Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Trisha Curtis eyed the bottom corner of her computer screen, willing the minutes to tick away faster. It didn’t work, but it was a different set of numbers from the ones she was shoving around in her spreadsheets. She sighed and fixed a few errors in the formulas she’d been sent, then spot-checked the results. The new figures still didn’t make sense, but now in the familiar way that meant she hadn’t been given enough data to see the full picture, rather than because sales and revenue had been orders of magnitude outside the expected bounds.

She jumped as her computer beeped at her; she had managed to distract herself from the clock, and the alert for her lunch break was a welcome reprieve. She grabbed her water bottle and purse and shoved her chair back from the desk, pausing only long enough to save the file and lock her computer.

“Hey, Trish, it’s not noon yet—where are you going?” one of her cubicle neighbors called as she passed.

“Early break,” she said, not slowing her steps. “Got a meeting at noon.” The team from the Port Ava satellite office had wanted an all-day meeting, lunch included, and had only reluctantly compromised on two half-days. As she waited by the elevator, foot tapping in time with the numbers counting down above the doors, she reflected that Joja might seem like a giant, faceless corporation to outsiders, but at least she could count on HR having her back.

One express trip to the top floor later, she swiped her badge at a door labeled “Roof Access.” She paused in the stairwell to strip down to the sports bra and bike shorts she wore under her business suit, hanging the rest of her clothes neatly on the hooks Maintenance had installed for her, then pushed open the final door.

The sky was clear today, and sunlight poured over her, even as the cool fall breeze raised goosebumps across her exposed skin. She dashed across the rooftop to where the fans from the server rooms blew a constant stream of warm air, making even the coldest winter days tolerable, and unrolled the yoga mat stored against the wall.

This, too, had been a compromise HR had worked out for her. JojaCorp’s headquarters might be the tallest building in Zuzu City, but helicopter tourism was on the rise, and there were planes coming in and out of the nearest airport to consider, as well; surreptitious photos of a young woman lounging on the roof in a bikini were not the sort of PR her employer wanted. She stretched her arms to the sky before bringing them down in front of her, palms together, as she raised one foot against her other leg, just above the knee. An employee taking advantage of her lunch break to do yoga—in Joja-branded exercise gear, naturally—was an image they could live with.

Trisha could live with it, as well, since her doctor was always going on about how beneficial moderate physical activity was for her condition. She closed her eyes as she held the pose, angled to put as much of her skin as possible in the light. The eye-searing green yoga mat wouldn’t have been her first choice—or Joja’s, since it didn’t fit their corporate color scheme and lacked their logo—but if some high-flying voyeur were to photograph her, it would explain away the green tint to her skin.

A sound cut through her concentration, and she opened her eyes. That hadn’t sounded like one of the birds that sometimes kept her company, and part of the arrangement was that no one did scheduled maintenance up here during her lunch break. Had someone gotten their wires crossed due to her schedule change, or was there an actual emergency?

“Oops,” an electronically modulated voice said. “You’re early.”

Trisha had just enough time to take in the tall figure perched on the safety rail, covered head to toe in a neon orange bodysuit and parachute gear, before the person leapt off of the roof with a whoop of glee that, despite being distorted by both voice-altering device and Doppler effect, sounded far too much like one of her roommates to be coincidence.

She ran to the railing and sagged against it in relief as the parachute opened and probably-Brandy swung away from the skyscraper. Her relief gave way to a groan as she realized the ‘chute—which was bound to be on every network that night, since she could make out the news vans on the street even from this height—was emblazoned with one of the anti-corporate hashtags her nosy cubicle neighbor was in charge of monitoring.

#WhatIsJojaHiding?

“No, I have no idea who it was, officer,” Trisha said—again—nearly an hour later, clutching the borrowed coat around her. The forensics team was still going over the stairwell, and they insisted they couldn’t let her retrieve her clothing until they could be certain they hadn’t missed any traces of the intruder. “I only saw them for a few seconds before they went over the edge.”

“You said the intruder spoke to you,” the man said gently. “You didn’t recognize the voice? Did you get any hint of their gender? What did they say?”

“It sounded like a voice changer—electronic, not human at all,” she said. “I’m pretty sure they said ‘Oops,’ when they spotted me, but after that I couldn’t make anything out clearly over the fans.”

“And what were you doing on the roof, Ms Curtis?” the officer inquired.

She looked pointedly at the eyesore mat, now rolled up and stowed against the air returns. “Yoga.”

“On the roof, in this weather?” His eyebrows had risen high enough to vanish beneath his cap.

“Ms Curtis has permission—” the Joja HR rep who had accompanied the police to the roof began, but Trisha interrupted Clarissa with a small headshake. “I have a medical condition,” she said softly. “The main treatment is light therapy, and my doctor has found that natural light is most effective. Exercise helps, too, so my employer has been kind to let me use this space during my lunch break.” Which was over, but the meeting would have to begin without her, since she was stuck up here answering questions and hoping no one noticed her evasions. “It’s plenty warm over by the fans—even when it’s snowing, the flakes get blown away before they can settle.” It was still warm enough for her, despite the fact they were standing several feet away from her usual workout zone, but much as she longed to throw off the stifling coat, she didn’t think the officer would understand. She shifted a little, trying to angle her face toward the sun without being obvious about it. “Though I don’t come out when it’s raining.” She would—a little water had never hurt her—but on a heavily overcast day the light was thin enough that it wasn’t worth the bother, not when she would have to spend half her break drying her hair.

The officer’s eyes narrowed as he looked at her, perhaps finally realizing that her unusual appearance wasn’t due to the chill. “What sort of medi—”

“That is not relevant to the case at hand, sir,” her HR rep said sharply. “Ms Curtis is a highly valued JojaCorp employee, and while we regret the terrible shock she has been through today, it’s lucky for the investigation that she was present to witness this incident.”

The officer looked less than convinced, but at that moment one of the forensics people came up to them. “It doesn’t look like the intruder came in that way,” she said, glancing at Trisha—and then doing a double-take that the young woman was depressingly familiar with. “Are you all right? The jumper took off running and vanished, so they obviously weren’t injured—”

Not until I get my hands on her, anyway, Trisha thought, but all she said was, “Does that mean I can get dressed? I was supposed to be at a meeting half an hour ago.”

“The meeting has been rescheduled for tomorrow,” Clarissa said. “All day, I’m afraid, but that was the only thing that could be worked out on such short notice. However, I see no reason for us to continue standing out here in the cold if the stairwell has been cleared.”

Trisha bit back a groan at the news about the meeting, but one day of missing her roof time wouldn’t hurt her too badly. As she traded the borrowed coat for her suit—both her escorts turning their backs, which was ridiculous since she was already dressed enough for public decency—she rehearsed exactly how she was going to chew out her roommate.

Chapter Text

Elliott Carmichael shoved his hair back from his face and glared at the paper in front of him; it remained stubbornly blank. With a sigh, he pushed his chair back from the desk and stood. He paused by the door to pull on a burgundy wool blazer and check his reflection, then stepped outside.

He needn’t have bothered with the mirror; the beach was empty, the chill, damp breeze blowing off of the ocean no doubt having something to do with that. He wandered toward the pier, thinking to bounce a few ideas off of Willy. He suspected the fisherman only humored his frequent visits—his suggestions inevitably involved adding seafood, regardless of what sort of scene Elliott was stuck on—but in rejecting the ridiculous, he was sometimes able to come up with a solution of his own.

Today, however, he would have no such luck. A note on the door reminded him that the shop was closed, the grizzled seafarer plying the oceans until the Spring winds returned him to the valley. I had meant to wish him bon voyage. Ah, well. Willy surely knew him well enough by now to forgive the lapse. He leaned against a post on the dock, watching the seagulls bob in the waves. Perhaps he could tell his literary woes to them; as fond as he was of his landlord, he suspected the birds’ replies would have as much relevance. “So, Commander Yutkin needs to find out about his executive officer’s treachery, but none of the people whom I might bring in to inadvertently drop him a clue would have a reason to speak to him right now,” he said, feeling a little foolish, but he was beginning to despair of untangling the snarls of his plot.

With indignant cries, the birds took off, leaving him alone on the beach.

“That was rude,” he said, but he couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his mouth. How absurd he had become, trying to draft the local wildlife to play sounding board. He stared out over the waves until the chill began to steal through his clothing, then retreated to his present abode.

The wind had made his long hair into as much of a mess as his novel, and he went to work on it with a brush as soon as he was safely inside. The shack might not look like much from the outside, but it had proven well insulated—so far. He hoped he would not regret this impulsive decision of his, come the winter.

His notebook, left open, stared accusingly at him from across the room, but he sat down at the piano, instead, and raised the cover over the age-yellowed keys. Its presence had been the deciding factor in his choice of rentals.

Even the muse of music, whoever she might be, had abandoned him today, he thought, wincing as his fingers found yet another wrong note. The instrument let out an even more dissonant clamor as he buried his face in his hands, his elbows coming down on the keys. This was a mistake. Why did I think I could do this? He rose from the bench, running his fingers across the keys, too lightly to draw a sound from them—silent apology for his errors, musical and otherwise—before lowering the fallboard.

Leah would tell him that he had simply gone too long without speaking to a person not residing inside his own skull. Perhaps he ought to make the long hike out to her cabin. He consulted the mirror once again, making sure his hair was properly arranged before setting out for the town. On the bridge across the estuary river, however, his steps slowed. Pelican Town was truly picturesque—he had been leaning toward it over Grampleton even before he saw the piano in the seaside cabin—and he contemplated abandoning his current draft and starting over. Surely a romance set in a tiny hamlet like this one could not go as badly awry as a tale of interstellar intrigue. He watched the dance of sunlight on the rippling water and turned the idea over in his mind.

A small cast of characters ... a romance requires two, plus there must be some sort of rival. An outside obstacle, too—families that do not care for one another, perhaps? A long-buried secret that will, when it comes to light, lead one of the lovers to forsake the other, until it turns out that the truth was not what either had thought? Or—ah, yes, the cozy mystery genre is always popular, I could combine that with the romance ...

Peals of laughter interrupted his thoughts; the village children thundered by, playing out some fantastical drama of their own, judging by the paper-and-crayon crown that adorned the boy’s head, and the stick-turned-sword wielded by the girl. I could draw upon one of the old legends, a retelling for the modern age—

The children’s long-suffering tutor jogged after her charges, sparing him a shy nod as she passed the bridge. Elliott returned the nod and then rubbed a hand over his face. His “simple” idea was spiraling out of control before he had even set pen to paper. Best to finish what he had already started, no matter how much of a tangled mess he wound up with.

As he trudged back home, his cell phone began to ring. He glanced at the screen and, with a silent prayer to Yoba, answered it. “Hello, Mother.”

“Hello, dear. Do you know what day it is?”

He frowned. He was very tired of these constant tests. “Thursday.”

“Mm-hmm. Could you be more specific?”

He reached the cabin, but leaned against the wall instead of retreating inside where the cell signal was weaker, tempting as it was to “accidentally” let the call drop. “The eighteenth of Fall,” he said—then winced. “Ah, shit. It’s Esther’s birthday.”

The good people of Pelican Town would have been startled by the abrupt shift in his tone, let alone the vulgarity, but his mother only gave a long-suffering sigh.

Chapter Text

Brandy Hudson, legend in the making, froze in the doorway of her apartment at the sight of her roommates sitting side-by-each on the couch, wearing identical looks of annoyance. “Uh, and good evening to you, too,” she said, trying to recapture her nonchalance as she hung her jacket on the coat tree. “What, are you my parents now? Did I stay out past curfew?”

“Since you weren’t here at all last night, that’s as good a place as any to start,” said Trisha.

Neel kept his mouth shut, but his glare was the most genuine emotion Brandy had seen him display in over a year, and it was a struggle to keep from showing how much that cheered her. She stuck her tongue out at their other roommate, instead. “That was a joke, Trish. You are not my mother—I’m older than you, for Yoba’s sake.”

Neel muttered something to the effect of her not acting like it, but Trisha had already resumed her lecture. “You cost me most of my sun break, answering questions about your reckless stunt,” she said. “And I’m going to be stuck inside all day tomorrow at the stupid meeting that was supposed to start today. Do you know how hard it was for HR to get the Port Ava team to agree to half-days to begin with?”

Brandy winced. “Is that why you were—” She smiled brightly. “I mean, what are you talking about? You know all my stunts are carefully planned and executed, so if someone pulled a ‘reckless’ stunt, clearly it wasn’t me.”

“Cut the crap,” Trisha said. “You know we won’t breathe a word of it, but that was you. What were you thinking? What if they figure out you used what I’ve told you to get access to the roof?”

“I’m thinking that once the statute of limitations runs out on trespassing, I’m going to be a BASE jumping legend,” she said, dropping sideways across the armchair. “A perfect jump from Joja Tower!” She closed her eyes and recalled the rush of air and adrenaline as she had leapt, the snap of her ‘chute opening. Those few seconds had more than made up for the long, cold night on the rooftop, and the frantic scramble on the ground as her “team” whisked her away from the landing zone before the police could reach her. “And I didn’t use your intel, aside from trying to time it for when you wouldn’t be there.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Brandy only yawned and straightened in the chair. “Better you don’t know, sweetie. Oof, love the rush, hate the adrenaline crash. I’m going to bed.”

“Unbelievable,” Trisha muttered, but she didn’t try to stop her from beating a hasty escape to her room. Brandy closed the door behind her and leaned against it, another grin overtaking her face as she recalled her friend’s stunned expression when she had spotted her on the roof rail. That hadn’t been part of the plan, but on the whole she thought her roommate’s unexpected presence would do more to relieve suspicion against her than raise it. She arched her back, trying to work out the last of the stiffness from sleeping on the hard rooftop the night before. She wasn’t sure how she felt about working with a “sponsor,” so to speak, but she had to admit she couldn’t have pulled it off without them.

A tap at the door startled her out of her musings. The mood Trisha was in, she’d be pounding on the door if she’d decided Brandy needed additional chewing out, so she wasn’t surprised to open it and find Neel on the other side. What did shock her was the burning intensity in his dark eyes. The last year had been like living with an animated bronze statue of her childhood friend, going through the motions of life without quite touching the reality of it, but the cold-metal numbness she’d been working to break through was gone. “You here to lecture me, too?” she asked, leaning against the doorframe with a small grin. Trisha’s door, on the far side of their tiny living room, was already closed, their roommate no doubt stripping down to try to catch the last of the evening sunlight, indirect as it might be through her east-facing window.

A muscle twitched along Neel’s jaw. “I guess I could point out how badly it would have fucked her up if she’d watched you smash into the building,” he said, the evenness of his voice at odds with his glare. “Or how I’d have felt, seeing it on the news.”

“I know what I’m doing,” she said, just as evenly; it was an old argument, one she’d had with everyone who had passed through her life, and she wasn’t sure if the fact that Neel and Trisha had stuck with her anyway counted as winning or losing it. “That was never going to happen.” An old lie, as well; however carefully she weighed the odds and checked her equipment, there was always risk. That was what made it worth doing, not that anyone without the same drive to shout defiance at the Void would understand.

His shoulder lifted in the slightest of shrugs. “No point in a lecture, then, when we both know it’s not going to change anything.”

A gaze like banked coals still bored into her, and Brandy felt the faintest stirring of unease. “Then what—”

“Why the hashtag?”

A breath of laughter escaped her. Her roommates had been working for Joja since they’d finished college—of course loyalty ran deep. “Fucked if I know,” she said. “I told you I didn’t use Trisha’s stories to get onto the roof; I had help.” She shivered with remembered excitement; the slow descent on a line from the helicopter couldn’t beat the rush of a good jump, but it had held its own thrill.

“Help?” Neel asked. “Why would someone go to all the trouble—and expense—of putting you up to tis for the sake of a hashtag?”

She grinned at him. “I didn’t question their motives, just checked the quality of their gear. Some would-be rival of Joja’s, I guess, wanting to stir up distrust.” Not hard to do; the Joja Corporation had their hands in just about every industry, and there were always ridiculous conspiracy theories floating around. And any successful company was inevitably hiding something, even if only the sort of marketing and sales numbers that Trisha got so worked up over. “Don’t get your shorts in a bunch, Neel, a little competition is good for commerce. Keeps everyone from getting complacent. Besides, Joja’ll find a way to spin this in their favor. They always do.” They’d turned the last major hashtag scandal into such a wildly successful campaign to launch a new streaming service that if she hadn’t been living with Trisha and Neel, she would never have known that the megacorp hadn’t started the rumors in the first place.

Something flickered in Neel’s eyes at that, but before she could make sense of it the dull chill that had become the new normal descended. “They always do,” he said, and turned away.

Brandy worried her lower lip between her teeth as he retreated to his room. What had all that been about? She ran a hand through the disheveled spikes of her pink hair. Well, if company loyalty was what it took to snap her friend out of his funk, then by Yoba she was going to make sure he saw every anti-Joja hashtag and meme that crossed her timelines. She closed her door again and threw herself onto the bed, reaching for her phone. The online group where she had first met her “sponsor” had several good ones the other day…

Chapter Text

“Dude, how is practicing making you worse at pool?” Abigail Martin asked, trapping the chalk-smudged white ball with her foot before it could roll under the couch. She nudged it back toward the table without looking up from her phone.

Sam shrugged irritably and picked it up. “Any word from Sebastian?” He swore as his second attempt at the trick shot sent a different ball off the opposite end of the table.

She rolled her eyes. “Not since the ‘I’ll be done soon’ he sent an hour and a half ago. I think he’s got me on mute now.” Otherwise her rapid-fire texting of increasingly insulting nicknames would have at least gotten a response telling her to knock it off. She sighed and switched apps. “Are you gonna keep that up until you break something, or can we go a few rounds on Journey of—Woah!”

“What, did Seb finally get back to you?” He leaned his cue against the table and grabbed his beer from the surface of the defunct platformer game Gus kept promising he’d get fixed one of these days.

“No, he’s obviously standing us up again,” she said. “But check this out!” She restarted the video and angled the phone so they could both see it.

A news reporter stood in front of Joja Tower, droning about some corporate nonsense for a few seconds, then broke off as someone shouted. The camera angle jerked upward to the accompaniment of more gasps and shrieks, and then a weird electronic wail as the video finally locked onto a brightly dressed figure falling from the top of the tower. An instant later, a parachute snapped open, the jumper a single point of color contrast against the black and white nylon canopy.

As the parachutist disappeared between a pair of buildings, Sam reached out and snagged Abigail’s phone. “Hey!” He ignored her as he poked the screen a few times, then turned it back around. He’d paused the video on a clear shot of the parachute. “What is Joja hiding?” Abigail read out loud. She blew a lock of violet hair out of her face. “Ugh. Just another publicity stunt by your employer, huh?” She grabbed her phone back and rewound the video. Even if a corporate-directed performance wasn’t quite as exciting as an unauthorized jump, it was still cool to watch. She turned up the volume—this had happened yesterday and she was just now hearing about it? Of course, it must have been while she’d been up on the mountain. She’d left her phone at home to test her theory that the reason Marlon always showed up so fast when she tried to sneak into the mines was by tracking the device. That had been a waste of time. “Any idea what Joja’s launching this time?”

“No, but I’m sure Morris will be full of it on Monday.”

“Morris is always full of it,” Abigail muttered, to Sam’s wordless agreement, and she smoothed the scowl from her face. It wasn’t his fault the only available jobs in town were with the company trying to drive her father out of business. She played the video again, then went searching for more coverage of the stunt. Who cared what Joja Corp was hiding? She wanted to know more about the person behind those goggles.

Chapter Text

“What do you mean, access denied?” Trisha muttered, swiping her card through the reader again. The door to the roof stairwell remained stubbornly locked. Footsteps on the stairs gave her enough warning to step back before the door opened.

A security guard frowned at her. “I’m sorry, this area is off limits.”

“I have permission,” she began, but he shook his head.

“You’re not on my list,” he said. “Security only.”

There must be some mistake, but arguing with the man wasn’t going to get her anywhere; she was familiar with the intractability of bureaucracy, as well as how to work around it.

Less than five minutes later she strode through the doors of the Human Resources department.

“Is Clarissa in?” she asked the receptionist. “I’m afraid it’s urgent.” It wouldn’t be as much of a problem if it hadn’t rained all weekend, dark storm clouds sealing away the light she needed, but it had, and today was beautiful, and she was starving.

“I believe so, Ms Curtis,” the young man said. “Just a moment, please, and I’ll let her know you’re here.”

Her HR rep rose to greet her when she came into the office. “Trisha! What are you doing here, instead of outside?”

Good; if Clarissa was as much in the dark—so to speak—as she was, then this was definitely some sort of screw-up. “I’d like to know that myself. My badge wouldn’t let me onto the roof today, and there was a security guard there saying I wasn’t ‘on his list.’”

The brown-haired woman frowned slightly. “I don’t remember seeing anything about it in today’s briefs,” she murmured, “but let me double-check.” She turned to her computer and Trisha snagged a chair by the window while the other woman sorted through her email. “No, we definitely weren’t notified. Security has been in an uproar, and they’re ignoring the usual channels.” She tapped a manicured nail on the desk a few times. “This could take some time to sort out. Are you working on anything time sensitive today?”

“We’re still recovering from the disruption the meeting caused—especially since it was rescheduled. But no, I don’t have anything critical right now.”

“Good. For today, then, I can offer you a half-day off as an alternative accommodation—it won’t come out of your personal time. I realize the last few days must have been difficult, and that will give you a chance to recuperate while I sort out what’s going on here. Would that be acceptable?”

It wasn’t ideal—she had work to do, and though none of it had to be done right this minute, she didn’t relish the thought of scrambling to make it up later, but the only other choice appeared to be wasting her whole lunch break inside while Clarissa made phone calls and sent emails. “Yes, that would be fine.”

It was less fine when she returned to work on Tuesday to a morning meeting request from Clarissa—especially since the head of security was also listed as attending.

“I apologize, Ms Curtis; you should have been notified that there were new restrictions on roof access. I’m afraid that with as busy as we have been in the aftermath of the incident, my people dropped the ball.” The man in charge of keeping Joja employees safe—not only in Joja Tower but also the hundreds satellite offices, retail locations, factories, and research sites around the globe—looked like he had stepped out of a military recruitment poster, save for the gray heavily threaded through his short, dark hair. That was hardly surprising, since he had been an officer in the Ferngill Army, coming to work for Joja Corp after retirement.

“Understandable, under the circumstances,” Trisha said with a smile; four glorious hours of sunbathing at the local pool had done wonders for her mood. “What new hoops do I need to jump through to regain my clearance?”

The man grimaced and ran a hand over his square jaw. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible in the immediate future,” he said. When both women began to protest he raised a hand. “This is for your safety—and I mean yours specifically, Ms Curtis.”

“How is denying me a long-standing medical accommodation intended to benefit me?” she retorted.

His eyes narrowed. “It took the computer types some doing, but we were able to isolate the trespasser’s voice from one of the security microphones on the roof.” Trisha froze; she had managed to pry out of Brandy that she had used a voice relay device—one that cancelled out her own voice entirely and then replicated words and pitch in artificial tones—rather than a modulator that could in theory be reverse-analyzed. It wasn’t something she would have been able to afford on her own, and she had refused to say a word about how she had obtained it, only that she’d already given it back, which worried Trisha more than a little. But if Security didn’t have her actual voice, that meant—

He took out a tablet and tapped a few commands. “Oops. You’re early.” The increased noise in the background of the second sentence did at least support her lie to the police that she hadn’t understood the words that day, but there was no denying them now. “As you can hear, this criminal was aware of your usual schedule, and as such we can’t afford to rule out that you may have been in some way targeted.”

“That’s absurd! Whoever planned this must have done surveillance, so of course they would have seen me. They were clearly assuming I wouldn’t be there at that hour. There’s nothing to suggest that I was—or am—at risk.”

“With all due respect, that’s my call, not yours,” he said. “The roof is off limits except to security personnel.”

“If security is patrolling the roof, then there would be no danger to Ms Curtis,” Clarissa said, her tone suggested that she was rehashing an earlier argument rather than raising a new objection. She nodded an apology to Trisha. “It wouldn’t be as private, but ...”

The idea of trying to do yoga while strangers were watching her was not appealing, but she’d lead a whole damned class if it meant getting her sun time back. “I would have no objection to that.”

The head of security leaned back in his chair and ran a hand over his short-cropped hair. “In truth, neither would I. Unfortunately, the Board of Directors has decided it would be bad for the company’s image if it even appeared we were putting an employee at risk, and if we’re to address this—” his mouth twisted “—‘hashtag’ nonsense, Joja Corp can’t afford any additional negative publicity.” He rose abruptly. “I hope we’re able to get this sorted out quickly, Ms Curtis, but until the trespasser has been arrested, I believe Ms Parker has some alternatives to discuss with you. I need to get back to the control center.” He nodded cordially and left the room.

As Clarissa explained the temporary measures Joja was putting in place for her, Trisha’s mind kept replaying Colonel Morris’s words: “until the trespasser is arrested.”

She was going to kill Brandy.

Chapter Text

Neel Agarwal leaned back in the booth and offered the waiter a smile that would have astonished his roommates. “Just the check, please.” He took out his wallet and leafed through it ostentatiously, making sure the most important thing in it—his Joja Corp employee ID—would be visible to anyone watching him.

And he was being watched. The frown on his face as he pulled out a few notes—too few—was as much a mask as the smile had been, and through lowered eyelashes he saw more than one of the watchers come to the correct conclusion about the state of his cash supply, and the futility of attempting to rob him when he left the seedy bar. He worried his lower lip between his teeth and tucked the bills back in place, fingers hovering over the credit card slots instead, as if trying to decide which might be able to bear the load of the cheap beer and cheaper appetizers he had ordered.

A shadow fell over the table, and his heart rate quickened as he looked up. “Can I help you?” He closed his wallet and pulled it closer to him.

The woman’s mouth curved in something that might, charitably, be called a smile. “I’m thinking perhaps I could help you,” she said. “Having trouble paying the bill—a corporate type like you?”

It was no effort at all to let his brows draw together in anger—only to keep the full depth of it from showing. “I’m just a secretary,” he said. “The pay’s crap, but the execs can’t have the help looking like they actually shop at our stores.” He flicked a crumb off of the sleeve of his crisp white shirt.

He kept the flicker of satisfaction off his face as the woman slid onto the bench opposite him. “Tell you want, Mr. Just-a-secretary—I’ll cover the bill, if you can give me a bit of help.”

He leaned back. “You looking for a job? I could use the recruitment bonus, and I write a damned good letter of recommendation—just tell me what to put in the blanks.”

She sneered at him. “For shitty pay and shitty clothes? I’ll pass, thanks.”

He reminded himself that defending his wardrobe would be out of character for the role he was playing. “Fair enough. What, then?”

She propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her intertwined fingers; it must appear to the remaining watchers that they were flirting with each other—and he supposed they were, in a way. “I was thinking… information.”

He drew back. “I don’t think—”

The woman waved a hand. “I’m not asking for much, not for fried cheese sticks and a beer.” She made a face at his uncleared dishes. “It’s been all over the news—what is Joja hiding? They’re trying to claim it as an advertising campaign, but I saw the interviews the news channels snagged right after the jump, and those bigwigs talked more spin than substance. So, tell me the truth—did Joja set up that stunt?”

It was an obvious test, since she matched the fragments of description he’d been able to pry out of Brandy about her “sponsor.” “‘It would hardly do to reveal everything at once,’” he said, parroting one of the more obnoxious marketing execs down to her precise inflection; then he snorted. “Of course not, though no one’ll have a clue, once they get the PR folks all pointed the same direction. Whoever that jumper was did me a solid, I’ll tell you that—the overtime I pulled that day means I’ll be able to make rent this season.” He could almost see the pieces falling into place in her mind: poorly paid, highly placed, not picky about where his money came from—a source worth cultivating.

If he was very careful, the woman across the table from him wouldn’t realize that cultivation could run in both directions. Before he could turn over the secrets smoldering in his memory, he had to ensure they were going to someone who would be able to do something worthwhile with them.

Chapter Text

Sebastian Douglas took a sip of his coffee and made a face; it had gone cold. He considered taking a break to get a fresh cup, or at least stick this one in the microwave, but when he turned down the volume of his music, he could hear voices drifting down from the shop floor. His mother’s voice had the overtones that meant “customer” rather than “family”; he might be able to sneak past the shop door without being spotted, but if his mother or—worse—stepfather noticed, he would either have to make small talk or endure a lecture later about needing to be more sociable, and never mind that whoever it was had come to see Robin, not him.

He pushed the cup far enough away that he wouldn’t repeat the mistake of drinking from it, lit a cigarette, and resumed scanning for the errors keeping his code from compiling.

A few hundred lines later, his phone chimed with a message from Sam, and he pulled himself away from work long enough to check it. No, he did not have time to run an extra session of Solarion Chronicles that evening. He had a deadline to meet, or exceed if possible; he was building a reputation on the freelancing site he used for doing fast work without sacrificing quality. The codebase he was given to start from had more bugs than the lake at the height of mosquito season, which made even the planned timeline a tight one, but he needed the work—and the recommendations that would come with impressing a difficult client could only help his bottom line.

Another chime. “No, probably not tomorrow, either, or the day after that,” he muttered as he typed in the response. Even as he tapped Send a new message popped up, this time from Abigail. He read it twice, and then a third time, to make sure he hadn’t misunderstood, and then hit Dial instead of Reply.

“Are you out of your mind?” he asked without preamble when she picked up.

“Hah, I thought that might actually get a response out of you,” she said.

He sagged back in his chair in relief. “Then you weren’t serious.”

“Of course I am, and tomorrow will be the perfect time. Everyone else’ll be in town.”

“Abigail…”

“You still owe me a birthday present, remember.”

“I’ll buy you a damned pumpkin.”

“Oh, come on, Seb. You’ve been in there—”

“I’ve hung out just inside the entrance a couple of times.” His mother had given up forbidding him from smoking in his room—but that only applied to tobacco, and neither Abigail nor his mother needed to know he ever touched anything else. “The mines are fucking creepy at the best of times, and there’s no way I’m going anywhere near there on Spirit’s Eve.”

“Sebaaaaaaaastian—”

“No, Abigail. And don’t even think about going there on your own. If you’re not at the town square with the rest of us I swear to Yoba I’ll tell your parents.”

“Ugh, you’re no fun. Fine, but I don’t want a pumpkin, I already have half a dozen of them. I asked for jewelry, maybe a nice silver ring or pendant, but no, Dad got a deal on gourds.” Sebastian set the phone to speaker and half-listened to her rant as he kept working, unmuting every few minutes to make some sound of agreement. This proved to be a tactical error; by the time she wound down, he had somehow been talked into exploring the abandoned farm on the outskirts of town in lieu of a trip into the mines. Not on Spirit’s Eve, but the day after.

After they hung up, he glared at his phone, realizing that he was also going to have to stick around for the whole festival instead of heading home early, or she absolutely would go to the mines by herself. At least the eyesore of a costume she had picked would make it impossible to lose sight of her, and he’d figured out years ago that as long as he hung around whatever the creepiest decorations were, people left him alone.

He jumped as the door opened. I wonder if I could get one of those skeleton puppets or whatever they are for my room, he thought as he glared at his stepfather. “You ever hear of knocking?”

Demetrius ignored the question. “It’s time for dinner.”

He glanced at the clock; he had lost more time to Abigail’s determination to risk life and limb than he’d realized. “I’ve got work to do—I’ll grab something later.”

“Your games can wait, Sebastian. Your mother invited the mayor to join us, so I expect you to be polite and eat with us.”

And there went any trace of appetite he might have had. “I’m working, Demetrius. This is my job.” Bad enough to have surprise guests sprung on him—he’d asked his mother and stepfather to stop doing that, or at least let him know more than a couple of minutes beforehand, and of course no one listened—but the mayor? Lewis could talk for hours about whatever never-going-to-happen civic improvement project he was on about this season, and then a couple more on the subject of every time Sam had ever caused a problem in Pelican Town, even if Sebastian hadn’t had anything to do with it.

He was already getting to his feet, though. Pissing off his stepfather would just make the inevitable awkwardness even worse. The cheerful conversation between Maru and the mayor when he reached the kitchen didn’t help, either. Demetrius wasn’t rude enough to say it in front of a guest, but his expression was all too familiar: Why can’t you be more like your stepsister?

He could have stayed in his room and gotten more work done, for all the attention Lewis paid to him—not that he was complaining about being ignored. But as he picked at his mushroom casserole, trying to avoid the mushrooms, he couldn’t help noticing that Lewis seemed distracted by something. Fortunately, when he couldn’t take any more of the forced togetherness and stilted conversation around the table, his nicotine habit gave him a ready excuse, despite the universal disapproval his announcement that he was going out for a smoke drew.

He was still outside when Lewis left, and the man didn’t appear to notice Sebastian, who had his hood drawn up against the wind—despite the fact that the mayor walked within a few feet of him as he headed, not for the village, but the cabin up by the mines, which housed the pair of old-timers who called themselves the Adventurer’s Guild. Sebastian stared after him as he disappeared inside, then shrugged and stubbed out his cigarette. No doubt it had something to do with tomorrow’s festival, since the “guild” provided some of the decorations.

Chapter Text

“Well, hello there, stranger!” Elliott looked up as someone claimed the seat across the small table from him.

“Good evening, Leah,” he said, lifting his glass in salute before taking a sip of the golden liquid it held. He closed his eyes for a moment to savor the complex flavors and the mellow warmth of the alcohol, most welcome against the lingering chill from the walk into town.

“Bought the good stuff tonight, did you?”

He opened his eyes and gave her a mock glare. “A triple-aged fairy rose mead goes far beyond such trite labels as ‘the good stuff,’ thank you very much.”

She leaned her cheek on her hand. “I’ll take your word for it—I prefer wine, myself.” She nodded as the blue-haired bartender, who he kept accidentally calling by his sister’s name, set a glass in front of her and filled it with a fine red vintage. “Thanks, Emily.”

Elliott made another mental note of the name; perhaps it would stick, this time.

Leah toyed with the stem of her glass but didn’t drink. “So, is this celebration or consolation?”

He was spared the need to reply when the saloon door slammed open, ushering in a blast of icy air and a commotion that turned every head in the room. The first through the entrance was Abigail, whose name he could remember only because he had once overheard Pierre complain that her room always looked like a storm wind had swept through it. The other two were her usual companions, whose names he kept tangling—they both started with S, but beyond that he wasn’t certain. Abigail and the fair-haired one were hauling their friend through the door, backward, one gripping each of the other man’s arms.

“Come on, you two, I already said I give up!” the latter grumbled, trying to free himself as he stumbled over the threshold.

“Not quickly enough!” Abigail said. The blond grinned and pulled the hand not holding his friend from behind his back; it was full of snow.

His captive companion saw this over his shoulder and yelped. “Sam, don’t you dare—” He ducked and the missile struck Abigail instead.

“No snowball fights indoors, you three!” the saloon’s owner shouted through the kitchen pass-through, as Abigail laughed and brushed the white fluff from her amethyst hair, sending as much of it as possible toward her friends, and a fair amount toward the table where Elliott and Leah were seated.

“Sorry, Gus—this wasn’t my idea!” the intended victim of the attack called as the other two continued dragging him past the bar. His face was flushed red, and with more than the cold, judging by the way his eyes darted toward, then shied away from, the other bar patrons snickering at his predicament. Elliott had to bite his lower lip to keep from joining in the mirth, but he was no stranger to the sort of embarrassment that left one wishing the floor would open up beneath one’s feet, and he didn’t wish to add to it any more than his presence alone inevitably would.

Esth—no, Emily—grabbed a copy of the specials list and walked around the bar, rolling her eyes. “You’d think they were still in grade school, the way they act, and here I’m going to go sell them alcohol,” she murmured to him and Leah before disappearing into the arcade. An argument over whether cake or pizza was more appropriate for a birthday celebration drifted in from the next room.

Leah turned from watching the drama play out, her expression wistful enough that Elliott had a moment of panic; had he forgotten her birthday, too? Had she ever told him when it was? He resolved to check the community calendar in the square to see if she had posted the information on it. But what she said was, “It must be nice, having lifelong friends like that.”

Elliott was not certain the apparent birthday boy would agree, at the moment, but he nodded and took another sip of his mead. “I suppose it would be.”

She finally raised her glass. “My mother’s in the Navy, so we moved every few years, following her from port to port. My friends and I always swore we’d keep in touch, but somehow that never lasted. Were you a military brat, too?”

“No, I lived in the same house all my life, until I came to Pelican Town.” He stared down into the liquid gold in front of him, though he could feel her gaze on him. Finally, he shrugged. “Distance isn’t the only thing that can cause friendships to drift apart.”

When he turned back toward her he could see the curiosity in her eyes, but she didn’t press the matter; it was one of the things he liked about her. “You never did say what brought you here tonight. Writing going well, or poorly?”

“Coldly,” he said, with a faint smile. “No particular occasion, good or otherwise—just a whim for an indulgence on a chilly night. And yourself?” He nodded toward her glass. “I noticed your bottle had an iridium label, as well.” She was, he knew, a more frequent visitor to the saloon than he was, preferring a greater degree of socializing despite her woodland cabin being as isolated as his home on the beach, but her usual selections were frugal.

“I am celebrating,” she said, raising her wine in an invitation to a toast. “I finished a new piece today.”

“Congratulations,” he said, tapping his glass to hers, and they both drank. “Would you show it to me tomorrow, if I call on you at home?”

She smiled, as she did whenever he tossed out such deliberately archaic phrases, but then she set her drink down and laid her hand atop his unoccupied one, where it rested on the bar. “You could come see it tonight, if you like.” She dropped her eyes and looked up at him through her eyelashes.

It was not the first time she had made such an offer, and for a wild moment he considered taking her up on it this time. She was beautiful, her red hair all but glowing in the warm light of the saloon, and he couldn’t deny the draw of her creative soul, so differently focused from his own. But—she was a sculptor, a visual artist, and the thought of what she would make of him dashed the impulse.

“I think I would prefer to see it by daylight,” he said, gently sliding his hand out from under hers.

She accepted the rebuff with no more than a faint sigh of disappointment. “You’ve already had a preview,” she said. “It’s an elaboration on the same concept as my snow sculpture at the Festival of Ice.”

“Then I shall look forward to viewing the full masterpiece,” he said. He had been astonished that the delicate construct hadn’t collapsed under its own weight until nearly the end of the day, and seeing it rendered in more durable materials than snow and ice would be impressive.

“Did I hear someone mention the ice festival? Elliott, what in the world possessed you to enter the fishing contest when you’d never even held a pole before?” Emily asked as she passed by them on her way to her post behind the counter. “Don’t worry about your tabs so far, by the way; Sam’s buying everyone’s current round to apologize for the snowball fight.”

Elliott looked down at his glass, and then Leah’s. “He might come to regret that.” Though at least there were only two other customers tonight, both the sort of fixtures in the saloon that he doubted would have been ordering top-shelf liquors.

“Oh, he winced when I told him what he was paying for, but he didn’t back down,” she said with a smile. “He’s a good kid, however hard he tries to pretend otherwise. So, the festival?”

He chuckled ruefully. “Willy always makes it look so easy! Since he’s at sea I felt the beach-dwellers ought to be represented in the competition, and I figured I must surely have picked up a few things, watching him.” It had been a spectacularly poor showing, his one “big catch” proving to be a very stubborn soda can. “I had fun with it, though.”

“That’s the important thing,” Leah said.

The muffled burst of laughter from the arcade room seemed to agree with them.

Chapter Text

Brandy had just settled in for a good sulk, a mug that held almost as much peppermint schnapps as hot cocoa in one hand and the TV remote in the other, when the door slammed open, startling her enough that her drink sloshed over the side. She set the mug aside and tried to mop up the brown liquid from her favorite fluffy blanket. “Damnit, Neel, what the f—” She broke off as a brighter ad came on the screen, giving her enough light to see his face close down into a bland non-expression.

He glanced away from her. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t see any lights from the street, so I didn’t think anyone was home.”

Someone who hadn’t been living with Robo-Neel for the last year and change wouldn’t have understood the way that glimpse of thunderous fury cheered her up. “What happened? Date not go well?”

“What?” He looked, for a moment, confusion-blank rather than holding-it-in-blank. Then he shook his head. “What makes you think I was on a date?”

“You’re out late, and dressed up more than usual,” she said, dumping a stack of her favorite cookies onto the coffee table so she could use the paper towel they had been sitting on to dab at the cocoa spill.

He frowned at her. “And you’re in early, and dressed… down.” She crossed her pajama-clad legs and flexed her toes to make the bunny faces on her slippers wiggle their noses at him, not arguing the point. He glanced at the TV, where the ads had ended and the news clip she had been waiting for had begun. “I thought you’d be out there, still. Isn’t there usually a big post-jump party?”

She scowled and took a gulp of her cocoa. She had been looking forward to this all year—the Zuzu City Council had agreed to allow bungee jumping from the Everelle Bridge for one day, no doubt figuring the midwinter chill would reduce the number of participants. “Your fucking employers showed up,” she said. “Said they were looking for ‘talent’ but we both know that’s bullshit. A heads-up from you would have been nice.”

“Nothing about it crossed my desk. Security has its own clerical staff.” His brows drew together. “If you left, isn’t that going to draw attention to you?”

She snorted and jabbed a finger at the screen, where barely a handful of people were lining up along the bridge’s highest span. “The suits might be trying to pass it off as a sponsored stunt, but everyone in the community knows there’s no way the ‘Joja Jumper’ wouldn’t be bragging to anyone who’d hold still long enough if that was true. Most of the serious folks bailed when they heard about Joja being there—some on principle, some ‘cause they figure the Corp’s just trying to pin a charge on anybody who happens to fit body measurements and movement closely enough. A bunch had already stormed off before I heard about it, so it’s not like I was among the first to scram.” She sighed. “Ugh, look at that. It’s an even worse showing than I’d expected. You know they’ll use this as an excuse never to do it again, right? ‘Not enough interest to justify the disruption to normal traffic’ or some shit like that.”

“So now you’re moping,” he said, kicking off his loafers as he headed for his bedroom.

She caught his wrist when he walked past the couch. “And you’re evading. What. Happened.”

He tried to pull away, but they both knew which of them was stronger. “I ran into a high school friend of Vijay’s on the way home,” he said at last. “He didn’t know.”

“Oh, honey.” He didn’t resist when she pulled him down next to her. “So, how badly did you go off on him?”

Neel leaned his head against the back of the couch and rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m not the same asshole I was in middle school, Brandy. I probably didn’t break the news as gently as I could have, but it’s not his fault he hadn’t heard already. Fuck, he didn’t even know my brother had enlisted.”

