapter 10: Blood In The Water IV (AO3)
Chapter 11: Blood In The Water V (AO3)
Chapter 12: Save Point II: Course Correction (AO3)
Chapter 13: Homecoming Queens I (AO3)
Chapter 14: Homecoming Queens II (AO3)
Chapter 15: Homecoming Queens III (AO3)
Chapter 16: Homecoming Queens IV (AO3)
Chapter 17: Homecoming Queens V (AO3)
Chapter 18: Save Point III: Into the Abyss (AO3)
Chapter 19: The Dark Forest I (AO3)
Chapter 20: The Dark Forest II (AO3)
Chapter 21: The Dark Forest III (AO3)
Chapter 22: The Dark Forest IV (AO3)
Chapter 23: The Dark Forest V (AO3)
Chapter 24: Save Point IV: What Happened in Paris (AO3)
Chapter 25: Into the Inferno I (AO3)
Chapter 26: Into the Inferno II
Chapter 27: Into the Inferno III (AO3)
Chapter 28: Into the Inferno IV (AO3)
Chapter 29: Into the Inferno V (AO3)
Chapter 30: Save Point V: SNAFU (AO3)
Chapter 31: Day of Wrath I (AO3)
Chapter 32: Day of Wrath II (AO3)
Chapter 33: Day of Wrath III (AO3)
Chapter 34: Day of Wrath IV (AO3)
Chapter 35: Day of Wrath V (AO3)
Chapter 36: Save Point VI: No Good Deed (AO3)
Chapter 37: When Worlds Collide I (AO3)
Chapter 38: When Worlds Collide II (AO3)
Chapter 39: When Worlds Collide III (AO3)
Chapter 40: When Worlds Collide IV (AO3)
Chapter 41: When Worlds Collide V (AO3)
Chapter 42: Save Point VII: Bring Out Your Dead (AO3)
Ashes In the Fall - (Calendula Chronicles Book 2 masterlist)
Ashes in the Fall is Book Two of the Calendula Chronicles and follows the 1998 timeline from July to about November. A Wesker X OC fic. Available on AO3 and will be posted daily as Book 3's start date gets closer!
Story summary:
Marigold Ashford escaped the mansion, only to face new incarceration with a familiar jailor. She may yet have to make a deal with the devil, if she can unearth what this Faustian bargain would cost her.
There is always something left to lose.
Wesker and Marigold sketch, spoliery, NSFW - based off chapter 26
This is going to START getting NSFW around chapter 10; minors DNI those parts. I'll tag the NSFW chapters at the beginning.
On Monday, January 9, the first three volumes of Calendula Chronicles (Wesker x OC series) will be coming to Tumblr (currently available and linked on AO3), with chapters posted daily. (Also, read to the end for an announcement for current readers!)
This includes:
Book 1: Flowers and Ash - rated M, focused 1968 - 1981, 1998. When the eldest daughter of Edward Ashford accompanies her father and brother on a last-minute trip in 1968 to secure their legacy, an act of spite turns into a boon for the family. When tragedy and scandal strike, the survivors will have to be clever if they are to live long enough to pick up the pieces of their lives. Pre-slash/Gen.
Book 2: Ashes in the Fall. NFSW, eventually. Marigold Ashford escaped the mansion, only to face new incarceration with a familiar jailor. She may yet have to make a deal with the devil, if she can unearth what this Faustian bargain would cost her. There is always something left to lose. RE1 aftermath to RE2/3 time period.
Paper Tigers, a side story anthology/novella. The nascent Umbrella Corporation is finding its legs. Marigold Ashford is starting over after the death of her father, her brother's exile, and a secret exposure to the mother virus in Africa. For the first time, Marigold will have to handle the accompanying dangers alone. The 1969-1981 era of development largely skipped over in Flowers and Ash, Focusing on the moments where the virus, her reputation, and her career collide.
I'll be posting these daily, and at the end of each volume, I'll reset to the following Monday and start in on the next. At the end of the current (to 1974) end of Paper Tigers, I'll be releasing a 1981 novella collaboration involving the Ashford kids and an OC by Q_Alias.
At the end of this little marathon, I'll have enough buffer drafted and ready. be ready to start releasing new chapters of Book 3, focusing on the Code Veronica timeline. I'll be posting a preview of the cover once we get rolling :3.
