Kat woke on a Saturday morning and hurled curses at the sky. She was supposed to be boarding a plane to Fiji in a few hours, but the completely inconsiderate weathercaster on the news had informed her that an impending monster snowstorm amassing off the eastern seaboard was going to ground all air travel in and out of New York. Kat was staring out her window, willing the dark clouds away when the phone rang. Her sister’s face appeared on the screen and Kat let out a heavy sigh before answering. “Dana,” she said with forced brightness. “Kat,” Dana replied, with sincere brightness. Nothing was ever forced or faked with Dana. She was the most annoyingly authentic person Kat had ever met. “Where are you headed for the holidays this year?” Dana asked. “I was going to Fiji,” Kat mumbled. “But there's a storm coming.” “That's great!” Kat knew she'd made a grave mistake telling her sister that she'd be stuck at home. There was an air of triumph in Dana’s tone, and Kat wondered if she had somehow orchestrated the blizzard. “You can come home for Christmas then,” Dana said. Kat could just picture her expression, somehow glowing and smug at the same time. “No way,” Kat protested. “I am not driving to Connecticut.” “You can make it before the storm gets bad if you leave right now,” Dana said. “Everyone would love to see you.” “Doubt it.” “Kat’s free for Christmas!” Dana shouted to someone in the background. “Dana!” Kat exclaimed, alarmed. “Do not tell people that I'm coming home for Christmas.” “She's coming home for Christmas!” “I am going to throttle you.” “Aunt Charlize is already planning to set another place at the table, so it's settled,” Dana said, utterly unfazed by Kat’s threats. “See you in a couple hours!” There was a click and Kat stared at her phone, incredulous, wondering what the hell just happened. She glanced at her suitcases, packed with sunscreen and bikinis and a floppy sun hat. Not at all suited to a Christmas in Belbridge. Kat dragged herself off the couch and dumped out all her Fiji gear, refilling the suitcase with gloves and beanies and sweaters. She rifled through the closet for some sturdy snow boots and clomped outside into the frigid air, glaring at the dark clouds again. “This is your fault,” she muttered, shoving her suitcase into the trunk. A few flakes of snow drifted down, mocking her. Kat filled up the gas tank and headed north, not sure why she'd let her sister bully her into going home. She hadn't been home for Christmas, or anything else, in six years. The fight she'd had with her parents before she left was so epic in scale that she thought she could still hear it, like a stubborn echo. Maybe it seemed cruel for Kat to reject the family legacy and leave, after Zach. But she needed to live her own life and his responsibilities had been thrust upon her while she was still reeling from his loss. Kat’s big brother had been like a lighthouse, a shining beacon of safety in the dark. She felt unmoored without him. Zach was primed to take over the family restaurant as the oldest, and the one who loved the place most. Their parents thought Kat should become the new future owner as a way to honor him, but Kat felt that the best way to honor him was to do what he'd always told her to do: chase her dreams. And Kat’s dreams were filled with shutter clicks and capturing moments in time, preserving them forever. Making the perfect cinnamon roll or serving coffee to locals and foliage chasing tourists was fine, but not for Kat. As she approached the snow-dusted Welcome to Belbridge sign her hands tightened on the steering wheel. The town was positively bedecked in holiday cheer. Lights strung up everywhere, Christmas trees glittering in front windows, and a picturesque sprinkling of snow. It looked like a scene set for a Christmas card. Kat hated that she wanted to stop and snap a photo of it. She had rejected Christmas after Zach’s death, the whole month of December cast in shadows and jagged edges since he'd hit a patch of ice on a road he'd driven a million times before. It hardly seemed fair that you could know something so well and still have it betray you. Roads were a lot like people that way, she supposed. Kat parked in front of her childhood home and eyed the Christmas wreath on the front door like it might come to life and bite her. She didn't think the world had any business being so damn holly jolly. She didn't get out of the car until her phone rang, Dana’s smiling face lighting up her screen yet again. “I know you’re outside,” Dana said, by way of greeting. “Stop being a baby and get out of the car.” “I am not being a baby,” Kat said, affronted. “You’re being a huge baby. Come inside before I send Josh out to get you.” Scowling, Kat cut the engine and climbed out of the car, walking up to the front door and its homemade wreath with all the cheer of a woman sent to the gallows. She raised a hand to ring the bell but before she could, it swung open. Dana stood there in a bright green sweater and a reindeer antler headband nestled in her brown curls. Her necklace and earrings were silver snowflakes, and her nails were painted green and gold. She was Christmas personified. Her lips pulled up in that obnoxiously infectious grin. “Kat!” she exclaimed, as if she hadn't just been threatening her on the phone. She yanked Kat into a hug, freakishly strong in her holiday fueled affection. “It's so good to see you. You look amazing, how was the drive?” Dana didn't give Kat much chance to answer any of her rapid fire questions as she led her into the depths of the house. Kat followed dutifully behind her little sister, trailing her fingers over the familiar wallpaper. “Kat’s here!” Dana announced, pulling her into the living room. Kat stood there in her dark coat, standing out in the sea of green and gold and red. Her family glowed in the light from the giant fireplace while she looked like the ghost of Christmas future come to terrify Scrooge into not being such a dick. “Um. Hi,” she said dumbly. “Kat, sweetie, it's wonderful to see you! It's been so long!” Aunt Charlize enveloped her in a hug and Kat was overwhelmed with the smell of gingerbread and Dior perfume. Charlize seemed to break the slight tension bubble that had formed when Kat stepped into the room. Her other aunts and uncles and handful of cousins all offered waves and hellos and a few more hugs. Dana’s boyfriend Josh gave her a warm smile. The two of them had been together since their sophomore year in high school. Kat was shuffled through the room on a tide of familial greetings until she found herself standing before her parents. She felt eighteen again, standing before them declaring that she wanted to be a photographer instead of being part of the family legacy. Her father had turned the color of a fresh beet at the notion of her running off to a big city to be a starving artist instead of embracing the stability their family had created. Her mother said she'd be home within a month, begging their forgiveness. The fight had been loud and angry, punctuated with harsh words. And Kat had never come home, until now. “Kathleen,” her mother said, taking her in. “We weren't sure if you were really going to come.” “Well...here I am,” Kat replied, wondering if her attempt at a smile looked real or if she just looked constipated. It was hard to tell exactly what Marian DeStefano was thinking. The woman had the best poker face in the world when it suited her. But where Marian could be a vault when she pleased, her husband was an open book. Kat saw remnants of hurt and anger on his face that mirrored her own, but there was warmth there too, and he pulled her into a hug. Kat was horrified to find herself feeling an urge to cry. “It's nice to have everyone home for the holiday,” he said. Kat felt her breath catch, throat burning. Not everyone. It would never be everyone again. She had said as much back then, screaming at them that it was wrong to put up lights and a tree and go on with celebrations when there was a Zach-shaped hole in their lives. But she held back from saying anything now. Dana’s eyes were flicking back and forth between them, and Kat didn't want to be the one to start a fight five minutes after walking in the door. “It's good to see you guys,” she said instead. She thought Dana might have sighed with relief. Awkward hellos over, the household settled into easy chatter. Kat wandered the room looking at the dozens of pictures, memories settling over her like a heavy blanket. If she was the ghost of Christmas future, this house was filled with the ghost of Christmas past. She stopped in front of a family portrait, taken the year before Zach died. He was smiling and dressed in a nice outfit, while fifteen year old Kat had insisted on wearing all black. A little Dana was beaming with a smile that nearly took up her whole face. They were such a cliche; the golden eldest boy, the moody middle child, and the carefree baby of the family. Dana could get anyone wrapped around her finger within five minutes of knowing them. It was hard to tell Dana no. Disappointing her was like kicking a golden retriever; something only a true monster would do. Kat sighed. It was December 22, which meant she had to endure at least three days of family and festiveness. The giant tree in the front room looked like it could barely take the weight of all the ornaments hanging off of it, and the house smelled like Christmas cookies. It was like Santa Claus and his elves had a rager and barfed all over this place. But Kat stuffed down her jaded complaints and endured dinner with her family. She thought it was going okay until she said she should get going to book a room at the B&B, and quickly realized she'd said the wrong thing. “Why don't you stay here?” Marian frowned. “You can use your old room.” “I don't want to impose.” “This is your home, Kat.” “Is it really, though?” Kat asked. She immediately wished she could snatch the words back, but they hung in the air like a guillotine blade poised to drop. “I see,” Marian said tightly. “Well, if that's how you feel, then you can of course go. I hope you’ll at least show up at the Christmas Eve party at the restaurant.” “The ugly sweater party? You still do that?” “We still do a lot of things here,” Marian said. “You'd know if you'd ever bothered to come home.” “I didn't come home because I didn't think you'd want to see me, considering you practically disowned me when I left,” Kat ground out. “We did no such thing. Don't be dramatic.” “I’m going to the B&B.” Kat stood, her face hot. Dana followed her down the hall. “Come on Kat, please don't go,” she said. “I knew this was a bad idea.” Kat shoved her arms into her coat sleeves. “You needed to come home,” Dana said, expression stern and at odds with that stupid reindeer headband. She grabbed Kat’s arm as she prepared to march outside. “Please come to the ugly sweater party,” she said, and the naked plea in her tone evaporated some of Kat’s anger. She sighed. “I'll be there,” she muttered. “But I don't have an ugly sweater.” “I have one for you.” “Of course you do.” Kat looked at her