text: Rain wasn’t odd for this time of year, or this particular time of day, but after a cloudless sky, it was disappointing to return damp to the party. The hazy glow of the lanterns strung about the gardens cast a demure orange beam up the fine gravel pathway, already lined with similarly hued festive gourds. From his office balcony overlooking the mossy grounds of their estate, Henry could see people mingling about in the fallen leaves. Although he couldn’t hear the crunch of them being crushed underfoot, the understanding of the inevitable permeated the misty air. He was still caught between socializing or bed, becoming more aware of the muted pressure of laughter slowly leaking into his head. He rubbed at his temple with a scowl, raising his hand to scratch at one of his straight horns only to discover it was still dripping wet. Their ridges had accommodatingly ringed themselves in small bands of water. He returned his hand to his forehead with a tired groan. Normally he would have little trouble with a gathering of this size, but Claudia had him out half the night fetching this codex from his most gratingly honorable lordship, Etwiff. He shook his head. He was done. He had no idea what its contents might be, but he fancied at least a brief look before he retired. “Well, now that I got you the codex, do you want me to give it a look?” His sister was leaning back in his chair with her feet on his office desk, manuscript in one hand, a scowl on her face, and a cigarette in the other. She glanced up from it to his expectant face as he turned away from their holiday gathering below. He had been awkwardly bent over the railing, ruminating. Being almost seven feet tall, the railing was as likely to save him as Claudia would be to catch him in a trust-fall. He noted her lip curling to the side as she took a drag. The silky, blue smoke slowly coiled out as she breathed, “No, I think I will hire a professional.” Henry narrowed his eyes, removing a pair of copper horn caps from his inner vest pocket. He carefully fitted them back on his long, straight, wickedly pointed horns, while walking slowly to his desk. He shook the dampness from his short blonde hair with one hand, flicking the residual droplets to the side. Claudia watched him fiddle about with his clothes. She closed the manuscript, placing it on his desk before slowly standing. The cigarette flared a neon blue as she drew in breath, stretching her arms above her head. She tapped at the point of one of her horns. They were much like his, but with the addition of a slight twist at their base. She had thought about capping her horns as well, but also enjoyed a good open threat. She re-tied her ponytail, and taking the cigarette between two thin fingers, tapped some ashes into a nearby white teacup rimmed with painted honeysuckles. She chuckled dark cerulean, “I don’t think we even need to know. The fact that it went missing should be enough.” Henry snorted, “This is why you failed out of university.” She barked a laugh at him, while grabbing up the codex. She tossed the rest of her cigarette in the cup and turned to leave. “Oh, wait, I wasn’t joking!” Henry stepped forward. “Do you want me to take a look?” “I wasn’t joking either.” She frowned down at the musty smelling pages. “I think I will hire a professional.” “I’m a professional.” She regarded Henry, pointing at himself with a polite, incredulous smile. It wasn’t that he couldn’t translate it... “I know, but I mean,” she rolled her tongue like she rolled the manuscript in her hand, “A *real* professional.” He stared at her in stunned silence. “I have a doctorate in historical linguistics!” His jaw was slack, but quickly tightened as he eyed her in suspicion. “What kind of professional are you going to hire?” “Not a linguist.” She grinned, wagging the manuscript at him. “That’s not funny.” He took a couple long steps toward her, but she darted back with astonishing speed. “When I stole th--” “Borrowed?” Henry cackled. “Oh, no. Not this time, sweet little sister.” She narrowed her eyes. “You mean, we can’t just return it tomorrow evening?” “You never told me I was bringing it back.” Amber eyes stared back at each other. A slow, insidious smile crept onto Henry’s face. He drawled out gleefully, “Have I heard correctly just now?” Claudia tossed the codex at him. Its wide pages slapped into him as he caught it. She reeled about, jerking open one of his desk drawers. He stepped to the side to relish in her panic. She bumped out the underside of a drawer, removing a small, sliding metal case and a short, spiraling glass quill. From another drawer, she pulled a single sheet of extremely thick, fabric-like paper. “Has my sister, the great *mastermind*, miscalculated something?” She leaned over the desk, hand on either side of the paper, brow knitted painfully. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and picked up the cigarette-size metal case with it. He leaned over the other side of the desk, sliding the case lid slightly open and wagging it before her. He gave a loud mocking gasp and held the codex to his mouth in surprise. “Young woman, are these,” he imitated their mother’s voice, “d-d-drugs?” “Yes.” She grabbed the tin from his hand as he started to roar with laughter. She dipped the tip of the stubby glass quill into the gelatinous fluid that quivered about inside, twirling a line of runny sparkling ooze up the spiraled nib’s length. Applying the ink-substitute to the pillowy paper, she painstakingly began scribing out her message. Henry did not often get to see Claudia like this, and especially not because of a fault of her own. He set the manuscript down and scratched at one horn. “You know, glitter ink at this age is--” “Shut the fuck up.” He grinned at her feverishly red face. She was writing quickly and accurately. After only a couple moments, the letter was done. She burned the residual ooze from the nib of the pen with her lighter. The air held onto the acrid metallic tang, but the smoke quickly dissipated. She collected the items hurriedly and stashed them away again. “How did you know where I kept that anyway?” “I know where you keep everything.” Henry winced, “I certainly hope not.” She blew on the faintly glimmering faux-ink, rolling the paper carefully once it was barely dry enough not to stick. Taking a small, fuzzy cloth bag from one of the many pockets of her long coat, she dug through multiple stamps before settling on one. “No, wait, hold on.” Henry rapidly pointed at the bag as it slipped into her coat again. “When did you get the Jesils crest? Did you nick that from his office?” She sneered at him. “Wouldn’t you love to know?” “I would, yah.” “Too bad.” She pulled some wax from the heated film on his desk, and pressed the paper closed with her chosen seal. She held it out to him. He stood straight, arms crossed, and grimaced darkly at her offering. “I’m going to miss my own party.” “I know.” He frowned at the letter. She shoved it up into his chest, glaring at him. Her panic had not subsided in the least. In fact, with how well he knew his sister, her panic might have started increasing after she penned the letter. “What did you have me steal?” “Something Nimet was going to pick up in a couple days.” His eyes widened, and arms slightly slacked. He laughed out a breathy wheeze. She took one of his hands and put the letter in it, giving him a prideful, but pleading stare. His smile twitched with a disbelieving chuckle, but he held onto the paper. “You had me steal something that belongs to the *queen?*” He looked down at the letter in his hand. “And now,” his laughter picked up, “you’re sending me back to drug the guy I took it from?” He shook his head. “I’m not following your logic this time.” “No!” She glared at him indignantly. “I’m sending you to Amelie.” “You’re sending me to drug your girlfriend?” She groaned in disgust, “Of course not! Just...” She grumbled to herself furiously. He scratched at a horn, grinning as she fumed. She looked down at his desk. Then, despairingly dropped back in his chair once again. “Just, tell Amelie what happened, and ask her to leave that on her mother’s vanity.” She looked longingly at the snuffed remains of her cigarette in the flower-rimmed teacup. “So,” he stared at her flatly, “You’re sending me to drug *the queen?*” “Of course not,” Claudia assessed the tattered remains, gauging how unseemly it might be. It was half a cig. She dug it out, straightened it, and relit it. She winced as she took a drag but exhaled watery wisps that dribbled from her mouth to the desk’s shiny, waxed surface. She waved the mangled cigarette at the paper in his hand. “Lord Etwiff is drugging the queen.