As we already know, I absolutely adore your work with Marigold and Wesker! Could we get some fluff of them just having a moment/break from all of the intensity in their lives?
Remember to take care of yourself!💕
Here we go!
Fluff, SFW, a night in with dinner and a movie.
I kind of assume readers have seen the Godfather part 1, but it's not critical. There's a part two coming up in a day or so that's more angst. Enjoy!
December 9, 1998: An undisclosed location in the northeastern United States
Marigold passed a dubious look over the spread on the coffee table. “I don’t know what this is.”
Wesker ran a finger along the row of VHS tapes that has collected on the bookshelf. Someone in the facility had put out a poll of the “best movies of the 80s and 90s” and acquired the results, very likely on behalf of the woman standing behind him. Marigold had been going through them with the intensity of an Umbrella intern trying to hit a deadline as a means of filling in the blanks of her time out of the world since “disappearing” back in 1981.
There were a fair number of terrible action films from the eighties, some passable science fiction- he’d seen her watching Gattaca a week ago. Ada Wong had apparently shown up in the breakroom with upscale fashion catalogs and copies of Se7en and The Fifth Element the day after Marigold had met with the member of the HCF board. Three days later, several packages of clothing had appeared at the front desk, with a post/it inscribed in block letters: ‘WHAT’S IN THE BOX?!’
On reflection, the two women were alike enough to either hate each other on sight, or take up a sort of quiet liaison. Given how carefully Marigold was staying out of Ms. Wong’s space while in her company, combined with the easy camaraderie and Ms. Ashford’s known preferences, it was something to watch. But also something to let lie until something actually developed there.
Absently, he responded without turning around. “It’s sushi. There’s a restaurant in the next town over that sometimes does catering.” He smirked a little. He had no idea if Marigold knew how to use chopsticks, but it could go either way. Either way, it would be amusing.
There were several horror films in the stack, which Marigold had made a beeline for initially. “It’s not about the bad dialogue,” she’d explained when he’d held up the third installment of the Body Snatchers series. The ones that get popular tend to be the ones that strike something that gets under the audience’s skin.”
Someone had ignored the parameters of the poll and tossed in the Godfather trilogy. Curious, he tipped the case for the first film out of the shelf and held it up. “It’s it not your timeline, but it’s considered a classic now. Have you seen it?”
Marigold stepped up by his shoulder to peer at the case. After a long moment, she said, “I could watch it again.” Her brows furrowed together. “I liked it a lot at the time. I put off seeing the sequel for some time, though. Not sure why.”
“I haven’t seen it in a while. I wasn’t sure if you knew how to use chopsticks. That didn’t start to become popular until about ten years ago,” he nodded back at the food. Marigold had changed into a black shift dress with long sleeves, falling back into presumably old habits of hiding the lines of her body under the formless draped fabric. Despite the highly physical nature of their relationship, the old customs of holding the world at a distance in deference to her mutation still held. They would work on that. She pinked slightly under his assessing gaze, but held firm.
Pushing through, she grimaced at his comment. “I’ve tried once or twice. It was…interesting.”
“It’s a three-hour film, and the food’s not about to get cold.”
Wesker had taken to removing his glasses while in her living quarters, and she could see the dark lines beginning to form under his eyes. Something was interfering with his ability to sleep again. She could hear his heart speed up as the tension of the hospital scene began to draw tight, though he remained otherwise composed. The body reacts, she thought to herself. Even if the mind shuts something out - grief, fear, trauma - the body remembers.
The film had reached the scene where Sonny Corleone was assassinated in broad daylight. Marigold blinked in sudden clarity- that was what this movie bothered her so much, now. When she had first seen the film, she had likened Vito to her belated father, and Barzini to Spencer. Later she would amend that assessment to Spencer being more of a Hyman Roth - a man scheming for ages to take full power under the guise of a concerned mentor. Years after seeing the film, she had taken their bait and rushed into Arklay, only to be taken out like Sonny. Worse still, her younger brother, Alexander, was no Michael Corleone - and he’d likely gone down (not dead) like Fredo, if anything. He'd already begun to feel the fire of Alexia’s resentment back in 1981, and without the moderating influence her presence might have brought -
She broke through her own thought. “I was supposed to retire after that bloody visit.”
Wesker looked at her sidelong, without turning his head. He’d been mindful to dissociate his presence from the incident as best he could these past few months, but he’d still been the face of it. “How would you have done it?”