sister with fondness and exasperation, promising again that she'd be there. It was a tradition her parents had hosted for years. Christmas Eve brunch and a spirited ugly sweater contest. The only time they had ever skipped it was the year Zach died, because they had to make funeral preparations instead. After a night spent tossing and turning, Kat ventured out into the snowy wonderland of her hometown and wandered aimlessly. She saw everything in double, like a sequence of before and after shots. She rounded the corner onto Main. Old habits. She drew to a halt and stared at the restaurant across the street. Her grandfather had started the place, naming it Mabel’s in honor of her grandma. It was now a Belbridge institution. Kat pulled her gaze away, but did a double take as a familiar face walked out, shrugging into a winter coat. “Alex?” Kat only whispered his name but it was like he heard anyway, because he paused and looked up, catching her eye. He blinked in surprise, then smiled. “Kat! You're really here.” Alex jogged across the street to where she stood. Kat remembered him in his tux on prom night. His shoulders were broader now, his face in slight need of a shave. His eyebrows lifted and she realized she was staring. “I’m here,” she agreed. “I wasn't sure if Dana was just messing with me when she said you were coming back.” “She strong-armed me into it.” “I’m glad.” Kat was suddenly a schoolgirl with a crush again, her cheeks heating. “You on your way to Mabel’s?” he asked and she quickly shook her head. “Want to come with me then? I promised Mrs. Vernicek I’d come fix her decorations. The Santa on her roof fell down.” “What a tragedy.” Alex had the same old pickup he'd driven in high school, a faded blue hunk of metal with a bench seat that he lovingly kept in running condition. After he’d rescued poor Santa and narrowly avoided sliding off the roof himself, he asked if Kat wanted to grab a drink. She planned on having a few sips of eggnog and reminiscing about old times, but the universe cared little for Kat’s plans. The eggnog was strong and in the morning she did not wake up in her room at the B&B. “Hell of a way to reminisce,” she muttered, her head swimming slightly. “Who needs reminiscing when you can just do a prom night reenactment,” Alex said. Kat smacked him in the face with a pillow. “God, is that the time?” she groaned. “I’m going to be late for the ugly sweater party.” “I’m going too. I'll give you a ride.” Kat was pulling her boots on when Alex stepped out of his room wearing a garish red and yellow sweater that had a plastic T-Rex head hanging off of it, over the words “Merry T-Rexmas.” She stared at him in abject horror. “What? Ugly is the goal,” he grinned. Kat grimaced at the thought of what Dana had picked for her. Kat only had one leg out of the truck when her sister accosted her. “I tried to bring you your sweater this morning but you weren't at the B&B,” Dana said. Her eyes scanned the truck and she seemed to recognize it, her gaze then traveling to Alex as he got out and waved. Kat wanted to disappear as Dana’s expression morphed into a knowing little sister smirk. “Oh. I see. You were spreading holiday cheer.” “Just give me my sweater,” Kat griped, snatching the thing out of Dana’s arms. She tugged it over her head and looked down to see the damage. It was tye-dye, with a sequined snowman flashing a peace sign. “This is a crime against humanity,” she said darkly. Dana grabbed pulled her inside. Kat was about to say she was only staying long enough to eat an omelet but the words died as she entered Mabel’s. Her first couple of years in New York had been rough. Sleeping on a friend’s couch, eating ramen noodles most nights. She'd taken pictures of everything, experimenting with light and angles. She sold some of her prints on Etsy and started a photography Instagram. She'd finally gotten to showcase some of her cityscape work at an exhibition and had some success. Her Instagram blew up, and she now had actual clients and her own website selling prints of her photos. Now, hanging on the walls of Mabel’s, were a collection of those photos. There were professional shots from her website, but there were others too. Photos she'd taken while still a teenager, on the tripod Zach had bought her. Displayed prominently over the counter was one from the day she'd opened it, when she made Zach and Dana pose with her in front of a pile of autumn leaves. Zach had tossed her into it right after, and she’d recruited Dana to help her retaliate. “They've been following your work since I found your Instagram,” Dana explained. Kat just gaped, eyes stinging. Her parents were coming toward her, in matching hideous orange sweaters. “We wanted to show you how proud we are,” Marian said. “Dana suggested we put them up...is it alright?” Kat had never seen her parents nervous, and the sight of it now unraveled the knot of anger she'd been carrying. “I love it,” she said. She hugged her mom for the first time in years, their own Christmas miracle. Dana was grinning, and Alex was smiling too, standing there in his God-awful sweater. And there was Zach, smiling down at her from the photo she'd taken. Kat didn't expect to repair the cracks in her family’s foundation overnight, but as she savored this little moment, this snapshot in time, she figured it was a pretty good start.


Sensitive content: Bereavement 10.25am Helen desperately wanted to keep up her strength for the ordeal which was to follow, but she simply could not relax. For what felt like the hundredth time, she picked up the clock from the sideboard, put it down without registering what time it said, then walked across to the window, pulled aside the curtain and peered out into the street. On the other side of the room, the telephone on the mantelpiece pierced the silence. She turned, let go of the curtain and began to walk across to answer it, but the ringing stopped before she had even reached the centre of the room. She sighed, looked unseeingly at the clock again, then resumed her vigil at the window. The door creaked open to admit Jamie, carrying an acoustic guitar, and Luke, who had a battered copy of The Oxford Book of English Verse tucked under his arm. Helen suppressed a gasp at the sight of their incongruous dark suits and black ties. She couldn’t help noticing that Luke had still not properly brushed his hair, even today, but decided not to remark on it. “Ah, there you are.” She greeted them with a forced smile. Luke shivered. “Geez, it’s cold in here.” Jamie slumped on to the sofa. “I can’t say I’m looking forward to this.” “Me neither,” Luke grunted. He opened the book, then let out a loud snort. “Geez, what kind of random stuff is this? Hail to thee, blithe spirit! Bird thou never wert,” he declaimed, striking up a melodramatic pose. “That from heaven or near it Pourest thy full heart...” Jamie looked up, shocked. “You’re not going to read that out, are you?” “God no. It just, like, opened at that one. The one I’m supposed to do is something about death not being proud.” “Thank goodness for that!” Helen heaved a sigh of relief as Luke flopped into one of the armchairs and opened the anthology at another page. His lips moved silently as he perused the text, whilst Jamie picked up the guitar and fiddled with the tuning pegs. After a few moments his fingers moved to the strings, and the air was filled with the strains of Stairway to Heaven . The door opened again and Martin entered. Helen smiled. Despite the sombre occasion, her husband could still look stunning, even when dressed, like their sons, in dark suit and black tie. Jamie stopped playing, mid-phrase, and put the guitar down. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t know if I’m going to be able to do this.” “And this poem!” Luke chipped in. “I mean, I know it was, like, one of her favourites, but--” “Don’t worry,” Martin soothed. “Nobody except us and the priest know about it, so if either of you decide you can’t go through with it, nobody else will be any the wiser.” Jamie shook his head. “But we’ll feel as if we’ve let her down. She always said--” Martin held up his hand for silence. “Like I said, don’t worry about it.” “You’ll both be fine,” Helen reassured them, as Martin seated himself in the other armchair. “Who was that on the phone?” Luke asked. “Somebody trying to sell us life insurance,” Martin answered. “At least, I think that’s what he was selling. He had an accent so thick I could spread it on my toast.” “They can certainly pick their moments,” Helen sighed, as their sons groaned. An uneasy quietness descended over the room. Jamie eventually broke the silence. “This feels weird,” he murmured. “Like - the calm before the storm.” “Mmm....” Helen nodded agreement. Luke pushed the poetry book aside. “How old were we when Grandpa died?” he asked. “Not very old,” Helen answered. Martin considered. “Well, he died in 2001, so you would have been...” he added up on his fingers, “... five and seven. A bit young to go to his funeral.” “How old was he when he died?” Jamie asked. “Sixty-eight,” Martin said. “How well do you remember him?” “Not much,” Luke said. “I remember he had, like, lots of white hair, and he smoked those little cigars. And he talked funny.” Martin laughed. “That was because he came from ‘Zummerzet’.” The others joined in the laughter at his mock West-Country accent. Luke spoke again. “When he died, I, like, didn’t really take it in. Not like it was with Charlie.” Martin’s face became sombre. “How old was he?” “We were in, um, Year Eleven. So - fifteen. Or maybe sixteen.” “Did they ever catch the driver?” Jamie asked. Luke shrugged. “Dunno. If they did, I never heard about it.” “Tragic,” Helen murmured, turning back to look out of the window again. She jumped as Jamie let out a loud sneeze. “Bloody flowers.” Jamie glared at the massive floral arrangement which completely covered the coffee table, then looked anxiously around. “Where are the tissues?” “Over there.” Martin pointed towards the sideboard. “You’d better take a few with you. It’s not the sort of day to go out without a hanky.” “That’s usually my trick,” Helen smiled, as Jamie blew his nose and stuffed a handful of tissues into the pocket of his jacket. “What will it be like?” Luke asked nervously. “I mean, like, we’ve never been to one before.” “Service in church,” Martin answered, “then to the crematorium. That’ll be quite short, I should think. Then back to the pub for the wake.” There was a pause whilst the two younger men took this idea on board. Helen couldn’t help thinking that they both looked very uneasy. Then Jamie spoke. “Dad, you believe in all that church stuff, don’t you? Do you reckon it helps?” Martin considered. “It always has done up to now,” he said eventually. “In a way it’s comforting to believe that you’ll see them again one day. Although, having said that, sometimes things happen that can shake your faith.” “What?” Helen gasped. “But you’ve always--“ Luke’s voice cut across hers. “You mean, like, ‘If God exists then why does he allow this?’” “What sort of things?” Jamie asked, turning back to Martin. “Well... I remember years ago, when an aunt of mine died quite young, the first thing my grandmother said was ‘Why wasn’t it me?’ And it does make you wonder: Yes, why wasn’t it? If there is a God, then why did he let the younger woman die, rather than the older one? “Why indeed...” Helen murmured. “Yeah,” Luke agreed. “You kind of, like, come to expect it with old people, don’t you? Not like with--” “Natural selection, maybe?” Jamie suggested. “You know, survival of the fittest, and all that?” Helen raised her eyebrows thoughtfully, but said nothing. “Or Fate?” Luke went on. “Like, predestination and stuff?” “Maybe,” Martin agreed. “Grannie always believed in that. So did Uncle Tom.” Luke smiled. “I liked Uncle Tom. He was quality.” “Yeah.” Jamie’s normal voice was suddenly replaced by a broad Cockney accent. “I wanted to be the Village Idiot, but I failed the exam.” Luke joined in, also adopting the unmistakeable accents of the East End. “I speak two languages: English and Rubbish.” “Uncle Tom never talked rubbish!” Helen said, across their laughter. Martin chuckled. “He was a law unto himself! For what he said about eternal life, centuries ago he’d have been burnt as a heretic!” “Why?” Jamie sounded puzzled. “What did he say?” Before Martin could reply, the sound of the doorbell stunned them into silence. Martin stood up and went to answer it. Through the open door into the hall, the others could see and hear the man in the black overcoat standing respectfully on the doorstep. “Mr Blythe? Are you ready?” “Yes, just a moment.” Martin came back into the living room and picked up the flower arrangement. “Ready?” Jamie and Luke glanced nervously at each other, then nodded, picked up the guitar and the book and followed their father out into the hall. Helen watched them go, then drew a deep breath before moving to join them. “Here goes...” she whispered to herself. “Heaven alone knows how this will go...” 10.55 am As the cortège came within sight of the church, Helen gasped in surprise. “Geez, look at that!” Luke’s words mirrored her own thoughts. The path from the churchyard gate to the church door was lined with people, standing two- or three-deep in places. Several of them were already visibly weeping. The priest was waiting for them as they climbed out of the car. He gave a kindly smile to Jamie and Luke. “Are you all right for this?” he asked, nodding towards the guitar and the book. Jamie squared his shoulders and nodded. Luke followed suit, but with rather less confidence, Helen noticed. “Very well then. Let’s go...” The pall-bearers picked up the coffin, balanced it on their shoulders and carried it into the church. The mourners followed. The contemplative strains of Mozart’s Ave Verum Corpus filled the building, and Helen detected a faint smell of incense as the priest began to recite the familiar words of the funeral service: “I am the Resurrection and the Life, said the Lord...” Helen stole a quick glance at Jamie and Luke. Their faces were both fixed, as if hypnotised, on the coffin. They shouldn’t be having to do this , she thought. Not at their age. 2.45 pm Helen was the first back into the house. She wandered aimlessly back into the living room and stared out of the window as the funeral car drove off. She turned as the door opened and Jamie and Luke came in, gratefully pulling off their black ties. They both looked tired and drained. She took a step towards them and smiled. “Well done. I was proud of you both.” Jamie sighed, sat down on the sofa and put the guitar down. “I’m glad that’s over.” Helen nodded. “Me too...” She stopped speaking as Martin came into the room. He looked exhausted, but was clearly trying to keep going. Luke shivered. “It’s still cold in here.” “The kettle’s on for some tea. That should warm us up.” Martin sighed as he sat down in one of the armchairs. “Well done, both of you. You did really well.” Helen smiled in agreement. “Yes, you did.” Jamie managed a wan smile. “Thanks. I don’t know about tea, though. Right now I could do with something a bit stronger.” He heaved himself up from the sofa, crossed to the sideboard, opened one of the cupboards and peered inside. Eventually he pulled out a strangely-shaped bottle, about three-quarters full of dark red liquid. He held it up and squinted at the handwritten label. “What’s this? ‘ Blythe Spirit ’?” Luke looked up. “Hey, that was in that poem!” He grabbed the book and flicked through the pages, whilst Martin joined Jamie and studied the bottle label. “Let’s see - oh, it’s home-made sloe gin. Blythe spelled with a y. I think that’s Mum’s idea of a joke.” “ Oh, very droll,” Luke groaned, as Helen suppressed a giggle. “Shelley, isn’t it? The poem?” Martin asked. “Yeah. To a Skylark , it says here.” Jamie wrinked his brow. “Isn’t there a play as well? I vaguely remember it from school.” Martin nodded. “Yes. Noël Coward. I saw the film years ago. It’s about a ghost who can’t let go. It was supposed to be funny, but to be honest I found it a bit weird.” Helen opened her mouth to speak, but said nothing. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Luke shiver again. Meanwhile, Jamie had unscrewed the top from the bottle and taken a cautious sniff at the contents. “Oh well, I’ll try anything once.” He started to pour the liquid into a small glass. “Anyone else?” “ Yes please,” Martin answered. Luke hesitated for a moment, but agreed, albeit nervously. “Er - yeah, go on.” “No thanks.” Helen shook her head. Jamie poured out two more glasses and handed them to Martin and Luke. As Helen passed round the back of Luke’s chair, she noticed that he shuddered as he took his first sip. It’s probably a bit too strong for him , she thought . It’s pretty powerful stuff. Very good for colds, though. Kills ninety-nine per cent of all germs, and leaves the other one per cent too rat-arsed to bother. But the movement was not lost on Jamie either, who put down his own glass and turned to his younger brother. “You OK, mate?” he asked, as Helen walked back to the window. Luke relaxed. “ Yeah,” he shrugged. “It’s - like - weird.” He stared into his glass, then took another cautious sip. “Yes,” Martin agreed. “It’s an acquired taste.” Luke opened his mouth to reply, but then appeared to decide against it. The three of them sipped their drinks in silence. “This is, like, the calm after the storm...” Luke said eventually. “Mmm....” Helen murmured. “What did it say on the death certificate?” Jamie asked. “ Some fancy medical term, I think. Hang on, I’ll have a look.” Martin stood up, crossed to the sideboard and took out a piece of paper from the top drawer. “Yes, what did it say?” Helen asked. “I never saw it.” She walked round behind Martin and peered over his shoulder as he read aloud: “ Cause of death: acute myocardial infarction . Heart attack to you and me.” “At least it was quick,” Helen remarked. Martin shivered as he folded up the death certificate and replaced it in the drawer. “You’re right, Luke,” he said. “It is cold in here.” Jamie stood up and switched on the electric fire. “What happens now?” he asked, as he sat down again. “We need to pick up the ashes from the undertaker,” Martin answered. “I think they’ll be ready tomorrow, or the day after.” Luke shuddered. “That’s, like, really creepy. What’s going to happen to them?” “She always said she wanted them scattered over the sea,” Martin said, sitting down in the armchair. “So I thought we might take a trip down to the coast on Saturday. We could have a pub lunch afterwards if you like.” “Mmm...” Luke sounded less than enthusiastic. That’s not like him , Helen thought. He loves his pub lunches. “ Talking of ashes,” Jamie took a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, “I’m popping outside.” “ Could I bum one off you, mate?” Luke asked. “What?” Martin looked up in surprise. Helen frowned. “I didn’t know you--” Luke looked sheepish. “I don’t usually, like, but right now...” “Sure.” Jamie offered him the packet as they headed for the door. “I’ll go and make the tea.” Martin stood up and followed them out. Helen stared after him, then moved away from the window and sat down in the armchair which Martin had just vacated. It still felt comfortingly warm. For the first time since the morning she felt able to think straight, and tried to clarify everything that was crashing through her jumbled brain. Peter Pan said that to die would be an awfully big adventure , she thought. But so far, it’s been more like an awfully big anticlimax. She counted on her fingers. Heart attack. Well, at least it was quick and tidy. I think I was probably dead before I even hit the ground. And I’ve been spared the indignity of old age, or being a burden to anyone. That was what I’d been dreading most of all. Postmortem. Ugh, that wasn’t nice. She shuddered at the memory. Big bash in Church. Dear Martin - I might have known he’d give me a good send-off. And I was surprised at how many people turned up. Some of them I haven’t seen for years. They seemed genuinely upset. But then, if they thought that much of me, why didn’t they come to see me whilst I was still alive? Cremation... That wasn’t particularly nice either, but then, I wasn’t really expecting it to be... Bunfight at the pub. Then - what? I often wondered where I’d end up, but never in my wildest dreams did I imagine it would be back here. Is this it? Mrs Blythe, welcome to the afterlife. They drummed all that Heaven and Hell stuff into us at Sunday School. For a while I even believed them, but I’d started to have doubts even before all that business with that loony fundamentalist, telling us we’d all go to Hell if we didn’t give the Church at least a tenth of our income. But if this is what really happens, then at least I’ve managed to prove him wrong! I suppose it started when Miss Muir was teaching us about Hitler. What was it she said? ‘Perhaps that’s what Hell really is - having to listen to what people say about you afterwards. And the more wicked you were, the worse it will be.’ And then... Uncle Tom. She began speaking aloud, her voice slipping effortlessly into the tones of her uncle’s Cockney accent. “Eternal life ain’t about your soul goin’ on for ever, sittin’ on a cloud and twangin’ an ‘arp. It’s them what’s left behind ‘oo keeps your memory alive after you’ve gone. And ‘ow much you’ll be remembered depends on ‘ow much you did, and ‘ow much you were loved, when you were alive. What d’you reckon, ‘elen my girl? “So is that why I’m back here? To live on, as a memory? For as long as they ... rememb...” The rest of the sentence was lost in a racking sob. She struggled up from the sofa, crossed to the sideboard and picked up the box of tissues. I’d no idea that in the afterlife I’d still be able to cry... As she wiped her streaming eyes, the door creaked open, admitting Jamie followed by Luke. Luke in turn held it open for Martin, who was carrying a tray bearing a teapot, a milkjug, a sugar basin and three mugs. All three froze in their tracks as they looked across the room. The tray left Martin’s hands and crashed to the floor... THE END...?