Brandy wrapped her arms around him. He didn’t pull away, even leaned into her a little. These flashes of real emotion had been getting more frequent; the therapist she and Trish had pushed him into seeing was finally earning their keep. Despite that, she could see him withdrawing back into his head. “Here, it sounds like you need this more than I do.” She shoved her mug into his hands. Maybe a little alcohol could nudge him further toward normal.

He raised it toward his mouth and then flinched as he took a breath. “Gah. No, I don’t.” He thrust it back toward her and coughed. “What did chocolate do to you, to deserve that sort of treatment?”

She grinned at him and set the cup on the coffee table. “Fine, snob, I’ll go make you some with creme de cacao, if we have any. She tossed her blanket over him as she stood. Once she had the milk on the stove, she started poking through the booze supply. “There’s not enough chocolate liqueur to get a mouse tipsy,” she called over her shoulder, setting the nearly empty bottle on the counter to recycle later and reaching for another at the back of the cabinet. “How do you feel about vodka?” She took a closer look at the label. “Uh, maybe not. This must be Trisha’s. Damn, I didn’t know 170-proof vodka was possible.” She wanted to get him drunk enough to finally cry, not put him in the hospital.

“There should still be some vanilla vodka, not rocket-fuel strength, in there,” Neel said.

She located it and the rest of her ingredients and busied herself at the stove. “Where is Trish, anyway?” she asked as she poured the results into a mug.

“She didn’t text you? She’s working late—there’s some big report she wants to get done before the office closes for Winter Star.”

“She probably assumed she’d still be home before me,” Brandy said, adding a generous dollop of Neel’s chosen poison. Not to her taste at all, but at least none of them had to worry much about the other roommates swiping their food or booze. The doorknob rattled as she turned around. “Well, speak of the Void, that must be her now.”

“Hey, Trish, how did—Oh, shit!” Neel lunged off the couch, and the mug of cocoa dropped from Brandy’s hand to smash on the floor as Trisha staggered into the apartment and collapsed in a dead faint.

Chapter Text

“…get her coat off…”

“…recovery position…”

“…drag one of those fucking lights out here…”

Trisha smiled, or at least tried to; it was hard to tell, since she felt a bit like she was floating. Brandy was the only person she knew who could infuse a profanity with that much affection and worry. It wasn’t until light glowed red through her closed eyelids and caressed the skin of her now-bare arms that she realized that concern was directed at her. “Brandy?” she whispered, squinting against the glare as she opened her eyes.

“Oh, thank Yoba,” her roommate said. Judging from her position, she had just shoved a couch cushion under Trisha’s feet.

“Hey, no, stay down for now,” Neel said, and she felt his hands on her shoulders, stopping her attempt to sit up.

“What happened?”

“I was going to ask you that,” Brandy said. “You walked in and passed out.”

“Oh.” To her embarrassment, she felt her eyes watering; she squeezed them closed, hoping her friends would attribute the tears to the bright light. “It was kind of a long day. I guess I was hungrier than I realized.” Clarissa had arranged for one of the less popular rooms to be converted into a “light box” for her, filled with bulbs that she had been assured were the very cutting edge in natural light replication. A similar lamp in her cubicle—not too bright, since the light levels on the analysts’ floor had been carefully calibrated to “optimize performance across the widest range of human preferences”—supplemented that.

It wasn’t enough. Artificial light never was, and the reason the conference room was rarely used was its lack of windows.

She had filled her bedroom with similar bulbs; their electricity bill was going to be murder this season, since she left them on all night. Most winters, she spent as much time outside as possible, but it had been bitterly cold this year, and while she might mind the chill less than some people, that didn’t make her immune to frostbite.

Trisha felt a tear roll down her cheek, but the sob she heard wasn’t her own. “This is my fault,” Brandy said. “If I hadn’t—” She took a shaky breath. “I’m going to turn myself in.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Neel let go of her shoulders and got to his feet, and Trisha pushed herself up on one elbow.

“Don’t you dare, Brandy,” she said, glaring with as much force as she could muster.

“But—”

“It wouldn’t help,” Neel said, putting a hand on the pink-haired woman’s shoulder. “First, they’d probably figure Trisha was in on it, since she’s your roommate, no matter what you tell them. Me, too, for that matter. And even if they accept that neither of us knew what you were going to do—or that you’d managed to keep us in the dark afterward, which would be a lie—it still wouldn’t fix things. Security’s decided the rooftop’s a ‘point of vulnerability,’ and they’re not going to change their mind just because one so-called threat is dealt with.”

Trisha blinked at his sudden vitriol, even before the full implication of his words sank in. “I’m not getting my sun breaks back, am I?” she whispered.

“Not unless you suddenly decide you’d rather be a security guard than an analyst, and probably not even then,” Neel said, his voice softening. “I wish I could say otherwise, but I filed the memo this morning.”

“Trisha—I’m sorry—” Brandy’s misery nearly pushed her over the edge.

“I’ll be all right,” Trisha said, willing herself to believe it. “I just have to hold out until Spring. I can take some vacation time once the year rolls over. Go somewhere tropical to recharge.” For that matter, it was only a couple of weeks until the whole office closed down for the Feast of the Winter Star, and while it was probably too late to book holiday tickets at a price she could afford, spending the whole four-day weekend under her lamps should help. The weather might even warm up enough to spend time outside as Spring drew near, despite the current dire forecasts. She forced herself to sit up all the way; her head spun, but the dizziness soon passed. “Help me to my room, would you?”

“Trish,” Neel began, but she only shook her head and repeated that she would be fine. Brandy hauled her to her feet, and he followed the two of them, carrying the lamp they had pulled out of her bedroom.

“Could you bring me one of my shakes—the ones with the blue label? This was mostly my own fault, you know,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed as Brandy circled the room, switching on the rest of the lights. “I knew I was going to be working late, but I didn’t bring dinner with me.”

The look Neel gave her said he didn’t accept that for a second, but he said nothing, only brought her a bottle of the carefully balanced, bland mix of essential nutrients that was one of the few things she could still eat. He handed it to her and raised an eyebrow, a trace of mischief in his face that she hadn’t seen since his brother’s death. “You want some of your vodka as a chaser, or did you buy that stuff to strip paint?”

She opened the bottle and chugged half the contents—the quicker it went down, the less she had to taste it—before replying. “Not tonight. I need to think, not pass out again.”

He and Brandy took he hint and left, closing the door behind them with no more than a reminder that they were only a shout away if she needed anything.

Once the door was shut, Trisha pulled off the silk shell she had worn under the jacket her anxious friends had stripped off of her, well as her slacks and stockings. As the pale imitation of sunlight began soaking in, she rolled over on the bed and buried her face in her pillow so they wouldn’t hear her sobs. I can hold on until Spring. Can’t I?

When the nutrient shake and the lamps had taken the edge off of the gnawing hunger that had become her constant companion, she was finally able to stop the flow of tears, as well. She sat up and wiped her eyes. All right, Trisha Curtis; you’re an analyst, so start analyzing. What are the data?

First: It was 17 days until Spring, when her new time-off allotment would go into effect. As a side note, she should always save at least a couple of vacation days for Winter, going forward, rather than relying on the holiday for time off.

Second: Could she actually afford the tropical vacation she had mentioned? More data needed.

She padded across the small room to her desk and unlocked her tablet. Spring was normally the off season for the sorts of destinations she was interested in, but based on the limited availability and rising prices she was looking at, the harsh winter had put similar ideas in the minds of a lot of other people. Factoring in her projections for the upcoming electric bill… palm trees by the ocean were not in her near future. She might be able to swing it if she borrowed money from her parents, but she had made too much of a point of her independence for such a request not to worry them, and the last thing she wanted to do was interrupt the extended post-retirement jaunt they were finally treating themselves to.

She sighed and shoved her hair back from her face, gathering it into a loose bun on top of her head and securing it with a pen.

Third: The Fern Islands were out of reach, but there were other sunny spots that weren’t as popular for vacations. Where did I put that brochure about the Calico Desert? She rummaged through her desk drawers. She didn’t find the ad, but she did come across something else she had all but forgotten about.

She turned the envelope, starting to yellow with age, over in her hands, and a sad smile crossed her face at the sight of the familiar handwriting. Grandpa Pat had been almost a third parent to her, caring for her during the day when his daughter and her husband were working, taking Trisha on trips all around the world during school breaks… When he had learned his cancer was terminal, he had written her a series of letters to be opened at various milestones in her life—important birthdays, high school and college graduations—and two more, without fixed dates. It wasn’t as good as having him there to share those moments, but at least she could imagine his voice, telling her what he thought he would have said.

Some of the letters had stung, because she hadn’t started getting sick until after his passing, and his assumption that she was still the same active, happy girl he had known showed in his words. And the first of the undated letters—“To be opened on a day of great joy”—well, she supposed that winning a major promotion and raise within a year of starting her dream job could be filed under “or some other wonderful accomplishment,” but most of the letter was written for a new bride or a new mother. She had loved her grandpa dearly, but he had been a bit old-fashioned about some things.

Her fond smile faded a little as her fingers traced over the wax seal—speaking of old-fashioned. This one had the longest inscription of any of them, and the most cryptic. “For a day when you feel crushed by the burden of modern life, and your bright spirit fades before a growing emptiness.” It was just as well that her parents had held back this letter, and the “joy” one, until the other letters had been doled out, or she might have torn it open long ago, back when she had feared she wouldn’t live to finish junior high, let alone high school. She had begged her parents for all the letters at once, terrified she would never get to read all of his words to her. But how much less meaningful would the “joy” letter have been, if the prompt for it had been her relief at finally having a name for her illness, and a treatment plan that mostly worked?

And this… what did he even mean by “crushed by the burden of modern life,” let alone—A sudden sob tore through her, and she thrust the letter aside to save it from the unexpected flood of tears. He couldn’t have known—dryad syndrome was rare, so rare there were only two or three doctors in the world who even studied it—and she hadn’t been showing the signs yet, but—

I have worked so hard for Joja Corporation, and what do I have to show for it? Clarissa was still fighting for her, but Neel was right; the discussion had already moved away from “sunning herself on the roof” to “taking an occasional work-at-home day.” She loved her job, finding all the hidden meanings and connections where others saw only columns of numbers, but how much longer would she be a “rising star” in the company if she spent a quarter of the year so hungry she could barely think?

She sniffled, swiped a tissue over her eyes, and blew her nose. Then she picked up Grandpa Pat’s letter and cracked the seal before she could second-guess herself.

“If you’re reading this, you must be in dire need of a change…” She read the letter and the property deed tucked behind it twice through, her confusion only growing.

Then she shrugged on her bathrobe and ventured out to retrieve her purse from where she had dropped it by the front door, barely noticing her roommates’ concern, or their relief at seeing her up and about already.

Retreating to the glaring light of her room, she closed the door started a new search. She dug her phone out of her bag and called the number she found, expecting an automated list of office hours and perhaps a chance to leave a message, but as she mentally rehearsed what she might say, the line picked up. “Hello?” a man’s voice said.

“I’m sorry, I think I have wrong number,” she said, looking again at the search results. “I was trying to reach the Pelican Town mayor’s office?”

A quiet chuckle on the other end of the line. “You’ve reached it, though we’re a bit small to have a proper town hall. I’m Mayor Lewis.”

That name had been mentioned in the letter, but it took her a moment longer to realize that he meant she had called his personal phone. “Oh, dear, I’m sorry to bother you so late! I was expecting a recording—”

“It’s quite all right; I’m a bit of a night owl. What can I do for you, Ms…”

“Curtis. Trisha Curtis. I—this is going to sound strange, but I found a letter from my grandfather…”

An hour or so later, she slid on her sleep mask, sprawled across the bed—the “sun” lamps still blazing—and catalogued a final data point:

Fourth: Grandpa Pat had owned a farm in some place called Stardew Valley, which he had never taken her to in all their travels, or so much as mentioned to his only grandchild.

And he had left it to her.

Chapter Text

Cheery pop music blared from the TV, loud enough that anyone outside Abigail’s room would hear only it, and not the quieter video playing on her laptop. Her wrists were already aching, but she raised her arms again, trying to copy the movements of the man on the computer screen. Silver flashed through the air, and she swore under her breath as she lost her grip on the hilt and stumbled back. It was only a practice sword, with blunt edges and a rounded tip, but that didn’t mean dropping it on her foot wouldn’t hurt.

Kicking it under the bed wasn’t a pleasant feeling, either, but footsteps approaching the door made it necessary. “Abby? What in the world are you doing?” Her mother opened the door just as she slammed the laptop closed. “Doesn’t that game of yours says to clear the space around you before playing?”

Abigail smiled, picked up a strategically placed controller, and paused the console; her mother didn’t pay enough attention to her daughter’s “childish” hobbies to realize the abysmally low score meant Player 1 wasn’t even trying to keep time with the music. “Yeah, I know. I moved around more than usual. No need to call Doc Harvey, though, I just stumbled and dropped this.”

“Well, be more careful, honey. You know, you could offer to help your father stock shelves, and put all that energy to a more productive use.”

“Stocking shelves won’t help me kick Sam’s ass the next time we have a dance off,” she retorted, tapping buttons to end the current song and drop back to the menu.

“Language, Abigail!”

“Fine, I’ll kick his butt instead. Happy now?”

Her mother only cast her eyes toward the ceiling. “Just try to keep the noise to a minimum during the day, would you? We do have customers in the store, sometimes.” With a last, worried look she left, closing the door behind her.

Abigail took out some of her annoyance with the interruption on the game, scoring a near-perfect on one of the harder songs. When she was certain her mother wasn’t going to pop back in, she pulled the sword out from under the edge of her comforter.

The old farts at the Adventurer’s Guild kept refusing her requests to join, or even to train with them unofficially, so she was going to have to get good enough on her own to prove she belonged there. She queued up another dance song and restarted the “Learn from the World’s Best Swordmasters!” video on her computer. She and her parents had gone to the Night Market yesterday, and they were both staying home tonight. That would give her the chance to buy the real sword the merchant who usually set up shop in the woods had promised to smuggle into the less-monitored floating marketplace—but a sharp blade would be a waste of the money she had been saving up all year if she didn’t know how to use it.

Chapter Text

“You can’t be serious!” Clarissa stared at the paper on her desk as if she expected it to vanish in a puff of smoke at any moment.

“I’m sorry, but I am,” Trisha said, folding her hands in her lap. “I recently found out I inherited some property from my grandfather, and I’m going to see if I can make a go of it on his farm.”

“You’re… leaving Joja Corporation to go grub in the dirt?” The Human Resources manager was staring at her, now. “You know, you don’t have a noncompete clause in your contract. If someone is trying to snipe you away from us, you can tell me. I’m sure we can make a very competitive counteroffer.”

“Spending my days outdoors, no neighbors near enough to complain about what I wear in my own home, and all the sunlight I can eat?” Trisha shrugged. “I’m not saying I won’t be bored out of my mind after a season or two, and I have no idea if I’ll be any good at farming, but I’ve got to try.”

“But—”

“Look at me, Clarissa. Something’s got to change.”

Her long-time advocate—and friend—finally did just that. “Oh. Trisha, I’m sorry, you know I’ve been fighting for you, but—”

“It’s not your fault,” Trisha assured her. “But my mind’s made up. I won’t be coming back after Winter Star—that should give me time to tie up loose ends and make notes on my ongoing projects for whoever replaces me.”

“You’re one of our best analysts; no one can ‘replace’ you.” But her sigh was resigned. “I’ll draw up the rest of the paperwork. You’re leaving on good terms, despite the short notice, so when you’re ready to come back, we’ll have a place for you.” Then she brightened. “On the plus side, that means we can actually hang out beyond work events, at least online.”

“I’d like that,” Trisha said, and jotted her personal email and cell number on a business card before returning to the cubicle farm to start working on her transition plan.

Despite the fact that it was already dark when she left work, Trisha felt more cheerful than she had since Summer. She had never been one to clutter her workstation with a lot of personal touches, but she had brought home a few of the thing she did keep there, to make the coming change feel real.

Brandy looked up from her current favorite video game as Trisha nudged the door open wider with her hip, her hands occupied with the cardboard box she had liberated from the recycling pile. “Well, someone’s in a good mood. They find a way to bottle sunshine, finally?”

“Oh, that would be nice,” Trisha said, staggering as she tried to shut the door without dropping her burden. “No, I quit today.”

Her roommate cocked her head like some brightly colored bird. “Is that a new way of saying ‘fuck today, let’s get drunk’? ‘Cause I’ve got to leave for work in an hour, so I’m not up for that, but Neel ought to be home soon to babysit your lightweight ass.”

Trisha laughed. “No, I mean I quit. As in, my job.” She deposited the box on the coffee table and lifted out her spider plant. “That’s right, Arachne, no more dim cubicle for you!” She giggled as she swept a little bit of dirt that had spilled onto the rim back toward the center of the planter. “Now, don’t worry, I’ve got a better place in mind for you, but this will do for now.” She carried the plant into her bedroom and started flipping on lights.

Behind her, she heard the door open again, accompanied by Neel’s voice, too quiet to make out his words, but the response was clear enough.

“Neel, I think Trisha’s finally lost it. Do you know her doctor’s number?”

Brandy never had got the hang of whispering, Trisha thought as she hung Arachne by the window. “No, I haven’t!” she called back, testing to make sure the hook in the ceiling, unused until now, would hold. “And I’ve already talked to Dr. Chang about it,” she added, returning to the living room.

“About what?” Neel looked back and forth between the two women.

“I’m leaving Joja,” Trisha announced. “The twenty-fourth’s my last day.”

“Oooookaay?” He drew out the word. “And… what will you do after that?”

A little of her excitement drained away. This was the part she had been dreading ever since she had made her decision. “Well.” She sat down on the armchair, and motioned for Neel to sit as well. “I’m sorry I didn’t discuss this with you in advance, but I’m moving out at the end of the year.”

“WHAT?” Brandy’s exclamation was loud enough that Trisha was surprised none of their neighbors showed up to complain. Neel only stared at her.

“I’m not abandoning the lease—I won’t have a rent payment of my own to deal with, so I can keep paying my share until you find someone to take my room.” She was going about this all wrong. “I inherited some property from my grandfather, and I only found out about it a week ago. I don’t know why he kept it a secret, but he left me a farm over in Stardew Valley District, so I won’t even be all that far away. You can visit me, and I can stop by now and then!” She would still have doctor’s appointments in the city, of course; dyrad syndrome wasn’t something a country doctor could be expected to handle.

“You quit your job, and you’re going to take up farming?” Neel said at last. “If you’ll pardon the expression, you’ve never really had much of a green thumb, despite your thumbs actually being green.”

“I’ll make it work,” Trisha said. “Forgetting to water houseplants as a kid is hardly definitive data, and my spider plant is doing fine, thank you very much. “

“Sure, but when I bought it for you the guy at the garden center said those things have been so gene-tweaked you’d be hard-pressed to kill them with a blow torch, so that’s not really—”

“Neel!” Brandy’s voice was tight. “Our best friend tells us she’s going to walk out of our lives, and you’re worried about the fucking plants?”

“Of course not!” Both women jumped at the sudden shout. He took a deep breath and ducked his head, before saying quietly, “But I’d rather miss her because she’s gone a couple districts away instead of because she’s just… gone.”

It was Trisha’s turn to look away, trying to hide the gathering tears. She thought that, her dramatic fainting spell the previous week aside, she had done a decent job of concealing how bad a toll this Winter was taking on her, but Neel always had been more perceptive than he let on.

Brandy buried her hands in her hair, the pink strands standing out in short tufts between her fingers. “Okay, fuck it, I’m in.”

“What?”

“I’m in. On this ridiculous farming thing. I’m going stir-crazy here, ‘cause I can’t do anything fun with the cops and Joja still searching for me. I’ve never heard of any good jump spots in Stardew Valley, but the name implies there are mountains, so I ought to at least be able to go climbing. Maybe do some rappelling. Are there caves? Spelunking always sounded kind of fun.”

“Climb trees, go skinny dipping,” Neel suggested. “Maybe wrestle a bear or two.”

“That last sounds more like your sort of thing.”

He snorted. “Not really how my tastes run, Brandy.”

“Ooh, you should come with us and find yourself a nice lumberjack to cuddle up to!”

“Still not my thing! Give me a break, Brandy, you’ve met my boyfriends.”

“Yeah, and they’re all exes, so maybe—”

“Did I ask for dating advice? What about you, planning to sweep some fresh-faced farm girl off her feet?”

“Ooh, that’s a perk I hadn’t considered. Do you think she’d have freckles? I adore freckles.”

“How would I know? It’s your fantasy, don’t go dragging me into it.”

“Ugh, Neel, way to spoil the mood.”

“You two! S-stop!” Trisha was giggling so hard she was getting short of breath again. “Brandy, it’s so sweet of you to offer, but—”

“Offer! I’m serious, Trisha. You’re not going to keep me from meeting my dream girl, are you?”

Another fit of giggles turned into a cough. When she could speak again, she shook her head. “I wouldn’t dream of standing between you and true love—” she rolled her eyes “—but when I talked to the mayor to make sure the property hadn’t been seized for back taxes or something, he mentioned the farmhouse there is tiny. As in, small enough to make a downtown studio apartment look spacious. And that it has electricity and indoor plumbing, but not much else.” At least Mayor Just-Call-Me-Lewis had assured her it was still there, and hers to claim.

“Hmm, yeah, that could put a crimp in my plans. I’ve heard haystacks aren’t nearly as good a make-out spot as the movies suggest. Maybe she’ll have her own place?”

“I’m not joking, Brandy.”

“Neither am I, at least about coming with you,” her friend said. “The most excitement I’ve had all week is when some asshole tourist at the club tried to start a fight with me and Blake.”

“How many of their bones did you break?” Neel asked, handing Trisha a glass of water she hadn’t noticed him getting up to fetch.

“None! See—this life is making me soft.” She leaned forward earnestly. “If your cottage is really as small as you say, I’m sure I can find a room to rent somewhere. But you two are the only reasons I’ve stuck around Zuzu this long, and no offense, Neel, but I think Trisha’s gonna need me more than you are.”

“No offense, Neel?” Trisha muttered, but she was smiling as she said it. She had really not been looking forward to leaving everyone she knew behind.

“I can’t argue with that,” the man in question said. “Looking for new roommates sucks, though. Think we could find a two-bedroom rental in a town that small?”

Trisha choked on her water. Brandy, she could picture fitting into a place like Stardew Valley, and better than she herself would, since her friend was the athletic, outdoorsy type. Neel, on the other spent most of his spare cash on fancy restaurants and expensive clothes and theater tickets—when he wasn’t on stage himself, though he hadn't done any auditions in the last year and a half. “You’re not serious!” she managed to gasp at last.

“I think I am, actually,” he said, staring in the general direction of the window, though there was nothing to see but their reflections. One shoulder lifted and sank. “My therapist keeps telling me I need to make some changes in my life. I doubt this is what they had in mind, but… It’s been over a year, and I still keep getting ambushed—running into someone who knew my brother but doesn’t know, or seeing some place we used to go and thinking about how glad he’d be it was still there or how upset that it’d changed or closed. And then—” Another shrug.

He didn’t resist when Brandy scooted closer to him on the couch and put her arm around him. Trisha wanted to do the same, but she was still shaky enough from her brief attempt to breathe water that she didn’t think she could manage even that short a distance. Brandy stroked his hair as he leaned his head into her shoulder “Neel, honey, you know we love you, but ‘small country town’ is not exactly your scene. I mean, even less than ours.”

“Yeah, no kidding. I guess the smart thing to do, if you’re both leaving, would be to apply for a transfer to the Port Ava satellite office or something. But maybe what I need is an actual change, not the same map with different street names.”

“Wait, how exactly did we get from ‘Trisha, this is absurd’ to ‘we, too, have lost every single one of our marbles’ in such a short time?”

Brandy gave her a crooked smile. “We’ve done everything as a team since we were kids, why not go ’round the bend together, too? Seriously, though, I don’t think either of us has actually been happy with our lives for a while now. This is the kick in the ass to make us do something about it.” Neel pulled away from her, but nodded silently, his gaze still distant.

Trisha took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “All right, someone hand me my phone. I guess I’m calling the mayor back to get the scoop on the Pelican Town rental market.”

Said market was, she learned, almost nonexistent and currently at full occupancy, but there were other options, in the form of an agricultural grant program run by the district. “The cabins won’t be anything fancy—they're pre-fab components with minimal customization options, but they’re solid construction and you have plenty of land,” Lewis assured her. “We might even be able to get them in place before you arrive, though I can’t guarantee it—I’m not sure what the weather’s like in Zuzu City, but we’re staring down a blizzard out here.”

As if to punctuate his words, Trisha heard a howl of wind in the background. “I understand—wait, are you outside in that weather? I’m so sorry, I should have asked if this was a good time—”

“Oh, not to worry! I’m simply making a pass through the town, making sure everyone’s prepared. I ought to go, though. The sooner I get the word to Robin—she’s our carpenter, I’ve already had her looking over the old farmhouse—the sooner she can get the ball rolling on construction, even if installation has to wait for Spring. Ack, my hat!” The line went dead, and she stared at the phone for a moment, hoping he had merely dropped the phone, or the connection, and not met with some more serious accident. Then she returned to the living room to tell the others the news. We’re really doing this, aren’t we?

Chapter Text

The man clutched a flat cap to his gray hair, defending it from the wind that howled through the branches. Though he liked to think he was in excellent shape for someone his age, he still breathed a sigh of relief when he picked out the lights of his destination through the snowflakes that filtered through the trees.

He didn’t bother to knock on the door; the occupant would have known of his approach long before, even if this visit had been unexpected.

“You’re late, Lewis. Made a stop at the ranch along the way, did you?” The man in the purple and black robes did not look up from the enormous cauldron he was stirring.

“Of course not.” The mayor of Pelican Town crossed the room, skirting the diagram chalked onto the floor and the candles that surrounded it, to hang his snow-sodden hat on the corner of the fireplace mantel. “Though I’ll pay a call there on my way back, to make sure they’re prepared for the storm.”

“And perhaps get snowed in yourself?”

“If she still lived alone, that might be a temptation,” Lewis admitted. “As matters stand now, it would be awkward.” His companion merely snorted, and tossed something else into the iron pot, frowning at whatever he saw there. “Is there trouble brewing?”

The thin attempt at a joke earned him nothing more than a raised eyebrow. “You still haven’t explained your tardiness,” he said, though there was no rancor in it.

“You haven’t already divined the reason?” Lewis said, smoothing his mustache to hide a grin. It wasn’t often he knew something before Rasmodius, and he couldn’t help but savor the moment.

“The spirit realms are… uneasy, tonight, and you were not so late, yet, that I was worried. If not the lady, what kept you?”

“A phone call. There’s no reception out here, so I had to finish it before I could leave the town square. You know I would never miss your birthday.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small object wrapped in a white handkerchief.

His friend’s brow creased, and then his eyes widened as the folds of fabric fell away from the simple wooden box. “A phone call, you said?” He reached out to open the box, though he didn’t lift it from Lewis’s outstretched hand. It was empty, save for faint impressions in the plush lining. Slowly, he drew a chain from around his neck, which held a mismatched pair of keys.

“Yes. I’ve come to ask for those back, my old friend. Patrick’s granddaughter has made a claim to Lockwood Farm.”

“This explains some of the disturbances I have seen, but not all.” He unclasped the chain and reverently placed the keys inside the box. Lewis had no other gift, but the news he had brought and the lifting of this burden would be more precious than any mere object.

“I should clarify that the phone call I received on my way here was the second from her. She isn’t coming alone.”

“A partner? It would be better if she found someone here, but…”

“Perhaps. Two friends—close ones, if they’re following her here on such short notice—but I don’t know how close.”

“Hmm. I shall have to see what the elementals have to say, but this could complicate matters.” He opened a cabinet and began taking out more reagents for his cauldron, and Lewis laid claim to a chair. As the colors radiating from the roiling brew began to shift, he resigned himself to the fact that he might not have time to drop in on Marnie, after all; it looked like the spirits were in a talkative mood, and if more trouble was coming to Pelican Town, he needed to know what shape it might take.

Chapter Text

It had been a different restaurant each time, of course; too much of a risk to have a regular meeting place. It didn’t escape Neel’s attention that the locales had gotten more upscale each time, though the current one was the first where he would be in trouble if his “date” ditched him with the bill, and not only because he had used the meeting as an excuse to acquire a new suit. It might not have been the wisest decision, given everything else he had bought for the upcoming move, but the custom-tailored grey wool fit both of the roles he was playing here better than anything he already owned would have. He shrugged off financial concerns and ordered the second-most expensive cocktail on the menu.

His contact arrived not long after his drink, and he gave her a long, appreciative look as she made her way to the isolated booth where he sat. She might have sneered at his wardrobe at their first meeting, but she—or someone connected to her—spoke the language of fashion fluently. Her dress and jacket were exactly on the line between “hot date” and “corporate headhunter,” and she walked as if she ate at the most exclusive restaurant in Zuzu City on a regular basis.

And perhaps she did, because she looked at his glass and said, “I would have expected you to go for the stardrop martini.”

“In my experience, any drink with ‘stardrop’ in its name isn’t worth the taste buds you’ll burn off drinking it,” he said. “The menu description didn’t suggest theirs was any different in that regard.” The gem berry champagne was drier than he preferred—it was one of the few wines that didn’t improve with age, regardless of what the official ratings might insist—but it was an acceptable choice. They made similar small talk until the waiter had taken their order, delivered it, and made the obligatory check to ensure they were satisfied with the meal, at which point Neel’s companion’s remark that they would let him know when they were ready for dessert ensured their privacy.

They had established a script for these meetings; Neel would gripe about his job, she would listen sympathetically, and along the way, a pair of envelopes would be exchanged, the one containing handwritten transcripts of sensitive Joja Corp documents and conversations leaving his pocket and being replaced with one holding an appropriate amount of cash. Upon leaving, he would “forget” some personal item—a glove or a hat—and when he hurried back to the restaurant to retrieve it, a scrap of paper with the location for the next meeting would be tucked inside.

The time for that script was over, though. “Happy Winter Star,” he said, setting a small box on the table between their plates. The logo proclaimed it to be from a jewelry store even more exclusive than the restaurant, and it was her turn to raise her eyebrows, because however generous her payments would have been to a cash-strapped clerical worker, they weren’t enough to have allowed him to shop there. Laughing at her expression would not have fit the image they were projecting, so he only smiled and rested his chin on one hand, incidentally shielding his face from the rest of the restaurant. “Don’t read too much into it. Remember whose wastebaskets I have access to.”

The corners of her eyes crinkled in appreciation, and she lifted the lid from the box. From a distance, its contents might well have appeared to come from the store the box advertised, one of their obscenely expensive ornaments in gold and gemstones. Up close, it was clearly a plastic knock-off of the same. “Oh, darling, you shouldn’t have!” She lifted it out of the box as if admiring it, and her face froze when she saw—up closer still—that it was a novelty thumb drive. “You really shouldn’t have,” she breathed, and Neel knew she had just spotted the tiny lettering proclaiming the drive’s capacity. That meant nothing, in terms of its contents—except that this particular novelty came in many different storage sizes, the one he had given her was by far the most expensive, and he had already established that he was not the sort to spend a single coin more than he needed to.

That last was a lie, but the drive itself was not. “I have to leave my phone in a locker and pick it up when I leave, have my pockets scanned every day for anything that might breach security—but nobody looks twice at ‘holiday cubicle decorations.’” The security guard who had cleared the “ornament” when he’d brought it to work had even given him the tip about the VP who’d had the box on her way in, but only the bauble it had held on the way out. He had made sure to go the same guard for the exit check when he had cleaned out his desk two days ago; the man had winked at the box Neel had appropriated from the trash without giving its contents more than a cursory glance.

Reluctantly, the woman across the table lowered the ornament back into the box and gave it a nudge back toward him. “You’re fishing for a big payday. Even if I had some assurance that’s what it looks like, I—we—don’t have that kind of ready cash.”

“Like I said, Happy Winter Star.” Her eyes widened ever so slightly, but her expression didn’t otherwise change. “Dinner’s still on you, but this has never been about the money.”

Her expression hardened. “How do I know this isn’t a trap?”

He leaned back against the plush velvet padding of the booth. “How do I know this isn’t just sordid corporate espionage?” He was certain it wasn’t, but his own resources weren’t good enough for him to determine which of the many activist groups constantly digging for dirt on Joja she was affiliated with.

Her expression turned speculative. “I figured out pretty quickly that our first meeting wasn’t an accident, but I assumed you traced your friend’s contacts to that dive in search of a payout. If not that, what?”

“‘What is Joja hiding?’” he quoted. The marketing department had earned their holiday bonuses, spinning that hashtag into a teaser for some as-yet-unnamed product launch. It hadn’t worked as thoroughly as last time, since they hadn’t already had something in development that might justify such an elaborate advertising campaign, and speculation still ran rampant online. He tapped the box. “I’ve got a pretty good idea, but no proof. That’s all I’m going to be able to get, so I’m turning it over to you. I’m sure I’m not your only source; hopefully you can build the complete picture I’m missing.”

“Afraid if you dig deeper, you’ll get caught?”

“My access couldn’t have gotten me any deeper, no matter what I was willing to risk.” His own access couldn’t have gotten him that deep in the first place, but one of “his” execs was stunningly careless. “No, I’m out. If what I think I’m seeing in all that is true… I can’t be part of it anymore.” He hooked the edge of the box with one finger, drawing it a little closer. “There is one thing I want in exchange. Not money,” he said, as she opened her mouth. The cash she’d already given him had gone into a carefully hidden account, just in case he—or Brandy—wound up needing legal representation over this. “Time.”

“You want us to sit on this, if it’s as explosive as you imply?”

He shrugged. “If you drop this all on the internet tomorrow, they’ll figure out where it came from right away. Give it a couple of seasons, and no one there’ll remember my name without checking the employment records, and there’ll have been more staff turnover. A secretary’s the next best thing to invisible, to those people.” He had never minded, for his own sake—had taken pride in his ability to fade into the background—until he had realized the attitude extended to everyone not at their own exalted level, the whole world divided into data points and those few that believed they could manipulate the data.

She nodded slowly. “A raw infodump wouldn’t suit our purposes, anyway, and it’ll take time to cross-check and corroborate.” A little of the tension left his shoulders. “I can’t guarantee you any specific timeline. If this confirms the hints we’ve found elsewhere, adding any gratuitous delay would be unconscionable.”

“Then we’re on the same page,” he said, hearing a harsh note creep into his voice in response to the echo of his own buried, seething anger he could see in her eyes. Then he sat back, forced the fury back down beneath the surface, and smiled. “So… what do you recommend for dessert?”

Chapter Text

A hand on her shoulder startled Trisha out of a convoluted dream involving a chorus line of fruits and vegetables singing about how hard it was to find the balance between too little water and too much. “Time to wake up, sleepyhead! Our stop’s in a couple of miles,” Brandy said.

“Already?” She stretched and looked around. The bus had been half full when they pulled out of Zuzu City’s central bus depot, but she and her friends were the only remaining passengers.

“I think you were out cold before we hit the city limit,” Neel said, slipping a bookmark into the third volume of the sprawling epic fantasy series he had borrowed from her. He had been on the first one when they boarded the bus, and Trisha smiled at yet another sign that he was starting to get back to his old self.

She wasn’t surprised that she’d dozed off, given all the frantic packing and other preparations for the move, but she’d meant to see the city off properly. She gazed out the window as the bus began to slow. As if in apology for its harshness, Winter had departed a little early this year, and the trees and shrubs that lined the road already showed signs of green. She leaned closer to the glass as the bus turned off of the highway and the sunbeam she had been sitting in shifted away.

“Pelican Town, last stop!” the bus driver called as the vehicle came to a halt along the edge of the narrow road. Trisha hauled herself to her feet, then checked to make sure she still had everything she had boarded with. At least napping through the trip meant that she didn’t have to worry about leaving her phone or tablet in the seat pocket. Neel was already pulling her soft-sided cooler from the overhead shelf, and he handed it to her with visible reluctance. Her arm muscles burned as she slung it across her shoulder, but it didn’t weigh that much more than the oversized purse with her electronics and other essentials, so at least she was well balanced. She collected the box that held Arachne, as well.

However, she didn’t argue when Brandy slung her own duffel bag over her shoulder, then took Trisha’s suitcase from the bus driver and kept hold of the handle instead of turning it over to its owner. The clear sunlight was already working its magic, but she wore a thick sweater and loose jeans to avoid shocking the locals, so there was only so much she could take in at once.

“Hello! You must be Trisha?” She jumped a little at the unexpected voice. A tall woman pushed herself away from the fare machine she had been leaning against while they collected their baggage. She had fiery hair partly gathered into a ponytail, a few white strands in it leading Trisha to put her age somewhere around her parents’, and the sort of build that suggested she did a lot of physical labor. Her blue eyes darted between Trisha and Brandy, as if unsure who she was addressing.

“That’s me,” she said, stepping forward. “This is Brandy, and that’s Neel.” The latter had brought along more luggage than both women together, though it would only be a few days before the rest of their belongings were delivered, and he was currently trying to figure out how to manage both rolling suitcases at once on the dirt path leading away from the bus stop.

“I’m Robin, the local carpenter,” the woman said, extending her hand. Trisha shifted her box to free her right hand, steeled herself, and shook Robin’s. The woman wasn’t the sort to make a point of her strength by squeezing, thankfully, but Trisha couldn’t tell whether the way Robin’s eyes widened was due to the thinness of her fingers or their green tint, so obvious against the redhead’s pale skin. “Mayor Lewis sent me here to fetch you and show you the way to your new home. He’s there right now, tidying things up for your arrival. The farm’s right over here, if you’ll follow me.” She started walking, then looked over her shoulder at a muffled curse from Neel. “Would you like a hand with those?”

Trisha turned around in time to see the too-familiar blank mask slip into place to cover the flare of anger in Neel’s eyes, but she doubted their guide noticed, because it was replaced almost as quickly with a sheepish smile. “That’d be great, if you’re sure you don’t mind. I’m afraid I didn’t opt for the off-road models.”

Robin laughed and picked up the larger of the two bags, hefting it by the side handle as if it weighed nothing. “Not at all. Consider it an apology, of sorts,” she added as she led the way toward a wider dirt road. “I’m afraid we weren’t able to get the cabins you ordered built in time for your arrival. We had one snowstorm after another this year, and getting the components down the mountain from my workshop just wasn’t possible. Now that the snow is finally gone, I can get them assembled over the next few days.”

“We ought to be able to manage for that long,” Trisha said, hoping it wasn’t obvious how out of breath she already was. She looked up the trail, where a wooden gate was just visible in the distance, an age-faded sign hanging over it, and despite her exhaustion, her steps quickened of their own accord.

“This is Lockwood Farm,” Robin said, swinging open the gate and sweeping her hand to encompass…

A disaster. Trisha’s stomach sank. What had she expected, when the mayor had told her that the land had been untended since before she was born? Weeds and tall grass were tangled around boulders and fallen logs, and trees ranging from spindly saplings to well-grown pines blocked her from seeing the whole of the property. What might be the shattered remains of a greenhouse caught the late afternoon sunlight off to the west, and a small pond nearby was choked with trash, though the tied-off garbage bags nearby suggested someone had been working to rectify that.

“What’s the matter?” All three of them turned toward Robin. “Sure, it’s a bit overgrown, but there’s some good soil underneath that mess! With a little dedication you’ll have it cleaned up in no time.”

Trisha took a deep breath to steady herself, and with it came a host of smells: pine needles… hints of early spring flowers… a whiff of garbage from the direction of the pond… and under it all, the heady scent of the soil, richer than the store-bought compound in Arachne’s pot. Though it had no scent of its own, she could also feel the sun on her face and hands, welcoming and warm despite the lingering chill in the air. “At least it’s obviously good for plants,” she said, gazing at the thick weeds.

Robin’s smile grew a little less uncertain at that. “And here we are, your new home,” she said, waving at the building Trisha had paid scant attention to, focused as she had been on the land itself.

As if on cue—and perhaps he had been waiting for just such a signal—the door to the little cottage opened and a man stepped out. His hair was iron gray, head and thick mustache alike, and even before he opened his mouth Trisha was certain of his identity; he looked like the voice she had heard on the phone. “Ah, the new farmer!” he said, proving her correct. His nod encompassed all three of them. “Farmers, I should say. Welcome! I’m Lewis, Mayor of Pelican Town. You know, everyone’s been asking about you.” He looked at all three of them—Brandy, her hair freshly dyed for maximum eyestrain; Neel, who had spent the last week and a half alternating between packing and buying a whole new wardrobe (she hadn’t known “designer flannel shirts” were a thing); and… her.

She had been deliberately vague about her health issues when speaking to Lewis, specifying only that it was essential the cottage have at least a small refrigerator, as well as collecting the name and credentials of the town’s doctor. She saw the mayor’s eyes widen as he realized her coloring wasn’t a trick of the light filtering through the trees, and was grateful her baggy clothing hid the worst of the toll the Winter had taken on her. To his credit, he showed little more reaction to her peculiarities than her roommates’ self-chosen ones. “It’s not every day that someone new moves in,” he continued with scarcely a pause. “It’s quite a big deal!”

He turned to face the building “So… You’re moving into your grandfather’s old cottage. It’s a good house… very ‘rustic.’”

Robin snorted. “Rustic? That’s one way to put it. ‘Crusty’ might be a little more apt, though.”

“Rude!” the mayor muttered under his breath, giving the carpenter a sidelong glare. “Don’t listen to her, Trisha. She’s just trying to make you dissatisfied so you’ll hire her to upgrade your house.” The red-haired woman returned the glare, but there was no real hostility in either of them; it felt more like the sort of ‘argument’ Brandy and Neel had on a regular basis. “Anyway… You must be tired from the long journey. You should get some rest. The additional cabins might not be in place, but we managed to fit the beds into your cottage. It’ll be cramped, I’m afraid.”

“Robin warned us about the housing situation,” Brandy said. “I’m just glad to hear we won’t need the air mattresses we brought!” Neel nodded silent agreement, and Trisha sent a brief prayer of thanks to Yoba that none of them snored.

The mayor and Robin both looked relieved at their acceptance of the situation. “Tomorrow you ought to explore the town a bit and introduce yourselves,” Lewis suggested. “The townspeople would appreciate that.” He walked down the steps and pressed the key into Trisha’s palm. The metal had a curious warmth, as if he had been holding it in his hand for a long time. “Well… good luck!” He headed for the gate, and soon vanished into the lengthening shadows of the tree-lined road.

Robin lingered a few minutes longer. “You’ll see the survey markings where I’m planning to put the cabins. Take a look over them tonight or tomorrow morning and let me know which model I should put where, or if you don’t care for the suggested arrangement at all. It might take a little longer if the spots you’d prefer still need to be cleared and have utility hookups run, but despite what some people might imply, I’m really not trying to drum up extra work for myself by giving my customers something they’re not happy with.”