She shrugged. On the screen, Vito Corleone was learning about the death of his eldest child. What would have happened had her own father lived? “There was always a strong chance I would have developed post-polio syndrome within the next few years, had I never gone on that trip. I had it when I was young. Frankly, it would have been an easy story to sell. The intermittent invalid story worked for a long time. People wanted to believe that I just lived a little harder because I’d likely die sooner.”
Wesker looked at her as she bent across to try for another piece of sushi. There was a nice mildness to the flavor that allowed for complexity. The unagi - it tasted a little like eel - was particularly good, and she said so. Wesker smirked. “That is eel. Different language. They probably ordered it frozen.”
She looked around the platter and eyed the sashimi. “Is this all raw?”
“It’s supposed to be fresh.”
”Not my question.”
“It’s supposed to be a delicacy…ah.” He’d initially interpreted her question as revulsion. The way she had darted forward with her chopsticks said otherwise. The thin filets were trickier to manage than the cylindrical sushi rolls, and after a moment, he plucked a piece out for himself, letting her see how it was done.
She finally managed a piece of salmon and chewed, thoughtful. “It doesn’t taste raw. Fermented, maybe? It’s a lighter taste than some of the gravlax from back home.” Off Wesker’s look, she said, “Americans have shockingly weak stomachs when it comes to seafood. It’s quite funny.” She plucked up a piece of salmon this time. “And I’m hungry.”
Wesker seemed torn between pursuing the line of questioning or allowing the flow of the conversation to take its own course. Marigold watched as he settled on a third option. “I’m sure your stomach is strong enough to handle that then,” he drawled, indicating a green dollop of…something…next to the delicate pink slices of ginger.
“That looks like a condiment.”
“Are you certain of that?” He plucked the entire thing up with his chopsticks and deposited it on the smaller sushi roll left available.
“Oh, now it doesn’t look like lies and trickery, surely,” Marigold responded with heavy sarcasm. She bit her lip. “This better be a poison-free bite,” she said, almost as an afterthought, as she reached down to take the piece he had tacitly dared her to eat, and began to chew. She swallowed, then made a face at him. “That was a lot of buildup for horseradish.”
“That was wasabi. It’s not the same.”
“It’s horseradish. Is this one of those things where people assume we have no tolerance for spicy food? I do not, in fact, have that problem.”
Wesker looked prepared to argue the point, then paused. “It’s strange that you felt you needed to qualify that it not be poisoned.”
Marigold shrugged, tucking her legs under her to curl up comfortably on the couch. “It’s not, really. I know this company I’ve kept well enough to assume it’s coming. There were a few people in and adjacent the company who were rather prolific with it. Confounding them was a bit of a hobby after a while. I don’t know if that ever changed.”
If we’re thinking of the same person, then no- I imagine not.”
Marigold wrinkled her nose at the thought while Wesker used the distraction to tug her over towards him. She tensed, then allowed herself to mold against his side. Wesker traced light fingers along the curve of her waist before pressing firm, holding her in place. “I can practically hear the gears turning him your head,” he murmured into her hair. “There’s at least another hour left of the film. No interrogation. No tricks. Can you trust that?” His fingers kept up their ministrations at her side with alternating pressure, kneading, stroking, teasing. The other kept a firm grip on her knee. The juxtaposition of the extremely normal evening and the slow intimacy of…whatever this was…wasn’t as jarring as she might have thought.
On the screen, Kay Adams was slowly giving ground to the Corleone heir’s cold overtures. On the couch, Marigold glanced up at Wesker through her lashes, slowly, allowing herself to finally relax into him. She could feel him beginning to relax in turn, like he has been waiting to see if she could take the small step toward him.
An hour of normal, simple intimacy. Surely she could allow that much, for herself.
So Q_Alias and I started a collab piece way back in October, and I've finally started posting it. For those who aren't familiar, Q_Alias writes "The Antarctica Incident", the first in a series (The Umbrella Accounts) currently being re-written. Those following this tumblr are probably well aware of my series The Calendula Chronicles.
We both write Ashford-centric OC's: Marigold Ashford is Alexander's older sister - involved but distant - and Grayson Harmon, the son of the butter who is raised alongside the Ashford twins. The 1981 piece references a specific incident when the kids are all young, in 1981 - just a few short months before Marigold 'disappears'. It's mostly fluff, although these kids are absolutely savage in their bickering...which tracks.