"I know it's a weird fear to have Emmie. You don't understand," I told her in an angry voice. She was sitting in her green PT Cruiser at the edge of my driveway. The keys were still in the ignition. Her bright red nails tapped against the steering wheel in an impatient manner. Her blond hair twisted in perfect ringlets around her cheeks. Her blue eyes raged with fire. "If you don't want to go. That's all you have to say," her face scrunched with anger. I wanted to go with her. That wasn't the question. The question was how? How could I survive? I looked at her empty passenger seat and my stomach dipped in fear. She didn't understand what she was asking me to do, and I didn't know how to explain it to her. "Please don't be angry," I pleaded. She was my best friend. I couldn't stand the thought of her fiery temper directed toward me. Yet, I couldn't get in the car with her. My feet wouldn't move even if I willed them to. "Sure," she said with a bright smile, "If you get in the fucking car Rue. How long are you going to let fear dictate your life?" What an easy question to ask. She didn't eat panic for breakfast or snack on anxiety between meals the way I did. I drank in her tiny frame and wondered how such a small person could be so fearless. "Fine," I told her. A sick feeling pounded in my gut. It begged me not to do this. Every hair stood on my arm when I put my hand on the cold handle of her car door. Fear whispered down my neck. Would I be able to pull this off? We used to do this every year. It was an Emmie and Rue tradition. Emmie was backing down the drive before I had a chance to convince myself to get out of the car. My fingers gripped the door handle with white knuckles. I couldn't release my fingers even with the door locked. Irrational thoughts paraded around in my head. Thoughts like jumping out of her moving car or grabbing the steering wheel and steering us off the road. "Oh Rue, isn't this wonderful? I love this time of year!" She exclaimed. I tried to relate and failed a miserable failure. The Christmas lights were blinding. The music pouring from her stereo promised holiday cheer. The only cheer I felt inside was a small voice cheering me on for making it further than I ever had before. It was hard to hear over a louder voice. That voice screamed for me to get out of the car before something terrible happened. "I don't get it. I wish you would talk to me the way you used to. What happened to the Rue who loved Christmas?" Emmie asked. The reason burned hot in my throat. Words, however, often took bravery to speak. It didn't matter how close you were with someone. Sometimes, the words still wouldn't come. "I love Christmas," I explained in a voice that would fail a lie detector test. "It's just not what it used to be. I grew up, Emmie. I changed." "Hey," she said in a low voice, "Things can always go back the way they were before. All you have to do is let me back in." She dropped a hand on my thigh and squeezed. No, they could never go back. I didn't want to be the one who ruined the meaning behind this time of year for her. I didn't want to color her bright world with the dark colors that painted mine. It wasn't fair. Her car flashed down the street in our neighborhood the way it did when we were teenagers. The earlier days when we were both wild and free. For a moment, I let myself become caught in the nostalgia of it all. A person could almost forget in the face of familiar things, the truth which laid underneath. "Rue. I’ve missed this!" She bounced up and down in her seat. My face felt hot. I pressed it against the icy window and watched snow-covered houses pass us in a forty-mile-per-hour blur. It wouldn't be much longer. We were almost to the annual Christmas tree lighting. After that, I would be trapped with a Christmas shopping feign. We hadn't done this sort of thing in years. The thought of doing it now made my heart squeeze. "Showtime," Emmie promised. The car stopped moving and we were staring at a large crowd of people. A twenty-five-foot tree stood proud in the town square. Panic coated the walls of my throat. Fingers intertwined with mine and I looked to see the person they belonged to. They were Emmie's fingers, and she had the widest grin on her face. "Thank you for coming. This means the world to me,” she whispered. That much was obvious. She didn't drag me with her to the front of the crowd the way she used to. I was grateful. It gave me a few moments to get my shaking hands under control. It took everything I had in me to stand there. I stood and watched smiling faces when the lights lit up the tree and cheers rang out. Tears stung the corners of my eyes. I averted my face so Emmie couldn't see. "Are you ready for this?” She asked. "I'm ready to spend every dime I have in my pocket. It was funny how things changed over time as people grew older. Then, it was funny how things didn't seem to change at all. She was ageless as I watched her struggle to contain her excitement. I looked into her hopeful eyes and felt crushing despair in my chest. "Please don't make me do this, Emmie. I can't." I whispered, "I can't." "You can," she promised. Like the Emmie I grew up with, she threaded her fingers tighter through mine. She charged toward the first store window and she took me with her. She wasn't the type of girl who could take no for an answer. "You're remembering that day... aren't you," she asked. I nodded my head since I couldn't produce words using my vocal cords. I hadn't stopped remembering that day since it happened. She had to know that. I didn't know why she needed me to confirm it out loud. Emmie laid a pale hand on the door to Smithy's Candle Shop, "Oooh oh! Let's go in here first. I'm a sucker for candles." It felt like Deja Vu. As if the day she brought up were happening all over again. Bile crept up my throat. I didn't want to be here. "Emmie, you know I can't go into that store. I'm sorry you dragged me all the way here but...." I waved an arm at the storefront window. "The shelves are laughing at me. Look at them! They know I can't do this. Can I please wait in the car?" She turned her face toward me. It was crestfallen. Anyone who walked by would have felt the disappointment that exuded from all five feet of her. Her eyes brimmed with furious tears. I had made her angry again. "You got in the car," she hissed. "You can't quit. See this through!" My back was against the red and grey bricks that made up the storefront of Smithy's. I slid down them when the weight of what she said hit me. I knew what she was trying to do. I knew she meant well. The thing was it didn’t matter. I couldn't bring myself to do it. My feet hit the ground in a sprint before I even realized I wasn't collapsed on the sidewalk anymore. I heard Emmie shouting behind me. The stares of Christmas shoppers burned into my back. I'm sure they wondered why this crazy girl was running through the middle of the town square and ugly crying. I ran until I spotted Emmie's green cruiser. My legs came to a full stop and I hit my fist against the hood of her car in frustration. The sadness and fear had turned into something much worse. It was rage. "Dammit, Emmie. Why?" I cried. A gentle hand laid a crossed my back. I looked up in surprise to see that Emmie had beaten me back to the car. Her eyes screamed she was sorry. How could I direct my anger at her? None of this was her fault, after all. "Why did you leave me behind?” I asked. She answered me in a quiet voice, "I'd do it all over again. You know it and I know it." "It isn't fair. I can't do this without you," I whispered. "Yes," she replied. "You can, Rue. That's why I am here. To show you that you can." The memories were coming, and I couldn't stop them. They flooded my brain with image after image. There was one memory that played over all the rest. It was the culprit for the storm that down poured inside me. It was an image of Emmie standing next to me. We were sixteen years old. It was our fourth year going to the tree lighting ceremony together. We hadn't watched the time. We were out way too late. Our parents would worry. It didn't matter that I warned her. Emmie didn't concern herself with things like that. She only cared about living her life to the fullest. After that, came the memory of the hands. They grabbed me from behind without warning. Hot breath assaulted my neck. A foul-smelling voice whispered in my ear. It said, "Drop all your bags and whatever money you have left on you." Emmie turned around to face us. Her blue eyes grew wide when she realized what was happening. Before I could stop her, she rushed toward us. In a single moment, it was all over. I laid in an empty parking lot surrounded by shopping bags and Emmie... well. She laid on the sidewalk surrounded by blood. The man ran before I could pull my cell phone from my pocket. I crawled to her and grabbed her with shaking hands. Her skin was warm. She wasn't breathing. I pounded my fist harder against the car's hood until I could bring myself back to the present. It was the hood of the car her mom gave me after Emmie died. It was unfair. He grabbed me. He didn't grab her. She should be here shopping and spreading holiday cheer. I should have been the one who died. "Why did you have to go and do that, Emmie? It should have been me," I told her. "No Rue. You're still here for a reason," she said. For Christmas shopping?" I asked, without being able to hide the sarcasm in my voice. "No silly. To live your life. To live it to the fullest. You have to," she begged. "You have to do it for the both of us." She smiled wide again. It wasn't the glowing smile she usually showered me with. Sadness tugged at its edges. Damn it all. It was like a sucker punch to the belly. "You're right. I can't keep living in fear, can I?" I whispered. She grabbed my face in her hands, "You can do anything. Anything you want to do." She assured me, "But I won't let you hide from this any longer." She let go of me after that. Once I closed my eyes, I feared when they opened she would be gone. The kind of gone where she never came back. I kept them closed as long as I could before her heavy sigh tore my eyes open again. "Go Rue... go and smell the candles. Buy one for me. Sit and watch the lights and the people while they're shopping. The way we used to. Know even when you can't see me or hear me. I'm here with you. Go ahead, I know you can do it," she said. She was right. I walked back to Smithy's for the first time in ten years and turned the door handle. I couldn't live in the past anymore. I had to move on. I had to do it for both of us.


I’ve been waiting a year for this day. I sit at the bar, chew on peanuts, and swill the last of a Pabst Blue Ribbon. It’s 2:59 pm. The ceremony is about to begin. The Steelers just scored a touchdown. The sports bar jumps with cheer. Five bucks says, right about now, she’s thinking about peaking her head out of the bride’s room just to see what all the commotion is about. When she does emerge from that soft shelter, she’ll shield her eyes from the altar. She can’t see me before the ceremony--that would be bad luck. “I’ll take another,” I say to Jamie, the bartender. He brings me another PBR. The beer is cold. The Steel City air has a bite, too. It’s early October. If I had actually shown up today, I’d be on the altar right now sweating my balls off. Memphis churches run hot, especially these newfangled non-denominational ones. But really, between you, me, and this blue ribbon lager, I never had any intention of marrying Kaitlyn. I left her at the altar today and I am enjoying every moment of it. It’s 3:05 pm. My phone peals. I get a text from Micah, the best man. “You OK? Where are you? We’re praying that you’re close. In Him, M.” Yeah, Micah, I’m close alright--close to taking a shit. But yeah, no problem, dufus. I’m only 779 miles away. I’ll be right there. Micah. What an asshole. He was Kaitlyn’s boyfriend ever since they met in Sunday school back in the 4 th grade. Kaitlyn told me that she and Micah almost kissed one night after a school dance. Micah stopped an inch from her lips because he “wanted to put the Lord first.” He wanted to kiss her for the first time at the altar. I didn’t meet Kaitlyn until a year ago. I didn’t even live in Memphis at the time. I saw her post on Twitter, “I cast my crowns at your feet, O Lord.” How she ended up in my feed in the first place, I’ll never know. I decided to follow her tweets. She posted all kinds of holy-roller shit like, “We are one day closer to seeing our Lord and Savior face to face.” Or, my personal favorite, when she would call upon her “prayer warriors” to pray really hard for something specific to happen a certain way. Let me tell you about God for a second. Yes, he exists. Yes, he’s a he. And yes, he has a plan. But ain’t no “prayer warrior” gonna change that plan for nothing. The only human being who’s gotten remotely close to figuring out how God works is George Carlin. You know, that crusty dead comedian with the fart jokes and the surprisingly astute observations about human nature. One time he said something like, “even if a thousand people held hands and prayed with all their might, nothing would change, and, if anything, their prayers would probably make matters worse.” I showed up at Kaitlyn’s church one Sunday. The preacher, Bobby John Smith, asked the congregation, “Is anyone ready to give up their life of sin and walk with Jesus!?” with “Jesus” having that southern jumble of extra vowels--“Jeeaazius!” I walked forward from the back of the room with crocodile tears the size of water balloons streaming down my face. “Help me, Lord! Please, help me!” I shouted, over and over. I faked a good faint right then and there at Bobby John’s feet. Kaitlyn ran from her seat on the front row to my side where she took me in her arms and told me she would pray for me and everything would be alright. The trick to pulling off a long con like this one is keeping your stories straight. I say stories--plural--because you have to have two. The first, the story about your