“Thanks, Robin. We appreciate that,” Neel said, heaving the suitcase he was carrying onto the porch. “How do we get to town?”

“Sorry, I’m not much of a tour guide, am I? If you go back the way we came and keep walking past the turn-off to the bus stop, you’ll reach the town square. The beach is south of town, and my place is to the north, about halfway up the mountain. You can also reach me more directly by taking the road just over there.” She waved toward the north edge of the farmland, where the descending sun picked out a gap in the steep hillside. “My kids, Maru and Sebastian, are about your age, and I’m sure they’d be thrilled to meet you. My husband Demetrius, too. In the meantime, let me just show you a few, er, features of the cottage, and then I’ll leave you to get settled in.”

When Robin finally left, Trisha dropped onto the bed shoved into the corner of the room—it looked like the oldest, so she assumed it was the one that belonged to her cottage—with an exaggerated sigh. “When Lewis said Grandpa liked the ‘simple life’ out here, I didn’t realize he meant this primitive.” At least the fact that he had apparently either eaten all of his meals in town or cooked over a campfire didn’t pose too much of an issue for her. The waist-high minifridge could hold a couple weeks’ worth of her nutrient shakes and still have room for Brandy and Neel to store a few things, and Robin had loaned them an electric hot plate so the others could manage simple meals, for now. The propane hot water heater attached to the plumbing would take some getting used to, as would the way walking too close to the television’s wire antenna made the few channels that came in go fuzzy.

Neel had his phone out. “I’ve got a signal, but just barely.”

“Seriously, we never even stayed at a hotel that didn’t at least have cable TV and a hot tub!” She gazed up at the ceiling beams, where a solitary spider was beginning to spin a web, no doubt rebuilding after Lewis’s tidying. Her grandfather’s letter had described this as the place he “truly belonged,” and she was torn between regret that she had never seen this side of him while he was alive and gratitude for the opportunity to learn about it now. Why had he never brought her to visit? Or her mother, for that matter? When she had told her parents she was moving, her mother had been nearly as surprised as she had been; she had known about the farm’s existence, but assumed it was a hobby project-slash-tax shelter he had sold off decades ago. How had her grandfather even come here in the first place? Perhaps Mayor Lewis knew, since the letter had mentioned him fondly.

“Trisha! Hey! Mission Control to Trisha, do you read?” Brandy waved a hand in front of her face.

“What?” She blinked; while she had been lost in thought, the sun had set fully, and Brandy’s face was eerie, lit only by her phone screen.

The other woman shook her head. “I asked if you wanted to see what sort of shows the local broadcast stations have, but you look like you’re already half-asleep.”

“Do we need to set up the lamp you brought with you? I bought a sleep mask, just in case,” Neel said. He had already changed into his pajamas, looking even more out of place in the rustic cabin in striped burgundy satin than he had in his crisp new jeans and plaid shirt.

“I didn’t think to,” Brandy murmured, then added quickly, “Not that I can’t deal with the light, if you need it!”

Trisha combed her fingers through her hair. “I think I’m all right,” she said. “I must have gotten enough sun on the bus and the walk here.” She could feel fatigue tugging at her as she stood and crossed the room, but it was lighter than the bone-deep weariness she had woken up with that morning. She pulled a shake out of the fridge, wondering which of her friends had loaded it while she spaced out. She took a swig from the bottle and then lifted her spider plant from its box. She didn’t see any convenient hooks, so she set the planter on the sturdy wooden table below a window. Welcome home, Arachne, she thought, listening to her friends bicker amiably over the television remote and hoping that this had been the right decision.

Chapter Text

“Sebby, are you still up?” His mother opened the door without waiting for an answer.

“No, I’ve learned how to code in my sleep,” he muttered from his computer desk. “Of course I am.”

“There’s no need for sarcasm,” she said. “I just wanted to let you know I met the new folks who’ve moved into the old Lockwood farm.”

“Uh-huh.” He fixed a glaring error in a section of code that had supposedly been reviewed by three other people.

“They seem nice, and they’re all about your age. Brandy reminds me a little of Abigail—I think you’d really like her. Do you want to come with me when I start hauling the cabin pieces down the mountain?”

“Kind of busy with my own work, Mom,” he said, ignoring the “subtle” hint and hoping she wasn’t going to take that as an invitation to try to set him up with this “Brandy.”

She sighed. “Suit yourself. I’m planning to invite them to dinner at some point this week, so they’re not living entirely off of whatever they can manage on my spare hot plate.”

He looked up from the screen at that; he wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but at least she wasn’t springing surprise guests on him as they walked in the door. “Okay. I’ll be out on Friday, by the way.” Too much to hope that she’d pick that day for her invitation, since that was also when she and Demetrius usually went out, but it was worth dropping a hint of his own.

“I’m glad to hear that! I’m so happy Spring is finally here; it’s not good to stay cooped up inside so much.”

“Uh-huh.” He was going mostly because Sam had threatened a repeat of his birthday “celebration” if he tried to stand him and Abigail up for the fourth week in a row—complete with snowball, and given that this was Sam, he probably did have one stowed in his freezer for just such an occasion. Sebastian had to admit he was looking forward to going out, despite his looming deadlines; Abby had texted him that Sam had been practicing trick shots in his absence, which was always good for a laugh.

His mother sighed again and left him alone at last, closing the door behind her. He lit a cigarette and pulled up the error log again, looking for the next issue to address, but he couldn’t help thinking about the newcomers. Why would anyone leave Zuzu City to come here, when anyone with sense would do exactly the opposite?

Chapter Text

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Neel, give me that before you slice your toes off!” Brandy willed her heart to leave her throat and return to its proper place in her chest as her friend looked at her in confusion, the bow saw—thank Yoba!—no longer in motion.

“I’m cutting this log into pieces so we can move it more easily,” he said.

“Yes, and if you really have to brace against something to get better leverage, be sure you’re not pulling the saw toward your foot.” He looked down, and she could see the gears finally start turning in his brain. She pulled out her phone and added “coffee” to her shopping list, right under “propane tank (bigger?).” “Also, the handle is on this end, which might make things easier.” She took the saw away from him and turned it around, pointing out the finger-grooves opposite where he had been gripping it.

“Oh.”

She took a closer look at the blade. “Ugh, this thing is so dull it’s useless. Even holding it correctly that’s going to take forever. C’mon, I’ll show you how to swing an axe without hurting yourself.” Another to-do list entry: find out if there was someone in town who could repair tools, or if they would need to scrape together even more cash to replace the more worn ones.

Once she was reasonably sure Neel had the hang of using the small hatchet—it was in better shape than the rest of the tools, and she suspected another quiet “apology” gift from Robin—she crossed the yard to where Trisha was leaning on the hoe. She had managed to turn over a small patch of soil not far from the cottage. “Hey, Brandy, this looks like enough space for those seeds Lewis dropped off.” She wore a cropped halter top and shorts, which was why Brandy had directed Neel’s attempt at playing lumberjack, with its risk of flying splinters and wood chips, well away from her. “What do you think?”

“I think you look like you’re about to fall over, sweetie. Why don’t you sit down for a bit?”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” Trisha said, and plopped down on the grass next to the tilled patch.

“Are you okay?” Brandy lowered herself to one knee beside her friend.

“I’ll be fine,” she replied, closing her eyes and turning her face toward the sun with an expression of tired contentment. “I’m already feeling better than I have in ages, but it’ll take a while to get my endurance back.” She opened her eyes. “Hand me the seeds and the watering can, would you? I can manage that much sitting down, while I catch my breath.”

“Don’t forget to water yourself,” Brandy teased, bringing over a plastic squeeze-bottle along with the rest.

“Yes, Mom.” Trisha rolled her eyes.

Brandy chuckled and surveyed the grounds again. Neel was handling the hatchet better than the saw, though he was going to wear himself out fast if he tried to keep swinging it at his current speed. She hefted the small pickaxe they’d found in the tool shed at the back of the cottage; she could probably break up the smaller stones with it, though she would want something more heavy-duty before tackling the larger boulders that dotted the land. On the other hand… she checked her phone again; it was late enough that the general store ought to be open, and she’d rather take care of that sort of errand before she got too sweaty, especially since there would be no more hot showers until the propane tank was replaced. “I’m going to make a town run. Keep an eye on Neel, and don’t let him try out any new tools until I’m back to supervise, okay?” She pitched her voice loud enough for him to hear, and he flipped her off before he returned to swinging at the log as though it had pissed him off.

Trisha looked up from reading the directions on the seed packets. “Gotcha.” She tore open the first one and shook a few seeds into her hand. They had found the little bundle on the front steps that morning with a note from Lewis that he had forgotten to give it to them the evening before—a little something to get their farm started. Brandy had had to look up what exactly a “parsnip” was, but from what she had read when the data finally trickled in, the fast-growing crop should be difficult to screw up, even for a crew whose sole claim to fame when it came to growing stuff was “have not yet managed to kill an unkillable houseplant.”

By the time Brandy came back out from detaching the empty tank—which had run out while Neel was showering, much to his dismay and Brandy’s annoyance, since she hadn’t had her turn yet—Trisha was carefully poking seeds into the ground as if they might jump back out at her, and Neel was eyeing one of the mid-sized pine trees. “Stick to the deadfall, hon. I’m pretty sure there’s a trick to getting trees to fall where you want them, instead of on you, but I’ve got to look up what it is.”

He made a face at her but leaned the axe against the tree and started gathering up the fallen branches scattered about. Since he was loading them into their only wheelbarrow, she decided to make this a small grocery run—she could carry a full tank and a few other items, but not everything they really needed.

Pelican Town proved to be a quaint little place, more like a movie set than the small towns her folks had come from. Planter boxes dotted the town square; most were empty, but an old lady stood beside one, transferring bright flowers from a cart loaded with starter pots. She did a double-take upon spotting Brandy, but lifted her trowel with a smile and a friendly wave, which Brandy returned.

The general store was easy enough to spot. Robin had assured them, when she had warned that their propane tank was low, that “Pierre’s” should finally have the replacement stock that had been delayed by the storms.

“Behind you!” The sound of skateboard wheels was distinctive, if not something she had expected to hear today, and she sidestepped with a grin as a blur of denim and blond hair zipped by. The skateboarder attempted a kickflip but missed the timing, foot coming down on the edge of the board instead of the surface, and he staggered a few steps before grabbing hold of a nearby lamp post. “Whoops!” The skateboard shot backwards, and Brandy stuck out a foot to keep it from rolling past her.

Its rider swung around the lamp post to face her. “Thanks for catching that.” He was not as young as she had initially thought, maybe a decade or so less than her own 76 years. His hair was longer than hers, and he must go through ten times more product than she did to keep it spiked that high, though he had left it down in the back to fall just past the collar of his well-worn denim jacket. “I haven’t seen you around before—you just passing through, or one of the new farmers?”

He looked completely unfazed that he’d just screwed up a trick in front of someone he’d probably been trying to show off for, which Brandy found a lot more impressive than a successful kickflip would have been. She brought her foot down on the back of the skateboard and caught it near the front wheels with the hand not holding the propane tank. “Option B,” she said, holding out the board. “Name’s Brandy.”

“Sam,” he said, taking it from her with an appreciative grin. “You ride, too?”

“Not since high school,” she admitted. The mischievous sparkle in his eyes dimmed just a little, and she shook her head. “That’s not a dig, just saying I’m out of practice.” Her fathers had given her skydiving lessons as a graduation gift, and after that the skate park near their apartment was pretty dull.

He chuckled. “Me, too, actually. Mom dragooned me into helping her clean out the attic over the Winter and I came across this thing up there. Now that the snow’s finally gone I thought I’d see if I could still get around town without falling on my face.”

She looked down and nudged one of the cobblestones with her toe. “I’m not sure I could’ve managed that much on a surface like this, even back in school—I thought cracks in the sidewalk were a pain!” Her arm was getting tired, and she shifted the tank to the other hand.

“Hey, looks like you’re busy. Sorry to keep you—are you heading to Pierre’s or the JojaMart?”

Her eyebrows rose. “There’s a JojaMart here?”

“Yeah, just across the river. They opened last year, and a lot of people are still griping about it, but they come to shop anyway. I work there part time, but between you and me, Pierre’s got better stock, even if his prices are higher.” He looked at the tank. “And I know for a fact we won’t have propane until summer barbecue season.”

“Thanks for the tip. Since I didn’t even know Joja was in town, I’ll stick with the original plan.” She nodded toward the general store.

“Cool. I’ll see you around, then.” He set the skateboard down and pushed off, wobbling on the uneven paving.

Brandy grinned and resumed walking. Pushing open the shop door caused a bell above it to ring—an actual tiny metal bell, not an electronic chime—and she shook her head at the town’s commitment to its image.

A man in glasses behind the counter looked up at the sound. “Hello! Welcome to Pierre’s. Oh, could you please leave the tank outside? I’d be happy to process an exchange, but it’s a safety hazard to have the tanks indoors.”

“Sure,” she said, leaning back through the doorway to set it against the wall beneath a bulletin board. “I need a few other things, as well.”

“Of course! If you need help finding anything, just tell me or my daughter… Abigail? Where are you?” His voice rose louder than she would have thought necessary, given the small size of the store.

“Still stocking shelves, Dad,” said a bored voice from somewhere behind a display of baking supplies. A moment later a young woman emerged, pulling earbuds out of her ears, which explained the shouting. “What’s up?” Abigail’s hair fell to her shoulders in thick, purple waves, and she wore just enough makeup to accentuate her delicate features, which were currently set in a scowl that suggested the job she was doing wasn’t her choice. She wore a tight black top with matching leggings tucked into scuffed brown hiking boots, and over that, a blue men’s dress shirt with the sleeves cut out. The oversized shirt hung almost to her knees and sported a dozen-odd buttons with band logos or snarky slogans; a silver-studded black belt completed the look.

Brandy grinned. She might have joked about farm girls with Neel and Trisha, but this Abigail was more her usual type. Between her and Skateboard Sam outside, she was starting to feel a bit less out of her element. “Hey.”

Chapter Text

Abigail knew she was staring at the woman standing in the middle of her father’s shop, though she hoped she wasn’t being too obvious about it. Her hair was bright pink, and she wore a tank top that matched her hair and a lighter pink windbreaker over faded black cargo pants that were starting to fray at the hems. There was something in her grey eyes that suggested she’d been everywhere and seen everything, and Abigail wondered what stories she might be able to tell. “Hi?” Her father cleared her throat, and she felt her face heat. “I mean, hello! How can I help you?”

The pink-haired woman’s smile widened. “So… we just moved to town, and our coffee pot is on a truck somewhere between here and Zuzu City. Do you have any instant?”

“Sure, it’s over here.” She led the woman into one of the small aisles between the freestanding shelves and nudged her half-emptied box of pancake mixes out of the way. “That’s right… I heard someone new was moving onto that old farm. That’s you?” The woman didn’t look like any sort of farmer to her.

“Well, it’s Trisha’s place. Neel and I came along mostly ’cause roommates who aren’t assholes are worth their weight in iridium—you don’t let them go if you can help it.”

Abigail laughed. “They must be really good roommates if you followed them all the way from Zuzu City to this little backwater.”

“We’ve been best friends since grade school, and the idea of Trisha trying to figure this shit out on her own didn’t sit well.” She shrugged. “Not that I know much about farming—and Neel’s even more out of his depth—but at least we can all be baffled together.”

“Sounds kind of like me and my friends, Sam and Sebastian,” Abigail said. If their “band” ever got off the ground, going on tour with the two of them might be worth leaving the valley, at least for a while.

“Same Sam who nearly ran me over on a skateboard on my way here? Spiky blond hair?”

Abigail giggled. “Oh, wow, don’t tell me he’s actually riding that thing around town. I thought he was kidding! Yeah, there aren’t any other Sams in Pelican Town.” A mutter that might have been “Thank Yoba” came from the general direction of the cash register, reminding her that they had an audience. “Anyway, are you looking for a particular brand?”

“Neel’s going to complain no matter what I get—he’s a coffee snob—but without his morning brew he’s a hazard to himself and everyone around him. You know those shambling zombies in horror movies? Basically that, with better hair and access to sharp farming tools. I will pour the stuff down his throat if I have to.”

Abigail giggled at the image. “I’m not sure Sebastian’s even up to shambling before 10am.” She pulled a box down from the top shelf. “This one has the most caffeine.”

“Thanks. Hmm, that name sounds familiar, too. This lady named Robin met us at the bus stop yesterday, and she mentioned him?”

“Yeah, she’s his mother.” She heard her father clear his throat again, and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “You need anything else with that? Cream, sugar?”

“Yes to both, but the smallest package of each that you carry. I’ve got to haul a new propane tank back out to the farm, too, so I don’t want to load up with too much else.”

“Sure. Do you want powdered creamer, or the real thing? We’d also be happy to hold your purchases here, if you have other errands to run before you head back or if you need to make more than one trip.”

Her father cut in at that point. “Marnie’s ranch produces the best dairy products in the district, and you won’t find that at JojaMart!” Abigail rolled her eyes.

“Sure, let’s go with the local cows,” the woman said. “Do you know if there’s anyone in town who does metal repair work? Most of the stuff we found in the tool shed is in pretty rough shape, but I think it’s fixable—just not by us.”

“Clint’s the town blacksmith. His shop’s just across the river, north of the library,” Abigail said.

“A library! Awesome, I can poke around there for books on farming. We’ve got almost no cell signal out on the farm, barely enough for a phone call, and trying to load a web page is sloooooow.”

“Yeah, it’s not too bad in town and up on the mountain, but once you get much west of the bus stop it’s like you’re stepping out of the modern world.” That could be an advantage, sometimes, when she wanted to dodge her father drafting her into shelving stuff. She couldn’t help a sigh. “It’s kind of a shame, really. I always enjoyed exploring those overgrown fields by myself.”

The woman grinned at her. “Given our skill level, they’re going to remain mostly overgrown for a while. Feel free to to explore to your heart’s content, or just drop by to say hello.”

“Thanks, I’d like that.” As the woman headed toward the counter with her purchases, Abigail added, “Um, and who would I be saying hello to?”

“Well, shit, apparently I need a caffeine boost, too,” she said, her cheeks flushing nearly as pink as her hair. “I’m Brandy.”

“Well, then, welcome to Pelican Town, Miss Brandy,” her father said, going into full-on salesman mode. “We carry a wide variety of seeds each season, and once your farm is producing crops I’d be happy to purchase them from you at very competitive rates. We pride ourselves on carrying as much local stock as possible! Now, I know you said you wanted to keep your shopping light, but seed packets are quite compact, and we have these splendid tulip bulbs right now…”

Brandy’s grey eyes widened at her father’s sudden sales spiel, and Abigail gave her a sympathetic shrug before returning to her pancake mixes. Once she got the rest of the current shipment unpacked, she could track down Sam and see if his first impression of the new arrivals was as good as her own. She hoped that Trisha and Neel were as cool as their friend.

Chapter Text

Neel glared at the sapling, the only obstacle remaining in the path he had cleared between Trisha’s cabin and the first set of survey marks. It was too thin to do any damage even if it landed directly on him, but if Brandy disagreed with his assessment, she would be griping about it for days. He started to raise the axe anyway, but its weight had somehow doubled in the few minutes he had been still. He gave the tree a final frown and retreated to the toolshed.

Someone—presumably Robin or the mayor—had made a cursory attempt to clean it up, but his fingers still came away even grimier than they had been when he hung the axe back on the pegs where Brandy had found it. He grimaced and considered going inside to wash up, but decided he might as well check out what else was stashed in here.

“Brandy said not to touch anything until she got back.” He looked up from the decrepit toolbox he was attempting to pry open and found Trisha leaning against the doorframe.

“No, she said I shouldn’t try to use anything. I’m only taking inventory.” The rusty latch finally gave way, and he lifted the lid. The top tray held a couple of screwdrivers that looked to be in decent shape and a hammer with a wide crack running the length of its wooden handle. The one beneath it was divided into smaller compartments holding an assortment of rusty lumps that had probably been nails, screws, and other small hardware at some point in the distant past.

He set the second tray on the floor beside him and peered into the bottom of the toolbox. “This could come in handy for chasing off crows and other pests,” he said, taking out a slingshot. He pulled back the sling and felt the ancient rubber crackle. “Or… maybe not.” It didn’t resume its previous shape when he let go.

“We’re better off putting up scarecrows and fences than trying to stand guard over the fields around the clock, anyway.”

“I suppose.” She must have decided he didn’t need further supervision, because she went back outside. He dug gingerly through the rest of the crap in the box, but the only things he could see worth keeping were the slingshot handle and the two screwdrivers. The box itself might be salvageable, if there were a way to clean the rust out of the latch and hinges. He set his gleanings on a shelf and returned the rest to the toolbox for now.

The laundry hookups against the wall the shed shared with the house looked new, so at least those shouldn’t be a problem. The large cabinet full of tiny drawers held nothing but dust and the occasional spider, and he didn’t trust the rickety-looking ladder well enough to check if there might be anything of interest on the highest shelves that he couldn’t see from the ground. Probably just more junk, he thought, and smoothed the scowl from his face as he left the shed.

Trisha was sitting on the porch steps, watching her little parsnip patch as if it might start sprouting before her eyes—or as if she didn’t have the energy for anything else. “The seed packets said they grow fast, but probably not that quickly,” he said, burying the sudden spike of anger beneath a gently teasing tone. Winters were always tough on her, but she hadn’t looked this frail since high school.

“I know. But I feel like there’s more I should be doing. Look at all that you and Brandy have gotten accomplished!”

Neel surveyed the area around them. Brandy had trampled down a path through the weeds and tall grass to the small pond, which would make hauling the garbage out of it a little easier, and he had made a decent start on clearing a path around the cottage. On the flip side, his arm muscles felt like overcooked noodles, and he had no idea how far through the tangle of trees and rocks and wild greenery Trisha’s property extended; they had barely made a dent. At least there was no shortage of work to keep him occupied. “We didn’t really do that much. Besides, you handled the important part.” He nodded at the damp soil, marked with a small branch that she had stuck through one of the empty seed packets. “It’s officially a farm now.”

“Assuming anything grows.”

He shrugged. “Farms with crop failures are still farms, but I’m sure the parsnips will be fine.” He could understand her restlessness, though; he was certain if he tried to swing the axe any more today he’d wind up dropping it on his foot, but there was nothing worse than sitting around with nothing to do, and not only because his thoughts inevitably turned down paths his therapist wouldn’t approve of. He pulled out his phone to see how long Brandy had been gone, and the date caught his eye. “You know, with all the scramble to pack and get everything arranged, I completely overlooked that it’s your birthday. I didn’t get you anything.”

Trisha smiled and shook her head. “You’re here, in the wilderness, because I had this ridiculous idea to get out of the city. What more could I ask for?”

Something the carpenter had mentioned the evening before was tickling at the back of his mind. “Didn’t Robin say the beach was south of town? You should go check it out.”

She leaned back on her hands and looked up at him. “You’re sure this isn’t a plan to get me out of the way so I can’t stop you from dropping a pickaxe on your skull?”

“I doubt I could lift it that high, at the moment.” The books he had filched from Trisha’s shelves before she could pack them were a temptation, but he was halfway through the series already; better to save them for when he really needed the distraction, since that was all he had until the cabins were built and the moving truck arrived. But he needed to find something to do… Again, their new neighbor came to mind. “I think I’ll hike up to Robin’s place and let her know the spots she picked out for the cabins are fine, and which one’ll be mine.”

“I should come with you,” she said, though he had seen her eyes light up at the reminder about the beach.

“You should go sunbathing,” he said, more firmly. “Catch up on your reading. Maybe meet a few of the townsfolk.” Her smile faltered a bit at that. “Hey.” He sat down next to her. “It’ll be fine. Lewis and Robin barely blinked, right? And it’s early enough in Spring that you should have the sand to yourself.”

“I’d feel bad about leaving all the work to you—”

“What work? If Brandy’s still got energy after hauling our groceries back, more power to her, but I think we’ve made a good enough start for now. I’m pretty sure I can make it up the road and back, but beyond that?” He shrugged. “Go hit the beach and enjoy your birthday. I’ll finalize things with our friendly local carpenter.”

“All right,” she said. “I’ll go get my swimsuit.”

“Let me get cleaned up first, would you?” And maybe change clothes… no, better not, despite the gross way his T-shirt was clinging, sweat-damp, to his back. Clothes were another thing in limited supply until their washing machine and the rest of his wardrobe arrived.

He settled for tossing on one of his new flannel shirts over the tee, a choice he soon came to regret. There was, it turned out, a big difference between walking a mile or two downtown and walking the same distance up a freaking mountain. The “road” was uneven dirt with some gravel ground into it, and he had to stop every few minutes to catch his breath. Each time he did, all the anger and doubt he was trying to get away from came rushing back—had this been the right decision? Should he have swallowed his rage and stayed at Joja, trying to dig deeper into the rot at the company’s core? No, Trisha needed him, and it would only have been a matter of time before he tripped over some security protocol or otherwise gave himself away, and maybe spoiled everything in the process. But he hadn’t found proof—

He forced his hands to unclench and his feet to begin moving again, focusing so intently on each step that he nearly walked into the side of Robin’s house when he finally reached it—at least, he hoped it was hers, not a neighbor’s. He took the time to straighten out his expression before he ventured around to the front.

Through the diamond-paned glass in the front door, he could see a counter and cash register, and the newly familiar red-haired woman standing behind them meant he was in the right place. He tapped on the door and opened it.

Robin looked up as he entered. “Hello, Neel! Welcome to the shop. Did you have any trouble finding me?

“Finding, no. Getting here?” Despite waiting, he was still wheezing. “Why do you live on top of a mountain?” he asked as he reached the counter.

She smiled. “We’re hardly at the top, but the view over the valley is pretty incredible. Did you have a chance to go over the survey marks?”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m here. They look fine to us, so you can get started whenever’s convenient. Brandy wants the spot closer to Trisha’s cottage, so I’ll take the other.”

“Fantastic. Since I’ve got you here, why don’t we go over a few of the minor options for your place?” She opened a laptop next to the register and pulled up some sort of blueprint program. “I’d offer to introduce you to my family, but Demetrius and Maru are out collecting samples, and I don’t think Sebastian’s up yet.”

“Some other time then… uh… do I smell coffee?” The aroma drifting in from somewhere beyond the shop was unmistakable.

Robin laughed. “Would you like some?”

“I don’t want to impose…”

“It’s no trouble. My son practically lives on the stuff, so we’ve always got a pot going.”

“Then I’ll take you up on that offer. I think we all forgot when we chose what to pack for the truck versus in our luggage that there wasn’t going to be a café on every corner.”

“You can buy a cup at the saloon in town, but Gus doesn’t open until noon,” she told him. “Please, help yourself—Just go down this hall, and the kitchen is on your right.” She pointed but remained behind the counter.

It felt odd to wander by himself through the house of someone he barely knew—another difference from city life, he supposed—but he found the kitchen easily enough. Locating a mug to use was more of a challenge, since most of the ones in the glass-doored cabinet featured carpentry tools or science puns, clear signals that they belonged to someone in particular. He finally spotted a couple of plain black cups near the back of a shelf and filled one of them. He wasn’t sure if it was his desperation for caffeine speaking or if Robin’s family had found a truly superior strain of coffee bean, but the dark brew smelled almost good enough to drink black.

Almost. He found milk in the fridge and an actual pottery sugar bowl on the table, and he had just raised the mug to his lips when a voice from behind him nearly startled him into dropping it.

“Who are you, and why are you drinking my coffee?”

Neel turned around. A tall man about his own age was framed in the doorway. Despite the accusation in the words, he didn’t look upset, only confused to find a stranger in his kitchen. Judging by the bleary expression, faint trace of stubble, and black bathrobe worn over faded black sweats, he had just stumbled out of bed at… eleven in the morning? “There’s still plenty in the pot,” Neel offered by way of apology. He took a sip at last; it was even better than it had smelled.

The taste cleared some of the lingering fog from his brain, and he realized he hadn’t answered either of the man’s questions. “I’m Neel. I came up to finalize some construction details with Robin, and she took pity on my caffeine withdrawal. Our coffee maker is still in transit.”

“Oh.” With another nonplussed glance in his direction, Sebastian—he hadn’t introduced himself, but based on Robin’s vague description he assumed this was her son—stepped past him and took out the last of the plain mugs. “You just moved in, right? Cool.” He raked a hand through disheveled black hair and picked up the coffee pot. Neel started to move away from the fridge, but apparently the coffee was good enough to drink black, because the man took a long sip, then topped off his mug and turned away. He stopped in the doorway and looked back over his shoulder. “Of all the places you could live, you chose Pelican Town?” His tone suggested he would rather be anywhere else, and he was gone before Neel could figure out a response.

That could have gone better. He hoped Trisha and Brandy were having better luck with Lewis’s “meet the townspeople” suggestion than he was so far. He took another gulp of coffee and returned to the shop.

Chapter Text

The town square was almost empty when Trisha reached it, but her hope that she might cross the cobblestones unnoticed was dashed when one of the two women chatting in the corner of the square spotted her. “Hello!” The other turned and waved, leaving her no polite option but to walk over to them.

Her reluctance faded a bit as she got close enough to realize that the one who had called out to her wasn’t wearing a scarf or hat, as she had initially thought; her hair was the same cheerful green as the grass in the little park she stood next to. Perhaps she wouldn’t stand out as badly here as she had feared. “Hello.”

“You must be Trisha, the new farmer. I’m Caroline. My husband runs the general store here, and we met your friend Brandy when she came in a little while ago. Have you met my daughter, Abigail? She’s the pale one with the purple hair.”

Up close, she could see that the roots of Caroline’s hair were light brown. Brandy was going to fit right in here; could she pass off her own hair as dyed? “Yes, I’m Trisha, but I haven’t had a chance to meet many people yet.”

“Oh! You aren’t exactly how I’d imagined… but that’s okay!” The other woman had reddish blond hair tied into a thin braid. “I’m Jodi.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” Trisha tried not to read too much into Jodi’s comment, but she was painfully aware of the acid-green beach towel she had draped around her neck in the hope of staving off the inevitable questions for a little while longer. She cast around for something neutral to add. “Pelican Town certainly is lovely.”

Jodi smiled warmly at her. “It’s a quiet little town, so it’s very exciting when someone new moves in! Having a farmer around could really change things.”

Ah. Perhaps that explained her remark. Trisha had changed into her bathing suit and thrown a loose cotton dress on over it as a cover-up; she doubted she looked much like anyone’s idea of a farmer, even if the long sleeves and ankle-length skirt hid how completely unsuited to physical labor she was at present. “Well, we’ve got our first crop in the ground, such as it is,” she said with a smile. “With any luck we’ll have parsnips soon.”

“If you’re growing more than you need for yourselves, be sure to bring them to my husband, Pierre,” Caroline chirped. “We carry a lot of local produce. And remind me to send you my secret recipe for parsnip soup—Pierre doesn’t care for it, silly man, but it’s been a winner with everyone else who’s tried it.”

“That sounds lovely,” said Trisha, not mentioning that she didn’t have a kitchen, or that the last time she had tried to eat any sort of soup she had spent the next several hours regretting her existence. Perhaps it could be cooked on a hot plate, and Brandy and Neel would like it.

“So where are you off to?” Jodi asked.

Trisha patted the towel around her shoulders. “I thought I’d check out the beach,” she said. “I used to love to read by the ocean, when my grandfather would take me there on vacation.”

“We do have a lovely stretch of coastline,” Caroline said. “It’ll be a bit chilly this early in Spring, though.”

“Oh, after the Winter we had in Zuzu, it already feels like Summer to me,” Trisha said with a laugh. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“If you say so,” Jodi said skeptically. “Do take care.”

“The bridge over there will take you right to the sand,” Caroline added, confirming Robin’s directions.

“Thanks! I’ll see you around.”

She reached the bridge without further encounters, though she glimpsed Brandy disappearing into a building on the far side of another bridge. She considered following her, but the faint sound of waves on the shore was too alluring.

The river that ran through the town emptied into the ocean. She could see a tantalizing glimpse of tide pools on the far side, but the bridge that had once spanned the widening watercourse had collapsed, and the river was much too deep to wade across and too fast for swimming. There was a building on the pier on her side of the beach, but she found a faded note attached to the door proclaiming that the fish and bait shop’s owner was at sea. The only other structure looked to be a boat shed, judging by the battered rowboat hauled up next to it and the other nautical detritus hung above the door.

The beach itself was deserted, just as Neel had predicted. Perfect. She studied the tideline for a moment before choosing a spot to spread out her towel, then set her bag down beside it and pulled out her tablet. Her waterproof case was with the movers, since she hadn’t expected to need it so soon, but she had scrounged up a clean zip-top bag large enough to hold the device, and that would protect it from sand and any rogue splashes of sea water. She took one more look around and pulled off her cover-up, kicked off her shoes, and lay down on her stomach. As the sun soaked in, she pulled up the book she had been meaning to get to for weeks.

The writing was as good as the reviews had promised, and she was soon so engrossed in the memoir that she didn’t pay any mind to the sound of a door opening and closing, or the faint whisper of sand shifting beneath someone’s feet, until a baritone voice broke her concentration. “Er, pardon me, miss?”

Trisha let out an embarrassing squeak and nearly dropped the tablet. She looked up toward the speaker. The man’s red-gold hair fell in slight waves past his broad shoulders, framing high cheekbones and a determined chin. He wore a red corduroy tailcoat with a wide, loose tie in a shade of green that matched his eyes. It looked almost like a historical costume, and she wondered, for a fleeting moment, if Neel had arranged for one of his theater friends to come all the way out here as a prank. This wasn’t someone she had seen in any of the plays she and Brandy had been dragged to, and anyway she didn’t think Neel had kept in touch with that crowd when he had stopped doing auditions.

Which meant that either Jodi and Caroline had neglected to mention a movie being filmed on the beach, or this was one of her new neighbors. Oh, my. Happy birthday to me.

Chapter Text

Elliott sighed with relief when the timer on his phone chimed; he had promised himself he would write for two hours this morning regardless of how little he felt like it, and the time was finally done. He had more pages filled than he had when he started, though he still hadn’t figured out how Commander Yutkin and the Yazzan consul could have encountered one another prior to the story’s beginning, which the plot required them to have done. And now, as a reward, a walk on the beach, pleasant return to the routine Winter had interrupted. He slipped on his shoes, checked his hair in the mirror, and grabbed his favorite jacket from its hanger by the door as he stepped outside—

Where he paused, for young women in bikinis were not a usual feature of this beach, particularly not on still-cool mornings in early spring.

She didn’t react when he let the door close behind him, and he took a moment to study her as he shrugged into his jacket. She lay prone on an eye-searing green beach towel, propped on her elbows and gazing into an electronic tablet. It was difficult to be certain, since from where he stood the screen was distorted by the plastic bag it was sealed into, but he thought she might be reading a book on it. A canvas bag beside her had a pair of sandals and bundle of cloth that might be a dress or other cover-up sticking out of it, which at least suggested she had not materialized out of the aether or washed up from the sea. Was she a tourist, perhaps—though it wasn’t really the season for such—or one of the new farmers whose impending arrival had the whole town buzzing?

In either case, she would likely think him some manner of creep if she were to find him staring at her, so he had best make his presence known in a more courteous manner. She paid no heed as he walked closer, and he felt his brows draw together as he got a better look, for she was so thin that a strong breeze off of the ocean might carry her away. “Er, pardon me, miss?”

He had not intended to sneak up on her, but footfalls on sand made little noise; she gasped and fumbled with her tablet. She lowered the device to the towel and half turned on the blanket, pushing herself up with one arm and looking up at him… and then further up, as he fought the instinct to slouch. She was lying down, he was standing; stooping would not negate the height difference enough that he would not be looming over her. He opened his mouth to apologize but she beat him to it.

“I’m sorry, is this a closed set? I didn’t see any signs…” Her voice was a breathy alto, her wide eyes a striking hazel, and her words didn’t quite make sense.

“It’s a public beach,” he offered, deciding she must be worried about trespassing. “I’m sorry if I startled you; I hadn’t expected to see someone out here.”

She sat up on the blanket, and he saw her eyes trace his footprints back to the cabin. “Oh! I didn’t realize anybody lived there. I assumed it was a boathouse.”

“I believe it may at one point have been just that,” he said, “though Willy had it remodeled as a rental property some time ago. It’s in rather better shape on the inside than its outward appearance might suggest.

She smiled. “I’ve always loved the seashore. I was so happy to learn Grandpa’s farm was in a coastal town, but to actually live so close to the ocean must be wonderful.”

“Ah, then you’re the new farmer we’ve all been expecting… and whose arrival has sparked many a conversation!” He could have kicked himself as her smile dimmed; few people liked to hear that others had been talking about them behind their backs, even if only in speculation. “I’m Elliott. I’ve been renting this little cabin on the beach for the last year, and based on my own experience, any newcomer is bound to be the talk of the town for a while. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Trisha,” she said, gathering her legs under her and reaching up toward him. “Mind giving me a hand up?”

“‘Tis no trouble at all,” he assured her absently, as he wracked his brain for a mnemonic that might enable him to remember her name.

Her request for assistance appeared more for balance than strength, for she barely pressed down on his hand with her slender fingers, but swayed on her feet for a moment after she rose. “Are you all right?” he asked, for the greenish cast to her face he had assumed was a reflection from the too-bright beach towel had not diminished with distance from it.

She withdrew her hand, which he had not noticed he still held, and her expression grew more closed still. “I… will be,” she said.

“My apologies—you seemed a little unsteady, is all.” Her hair, which he had initially thought black, was green as well, a darker shade than the shopkeeper’s wife dyed hers, a combination that gave him a chill that had nothing to do with the brisk Spring breeze.

A tense ghost of her earlier smile appeared. “It’s okay. I had a bit of a health scare this Winter. I’m on the mend, but I still get light-headed sometimes.”

“I didn’t intend to pry,” he said. The problem must have been serious, to leave her so gaunt, but it was just as plain that she didn’t wish to discuss the details, something with which he could fully sympathize.

She waved a hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not like it isn’t obvious, though so far people have been polite about it.”

He still felt badly for bringing it up, and feared that his own unease might have shown. “I should leave you to your reading,” he said. “I needed to stretch my legs for a bit, but now my work calls.”

“Oh? What do you do?”

“I’m writing a book, or at least attempting to. I came to the countryside to get away from the bustle of the city, so I could focus on my literary efforts.”

“Then I’m sorry to be distracting you like this.”

“Not at all—finding you here was unexpected, not unwelcome.” Unexpected… Hmm. Something else the woman had said tickled at his brain, the question that hadn’t quite made sense. What if the consul had encountered Commander Yutkin somewhere she didn’t realize she wasn’t supposed to be? A chance encounter with a lost tourist when he was still a junior officer? “That could work…”

“What could?”

He hadn’t realized he had spoken aloud, and he felt his cheeks grow warm. “I beg your pardon; sometimes the muse strikes without warning. Please excuse me; I need to find a pen…”

Half an hour later, he had filled more pages with notes on the characters’ backstories than he had in the entirety of his earlier writing session. I shall have to thank her for the inspiration, however unintended, he thought, and groaned when he realized that he had—of course—forgotten her name.

Chapter Text

Neel had thought his muscles were sore when he had collapsed into bed the night before, but when he woke up the next morning, he discovered that he had barely understood the meaning of the word.

“I told you not to push yourself that hard,” Brandy said in response to his groan as he tried to sit up. “It’s not like there’s a burning need to clear the entire property as soon as possible.”

“She’s right,” Trisha added, emerging from the bathroom and unwinding a towel from around her hair. She was dressed in just a sports bra and shorts, but it was her yoga mat, not more clothing, that she dug out of her suitcase. “Brandy, would you spot me? I want to get some practice in before Robin gets here, but my balance is still shaky.”

“Sure, sweetie,” the other woman said, before turning back to him. “I made pancakes—they’ve gone cold, but if you toss them back on the hot plate for a minute they should still be good. And try not to use all the propane when you shower, this time.”

Neel lay in bed for a few more minutes after the two departed, but finally convinced all of his limbs to move well enough to stagger into the bathroom. A hot shower went a long way toward loosening his stiff muscles, though he turned off the water a lot sooner than he would have preferred, as his thoughts kept drifting away from farm chores and toward darker memories. By the time he finished dressing, he was so hungry that he didn’t bother trying to reheat the pancakes, washing them down with the horrible instant coffee Brandy had foisted on him and making a mental note to ask Robin where she bought her beans.

He stepped onto the porch and found his friends there waiting. “Here, you should look into this,” Trisha said, holding out a piece of paper.

It was a hastily scrawled letter from someone named Willy, inviting them—well, someone; the greeting was simply “Hello there”—to visit him at the beach. “Okay, but they’re probably expecting you,” he said.

Trisha shrugged and combed her fingers through her now-dry hair. She had added loose-fitting sweats over her workout gear, no doubt in anticipation of the carpenter’s arrival. “Maybe. The envelope just said ‘the farm.’ I want to do a better survey of the land, since I didn’t have the energy for it yesterday, and Brandy’s going to give me a hand. You should probably take it easy today, and you haven’t had a chance to check out the town yet, so we decided you’d be the best one to go.”

“And what if he’s an old friend of your grandfather’s, looking to meet you specifically?” Inwardly, he sighed and resigned himself to the task; the two of them weren’t nearly as subtle as they thought when they were trying to get him to do something “for his own good.”

“Then you can come back and tell me so,” Trisha said.

“There’s a library,” Brandy added. “Bigger than I expected, for a town this small. It used to be a museum, too, but the guy running the place said the last librarian stole all the displays when he skipped town.”

Neel’s eyebrows rose at that; he supposed every place had its drama, but that sounded… extreme.

“I thought that might grab your attention,” Trisha said. “The library’s across the river near the beach, so you can check it out after you talk to Willy, if you want.”

“I guess I’d better get started, then,” Neel said, dredging up an unfelt smile before trudging off toward Pelican Town.

Getting such an early start may have been a mistake, he thought as he looked around the deserted square. He hadn’t paid much attention to the time when he’d gotten up, but it was now just shy of eight o’clock and nothing was open yet. He yawned and started across the cobblestones; he could at least get the lay of the land. As he passed a brick building with a hand-painted sign proclaiming it to be “The Stardrop Saloon,” he discovered that he wasn’t the only one stirring, after all.

Neel altered his course toward the dark-haired man trudging across the square. Maybe he could get a read on whether this Willy guy had sent them a personal note or a sales pitch by asking around. “Good morning! Do you—”

The man’s head jerked up, and his glare stopped Neel in his tracks. “I don’t know you. Why are you talking to me?” he growled.