Anyhow: We finished it! I've posted the first 4 of 5 chapters on AO3, the last to be going up on Friday.
At the end, I have a short preview chapter of Frozen Ashes, which will start weekly updates March 21, 2023.
Should I post the preview chapter of Frozen Ashes with the last chapter, or separately?
Gorgeous art of Marigold Ashford (post Raccoon City), holding a big marigold flower (calendula) drawn by @whateverthefuckyouwantiguess. Nailed it with the little smirk of “let’s see how this all plays out.”
Marigold hauled herself up through the gap at the top of the gate. It almost invited a decently fit person to sneak in, which was likely the point. Dropping down, she turned - just in time to see a small light power up above the sign just inside the gate, attached to a smooth steel wall.
November (Calendula one-shot based on backbend commission, NSFW)
What are you doing, she finally asked, still tense.
What does it look like. Put your hands behind your back, he retorted.
Did I do something wrong, officer?* Even now, she seemed unable to resist snarking back at him.
In response, he bit down on her shoulder, drawing a surprised moan out of her when he sucked hard at the bruising flesh. Finally, he brought his mouth to her ear, growling, "Is that where you want this to go?”
-----
(Frozen Ashes is actually drafted to ch 22, but there's a lot of setup milestones to hit before I'm good with getting ahead of that)
First chapter of Book 1, Calendula Chronicles series.
Story synopsis: When the eldest daughter of Edward Ashford accompanies her father and brother on a last-minute trip in 1968 to secure their legacy, an act of spite turns into a boon for the family. When tragedy and scandal strike, the survivors will have to be clever if they are to live long enough to pick up the pieces of their lives. Pre-slash/Gen.
CW for eventual violence, implied death of family member, isolation, dissociation, and violence
September 1968: an undisclosed location in Africa
The sheer weight of the summer heat bore down on the occupants of the all-terrain Jeep making a steady, careful path through the marshes. The mercenary at the wheel had blinked at the pair deplaning at the airfield. Practically kids, he’d sneered to himself. Who'd send for their kids to visit them in a war zone?
Alexander Ashford, seventeen and severe, had attempted to turn the full weight of what he must have seen as aristocratic hauteur on the grizzled veteran of the recent Kijiju…well, incident was a word. Cleansing was Lord Spencer’s favored term, and no one had corrected him within earshot.
The elder man smirked at the little lordling and mockingly touched his brow. “Ashford, all then? The whole clan coming in?” The two porters struggling behind them with cases of equipment blanched and hurried past to the car. Two more minutes and this wouldn’t be their problem anymore.
A cool voice intervened. “Yes. Colonel Connor, I presume?” The girl at his side was a hair taller than the boy, lithe and neoclassical in appearance the way most women whose titles had survived the war seemed to be. Her long, dark blonde hair was tucked into a neat bun, looking exhausted but composed. Her eyes flicked from his face to his jacket, badges identifying him as such. “Lovely. My brother and I are not quite used to travel and rather delighted to be back on solid ground. Are you to escort us to the site right away?” Her voice held the tone of a woman who was deciding the color palette for her sitting room.
It was also the tone of a woman who would be delighted to spend an afternoon filing paperwork should he decide to antagonize the little lordling further. As fun as that might be, the look in her eye suggested that poking at that particular hole would have him come away with a bloody hand. Colonel Connor grunted, and they all climbed into the Jeep and took off through the marshes.
The road was rough. If the Colonel happened to hit more of the potholes than strictly necessary, well, what of it?
Alexander yelped and started to shout on the fourth major jolt in ten minutes, then again when the girl’s hand lashed out like a cobra and pinched him on the leg, hard. He looked at her, wounded. “Marigold, what’s wrong-“
Marigold, nineteen and fresh off the debutante line, silenced him with a look that might have turned men to stone. “Try not to piss off the men with guns,” she hissed back. “You don’t know the situation here. Have you not ever picked up a newspaper?” Riots and unrest seemed to blanket this part of the world. The fact that they had sent mercenaries to clear the way for the ‘great men of science’ was not particularly encouraging. The roar of the engine made it harder to eavesdrop on them here, but still…
But then again, years of smiling and etiquette and mastering the ‘feminine arts’ in a Swiss boarding school had crafted her into a mercenary of a softer variety. The Queen Charlotte’s Ball in London, a shadow of its Victorian glory, had done well enough to get her into society, and the apprenticeship as the young lady of the manor had begun at once.