new life, you write with the victim. This gives her more of a “buy-in” before the bill comes due. The second, the story about your old life, you reveal slowly over the con. She has to know that you ain’t a saint, but also that you are reluctant to share too much because you are ashamed of your old sinful ways. Of course, both stories are complete bullshit, but you have to remember which way the wind is blowing. “Hey, numb nuts, how ‘bout showing some Steelers pride!” Mel, an aggressive bar goer, yells at me. Poor fool. Ruining my buzz like that. In his defense, I am looking a bit sullen at the moment. But, whatever, bra . And so, in my imagination, I push my fingers into his nostrils and then into his brain where I go “goochie-goochie-goochie-goo!” and fuck with his amygdala. He has a goofy ass look on his face for a second, bleeds from his nose, and then falls face first right into the ledge of the bar. “Mel’s passed out again, Jamie” a different bar goer says. “He’s bleeding! Call 911!” Jamie says. A group carries Mel away to the picnic benches outside to give him some air. The EMTs pick him up and take him to Mt. Zion. I never check on Mel to find out how bad the damage is. Usually, when I do the amygdala thing, the loser suffers irreparable brain damage. But it’s hard to say whether it’s the “goochie-goo” or the face plant that does the trick. Who cares? Mel sucks. Kaitlyn fell in love with me because she thought she brought me to Jesus. Over that year, we read every fucking page of her King James Bible together, three times. After the first time, she told me how Micah and she agreed not to see each other anymore because “God was calling them to other places.” After the second time, we started holding hands. She told me that she wanted to kiss me, but wouldn’t kiss anyone until her wedding day--that her first kiss would be before God. After the third time, she was a little stand offish because she thought it wasn’t fair that a man of my experience should be deprived of “sexual intercourse” but she had to wait until she was married. I said to her, “Don’t worry, Kaitlyn. This is my new life in Jesus. I am reborn In Him. I want to wait, too.” Then I got down on one knee, pulled an engagement ring from my pocket, and proposed. She said “praise Jesus” over and over. I took that as a yes. The hardest part of the wedding con ain’t fooling the bride. It’s fleecing the family. Pulling the wool over the whole family’s eyes is the equivalent of an Oscar Night sweep--best actor, best director, best costume, best screenplay, and best sound design--all in one. The trick here is, when the father pulls you aside in the laundry room, hands you a $10,000 check, and tells you to elope, you tear up the check and say no. He’ll want you to elope because of your sob story about having no family and no one at the wedding to celebrate you. You go through with the wedding though because it’s what his little girl wants. And once you have dad, you have mom. Mom really only cares about herself and how she looks--don’t ask me why that is. It’s like mom can’t handle a different woman having the spotlight. Something about matriarchy, I guess. But, at all cost, you gotta watch out for little brothers. They really don’t give a shit. They don’t want to be at a wedding in the first place and will expose you if you let on even the slightest hint of a sham. “Tad’s down!” Jamie shouts. “What the hell’s the matter with you people! Give him some air!” Jamie, Jamie. Tad’s had a heart attack. Tad’s been eating cheese fries and drinking Genny Light since the fucking 80s, so it’s a miracle he didn’t keel over sooner. Hold on, Tad. It ain’t your time. In my imagination, I reach inside his chest and give his oversized heart a little squeeze. Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump. He inhales and grabs his chest. He begins to sob like he did when he was 12 and fell off his skateboard. “Tad’s OK,” Jamie calls. Yeah, sometimes I save people. I ain’t good. I ain’t bad. I just am. I ain’t the devil, either. That jerk has been in the White House for the past four years. The devil ain’t too bright. Too much pride, I guess. And so, right about now, Kaitlyn is in tears, jilted at the age of 25. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t hate Kaitlyn. This was never about revenge or making a holy roller look foolish. I don’t even hate Micah, although the sandals and the white socks have to go. Actually, the reason I did what I did was to bring Kaitlyn and Micah together. After the jilting, Micah and she will leave the church. They’ll think it was all total bullshit (and, spoiler alert, most of it is . . . except the “love” part. That’s all you need). Kaitlyn and Micah belong together, but they won’t make it without this wound. And now they will love each other for the rest of their lives--an ineradicable bond forged from mutual misery. That’s God’s will. That’s the divine plan.


Caze and Rebexi’s family life had been harmonious, despite the challenges of living in the Blue Colony, but they were shaken to their respective cores when Zily came home from school crying. “Darling,” Rebexi said, as she stroked Zily’s hair. “What happened?” Caze hovered behind Rebexi, troubled by his daughter’s blotchy face and reddened eyes. Zily sniffled, burrowing her head into Rebexi’s lap. “Jaro said...” Her voice was muffled. “Jaro said how come you don’t go to church on Starday? He said...” Caze stifled a gasp then spoke encouragingly to Zily. “What did he say, sweetheart?” “He said that if you don’t go to church on Starday then you can’t go to heaven - you’ll go to Earth!” She broke down again. Rebexi patted her back while Caze tried to reassure her, but they looked at each other, concerned. In eight years their interfaith relationship had, of course, been through ups and downs, but they’d been determined to make things work. Caze went to church on Starday and the observational days, while Rebexi went to the Stella temple on Lunaday and kept a shrine in the living area for the Stellan gods. They spoke respectfully about each other’s beliefs and before Zily’s birth had decided not to impose either of their religions on her but that she could decide when she was old enough. Zily had been to the Pog church and the Stellan temple occasionally but neither had been particularly interesting to her. They had not expected that Zily would be forced to reckon with her family’s beliefs at only five years old. Caze and Rebexi did their best to cheer Zily up but later that night, after Zily had gone to sleep, they sat on the couch, both leaning forward, elbows on knees, brows creased. Caze spoke first. “Perhaps it’s time that we made more effort with Zily and church? And the temple, of course. She’s a bright kid. She can start thinking critically about these things.” Rebexi nodded. “Yes, I think it’s time. I just didn’t think it would start so early. Honestly, people need to keep their opinions to themselves.” They reminisced about when they had first met in the Green Colony and fallen in love, the many well-meaning but pointed arguments their parents and extended family had made. It had been a difficult time but it had cemented Rebexi and Caze’s love for each other and their commitment to living an amicable, unprejudiced life. News stories about religious intolerance made them grateful for the peace they’d managed to create in their little family. Now it had been breached. They decided that, if Zily was willing, she would go with Caze to the Pog Church on Starday, and then on Lunaday she would go with Rebexi to the Stellan temple. On Lunaday evening they would then do something together as a family. Zily accompanied Caze to the Pog church on Starday and then the next day to the Stellan temple with Rebexi. On Lunaday evening, her parents probed gently for Zily’s thoughts on her religious experiences. Zily smiled at them, saying that she had liked both the church and the temple but why didn’t they all go together? And why was there so much standing then sitting then standing then kneeling? “Well, darling,” Rebexi said, “the standing and kneeling is for different parts of the ceremony. You show your respect to the gods by kneeling when you pray. And then when the priest is speaking, you sit quietly and listen. Sort of like at school.” “But why don’t we all go together? How come you only go to temple and dad only goes to church? And why did the priest at the church say there is only one god but the priest at the temple said there are many gods?” “Sweetheart,” Caze said, “your mother and I have different beliefs. We belong to different religions. It’s like how we support Ursa Major but some of your friends might support Canis Major. But we can all watch the game.” He was pleased with the starball analogy he’d come up with on the spot but Zily still frowned. “But daddy, we all go for Ursa together. We don’t go for different teams in our family. Anyway, Ursa Major is the best starball team.” “I was raised in a Pog family, which is why I’ve always gone to Pog church, and mummy was raised in a Stellan family, which is why she goes to the temple. But we can still love each other and be a family. Now, how about some ice cream?” Zily came home again crying the next day, and every day after school. At first, she told her parents in detail about the bullying (Jaro, again, saying that she couldn’t go to church and the temple, that Stellans would go to Earth with all the unbelievers) but as the week wore on, she became quiet and withdrawn. Caze and Rebexi tried to reassure her that it was just kids being silly, that she wasn’t going to go to Earth, and that she should tell the teacher if it continued. When they brought up Mister Silver, Zily just shook her head. Worried, her parents said that they would speak to Mister Silver themselves. The meeting with Mister Silver started well. Mister Silver complimented Zily’s intelligence and creativity but when Caze cleared his throat and spoke about the religious bullying, the teacher began to frown. “I see, I see,” he said. “Thank you for bringing that to my attention. It’s hard to know what’s going on behind closed doors.” Caze glanced at Rebexi. “Behind closed doors? I think it’s all been happening in the playground. And even, with all due respect, in your classroom.” “I meant, we were unaware of the family situation. That Zily has not been properly baptised into the Pog faith. And your, ahem, unorthodox marriage.” Rebexi leaned closer. “Mister Silver, this is a public school, not a religious school. It shouldn’t matter whether ZIly has been baptised or not. And our marriage shouldn’t matter either. We just want the bullying to stop.” Mister Silver sat back in his chair and smiled down his nose. “Now, Ms Blume, you may not like to hear this but it is in the best interests of your child that she is brought up properly. In the Pog church. You could consider converting yourself.” “We didn’t come to you today to talk about our religion,” Rebexi persisted. “We came to ask you to do your job as a teacher and stop the bullying!” Mister Silver stood up, still smiling down his nose. Rebexi noticed the Pog medallion hanging from the chain around his neck. “I think this meeting is finished,” he said. “Please think about what I’ve said. I will keep an eye on Zily’s behaviour.” Caze and Rebexi shook their heads, confounded. It was like they were back on the Green Colony. Always the same problems. Why couldn’t people just learn to respect others’ decisions? Especially when they weren’t hurting anyone. They left Mister Silver’s office without shaking hands and collected Zily from the playground, finding her sitting alone against a wall. Once Zily was in bed, Caze and Rebexi sat down for another long discussion. They’d been having hushed talks every night about the other children in Zily’s class but now they were up against the school itself. The idea of moving schools hovered in the air between them. Then Rebexi mentioned the conversation she’d had with her parents back at the Green Colony. “I’m not saying that we need to move back there. But it’s something to consider. Apparently, things have really improved there in the last few years. It’s like all the old problems came here.” Caze thumbed his jaw. “It’s a big move. Honestly, why should we move? We’re not the ones at fault. Especially Zily.” “I know, I know. I’m just saying what I’ve heard. And what happens if the bullying doesn’t stop? Do you think the school is going to do anything? Would things be better if she went to a Pog school or a Stellan school?” “I don’t know.” Caze had been sent to Pog schools and he’d told Rebexi about some of his experiences there. It was partly why he only went to church on Starday and the special days. She knew that he would not be keen to send Zily to the local Pog school here if the behaviour of the bullies at her current school were anything to go by. “Look, there’s no need to make any big decision now. It’s just an option. My parents would love to see us again. And Zily of course.” “Let’s see how the next week goes. Hopefully, they’ll get bored with their bullying and forget about it.” The school bullying worsened but more troubling was the interference of zealous Stellans at the Parents and Citizens meeting. They harassed the school board and any Pog staff members present. In turn, teachers like Mister Silver squared up to the Stellans. Rebexi wondered why Mister Silver didn’t find a job at a Pog school. There were a few around, more than there had been on the Green Colony. On the morning that Zily refused point-blank to go to school, Caze gave in. “Let’s do it. I’ll look into working remotely. I’m sure you’ll be able to do the same.” Rebexi gave Caze a tired hug then hurried to book flights. The next interplanetary craft left at the end of the week. They had four days to pack up their life on the Blue Colony and make a new start. If it was true that the sectarian extremists had left the Green Colony for the Red, then hopefully they could achieve some peace again. The flight day came around quickly, even