“You always greet new neighbors like that?” Neel snapped back, trying to rein in a surge of anger as he realized the man’s jacket featured the JojaMart logo.

“Whatever,” the man, whose name badge read “Shane,” muttered. “I don’t have time for this shit, or I’ll be late for work.” He ducked his head and hurried past Neel, who turned to stare after him and spotted a too-familiar sign peeking through the trees across the river.

Joja really was everywhere, he thought with a scowl, wishing Trisha or Brandy had thought to mention that fact yesterday. No doubt they thought he would consider it a good surprise.

He turned his back on this unexpected intrusion of his old life into the new and reminded himself that rank-and-file employees like the one he had just met had nothing to do with the corruption he had stumbled across at the corporate level.

The only signs of life when he arrived at the beach were a small flock of seagulls squabbling over something on the sand and a man with grizzled brown hair who was smoking a pipe at the end of a pier. The latter turned in response to Neel’s footsteps on the weathered wood planks. “Ahoy there, son.” He wore a slouching cap and a shapeless red coat, both of which bore signs of careful mending.

“Hello,” Neel said, tucking his hands into his jeans pockets to shield them from the brisk, damp breeze. “Are you Willy? We got a letter at the farm…”

The weathered lines around the man’s eyes deepened as he smiled and nodded. “Heard there were newcomers in town… Good to finally meet ya.”

“We’ve only been here a couple of days,” he said. “I’m Neel, by the way.”

“Ah,” Willy said, before taking another draw on his pipe. “I’m still tryin’ to unwind from a season out on the salty seas… Lewis mentioned you folks had moved into Pat Lockwood’s old place, so I figured I oughta pay my respects. If you’ll forgive my sayin’ it… you don’t look much like the old man.”

Neel shook his head. “No reason I would—he was my friend Trisha’s grandfather. Did you know him well?”

Willy shrugged. “Well enough to talk to, but he didn’t spend a lot of time in town, and I was at sea a lot more often back then, ‘cause my Pappy still ran the shop. Now I only get out on the waves every few years.” His gaze turned wistful as he looked out over the choppy waters.

“Was it a good trip?” Neel asked, since the man seemed to be waiting for a response from him.

“It was a big haul! I sold a lot of good fish. Big catch like that’ll keep the lights on in the shop for a few more years, and I even saved enough to buy me a new rod.” He picked up a fishing pole from the bench on the pier and held it out. “Here, I want you folks to have my old fishing rod. It’s important to me that the art o’ fishing stays alive. And hey, maybe you’ll buy somethin’ from the shop once in a while.”

“I’ve never fished,” Neel admitted as he accepted the odd housewarming gift. “Pretty sure Trish and Brandy—that’s our other friend—haven’t, either. Trips to the shore when we were kids were generally about splashing in the waves, not trying to catch dinner.”

Willy brows knit at that. “If nobody’s mentioned it to ya, the ocean around here’s not safe for swimmin’—the currents are somethin’ fierce—so stick to the lakes if you’re minded to take a dip. There’s good water here in the valley, though. All kinds o’ fish. Oh, yeah—my shop’s back open now, so come by if you need supplies. I’ll also buy anything you catch. ‘If it smells, it sells.’” He chuckled. “That’s what my ol’ Pappy used to say, anyway.”

“Well, that’s good to know,” Neel said, making a note to tell Brandy about the currents. Money was going to be tight for a while, and whether they ate the fish or sold them, anything that would help stretch their budget wouldn’t hurt. Assuming they could catch anything at all. “So… how do I use this?”

Will grinned and showed him how to bait the hook and cast the line; when something started tugging, he talked Neel through reeling it in without putting so much tension on the line that it snapped. “Hey, not bad for a first try,” he said as Neel inspected the still-twitching sardine.

“It’s not something I’d want to eat, though,” Neel said. “How much would this go for?” They settled on a price, and he caught a few more of the small silver fish before his arms and shoulders began to protest. “Thanks for the pole and the lessons,” he said as Willy showed him how to break the rod down into its storage case. As he turned to leave, he saw that they had gained an audience of sorts, though the man standing on the other end of the pier didn’t seem to be paying attention to them. Instead, he stared out over the ocean, long reddish hair blowing gently in the breeze like something out of a shampoo commercial. “Who’s that?”

“Name’s Elliott,” Willy said. “I fixed up my old boathouse as a rental cabin a couple o’ years ago, and he’s my first tenant. He’s a bit of an odd duck—some kinda writer, always goin’ on about muses and plot twists and whatnot—but he’s a decent fellow.”

The man looked the part of an eccentric author, Neel thought—perhaps a little too well, like he’d copied his outfit from some historical portrait without stopping to consider whether it made sense for living on the beach, or in the current century.

As if sensing their regard, Elliott turned toward the two of them and raised a hand in greeting, but returned to his contemplation of the waves without coming over to say hello. Neel opted not to risk disturbing his creative process—or posing, whichever—and headed back into town.

The library was a pleasant enough place, though the librarian was quick to apologize for the empty museum displays and gaps in the bookshelves. Neel considered settling in to read for a while, but the arrival of a pair of energetic children and a red-haired woman with the look of a harried schoolteacher made the idea less appealing. Instead, he checked out a book on fish from this part of the world and left.

The town was considerably more lively at this hour, and by the time he made it across the square he had been stopped by so many people wanting to introduce themselves that it was tempting to emulate the first guy he had met and tell them to leave him alone. Since that would not be great for Lockwood Farm’s image, he smiled and added names and faces to his mental roster, along with any bits of information that might be useful to Trisha as she made plans for her—their—new career in agriculture.

In the process, he discovered that many of his new neighbors weren’t any happier about the JojaMart’s presence in town than he was. Was it only his imagination that the disquiet ran deeper than the usual resentment over the chain’s tendency to drive out local businesses?

Chapter Text

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” Robin asked Trisha as Brandy snagged her windbreaker from a peg by the door.

Brandy knew Trisha’s yawn was exaggerated, but she doubted Robin could tell. “I’d love to, but I’m so exhausted that I doubt I’d be very good company,” she said. “I’m going to read for a while and then turn in early.”

Neel opened his mouth, but closed it without speaking at the pointed look Brandy shot him behind the carpenter’s back. Trisha had turned down the invitation to join Robin and her family for dinner at the local saloon to avoid the inevitable questions about why she wasn’t eating anything, but Neel didn’t have that problem. He had done a decent job of acting like a functional human whenever Robin had taken a break from putting their cabins together and come over to chat, and from what she’d seen in the last season or so, the more he played that role, the more real it became. No way was she letting him skip out tonight with the same excuse as Trisha, even though he’d been pushing himself so hard it was probably closer to true for him.

“Enjoy your book, Trish, and we’ll try not to wake you up if you’re asleep by the time we get home.” She grabbed Neel’s arm and hauled him onto the porch. “Let’s go—I’ve really worked up an appetite!”

The Stardrop Saloon was what all the “folksy” chain restaurants in the city tried and failed to be. A jukebox old enough that it used actual records played cheerful country music, and a middle-aged man with thinning brown hair and a mustache even thicker than the mayor’s looked up from polishing the long, age-scarred bar counter as they stepped inside. “Robin! Welcome in! Demetrius and Maru already claimed a booth for the lot of you.” His smile widened as his eyes shifted to Brandy and Neel. “Well, hello there! I’m Gus, chef and owner of the Stardrop Saloon. Feel free to stop in whenever you need refreshments—I’ve always got hot coffee and cold beer at the ready.”

“Fabulous,” Neel said, flashing the man his most charming grin. “I’d love a cup of the former. All I’ve had all day is instant.” He gave Brandy a look of disgust.

“You’re the one who packed the coffee pot for the movers, hon,” she said with a grin. Even if it was mostly an act, it was nice to see the old Neel again.

Gus chuckled. “I’ll have Emily bring it to your table while you look over the menu.”

Robin led them to a booth next to a giant wooden bear, where a couple of extra stools had been pulled up. One of the benches was occupied by a man about Robin’s age and a pretty, younger woman who was obviously related to him. The man beamed at them as Brandy and Neel slid into the other bench and Robin claimed a stool. “Greetings! I’m Demetrius, local scientist and father, and this is my daughter Maru.” He patted her shoulder.

“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you!” Maru said with a wide smile. Like her father, her skin was darker than Neel’s, though her hair was straight and a dark reddish-brown instead of tightly curled black. “You know, with a small town like this, new faces can really alter the community dynamic. It’s exciting!”

“Well, I’m all for excitement. Brandy,” she said, shaking each of their hands in turn.

“Neel,” her seatmate added. “Trisha sends her apologies—she’s been working as hard as the two of us put together and didn’t feel up to a trip into town.”

“I’m sure she’ll be happy to meet you some other time,” Brandy added, resisting the temptation to prod back at Neel’s words. He wasn’t wrong, exactly, if you were only looking at their relative strengths, but he was the one who’d been pushing himself to exhaustion since they’d gotten to the valley.

Robin glanced at the single empty stool beside her. “Is Sebastian not coming, either?”

Demetrius shook his head. “Too busy with ‘work,’” he said, in a tone that suggested this was as truthful an excuse as Trisha being “too tired” to go out to eat.

Robin’s lips pursed at that, but then she smiled at her guests. “My son does freelance computer stuff,” she said. “Be sure to keep him in mind if your farm needs a webpage!”

“Will do,” Brandy said. “So, what’s good here?”

“Everything,” Demetrius assured them. “Gus is a marvelous chef—an excellent brewer, as well.” They discussed the menu for a few minutes before deciding on a couple of pizzas to share. As they hashed out toppings, a steaming mug of coffee was placed in front of Neel, and Brandy leaned around her friend to discover that Pelican Town was even more blessed in the hot girls department than she had realized.

“That’s one coffee—what can I get for the rest of you tonight?” The woman’s golden brown eyes and sapphire blue hair almost glowed in the saloon’s warm lighting. As they gave their drink orders, Emily gave each one of them her full attention—was it only her imagination that the stunning waitress’s dimple deepened as she turned to Brandy?

“I’ll try the local pale ale,” she said.

“Excellent choice,” their server chirped before turning to Neel. “How about you?” The room felt chillier without that sunny smile on her, and Brandy tried to tell herself not to read too much into it. Even if Emily was interested, none of the bartenders and waitstaff she’d known had liked being hit on at work.

“Just the coffee, but could I get some more sugar?” Neel had already added a dash of cream and both packets from the little tray Emily had brought with the mug.

“Sure thing—how much?”

“All of it,” Brandy said before he could respond, and was rewarded with delightful giggles from Emily and Maru, and a half-hearted glare from Neel. She couldn’t resist needling him a little further. “Well, I guess a whole bag wouldn’t fit in the cup. Maybe just half of one?”

“A couple more would be fine,” Neel said, pointedly not looking at Brandy.

Emily laughed again, but took their pizza order and returned a minute later with a small basket full of sugar and other sweeteners. “In case you want a refill, or anyone else wants coffee later,” she said in response to Neel’s cocked eyebrow, setting the basket in the middle of the table—but she winked at Brandy before returning to her post behind the bar to prepare the rest of their drinks.

To her disappointment, it was Gus who brought out the pizzas a bit later, but by then she had learned that Maru had a sly sense of humor. Between the two of them, they even managed to get a rise out of Neel—for real, not show—once or twice. By the time most of the food had been devoured, with the leftovers assigned to the farmers “to take home to Trisha,” Brandy was no longer uncertain about whether Maru returned her interest.

As cute as the younger woman was, Brandy also found her gaze being drawn back to the saloon’s dazzling bartender. And then there was Abigail, though like with Emily she wasn’t sure whether her friendliness had been more than customer-service cheer. She smiled into her ale as Robin and Demetrius left the table to dance to a favorite song that had come up on the jukebox; none of the women she had met here were anything like the freckle-faced farm girl she had joked about back in the city, but she wasn’t complaining.

When she lowered her glass, she found Maru looking at her and Neel with a more serious expression. “What’s on your mind?” Brandy asked.

“Um… I didn’t want to say it in front of Mom, but what she said about Sebastian? Do not ask my half-brother to build you a website. I’m not sure exactly what kind of programming he does, but he’s not a web designer, and he gets grouchier than usual when people assume he is.”

“We’ll keep that in mind,” Neel said, adding a fifth packet of sugar to his second cup of coffee. Or was it a sixth?

Brandy decided she’d ribbed him about his sweet tooth enough for one evening and turned back to Maru instead. “So, what do folks around here do for fun and excitement?”

“I guess it depends on who you ask,” Maru said, pushing her glasses higher on her nose. “A lot of people go hiking in the forest west of town or in the mountains by us. The beach is pretty nice, too, but if you want to go swimming, stick to the lake by our place or the pond in the woods.

“Willy mentioned something about the currents being too strong,” Neel put in, and Maru nodded.

“There are some nasty riptides and that sort of thing, even when everything looks calm.”

“What about climbing?” Brandy asked. “I love rock walls at the gym, but I’ve never had the chance to try the real thing.”

“I’d advise you to postpone such endeavors,” Demetrius said as he and Robin returned to the booth. “We had a significant landslide at the beginning of Winter. Joja’s mining crew is still cleaning up their mess, so it’s difficult to determine the stability of the mountainside.”

Brandy glanced at Neel out of the corner of her eye, but he didn’t rush to defend his former employer, or show any other reaction. “I’ll wait to invest in ropes and crampons, then.”

Before she could ask whether there were other options more interesting than staring at sand and trees, Neel pushed his half-full mug away from him. “I think I’m going to head back to the farm—the coffee here’s great, but sleep is winning out over caffeine.

Brandy glanced at the pendulum clock on the wall; it was after nine. “Oh, wow, it’s a lot later than I realized. Neel is right—we should turn in soon.”

“Me, too.” Robin stretched as she stood. “I’ll be down bright and early tomorrow—I ought to be able to finish both your cabins by nightfall.”

“Oh, that will be wonderful,” Brandy said. “I mean, sure, we were all ‘roommates’ before we moved here, but we didn’t actually live in the same room, you know?”

“We really appreciate how fast you’ve gotten everything built,” Neel added.

“Oh, it’s not that impressive,” Robin said, her cheeks reddening. “After all, I had nearly two weeks to do the real construction in my workshop. This is just basic assembly.”

“Well, we’re still thankful,” Brandy said. “And thanks for dinner, too!” She picked up the foil-wrapped stack of pizza slices—probably her breakfast, since Neel wouldn’t eat it cold and she doubted the hot plate would be a good way to reheat it.

“It was our pleasure,” Demetrius said. “And do let Trisha know that we’d be happy to treat her to more than leftovers when she’s feeling up to it.”

Trisha wasn’t going to take them up on that anytime soon, but Brandy just nodded as they all made their way to the door. She turned back in the doorway in time to catch another bright smile from the babe behind the bar, and grinned to herself as she stepped into the night. Pelican Town might be a bit on the tame side, but it had its attractions.

Chapter Text

you’re coming this week right?

I still have a snowball and I’m not afraid to use it!

 

don't even think about it sam

if you’re not there by 530...

i said i'd be there

good

I’ve been practicing

gonna kick your ass this time

in your dreams

see you tomorrow

Sebastian set his phone down and stretched. His current project was close enough to complete that even if he ran into problems, he knew he could get it done by mid-afternoon—maybe tonight, if all went well. He reached for his coffee and found it empty. A glance at the clock showed it was late enough that dinner would be over and cleaned up, so he grabbed his mug and went upstairs.

The running dishwasher covered up the sound of voices until it was almost too late, and he froze in the hallway as his mother groaned in irritation.

“I wish those incompetents from Joja hadn’t collapsed the pass to the spa. I could use a nice, long soak.”

“They’ve promised to clear it eventually, but it’s not unreasonable for them to focus on the other blockages first,” his stepfather said. “You’ve been pushing yourself awfully hard, these last few days.”

“I wanted to get those new cabins assembled as quickly as possible. That old cottage is much too small for three adults to be crowded into. It would be too small for two, even if they were on very good terms.” Her voice sounded muffled, and Sebastian risked a glance around the doorframe. His mother had her head pillowed on her arms at the kitchen table, and Demetrius was rubbing her shoulders.

“Neel and Brandy certainly appeared to be, last night,” Demetrius suggested.

“Hmm, maybe. On the farm, they act more like siblings than anything else—all three of them.” She laughed. “None of them are really very well suited to farm work, though Brandy at least knows her way around basic hand tools, and Neel’s getting the hang of using an axe.”

“What about Trisha? I still haven’t met her.”

Sebastian heard his mother sigh. “I’m a bit worried about her, to be honest. She’s a sweet girl, but she’s awfully… delicate. I just don’t know if she’s cut out for this sort of life. I’d hate to see the farm abandoned again, especially after putting so much effort into construction and repairs.”

“At least Lewis has paid you for the work,” Demetrius said. “The cabins are finished, right?” She grunted a wordless agreement. “If they do give up on the farm, that would make it easier to find a buyer who’d keep it up. In the meantime, why don’t we drive up to Grampleton tomorrow and catch the train back to the spa?”

“Oh, that sounds lovely, even if it’s absurd to have to go so far to get to somewhere that’s practically in our back yard.”

“I’d like to have a stern word with whoever was in charge of designing Joja’s excavation charges, myself,” Demetrius grumbled. “Gil and Marlon have been stranded in their little clubhouse since the beginning of Winter, and Joja delivering supplies to them hardly makes up for that.”

“It looked like the crew was nearly done clearing that part of the landslide when I got home,” she said.

“That’s something, at least. Anyway, I was thinking… after we hit the spa, maybe we could make a date night of it in Grampleton, rather than our usual trip to the Stardrop? It’s been a while since we’ve had a night to ourselves.”

“Hmm, maybe put that on the calendar for next week, when I’m less likely to fall asleep on you? Why don’t we go discuss the details in our room?”

Sebastian grimaced and retreated down the hallway before they emerged from the kitchen. When the coast was clear, he got his coffee and reheated the bowl of soup his mother had left in the fridge. At least this time it hadn’t been his life they were picking apart.

Chapter Text

Neel fumbled with his phone to silence the blaring alarm, then sat up and dragged a hand through his hair as he looked around his new home. The only furniture he had until the moving truck arrived tomorrow was his bed and suitcases, but it was nice to finally have a space of his own.

He stood in the tiny shower for a long time, letting the hot water beat some of the soreness from his muscles, since now he didn't have to worry about running anyone else out of propane. Brandy was probably right that he was overdoing things, but working to the point of exhaustion meant he slept at night, instead of staring up at the ceiling and sifting through his memory, trying to figure out if there was anything he had missed…

He shook his head and shut off the water before he could head back down that rabbit hole. He had turned all the information he had access to over to someone who was—he hoped—in a better position than he had been to fill in the gaps in the evidence; Joja Corporation was no longer his responsibility. He pulled on fresh clothing and headed to Trisha’s cottage for breakfast.

He found the girls already outside, comparing the greenery in their little farm plot to something on Brandy’s phone. “Do you think they’re ready? They look like the pictures.”

“Pull one out and see,” Brandy said with a shrug. She handed Neel an egg-and-sausage sandwich and pointed to a paper cup of—ugh—instant coffee on the porch. “If it’s not ripe, we’ll leave the rest of them alone.”

The steps were covered with dirty footprints, so he perched on the rail, his back against one of the support columns. A small stack of mail addressed to "current occupant" was on the side rail, waiting to be opened, and he leafed through it as he ate.

“Mayor Lewis was kind enough to give us the seeds, though, and I don’t want to waste them,” Trisha said

“They’ll be just as wasted if they rot in the ground while we argue about when to pick them,” Neel said. Then he reached the bottom of the pile, and he felt his face stiffen at the sight of a familiar logo.

“Why the frown?” Brandy asked him, and he tried to smooth out his expression.

“Remember that landslide Demetrius mentioned the other night? Joja Corp’s letting everyone know they’ve cleared the blockage, and then there’s a bunch of legalese emphasizing that the operation had a permit. Sounds like it must have been contentious even before the accident.”

“I get the impression the local businesses resent JojaMart opening here,” Brandy said. “It could just be carryover from that.”

“I guess,” Neel said, but he tucked the letter into his shirt pocket instead of returning it to the pile. “Hey, Trisha, are you ever going to pull up that parsnip? You planted everything, so it seems fair that you get to reap the first harvest, too, but if you’d rather one of us do it…”

Trisha grinned sheepishly at him. “No, I’ve got this.” She carefully dug up the first of the roots.

“Well, it looks like the pictures,” Brandy said, holding up her phone next to the yellow-white vegetable. “Let’s take care of the rest.”

By the time Neel finished choking down Brandy’s horrible excuse for coffee, the parsnips were all dug up and Trisha was sprawled on the porch steps, trying to catch her breath. Neel fought down another surge of anger at how shaky she still was. She was improving—spending most of the last several days in the sun had worked wonders—but it would take a lot longer to undo the damage Joja had done. Brandy was giving him a fishy look again, and he tried for idle curiosity. “So, what do we do with them, now that we’ve picked them all?”

“‘We’? I didn’t see you digging in the dirt, farm boy,” Brandy retorted.

He shrugged. “I did frighten off those crows the other morning. I told you that slingshot was worth repairing.” The birds hadn’t been back, that he’d seen, though that might have more to do with the scarecrow he had cobbled together out of the tall grass they’d cut and left to dry and an old shirt of Brandy’s that even she had agreed was past mending.

“Yes, yes, we all bow before your superior marksmanship,” Trisha said. “Caroline said her husband would love to carry more local produce, so that would be the place to start, unless the two of you want to try cooking them, instead?”

“Hmm, save a few for us and take the rest to the store?” Brandy picked up a parsnip that had split in two and twisted oddly as it grew. “Now that the cabins are finished and we’ve scheduled the moving truck drop-off, I’ll have my microwave, and I found a couple of recipes at the library that looked interesting. I could pick out the strange-looking ones that might be harder to sell.”

“Sounds reasonable to me,” Neel said. “Any idea how much the rest’ll go for?”

Trisha shook her head. “Not a lot of data—I can find chain grocery retail and bulk wholesale online, but for small operations selling to local stores? Nothing. It depends on what Pierre thinks he can get for them and what sort of profit margin he expects to make.” She brushed her hands on her shorts and stood up. “Let me grab my tablet.”

As she went inside, Neel leaned his head back against the porch column and half-listened to Brandy mulling over what constituted a “weird” parsnip. The more the thought about the form letter from JojaCorp, the more it bothered him. “Customer Satisfaction Representative” was a Retail Division title, not a Resource Extraction one. He didn’t remember any incident reports coming in from this district, either, and while he supposed it could have been filed by one of his coworkers, accidents like that were rare enough that there would have been chatter in the office. A local cover-up? That might explain—

“Hey, Neel, I need your opinion—is this parsnip deformed or is it perfect?” He turned his head to find Brandy, her expression one of studied innocence, holding up what looked like a dirt-encrusted dildo. “I am so not qualified to make this assessment.”

He dredged up a crooked smile. “Nice shape, but it’s a little on the small side.”

She grinned at him. “So, what, you’d recommend I shove it back in and see if it gets bigger?”

“Well, I wouldn’t recommend taking it to Pierre’s—unless you wanted to watch Abigail put it where it belongs—”

Her cheeks turned almost the same shade as her hair. “I can think of a few better places to put this!” She shifted her grip and he saw that the parsnip even had a rounded bulge on one side, just below the leaves.

Trisha picked that moment to emerge from her cottage, tablet in hand, and her eyebrows rose. “Are you two ever going to grow up?” But she was laughing as she said it, and for a moment it felt like when they had first moved in together after high school, and the smile on his face was no longer a mask.

“Sweetie, this is kind of the definition of ‘adult’ humor,” Brandy said, lobbing the vegetable up the steps at her. The parsnip-penis’s sudden flight took Trisha by surprise, and watching her fumbling to catch it, Neel found himself laughing for real, and hard enough that he lost his balance.

“Are you all right?” Trisha, still holding the offending parsnip, peered over the rail.

“Just bruised my dignity,” he gasped when he could breathe again. He pulled himself to his feet and came over to survey their crop, trying to dust off the back of his jeans. “Jokes, aside, what now? Haul the crops down to the village, sell them, and pick up supplies with the loot?”

“That’s the plan,” Trisha said, pulling up her spreadsheet. “I’ve put in the data from the seed catalog Pierre gave Brandy, as well as the other staples she priced out—let’s figure out a shopping list, in priority order, and we’ll buy as much of it as we can with what we get from him.” They’d already drawn up a basic financial contract to begin with, subject to modification by mutual agreement: income from the farm would go first for necessities, then reinvestment into farm, with any profits beyond that split evenly among them. They each had some savings, enough for personal spending for a while, and the lack of rent would help stretch that further, but how comfortable the arrangement would be in the long run depended on how quickly they could get real crops going.

Once they’d debated through the list, Trisha saved the spreadsheet and tucked her tablet into her oversized purse. “All right, that’s settled. Should we head there now?”

“Do you think the two of you can handle it?” Brandy asked. “I’ll come with you if you need me, but I’m curious about the landslide Neel mentioned—I saw the crew clearing it when I went hiking yesterday, and it looked like there was someone living just beyond it, as well as some caves above the lake. I thought I’d stop by, introduce myself, and maybe poke around a bit.”

“Really? After hearing you wax poetic about the shopkeeper’s beautiful daughter I’d have thought you’d jump at the chance to help out.”

Brandy smirked at her. “Abigail’s cute, but so’s Maru, and she was definitely flirting back, not just being friendly. For that matter, all the single ladies of Stardew Valley are pretty hot, even if Haley’s a total snob about it and Penny’s a little mousy for my taste.” She poked Neel in the side and he scowled at her, brushing at the faint trace of dirt she’d left on his shirt. “What’s the bachelor report like?”

He rolled his eyes. “Prospects aren’t so good for me. Shane’s rude as fuck and town gossip says he’s an alcoholic, Harvey’s smart but too old for me, Alex is a jock still obsessing over his glory days in high school, and Sam is cute but too cheerful to be real, plus I’m pretty sure he doesn’t swing my way.”

“Really? He didn’t even try to hit on me when I met him.”

“Maybe he’s perceptive, Brandy; you’re not exactly subtle about who you’re checking out.”

“The only woman around at the time was Evelyn, and I was definitely not flirting with ‘Granny.’”

Neel waved a hand dismissively. “Could be ace, then, or already seeing someone, or just not into either of us, specifically. In any case, my luck is looking pretty dour.”

“That’s not everyone, though.”

“Well, sure, Elliott’s easy on the eyes, but he’s even more of a peacock than I am.” Trisha ducked her head, but not before Neel saw the blush spreading across her cheeks. “Ooh, someone disagrees?”

“He accidentally snuck up on me while I was on the beach on Monday and I swear to Yoba I thought I’d stumbled onto a movie set or something. I’m pretty sure I didn’t actually drool, but I made a complete fool of myself. At least he was polite about it.”

Brandy’s lips thinned, and Neel kept his own face carefully pleasant; “polite” was a damn sight better than some of the jerks Trisha had crushed on in the past. “I haven’t really talked to him, just said hi in passing a couple of times while I was getting fishing lessons from Willy, so maybe I’m misjudging him. But anyone who looks that perfect while living in a shack on the beach… No clue where his interests lie, but I’m not your competition, at any rate. Just not my type.” It wasn’t too much of a lie.

“Thanks, for whatever it’s worth. There’s at least one more guy about our age, though—didn’t Robin mention having a son?”

“Sebastian, yeah. He wasn’t at the saloon on Wednesday, but I think saw him yesterday, smoking by the lake,” Brandy said. “He had a serious ‘keep away’ vibe going, plus I like my lungs, so I didn’t go over to say hello.”

“I met him on Monday, if you can call it that,” Neel said. “He growled at me for standing between him and the coffee pot at Robin’s place. He looked like he’d just crawled out of bed, so I can sympathize. From what she said, he’s the type who gets along better with computers than people.”

“So, I’m spoiled for choice, Trisha has her eye on the movie star playing a beach bum, and Neel’s best bet is probably this parsnip. Dude, tough luck,” Brandy said, plucking it from the pile and holding it out to him.

“I’ll survive,” he said dryly, ignoring the vegetable.

“Suit yourself.” Brandy tossed it back with the other keepers and wiped her hands on her cargo pants. “So, am I good to go, or do you need help hauling? I could head up the mountain from town, instead; it’d just take longer.”

Neel hefted the basket for a moment before setting it down. “I think I can manage; it doesn’t weigh much more than the file boxes I used to handle.”

“I should help,” Trisha said.

“Sure—we can each take one handle, and if you get tired I can carry the whole thing from there.” She grimaced, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t sweat it, Trish. You’re already in better shape than when we got here.”

“I still feel like I could be doing more.”

Brandy slung her arm around Trish from the other side for a quick hug. “Neither of us thinks you’re shirking, sweetie, so don’t push yourself into a collapse trying to impress us. You two go off to the market; I’m going to go check out the mountain.”

“I’ll grab the fishing pole, too,” Neel said. “Since I’ve concluded there aren’t any fish in our pond, just junk, I thought I’d ask Willy where the good spots are.”

“Sounds good. I might check out the library.”

“You’re welcome to come with me and see if Mr. Movie Star is filming today.”

“Neel…”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry, I’ll tone down the snark. Willy seems to think Elliott’s a decent sort, at least.”

“I think I’ll stick with the library, but thanks anyway.”

He ducked into from his cabin and collected the rod—and a fresh shirt, since the one he had been wearing was now filthy from his tumble into the dirt. Trisha noticed, based on the twinkle in her eye, but she didn’t comment on his change of clothes as they carried the parsnips into town.

Chapter Text

Pierre pronounced their parsnips good enough to buy, though to Trisha’s disappointment none of the root vegetables rated a silver-quality star, let alone gold. Most of their earnings went toward more seeds; additional purchases would have to wait until the next harvest.

When they left the general store, she spotted a figure on the hill behind the shop row. “Oh, there’s Mayor Lewis! I haven’t seen him since the day we got here.”

“I’ve bumped into him a few times,” Neel said. “Nice guy, always asks how we’re doing and if there’s anything he can do to help ‘make our transition to the agricultural life’ easier.” He captured the mayor’s inflection perfectly, and she grinned at him.

“I’m going to go say hello. Do you want to come with?”

“Nah, I’m heading to the pier. Text me if you need anything, okay? There’s not much signal down there, but I’ll try to check messages once in a while.”

“Sure.”

Lewis didn’t notice her approach at first; he was staring morosely at the dilapidated building at the top of the hill, which looked badly out of place in pretty Pelican Town. The mayor turned around at the sound of her sandals crunching in the gravel. “Oh, hi there.” He turned back to the weathered door as she stepped up beside him. “What an eyesore…” he murmured. He glanced sidelong at her. “This is the Pelican Town Community Center… or what’s left of it, anyway. It used to be the pride and joy of the town… always bustling with activity. Now… just look at it. It’s shameful.”

It had certainly seen better days. The paint was peeling, most of the window glass was cracked or outright missing, and the large clock over the door didn’t look as if the hands had moved in years. And yet… something about the place still held a kind of vibrancy. Perhaps it was the lush vines twining up the walls and through shattered windowpanes, or the fact that an abandoned building in Zuzu would have been covered with graffiti but the only writing on the community center was the faded “Pelican Town” stenciled on the siding. The two large windows, one on either side of the door, were like eyes watching her, and she felt a chill run up her spine despite the warm sunlight.

A familiar name snapped her attention back to the man beside her, who had continued talking without her noticing. “I’m sorry, I was lost in thought—what did you say?”

He gave her a considering look, and said. “Joja Corporation has been hounding me to sell them the land so they can turn it into a warehouse… Pelican Town could use the money, but there’s something stopping me from selling it. I guess old timers like me get attached to the relics of the past. Ah, well. If anyone else buys a Joja Co. Membership I’m just gonna go ahead and sell it.”

“What? That doesn’t make any sense!” Lewis looked taken aback by her exclamation, and she realized she must have sounded like she was questioning his decision, rather than the corporation’s. “That little JojaMart across the river is much too small to need a warehouse of its own, and we’re too far off the main roads to make a good central location for the district. The dirt and cobblestone roads between here and the highway wouldn’t support that many delivery trucks, anyway, and even if the town was willing to pave, the increased traffic would be a hazard in the middle of a park area like this. It would be an insurance nightmare!” There was a playground right next door, for Yoba's sake!

Lewis’s eyebrows rose. “That’s right, you used to work for Joja, didn’t you? Here, let’s go inside…” He took a small wooden box out of his pocket, and drew out an old-fashioned key. “Maybe there’s something about the building that would explain their interest?” Trisha started to decline, but something in the way his shoulders slumped as he fumbled with the lock caused her to hold her tongue; she thought the idea of selling pained him even more than he let on. She eyed the ivy-covered walls; it didn’t look like it was in imminent danger of collapsing, so if he thought it was safe…

She shivered as she followed him out of the sun, her skin prickling with more than the loss of the light. More plants grew through the floorboards, hungrily seeking the slivered sunbeams that crept through the windows and the gaps in the roof, and she felt a pang of sympathy for them, trapped somewhere they didn’t really belong but doing the best they could to survive. She rubbed her hands over her bare arms, trying to smooth down the goosebumps.

Lewis stopped in the middle of the room, eyeing a strange construction in one corner. “Hmm? What’s this?” It looked like a little cave or hut, the sides crudely woven out of bits of bark and twigs and the “roof” a pile of leaves. “I guess Vincent and Jas must’ve been playing in here.” Those must be the kids Neel and Brandy had mentioned seeing around town; the entrance of the hut was too small for an adult to pass through, but smaller children might be able to fit. He shook his head as he turned to face her. “This place is even more dilapidated than I remember.”

A flash of green behind him caught Trisha’s eye. It looked like nothing so much as a small, half-inflated ball with a twig sticking out of its center; however, it wasn’t bouncing like something thrown or dropped but as if it was directing its own movement. She gasped and took a step back as eyes opened in its surface, blinking slowly before fixing on her.

Lewis gave her a quizzical look. “What?” He turned in the direction she was staring, but the green thing had disappeared in a sparkle of sunlit dust motes. “What’s the matter? Are you ill?”

She stepped around him and looked past him. There was no hole in the wall where the thing had been, and the nearest window was the only one she had seen so far with its glass intact. “I thought… there was something there.”

“You saw something? Hmm. I wouldn’t be surprised if this place was full of rats.”

It hadn’t been a rodent she had seen—and the creature that appeared between them at the door, once again behind Lewis’s back, was definitely not a rat. This time she could make out two twig-like arms—or were they arm-like twigs? she wondered, alarm making her giddy—in addition to the stem growing out of its top.

Lewis spun to follow her shocked gaze, but again it vanished into thin air even as he started moving. “You’re worrying me, Trisha,” Lewis said quietly.

She swallowed. Dr. Chang had never mentioned she might start seeing things, and nothing she had ever read about dryad syndrome suggested hallucinations were a symptom… but it was so rare, and what if those before her had kept this particular wrinkle to themselves, for fear of further judgment? “I’m sure it’s just rats, like you said.”

Lewis didn’t look convinced, but he shrugged. “Look, I think I’m going to head home. I need some lunch.” He headed for the door, and then paused. “Hey. Why don’t I leave the key with you? Maybe you can help catch that rat if you have some extra time.” He pressed the key into her palm before she could object. It felt warm in her hand, as if warding off the creeping chill she felt in the building, and so when they emerged once more into the sunlight, she locked the door and slipped the key onto her keychain, beside the one to the cottage.

Chapter Text

All that remained of the landslide was some lingering dirt and debris on the footbridge, and Brandy nudged a few stones into the water with satisfying splashes. The “cave” she had seen from the far bank was braced with timbers, which she hadn’t noticed from a distance. She poked her head inside long enough to see that it looked like the entrance to a mine before heading for the log-and-plank building beyond it. Caverns were one thing; a defunct mine had hazards of its own that she didn’t care to risk without more information, which the people that lived closest to it might be able to give her.

No one answered her knock at the door, and a discreet brass sign off to the side proclaimed this to the be the headquarters of an outfit calling themselves the Adventurer’s Guild, Members Only. She shrugged and kept hiking. A narrow ravine cut through the mountains on the east side of the lake; a bridge had once spanned the gap, but judging from the decaying wooden supports on the near side it had collapsed long ago. She could see another mine entrance on the far side of the boulder-strewn ground beyond the bridge and a more natural-looking cave closer to her.

Testing her footing carefully, Brandy edged up to the lip of the ravine and went down on one knee to peer over. Getting down from here would be simple enough, but she didn’t see much in the way of handholds on the far side. If she wanted to check it out she would need to invest in some serious climbing gear—probably not a good way to spend her meager savings, not without a better motive than curiosity.

She stood and headed back for the footbridge. It hadn’t been a wasted trip; she now knew to come back later to see what sort of “adventurers” hung out here. As she passed the mine entrance, though, a flicker of movement caught her eye, and she moved in for a closer look.

Maybe Trisha wasn’t so far off the mark with that comment about movie sets, she thought. A pale-haired man stood in the middle of the cavern, staring down at a hole with a ladder sticking out of it. He wore a half-cape slung over a green tunic, like something out of a fantasy flick, though a black eyepatch made him look more “pirate” than “prince.” His trousers and hiking boots were as thoroughly modern—and well-worn—as her own, however, and she didn’t see any sign of a film crew.

Since the cavern’s roof looked stable, she decided it was probably safe enough to go inside. The man glanced over at her approach. Up close, the faded scars on his face suggested the eyepatch might not be a costume piece. He had a neatly trimmed mustache and goatee, though the rest of his hair—gray, rather than the blond she had first assumed—looked like something had been using it for a nest. “I was just peering down into this old mine shaft,” he said. “It’s been abandoned for decades. Still, there’s probably good ore down there.”

Brandy made a noncommittal sound; if there was, why would it have been abandoned?

His mustache twitched; it was hard to tell beneath the facial hair, but she thought he might have smiled. “But a dark place, undisturbed for so long… I’m afraid ore isn’t the only thing you’ll find.” Then, as if it were the most normal thing in the world, he swept aside the fabric draped from his shoulder to reveal a sheathed sword. She tensed, but he held it out toward her by the top of the scabbard, which was wrapped with leather straps. “Here, take this. You might need it.”

Her eyebrows rose, and for a long moment they just stared at each other. “Okaaaaay,” she said at last, and took it from him. It was heavier than she had expected—definitely not plastic. There are cameras hidden here somewhere, aren’t there? This is some sort of prank show.

He came around the side of the hole and started toward the entrance. “Name’s Marlon, by the way. I run the Adventurer’s Guild right outside. I’ll keep my eye on you. Prove yourself and I might think about making you a member.” He was gone before Brandy could come up with a response.

Was the “guild” some sort of role-playing group? She looked at the sword in her hands and slid it a few inches out of the sheath. The blade was pitted with rust, but it still looked sharp enough to be dangerous. She drew it free of the scabbard and angled it in the lamplight so she could get a better look. Someone had definitely made an effort to sharpen it, judging by the way the edge shone compared to the rest of the metal.

Wait… lamps? She had been too focused on Marlon the Adventurer to pay much attention to her surroundings, but now she saw that electric lights were spaced around the cavern. They had been off, invisible, when she had first glanced inside. The old-fashioned incandescent bulbs wouldn’t have lasted the decades the man had spoken of. Why would anyone pay to light an abandoned mine? She put the sword back into its sheath and knelt beside the ladder; she could see more light, fainter, at the bottom of the shaft.

She stood and drew the blade Marlon had given her again, giving it a few experimental swings. Everything she knew about swords came from movies and video games, her self-defense classes having focused on empty-handed techniques and weapons of opportunity, but she thought she understood better now what “well balanced” meant. She unwrapped the straps from the sheath, which turned out to be the sort of sword belt that would have gone with Marlon’s tunic.

It looked considerably more out of place run through the belt loops of her cargo pants.

She stood beside the ladder, tapping her foot as she tried to work out what exactly was going on. Only one way to find out, I suppose. But there was no sense in being careless about it. She pulled her phone out of its pocket; the signal was surprisingly strong, compared to the reception she got at the farm. She hesitated over the contacts list for a moment before tapping her choice.

“Brandy?” She could hear a faint splashing behind Neel’s voice.

“Are you down at the beach? I thought the reception sucked down there.”

“No, Willy suggested I try fishing in the river in town,” he said. “What’s going on? You usually just text.”

“I’m either about to fall for a really elaborate prank or go on an adventure,” she said, grinning, and explained what was going on.

There was a long silence when she finished. “Some old guy in a costume gives you an actual, not-a-prop sword and tells you the mines are dangerous, so you’re going to go down there?” He sounded more like he was making sure he had heard her correctly than the horrified disbelief she would have gotten from Trisha.

“Like I said, maybe he’s just having me on, playing a trick on the newcomer. I’m curious, but I’m also not stupid, so I want someone on the line with me.”

“Not an expert, but cell phones don’t work all that well underground, do they?”

“I’ve got a good signal here, and the floor’s not that far down, so I should be fine. If the signal drops I’ll come right back up.”

Another silence. “Right. Well, I know better than to try to talk you out of something like this, so I’ll play witness.”

“Thanks, hon. I’m putting the phone on speaker and sticking it in my shirt pocket now.” She buttoned down the pocket and checked the way the sword hung at her hip, and then eased herself onto the ladder, testing each rung before she let her weight shift onto it. “Okay, there’s a smaller chamber down here. One lamp, not as well kept as the others. Some big stones scattered around, but not much else.” She walked slowly around the space, but aside from a few marks in the dirt that might be from mice or large insects, there was no sign of life. “Couple more lamps in the walls, not lit. Both are missing their bulbs, and one looks like it’s been scavenged for other parts. Huh, what’s this?” She knelt beside one of the larger boulders.

“Brandy?” Neel prompted after a while.

“Sorry. Looks like there might be something under one of these rocks.” She tried to roll it aside, but it was too heavy. “Hmm… I probably shouldn’t use the sword as a crowbar. It’s rusty enough that it might snap.” A few minutes of searching turned up nothing useful. “I’m heading back up for a minute to see if I can find a branch or something.”

She didn’t even have to leave the mine entrance; the mine cart off to one side was rusted in place, but there were a few pieces of bent rail leaning against the wall, no doubt replaced during some long-ago repairs, that looked promising. She lowered one through the shaft and climbed back down.

“Ah-hah! I was right. It’s another shaft.”

“Brandy…”

She pulled the phone out. “The signal’s still strong; I haven’t even lost a bar yet.” She buttoned the phone back into her pocket. The light at the bottom of this hole was fainter, but still present. She tossed the rail down and waited, but nothing happened. “Okay, I’m going down.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Maybe not, but now I’m really curious.” She climbed down this ladder as carefully as the first. “New chamber’s a bit bigger than the last. It looks like there’s more than one room—the cave narrows to a sort of tunnel, but I think it widens again after that.” The light was coming from beyond the narrow part, and she took a few steps in that direction. “Some different types of rock down here. Huh, this one looks like it might have some copper ore running through it. Maybe that Marlon guy was right.” A shiny, greenish rock near the narrow spot caught her eye. “I wonder what that—holy shit!”