And then, abruptly, ended. The world was not kind to highly visible young women who made youthful mistakes. Marigold Ashford had been no exception to that particular rule. Her body was still healing from the aftermath of that little mistake. Her father, as doting on his only daughter as he was ruthlessly expectant of his only son, had insisted that she accompany her brother at the last minute, 'to give her some time away'.
Alex made a face at her, clearly inured to her Gorgonesqe stare. As brilliant as her little brother was- and he truly was- Alexander Ashford was sometimes equally as gifted at clinging to idiocy. “I’m not the one ducking scandals back ho-ooooow fine I’ll stop.”
Shooting him one last look, she smiled pleasantly at the rearview mirror and nodded to the Colonel. He seemed to be making an effort not to laugh at the sight of two teenagers bickering in his backseat. “Forty minutes more, miss.” The man called back. “ Marigold smiled wanly in response and leaned back, focusing on keeping her stomach in check as the Jeep lurched towards their destination.
---
The main encampment sprawled fifty feet from the mouth of the cave. Generators and cables wound around the entrance to the cave’s cavernous mouth. Mercenaries held the entrance and patrolled through the camps.
The siblings worked hard to match pace with the cantankerous Colonel. “So much security,” she said as softly as she could manage, given their pace. “This is normal?” Open-ended, carefully framed to not offend the planners.
Connor had thawed very slightly since seeing the private display of sibling dominance in play. There was enough ego on this site between the blue blood and the brains that the thought of another young hormonal genius to chivy about had been a headache-inducing one. He could tolerate a fancy little lady about if her job were to slap some sense into the fuckwits who thought they were too good to mind the perimeters at night. “It was a long, rough spring, miss. Can’t be too careful.” He walked on. She blinked at the brush-off, then followed.
“They’ve already set up the lab equipment,” Alexander noted. Marigold knew his earlier pique had been from impatience and exhaustion, now temporarily forgotten. The ink on his doctorate was still drying, so to speak, and he had leapt at the invitation to meet their father down here, at this secret site in hostile territory.
Marigold smiled back at him, brighter and more genuine this time. “Meaning that you’ll be able to get down to work so much quicker, yes?” Alexander grinned back, and she kept moving forward, smile falling off of her face as she kept pacing the colonel.
Please, let them finish the work quickly, she thought with a deeper fervor than she thought possible.
“Ah, the heirs approach,” a voice drifted on the late afternoon haze as they approached a moderate pavilion. Three men were seated around a table, gin and tonic firmly at hand. Wouldn’t do to let malaria into the party when you have a virologist on hand, Marigold thought. Aloud, she called out, “Father, we’ve arrived!”
Lord Ashford, chief virologist in the expedition, smiled broadly at his children and rose from his seat the greet them. Alexander first- clapping the young man on the shoulder. They talked in animated tones about the boy’s doctoral work- the timing, really couldn’t have worked out better if they had tried. The elder Ashford, generally nearly clinical in manner, made an exception when connecting through science, and Alexander had strived to nurture that genius thread as much as possible.
Marigold stepped to the side, watching them fondly. Lord Ashford really hadn’t known what to do with a daughter, but that was common for the type of girls she had grown up with. She had been sent to a boarding school for the children of the supposedly idle rich. She had worked to make friends- no, allies- while learning how to be effective wives for the next generation’s up-and-coming young men. She blanched internally at the thought, holding her indulgently thoughtful mask steady. Surely she wouldn’t have had to be carted all the way here for that.
Lord Ashford turned to her, eyes still shining with pride for Alexander. Sometimes, the reflected light from that was enough. She smiled back. “Father, it’s good to see you. The invitation was a surprise, be welcome nonetheless.” And still a mystery. Why?
He smiled back, touching her cheek as if she were made of spun sugar. The delicate way he handled her had always amused Alexander, and he managed to make use of the insured angle he held to cross his eyes at her. She huffed at him, not without fondness. Doctor or not, he was such a kid sometimes. She was glad of it.