though Zily had not attended school at all during the week. As the family boarded their flight, Caze took one last look behind him. Rebexi sighed. They had both had such high hopes for the Green Colony. How things had changed. Zily was still subdued but she became more excited as they buckled into their seats and the attendants brought around zero-gravity snacks. It was her first flight. Caze talked to her about the engineering that went into building spacecraft such as these to distract her from the jarring take-off. The craft was almost empty. The attendants mentioned that it would probably be more full on the return trip. Rebexi tried to relax by watching the in-flight movie. They were approaching the Green Colony’s atmosphere when the meteor shower hit. It created enough turbulence that the pilot turned the craft around to wait for a safe entry. As she did so, a large meteoroid flew past their craft, clipping a wing and they began to spin. Zily vomited, crying, as chunks of her zero-gravity snacks floated around the craft. The noise from the failing spacecraft was tremendous. An attendant shouted to them to find an eject pod, just in case. Hands linked, they made their way to one of the pods, grabbed an oxygen suit each then sealed themselves in. Inside the pod, the noise and commotion were only slightly muffled. Caze said a silent prayer to Pog. Rebexi made the Stellan hand symbols, even as she clutched Zily to her chest. The attendant stared at the monitor which showed that the spacecraft was still unable to right itself but then something else hit the craft and the eject pod was thrown into space. Caze threw his arms around Rebexi and Zily. Rebexi already felt like the force of the ejection was crushing her, now with Caze it was almost unbearable but the thought of losing either Zily or Caze was worse. After a long minute, the noise stopped, and it was still inside the pod, although they knew that they were probably travelling at thousands of kilometres per minute. The monitor had gone blank so they could only guess. After another minute of silent free-falling, there was a series of loud thumps as they were bumped around. “We must have entered the Green Colony atmosphere,” Caze said. The pod accelerated on, finally hitting the ground with a bone-shaking thud that caused them to pass out. Rebexi was the first to open her eyes. She turned her head left and right to release the tension in her neck, then shook Caze gently. Zily’s eyes twitched and then she tried to stand up. “Careful, darling,” Rebexi said. “Take it slowly. We’ve fallen a long way and at great velocity.” The flight attendant lay against the wall, breathing but unconscious. Caze stood up and checked on him, then the monitor. He could only get it working enough to show them the view from one of the external cameras. Wherever they were, it was not the Green Colony spaceport. A dry landscape surrounded their pod, bright sunlight glaring off the concrete structures in the distance. Where were they, and how long had they been passed out? “What can you see?” Rebexi asked. “Are we on the Green Colony, daddy?” Caze shook his head. “I’m not sure where we are. But not to worry. We have oxygen and the emergency supply store. But we should try to find help for the flight attendant. The craft can’t be too far.” Rebexi was apprehensive about how far they had drifted and where they had landed. She hoped that they were on the Green Colony and that the spaceport was not too far from where they had landed. “Let’s check our oxygen then we’ll go and see where we are,” Caze said. He helped Rebexi with her oxygen suit, then Zily. “Ok, let’s do this.” Caze pushed open the escape pod’s hatch and he stepped out into the light. Rebexi followed him, holding Zily to her. The expanse of dry, hot land surrounding them was unsettling. Only a few crumbling buildings in the near distance broke up the dry, bare landscape. Caze and Rebexi glanced at each other, neither willing to go any further than the safety of the pod. Fortunately, there was oxygen in the air here so they removed their helmets. The sound of whispering reached them. Perhaps it was a light wind? The noise grew closer and then a group of about ten people emerged from one of the concrete buildings. They were dressed like the people in textbooks about the twenty-first century on Earth. Zily clung to Rebexi. A member of the group stepped forward and bowed. The rest of the group did the same. Caze and Rebexi looked at each other. Caze was about to speak when the first of the group to approach them stood up. It was a woman, with brown, sunworn skin. She bowed her head and spoke in a clear voice but neither Caze nor Rebexi could understand her. The women turned to the others and they began to chant. “What are they saying?” Rebexi whispered. “I don’t know,” Caze said. “It sounds like ‘jed die, jed die’?” “What does it mean?” “I don’t know but it must be significant.” The group continued their chanting while the leader spoke, finger pointing to the sky. She had a preacher-like quality to her address and Zily wriggled in Rebexi’s arms to watch. The woman caught sight of Zily watching her and stopped her monologue. She walked closer to Rebexi and Zily and then dropped to the ground, crying out in her strange language. The group stopped their chanting and also approached, fanning out in a semicircle around Zily and her parents, joining the woman in a new chant. “Bay bee yoh daa! Bay bee yoh daa!” Rebexi’s jaw dropped. This was too unbelievable. Could they have landed on Earth? She thought about how they must appear through these peoples’ eyes, mysteriously emerged from their ejector pod. “Caze,” she murmured. “I think...They must think that we have fallen from...heaven?” Caze blinked. “No, that’s ridiculous. I...” As Rebexi and Caze attempted to reconcile this strange encounter, the sky darkened like inky night. The woman and her followers continued their chanting, entering a trance-like state. The air around them stirred, like a thick soup, and the heat intensified so that sweat dripped from their faces. Rebexi twisted her head around, troubled, then grabbed Caze’s shoulder and pointed to the sky. “Asteroid!” Caze stared for a few seconds at the pinprick of light that was swelling and swelling. “Back into the pod! We’ll be safe there.” He pushed Rebexi and Zily back towards the pod entrance. Rebexi turned. “What about these people? They’re in danger!” “No time! Get back in with Zily.” Caze spoke to the woman leader but she was deep in her trance and would not straighten up to see what was happening in the sky above them. Frantic, Caze tried to shake her, then some of the followers, but to no avail. He bolted back to the eject pod, pulling the hatch shut behind him. BUREAU OF METEOROLOGY, SPACE WEATHER ADVISORIES Blue Colony orbit: clear conditions Green Colony orbit: some meteor showers expected Outer space, intra-colony region: white alert issued, catastrophic meteorite warning in force, avoid space travel.


Taking care of business. Everyday. Meg hears the three o’clock song play over the grocery store intercom like it always does. She knows it’s only meant to silently signify the beginning of rush hour at her job. Still, she enjoys its catchy and upbeat tune. “Hello, you're Meg, right? I’m Sam” Sam, a fellow cashier, says. “I am. You’re new. How do you like it so far?” Meg says as she turns towards her. “I know I've only been here six months, but I love it here!” “That’s good. I hope it stays that way.” “How long have you worked here?” “Three long years.” “Hopefully, I won't be here for long. After I graduate from college, I plan to leave.” Sam says with a twinge of light in her eye. Meg had plans and dreams when she was in high school, but after she reached adulthood, she realized her dreams weren’t a priority anymore. “Hello.” Meg turns to see a regular, Mr. Lee says as he enters her line. “Hello, Mr. Lee. How did you find everything?” Meg says as she starts to scan his groceries. “Terrible.” Mr. Lee says with a snickering grin. “How’s the wife?” “Same old, same old. She sure is enjoying retirement.” “Why don’t you retire? I’m sure your restaurant will be fine in your kids’ hands.” “You’re probably right, but I guess I’m a stubborn old mule.” “Your total is $12.36.” Meg says as she places the last bag on the counter. “Here you go, darling.” Mr. Lee says as hands her the cash. “Have a great day.” Meg says with a smile as she hands Mr. Lee his change. After Mr. Lee, Meg handles a few more customers before the clock strikes five. She hurriedly logs off her register and heads over to the time clock. She swipes her badge and waits for the confirmation message. But when the text flashes, Meg can hardly believe her eyes. Clock on at 9 a.m. “How could that be?” Meg murmurs to herself. Meg shakes her head. She determines she must have just seen the wrong time. She must be tired from working all day, so she decides to head home. As Meg walks to the front and starts to walk out of the door, she hears, “Where are you going?” Meg turns to see her manager, Joe, trailing after her. “My shift is over. I’m going home.” Meg says. “Very funny. I need you to hop on a register.” “No, I’m going home.” “If you leave right now, don’t worry about coming back.” Joe says. Meg desperately wants to walk out of that door, but the look in her manager’s eye tells her he’s serious. Meg knows she can’t afford to be without a job. She has enough money problems as is. “What register?” Meg says with a sigh. “Register three.” Joe says without hesitation. Meg trudges back to the checkout area and hops back on the register she was on before. She can’t believe she has to work her shift again. On the bright side, she will have double the money she would have earned if she only worked one shift. Meg goes through her shift without a hassle. She has her lunch at one o’clock, then she hears the three o’clock song. Finally, when the clock strikes five o’clock again, she heads to the time clock this time with her aching back and feet. Meg leans against the time clock and swipes her badge. Her heart sinks as that dreaded message flashes once again. Clock on at 9 a.m. “No, no! I don’t understand.” Meg cries as she slowly backs away from the time clock. “No, not again.” Meg says, shaking her head. “What’s going on?” Joe says. “Something strange is happening.” “ I don’t know what you’re babbling about, but I need you to get on a register.” “This isn’t fair. I want to go home.” “You know what isn’t fair? I’ve worked at this company for 12 years, and I’ve only got a raise a couple of times. My wife left me and got the house and the kids. I’m balding. That’s unfair. Listen, life’s not fair. You have to just deal with it, because you don’t have a choice.” “I guess.” Meg says. “Now I need to hop on. We have lines.” Joe says. Meg just nods and gets back on register three. This shift she decides to use her words sparingly. She doesn’t want to tire herself out any more than she already is. She also didn’t want to say anything she would regret. During her lunch, she just stares at the wall thinking, trying to stay awake. She fantasizes about walking out in a big explosive way. She imagines shouting obscenities at the customer who so happens to go in her line. She imagines flipping off Joe as she walks out of the door. As she hears the three o’clock song, she contemplates walking out. She decides to wait to see what the time clock says. She hopes for a new outcome, but her hopes aren’t very high. When the clock strikes five, Meg trudges over to the time clock. She swipes her badge and waits for the wheel to decide her fate. As that familiar message grazes her eyes, a tear falls from her eye. She has no words as she stares at that cursed machine. “Why are you just standing around?! I need you on a register.” Joe says from behind her. Meg turns to look at her manager, and with a tremble in her voice, she says, “Can I please go home? I’m so tired.” A second and third tear falls from her eyes. “Aren’t we all.” Joe says. “I’m serious.” “You can go home,” Joe says, “but you can kiss your job goodbye.” Hearing those cruel words, she considers actually walking out. As much as she desperately wants to, she knows she can’t afford to lose this job. She would rather work a thousand shifts back-to-back than risk homelessness and starvation. So, Meg decides to comply and jump back on register three, which she now calls home. She spends this shift taking crying breaks in the janitor’s closet and faking a half smile for her fluctuating patrons. She ponders on two questions throughout the day: Why her? Is she cursed or is this truly what life is about? As that time comes around again, Meg goes to the time clock to receive that message she knows awaits her. Clock on at 9 a.m. Seeing that dreaded message again, makes Meg realize that there is no end to her situation. She decides to just accept her fate as denying it won’t make it any easier. Meg hops back on her register and stops looking at the clock. Soon after, time starts to blur together. Lunch, song, time clock. She progressed through each new shift like clockwork. Lunch, song, time clock . She isn’t sure how many she completed, but she became okay with this new existence more and more as she did shift after shift. Lunch, song, time clock. “Meg, are you okay?” Sam says from behind Meg. “I’m great. It’s almost time for my lunch again.” Meg says, staring off into the distance with a faint smile. “Hello.” Mr. Lee says as walks up to Meg. “Hello, how did you find everything?” Meg says. “Terrible.” Mr. Lee says. Before Mr. Lee can let out a snicker, Meg starts giggling. That giggle turns to a chuckle, then a cackle. She wants to stop laughing as her stomach is hurting, but she can’t stop. Suddenly, Meg drops to the ground, still laughing. Then she stops laughing all together, and she can feel her eyes start to shut. “Are you okay? Meg?” she hears an amalgamation of voices around her. As everything starts to fade, Meg can her manager say in the distance, “Move her over. We have lines.”