“Brandy?”

Brandy was too busy scrambling backward to answer right away, because the “rock” had started moving when she approached. Its surface rippled and wobbled like gelatin, and glistening black eyes swiveled to stare at her. It lurched forward, leaving a glistening trail behind it on the cavern floor.

“Okay, that is a very cool special effect, but what the fuck is that thing supposed to be?” It was mostly clear, so whatever mechanisms moved it ought to be visible, but all she could see was the rocky floor on the other side. She snatched up the piece of rail and jabbed at the… creature? It flinched away when the rail struck it. “Hah, take that!” The dent the metal had made in the jiggling surface disappeared in seconds.

“Talk to me, Brandy. What’s going on?”

“The fuck if I know! It looks like a bag of snot with eyes. And teeth? C’mon, people, how the fuck does snot have teeth?” Obviously this had something to do with what that Marlon guy had said about “proving herself,” but this was starting to feel less like a prank or game by the second. She backed away again, then swore; she hadn’t been paying attention to where everything around her was, and now she would have to get past the thing to reach the ladder.

“Get out of there!” Neel snapped.

“I’m trying! It’s between me and the exit.” Another of the creatures wobbled into view beyond the point where the cave narrowed. The scabbard hanging from her waist clattered against the wall, reminding her that she had a better weapon than her makeshift crowbar. She yanked the sword out and slashed it toward the blob. “Well, that got its attention,” she said, wincing at the whistling shriek the thing let out. Slime oozed from the shallow cut she had made. She stabbed at it, putting as much force as she could behind the blow, and the sword’s tip sank in deeply. Then—

“Brandy? Brandy!”

“I’m fine, Neel. Possibly about to puke, but fine.” The snot-creature had burst like the water balloon it resembled. Most of the slime had hit the walls and floor, but she scraped a wad of it off of her forearm, then frowned. “Shit.” The skin it had touched was reddening. “Okay, I’m out of here,” she said, as her arm began to tingle. She climbed the first ladder with more haste than was wise, but fortunately none of the rungs broke. She took a moment to shove the boulder back over the opening and took the second ladder more carefully. The stinging on her arm, and now her fingertips as well, was annoying, but it didn’t seem to be doing any major damage. Or was that just the adrenaline surging through her veins, drowning out more serious signals? “Neel, chill. I’m out of the mine. Whew! Well I did say I wanted something exciting to do.”

“Are you all right?”

“The snot-monster exploded when I stabbed it, and I think the goo has some sort of acid in it.” She dug her water bottle out of yet another pocket and splashed her skin; the relief was immediate, but not complete. “I’m going to go wash it off in the lake.”

In the bright daylight, her arm just looked like she had a weird, blotchy sunburn, but she should get it looked at, anyway… once she figured out what to tell the town doc had happened. She glared at the building by the mines. “A little more warning would have been nice,” she muttered, wiping her hands on the grass to dry them. She took out her phone and switched it off speaker. “I need to have a chat with that Marlon asshole, so I’m going to let you go now.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? What if—”

“Neel, honey, depending on how this ‘conversation’ goes, there might be assault charges involved. Do you really want to be called as a witness?”

“Um.”

“Relax, I’m not going to do any real damage. I’m as pissed at myself for letting him bait me as I am at him, and I really want to find out what that was all about.”

She heard him exhale. “Fine. But you’re going to be explaining this to Trisha tonight. I was planning to grab dinner in town anyway, and now I also want to stay out of shouting range.”

“Fair enough,” she said. “Catch you later.”

As it happened, Neel wouldn’t need to worry about witness statements any time soon; there was no response to her pounding on the door, and the curtains were all drawn, keeping her from seeing if there was even anyone inside.

Chapter Text

Neel stared at the dark screen for a long moment, ignoring the tug of something on the fishing rod. Finally, he stuffed his phone back in his pocket and reeled in the line. More junk. Luck is not with me today. He flung the wad of algae back in the river and stood up, heading for the main square.

From there, he spotted Trisha up on the hill where she had been talking to the mayor a while ago. As he watched, she opened the door of the rundown old building by the playground, vanishing inside. Brandy charging boldly into danger was normal, but Trisha walking into a structure that looked like it might fall down in a strong wind? Not so much. If he followed her inside to find out what was going on, though, she’d be pissed later when she found out he’d known about their friend’s latest stunt, and there was no way he was going to be the one to tell her. Brandy could handle the fallout.

It was too early for dinner, not even four, but he leaned his fishing pole against the wall beside the Stardrop Saloon’s door and went inside. The bar area was empty except for Emily, though he could hear Gus in the kitchen. “Hey, Neel, you want some coffee, right?”

Apparently two days in a row was enough to constitute a “regular” order? He was tempted to pick something else, just to keep her guessing, but decided not to push it. The bartender acted cheerful enough, but he’d noticed that her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes when she talked to him. “Yeah, but could you add a shot of whisky to it? Kind of been a day, if you know what I mean.”

Emily’s head tilted to the side, her short blue hair sticking out in all directions as usual, but though her golden-brown eyes were penetrating, she didn’t ask for details. “Sure thing,” she said after a few seconds. “You have a preference for what kind?”

He would prefer the bottle he could see on the top shelf, but he was already planning to splurge on dinner, so he named the cheapest brand. He ducked into the bathroom long enough to wash the river muck from his hands, then pulled up a mindless game on his phone and pretended to be absorbed with it as other customers trickled in, which—as he had hoped—dissuaded anyone from interrupting him as he sipped his drink and mulled over the day’s events.

There was definitely something weird going on in Stardew Valley.

The letter had been the first solid hint. He’d handled any number of mining permits and related files for Joja, and the string of characters the letter had cited was complete bullshit, something someone who didn’t know what they were doing might invent to make the letter seem more legit—to other people who didn’t know what legit should look like. Not to mention the fact that the only time people felt it necessary to emphasize that what they were doing was “entirely legal” was when it wasn’t, or was at least walking close enough to the ledge to be having trouble keeping its balance. Combined with Brandy’s misadventure in the mines, he couldn’t help but wonder what the “drilling” operation was actually about. Unfortunately, he no longer had access to find out. He could kick himself for not keeping a copy of the files he had delivered to his contact, even though getting caught with something like that would have been very bad—not only for him, but for Trisha and Brandy, just for standing too close to him.

Then there was Brandy’s encounter. What was all this nonsense about an “adventurer’s guild” about? It had sounded like a LARP group until Brandy had started talking about acid burns. And why had Trisha been going into that old building?

None of it made sense. All he knew was that something was rotten around here, and he’d left the city to get away from this sort of shit. He flicked colored gems around his phone screen, wishing he could get the peculiarities in his life to line up as neatly.

Emily stopped by to refill his mug again—he’d stuck to unadulterated coffee after the first had taken the edge off his tension—but this time she didn’t pour right away. “Do you want anything to eat? I’m worried all that coffee’s going to burn a hole in your stomach.”

He looked up and blinked; the saloon was more crowded than it had been the last couple of days, and the clock on the wall showed he had been there for over two hours, stewing in baffled anger. “You’re probably right.” She slid a menu over to him, and for the first time that day he felt that maybe not every force in the universe was set against him. “Sashimi? Really?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t care for it myself, but Willy brought in a bunch of fish Gus said were too good to ‘waste’ on cooking, and he likes to shake up the menu every once in a while. If you’re into that sort of thing, I’m told you won’t find better between here and Zuzu City.”

“Hmm.” He considered his current finances; the prices were a little lower than what he’d expect to pay in the city, and he had intended to treat himself, after all. “Okay, how about three of the sampler plates then?”

Emily’s eyes widened. “That’s a lot of raw fish.”

“I’ve been doing heavy labor for the past week, and I’m not used to it. I’ve worked up an appetite and could use the protein.” And the chef at his favorite restaurant in the city had stopped marveling at the amount of sushi he could pack away after the first two or three visits.

She looked like she might say more, but then she just smiled and shook her head. “All right then.” When she returned from the kitchen, she asked him if he wanted to stick with coffee or order something else.

“I don’t suppose you have any sake?”

“Sorry, no. Gus recommends the plum wine, if you don’t mind your alcohol a bit on the sweet side.”

“Sounds perfect—but could I get water for now, and the drink with dinner?”

While he waited for his food, he looked around the busy saloon. It appeared that some things were the same in the countryside as in the city—Friday evening was the time to go out. Most of the usual fixtures from the last couple of days were there—Pam, a middle-aged woman who he hadn’t run into anywhere other than the saloon, was holding up her end of the bar, while Shane had abandoned his spot at the other end to lurk in a corner, glaring over his beer at anyone who looked like they might talk to him. Clint walked in just then, completing the trifecta, though from Neel’s observations the town blacksmith was there to make eyes at Emily rather than for the booze. He was pretty sure the man was wasting his time, given the way the blue-haired woman had been trading looks with Brandy on Wednesday—but maybe she was bi, and besides, it wasn’t any of his business. Willy was already sitting at Clint’s usual table, but the two must be friends, because they started chatting as the blacksmith sat down. Pierre, perched a few stools down from Neel, traded a friendly nod with Robin and Demetrius when they took a break from dancing to the cheerful music playing on the jukebox.

On the other side of the room were two women he hadn’t met, though he thought he could put names to them based on Brandy’s descriptions. The older one, her frizzy brown hair threaded with silver, must be Marnie, the rancher who lived to the south of them. The other had carrot-orange hair gathered into a thick braid and sat at one of the back tables with a glass of red wine and a sketchbook—probably Leah, a relative newcomer to the valley and an artist of some sort. He should introduce himself, he thought, but before he could stand up he heard the kitchen door.

He swiveled on his stool as Emily brought out his dinner. The portions were very generous, a bigger meal than he’d planned, but he still had a bit of space on his shelf in Trisha’s fridge. It would keep for a day or so—

Then Gus followed her out, carrying two more plates identical to the first.

Neel rubbed a hand over his face as Emily set her burden in front of him. “All right, next time you tell me something’s a lot of food, I’m going to ask for specifics.” It would be bad form to ask for a refund on the other two plates, wouldn’t it?

“You still want that wine?” she asked, smirking at him, though there was still that odd wariness in her eyes.

“Yeah, now I need a drink to cope with the embarrassment,” he said, trying for a sheepish grin. “Seriously, I feel bad, because this looks delicious and I don’t have a fridge at home, just a little shelf for essentials at Trisha’s place.”

Gus chuckled. “If you don’t want it going to waste, the folks in the arcade would probably be happy to take some of it off your hands. It’s getting to be about the time they usually order dinner.”

“Arcade?” Gus pointed toward a pair of swinging doors off to the side, beyond the tiny dance floor, which he had noticed on earlier visits but hadn’t paid much mind to. “Sure, someone else might as well benefit from my hubris.” He picked up the plate in front of him. If whoever was in there didn’t want his company, he’d just bring one back out to the bar to eat.

“Hah! Take that!” Sam was standing beside a pool table, holding a cue stick above his head like a trophy.

“You made one shot, Sam, don’t let it go to your head,” Abigail said from a couch on the far side of the room, not glancing away from her phone. “He’s still going to kick your ass.”

“No, he can kiss my—Oh, hey, Neel! What’s up?” Sam lowered the pool cue and the purple-haired woman looked up.

“Well… I put in a dinner order thinking of city prices and serving sizes, and long story short I now have way more sashimi than one person can possibly eat. Gus suggested you folks might be interested in sharing? My treat.”

“The daily special’s sashimi and you didn’t tell me?” An unfamiliar baritone voice with a hint of gravel to it came from the corner of the room that was hidden behind the door Neel was propping open. “Why were we even debating pizza toppings?”

“Because I like pizza better, and it was my turn to buy?” Sam said with a mock glare in the direction of the voice.

“Is that a yes or a no?” Emily asked over Neel’s shoulder; she had taken the other two plates from Gus. “My arms are getting tired.”

“Wow, you weren’t kidding about over-ordering,” Abigail said, getting up from the couch. “Sure, bring it in!” She took one of the platters from the bartender and deposited it on a table in the corner, with Emily following suit.

Neel hesitated, still holding his own plate. “Do you mind extra company? I’m fine with gift-and-run if this is a private party, but—”

“No, stick around!” Sam said. “You at least have to explain how you wound up with a whole lake’s worth of fish.”

Emily smiled and headed for the door. “I’ll go grab some more utensils and your drink, Neel. Anyone else need anything? No?”

As she left, Neel set down his share. “At my favorite sushi place in the city, a ‘sampler’ is about this big—” he framed a quarter of the plate with his hands “—and costs a little more than what the saloon menu listed. I assumed it’d be the same size here, and I was hungry so I ordered three. Emily tried to warn me. Next time I’ll listen.”

“Your loss is our gain,” Abigail said, snatching up the single pair of chopsticks that had already been with the food.

“Hey!” Sam tried to grab them away from her, but she dodged him and plucked a piece of salmon off of the plate, popping it into her mouth. “Rude, Abbs. It’s Neel’s dinner.”

She shrugged and swallowed. “You snooze, you lose.” But she did glance uncertainly at Neel.

It was such a Brandy-like move that he couldn’t be irritated with her, even as hungry as he was. “Don’t worry about it. There’s plenty to go around, and I’m not going to starve to death in the next couple of minutes.”

“Hey, Sam, it’s still your turn.”

Neel had almost forgotten that there was a fourth person present. The man was leaning against the corner, little more than a shadow due to the bright lamps over the pool table between him and the rest of the group, and the fact that he was dressed in dark clothes. Now he pushed himself away from the wall and approached them.

Sam looked down at the cue stick still clutched one hand. “Whoops!” He turned toward the pool table and started lining up a shot. “Sorry, Sebastian. Didn’t mean to hold up the game.”

Sebastian? Neel’s brain hiccupped as he tried to resolve his first impression of Robin’s son with the present reality. Tall; that hadn’t changed, obviously. Black hair, but now he could see that it was cut very short on the left, with the rest swept to the right, falling like a raven’s feathers almost to the collar of the black hoodie that had taken the place of the faded bathrobe. He was clean-shaven now, and instead of sweatpants—

Neel spared a moment to be grateful his complexion was dark enough that the heat rising in his face wouldn’t show. He had no idea how any guy could stand to wear jeans that tight, but he couldn’t deny it made for a great view.

The flush cooled quickly, because one thing had not improved over his first encounter with Sebastian: sleepy confusion was now replaced with a hostile glare. The others might have invited Neel to stay, but their friend was less welcoming. “Hi,” he began, hoping to change that, but before he could say more, Emily bustled back in.

“Here you go! ‘Scuse me, Sebastian,” she laid a hand on his arm as she squeezed past to reach the table and deposit a stack of smaller plates and more chopsticks, then hand Neel a glass of amber wine. “Enjoy, and just holler if any of you want another round.”

As she left, Sam muttered a curse. “I scratched. You’re up.” He handed Sebastian the cue ball.

The taller man set the ball aside long enough to fill one of the small plates before retreating to the far corner of the room and resuming the game, ignoring Neel’s greeting entirely.

Abigail rolled her eyes and started loading a plate of her own. “Don’t mind Seb,” she murmured. “He’s not exactly Mr. Social, but we drag him out of his cave a couple times a week to make sure he doesn’t go completely feral.” She nodded toward the couch on the other side of the room and raised her voice. “While we’re waiting to see how badly Sam loses this time—”

“Hey!”

“—you can tell me about life in Zuzu City, and how in Yoba’s name you lot wound up in Stardew Valley.”

Neel put on a smile and filled a plate for himself as he sifted through what was safe to share. “Well, a few weeks ago Trisha comes home from work and announces out of the blue that she’s moving to this farm she inherited…” The fish was just as good as Gus had promised, and he was able—for now—to shove his simmering anger and worry deep enough under the surface to appreciate the food and the company.

Chapter Text

Trisha spent a fruitless couple of hours scouring the library for information, including having to get the librarian to show her how to use the card catalog, since he was only just beginning to enter the books into the software his predecessor had purchased but never set up. The problem was that she had no idea what she was looking for; there was no subject heading for “green blobby things that vanish into sparkles,” or any other keyword she could apply to them. She had opted not to look up “hallucinations,” since that wouldn’t help her if the things were real and would be of limited use if they weren’t.

She thanked Gunther for his help and promised that she, like Brandy and Neel, would keep an eye out for anything that might help him rebuild the purloined museum collection the library had once hosted. But when she left the library, she found she couldn’t get the image of the abandoned community center—and the things she may or may not have seen—out of her thoughts. The decrepit hulk of the building loomed above the town as she started to head for the road home, and though it was probably a mistake, she veered toward it, instead. The key the mayor had given her turned smoothly in the lock; since the sun was no longer high enough to shine through the gaps in the roof, she took out her phone and turned on the flashlight function and stepped inside.

The beam picked out every ridge and dip in the dirt covering the floor, and Trisha frowned and approached the weird mud-and-bark hut. She didn’t think children the age of those she had seen outside would be sophisticated enough to cover up their footprints to hide that they were playing in here, but there was no sign of any tracks around the entrance, though she could see the impressions left by herself and the mayor earlier that day. That didn’t rule out their having built and abandoned it long enough ago that the dust had filled in their prints, but how long would such a haphazard construction survive? She crouched down and tried to angle the flashlight through the opening, but the shadows inside swallowed the beam without revealing anything but a continuation of the dirt-caked floorboards.

The back of her neck prickled when she turned her back on the hut and began a slow circuit of the building. An ancient bulletin board hung in a hallway, covered with yellowing newspaper clippings and fliers. Some of the photos, grainy as they were, caught her eye, and she couldn’t help a smile at an image of Lewis, hair still dark, handing an award certificate for winning a recipe contest to a middle-schooler she recognized, after a moment, as Caroline. She leafed through the papers carefully, but though she saw a couple of the other villagers she knew, and a few more names that Brandy or Neel had mentioned, there was no trace of her grandfather there.

She resumed her exploration. Past the bulletin board she found an old office featuring an empty safe with its door hanging by one hinge, and a boiler room that looked like the “what not to do” image in a fire-safety flyer. She retreated to the main room, giving the hut another uneasy glance, but there was still no sign of the creature she had seen that morning.

The pantry and kitchen would have been the place to look for rats, but there were no signs of life other than the weeds struggling through the floorboards in the hallway, and no trace of food debris had been left behind. Across the hall from the pantry—

In the doorway, Trisha froze, as did the yellow-orange blob on the far side of the room. Its large, dark eyes were the only thing that moved, blinking slowly at her, and though she couldn’t have said why, she found herself describing its expression as pleading. She held her breath and slid her thumb across the phone’s surface, trying to access the camera, but as soon as her screen brightened, the creature jumped and vanished, just as the green one had before.

This time, however, there was more than mud left behind, something that glinted like metal. Trisha flipped the camera app into video mode and hit record, hoping this wasn’t going to wind up on some TV network’s “found footage” mystery show. This is a bad idea. It’s the part of the film where some third-tier actor grabs the too-obvious treasure so the hero can later find their corpse caught in whatever trap it triggers.

The “treasure” looked like the award the mayor had been giving out in the photo on the bulletin board, parchment edged in shiny gold foil, and for a moment she felt like a fool; just more debris from the time this building had been the social hub of the town. Her embarrassed relief was short lived; surely paper would be covered in dirt like everything else? She leaned over to get a better look.

It lay as flat as if it had been pasted to the floor, save for where the short edges curled up like the paper had once been rolled into a cylinder. Something had been written on it, or perhaps drawn was a better term, for the squiggles and whorls didn’t look like characters in any language she had heard of. She angled her phone over it, but the auto-focus function wouldn’t lock onto it, zooming in and out in a way that made the marks look like they were moving.

She looked directly at it again, and her stomach clenched; the writing was moving. She stood abruptly and backed out of the room. What was going on here? She made sure to lock the door behind her when she left.

She had emerged into sunset, and her spirits lifted momentarily as she realized that, despite spending several hours indoors today, she still didn’t feel the gnawing hunger that had been her constant companion for weeks. I really am getting better… assuming this isn’t some new symptom to worry about. She bit her lip. It was much too late to call Dr. Chang, but tomorrow—no, it was already Friday, so she would call Monday to ask his advice.

An alternative way to check her sanity suggested itself upon reaching the gate to the farm, because Brandy was just walking up the steps to her new cabin. She looked over as Trisha called her name and lifted a hand to wave, jerking it back down as her jacket sleeve slid back to reveal—

“Oh my goodness, Brandy, what happened?” Trisha darted forward, all thought of her own problems vanishing at the sight of the white bandage wrapped around her friend’s forearm. “You’re hurt!”

“It’s nothing,” the pink-haired woman said, tugging the sleeve back in place. “Just a minor chemical burn, Harvey said.” She was standing oddly, as well, and Trisha’s eyes narrowed; was she hurt worse than she was letting on?

“Let me take a closer lo—is that a sword?”

Brandy sighed. “It’s been a very weird day.” The giggle that burst from Trisha’s lips sounded unhinged to her, and apparently to her friend, as well. “Are you all right, sweetie?”

Trisha choked back her laughter before it could turn into a sob of relief. Maybe there really was something strange in Pelican Town, and it wasn’t in her head. “I bet I’ve got you beat,” she said. Though at least her day hadn’t included a visit to the clinic.

“Come inside and tell me about it while I get my dinner together. Neel said he was going to eat in town, by the way.”

“Neel’s going out on a Friday night? At least something’s right with the world,” Trisha said, dropping her purse on the table they’d transferred from the old farmhouse and sinking into the chair.

“So what happened?”

“You know that crumbling old building on the hill north of town? I think it’s haunted.” She described her encounter with Lewis. When she started describing the creature she had seen, Brandy’s eyes went wide. “Shit! They’re here in town, too?”

“You saw them somewhere else?”

She held up her bandaged arm. “More than saw. How did you and Lewis get away?”

Trisha stared at her. “Get away? Lewis didn’t even see it, because it vanished into thin air when he started to turn toward it. Same thing when it appeared on the other side of the room—or maybe that was a different one, I’m not sure.”

Brandy tore the label off a can of soup, opened it, and set it on top of the hot plate. “I wish the ones I’d run into had done that. One of those ugly fuckers jumped straight at me. Did you see the size of the teeth on them? I finally managed to stick that sword into it, and it splattered acid slime everywhere. I got the fuck out of the mine before the one behind it could get any closer.”

“Teeth? I didn’t see any teeth.” There had been a faint impression of a mouth, though, now that she thought about it. “And the ones I saw were… kind of cute, really. I was just afraid I was hallucinating them.”

“Cute. A moving bag of acid snot a meter in diameter, and you think it’s cute?”

“What? Ew, no. They were a quarter of that size, maybe less, and they looked more like… I don’t know, little inflatable balls that hadn’t been blown up all the way. Not plastic, exactly, but definitely not slimy and gross like what you’re describing.”

“Hmm. Maybe they weren’t the same thing, then.” Brandy stuck a spoon in the soup can and stirred, then tasted it. “Could be related species?”

“Maybe. I wish I’d gotten my phone’s camera up in time to get a shot of the one I saw when I returned.”

“You went back in there?” Brandy nearly knocked the soup can over as she spun back to face Trisha. “Are you out of your mind?”

“That was kind of my concern, yeah,” she said. “Wait, back up—you said something about a mine? And where did you get a sword in the first place?”

“Up beyond the landslide Joja just cleared away, there’s a closed-down mine. I ran into this old guy up there, said he was part of an ‘adventurer’s guild’ and that if I was going to go down there, I’d need this.” She patted the sword still hanging from her hip. “I figured it was a prank of some sort, but I was curious. On the other hand, I called Neel and had him on the line the whole time, so it’s not like I was flying completely solo.”

“That’s… actually not a bad idea,” Trisha said. “I wish I’d thought of that. Oh! But I did get a video of the scroll-thing I found after the yellow blob vanished.” She pulled out her phone. “I couldn’t get it to focus, so I don’t know how much use it’ll be.” They watched the video together; the metallic gold decorations around the edges of the square were crisp and clear, but the writing looked even more indistinct than when she was filming it.

“That’s… really strange,” Brandy said. “Was it that blurry in person?”

“No. I couldn’t make any sense of it, and the symbols seemed like they were moving if I stared at them for very long, but I could see them.”

Brandy tasted her soup again, then picked up the can with a hot pad and dumped its contents into a bowl. “Huh.” She shooed Trisha out of the chair so she could sit down. “And I thought I’d be bored out here.”

“So what now?”

“Your critters seem harmless, at least so far. Let’s start there. We can check out the old building tomorrow.”

“Right. Cameras rolling from the start, this time.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Chapter Text

Sebastian had been annoyed when Sam invited the new guy to stay without so much as checking with the rest of them, but Neel seemed content to let Abigail pepper him with questions instead of crowding the pool table. By the time he racked the balls for a second game, he was able to tune out the distraction of an unfamiliar person watching him trounce Sam at pool. And Gus’s sashimi was excellent, as always, with “free” being an unexpected bonus.

His best friend tried yet another of the over-the-top trick shots he loved despite being terrible at them, then groaned and slumped against the table. He had managed to jump the cue ball over Sebastian’s solid, but in addition to hitting the stripe he had been aiming for, it nudged the 8-ball into a pocket.

“Wow, Sam, that was what, your third turn?” Abigail said from across the room as she and Neel polished off the last of the fish. “I think that might be a new record.”

“Not quite. He sank the 8-ball on the break, once.”

“Sure, rub it in, Seb. We both agreed that was a fluke and didn’t count. Are you up for another game?”

Sam was two beers in and had ordered a third, which meant he was going to keep trying impossible shots. He’d also been complaining about Morris cutting his hours at work, which meant that if he broke something, Sebastian would be the one covering the bill. He glanced at the new farmer, who had smirked at the mention of Sam’s absurdly unlucky break—he must know at least a little about the game. “Do you play, Neel?” he asked, surprising even himself.

Both of his friends gaped at him, but other man just shrugged. “You might have to remind me of some of the rules.”

Abigail recovered first. “Ooh, careful, Seb—sounds like you’re going to get hustled.”

Neel chuckled. “No, seriously, I know how to shoot pool, but I haven’t played 8-ball much. I’m fuzzy on the finer details.”

“What do you usually play?”

“We stick to cutthroat, since it’s a three-player game. Though I think Trisha and Brandy do 8-ball when it’s just the two of them, or when can find a couple of suckers to take them on as a pair.”

“So they’re the pool sharks?” Abigail asked.

“Hmm, no, that’s when someone goes, ‘Oh, no, I’ve never played. Would you teach me?’” Sebastian stared, because Neel’s expression had shifted for a moment into such complete innocence that if the man had responded like that to his initial challenge, he might have fallen for it. “I’m pretty sure Brandy starting conversations with ‘Bet you 50G I can kick your ass’ is not proper pool shark etiquette, nor is Trisha giving running calculations on your ever-decreasing odds of winning.”

Sam laughed. “So does that mean you lose as often as I do?”

Neel grinned at him. “The thing about a three-person game is that when two of the players are busy going after each other, sometimes the third can sneak in a win.”

“What is cutthroat, anyway?” Sebastian asked.

“Instead of stripes and solids, it’s low, middle, and high numbers. The biggest difference is you’re not trying to sink your own numbers—you go after everyone else’s. Once your balls are gone, you’re out of the game, unless someone scratches. Then everyone else gets to pull a ball out—” He paused to roll his eyes at Abigail, who was snickering. “Yeah, I know, it’s impossible to talk about pool without it sounding dirty. Anyway, last person with at least one of their numbers left on the table wins.”

“What do you say, Seb, want to give it a try?”

“Sure. How do you assign the groups?” Neel explained more of the rules as he racked the balls, and Sebastian offered him the break.

As they played, he sized up the newcomer. He was better than Sam—not that that was difficult—but Sebastian was pretty sure he would still win if it was just the two of them. Neel played with confidence, and his aim was good, but he kept under- or overshooting.

“So…” Neel said, as they both leaned against the wall waiting for Sam to make up his mind about his next move. “Robin mentioned you do freelance computer stuff, but she didn’t go into specifics. What kind of work do you do?”

Sebastian tried to grind a mental heel on his irritation; it was exactly the sort of small-talk question he hated. “Well, I spent most of today coding a module to protect a client’s site against brute-force password hacking.”

Most people looked at him blankly when he tried to describe his actual job, and then asked him if he could help them design a website or figure out their email. Neel tilted his head a little. “One of those ‘prove you’re a human’ things, or something more on the back end?”

Sebastian’s eyebrows rose. “Back end. They got too many customer complaints about the image-based tests. Are you a programmer, too?”

A headshake. “No, I’m only familiar with that sort of thing from the user side. Do you specialize in security?”

“I’m leaning toward it, for now. It pays well, and there’s less competition than for other project types on the freelancers’ site I get most of my jobs through. But I still take on other kinds of programming here and there, so I don’t get pigeonholed if the market shifts.”

“Good plan,” Neel said, picking up his stick as the ball Sam had been aiming for stopped just short of the pocket.

“What about you?” Sam said, as Neel took aim. “What do you do?”

“Mostly chop wood, so far. Diversifying by attempting to learn how to fish.” He pocketed the ball that Sam hadn’t quite managed to—one of Sebastian’s. He grinned at the two of them as he walked around the table to line up another shot. “But to answer the real question, I used to be an executive assistant at Joja HQ.” He missed his shot and stepped back from the table with a grimace.

Abigail was the only one who didn’t react with surprise to that; he must have told her while Sebastian and Sam had been preoccupied with their game. “Uh, no offense, but you don’t exactly look like the secretarial type,” his best friend said, eyeing the shorter man’s jeans and flannel shirt.

“Slacks and a tie aren’t exactly practical for farming.”

“How did you wind up with Joja, anyway?” Abigail asked. “You didn’t mention that part earlier.”

“Trisha got me in the door,” he said. “She’d been working there as an analyst for a couple of years, and the ‘temporary-to-permanent’ job I’d been working kept stringing me along about the permanent part, so when she heard about an opening in the float pool, she referred me.”

“Joja has lifeguards?” Sam asked, with a smirk to indicate he wasn’t serious.

Neel ignored the quip and answered the question behind it. “We filled in whenever someone on the regular staff was out sick or on vacation, or when a department needed extra short-term help. Still temping, basically, but with benefits. I developed a reputation as a quick study, which got me assigned to the executive group often enough that I was able to snag a permanent slot when someone I’d subbed for a few times left. You’re up, Sebastian.”

“Oh, right.” He sank his first shot, which left the cue ball fenced in behind a couple of his own numbers. He jumped it over, but his aim was off just enough that he couldn’t sink the ball he was aiming for.

“Damn, that was close. How come I can never get that trick to come off half as well?” Sam complained as he reached for his stick.

“Because I don’t try to launch the ball into space and make the shot on re-entry?”

Sam flipped him off before taking his—non-orbital—shot. “Hah, got one.”

“Well, crap, that was my last ball,” Neel said, surveying the table.

“Don’t worry, I’ll probably scratch soon enough,” Sam said. But though he did miss the next shot, he kept the white ball out of the pockets, and set Sebastian up perfectly to pick off the rest of Sam’s numbers. “Hey, that was fun! I sort of beat someone, for once. Want to play again?”

But Neel glanced up at the clock on the wall and shook his head. “Nah, I should probably call it a night.”

“It’s not even nine,” Abigail protested.

“Yeah, but I’ve been up since six a.m., and tomorrow’s not going to start any later,” he said, then smothered a yawn behind his hand. “Sorry. Not the company, I promise.”

“Thanks for the game—and the sashimi,” Sebastian said.

“You’re welcome, on both counts,” Neel said, yawning again. “Maybe we can do it again some time.”

“We’re usually here on Friday evenings,” Abigail chimed in. “Well, Sam and I are. Sebastian shows up sometimes, when he can tear himself away from his computers.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, with a quick flash of a grin. “Catch you around.” He returned his stick to the rack and left the arcade.

Sam was already re-racking the balls. “Hey, Abby, you want to try the new game?”

“Pfft. No thanks. I’m going to have another run at Prairie King.”

“No one to save you this time, Sam,” Sebastian said, picking up the chalk. “I’ll let you have the break, though.” He was glad his friends had insisted he join them tonight. He really had been letting his work take over his life, though he wished Abigail hadn’t chosen to bring up that fact in front of someone they barely knew.

At least Neel must not have mentioned Sebastian’s rude behavior the first time they’d met, or Abigail would be ribbing him about it.

Chapter Text

“I don’t think it’s going to stop,” Brandy said, looking out the window at the rain. All three of them were gathered in her cottage while they brought Neel up to speed on Trisha’s encounters the day before and the plan to explore the community center today.

“The weather forecast says it might clear up late this afternoon,” Neel said, not glancing up from the granola bar wrapper he was fiddling with. “At least this means we don’t have to water the crops today.”

Trisha joined her at the window and scowled at the grey skies. “Did I mention there were holes in the roof? The whole place is going to be a muddy mess,” she grumbled. “The scroll’s probably turned to mush by now. Although… now that I think about it, the room I saw it in wasn’t in as bad a shape as the rest of the building.”

“Well, then, let’s grab boots and umbrellas and go check it out,” Brandy said, turning away from the dreary view outside. She started threading her sword belt through her cargo pants.

“I don’t think you’ll need that,” Trisha said. “I told you the things I saw—”

“Seemed harmless. It’s not that I don’t believe you, sweetie, but there’s no sense in being careless.”

“I’m more concerned about our neighbors’ reactions if you go strolling through town armed,” Neel said. He held the wrapper out at arm’s length, then gave part of it a little twist, and the wad of foil became a silver flower, the printed side forming leaves around it. His ability to turn random crap into art or jewelry had always amazed Brandy, but it had been over a year since she had seen him make anything. “Do you have some tape or a stapler or anything like that?”

“No, that’s all with the movers,” Trisha said.

Another delay; they’d hoped to have their belongings delivered today, but the truck was going to have enough trouble with the dirt road when it wasn’t mud. “Would thread work? I’ve got a mending kit in my suitcase,” Brandy offered.

“I doubt it.” He set the wrapper-rose on the table, where it started losing its shape at once. “No big deal—it’d probably attract bugs, anyway.” He gathered up the rest of the debris from his and Brandy’s breakfasts and deposited it in the trash bag. “Look, I’m not spending the whole day cooped up in here with you two. Willy bet me 100G I couldn’t catch a catfish before the end of the week, and from what I’ve read they’re most active on rainy days. If we’re going to check out your mystery, let’s go now.”

“We might as well,” Trisha said. She picked up her clear vinyl raincoat, then hesitated. “Brandy, you weren’t carrying that sword around town yesterday, were you?”

“How careless do you think I am? I stashed it in a bush by the mines while I went to the clinic, then came home by the back road. Don’t worry—I have a plan.” She shook out the packet of fabric she had bought at JojaMart the day before to reveal a long black rain poncho, the cheap disposable kind. When she put it on, it hung just past the tip of the sword. “It’ll be awkward if I have to draw in a hurry, but unless it gets really windy, this should be fine for town.” She grabbed her umbrella, and the others followed her outside.

As they passed Trisha’s cabin, however, they paused. The mailbox flag was up, and… “Are my eyes playing tricks on me, or is my mailbox glowing?” Trisha asked. Brandy rubbed her own eyes; faint light really was leaking from around the box’s door.

“No, I see it, too,” said Neel. He leaned over the porch rail to tug it open even as Brandy swore and tried to stop him.

“You don’t know what’s inside,” she hissed at him when he gave her a confused look.

“Sure I do. Mail. Glowing mail, sure, but it’s just an envelope. Probably some new marketing gimmick.” He pulled it out; Trisha’s name was written on the front in metallic, sky-blue ink on dark blue paper. “Must be a local business—there’s no street address. Gotta love small towns, huh?” He handed it to Trisha.

Trisha turned it over, and Brandy tensed as her friend’s hands started shaking. “Grandpa sealed his letters to me like this,” she said, her fingers brushing the blob of red wax making a dark spot in the light leaking from the flap. She retreated to the shelter of the front porch and set her umbrella aside. “It even looks a lot like the seal he used, though this has an R instead of a P.” She slid a finger under the flap, tearing the paper without breaking the seal.

The glow stopped as soon as she took out a sheet of stationary that matched the envelope. “‘My sources tell me you’ve been poking around inside the old community center,’” she read aloud. “‘Why don’t you pay me a visit? My chambers are west of the forest lake, in the stone tower. I may have information concerning your… “rat problem”.’ It’s signed ‘M. Rasmodius, Wizard.’”

“Ugh. This is all some sort of creepy reality show, isn’t it?” Brandy muttered. “Do they actually expect us to fall for this?”

Trisha chewed her lip. “Even if your ‘snot monster’ was some sort of special effect, chemical burns are a bit far for a prank to go,” she said at last. “Whatever’s going on, I don’t think it’s for TV—the insurance rates would be astronomical.”

“What does that leave us, then?” Brandy asked.

“I can think of a few possibilities. First: it is for TV, or at least streaming online—some local would-be stars who don’t know enough about the business to have thought about risk and insurance. Second: someone’s trying to scare us off—”

“In which case they obviously didn’t take me into consideration,” Brandy said.

Trisha cleared her throat. “They’re trying to scare us off by manufacturing some sort of local ghost story. Third—”

“Third, there really is something peculiar going on,” Neel said, leaning farther over the rail. “Because that wasn’t there when I came over this morning. It was even darker, so I definitely would have noticed the light. But there aren’t any footprints around the mailbox.”

“It’s not raining hard enough to have washed the prints away, either. I can still see mine from when I walked to Brandy’s house,” Trisha said. “That doesn’t necessarily mean there’s anything supernatural going on, but someone’s sure going to a lot of trouble to make it seem that way.”

“So, what are we doing, Trisha?” Neel asked. She and Brandy looked at him, and he shrugged. “The letter was addressed to you, and you were the one who went into the community center. Do we explore it like we’d planned, or go meet this ‘wizard’? I saw that tower while I was fishing yesterday, and it’s not far.”

Trisha looked back down at the letter, and her eyes widened. “This looks like the creature I saw,” she said, pointing to the corner, where a lopsided smiley face with a stick and leaf coming out of its top had been drawn. “All right, let’s go talk to this Rasmodius character.”

“Okay, sweetie. If this is a set-up, at least we’ll have a better idea of how the story’s supposed to go.” Brandy hesitated, but unbuckled the sword belt and dropped it off in her cabin. Her umbrella had a sturdy enough handle to be an improvised club, if necessary.

As they neared the stone tower, however, she began to have second thoughts. “One of us should stay outside, just in case. Neel, you wait out of sight, and I’ll call you, like yesterday.” But when she pulled out her phone, she realized that was easier said than done. “No cell service. Abigail mentioned something about that. Shit. I really don’t like the idea of going in without a way to contact the outside world.”

“We could make our own network,” Trisha suggested. “You can share audio and video between phones on the same wi-fi, even if there’s no internet connection.”

“Good idea!” Brandy said. The range, however, was awfully short, even using Trisha’s latest-model phone as a halfway point. “Neel would be right out in the open.”

“What if I went home for my fishing gear?” he offered. “The dock on the lake should be close enough, and I’ll have an obvious reason to be sitting there.”

“Hah, I knew we kept you around for a reason,” Brandy said. “Grab some plastic bags for the phones, while you’re at it.”

When he returned, Brandy set her phone to video chat and started a session with Neel, then made sure her incoming volume was muted. He put in one wireless earbud and walked out to the dock while they hid Trisha’s phone in the crook of a tree. “We’re not exactly being subtle about this,” Trisha pointed out.

“If they play it differently knowing that we’re on to them, that’s also good to know,” Brandy said. She glanced back once more at Neel, who gave her a thumbs-up. “Let’s do this.”

Chapter Text

Abigail settled into her favorite spot by the lake, beneath the broad boughs of a large pine tree that would shelter her from the steady drizzle, and opened her flute case. She fitted the pieces together and raised the instrument to her lips, closing her eyes as she listened to the faint hiss of rain on the water’s surface. Frogs called in the distance, providing a louder, irregular chorus, and after a few minutes she began to play, trying to fit the notes around the sounds of the mountain.

She was finally finding her way into a melody when she took another breath and the acrid smell of tobacco smoke made her cough. She opened her eyes and saw Sebastian standing farther down the shore.

He stooped to snuff out the cigarette. “Sorry. I thought I was far enough downwind not to bother you, but the breeze shifted.” He dropped the butt into the pocket ashtray he always carried and walked toward her, stopping just outside the shelter of the branches. He wasn’t dressed for the rain—or rather, he was dressed for it, Sebastian-style, which meant he hadn’t even bothered to put up the hood of his sweatshirt. The black cotton was just beginning to show damp patches, so he hadn’t been out here long.

“See any frogs?” she asked with a grin. She liked the aura of mystery and gloom of a good rainy day, but she’d never understood Sebastian’s willingness to get soaked to the skin.

“There’s dozens of tadpoles in the little inlet over there,” he said, pointing, “but I haven’t seen any adults today. They’re all singing from the shadows.”

“Stage fright, maybe?” The corners of his mouth quirked upward for a moment, and she leaned back against the tree. This was as close to happy as she had seen her friend since… sometime in Fall, at least. Or perhaps “content” might be a better word, like the rain had washed away a little of whatever that had him so on edge lately.

Before she could try to angle the conversation toward finding out what that was, he turned away. “I’ll leave you to your music. I’m going to head down to the docks to watch the storm roll in.”

“Are you coming to band practice later?” It was the wrong thing to say, though she had no idea why such a mild comment made him tense up.

“Yeah, I’ll see you there,” he said, and started walking.

She wanted to call him back, ask what was going on, but that would only push him farther away. Abigail bit her lip and stared down at her flute, her fingers working over the keys.

She had barely raised the instrument again when she heard a door slam. She looked up to see Maru standing in front of the house, holding a pair of umbrellas. She spotted Abigail and opened one of them as she walked over. “Did you see where Sebastian went? I thought he was coming right back in after he finished his smoke break,” she said, wrinkling her nose and holding up the still-folded umbrella. “If he went into town, he forgot this.”

Abigail refrained from rolling her eyes, though the effort was almost painful. “He didn’t forget,” she said. “He never carries one.”

“He’s going to make himself sick,” the younger woman fretted.

This time Abigail didn’t bother to restrain her exasperation. “You work for a doctor, Maru. You know rain doesn’t cause colds.”

“No, but getting chilled can weaken the immune system, which leads to a greater risk of illness,” she retorted.

“It’s never bothered Sebastian. He does this every time it rains, and he’s one of the healthiest people in the valley.” Physically, at any rate. Even Sam was worried about the way their friend had been pulling away from them, and “Sam” and “worry” went together like peanut butter and ketchup.