Her father lowered his voice. “I heard about London. Are you alright?” Marigold smiled at him, though a tightness crept into her voice. “We can discuss that later.” Shifting her tone to something more genial, she said more loudly, “I’m not sure what I can really do out here, but a change of scenery was a lovely idea.”
Lord Spencer - uncle, she was supposed to call him, remember- toasted the teens in an unusually effusive move for him. Today must have been a productive one. “We’re quite lucky to have to pleasure of your company, both of you. Miss Ashford, I heard that you completed your term in Geneva?”
The other man at the table was perhaps in his mid-twenties. The botanist, she recited mentally, Dr. Marcus. American. He’d been removed from his posting at a Swiss university due to some sort of academic scandal, and Spencer had snapped him up. She’d known a few American girls at finishing school. They were often more gregarious but had a sense of restlessness about them. This particular one seemed to be repressing a sneer, looking up sharply at the mention of Geneva and eyeing her suspiciously. He wasn’t doing a particularly good job of it, but he clearly felt otherwise. Best not dispel that particular myth on first meeting. Privately she noted to look further into the matter. Knowing a partial story seemed fraught, somehow.
He was also the reason that she wished Spencer hadn’t mentioned Geneva, but the barb was already delivered. “Last year, really.” She did her best to appear oblivious to the younger botanist. “London was chaos most of this spring, I’ve really barely come up for air,” please let him assume I’m not smart enough to know how much of his fall had clung to him, she silently begged. She kept her eyes on Spencer.
He held her eye for a long moment, then nodded, seeming to approve. The tension slowly began to seep out of the moment. A test, then? So it would be one of those visits. She’d grown up on tales of Dame Sark holding off the invading Germans through etiquette alone. This was hardly the family parlor, but it seemed like she wouldn’t be kept entirely idle on this trip.
Twenty minutes and a few polite excuses later, the young pair were led off to their quarters for their stay. Edward Ashford watched the leave with a fond look that almost threatened to break into a smile. “Alexander’s up to date with the latest in gene expression,” he said to the other two almost as an afterthought. It’s a shame the virus doesn’t have an active sample to work from, but working from the point where the body fails is still data.” None mentioned the population of warriors who had died in their temple cavern in a last-ditch effort to be the one worthy to lead. “We ought to be able to map the structure of the virus from that point. Oswell…are you quite sure about your weapons angle? The pharmaceutics side is an easy enough pitch, is it not?” They had been arguing this point enough that summer that
Spencer did little more than sigh at this point. “It is, and we’ll need directors on that side. People to broker the relationships we’ll need for growth.” He sipped his drink, grimacing at the quinine taste. “Loyalty’s harder to cultivate than training, given decent enough instincts. Did you tell her about the Umbrella project?”
Edward frowned. “I told Alexander, of course.”
“Hmm. I keep getting letters from London asking about the exciting new company that has no details that your boy is somehow in the middle of.” Spencer smiled. It was a cruel expression on his face. “The whole thing had filtered through the grapevine of the social season quite thoroughly. I wonder what a little political and business acumen would generate for accessing the defense budgets.”
Marcus’ sneering reply seemed to evaporate at this last point, and his mouth snapped shut. Of course. Spencer had poured a large chunk of his fortune into the Arklay facility. Someone would have to get the machinery of investment going, for the little storefront facade these two were building around the working, and how to hunt for the proverbial white whales who would want the true product.
Still. Ashford had seemingly materialized from a silent partner to bringing his entire line in on the project. He had gone from running his own lab and project with Spencer’s support to being relegated to a junior partner in the enterprise. Spencer's offer to trade his access to the academic world for full research support had changed the balance of power in their little circle. In the lab, he didn't care much, but the gap was already visible.
His assistant, George Bailey, was still with him, for now. Spencer had been pulling George aside more and more this year. Spencer had put it down to the necessities of building support for his research. Scaling the business was an inevitability.
Ashford seemed not to notice the tension at the table. “Industry events are dreadful affairs,” he mused. “I wouldn’t mind going to fewer conferences if someone were able to do that bit of legwork.” Alexander was still rising in his field, of course. Still, the company itself would need representation out in the world, and his daughter, practically tailor-made for such things, needed something to do with her time. She'd run wild quite enough this past year. Ashford relaxed further, satisfied for now.
They had been friends since their shared youth, united in vision and, with a new generation ready to take the baton, on the cusp of a great era of discovery.