Many centuries ago, when magic was as common as the springtime rain, a giant whale lived in the ocean deep. His name was Agathus, the Guardian of the Sea. He was awake the day the ocean came to being and knew each creature by its primal name. Throughout the centuries he grew and grew, and on the day that land arose, he was thrice bigger than the largest peak. And, by the time that humans learned to travel seas, the ancient giant’s shadow stretched for miles as he moved below their fragile ships. One stormy day, while wind furries danced wild spirals with the son’s of lightning and of rain, Agathus calmly followed western currents deep below the crashing waves. He glanced above to see the silver crackling of the darkened sky and spied a lonely ship, tossed savagely between the treacherous waves. Agathus sighed. The world above the waters was still young and full of growing chaos. Without a doubt he knew the ship with all its forty souls would soon be swallowed by the sea. The ancient whale was set to pass them by, resigning them to certain doom, when something made him pause. Between the crashing of the waves, the thunder of the skies, and the curses of the sailors, a single voice drowned out the chaos with its soothing calm. A mother huddled with her babe, below the rocking deck. Her crying son she cradled to a song, in hope to soothe his final hour. Agathus listened to the gentle lullaby she sang: The starfish sing a lullaby As mermaids drift to sleep Give them your worries and your fears They’ll drown them in the deep. And then they‘ll send you dreams of gold On waves of sea-weed foam The starfish song will keep you safe Until you come back home The ancient whale was touched by the courage of the soothing song. “Today is not a day that such a one should die,” he whispered to the sea. And so, Agathus rose beneath the sinking ship. Allowing it to safely cradle on his back. The sailors all fell to the deck as an enormous landmass rose beneath their ship. Looking with gaping mouths at still the storming sea, now miles away on either side, they raised a cheer to all their spirits and their gods. The mother and her child, still hidden below deck, paused but for a breath, and then continued singing to her child. Agathus stilled his movements and honed in to hear the lullaby once more. The gentle song felt soothing to his heart. His eyelids growing heavy with slumber’s honeyed call. The ancient whale slipped into a most pleasant dream. ... Two hundred years did pass before Agathus once again awoke. He felt his body weighed. Instead of one broken and helpless ship - now a small town was perched upon his back. A port was anchored to his side. His back stung from the rows of plow scratches of the human farms. A grove of fruit trees delved like splinters in the giant’s hide. *I did not give them leave to stay. With just one dive, I’ll make them dearly pay.* Agathus took a breath but then he paused. A lullaby wove through the night. A Father’s voice sang soothing to his daughter’s twins. The starfish sing a lullaby As mermaids drift to sleep Give them your worries and your fears They’ll drown them in the deep. Agathus heard the care within his voice. *Perhaps, just one more day, I’ll let the humans stay upon my back.* Agathus stilled to hear the ending of the song, and with each verse, sleep pulled him deeper into her embrace. .... Another century slid past with Agathus asleep. Then on a freezing winter’s night, when blizzard’s raven covered all with cold white feathers of his wings, the whale awoke in agonizing pain. The town had grown into a kingdom of 10,000 souls. Four massive ports were now staked firm within his flesh. A thick oak forest delved its twisted roots into his aching back. And deep beneath his second rib, the humans had begun to mine his pearl-white bone. Agathus tensed with anger and disgust. He readied his descent below the ice-cold waves. But then a child’s voice began the lullaby anew, he paused. A little beggar girl was shivering as she sang her straw-made doll to sleep. The starfish sing a lullaby As mermaids drift to sleep Give them your worries and your fears They’ll drown them in the deep. And then they‘ll send you dreams of gold On waves... On waves.... The singing stopped. A bought of coughing racked the child’s frame. Agathus waited for the girl to finish the last verse. The love he heard within her voice kept all his pain at bay. Yet, she did not resume the tender lullaby. With one more ragged breath, she clutched her doll, curled tight beneath the quickly falling snow, and closed her weary eyes. Agathus felt her tiny heartbeat slowing like the echo of a distant call. He knew the winter frost had come to claim her soul. And, as her heartbeat gave a final thump, Agathus shook with fury and dismay. *That they would let a little one as this die in the cold. They don’t deserve another day’s reprieve.* Agathus took a breath and dived below. The human kingdom given freely to the deadly sea. ... None guessed of why the isle of Berianth had disappeared. Some spoke of witchcraft, ghosts, and spirit’s whimfull wrath. The few who did survive kept endless search for land they claimed their own. And Agathus, the guardian of the sea, lay resting on the ocean floor, still angry, hurt, but wiser than the day before. As gentle ocean currents tended to his wounds, the Ancient swore to never lend again his back to those above. And as he slowly drifted off to sleep once more, he called to mind the ending of the fateful lullaby.


[TW: Substance abuse and profanity] Despite the darkness of night covering Copenhagen like a thin blanket, the city did not lie dormant. Big metal hearts and long chains lit up the streets, revealing people’s red noses and smiles as they pranced around. Sara marched hastily past the crowd. Her pulse pounded in her ears; the only rhythm in all her hectic thoughts. The eyes were glued to the phone in her hands. The cold bit her slender fingers pink, but her knuckles remained white as she clutched the phone. On the screen was a route navigating her through it all. Finally, she came to Studiestræde, where only a few lights from bar windows illuminated the black brick walls. She ran over to the bar, Masken, where a guard stood outside the door. He smelled pleasantly of cigarettes, which mismatched his unpleasant grimace. Sara forced the friendliest smile she could muster at the time: “May I come in?” The guard: “ID.” Sara: “Please, I’m not going to drink, I’ll be in and out in no time.” Guard: “No ID, no entrance.” Sweat on her forehead froze to ice in the wind. Sara returned to her phone to text mom. And as her lungs inhaled one deep breath, she held it while typing: “I forgot my ID, can you find my passport and send me a picture of it?” Her mom did as asked and sent a picture of Sara's passport. Apparently, that wasn't good enough for the guard and Sara had to download her health insurance card so he could have a look at both. Finally, he let her in. Sara darted through the entrance, but before she could feel the radiators heat, a man shouted: “Go away you crazy bitch!” All the air her lungs had been holding like two balloons, all of it was punctured into one word: “Shit!” At the bar stood Emma towering over a trembling man, laying on the floor beneath the tall girl. With foam out of her mouth, Emma snarled at the man. A whole crowd of drunk people stared at the spectacle in the corner of the room. Sara weaved her way through the small blockade of spectators so she stood a few meters in front of Emma. “Emma, please, let’s go.” Emma gave her a look that could burn down a city: “Fuck off Sara!” Sara’s blue eyes met the dark brown ones, not with hate or anger in them, just disappointment. The kind of disappointment that planted sadness and hopelessness in a garden. Emma let her eyes wander to the fat sack on the floor. The blood dripping from his nose contrasted with his winter-white skin. Then at her knuckles, all painted scarlet. Emma walked passed Sara, pushed her way through the crowd and exited the place. Everyone’s attention either turned to the door or back to their alcohol. Some laughed nervously at what had happened, others started talking about it as if a murderer was loose. Sara put a hand on her heart; it was the only band-aid she had for the weeping organ. A small breath was freed and she left too. When stepping back out into the cold, she saw Emma standing there texting on her phone. Sara spread her nicest smile again and called out: “Emma!” Emma glanced back with the same sour face as before. With her fuck finger out, she turned around and started trudging down the street. Sara had to gallop up to reach her: “Wait!” Emma: “Leave me alone.” Sara: “Can’t we just talk?” Emma: “Can’t you just fuck off?” Sara: “I’m worried about you!” Emma: “Good for you.” Sara opened her mouth to say more, but one of her snow boots got in front of the other and she fell. The left leg scraped the asphalt. Emma stopped: “Sara! Are you okay?” Sara sat down on the road and pulled up her pant leg to see some rosy lines: “It’s okay, it’s just a scratch.” Emma reached out her hand to help her up and Sara took it. Emma’s hand was nice, soft and strong. When Sara stood up, she couldn’t quite put weight on her left leg. Emma: “Can you walk?” Sara: “Yes, I think so.” Taking a step, left leg first, she felt a jolt through her leg. But as she always did, she bit her cheek and continued to approach Emma with faltering steps. Emma just stood there. Sara was now millimeters away and their breaths mingled together in a single cloud. Sara: “See!” Emma shook her head and rolled her eyes: “Come here.” With her back turned, she grabbed Sara’s legs and pulled the smaller girl up, piggyback style. Sara instinctively grabbed Emma's neck, bringing the warm hair to her face. Normally, people wouldn’t want someone else’s hair in their face, but something about the nice smell and the warmth made her feel safe. Then they started jogging off through the dark street. Sara: “Where are we going?” Emma: “To the grocery store, they probably have Band-Aids.” Both went silent after that. They continued like this for a few minutes. The pace slowed to a walk, but the grip remained sturdy. It felt like she could sit there safely forever, close to Emma. Sara: “When we get to the grocery store, I’m going to buy some cigarettes.” Emma: “You really need to stop smoking at some point, it’s not good for your lungs.” Sara: “Says the alcoholic.” Emma: “At least I know I have an addiction, and I’m trying to turn away from it. I’ve been sober for three months now.” Sara lost her voice. Three months of work, lost. That feeling of disappointment flooded everything again and began to water the sadness. Emma must have sensed it, because she whispered: “I’m sorry I went out for a drink.” Sara: “Is it because of your parents again?” Emma: “I wish I could say yes, but in reality I don’t know. The Christmas dispute was probably just an excuse to drink and get into a fist fight.” Sara didn’t say anything, because what do you say in that moment? Emma continued: “My parents don’t understand why I continue to drink and demand an answer, but I barely know it myself. I don’t know why I’m an alcoholic. I don’t know why I am the way that I am.” Sara: “You are not a bitch, if that’s what you think.” Emma: “Thank you.” Sara tried to get a look at her face but couldn’t see it for the hair. She gently ran her fingers through it and tucked it behind Emma’s ear. When Emma looked back, Sara could see her reflection in her eyes. They saw each other for the first time that night. They saw each other for the first time in a long time.