“But—”

“If you chase after him with that umbrella, it’s going to wind up in the nearest trash can.”

Sebastian’s stepsister sighed. “You’re probably right.”

There was no “probably” about it, but she held her tongue.

As the silence between them began to stretch awkwardly, Maru started to turn away, then hesitated. “Oh, hey, Abigail?”

“Yeah?”

“Sebastian mentioned you collect quartz. I had some interesting-looking pieces left over after doing some refining for a project of mine, and I was wondering if you’d like this?” She held out a piece of cloudy crystal with a shape that echoed that of the mountain range behind them.

Abigail had skipped breakfast so she could slip out of the house before her parents could decide she looked bored and needed some extra chores, and she hoped the sudden rumbling of her stomach wasn’t audible over the rain. “That is pretty cool.” Maru dropped it into her hand, and she turned it over a few times before stashing it in her pocket. “Thanks.”

She had expected Maru to go back inside, her unexpected gift delivered, but instead she lingered under the branches. “So… have you met the new farmers yet?”

“Two out of three,” Abigail said. “I haven’t run into the one that actually owns the place, though my parents have.”

“Same here—well, Mom was there to greet her when they all arrived, and then she spent a few days doing construction on the farm. I don’t think Dad has met Trisha. It sounds like she’s about as social as Sebastian. Her friends are nice, though.”

“Yeah. Neel was at the saloon last night, and even Seb warmed up to him a bit.” Maru’s eyes widened, and Abigail recounted the newcomer’s sashimi misadventure. “So in the grand scheme of things, raw fish makes a way better present for your stepbrother than an umbrella he’ll never use.”

Maru’s head tilted. “So, if Trisha’s like Sebastian, and Neel’s as outgoing as Sam… does that make Brandy their Abigail?”

The comparison drew a startled laugh from her. “Oh, I wish. She’s so cool! But I think she’s more like a girl-Sam. She’s the one who’s been running around introducing herself to everyone. Neel’s friendly enough, but when I first got to the saloon he was more interested his phone than anything else, so maybe he’s more like me.”

“But she dyes her hair even brighter than yours,” Maru said, “and I saw her poking around the mines yesterday.”

Abigail’s eyes widened. “Really? Did she say anything to you about it?”

Maru shook her head. “I was out getting some soil samples for Dad when I saw her go in, but I haven’t had a chance to talk to her since then.” She chewed on her lip for a moment, then added, “I did see Marlon coming out of there a few minutes later, though. And Mom mentioned she and Dad saw her leaving the clinic yesterday afternoon when they were on their way to the saloon. Mom didn’t know about the mines, so she assumed Brandy was just making an appointment for her physical or something. And maybe she was—I’m sure Mom would have said if she looked like she was injured.” She gave the guild cabin an uneasy glance.

“I don’t think Marlon would hurt her,” Abigail said. “I am surprised he didn’t chase her out, though. He and Gil act like it’s their Yoba-given duty to keep everyone away from there.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen them there a couple of times, when I was looking for minerals. Just in the upper cavern! They don’t get snippy unless you start getting near the actual mine shaft, or the broken-down elevator.”

“Yeah, Sebastian’s mentioned he goes in there, sometimes, when he’s tired of people getting on his case about smoking in public.”

Maru grimaced. “I really wish he’d quit. The rain might be debatable, but that’s definitely not good for him.” She glanced sidelong at Abigail. “And yeah, I know better than to say anything about it to him. I wish Dad would figure that out.”

Abigail sometimes wondered if her friend had picked up that particular habit in an attempt to make himself repulsive enough to keep people away, but that was hardly something she was going to say to his stepsister. Sebastian’s relationship with his family was rocky enough without her butting in, however good her intentions. She looked down at the flute in her hands.

Maru followed her glance. “Oh! I’m interrupting, aren’t I? Sorry, I’ll let you get back to your music.” She returned to her house.

As Abigail tried to find her way back into the tune of the mountain, she wondered what all that had been about. Maru being worried about Sebastian wasn’t that weird, but it felt like she’d been looking for an excuse to extend the conversation. She must have decided that getting to know her stepbrother’s friends might give her some insight into him. Abigail wished her luck; she felt like she knew her oldest friend a little less every day.

The weight in her pocket was distracting, and finally she couldn’t take it any longer. She tucked her flute under one arm and pulled out the crystal. The shape really was interesting, and Maru was the sort of person who’d be hurt if she ever saw Abigail’s “collection” and didn’t find her own gift among it, but she was hungry.

She was also, she realized, being watched. She turned her head and saw old Linus sitting just inside his tent. He raised a hand and nodded shyly. He didn’t talk much to the villagers, and Sebastian said that when his mother had offered to build him a little cabin of his own, he had declined, saying he liked living so close to nature. But when she played her flute by the lake, he was usually there, too, listening from a distance.

She smiled and waved back at him, the quartz still clutched in her hand. She doubted anyone would believe him if he said he’d seen her eating rocks, but she wasn’t going to take the chance. She slipped the crystal back into her pocket and resigned herself to letting her stomach provide a bass line to her tune as she raised the flute back to her lips and once again sought the music in the rain.

Chapter Text

Neel assembled his fishing rod but cast the line without baiting the hook; he didn’t want to be distracted by catching anything, despite Willy’s challenge. He placed his phone, now sealed in a plastic baggie, in his lap where he could see it without it being obvious to anyone who might happen to pass by. He was overdue for a haircut, but his hair wasn’t quite long enough to hide the earbud completely, so he rehearsed a quick explanation that he was listening to music. He settled into his role—just a guy fishing from the dock, nothing interesting to see here, folks—and lowered his gaze to the phone’s screen.

Brandy’s hand rose to knock on the door of the tower, but it swung open before she made contact with the wood. “Ah… Come in.” The man’s voice was distant, but Neel could just make out the words. He thought Brandy and Trisha exchanged a glance, based on how the camera shifted, but then Brandy entered the building, turning slowly to give him a view of the whole space.

The room looked… exactly like what one would expect a “wizard’s” home to look like. Vapor rose from a large black pot set over what he hoped was either a gas range in the floor or a very convincing theatrical “fire.” On the other side of the room, several crystal balls sat on a table, and behind that a circular diagram had been drawn on a section of the floor that had stone tiles instead of wood planks. The flames beneath the cauldron and the candles around the diagram were the only sources of light. In the middle of the room…

The man that stepped forward to greet his visitors wore a flowing black robe with gold embroidery, which fit the role, but someone needed to have a word with the costuming department, because “mystical cowboy hat” was a peculiar choice.

“I am Rasmodius… Seeker of the arcane truths. Mediary between physical and ethereal. Master of the seven elementals. Keeper of the sacred cha—” Even in the dim and unsteady light, Neel could make out the change in the man’s expression, and he suspected he knew exactly what sort of impatient looks Trisha and Brandy must be giving him. “You get the point,” he said. He took a few steps closer, his gaze going somewhere past Brandy. “And you… Trisha Curtis. The one whose arrival I have long foreseen.”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Brandy muttered.

Rasmodius gave her a considering glance. “You are an unexpected complication,” he said. “I would have preferred Miss Curtis come alone, but I cannot fault your caution. Here, I’d like to show you something.” He turned toward the diagram on the floor. “Behold!” Light flashed at his fingertips, and an image appeared in the center of the circle: a creature that looked like a large green apple with twigs for arms and legs and a stem coming out of the top of its head. “You’ve seen one before, haven’t you?” he asked as it bounced slowly in place.

Neel’s eyes narrowed as he stared at his phone screen. He could think of several ways to rig a special effect like that, but it had certainly looked magical. Someone is really pulling out all the stops for this.

“That’s what I saw in the community center!” Neel could hear the relief in Trisha’s voice; even if this was a prank—or worse—it confirmed that she wasn’t having hallucinations.

The man nodded. “They call themselves the ‘Junimos’… Mysterious spirits, these ones… For some reason, they refuse to speak with me.” He waved his hand again and the “Junimo” disappeared. “I’m not sure why they’ve moved into the community center, but you have no reason to fear them.”

“Are they related to the things I saw in the mine?” Brandy said. “Because if so I’m going to have to disagree about the ‘no reason to fear them’ part.”

The “wizard’s” gaze sharpened as he turned toward Brandy. “You have ventured into the old mine? That place is guarded against intruders.”

She snorted. “So go complain to that asshole Marlon. He shoved a rusty old sword into my hands and all but dared me to go down there.”

The man’s eyebrows rose. “Did he? Well, he is apt at recognizing the potential of a warrior. If he judged you worthy of such a trial, I shall not second-guess him. To answer your query, however, there is no connection I have been able to determine between the Junimo and the slimes and sludges that infest the mines, despite some superficial similarities in their appearances. The former are spirit beings, though they are capable of interacting with the material realm to a limited extent, while the latter are bound to the material world.”

“These slimes—” Brandy began, but Rasmodius held up a hand.

“If you would know more of the corrupted things that lurk in the mines, you should ask Marlon,” he said. “It is Miss Curtis and her encounters that I would address today. Did the Junimo attempt any sort of communication with you?”

“When I first went into the building with Mayor Lewis, all they did was bounce around behind his back and disappear whenever he turned toward them,” Trisha said. “When I went back later, alone, I found another… Junimo, you called it? Anyway, it was a different color than the one I saw with the mayor, and it disappeared like the other when I got near, but it left a scroll behind. It didn’t look like it had been on the floor for very long, because the edges of it were still a shiny gold, and there wasn’t any dust on its surface. I couldn’t read it, though; the writing was hard to focus on and didn’t look like any alphabet I’ve seen before.”

“Hmm, a golden scroll written in an unknown language? Most interesting.” He took a few more steps toward the camera, which moved as though Brandy had backed up in response. “Stay here. I’m going to see for myself. I’ll return shortly.” He raised a hand and closed his eyes—

And vanished.

“What the fuck!” Brandy spun to face Trisha. “Did he just—”

“Check the floor for a trap door,” the other woman said, but she sounded uncertain. “I’ll look for mirrors around the room—if he wasn’t actually standing there in the first place…”

Neel had to look away from his phone screen after a few minutes; the way the camera jerked around as Brandy searched the room was making him dizzy. Or perhaps that was the way the air around him had turned dense, pulsing oddly—

He bit back an exclamation as the space in front of the tower’s door wavered like a heat mirage, and the man his friends had been speaking with moments before appeared. In the bright sunlight, Neel could see that his hair was a deep purple, darker than Abigail’s but a similar hue. Rasmodius staggered and braced himself against the stone wall for a moment before straightening and walking back inside.

Neel stared after him, then turned back to his phone as he heard Brandy gasp. “Where did you—”

“I found the note,” he said without preamble. “The language is obscure, but I was able to decipher it: ‘We, the Junimo, are happy to aid you. In return, we ask for gifts of the valley. If you are one with the forest then you will see the true nature of this scroll.’” He moved over to the iron pot and stared into it, ignoring both Trisha and Brandy as they tried to ask about his disappearing act. “Hmm. ‘One with the forest’… what do they mean?” He took a deep breath, and his head jerked up. “Ah-hah! Come here!” he said, beckoning to Trisha. “My cauldron is bubbling with ingredients from the forest. Baby fern, moss grub, caramel-top toadstool… Can you smell it?” The camera angle didn’t let Neel see Trisha’s expression, but from the way she recoiled, it was not a pleasant odor. Rasmodius picked up a wooden mug and dipped it in the pot. “Here. Drink up. Let the essence of the forest permeate your body.”

Trisha turned around, and Neel could see an echo of his own fury flare in her eyes.

Chapter Text

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Trisha snarled as the man’s words sank in. “Come on, Brandy, I got enough of this crap in high school to last a lifetime.” She stalked toward the door.

“Wait!” the man said as she reached for the door handle. “If I have given some offense, I—”

She spun back toward him. “‘If’? Did you think this would be funny? Or original? Like I haven’t heard every possible ‘plant-person’ joke a hundred times before?”

“I—you—what?” His pompous arrogance had been replaced by confusion; either he was as good an actor as Neel or he truly didn’t understand why this would piss her off. Some of her classmates had been that way, expecting her to join in the “fun.”

“I am so incredibly done with people who think dryad syndrome is a joke,” she snapped. “So you can take your ‘essence of the forest’ and shove it up your ass!”

He held up the hand not clutching the mug of reeking green goo in a placating gesture. “Miss Curtis, I am afraid you have lost me. Dryads, I have heard of, though my studies lead me to believe they are myth, rather than numbering among the true forest elementals. But this syndrome you speak of—”

“Oh, so you just figured this ‘forest magic’ crap was a good prank to play on the green girl?”

“Green?”

“Uh, Trish, in this light, you’re kind of… not,” Brandy interjected. “He really might not know, if no one told him.”

Trisha held out her arm. She was so used to her own appearance that she hadn’t noticed the way the red-orange firelight washed the other colors out of her skin. She took a deep breath and tried to rein in her anger. “Let’s assume I believe you—and I’m not saying I do. If you really didn’t know about my condition, why are you so focused on me for this ‘one with the forest’ business, and not, say, Brandy here.”

The man rubbed his hand over his beard. “In part, due to the fact that the Junimo appeared to you, when they have remained unseen to any but myself for decades, and that they have refused all my attempts to communicate yet left you with the scroll you discovered. But primarily, because you are Patrick’s granddaughter, and he was the last sage of the forest.”

She stared at him. “You knew my grandfather? What do you mean, a ‘sage’? He practically raised me—I think I’d know if he was some sort of wizard!”

Rasmodius sighed. “He wasn’t, any longer, by the time you were born.”

“What, did he run out of forest muck?” Brandy said, jerking her chin toward the cauldron. “Trisha, you’re not buying this, are you?”

Of course not hovered behind her lips, but she restrained the instinctive denial. Grandpa Pat had always chided her, as a child, for jumping to conclusions before gathering all the data—and from the moment she had learned of her unexpected inheritance, it had been clear there was a lot she hadn’t known about him. Even her mother had only known about the farm as a probably-a-tax-shelter hobby project, and had been surprised to learn he hadn’t sold it long ago, let alone that he had left it to her daughter. “Go on,” she told the wizard.

“Trisha!”

She looked at Brandy and shrugged. “Well, why didn’t Grandpa tell me about the farm?” She looked at Rasmodius.

He swept a hand at the cauldron. “This is only a catalyst—a single dose for a lifetime effect, if you will. But magic has a cost. Many years ago, the sages of the valley cast a powerful spell, and the price was our magic itself. Among us, only I retain any trace of power, and that is only a tiny fraction of what I once held.”

“Why you?” Brandy asked. “And if you actually teleported out of the room a little while ago, I’m calling bullshit on the ‘tiny fraction’ bit.”

His response was a quiet huff of laughter. “I realize it looks impressive, but it does not take much in the way of strength, only skill. As to why… because the nature of my gifts meant that my role was to connect the pieces of the others’ work, and to keep watch over the results, once it was complete. I would gladly give over that burden, but thus far I have found no one who might take on that mantle.”

“So you want me to drink that gunk and take your place?” Trisha said.

He shook his head. “No, Miss Curtis, it is your grandfather’s role you would assume, if I am correct about your having the potential. His was the forest; I was the sage of the sky.” He held out the cup. “I can assure you, while the ingredients I named might sound intimidating, they are all perfectly harmless. If you have no power to awaken, the worst you will endure is a bit of an unpleasant taste.”

“And puking,” Trisha said. “Do you have a bucket handy? There’s definitely going to be puking.”

Brandy grabbed her arm and pulled her aside. “You’re not seriously considering this?” she hissed.

“I know it seems absurd, but I don’t think he’s lying,” Trisha said, her voice just as low.

Brandy stared at her for a long moment. “And you keep calling me reckless.” She turned to Rasmodius. “Hey, wizard dude. What happens if I drink that stuff?”

His eyebrows rose. “Unless you also carry the potential of a forest sage—and I very much doubt that you do—nothing. Aside from the unpleasant taste I mentioned.”

“What, because I’m not woodsy enough?”

“Because my brother would not have given you that sword if you had any trace of magic about you,” he said acerbically.

“Marlon’s your brother? Does being a mysterious asshole run in the family?”

“Perhaps,” he said, with a twitch of facial hair that might have been a smile. “Do you intend to play food tester for your friend, then?”

“Apparently yes,” she said, and took the cup. She sipped cautiously and made a face as she handed it back to him. “Blech. You have a gift for understatement. That shit is nasty.”

It occurred to Trisha that Neel was still outside, watching all of this, and was vaguely surprised that he hadn’t already stormed up to the door. But nothing happened as time passed.

“Are you satisfied?” Rasmodius asked after several minutes had gone by in tense silence.

“I’m pretty sure it’s not drugged or poisoned,” Brandy said.

Trisha sighed. “Fine. About that bucket?”

“It’s harmless—”

“I have dryad syndrome,” she said. “My skin is green because I have chlorophyll in my cells. I get almost all my calories from photosynthesis, and the only ‘food’ I’ve been able to keep down since I hit adolescence are these special nutrient blends cooked up in a lab, with all the nonessential organics stripped out. If I drink that stuff, it’s going to come back up.”

“I must admit, I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

Trisha sighed and rattled off the short-form explanation she’d polished through all too many repetitions. “It’s an incredibly rare condition involving multiple recessive genes. It’s so rare it’s not part of any of the standard screens, and neither of my parents had any idea they were carriers. Can we get this over with?”

Rasmodius started to hand her the cup, then paused. “If I hadn’t been so invested in creating a suitable atmosphere, some of these misunderstandings might have been avoided,” he said, and touched something hidden between the stones of the wall.

In the sudden, bright light of modern bulbs in well-concealed fixtures, the wizard’s hair and beard were revealed to be dark purple, not the brown she had assumed, and he looked at Trisha with no little shock. “I can see why you were so irritated with me earlier.” He opened a door on one side of the room. “Here is the bathroom, if you need it.”

“Ugh. Okay, give me that.” She held her breath as she brought the cup to her lips, but the stench still found its way up her nostrils. She took a sip.

It wasn’t vile. It tasted like—

—the scent of spring flowers, thick and sweet as honey—

—warm summer rain soaking into the parched ground—

—the crunch of autumn leaves beneath her feet—

—the frozen peace of a forest blanketed in snow—

“…going on? What did you do to…”

A voice drifted to her ears, from some great distance, and she tried to reassure her friend, but she couldn’t feel her lips move, couldn’t feel her body…

“…means it’s working…”

No, it was more that she couldn’t pick out the part of her awareness that was her voice, couldn’t tell where she ended and the forest surrounding her began. Branches creaked as she tried again to speak, swaying against the fitful wind that whispered around her—

Her expanding senses brushed against something not of the woods, bitter chill and searing heat… spears of light and shards of darkness burst through her awareness like pins in a soap bubble, and all at once she was simply herself, kneeling on a hardwood floor with Brandy’s arms supporting her shoulders. “Trisha! Come on, sweetie, talk to me.”

“I’m all right—” Her stomach picked that moment to inform her that ferns and toadstools and whatever the Void else had been in that cup were not on the medically approved list, and she clapped a hand to her mouth. “I take that back,” she managed to choke out, and then Brandy was half-carrying her to the bathroom.

When her nausea settled—which fortunately didn’t take long, since she hadn’t drunk much of the concoction and it had been long enough since her breakfast shake that her stomach had been empty—she rinsed her face and studied her reflection in the mirror. There were no physical changes she could see, but she felt… different, in a way she couldn’t find words for.

“Are you sure you’re all right, Trisha?” Brandy asked, handing her the towel.

She wasn’t asking only about the state of her stomach. “I think so. That was… weird.”

“Neel has got to be absolutely freaking out,” her friend said more quietly, and Trisha winced.

“Yeah. Let’s wrap this up and go calm him down.” Or they could tell Rasmodius about the camera feed… no, best to keep that in reserve.

The modern lighting should have dispelled the uncanny aura of the room they returned to, but somehow the juxtaposition only made the trappings of magic seem less like a movie set. The wizard—and she was convinced, now, that he was just that—waved them over to the table near the door. “I must apologize for the distress I’ve put you through, Miss Curtis,” he began as they sat down.

“At this point, I think you can call me Trisha,” she said.

He inclined his head, but didn’t volunteer what the “M” he had signed his letter with stood for. “Unfortunately, the only method I know of to awaken a potential magician’s abilities if they have not done so on their own requires ingesting such a potion, aligned to the individual’s affinities.”

Trisha frowned. “You keep using different terms—wizard, sage, now magician. Do they all mean the same thing?”

He offered her a wry smile. “There’s hardly a consensus of terminology, since those of us with this power are rare, and tend to keep to our own little corners of the world. I use ‘magician’ to indicate anyone with magical ability, however slight or untrained, while a ‘wizard’ is someone who has studied their power and learned to control it. ‘Sage,’ however… The word has many meanings, the most common being a person of great wisdom, but it has a definition unique to Stardew Valley. That, however, is something that can wait until another day. I would suggest you take some time to explore the valley, see how your awareness of it may have changed, before returning to hear more.”

Brandy raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you teach her how to control these new abilities she supposedly has?”

“There will be time enough for lessons later. Were her affinity for fire rather than wood, I might be concerned, but contrary to what popular media may like to portray, most magic does not simply ‘burst out.’ To study it is to learn to draw upon it, not to restrain it.” He turned back to Trisha. “When you feel up to it, return to the community center and see if your perception of the Juminos’ scroll has changed. I would be most curious to know what its ‘true nature’ is.”

“All right. I suppose we ought to be going, then.” Neel was waiting to chew the two of them out, Trisha thought; best to face the music right away. She wasn’t sure if it was her imagination or the “changed awareness” Rasmodius had spoken of, but the rain-dimmed sunlight on her face as she stepped out of the tower felt even more welcome than usual.

Chapter Text

Sebastian loved the rain.

In part, that was because he made it all the way from the mountain lake to the pier on the beach without encountering anyone else. The town square was deserted; he hadn’t even caught a glimpse of any neighbors darting between buildings or glaring through their windows at the clouds blanketing the sky in soft grey. This kind of weather washed away everyone in town, sweeping them back into their homes where they wouldn’t bother him.

Light shone through windows on the beach, from both the boathouse-turned-rental-cabin and the fish shop on the pier itself, but Elliott had finally gotten enough of a clue to leave him alone, and Willy would be inside, minding the sales counter. Even if the fisherman did emerge with his pole, the only time he ever approached Sebastian was to borrow his lighter if the rain was too heavy to light his pipe with the matches he carried. Since the fisherman was one of the few people who never hassled Sebastian about his own smoking, he didn’t mind the minor intrusion.

For now, Sebastian had the pier to himself. He stopped at the end of the weathered boards, closed his eyes, and turned his face upward. The chill and darkness of Winter didn’t bother him much, even one as harsh as the previous one had been, but this, he had missed; snowflakes stung his cheeks rather than caressing his skin the way raindrops did. The absence of people on days like this was nice, but mostly, he loved the rain for its own sake, and welcomed its return in Spring.

Each year, though, it seemed a little harder to let the rain wash away the tension that knotted his shoulders. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and gazed across the ocean. Why had he told Abigail he was going to watch the storm? He knew the patterns in the clouds as well as—or better than—the forecasters on TV, and there was nothing from here to the horizon but the same gentle rain showers.

And why had her mention of the jam session later that day felt like a blast of desert air, hot and choking? Playing music was almost as good as rain for pushing his worries aside for a while. Perhaps, he thought, flexing his fingers as if they hovered over a keyboard, it was some weird sort of envy, that she could have both at once, even if she preferred to stay huddled under a tree instead. Should he pick up a second instrument, something more portable—and water-resistant—than a piano or synthesizer?

He shook his head in irritation, feeling the damp strands of his hair settle more firmly against his right cheek. It wasn’t that, or at least, it wasn’t just that. He couldn’t see a storm approaching, and the forecast didn’t call for one, but the air held the same sense of anticipation. Or maybe that was all in his head, bracing for whatever it was that had him on edge today. He shut his eyes and tried to concentrate on the sound of the waves, the feel of the water running down his face and hair and soaking into his clothes. It was Spring, and the rain had returned, and that should make everything better, shouldn’t it?

Light flared red against his closed eyelids, and he opened them, startled. Had that been lightning, after all? But there was no answering rumble of thunder, and aside from a faint green afterimage, quickly blinked away, the sky remained a flat, soft grey. He thought the flash had come from his right, but though he scanned the shoreline and the edge of the forest where it met the beach, there was no sign of whatever it had been.

The mystery left him feeling even more unsettled, and it was almost a relief when his phone buzzed in his back pocket to announce it was time to meet up with Sam and Abigail. He ran his hands through his hair, dislodging some of the rainwater soaking it. As he watched the heavier drops splash against the dock, one possible explanation for his earlier discomfort surfaced: Sam’s mother was going to be pissed at him for dripping across her living room floor, and though she and his mom weren’t close friends, it was bound to come up the next time they had their aerobics class together. Sebastian sighed. Maybe he should start carrying an umbrella, even if he only used it to give his clothes a chance to dry on his way back from the beach.

He wrung out his sweatshirt as best he could without taking it off as he turned and walked back up the pier. As he lowered his hands from squeezing the hood, a hint of blue in the corner of his vision caught his attention. His footsteps slowed as he turned toward the tide pools, cut off from the rest of the beach since the bridge had washed out last summer. No one was in a hurry to fix it, and the most likely reason for that was the hazy figure standing where the bluff rose up from the sand—the old mariner, as everyone called him. Demetrius dismissed the phenomenon as some sort of optical illusion, but Sebastian had also noticed that his stepfather avoided the beach on rainy days, rather than try to figure out the cause of that “mirage” like a proper scientist.

Sebastian had no idea how anyone could look across the beach and have any doubts that the ghost was real, for all that the apparition wavered with the rainfall, as if he only existed in the raindrops themselves. He supposed it could be some sort of video projection, but town legends said the old mariner had been at his post for a lot longer than that sort of technology had existed—and at least half of every married couple in town had more direct proof, having exchanged gold for a gift only a ghost in the rain could provide. Sebastian was used to the spirit’s presence, since he avoided the beach when the sun was out, but he felt a fresh chill now, because the old mariner wasn’t staring out across the sea, as he usually did.

Sebastian ducked his head and hurried across the sand toward the bridge to town, his sneakers squelching in the sand. He pulled up the sodden hood of his sweatshirt as his footsteps pounded on the stone bridge, to hide his expression from anyone else who happened by.

Had the old mariner been watching for the same flash of light he thought he had seen? That must be it. Why else would would the ghost have been looking his way? Sebastian had no business with him, and he doubted he ever would.

Chapter Text

The water dripping through the holes in the roof tapped out an unsteady rhythm as Trisha eased open the door of the community center. “Wow, this place is a mess,” Brandy muttered as she swept her phone’s flashlight around the main room.

“I did warn you,” Trisha said, extracting her own phone from her purse and setting it to record video. Beside her, Neel scanned the room in silence. She had expected him to flip out at the two of them when they returned from Rasmodius’s tower, but though he had informed them curtly that they were both reckless beyond belief, the sudden appearance of another person on the path toward town had caused him to fall silent on the subject, even after they’d concluded their brief chat with Marnie. “I doubt anyone’s going to wander in on us here,” she said, locking the door. “Want to finish chewing us out now, Neel?”

He shrugged, his face unreadable. “Kind of pointless, since you already drank the wizard’s weird potion.” He shifted the bunch of daffodils he’d collected along the path into his other hand and added his phone’s light to the room.

“What did it look like from your end?” Brandy asked.

“I’m… inclined to give all this weird crap the benefit of the doubt, at least,” he said.

Trisha studied him in the shifting glow of their flashlights. “I would have expected you to be a lot more skeptical about this.” Not to mention yelling, or at least muttering angrily, at her and Brandy, rather than calmly stopping to gather wildflowers as they walked to the community center, no matter how good a price Marnie said Pierre would give them for quality specimens.

Another shrug. “The guy appeared out of nowhere in front of the tower before going back in, and I don’t think that was a show for my sake, since it didn’t sound like he had any idea I was there.” A flicker of some emotion crossed his face, gone before she could even begin to guess at it. “Anyway, are these ‘Junimo’ things still hanging around? And where’s the scroll you were going on about?”

“I can’t see any of them right now,” Trisha said, looking around again. “But the scroll was in another room—follow me.” She led the way down the hall and peeked around the doorframe. “It’s back,” she whispered. “I think it’s the same one I saw in here earlier. It’s the same color, anyway.” It bounced in place as she watched, and she thought she heard the faintest trace of a sound from it, something like a giggle.

“Where?” Brandy eased past her in the hall, the angle of her arm under her poncho suggesting she wished she’d gone back to her cabin for the sword.

“Right there, on the other side of the scroll,” she said. “The bright orange ball.”

Brandy inhaled sharply. “Trish… I can see the scroll, but there’s nothing else but dirt in the room.” She, too, kept her voice low.

“Your wizard dude did say they hadn’t shown themselves to anyone but him before,” Neel added—at normal volume—as he joined them in the doorway. Trisha heard another faint squeak from the Junimo, and it bounced higher, disappearing into dust motes.

“Great, Neel, you scared it off,” she said.

“Sorry.”

Brandy was eyeing the scroll. “Is there anything else in the room we’re not seeing, Trisha? Or do you think it’s safe to go take a closer look at the scroll?”

Trisha double-checked that her phone was still recording and stepped into the room. She could check the video later to see if the Junimo showed up. “Nope, nothing else here.” She crouched down by the paper, which looked unchanged, still a mish-mash of wavering symbols, as the others joined her.

“Uh, wow, that is headache-inducing,” Neel said, looking away after a moment. “You’re sure that’s paper, and not a screen embedded in the floor? Writing’s not supposed to move.”

It certainly looked like paper to her, but she hadn’t thought to check, and she reached toward the edge. Her fingertips felt the texture of fancy paper, but the moment she touched the scroll it expanded to fill her vision, the dilapidated room replaced with an endless field of creamy white. Tendrils of gold began to appear, swirling from tiny points into intricate renderings of trees and flowers, until she stood in a gold-and-white forest.

Scattered on the ground around her were a few splashes of color, oddly solid against the backdrop of gold lines. The one in front of her was a lively green that whispered of new spring growth; it drew nearer as she looked at it, resolving into an empty sack of some sort, the fabric shimmering like a heat mirage as it opened out into a flat circle on the ground. New images began to appear, a quartet of plants she recognized from her library research on what grew wild in the region.

Distantly, she could hear her friends calling her name, and was aware that she still crouched in the middle of a dirt-encrusted room in an abandoned building. “Horseradish, daffodil, leek, and dandelion,” she murmured, and the sound of her own voice snapped her out of whatever trance she had fallen into, the bright forest vanishing into darkness. As her eyes readjusted, something moved in front of her face, close enough that she flinched back before realizing it had been Brandy’s hand, waving.

“Are you back with us?” the other woman asked. “You checked out for a bit, just like with the potion. You’re not going to barf again, are you?”

“No, I’m fine. That was… really strange, though.” There had been something oddly familiar about the “forest” she had seen, but it wasn’t at all like what she had experienced in the wizard’s tower.

“You named a bunch of plants,” Neel said. “What was that about?”

“Rasmodius said the Junimos would help me in exchange for ‘gifts of the valley,’” she said. “I think that was part of what they want.”

“Help you with what, though?” Brandy asked. “Hey, daffodils were on that list, weren’t they?” She turned to Neel.

He looked down at the flowers he still held in one hand. “I’d like to know the answer to Brandy’s question, first. What are they going to help with? There are a lot of stories about bargains with spirits that don’t end well.”

“I don’t think they mean any harm,” Trisha said. “But… I’m not sure what they’re offering, either. Could I have one of those? Maybe giving them a little part of what they want might reveal more.”

He separated out one of the flowers and handed it over with a reluctance that probably had nothing to do with the price they could get for it at Pierre’s.

She laid it on top of the scroll, but there was no change to either the flower or the wavering characters on the paper. “Maybe we have to leave it behind?” Neel suggested. “You said we scared off the Junimo you saw in here at first, right?”

Trisha frowned; it was a logical suggestion, but it didn’t sound right to her. She thought back to what she had “seen” in the scroll. “Let me try something else.” She laid her fingertips across the stem of the daffodil so that she was touching both it and the scroll. Nothing happened at first, but as she tried to build a mental image of what she had seen before, the gold decorations on the edge of the scroll shimmered and expanded once more into a translucent vision of the peculiar forest. She could still feel the stem of the flower in her hand, and she looked down to see herself holding it. She focused on the green fabric until it unfolded again, then set the daffodil atop its picture.

“Holy shit!” Startled by Brandy’s exclamation, Trisha jerked her hand back from the scroll. The gold-and-white trees coiled in on themselves, shrunk into tiny points of light before vanishing—

—as did the flower on the floor in front of her.

The three of them stared at the spot it had occupied, and she wasn’t sure how much time had passed when Neel cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “So… did you get any idea what they wanted with it? Or what they’re giving you in return?”

Brandy stared at him, and Trisha suspected her own expression was just as astonished. “How can you be so calm about this?” Trisha demanded.

A soundless breath of laughter escaped him. “I’ve just got more practice faking it,” he said, and for a moment she saw her own bewilderment reflected in his eyes. “It was weird enough to see the guy in the tower doing what looked like magic, but now one of my best friends is, too?”

“I didn’t—” But she had, hadn’t she? Touching the scroll had dragged her into that uncanny forest the first time, but she had sought it out in order to “give” the daffodil to the Junimos. “Oh.” Belatedly, she remembered her phone, still clutched in her left hand. She stopped the video and backed it up. There was no sign of the creature she had seen when she first looked into the room, though the space it had occupied was clearly visible as her recorded voice tried to point out the orange blob to her friends. After that, it didn't show much besides the edge of her knee by the scroll and, a bit later, the flower, as she crouched on the floor—until the moment the daffodil dissolved into points of light that were drawn into the paper on the ground. “Huh. And that’s all you two saw?”

“I take it there was more going on?” Brandy asked. Trisha described the forest as best she could, and the pink-haired woman shook her head. “You stared off into space for a while, and then the flower vanished.”

Trisha worried her lower lip between her teeth, staring down at her phone. “Well, at least that’s proof it’s not all in my head.”

“That’s for sure,” Brandy said. “But you still don’t know what you’re supposed to get out of all this?”

Trisha studied the scroll; the motion of the strange symbols was still bizarre, but it no longer gave her a headache. “I’m going to take one more look,” she said. “There were a few of those bags, and I only looked at the first one.”

It was easier, this time, to call the forest up out of the scroll, and to maintain her awareness of the real room even as it faded from her sight. Glancing at each of the fabric bundles was enough to bring it in front of her, unfolding to reveal more lists of items; most were wild plants that grew in different seasons, but the purple one held a request for more exotic fare, mushrooms and desert fruits and products derived from tree saps. She named each item aloud, describing the ones she wasn’t sure the names of—and hoped her friends would think to write or record them, since she hadn’t restarted the video on her phone and this was a lot of information to rely on Neel’s memory alone. The last bundle, a shimmering red, asked for an astonishing load of construction materials; it was going to be a pain to haul all of that up here, not to mention collecting it in the first place. “What in the world do you need all of this for?” she asked, gazing around at the deserted golden woodland.

The trees spun dizzily around her, the lines uncoiling and reshaping themselves. The white background faded, as well, and the gold lines danced across the walls of the musty room, forming furniture and other objects. “Oh! This was an arts and crafts room,” she said, looking around at the pots of paint and piles of other supplies. The bags with the lists hung along the walls, and she had a faint impression of a cavity behind the nearest, but before she could try to find out more, the gold lines spun around her again, this time forming into a dizzying image of a deep ravine—

She yanked herself out of the vision with an undignified yelp, because she had been high above the chasm and the bridge that spanned it, and despite knowing she was safely on the floor it had felt like she might tumble into it at any moment.

Brandy grabbed her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said, though her heart was still racing. “Just startled.” She described what she had seen.

“That sounds like the one up in the mountains,” Brandy said. “Except the bridge there is a wreck—I wouldn’t even trust the support pillars on the near side not to crumble under a hard rain.”

Trisha considered. “Maybe they can fix it? That might explain why they want all that wood and stone, when that’s so different from everything else they’re asking for.”

“Hmm. There didn’t look to be very much over there, just an old rock quarry and a couple of caves,” Brandy said.

“Could be something important in the caves,” Neel said.

“Or something dangerous. What if the bridge was taken down because of those snot monsters, or something worse?”

“Why don’t we go to the library and see if we can find out?” Trisha suggested. “Something as big as a bridge collapsing has to have been reported in the local newspaper. Then maybe we can look for the rest of the spring plants.” She thought that filling one of the bundles could have a reward of its own, though she had no idea what it might be, so she didn’t mention it to the others. The herbs and flowers were such a small request that the result—good or bad—couldn’t be that significant, and the nature of it might give her a hint about the rest.

They emerged from the community center to find that the rain had not let up, but a few of the villagers had decided to brave the weather. A red-haired woman bundled up in a bright yellow raincoat held a matching umbrella over her head as she supervised the a pair of children who were splashing enthusiastically through the puddles around the nearby playground equipment. She turned around, her eyes widening in surprise as she saw the three of them. “Oh, hello, Brandy! I didn’t expect to find anyone else out here.” She smiled shyly at the others. “These are your roommates?”

“Yup! Trisha, Neel, this is Penny. She’s the town teacher.”

The woman shook her head, her cheeks reddening. “Not really. I don’t have a degree or anything, but since Pelican Town’s not big enough for its own school, I’m tutoring Vincent and Jas. It’s homeschooling, basically, but I’m doing my best to make sure they’re prepared when they’re old enough to take the bus to the district middle school.” The little girl—Jas, Trisha assumed—left off whatever game she and Vincent had been playing and came up behind Penny, half-hiding behind her skirt. “Jas is very good at math and reading,” she said, smiling fondly at the child. “And Vincent… well, he has an active imagination. He’s so creative! Say hello, Jas—these are the new farmers your Aunt Marnie told you about.”

“Hi…” Jas whispered, then ducked her face behind her tutor.

“She’s a little shy,” Penny apologized. Her gaze fell on Trisha, who still had the key to the community center dangling from her hand. “What in the world were you doing in that old building, anyway? Isn’t it dangerous?”

“The mayor asked if we wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on the place,” she said, turning around to lock up behind her. “He was worried that rats or other pests might settle in and become a nuisance to the town.”

“Rats are cute,” a small voice piped; Jas was peeking out at them. “You didn’t hurt them, did you?”

To Trisha’s surprise, it was Neel who responded, crouching down so he was on eye level with the child. “Pet rats are really cute,” he agreed. “Wild ones can be mean, because they’re scared of humans. And since they don’t have owners to take them to the vet, they can get sick easily, and spread germs to people living around them. But there weren’t any rats in there at all, so you don’t need to worry.”

“…Okay,” Jas said. “Those are pretty flowers.”

Neel separated one from the bunch he still held. “Would you like one?”

A smile brightened her face. “I love presents! Thank you!” She clutched the daffodil to her chest.

“Ooh, can I have one?” The little boy ran up to them. “Please?” he added, when Penny cleared her throat.

“Sure.” Neel said, handing over another flower.

“You won’t be able to take that home with you, Vincent,” Penny said gently.

“Yeah, I know. They make my mom and brother sneeze,” he confided to the newcomers. “I’ll give it to you when it’s time to go, Miss Penny!”

“Aw, that’s sweet of you,” she said, but the child was already dashing off, dragging his playmate along with him. She smiled and shook her head. “They’re going to wind up using them as swords or magic wands or something like that—I doubt I’ll be taking home much more than a stem. They’re a handful, but it’s nice to make a difference in someone’s life.”

They chatted for a few more minutes before the tutor had to rush over to the fountain in the middle of the park to coax Vincent out of climbing on the rain-slick marble, and while Trisha had liked the woman, she couldn’t deny it was a relief to be on their way at last. “Do you want to drop those off at Pierre’s?” she asked, pointing at the remnants of the flowers Neel had gathered.

He held up the two remaining blooms. “At this point they’re probably better put to use as gifts,” he said. “Do you know which family Vincent belongs to? I don’t want to hand someone an allergen…”

“He’s Sam’s little brother,” Brandy told him. “Ooh, give me one of those!” She snagged a flower before Neel could object and strode across the town square. Trisha caught up with her in time to hear a pretty woman with thick glasses offer a bemused “Thanks?” for the unexpected present. “Hmm. Not sure Maru liked it,” Brandy said as they resumed their trek to the library.

“Well, it didn’t seem like she disliked it, either,” Trisha said, and then she squinted through the rain. There was someone on the bridge ahead of them. Was it—

Neel shoved the last daffodil into her hand as Brandy called, “Hi, Elliott!”

Chapter Text

Since moving into the cabin on the beach, Elliott had found the muffled crash of the waves on the shore to be the perfect white noise to help him shut out everything except his work. The incessant drumming of rain on the roof, in contrast, made concentration impossible. He tossed his pen down in irritation and leaned back in his chair, the faint creak of the old wooden slats all but drowned out by the cacophony overhead.

Clearly, he was not going to get any real work done today. He shoved away from the desk and stalked across the room to the mirror, checking that he was fit to be seen in public. He collected his raincoat and an umbrella, then gathered the last several days’ scribblings into his leather satchel. It took less focus to type up his handwritten pages, and though Pelican Town’s library didn’t have public computers, the librarian was usually willing to let him use the one behind his desk in exchange for also entering a stack or two of books from the library’s collection into the new catalog software, a task the other man found unbearably tedious.

With a final check of his reflection, he opened the door, then his umbrella, and stepped outside. There was a familiar dark form at the end of the pier—the carpenter’s reclusive son, staring out over the waves as he often did when it rained. Elliott had made the mistake of trying to talk to him, when he was too new to know better; the raven-haired young man had not appreciated the interruption of his waterlogged reverie, and it was unlikely that had changed.

Elliott's attempts to avoid the worst of the puddles forming on the beach, then the dirt-turned-mud path, on the way into town met with limited success. As he scraped some of the muck from the soles of his rain boots against the stones of the bridge leading to the library, he heard more footsteps squelching behind him, and turned. An oversized pink umbrella bobbed toward him, and beneath it were the three new farmers.

The pink-haired one waved. “Hey, Elliott!”

He wracked his memory; he had encountered her at the saloon a couple of days ago, and her name was some sort of alcohol, because the bartender had teased her about it… “Good afternoon, Brandy,” he ventured, bracing himself in case he was mistaken, but it seemed he was not. “It’s good to see you again,” he said, with a nod that included her companions. He hadn’t really met the man, only seen him in passing, and although he thought Willy had mentioned a name, he could be excused for not knowing it. It would be far more awkward if the other woman in the group realized he had forgotten hers.

The man stepped forward, extending his hand. “Hey, I don’t think we’ve actually had a chance to talk. I’m Neel, in case Willy didn’t tell you.”

“Ah, yes, you’re the one he proclaimed a natural at fishing,” Elliott said, shaking the proffered hand.

“He didn’t say that to me, but good to hear,” Neel said with a grin. “And I know you know Trisha—I think you’re one of the few people around here she has met.” He gently shoved the green-haired woman forward.

Trisha. He tried again to fix the name in his mind. Her cheeks flushed faintly red at her friend’s gentle teasing, a striking contrast to the greenish cast of the rest of her skin. “Hello again, Trisha. I do hope my mention of the tendency of small towns to gossip didn’t come across as warning you off our neighbors. People here really are quite welcoming.”

The smile she gave him called to mind the sun breaking through the clouds overhead. “Oh, no, nothing like that. I’ve just been so busy with the farm, I haven’t had much time to explore the area until today.” Her voice had lost the breathless quality he recalled from their first meeting. “Oh, that reminds me, we found these in the forest. Would you like one?”

He took the object she held out reflexively; the fingers that brushed against his held a pleasant warmth, despite the cool rain. Then he looked down, and nearly dropped the flower she had given him.

“Oh,” she said softly. “You… don’t like daffodils, I take it?”

He wasn’t sure what his expression looked like, but he tried to school it back to a smile, despite the way his skin crawled. “I’m not a huge fan of them, no,” he said, carefully, wishing he knew why the innocent blossom had evoked such a negative reaction. They grew wild all over the valley, and he had never given them a second glance. He tore his gaze from the yellow flower, courtesy battling against a very strong desire to chuck it over the side of the bridge, and was keenly aware of the near-strangers now staring at him. “The thought is much appreciated, however.”

“Oh, well, Pierre said he’d buy wildflowers, if they were in good condition,” Brandy said, stepping forward and taking the daffodil from his unresisting hand.

He quelled the urge to wipe his hand on his trousers, and nodded. “Yes, he stocks a wide variety of local products, including flowers,” he said. He hadn’t paid much attention to the general store’s floral department, such as it was, since learning the meaning ascribed to such purchases in Pelican Town. Perhaps if he had, he might not have been ambushed by this unexpected revulsion. He took a breath to try to steady himself. “I’m sure you have better things to do than listen to me ramble,” he said, “and I was on my way to the library.”

“What a coincidence, so are we,” Brandy said.

“Well, then.” Elliott tried to ignore the awkwardness as the four of them turned toward the building in question.

“Are you doing research for your book?” asked Trisha.

“Not today.” He explained the arrangement he had with the librarian, which blessedly took them all the way to the door with no further social gaffs on his part. Once inside, the farmers headed straight for the antiquated card catalog with a friendly wave to the man behind the desk, so he presumed they were no strangers to the establishment.

Gunther—his name was prominently displayed on a plaque that hung on the front desk—smiled as Elliott approached. “Good afternoon! Are you here for research or typing?”

“The latter. If it’s a convenient time, that is.”

“Type away, my friend; I’ll grab the next stack of books for you to tackle once you’re finished.” The older man stretched as he stood, his attitude suggesting he would have been glad for any excuse to get away from the desk for a while—a feeling Elliott could empathize with.

As Gunther crossed the room to check in with his other patrons, Elliott adjusted the chair to suit his greater height and fished the copy-holder out of the drawer where it was kept. He took his draft pages from his satchel and arranged them on the stand, then logged into the cloud-based word processor he used, but hesitated before bringing up the manuscript file. With another glance at the four people conversing on the far side of the library, he opened a chat program in a second browser tab. The contacts list was short, and the only name he was interested in was (as usual) marked as online.

Hi, Esther.

Hey, big bro. What’s wrong?

What makes you think something is the matter?

You’re messaging me?

He winced, but couldn’t deny that he wasn’t the best about keeping in touch. Before he could apologize, she sent another message.

Just giving you crap, Ell. Seriously, though, what’s up?

Gee, love you, too, sis.

Do you know why I don’t like daffodils?

Probably because your hospital room was full of them.

In season, cheap—they’re what most of your classmates could afford, I guess.

Why?

I fear I may have inadvertently offended one of my new neighbors.

I doubt she expected me to react to such a gift as if she had handed me a dead mouse.

Neither did I, for that matter.

The “someone is typing” indicator appeared and disappeared at the bottom of the window several times, and he frowned as he waited for his sister to make up her mind. Finally:

You know, you could just explain.

I have had more than enough pity for a lifetime, thanks.

Suit yourself.

He could almost hear her sigh. They exchanged a few more pleasantries before he excused himself to get back to his real purpose in coming to the library. As usual, typing up the handwritten pages let him see the words in a different light, and he paused occasionally to fix awkward wording, and in one case to completely rewrite a full page of dialogue to better foreshadow what he had since determined would happen in the next scene.

It was more difficult to concentrate than usual, for he kept finding his gaze drawn to the farmers, who were now taking turns with the ancient microfiche reader in the far corner. It was not their conversation that caught his attention, for they kept their voices low enough that he couldn’t hear them at all, but their presence—or more specifically, the presence of the green-haired young woman…

…whose name he had forgotten yet again. Damn.

Chapter Text

As much as she adored Trisha and Neel, Brandy thought as she silenced the alarm on her phone, it was really nice not to be tripping over them first thing in the morning. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and surveyed the interior of her cabin. Now that they had finally gotten their belongings delivered, it was starting to look more lived in. Like Trisha’s cottage, there wasn’t a kitchen, but the bathroom sink was big enough to wash dishes, and the kitchen cart she had brought with her from Zuzu would do for storing those, for now. The walls might be styled to look like an old-fashioned log cabin, but the electricity and plumbing were completely modern, and Robin had assured her she wouldn’t blow a circuit by running the microwave that sat on top of the cart.

She stuck a mug of water in, set the timer on a short delay, and dashed through a quick shower. As she stirred her instant coffee, she decided the next “luxury” she needed to pick up was a minifridge of her own. She wasn’t a caffeine snob like Neel, but she had gotten used to fresh cream over the past week and a half, and the powdered stuff was a letdown.

It was enough of one that after she had polished off a bowl of oatmeal and her first cup of coffee, she poured the second batch of hot water and brown crystals into a travel mug instead and headed next door. Neel had apparently had the same idea, and if it bothered Trisha that the three of them were once again crowded into her house, she gave no sign of it.

“Good morning, Brandy!” the other woman said, glancing up from her tablet as Brandy dug through the fridge to find the cream. “The second batch of parsnips should be ready to harvest today, and some of the new crops will be up by the end of the week. If we get as good a harvest from these as we did with the first batch, and reinvest the earnings into more seeds, we’ll be on track to make at least a small profit by the end of Spring.”

“Awesome. So is that all that’s on the agenda for today—harvest, town run, replanting?”

“I’m almost finished clearing out the area to the west of the old greenhouse,” Neel said. “There are a couple of big boulders that we’ll have to work around, but it’ll give us some more space for crops. Figured I’d tackle the last few trees there today.”

“Did you have a chance to talk to Robin about getting rid of the wreckage?” Brandy asked. The downside to finally moving into their own cabins was that it was harder to keep an eye on him. She had thought it was a good thing, at first, how quickly he had taken to the physical labor of their new careers, especially considering how different it was from his old job. Now she was starting to worry that this was just a new version of old habits—drowning his feelings in work so he wouldn’t have to face them. She and Trisha had been pushing him into being the “public” face of the farm as much as possible; when interacting with people other than the two of them, he could be relied upon to at least pretend he still remembered how to human. When they were alone, however…

He shrugged, his expression the same mask of calm she had worked so hard to crack back in the city. “Yes, but she said the foundation is still solid—it would be hard to break it up enough to do anything useful with the ground. We’d be better off rebuilding, only she couldn’t give a quote, because it’s mostly glass and metal, outside her line of work. We could maybe turn it into a shed or something, but the dimensions aren’t the same as any of her standard plans, so it’d be more expensive than building from scratch.”

“Then I doubt we’ll be able to afford to do anything with it for a while,” Trisha said. “We do at least need to clean up the broken glass, and I’d prefer to take down the few panes that aren’t smashed, or they’ll wind up that way eventually.”

“We could store them in that little cave behind it,” Brandy suggested. “Do you want to tackle that today, too? We could ask about borrowing a ladder from Robin.”

Trisha tapped her stylus against her chin. “I think it can wait a little; Lewis did say it had been like that for ages. What I’d really like to do today is see if we can finish the first of the Junimos’ lists.”

That won a flicker of unease in Neel’s eyes, mirroring Brandy’s own. Their research at the library hadn’t turned up much of use—the only mention of “Junimo” they could find was in a children’s storybook, though the drawings there had been enough like what the wizard had shown them that the spirits were obviously part of local legend. They hadn’t made out any better with the bridge; the index for the newspaper archives had been among the objects Gunther’s predecessor had swiped, though why, she couldn’t imagine. They had tried spot-checking a few of the microfiche cartridges, but luck wasn’t with them, and they didn’t have time to skim through that many decades of tiny print.

Instead, they had agreed to focus on the farm for a while, though all of them had kept an eye out for the items that Trisha had named. Dandelions were easy enough to come by, and Neel had found a few horseradish roots growing near one of his favorite fishing spots, but leeks were proving hard to find, and Trisha had tried—and failed—to substitute the wild onions she had turned up in the forest.

“Well, Granny Mullner says leeks tend to grow up in the mountains,” Brandy said at last. “I’ve been meaning to take another stroll around the area, anyway.”

“You’re not thinking of going back into the mine, are you?” Trisha asked.

“Hey, we agreed to leave that alone until we knew more about what’s going on with the Junimos,” she said, holding up her hands. “But since we’re pretty sure the bridge you saw in the scroll is the one on the far side of the lake, I’d like to get a closer look at it.” And maybe see if she could catch Marlon out in the open and pry some answers out of him, but best if her friends didn’t know about that angle.

“You might ask Robin, since she lives so close to it,” Neel said. “I didn’t think of it while I was talking to her about the greenhouse.”

“Good idea,” Brandy said, then tossed back the last of her coffee. “Why don’t you come with me? You’ve gotten to know her better than I have.”

“Those trees aren’t going to chop themselves down,” he countered.

“Let’s deal with the field chores and then decide what to do from there,” Trisha interrupted. “I could use a hand with the town run, too.”

When they opened the door, however, they found the crops would have to wait. “Hello, you three!” Marnie was just coming up Trisha’s front steps. “I was out walking in the forest and I met this little one.” A gray-and-white head popped out of one of the large patch pockets on the front of her dress and let out a squeaky meow. “Is it yours? I found it sitting outside the southern entrance to your farm.”

“No, our apartment in the city didn’t allow pets,” Trisha said.

“Oh? It must be a stray, then. Poor little thing.” The cat’s front paws appeared over the green fabric, and a moment later it hopped down onto the porch, rubbing its cheek, then its whole body, along the nearest post. “I think it likes this place! Hey, um… Don’t you think this farm could use a good cat?”

“I don’t know,” Trisha said. “That’s a big responsibility, and not really something we’d figured into our budgeting.”

Marnie’s face fell. “I guess that’s a good point. I’d take it myself, but the ranch is full up on barn cats, just now. Such a friendly little thing—I’m guessing it was someone’s pet, and they dumped it out in the countryside once it wasn’t a cute little kitten anymore.”

The creature was still more kitten than cat, to Brandy’s eye, though the leggy, half-grown sort. More importantly—

“That’s awful, but I really don’t think—” Trisha broke off as her friend elbowed her in the side. “Ow, Brandy,” she muttered. What—”

Brandy jerked her head toward the side of the porch, where the kitten was now wrestling with Neel’s hand. While the rest of them had been talking, he had crouched down beside the animal, which was purring audibly. She was pretty sure the small smile that had formed on her friend’s face wasn’t something he was putting on for Marnie’s benefit, and she remembered how he had acted with the kids by the community center the other day. Apparently small, helpless creatures—not something he’d had much exposure to in the city—were a weakness in his armor. She would have preferred a dog, herself, but the kitten was cute.

Trisha sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I guess we have a cat now,” she murmured.

Marnie beamed at them. “Oh, that’s wonderful. You should be able to get everything you need to look after it at Pierre’s. I can help you pick things out, if you like?”

“We need to take care of the farm chores, first,” Trisha said. “We could meet you in town later?” They agreed on ten as a good time, and Marnie headed back toward her ranch.

“So, what are we naming it?” Brandy asked, watching Neel attempt to extract the kitten’s claws from his sleeve.

“Saber,” he said. “Or Needle, maybe. She’s—ow!—very sharp.” He winced as she latched on to his other hand, but he was still smiling.

“Are you sure it’s a girl? Marnie didn’t seem to know.”

Neel finally freed himself from the kitten, which promptly ran over and started trying to climb Brandy’s cargo pants. The fabric was thick enough that she could barely feel the pinpricks of tiny claws. “Well, it’s not obviously male, anyway. I guess we’d want to take her to a vet for a check-up, and they’d be able to confirm.”

“That’s another unanticipated expense,” Trisha muttered. Brandy shot her a look, but Neel beat her to a response.

“Shit, I didn’t think about that. I can cover it,” he said.

Trisha met Brandy’s eyes and sighed. “No, I think we can treat this as a farm cost. Just smelling a predator around the place ought to scare off some of the mice and birds that would go after the crops, even if she’s not much of a hunter. So… Needle, is it?”

And if having the cat around helped pull Neel out of his year-plus funk, it was worth just about any price, Brandy thought. “I think we should call her Gin,” she said, leaning back against the wall. “Or what about Martini, if it turns out to be a boy?”

Neel rolled his eyes. “Briar,” he countered. “Works for any gender.”

“Parsnips,” Trisha said. They both looked at her. “Not as a name. We have parsnips to harvest. Figure out what to call the cat while we do that, or after, but if we’re buying cat supplies we need something to sell to Pierre.”

As they sorted through the root vegetables—none, sadly, as funny as the first crop—Brandy thought over her concerns, and how to approach them. The perfect moment presented itself while Trisha was inside washing up and Neel was trailing a length of parsnip greens for the still-nameless kitten to chase. Both women were in agreement in their worry about their friend, but if it looked like they were ganging up on him, he would just pull farther into his shell. “So, have you been keeping up with your therapy appointments?”

The cat pounced on the suddenly still leaves. “I’ve only missed the one,” he said, not meeting her eyes.

“Mm-hm. So you’ll be keeping this week’s, right?”

“Dr. Ramirez wants video chat, not just a phone call, because ‘body language is too important.’ Can’t get enough of a signal out here for that.” He countered her next question before she could ask it. “And there’s too much to do here to waste a whole day taking the bus to Zuzu and back for a fifty-minute session.”

“Right. So clearly the next priority is figuring out a way to get decent internet to the cabins,” Brandy said, dusting her hands off as she stood.

“I’m fine, Brandy—”

“No, you’re not. Do you think Trish and I haven’t noticed you shutting back down on us?”

The kitten, bored with Neel’s inattention, wandered off to stalk a passing butterfly. “I… hadn’t realized I was. Sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it, hon. My offer still stands, you know.”

His recoil was too exaggerated not to be a deliberate act, but at least he was trying, now. “Again, no. You said there’s nowhere around here for that sort of thing, anyway.”

“Hey, if Trisha’s little forest critters really can repair that bridge, the ravine is totally deep enough for bungee jumping.”

“Brandy…”

“We had an agreement.” She scooped up the kitten as it darted past and deposited it in his lap. “At least call their office about the situation here. They might prefer video, but voice-only’s got to be better than nothing while we get the connection issues sorted.”

She wasn’t sure if his pained expression was due to her insistence or the kitten chewing on his thumb, but after a moment, he nodded. “Fine. I’ll call this afternoon.” He extracted his hand from the cat’s grip and sucked on a bleeding scratch. “How about we name her Dagger?”

“Sure.” She had her win; he could have his.

Chapter Text

For a creature that weighed maybe four pounds, Trisha thought, the newest addition to Lockwood Farm was remarkably difficult to manage.

“Okay, Dagger, be a good kitty while we’re gone,” Neel said, using his foot to gently shove the kitten back from the doorway. “It’s only for a little while—ow!” He snatched up a scrap of paper, balled it up, and tossed it into the shower stall. The kitten pounced, and he yanked Trisha’s bathroom door shut, then inspected his ankle where the cat had swiped at him in a bid for freedom. It didn’t look like it had broken the skin this time.

“You probably should have gotten the first aid kit out of there before you closed the door,” Trisha said. He’d washed his hands thoroughly before attempting to corral the cat, but it still looked like he’d lost a fight with a briar patch.

“They’re just scratches, and they’ve already stopped bleeding. I’ll pick up an extra tube of ointment at the clinic while we’re in town, to be on the safe side.”

“It’s a vicious little thing,” she said. At least there wasn’t much the cat could damage in the bathroom, since her towels were still drying by the fireplace and her toiletries were safely shut away in the cabinet. The tile floor would be easy enough to clean up if it made a more biological mess.

“She was just playing rough. I guess whoever dumped her didn’t bother trying to train her out of it.”

“Or they tried and failed.”

“Trisha…”

She picked up one of the baskets of parsnips and headed for the front door. “Look, Neel, if you’re okay with playing pincushion, that’s your call. I’m just not really a pet person, I guess.” Her roommates might tease her about having named her spider plant, but she didn’t have to worry about Arachne doing anything more energetic than producing the occasional “baby” to be repotted and given away—or sold? She should ask Pierre if he would be interested in carrying live plants, should the occasion arise.

“When we get back I’ll move her to my place. It was just too good an opportunity to miss when she wandered in here on her own.”

“It’s fine, Neel.” Brandy was right, she decided; this wasn’t just his “I’m perfectly all right, look at me acting normal” bullshit. Hopefully whatever sympathetic resonance Marnie’s spiel had awakened in him would last. “Let’s get to town—it’s quarter to ten.”

Marnie’s shopping basket was full by the time they finally reached Pierre’s, but if the older woman was irritated by their delay it didn’t show. “How is the kitten settling in?”

“Well, Dagger didn’t much care for being shut into the bathroom while we came here,” Neel said with an easy grin, “but until we’re sure she understands where ‘home’ is, we didn’t want to leave her outside by herself.”

“Dagger? That’s an interesting name for a cat,” Marnie said.

“She’s very pointy,” Neel said, holding up his hand.

“Oh, goodness, it looks like you’ll want to add some nail trimmers to the list I made for you,” she said, and started fishing through the pockets of her dress. “Here you go! I’ve underlined the ones that you really ought to have right away—the rest can wait, if you need to.”

Trisha skimmed over the list; there were an annoying number of “essentials,” but hopefully today's harvest would cover everything and still let them restock on seeds. She had been hoping to buy a peach tree sapling in time to recoup the cost before the end of Summer, but now it looked like an apple tree for Fall would be a more realistic investment.

They had just finished selling their parsnips for a very satisfactory price when Pierre suddenly looked past them, his expression darkening. A man Trisha hadn’t met stood in the doorway, wearing a black suit, a red bowtie, and a smug expression. He cleared his throat ostentatiously, drawing every eye in the shop to him, and then said, “Come and get it, folks! Coupons for fifty percent off your purchase at JojaMart!” He held up a bundle of Joja-blue papers. “Well? Any takers? Valid today only!”

Jodi was the first to approach, thanking the man with a smile before scooting out the door, her nearly-empty shopping basket abandoned in the aisle. Robin’s husband Demetrius followed suit, though he took the time to put the bottle of maple syrup he’d been holding back on the shelf.

“Sorry,” a heavy-set man with a mustache murmured as he set his overflowing basket on the counter. “Business at the saloon has been pretty tight lately, and…” He shrugged and took one of the blue slips from the man in black.

Marnie looked down at her own shopping, winced, and claimed a coupon for herself. “It’s just the once, Pierre,” she said quietly at his look of betrayal as she set her basket beside Gus’s. “I’m still paying off repairs from the storms this winter.” She smiled weakly at Trisha and Neel. “You let me know if you have any questions about your new critter, all right?”

Trisha was still gaping at how quickly the newcomer had emptied the store when Neel stepped away from the counter and approached him. “Neel!” she hissed under her breath, but he had already taken one of the coupons with a cheery-sounding “Thanks!” before returning to her. “What? It’s just in case there’s something we need today that Pierre doesn’t have in stock,” he said more quietly.

The shopkeeper’s face had gone pale. “But… I can’t match those prices! I’d be selling at a loss!”

The man approached the counter. “It must be so difficult for you… To lose your loyal customers like that.” He was nowhere near as good as Neel at projecting charm; his smile came off as oily, and Trisha took a step back. “But can you blame them? Joja Corporation is clearly the superior choice. Soon the whole town will realize that.” He turned to her and held up the coupons. “And one for you?” His eyes widened a little as he took in her appearance.

“No, thank you,” she said, wondering if he could hear the chill in her voice as clearly as she did. Whether he was that perceptive or not, he didn’t repeat his offer, but strode out of the store as if he hadn’t just violated half a dozen Joja Corporation SOPs. “Who was that?”

“Leonard Morris,” Pierre said, his face screwing up as if the name tasted foul. “Manager of the JojaMart across the river.”

“He’s got an… interesting approach to business,” Neel murmured, and Trisha glanced at him sharply as he tucked the coupon into his back pocket. He knew as well as she did that unless things had changed a lot in the two weeks since they’d left Joja, this Morris character had chucked the official guidelines right out the window, and judging by Pierre’s reaction—appalled but not surprised—he had done so quite some time ago.

Then Neel put his best cheerful mask and said, “So, about that shopping list?”

Chapter Text

“Abby, dear?”

Abigail swallowed a curse as she shoved her practice sword under the bed yet again. I have got to find a better place to work out, she thought as she turned toward the opening door. “Yeah, Mom?”

“Would you mind helping in the shop for a little bit?”

She did mind, but her mother sounded upset, which wasn’t unusual these days—and not with her, which was. “I guess I can put off my homework a little longer. Did a shipment come in early?”

“There’s some restocking and tidying up to do, I’m afraid. That bas—Ahem. Mr. Morris came in with some coupons for a one-day sale, and quite a few people took him up on the offer.”

If he wasn’t trying to drive her family out of business, Abigail could almost admire that bastard’s ability to push her mother so close to swearing, given all the grief she gave her daughter about watching her language. “Ugh. Sure, I’ll be right out.”

Her mother looked at her, the line between her eyebrows deepening, and Abigail had a moment of panic; had she left something out in the open that she shouldn’t have? She glanced down; there was no sign of the sword peeking out from under her comforter. “Would you mind tidying yourself up a little, first? Morris didn’t manage to hook everyone, thank goodness, and the new farmers are still in the shop.”

A glance in her mirror as her mother left made it clear what she had meant. Abigail looked as if she had just fallen out of bed—her hair was a disaster, and she was wearing leggings and a t-shirt that had seen better days. Fortunately, she hadn’t gotten very far into her practice, so she wasn’t a sweaty mess. She changed into a nicer shirt and tossed on a short skirt that covered the leggings’ worst faded spots, then dragged a brush through her hair. She hesitated a moment longer, then reached for her makeup. There was no telling if she would get another chance to work with the sword today, so she might as well put her best face forward.

As she left her room, she gave one last glance at the bed, and the secret hidden under it. From what Maru had said, Marlon had let Brandy go into the old mine unsupervised. Maybe she’d be willing to share what she’d seen.

To her disappointment, however, the pink-haired woman wasn’t one of the farmers her mother had mentioned. “Hey, Abigail,” Neel said as she entered the shop. He deposited the bag he had just taken off the shelf in the plastic bin at his feet. Beside him—

Holy shit, she really is green! Abigail had thought her mom was exaggerating, that the new farmer had merely looked ill, but the woman tapping away at an expensive-looking tablet by the counter had skin a pale but distinctly mossy hue. Her hair was so dark it was almost black, but the highlights picked out by the fluorescent bulbs overhead were green, as well, all the way to the roots.

The woman—Trisha—looked up from her screen, and Abigail hoped her surprise wasn’t obvious. Then she glanced down at the things they were buying, and had a whole new shock. “Oh my goodness! I didn’t know you had a cat!” The plastic bin was a litter box, and it was full of bags of cat food—no, kitten food!—and other pet care supplies.

“We do now,” Neel said.

“Marnie conned us into taking in a stray,” Trisha said dryly. “Hopefully it’ll be as rough on the mice as it has been on Neel.”

He held up a hand covered in tiny scratches. “We’ve named her Dagger,” he said, “because she’s small and stabby.”

Abigail giggled at the image. “Is Brandy keeping her out of trouble at the farm, then?”

“No, she had some errands to run up on the mountain,” Neel said. “Dagger’s currently locked in Trisha’s bathroom.”

On the mountain? Between the mystery of the mine, Brandy’s invitation to explore the grounds, and a kitten, she was going to have to find time to visit Lockwood Farm soon. “I kind of wish I had a cat. Unfortunately, my dad is allergic to pretty much everything. My guinea pig, David, is pretty cuddly, though.”

“I’m hoping Dagger grows into that,” Neel said. “Right now her idea of snuggling involves claws and teeth. I can’t blame her for being a bit skittish, though—Marnie thought she’d been abandoned by the road, so who knows how long she’s been on her own?”

What had that odd look Trisha shot her friend been about? It was gone too quickly for Abigail to even guess at its meaning. Her father chose that moment to clear his throat meaningfully at her, however, and she turned to the counter. “Well, I hope she settles in well. I’d better get this stuff back on the shelves.” She grabbed the first basket and winced, recognizing the contents as Gus’s usual purchase. The Stardrop was one of their biggest customers, and if they lost him to JojaMart…

She wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but when Neel and Trisha began a low-voiced conversation on the far side of the shelving unit where she was returning bottles of herb-infused oil to the shelf, her ears caught a too-familiar word and she couldn’t help her curiosity.

“…know as well as I do that’s not how JojaMarts are supposed to operate,” Trisha was saying.

“‘Supposed to’ doesn’t mean much,” he said. “Local managers get creative with the rules all the time, and if they can pull off the numbers, no one at HQ cares.”

“This is beyond ‘creative.’ And I can’t believe you took one of those coupons! Let me see that.”

“Hey!”

Abigail pressed her hand over her mouth to keep from giggling. From her limited view through the holes in the pegboard, it had looked like Trisha was grabbing his ass, but he must have had the coupon in his back pocket, because she heard a crinkle of paper. “Only good with a Joja membership, though. You weren’t thinking of buying in, were you? You know what Lewis said…”

Her eyes narrowed at that; where did the mayor fit into this? He hadn’t exactly been welcoming toward Joja Corp, but her father often grumbled about how he could have done a lot more to keep them out, too.

“My ‘Jojaversary’ was in the middle of winter, so my employee account’s valid until almost the end of the year. It wouldn’t count as a new membership.”

“I still don’t like it. I should report this—”

“What, as a customer complaint? They’ll send you a hundred-G gift card and round-file the report with all the others.”

“I still have connections there,” Trisha said.

“I’m not saying don’t do it! Just don’t expect much. Pretty sure your old analysis group would conclude that most customer complaints can be handled with a cheap gift card, so that’s the standard response.”

“I have to try, at least. That guy was beyond shady…”

They moved toward the end the aisle at that point, and Abigail dug her earbuds out of her pocket and jammed them into her ears before they came past her, to hide that she’d been listening in. Neel was probably right that nothing would come of it, but she could hope that maybe someone in charge really would take Trisha’s complaint seriously. Most of what JojaMart sold was cheap crap, so without Morris’s underhanded “sales” her father’s shop still had a chance of survival.

She bit her lip and carried the basket to the next aisle. She really needed to stop dawdling over her online courses and pick a major. If she could find a decent job—even if it meant leaving the valley for a while, which was the last thing she wanted to do—maybe she could help her parents keep the store afloat a little longer.

Swordwork would have to wait until after homework.

Chapter Text

The mines were more of a temptation than Brandy liked to admit, so she left the sword Marlon had foisted on her at home. Since she didn’t entirely trust the monsters to stay in the mines, however, she also clipped her biggest utility knife onto her belt. If Robin thought that was odd, she didn’t say anything about it when Brandy bumped into her leaving her shop.

“Hi, Brandy! Did you have a nice walk up the mountain?”

“I can see why you like it up here so much,” she replied.

“Are you getting settled in at your cabin? You’re not here because of some sort of problem with it, are you?” Her eyes turned worried. “The shop’s closed today—I go to an aerobics class on Tuesdays if I don’t have a construction project—but if you need something quick, I can take care of it now.”

“No, the cabin’s great! I actually have a local-history question I'm hoping you can help with.”

“Well, I'll sure try! What did you want to know?”

“I'm curious how long that old bridge on the far side of the lake has been down for, and why it hadn’t been repaired?”

Robin made a face. “I don’t know all the details—I left the valley when I married my first husband, and I hadn’t moved back here yet when it happened. There was an earthquake about eighty years ago, and it did a lot of damage around town. Wrecked the heating system in the old community center, for one. The place had gone to crap due to frozen pipes bursting by the time everything thawed out in the Spring, so they never bothered doing more than patching up the outside to keep kids from screwing around in there. There wasn’t much point in rushing to fix the bridge, either—the mines and quarry both shut down long before that. So the early repair efforts focused on homes and businesses, and after that…” She shrugged. “By now what’s left of that old bridge is so rotted I don’t think rebuilding is possible. I certainly wouldn’t trust the rock around it, as many freeze-thaw cycles as it’s been through. Why do you ask?”

She could hardly bring up the Junimos’ offer to Trisha. “Just curious… Most of Pelican Town is so picture-perfect, the bits that aren’t kind of stand out.”

Robin sighed. “I wish Lewis would let me do something about the community center, at least. If it’s held up this long, despite all the neglect, it must still have pretty good bones under the mess. I spent a lot of time there as a kid—it’s where I first started working with wood, in fact, doing little carving projects in the craft room. I’d hate to see it go to Joja, but even that would be better than watching it slowly rot away.” She flushed. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean—you all worked for them, right?”

Brandy laughed. “Not me. I’ve never been one for the nine-to-five routine. I think Trisha’s with you on Joja’s scheme here—she keeps muttering about what a ridiculous place it would be to put a warehouse—but Neel’s still got a streak of ‘join us and thrive!’ loyalty going.”

“What did you do, before the farm?”

“Oh, this and that. The last few years, mostly working security at nightclubs, a few other one-off gigs in the same general field.” She ran a hand through her hair. “Apparently people who’ve been tossed out on their ass by the ‘bubblegum bouncer’ are too embarrassed to try to pull the same shit again any time soon.”

Robin grinned, one woman familiar with people underestimating her strength to another. “I can see that. Oh! Demetrius, sweetie, could you add maple syrup to the grocery list? Sebastian used the last of it this morning.”

Brandy turned to see Robin’s husband emerging from the house, a canvas bag rolled up under one arm. “Sure, dear. Any other last-minute additions?” He nodded a greeting to Brandy.

“No, I think that’s it. If you see Caroline, tell her I’m on my way!” As he headed down the path, Robin returned her attention to Brandy. “So, any other local quirks or stories I can fill you in on?”

Thinking of local quirks brought another idea to mind. “Not as such, but is your daughter around? I had a tech question for her, if she’s not too busy.”

“I’m sure she’d be happy to help,” Robin said. “I don’t think she’s left for her job at the clinic, so she should be in her room. It’s down the hall and to the left.”

“Thanks!” Brandy went inside and followed Robin’s directions. She grinned at the sight of the room in question; the door was decorated with stickers ranging from test tubes and beakers to cartoon robots and rockets, arranged around a large, triangular sign reading “WARNING! SCIENCE IN PROGRESS!” The door was a few inches ajar, but she tapped on it anyway.

“Hello? Who’s there?” Maru opened the door the rest of the way. “Oh! Hi, Brandy! Come on in. Watch your step.”

Brandy looked around the room with interest. The walls were covered with star maps rather than more conventional wallpaper, and tacked over that were graphs and blueprints she couldn’t begin to figure out. The floor was littered with metal bits and bobs, presumably taken off of, or to be added to, whatever the machine in the middle of the room was; in its current state, it could be anything from a vacuum cleaner to a space probe. The computer in the corner, on the other hand, was ancient; she hadn’t seen floppy disks since a middle school field trip to a technology museum.

Maru followed her gaze and laughed. “Yeah, it’s a dinosaur, but some of the things I’m working on have really limited processor capacity—if it can’t run on Pepper Rex over there, I need to simplify more. I’ve got a laptop I do everything else on, although I’m not sure where it’s gotten buried at the moment. So, what brings you up the mountain?”

“Oh, poking around exploring, mostly, but while I was chatting with your mom I realized you might have some ideas about a small problem we’re having out at the farm. Looking at all this, though, I’m starting to think it’d be like asking Robin for advice on making popsicle-stick crafts.”

“Mom would get a kick out of that, actually,” Maru said, pushing her glasses up higher on her nose. “Just because something seems simple on the surface doesn’t mean it can’t be interesting. What’s up?”

“It’s more like what’s down—web access on the farm. Trisha’s run the numbers on getting cable or fiber out to the property, and it’ll be out of reach for a while. Satellite’s even worse, since we want decent upload, not just download. Cellular would be ideal—we’ve all got good data plans—but that doesn’t help if there’s no signal. We can make calls on our phones—barely—but data speed is so slow it might as well not exist.”

Maru tapped the small wrench she was holding against her thigh. “Getting new cell towers out here is a major event, and I don’t think any of the carriers are planning to expand in the near future. What you need is some sort of signal boosters, so you could get a strong enough connection to the local towers.” She picked her way across the debris field and cleared off the top of a low bookcase, pulling a spiral notebook from one of the shelves. “You mentioned wanting good upload speeds—what sort of functionality do you need it for?” She fished a pencil out of the pocket of her overalls.

“The most immediate concern is supporting video chat,” Brandy said.

“Oh? Keeping in touch with friends in the city?”

Neel would be pissed if she spouted off about his private life, so she went with a side benefit. “My fathers like to have regular visual proof that I’m still in one piece,” she said.

“Worriers, huh?”

Brandy chuckled. “Not nearly as bad as they could be. Considering that my hobbies include stuff like bungee jumping and skydiving, they’re actually pretty laid back about it. But if we go voice-and-text-only for too long, they do start to wonder if I’m trying to cover up a reason they should be concerned.”

Maru’s eyes had gone wide. “Wow. Pelican Town must seem really boring, by comparison. Is that why you were poking around in the mines the other day?”

She shrugged uneasily, her left hand rising to her right forearm. The chemical burn from the slime-thing had healed quickly, but she didn’t want anyone else stumbling into that sort of danger. “I’ve always wanted to try spelunking—there aren’t any real cave systems near the city—but I’m not reckless enough to wander around an abandoned mine without some reassurance it’s not about to collapse. I just stuck my head in for a minute to see what was there, and I ran into this weird guy dressed like he was about to start filming a sword-and-sorcery movie.”

“Marlon,” Maru said at once. “He and Gil live in that cabin next to the mines—they call themselves the ‘Adventurer’s Guild,’ but all they seem to do is chase off anyone who looks like they might be thinking of adventuring farther into the mine than the entryway.” She hesitated, then added, “But I saw him come out after you went in, the other day—unless Gil was there, too?”

“I haven’t met this ‘Gil,’ yet,” Brandy said. “Marlon didn’t try to run me off, though—the jerk practically dared me to go down the ladder, then walked off.” She chose not to mention the sword.

“It’s kind of a letdown, isn’t it?” Maru said, and Brandy stared at her. “I snuck down there once, a few years ago. Maybe the elevator could take you deeper, if it wasn’t broken, but the ladder just leads to that tiny cavern. I did find a little bit of copper and quartz, which was really useful for the project I was working on at the time, but I don’t see what the fuss is about.”

Clearly the younger woman hadn’t noticed the boulder covering the next shaft, Brandy thought, and decided she ought to leave that part out, too. Trisha and Neel were living proof that smart people didn't always make smart decisions. “Maybe they figured that telling me to scram would just make me more curious. The elevator’s probably dangerous, though, so I guess that’s why they don’t want people messing around.”

Maru shrugged and went back to scribbling something in her notebook. “I’d think sealing it off permanently would be a better tactic than all this ‘guild’ business. Or getting some mining engineers in to restore it to operation, if there’s still anything down there worth digging out—I’d love to have a local source for metals, because shipping everything in through Clint gets expensive. Anyway, I’ve got a design for a basic cell signal booster I was kicking around before they built a tower in the mountains—I should be able to put something together that would let you reassure your folks you’re all right.”

“Wow, I was just hoping you could recommend something we could afford to buy,” Brandy said. “I don’t want to pull you away from your work—”

Maru grinned at her. “Anything you could get off the shelf is either going to be cheap crap that’ll fail after a season or two, or almost as expensive as running fiber. And don’t worry about me—I’ve been banging away on my big projects for years, so it’s good to take a break and do other stuff every now and then. That’s what I like about helping my dad in his lab and working with Harvey at the clinic. I never know what apparently unconnected data might spark a new theory.” She tore a page out of her notebook. “I would need some supplies, though, in order to build the boosters. Don’t treat this a shopping list—it’s just an off-the-cuff estimate, but it should let you get a ballpark for costs. Clint gives new customers a discount, so it would be cheaper for you to buy the metals I’ll need than for me to get them and then bill you.”

She looked over the list; it wasn’t that extensive. “And how much for the actual assembly?” Maru looked blank. “I wouldn’t ask you to work for free!”

“Oh, goodness, I hadn’t even thought about charging you for it,” Maru said, adjusting her glasses again. “I mean, the new tower went up before I had a chance to build my design, so it’d be worth it to me to finally be able to test out the concept. Call it a favor for a friend.”

Brandy made a face. “I’ve spent too much of my life working freelance and odd jobs to feel comfortable trading on friendship like that.” Do one favor, and suddenly every friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend expected the same. It might be less of an issue in a small town—certainly neither Neel or Trisha were going to go down that route!—but it still didn’t sit right.

“Well… maybe you could owe me a favor? Or buy me dinner?”

The smile that accompanied that offer was almost enough to prompt Brandy in to blurting out that she’d do that for its own sake. Her gaze fell on one of the books Maru had shoved aside to make room for the notebook: Advanced Neural Networks. Instead, she said, “How about you work up an estimate of what you’d charge a complete stranger, and we can negotiate from there?” Unless Maru needed something heavy lifted, she wasn’t sure what sort of favor she could offer in exchange, and cute as the other woman was, there was probably not a whole lot they’d have to talk about during a dinner date at the saloon.

“All right, I’ll go through my notes and see what I can come up with,” Maru said. “Could I get your email—or your number, if a text would be easier to receive?” Maru wasn’t being as subtle as she seemed to think she was, but Brandy smiled and gave her both, before excusing herself to get back to her errands.

Once outside, she took advantage of the better cell signal to look up some additional information on leeks, including several photos of the plant while it was still growing in the ground. Since the images looked like oversized blades of grass, that wasn’t as helpful as she had hoped. I guess I’m inspecting every clump of taller-than-average grass on the mountain, she thought, approaching the edge of the lake. She would work her way around the water, get some better photos of the bridge, and then keep searching the rest of the area. As she passed the side trail that led past the weird statue carved into the cliff wall, though, unexpected motion drew her eye toward it. A white-haired man dressed in a shirt that was more patch than original froze as she turned toward him. “Hello?” she said.

“A stranger?” He spoke softly, as if to himself, then offered her a tentative smile. “Hello.”

“I don’t think we’ve met,” she said. “I’m Brandy.”

“Don’t mind me,” he said. “I just live out here alone.” His gaze shifted up the hill for a moment, then he studied his feet.

She had noticed the tent pitched up there, but hadn’t thought to ask Robin about it. She supposed even small towns had their share of the same problems as the city, but she had to admit that homelessness wasn’t something she’d expected to be an issue. “You camp out year round? That must get kind of uncomfortable.”

His head jerked up at that. “The crisp air of the wilderness is all I care to know. I live out here by choice.” His body language screamed defensiveness, and she held up her hands placatingly.

“It’s a beautiful place, that’s for sure,” she said. “I was just thinking that it must get pretty cold in the winter.”

He shrugged. “You can learn to survive in the wild. I have. I think we all have a hidden urge to return to nature. It’s just a little scary to make the leap.”

Having made more than a few leaps that others would find terrifying, Brandy couldn’t help a grin. “I guess it would be. What’s your name, if you don’t mind my asking?”

He considered her a moment longer. “Linus. I’m—well, folks around here call me a wild man, sometimes, since I live mostly on what I can forage from the land around me.”

That might explain why she hadn’t found much in the way of edible plants up here. “I wonder… perhaps you could help me?” He eyed her warily. “A friend asked if I could find a leek, but… well, I’ve lived in the city my whole life. I’ve seen pictures, but I’m not really sure what to look for.” Belatedly, she realized she was essentially asking to raid his pantry. “I only need one or two—”

“Nature is generous this time of year, young one,” Linus said with a smile. “There’s a patch of them on the far side of the lake, near the fallen bridge. Help yourself, but leave more than you take so they’ll regrow.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll do that.” She started to leave, then glanced across the lake. If Linus had been here a while… “Do you know the folks who live in the cabin up there?” she asked. “I met one of them, Marlon, the other day, but I haven’t really had a chance to get to know them.”

The man’s face closed down at that. “I don’t know you well enough to trust you. Sorry.” He hunched his shoulders and hurried away, up the hill toward the tent.

She watched him duck inside, then headed for the spot he had described, wondering what about the Adventurers’ Guild had spooked him so badly. And to think I was worried I’d be bored!

Chapter Text

Neel winced as he shifted his grip on the litter box full of supplies; kittens required a lot more support equipment than he had expected.

“This is not going in my cabin,” Trisha warned him, switching the plastic jug of kitty litter from one hand to the other. “If I’d realized we would need so much heavy stuff, I would have brought the wheelbarrow.”

“You’d’ve had trouble even lifting that a week ago,” Neel pointed out. “Just let me know if you need to take a break.”

She brightened a little at that. “We’re almost there. I can make it.” She squared her shoulders as they passed the bus stop.

Neel paused to rest the plastic tray on a fencepost while he adjusted his grip on it again; it hadn’t been designed for use as a carry-all, and the edges were pressing against some of the scratches on his hands. He wasn’t about to ask for a longer rest if Trisha was determined to push on, though, and he didn’t think she was putting on a show for his sake; she really was much healthier already than she had been over the winter. He quickened his steps to catch up and nearly ran into her. “Trisha? What—” He stepped to the side and saw the screen lying on the grass beneath the bathroom window, and Dagger sitting on Trisha’s front porch, a mouse dangling by its tail from her mouth.