Robby dropped the thick tome down on the mahogany table. "I Guess I should have worn a mask." she coughed in the plume of heavy dust. "Alright, lets crack this thing open" Yin said, eager to find the spell and be out of this dank place. "Its ok" Robby reassured her friend, "We have time on our side." She let the glowing Infinity Pendulum dangle over the Spell book by its silver chain, and spoke - “Ubi est puer Sanguis et aqua non inecum facit quod semel est iterum” The book obeyed, tracing wild, green embers across the cover in long forgotten symbols. A chill wind slapped the book open. The embers rose and ghosted into finger bones fluttering the pages to attention before landing on the correct one. The wind died and all was quiet again. "Tubular" Robby grinned, "Alright Yin, take a picture, I want this page and that one too, then we need to go." Yin pulled from his sack a heavy scanning device, the red laser hummed and passed over the spell book before the scanner promptly caught fire. "You have got to be kidding me!" Yin shook the device until the flame sputtered. "Must be some sort of ancient anti-piracy measure." Robby laughed and up-heaved the spell book off the map table and into her satchel. "Oh well, looks like the book is coming with us." "Are you trying to die twice?" Yin demanded, "That scanner belonged to Onslow, if we don't replace that tech he is going to solder our faces together! If we survive that, well have the Capitol City Magic Department searching for whoever stuck into the archives and stole the 1st edition of Sovereign Ihura's Circulus Salis Et O!" Robby held up her necklace and pointed at the pendulum pennant she wore around her neck. "This pennant means answers. This means a chance to find out who really shut down our school and where they really shipped all our friends. I'm not going to let something so trivial as the C.C.M.D. stop me now. “ “You mean stop US now.” “Exactly.” She grinned. The duo snuck back up through the narrow stone spiral staircase they had used to reach the archives. They both activated the limited night vision afforded them from the HUD goggles, also courtesy of Onslow. At the top of the staircase lay a room that was definitely not the same room they had come through ten minutes earlier. “Well, this is not good” Robby whispered and plucked a data pad from an inner pocket of her orange overalls. The data pad silently bisected itself, the top half acting as the drone. The machine activated surveillance mode and liftied up into the old wooden rafters. Over the dark maze of bookshelves and halls of ornate rugs the drone hovered, sending the image back to Robby. “So, are you going to clue me in as to what is going on?” Yin shrieked. “Patience, my young friend.” she grinned. “I'm less than a month younger than you, my old friend.” “Shut up, I see something.” Robby opened up the options menu of the flight control software and activated functionality mode, a sub menu popped up and Robby chose data extraction and pulled the slider full left. Four of the five drone’s extremities grappled onto a cruddy wooden beam while the fifth leg stood erect. Robby touched the button of a triangle with a slash through it, activating the drone’s optical nano-data diode. “Look, right there!” Yin said too loud, pawing at the screen of the data pad. He pointing out a computer terminal with core access that was sunk into the cobblestone wall a few hall turns away. “I see it, I see it” she elbowed him out of her way “And be quite!” The drone’s blue eye shot its beam into the terminal, easily overloaded its protocols, cherry picked relevant data and sent it back to Robby. At her touch, the pad went dark and all data streamed straight to her goggles. She brought up the schematic, after a moments analysis, she spoke “This is not good.” “Let me guess, the crystalline engine that powers this place keeps the layout procedurally generated to deter would-be thieves from combing over the archives for old magic?” Yin lamented. “Precisely. How did you know that, are you reading my mind?” “You know I wouldn't do that.” “ I know, I’m teasing. Lighten up, we will get through this.” she assured. “I’ll believe that when I wake up in bed tomorrow.” “Okay, it looks like this room is surrounded in some illusionary spell, creating an infinite dungeon labyrinth of ancient bookshelves.” She spoke. “This looks promising... Found it, only a specific combination of left and right turns will trigger illusion magic override and open maintenance hatch, leading...directly to the first floor. “ “Amazing. What's the combination?” “I don't know. The combination changes every hour.” she grinned hard and turned up the opacity of her goggles so she could not see how agitated her friend had become. “This will take about 40 seconds to decode, I’m recalling the drone.” “Then we have to pack away the tech, it needs to survive this mission. We can’t afford to got caught with it, knowing Onslow, its probably stolen.” he admitted. “Here, take these goggles and quit yapping before I hug you,” she knew he hated having his personal bubble threatened. “Here comes the drone, grab it for me wi -” Robby cut her sentence short when a massive suite of medieval armor lunged from the dark, slicing the drone in half with its razor sharp sword before crashing into the ground, thunderously rocking the entire floor of the archive in a shower of sparks. “Stay calm, It’s an illusion spell, its not as tough as it seems!” she said. “Run!” Yin yelled, diving out of the way of the armor’s second sword swing, his poncho nearly nicked by the end of the blade. “It’s clearly not an illusion, are you trying to get me killed?!” “Whoops, my bad, but I do have to combination!”Robby shouted without looking up her her pad. “Left!” she grabbed on Yin’s collar and yanked him down the hall with her. The armor followed close behind with another momentous swing of of the sword. Missing wildly, the very real sword crashed into bookshelf, instead of exploding into a foray of pages and splinters, the sword passed through the illusion of a shelf and crashed into the floor for a second time. The shock wave sent Robby and Yin flying into a nearby wall, a thick tapestry saved them from concussions. They pulled themselves to their feet just when the suite of armor to be upon them once more. “Left again!” Robby yelled, stabilizing herself on Yin’s shoulder before pulling him down another dark library hallway. “Right!” the pair jerked the opposite direction. The Archive’s security measure entitled hall\_patrol.exe lost sight of the two as it’s thudding steps came to a halt, standing unnervingly still. “Three rights and a left,” she then whispered, trying not to to rouse the armors ire. They slunk around the appropriate bookshelves and found themselves at the maintenance hatch. “Finally. How do we open it?” Yin asked. “It should already be open!” Robby spat. “I - I don’t know why its not open!” “Robby, it sees us!” Yin’s eyes grew two sizes and he gripped his friend by the shoulder. The spirit inhabiting the armor grew bright with white and purple rage, turning it into a colossal torch of hot metal and anger. The suit ran toward them, bellowing with furious metallic clank. “Robby, Look at your necklace!” She looked down at the pendent at the end of the chain, upside down T shaped stone pendulum was glowing with the same ghastly green as when it woke the spell book earlier. “Stand back!” Robby ordered Yim. She took off the necklace and, with her heart pounding nearly as loud as the steps of the metal threat barreling upon them, she whirled and slung it stone-first straight at the armor. In the split second that it took to reach the target, the Infinity Pendulum grew into the size of a boulder, crashing into the center mass of the armor and sending it flying backward were it landed in a heap of purple steam and twisted metal. “YES!” Yin cheered like a person who’s life had just nearly come to an end, “How in both hells did you know it could do that?!” “I have done that once before,” she wheezed before falling on her butt. “It takes a lot out of me, but apparently, its worth it.” She laughed. Yin helped her to her feet. Yin grunted, “Unbelievable, after 10 grades at school we never learned how to do anything as powerful as this.” Yin stepped into the crater the armor had made, searched around and found Robby’s necklace, back in its original condition. He tossed it back to her just as the maintenance hatch popped open over her shoulder. “Beautiful.” Robby leered deep into the jewelry. The friends emerged from the hatch of the brick building into a dark, rain-soaked alleyway. They darted under the nearest awning and packed away Onslo’s tech with enough time to catch the midnight Hover Rail across the city to the Little Moon neighborhood. At the crest of the business district, just before the rail descend into residential, Robby could see nearly the entirety of the City. The streets that stank of burring mystery meat. The glowing neon shopping plazas constantly supplying a steady steam of weapons for violence, drugs for sex, and rock ’n roll for everything else. She wasn’t designed for this place, she was destined to be somewhere else, she just didn't know where. “Hey” Yin elbowed her and smiled. “Hey” she elbowed him and smiled back.