Neel glanced at his friend, whose expression suggested she was regretting getting out of bed this morning. “At least we know she’s a good mouser?” he said. Dagger meowed at them, dropping the mouse, which promptly scurried away. “…Or not.”

Trisha only sighed.

After a short chase through the fields—which Neel suspected the cat had let him win—he introduced Dagger to her new litter box, wedged in the corner of his cabin farthest from his bed, and her food dish, placed in a different corner. She promptly demonstrated a familiarity with both, which caused his nose to wrinkle, and he bumped the cover for the cat box higher up the priority list. Since the cat obviously had opinions about being confined, he didn’t try to keep her from following him back outside. He had picked up a few new scratches while getting the collar around her neck, but at least if she decided to wander off the property she had a tag with their address and his phone number to direct anyone willing to risk life and limb to read it where she ought to be returned to.

She was quick to forgive the insult to her dignity, however, and by the time Brandy came down the mountain, a small bundle of leeks held triumphantly in one hand, Dagger was sprawled across Trisha’s porch, purring at him as brushed the dirt from planting more parsnips off his hands.

“You’re sure it’s not another wild onion?” Trisha asked, inspecting green and white stalk.

“Positive. I picked a few, to be sure, and did a taste test. Do you want to head back to town and give it to your little friends?”

Trisha leaned against the porch rail and swept back a strand of hair that had escaped the untidy knot on top of her head; her hand left a streak of dirt behind, but she didn’t seem to notice. “Not today. I’m pretty wiped out. I’ll take it later.” Dagger leapt onto the rail beside her, and she eyed the cat warily, but apparently Neel was her preferred sparring partner, because the cat only bumped her head against Trisha’s shoulder before jumping back down. “Did you find out anything about the bridge?”

Neel listened as Brandy filled them in on her trip up the mountain, but his thoughts kept turning back to his and Trisha’s encounter with the JojaMart manager. Morris had been the name on the letter with the bullshit permit number, and having met the other man only heightened his suspicion that something very peculiar was going on in this town.

He jumped as Brandy jabbed a finger into his upper arm. “What?” He quickly ran back through the last few minutes of conversation. “Oh, yeah, it’ll be great if Maru really can rig something up,” he said. “Sorry, guess I’m a little spacey—lunch was a couple of protein bars while I took down those last few trees.”

“I’m going to add the extra leeks I picked to that mashed parsnip recipe you liked—I think the flavors will blend well. Are you in?”

“I'm thinking of heading to the saloon, actually—I could use something a little more substantial.” The comment about protein bars hadn’t been a lie, and neither was the decision to visit the Stardrop, but he had another stop in mind before dinner.

“You’re leaving us alone with your little monster?” Trisha asked.

“I think we’ll survive,” Brandy said. The cat was currently napping peacefully on her lap, without having inflicted a single scratch on her.

He returned to his cabin long enough to change into clean clothes before he headed for town, hoping that Dagger had run through her supply of mischief for a while. For a lifetime would be nice, but I’m not holding my breath.

Being invisible in a small town was different from being invisible in the city. In Zuzu, it was all about fading into the crowd, but there weren’t enough people around for that to work here. It hadn’t taken him long to catch the trick of making the necessary interactions and acknowledgments so bland they would blend in with every other instance of the same—being seen without being noticed. He nodded to the mayor, who was surveying his domain from underneath a tree by the clinic, but didn’t slow his pace, carefully balanced between “just out for a stroll” and “I’ve got somewhere to be.” The mayor lifted a hand in greeting without trying to stop him for a chat. He tossed a similar wave of his own to Abigail, coming down the path from the park area, followed by a more restrained smile and nod to Jodi as they crossed the bridge in opposite directions, and then he was standing in front of the JojaMart, all but certain that none of them would remember more than his presence in town, if that—certainly not his destination.

For the same reason, he didn’t hesitate as the automatic doors slid open, or stop to study the layout of the store, or do anything else that might break the illusion. It looked like every other JojaMart, anyway, the floor plan and signage set by corporate fiat.

Luck was on his side; Morris was ensconced at the “Customer Satisfaction Center,” smiling the same oily smile he had worn at Pierre’s. The grin widened as Neel headed straight for the desk. “Good evening! If you’d like to take advantage of our tremendous one-day sale, I’d be happy to set you up with a Joja Membership! Join us, and thrive—and help your community thrive, as well!”

That was an interesting spin on the usual motto, and he wondered if that was more of Morris’s rule-bending, or if HQ had finally lined up something to explain away the hashtag Brandy’s jump had dragged into the national spotlight. He added the question to the others crammed into the back of his mind, and offered up a smile of his own, one arm resting casually on the counter. “Talk to me again in Winter, and we’ll see,” he said. “My corporate account’s still good for most of the year.” Now he did let his gaze wander around the store, letting it linger on all of the company-supplied advertising as if checking that everything was in its proper place.

He had the satisfaction of seeing Morris’s smirk slip for just a moment. “You’re with HQ, then? I was under the impression you were accompanying the young lady playing at agriculture on that wreck of a farm outside town.”

Neel didn’t bristle at the insult. How predictable. “If anyone can make a go of it, it’ll be her. One of our—Joja’s top analysts, until she decided this sounded like a better opportunity.”

“And you’re along for the ride, then?” Morris was trying to fit him into some neat little box and failing, which was exactly where Neel wanted him.

“The view from Joja Tower might be fabulous, but you know how stale the air gets. Never a bad thing to go out into the wider world for a bit, maybe bring back some fresh ideas.” His nod encompassed the store as well as the town beyond, and he could see Morris relax at the implication that Neel viewed him as being in a similar situation.

The manager didn’t let down his guard entirely, though, which was… interesting. “So, how likely is it you’ll be in the market for that membership, come year-end?” Morris asked, in the worst faux-casual tone Neel had heard since high school drama tryouts. It was so bad, in fact, that he wasn’t sure what the man was trying to hide with it. Worried Neel might report his unorthodox tactics to HQ, or that he might try to steal Morris’s ‘fresh ideas’ for himself?

As if he would willingly have anything to do with Joja again… He ground a mental heel on the anger that tried to flare up. Time to withdraw, for now, before his ability to keep up the charade slipped. “Like I said, talk to me again in Winter. For now, this quiet little town suits me, but who knows what the future holds?” He turned to leave, then paused as if considering something. “One minor suggestion, though. You might want to tone it down juuust a little.” Morris’s eyes narrowed, and Neel shrugged. “I don’t much care one way or the other, but my farmer pal is such a by-the-book type—and she has friends at HQ.”

Morris smirked at that. “Thanks for the tip—but so do I.”

“Ah, well then.” Neel waved a hand as if tossing the matter aside. “Later.” He strolled back through the automatic doors, trying to ignore the way the skin between his shoulder blades crawled.

The evening had gone from twilight to full dark while he was inside, and instead of heading for the saloon, Neel kept walking south, towards the blacksmith’s shop and library, both of which were closed. He hopped the fence surrounding a little copse of trees just north of Clint’s and leaned back against a large maple. What had that smirk at the end meant? Morris hadn’t even tried to find out what sort of “friends” Neel had been hinting at—which suggested his own connections must be fairly high up. Maybe even among the names that had figured prominently on a certain jewel-encrusted flash drive…

The Spring evening was mild, barely cooler than it had been during the day, but Neel tried to focus on the slight chill in the breeze to counter the hot anger threatening to boil over. Void take it, this was easier when I just didn’t feel anything, didn’t care… If I could get that back—A different sort of chill ran through him. Fuck. Brandy’s right, isn’t she? He had been planning to fob off his therapist with a quick explanation and a vague promise to look into alternatives, but he couldn’t keep that up forever, even without the threat of involuntary danger sports hanging over him.

He stayed where he was a minute longer, making sure he had full control over his expression, then left the trees and crossed the southern bridge back to the town square, and the saloon. Plans of any sort should not be made on an empty stomach, and perhaps he’d even be fortunate enough to find sashimi on the menu again.

There were no fish specials on the menu at all, but Stardrop’s house-made spaghetti sauce was just as incredible as Mayor Lewis had claimed. “Emily’s not working tonight?” he asked when the man responsible for the recipe came over to see if he wanted another glass of wine.

“She’s in, but we’ve got an out-of-town couple renting the private dining room tonight, so she’s taking care of them,” Gus replied. “Sweet girls—said they met at the Stardew Valley Fair, so they decided to celebrate their first wedding anniversary in the town where it all started.”

“Aw, that’s cute.” Neel supplied the expected response reflexively, then paid more attention to what the man had said. “You have a private dining room?” The Stardrop kept offering new surprises. The building was obviously bigger than the taproom, arcade, and kitchen would take up, but since Gus also lived there, he had assumed the rest was his home.

“Sure do! It doesn’t see a lot of use these days—it’s not big enough for more than four, and even that’s a tight fit—but sometimes folks want a different dining experience than the saloon proper,” he said.

“How much do you charge for that?” Neel asked. More importantly… “And how private is it?”

Gus’s eyebrows rose. “Bringing a hot date to town?”

“I wish!” It was harder than usual to add a laugh. “No, I actually need to make a video call Thursday afternoon, and I can’t get enough of a signal out at the farm. It’s stuff I’d rather not discuss in the middle of the library, even if that wouldn’t be rude to anyone else there.” That was an understatement, on both counts.

“Hmm. Middle of the afternoon, and sounds like you wouldn’t be wanting table service?” Gus named an hourly price that was well below what Neel had been bracing for. “As for privacy, it’s down the back hall—no reason for anyone else to be there in the middle of the day—and while it’s not soundproof or anything, it has a full door, not the fancy swinging kind I’ve got out here. How long would you want it for?”

“About an hour for the call itself, but I’d better tack on some time at either end, to get set up and allow for it running long. Call it 1:45, and an hour and half?” The call itself wouldn’t go past the allotted 50-minute “hour”—Dr. Ramirez would have someone else booked for the next slot—but he could use the extra time to make sure he was ready to face other people. They shook on the arrangement, and Neel took out his wallet to pay for both that and his dinner. “Oh, and if I could grab a pitcher of water and a glass on the way in, I’d appreciate it.”

“I’ll have it ready for you,” Gus said with a smile, and Neel thanked him again and headed for the door.

If Dagger had caused more chaos in his absence, perhaps Trisha and Brandy would be mollified by the proof he was taking their concerns seriously.

Chapter Text

“Aw, c’mon Sebastian, not another skeleton horde!” Sam protested as he flipped through his action cards. “Didn’t we just do this last week?”

“You’re the one who thought ‘Deadlands Expedition’ sounded like a fun module,” Abigail said. “I’ll take bone armies as far as the eye can see, if it keeps the RNG from giving us another dragon lich. Or did you forget how close we came to having our Winter Star gift from Solarion be generating new characters?”

“Sure, but couldn’t we at least get zombie hordes for a change?”

Sebastian shrugged. “I didn’t code the encounter tables. Are you taking ‘gripe to the G.M.’ as your action this turn?”

“Gimme a sec… Well, it’s worth a shot. I pull out my mandolin and play the tune written on the scroll I grabbed as we were running from that Void-spawned dragon.” He tapped his phone’s screen and the generic “bard song” sound effect blasted from the device. He winced and turned down the volume.

On the tablet in the center of the table, a circle of light expanded from Sam’s character and swept through the skeletons advancing on the three of them. Sebastian skimmed over the dull explanatory text that scrolled onto his own phone. “The notes of an ancient hymn to the sun echo across the battlefield,” he improvised. “Those among the tortured souls surrounding us that still cling to some shred of who they were in life pause in their advance. One by one, they collapse into mere piles of bones as the holy melody frees them from the malevolent force binding them to reanimate their corpses.” By the time he finished speaking, about half of the enemy icons had vanished from the board and the song-circle had dissipated. “The rest still want to murder our asses,” he added dryly. “Abigail, it’s your turn—what’s our alchemist got up her sleeves?”

“Ugh, Sam, you couldn’t have thought of that scroll earlier? Bard songs are reusable, but I burned through most of my fire crystals last week. Um…” She frowned at her phone. “Okay! I’m using my last bottled storm, so you’d better make it count, Seb.” Translucent clouds spread over the tablet’s screen, and as the ground color changed from dirt to mud, movement-penalty tags appeared on enemy and player icons alike.

One of the skeletons near Sebastian got a move next, and he parried the attack with his staff. Then it was his turn. “Hmm…” A lightning spell would do more damage to the party than the skeletons, and they’d learned the hard way that low-level undead like these didn’t have enough brains left for illusions to affect them. “You’re not totally out of fire crystals, are you?”

“I’m down to three. That’s not going to do much against this mob.”

“But they’ll be enough to warm us back up.” With a tap on his phone, the rain turned into freezing rain, and most of the enemies’ tags changed to “paralysis.” “With no flesh or body heat to protect them, ice coats the skeletons’ joints, severely limiting their movement. We’ve got three rounds to smash through them before hypothermia becomes a problem for us.”

By the end of the session, they had escaped the skeletons and found a cave to hide in, with Abigail’s fire crystals and potions quickly restoring them to full health. “The way this game’s been going, this place is a skull gryphon’s lair or something,” Sam muttered as Sebastian turned off the tablet.

“I guess we’ll find out next week.” He closed the Solarion Chronicles app on his phone and flipped over to his emails to see what the client message he’d ignored during the game was about, only to have the device yanked out of his hand. “Hey!”

“Uh-uh. No work during game time,” Sam said, holding Sebastian’s phone behind his back.

“I wasn’t going to—okay, sure, whatever,” he backpedaled as his friends gave him identical looks of annoyance. Pointing out that the game was over for the day wouldn’t help. He searched for a topic that would take the heat off himself. “So… how’s your class going, Abigail?”

She groaned and flopped backward to sprawl on the floor. “Kicking my ass worse than that dragon,” she said. “I don’t know why I let Dad talk me into taking economics.”

“What are you thinking for next year?” Sam asked.

“I dunno. Every time I pick a course that sounds interesting, Dad spends the whole school year griping about how useless it is, but everything he suggests bores me to tears.”

“I still think you should go for geology,” Sebastian put in.

Abigail sighed. “And what would I do with that?”

“Open a restaurant?”

She lifted her head to glare at Sam for the quip. “Not helpful, dude.”

He held up his hands. “Sorry. But maybe you’d learn something that might explain why…”

“Why I’m such a freak? Thanks.”

Sam winced. “That’s not how I meant it.”

“Yeah, I know. But if I could learn about it in school, I think I’d have found something on the web by now. All I turn up are pica support groups and stuff like that.” She turned her glare on Sebastian, and he tensed. “Why did you tell Maru I collect quartz?”

“I didn’t!” he said.

“Really? ’Cause she said you did when she gave me a really tasty-looking piece the other day.”

He frowned. Why would his obnoxious stepsister be giving Abigail anything? “I definitely didn’t tell her. Maybe she overheard me say something to you on the phone?” But he didn’t think the subject had come up recently… “No, wait. Back at the end of Winter, Mom was opening some crates of stone she’d ordered for one of the farm cabins, and she asked if you still had a rock collection—that if you did, I should check whether there was anything you’d like before she got to work. I think I said something about not seeing any quartz. Maru must have been snooping again. Sorry if she was rude about it.”

“No, I think she was trying to be friendly. It was just weird, and kinda awkward ’cause I was starving at the time.” Her phone chimed, and she sat up and made a face at it. “Ugh. I’ve got to go. Class starts in half an hour, and even though there’s no way I’m majoring in econ, I can’t afford to fail and lose the credit hours. Catch you Friday, if not sooner!” She sprang to her feet and was out the door before Sebastian could say anything.

“I should get going, too—Morris has been even more of an ass than usual the last couple of weeks, so if I’m late again he might just sack me.” Sam set the phone he’d swiped on the table and stood up. “About Friday…”

“Yeah?” Sebastian tried to make his shoulders relax. If Sam had some reason to cancel, he wouldn’t have to—

“I was thinking of asking Neel if he wanted to join us again—would that be cool with you? You were okay with him last week.”

Sebastian’s stomach gave a peculiar little lurch, and he must have let the sudden spike of nerves show, because Sam grimaced. “Sorry, forget I said anything.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Sebastian said. “It’s just… I’m probably not going to make it this week, so… do whatever.”

“Seriously, Seb? I still have that snowball—”

“One of my best clients is doing a big update on Friday, and they’re paying double my usual rate to be on call all day for troubleshooting. If everything goes smoothly, maybe they’ll cut me loose in time to get in a game or two, but…” He shrugged.

Sam’s lips thinned, but he looked resigned rather that upset. “Just Friday, though—not the whole weekend?”

Sebastian fiddled with the drawstrings of his hoodie. “I wish they needed me for Saturday—it would get me out of going to the damned festival—but it’s just the one day. I’ll definitely be at practice on Sunday.

“Good,” Sam said with a nod. “I have a couple of new tunes I want to work on. See you around!”

After Sam left, Sebastian gathered up the cups and snack wrappers and tried not to think about the upcoming festival, or the fact that Sam was determined to expand their small, comfortable circle of friends no matter how Sebastian felt about it.

Chapter Text

Most days, Elliott viewed the multitude of chores required to sustain his solitary lifestyle as welcome breaks from his literary frustrations, but at present he felt just the opposite. The words were flowing onto the page, and it was with great reluctance that he capped his pen and laid it aside to answer the demands of his growling stomach. He had thought to return to his novel after lunch, but the state of his larder necessitated yet another chore, and he instead turned his pen to composing a shopping list as he ate peanut butter and jelly wrapped in a corn tortilla. He could get by for a few more days on such fare, but not happily.

When he entered the general store, he found himself doubly glad he had not put off his shopping, for the new farmers were standing at the register, surrounded by baskets of produce they had clearly come to sell, not buy. At the sound of the bell above the door, the two women glanced away from the spirited discussion between their male companion and the shop’s namesake. “Hi, Elliott,” said the taller the pair—Brandy—and he wracked his brain trying to remember that of the lady beside her.

As the best he could manage was that he was fairly sure it began with “T,” he opted for a more general greeting. “Good afternoon. It would appear you’ve expanded your offerings.”

The farm’s owner really did have the most dazzling smile, he thought as it came out in force. “We certainly have! Several of our new crops were ready to harvest this morning, and we should have even more variety over the next week.”

He approached the counter to look over the new produce. “Potatoes and… is that kale?” She nodded. “How lovely. I wish my cabin came equipped with an oven—my mother makes an excellent potato and kale casserole, but I don’t think it would do well as a stovetop recipe.”

“Yeah, a proper kitchen’s definitely something I miss from our place in the city,” Brandy put in. “We’ve got a microwave and a borrowed hot plate, so meals take a bit of creativity.”

“I have naught but a gas range, so I quite understand. I’ll have to add kale to my list today—I find it makes a pleasant accompaniment to sandwiches and wraps.” There was another basket behind the farmers, and for some reason they tensed when he leaned around them to see what it might hold. “Oh, what lovely tulips,” he said as his eyes fell on the mix of red, pink, and yellow blossoms.

Another brilliant smile, tinged with… relief? He recalled his reaction to the last flower he had encountered in their presence and felt his cheeks warm. If any of them noticed his embarrassment, they were gracious enough not to mention it. “Flowers might not have as good a profit margin as food crops, but they do brighten up the farm. We should have some blue jazz tomorrow,” the farm’s owner added, turning to Pierre.

“Glad to hear it,” he said. “I like to have a bit of variety in the floral department, and locally grown ones always look better than what I can get shipped in. Anyway, here’s what I can offer you for today’s lot.” He tore the top sheet from a receipt book and held it out.

The beautiful farmer took it from him, and her fingers danced across the tablet she held, entering a series of numbers into a complicated-looking spreadsheet. “Hmm. At first glance, I’d say more kale, fewer potatoes next time…” She looked a question at the shopkeeper.

Pierre rubbed his chin. “Personally, I think you might want to tilt the balance in the opposite direction. A little kale goes a long way, and potatoes store better.”

Elliott drifted away as the farmers and their customer began discussing the intricacies of market demand, extracting his list from his jacket pocket. He made certain to cross through each item when he placed in the basket, to ensure that he did not—as on one occasion—arrive home with twice as much butter as he needed and nothing to spread it on.

As he dithered over whether to take a chance on a new brand of tea that was a little less costly than the one he knew he liked, he heard quiet voices from the opposite side of the shelves. Courtesy against eavesdropping warred with the hope that he might overhear one or both of the names he was missing, and curiosity won out.

“You did bring the gift for your, uh, friend, right?” That was Brandy, and he wondered at the hesitation, especially when it was the other woman who responded.

“Of course. It’s in my purse.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to help you deliver it?” That was the man, the one Willy had taken under his wing—or would “fin” be a more apt metaphor for a fisherman? Of greater cause for concern was the note of worry in his voice. What sort of “friend” would inspire such?

“I think the two of us can handle it, Neel.” Not the name he was most hoping to hear, but he made an attempt to fix it in his mind. Perhaps he—Neel—would respond in kind?

But it was Brandy who spoke next. “Don’t even think about weaseling out of your end of the bargain—again. Besides, you paid in advance, didn’t you?”

“I wasn’t—” The affronted dignity was strong enough that Elliott could picture what the man’s expression must look like. “I meant we could wait until after, but that’s probably not the best plan. Is that the end of our list?” he continued in a more neutral tone.

“That’s everything,” the still-nameless farmer said, and Elliott feigned great interest in the text on the box of tea as the trio returned to the counter to pay for their purchases.

It had been, he thought, a most curious conversation, though no doubt its participants had not found it so. What seemed to him peculiar allusions and evasions were surely no more than the sorts of conversational gaps that close friends felt no need to fill in, since they were all familiar with the details. Details that were, in any event, none of his business.

Though he was painfully curious who it was that Brandy had called her companion’s “uh, friend.”

He shook himself out of his musings long enough to bid the farmers farewell as they departed the shop, and then carried his basket to the checkout. Pierre rang up his purchases with his usual cordial efficiency, but paused before declaring the total. “You had mentioned picking up some kale—did you still want it? I’ve gotten a few bunches priced out.”

“Oh! Yes, indeed I do. Thank you for the reminder.” He selected one of the neatly tied bundles of curly leaves to which Pierre had affixed a tag, then paid the updated sum the shopkeeper requested. As he left the store, he saw Brandy and her verdant friend climbing up the slope toward the mountain road, though the third member of their group was nowhere to be seen. What had his name been—Nate? Nick? Something to that effect.

He set aside that question as he turned toward home, for an answer to an earlier one suggested itself. Perhaps the friend they referred to was the elderly gentleman to whom the villagers referred—affectionately or warily—as their “wild man.” Or to one of the eccentric pair who called their mountainside cabin the “adventurers guild”? He supposed either of those possibilities might account for the other farmers’ remarks.

His footsteps slowed as he crossed the bridge to the beach, and he stared across the water without seeing it. A mysterious conversation with multiple “obvious” interpretations, but what if the truth were something else entirely? That was exactly what he needed to properly foreshadow the events he was currently writing, and he knew just the scene to which he could add it.

When he reached the cabin, he stuffed his grocery sacks straight into the nearly empty refrigerator—it wouldn’t harm the purchases that did not require the cold—and sat down at his desk, flipping back through his manuscript until he found the bland conversation that had only been meant to show the friendship between the commander’s assistant and one of the delegates, but could now serve a dual purpose.

It was remarkable how every encounter with the lovely new farmer inspired some new insight into his story. He really must find a way to thank her. And to remember her name.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure you want to do this now?” Brandy asked as she and Trisha neared the community center. “We could wait for Neel…”

“There’s no telling what sort of a mood he’ll be in,” she responded, fishing the key out of her purse. “Better to give him some space.” She was just glad he was taking some initiative about getting back into therapy; she’d been beginning to fear they would have to load him on the bus—with at least one of them going along to make sure he made it to the office—if Maru’s promised gadgets didn’t work out.

“True. And the reason you didn’t want to do this yesterday is…?” Brandy scanned the front room, one hand on her utility knife as if she was worried they might be attacked; Trisha had had to talk her out of carrying the sword, since wearing a rain poncho on such a beautiful, sunny day would have drawn almost as much attention.

She closed and locked the door behind them. “There were things we needed to get done around the farm,” she said. Brandy just looked at her. “And I’m a little nervous about this. I… caught a hint, when I gave them the daffodil, that something might happen when I finish one of their lists—the little ones, I mean.”

“The ‘bundles’ you mentioned—the requests that go together?”

“Yeah. But unlike the ‘bridge repair’ thing, I don’t have any idea what it might be.”

Brandy muttered something under her breath to the effect that she really should have insisted on bringing her sword, which Trisha chose to ignore. Aloud, she said, “You’re the wizard, so I guess it’s your call.”

Trisha’s cheeks heated. “I’m pretty sure Rasmodius would say I’m still just a magician,” she said. Whether the “sage” part was automatic, after she had drunk his potion, or something that came with experience, like “wizard,” she wasn’t sure. Perhaps she should have gone back as soon as she had given the Junimo the daffodil, but she wanted to gather more data of her own to reduce the risk of biasing her interpretation. She took the plastic food storage container holding the nicest-looking of the leeks Brandy had gathered out of her purse. “Well, let’s find out what happens when I give them this.”

With the practice from delivering the other three items, slipping into the “forest” within the scroll had become as easy as opening an app on her phone. When she laid the leek beside the rest of the offerings—which hadn’t wilted in the slightest—the “cloth” around them quivered and then folded back into its compact form. Unlike previous visits, this time the bundle shrank in on itself, then bloomed into a large, bright green flower. In the center of the blossom, a small cloth bag tied with string shimmered. “Is this… for me?” The flower’s petals fluttered. Hesitantly, in case she had misinterpreted that the movement meant agreement, she picked up the packet.

From outside the vision, she heard Brandy gasp, and Trisha pulled her awareness back to the real world. The yellow Junimo was just across the scroll from her, holding the green bundle as it had appeared just before turning into a flower. Brandy was staring at it. “You can see the Junimo?” Trisha asked.

“I can see something,” Brandy replied, her eyes narrowing. “When the leek disappeared, that glowing ball of light appeared—hey, where’s it going?”

“I’m not sure,” Trisha said. As she got to her feet, she realized the packet she had taken from the flower was still clutched in her hand, as solid as the items she had put into the scroll had once been. The Jumino was heading for the doorway, though, so she dropped the little bag into her purse and followed the creature, trying to keep enough distance to avoid frightening it, though it didn’t seem concerned with her presence now. “The bundle I told you about turned into a flower and gave me something, and now the Junimo is carrying the bundle itself. Is the light you see at floor level, or higher?”

“About a foot off the ground,” Brandy said. “What did it give you?”

“I’ll take a closer look at it once I see where—oh! That odd little hut is theirs!” The Junimo waddled through the low opening, its burden barely fitting under the top of the arch, and she lost sight of it. “That’s interesting. Rasmodius said they could only interact with the physical world a little bit. I wonder if they built it, or moved into something that was already there?” She crouched down and tried to see inside, but the sunlight leaking through the roof and windows didn’t penetrate the hut’s interior at all, and it felt rude to shine her flashlight inside now that she knew it was more than a child’s playhouse.

“Uh, Trisha? It looks like there’s another of those scroll things,” Brandy said, and Trisha followed her gaze across the room. A turquoise Junimo sat in front of the shattered aquarium, and there was, indeed, a gold-edged paper on the floor in front of it.

“Now that’s interesting. I wonder if it’s another list?” The new Junimo darted away as she approached the scroll; it was covered with writing in the same shifting characters as the first. She started to reach for it, then looked up at Brandy. “Could you record?”

Her friend sighed and took out her phone. “You’re getting entirely too comfortable with this,” she said, but she swiped her thumb across the screen. “Okay, rolling. Special effects trial 2.”

Trisha grinned; leave it to Brandy to figure out how to make the footage seem a little less weird if someone were to somehow stumble across it. She laid her fingertips on the scroll and reached out.

The golden forest unfurled before her eyes again, but this time she found herself at the edge of a pond surrounded by trees. A different set of bundles floated on the water, each drifting closer to her as she focused on it. “I wish we had Neel here,” Trisha murmured. “I guess it makes sense, given where we found the scroll, but the Junimos want a bunch of fish, and I have no idea what most of them are.” She did her best to describe each of the requested items before moving on to the next question—what were the Junimo offering in exchange?

Gold linework contracted and expanded, showing the room as it must once have been: the aquarium filled with small fish darting in and out of a plastic castle, the wall behind the tank covered with nautical decorations. The next image was less alarming than the one of the ravine bridge had been; she saw a mountain lake being fed by water trickling around a mass of boulders that shimmered and vanished before her eyes, allowing the stream to run freely. She released the vision and described what she’d seen to Brandy.

Her friend frowned. “I know that spot. It’s right next to the mines. I don’t like this, Trisha. From what I’ve picked up in town, Marlon and his buddy have been working for a long time to make sure the things in the mine stay there, even if everyone else thinks it’s some sort of game. Unsealing an opening in the mountain sounds like a bad idea.”

Trisha couldn’t disagree with her, despite her gut feeling that the Junimo didn’t mean them any harm. They weren’t human, and it was possible they might think they were helping while doing just the opposite. “We need more data.”

“You said they’d given you something in exchange for the leek,” Brandy said. “What was it?”

“A little cloth bag,” Trisha said, fishing it out of her purse. One end of the drawstring had a paper card attached, which she’d overlooked before. It was too dim by the fish tank to read it, and she moved toward the nearest window. “It feels like there's something inside—small things, like gravel or…”

Brandy came up next to her as she stared at the card. “‘Wild Seeds, Spring,’” she read. “That explains what you felt in it… Trisha? What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

She felt as if she had. She had to swallow a couple of times before she could speak. “This is Grandpa’s handwriting,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. He had decorated the edges of the label, too, and now she realized why the forest inside the scroll had been so hauntingly familiar. “The images I’ve been seeing—remember those doodles he used to do, where he’d put the pen down and keep drawing without lifting it or crossing back over the lines?” That had been in ink, usually black—certainly never in gold light—but the style was unmistakable. The letters on the card blurred, not in the eerie way the Junimos’ language did, but because of the tears veiling her sight.

She felt Brandy’s arm around her shoulders. “That’s certainly more data,” she said, resting her cheek against the top of Trisha’s head. “What should we do now?”

She dried her eyes. “I think we need to talk to Rasmodius. He and Grandpa worked together on whatever their big spell was, and maybe this was part of it.” Surely the wizard wouldn’t have encouraged her to poke around the community center unsupervised if fulfilling the Junimos’ requests was likely to be harmful?

“All right. Neel said he’d meet us by the bench in front of the saloon once he’s done, which could be anywhere from fifteen minutes to an hour from now. Do you want to go wait for him, or do you need some time here?”

Trisha slid the bag of seeds back into her purse and squared her shoulders. “Let’s go. I could use some sunlight, after all this.” And she should have a word with the saloon owner at some point soon; she could use a drink, but most bars didn’t stock the sort of booze she could stomach, and drinking in her cottage by herself would be a bad habit to get into.

Chapter Text

Emily sighed and refolded the tissue paper. No matter how she arranged the pattern pieces, she couldn’t get them all to fit. She ran a hand along the soft blue fabric; she could make a skirt or a blouse from it, easily, but the moment she had touched it she had known it was meant to be a long, swinging sundress for the Flower Dance. Unfortunately, this was all the traveling merchant had left, and it wasn’t quite enough. She folded the fabric and set it aside for now. Maybe she had another pattern that would be more forgiving of the yardage, or perhaps she could work in another fabric for contrast…

Her phone played a cheerful tune, reminding her it was almost time to leave for work, and she danced along with it on her way out to the kitchen. She frowned as she silenced the alarm; her sister had dumped her lunch dishes in the sink again, rather than empty the dishwasher and begin reloading it. She didn’t have time to clean up the mess before she headed for the Stardrop, so she poked her head into her sister’s room. “Haley? I’d appreciate it if you could empty the dishwasher once in a while.”

“Sure, whatever,” the younger woman said, scowling down at the photos spread across her bed, her aura spikier than usual.

“Is something wrong?”

“I think my camera’s screwed up. Or maybe something’s gotten contaminated in the dark room. I got some really cool, atmospheric shots of the river in the rain on Saturday, but when I developed them, the colors were way off.” She waved a hand at the results of her work.

Emily took that as invitation and crossed the room. Haley had a wonderful eye for framing and light—she was sure her sister could be a professional photographer if she were willing to put as much effort into the business side as the artistic. The composition of these pictures was as good as ever, but most of them had a peculiar green tint, the leaves and grass a super-saturated emerald and everything else washed out toward murky jade.

“Oh, dear. Do you suppose maybe it was just a bad roll of film?”

Haley’s expression brightened. “I hadn’t thought of that! I only have a couple more rolls from the same batch, and my latest order just came in. I’m going to shoot a couple of test rolls around town, one from each. Thanks, Em, you’re the best!” She grabbed her camera and started digging through the drawer where she kept the rest of her gear.

Emily didn’t have the heart to bug her about the dishes again, so she smiled and left for work.

Her steps slowed as she approached the Stardrop Saloon. The sky was a dazzling blue, but the building was cast in shadow. She looked up to be sure, but there wasn’t a single cloud overhead, and a chill stole over her.

“Hey, Emily!” She turned away from the building and saw a familiar figure just getting up from the bench nearby.

“Good afternoon, Brandy!” She smiled despite her unease. The newcomer was dressed in her usual pink—today, a cheerful fuchsia T-shirt advertising a band Emily hadn’t heard of and blue jeans faded to almost white, the holes in the knees patched from behind with light pink fabric. It was a striking contrast with the shining silver and radiant gold of her aura, a combination that always put her in mind of the armored knights in fantasy movies. She certainly wouldn’t mind being rescued by such a fair warrior, should she find herself in need of saving.

It took her a moment to realize Brandy wasn’t alone. The woman still seated on the bench put her strongly in mind of Haley’s messed-up photographs, though she had heard enough about the new owner of Lockwood Farm not to be shocked by her appearance. What did surprise Emily was that she seemed to have no aura at all. “Hi, there! You must be Trisha?”

“That’s right. It’s nice to meet you.” The woman smiled and stood up, her hand extended, and greens and browns shifted around the farmer like sunlit branches swaying in the wind, as though she had brought along part of the bushes behind her when she rose.

That much movement in an aura usually meant emotional distress or upheaval, but she had no basis for comparison to know if this was Trisha’s normal state or something more transient. She certainly couldn’t inquire directly when she had only just met the woman, but Emily had many years of experience pretending not to see as much as she did, so she took the offered handshake without hesitation. “Likewise.” Trisha’s hand was cool and thin, with a hint of calluses forming, and if she was in some sort of turmoil, it wasn’t strong enough for the brief physical contact to give any hint what it might be.

“You’re on your way to work, aren’t you?” Brandy asked. “I don’t want to make you late—I just figured I’d grab the chance to introduce you two.”

“Oh, Gus wouldn’t care about a few minutes,” Emily said, but as much as she would have liked to talk to Brandy—and Trisha, of course—for a little longer, the shadow only she could see still lingered over the saloon. “But I’d better go on in. You should come around some evening, Trisha. The Stardrop’s a great place to get to know people and grab a fresh-cooked meal, even if you don’t drink!”

The green-haired woman’s lips quirked up at that, as did Brandy’s, but the “branches” around her shifted like the wind had picked up as Trisha said, “I’ve been meaning to, but there’s so much to do, getting the farm up and running… Brandy and Neel have been a huge help, but it’s still my responsibility.”

“Well, you know what they say about all work and no play,” Emily said with a casual farewell wave at the pair as she headed toward the saloon, wondering if she’d somehow misstepped. She paused a moment on the doorstep, bracing herself for whatever she might find inside, and opened the door.

Gus looked up as the door opened. “Hello, Emily!” There were too many shadows here, as well, spilling under the swinging door that lead to the back of the building, but her boss didn’t look concerned about anything.

She tried to remind herself that these half-seen glimpses rarely amounted to anything. “Hi, Gus! What’s the menu for tonight?”

“Crispy bass, for the special,” Gus said. “And no pepper poppers, unfortunately; neither Pierre or JojaMart had peppers worth buying.”

“I still can’t believe you actually took Mr. Morris up on his ‘sale’ offer,” she said, reaching under the counter for her apron. The JojaMart manager had stirred up a lot of ill will in the town, and maybe some of that was currently flowing toward Gus, causing the shadows.

Gus grimaced. “Their fresh produce—what little they have of it—can’t hold a candle to Pierre’s stock, but for staples like flour and oil, I can’t afford to be too fussy right now.”

Emily didn’t point out that if Pierre’s shop went out of business, Joja would be his only source for fresh foods; she had heard her boss muttering over the books often enough to understand his point. “Anything else I should know about for tonight?”

“Not really—oh, but the back room’s rented out at the moment. Neel should be finished in the next half hour or so, but he wasn’t sure how long his meeting would last.”

“He’s hosting a meeting in the back room?” Part of her wanted to believe that the shadows were coming from some out-of-towner, but she couldn’t convince herself.

Gus rocked his hand back and forth. “Sort of? It’s just him back there, doing one of those computer video talk things.”

Emily glanced back toward the room in question; walls were like dark-tinted glass to her second sight, but now that she was paying closer attention she could see the occasional flicker of lightning amid the shadows. “Amazing what technology can do these days,” she said. “What’s the meeting about?”

A shrug. “He didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. He was having dinner here the other night and perked right up when I mentioned the private dining room, said he hadn’t been looking forward to trying to make the call from the library because it’d annoy anyone else who might be there. He didn’t want table service, just some water, so I didn’t need to call you in early.”

There was nothing much she could say to that. “Crispy bass takes a lot of prep time, if I remember right. If you want to head on back to the kitchen, I can manage things out here.”

“Don’t know what I’d do without you, Emily,” her boss said. “Just give a shout if we get an unexpected crowd.” It had happened once or twice, a busload of tourists stopping by on their way to somewhere else, but not often enough for the comment to be more than a running joke between them.

The saloon’s main room was still empty when she heard the faint creak of the swinging door behind her. When Gus was in the kitchen, he just called for anything he needed through the pass-through window, so she was unsurprised to find Neel standing by the jukebox. “Good afternoon,” she said. “All done with your meeting?”

“Yup,” he said, patting the laptop bag slung over his shoulder. “Is Gus around?”

“Right here,” her boss said, coming up to the open window between bar and kitchen. “Everything work OK?”

“Perfect,” he said, his cheerful smile at odds with the lightning flickering through the dark clouds of his aura. The storm was more intense than usual, and it was an effort for Emily to keep her own expression politely welcoming. “I’d like to make this a weekly thing, if that’s not too much trouble? Brandy’s been talking to Maru about rigging up something that’d give us a better signal at the farm, but there’s no telling how long that’ll take.”

“Same time each week?” Neel nodded. “Sounds good—I’ll pencil you in, and you can pay me day of. Just let me know if you won’t be needing it after all.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” Neel said.

“Are you staying for dinner tonight?” Gus asked. “Willy said you’re the one that caught the bass I’m frying up, and they look like a tasty lot.”

“Glad to hear it, but I don’t want Brandy to think I’m avoiding her cooking.”

Gus’s eyebrows rose. “I thought Robin mentioned you didn’t have a kitchen between the three of you.”

Neel grinned. “No, but Brandy’s a master of the microwave, and she’s been making the most of the hot plate Robin loaned us, too. It’s amazing what she can put together with just that, but I have to admit, I’m glad some of our other crops are ripe. I’m getting a little tired of parsnips.”

“Letting the ladies do all the kitchen work, hmm?” Emily couldn’t help herself.

He shook his head and chuckled. “Lady, singular—I think Trisha could maybe assemble a salad without giving anyone food poisoning. I can follow a recipe, but improvising?” He shrugged. “I do the dishes when we eat together, and Brandy’s enjoying experimenting with what we’ve grown, caught, and foraged so far.”

“Well, any time you or your friends want a change of pace, you’re always welcome here,” Gus said.

“Thanks, Gus. Sam invited me to hang out for pool tomorrow, so I’ll see you then.” Neel took his personal thunderstorm with him when he left the saloon, and Emily couldn’t help the surge of relief she felt.

Her boss might not have anything like her peculiar ability, but he had known her for years. “You don’t look very happy with the arrangement,” he said, leaning on the counter. “He hasn’t… been giving you trouble or anything, behind my back?”

“Oh, no, of course not!” Gus just crossed his arms and looked at her with concern, the warm golden brown of his aura rippling gently. He was a practical man, a great believer in the power of a good meal to overcome most of life’s problems; the one time she had mentioned the auras she saw, he’d assumed she meant it metaphorically. “He’s always been a perfect gentleman. It’s just…” She reached for a more logical explanation for her unease. “Shane mentioned he looked awfully chummy with Mr. Morris at the JojaMart, and now he’s having mysterious conference calls… I’m sure it’s nothing, but it seems odd.”

Gus fiddled with one curled end of his mustache. “Well, he did used to work for Joja. The farmer lass, too—not Brandy, I don’t think, but Trisha.”

“I finally ran into her today. I think she and Brandy must have been waiting for Neel, now that I think of it.”

“Well, there you go. It’s not that odd that Neel might want to stay on good terms with a former coworker, of sorts. As for the meetings… it’s not really any of our business, but those ladies don’t strike me as the sort to be friends with someone who’s up to no good.”

There was that. “I’m sure you’re right, and I’m worrying over nothing,” she said, trying to convince herself as much as Gus.

The door opened again, and she put on her best customer-service smile as a familiar purple-grey aura entered the saloon. “Hi, Pam. You want your usual?”

Chapter Text

As good as Neel was at covering up his feelings, Brandy had known him long enough that she could see the exhaustion beneath the polite good cheer he was currently projecting. That wasn’t a surprise; she had no idea what went on during his therapy sessions, but they always left him wrung out. Whatever else might have come of today’s appointment, however, he was keeping well buried. She might be able to pry a bit more out of him once they got back to the farm, but she knew better than to try here in town, even if no one else was in the square at the moment.

Trisha was less subtle. “So, how’d it go?”

“Oh, about like I expected,” he said, and she had the sense to back off from further questions at that point. “Using the saloon’s back room worked pretty well, and I’ve made arrangements with Gus for that to be a regular thing until we’ve got decent reception at home.”

“I priced out the materials Maru needs, and she got back to us with a quote for the labor,” Trisha said. “I think she’s asking for way too little, but… we do need to keep costs down.”

“Uh-huh,” he said absently, then frowned. “Why are we going south? Home’s the other way.”

“We’re taking the scenic route,” Brandy said as they passed the house where Emily and her sister lived. “Thought we’d take another look at the area beyond that pond.”

“Why—oh. I take it you two had an interesting afternoon?”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Brandy said.

Once they were far enough out of town not to worry about someone popping out of their house and overhearing, Trisha explained about the seed packet and her realization about the “drawings” inside the scrolls. “We need to find out what Rasmodius knows about this. He said the Junimos were benign, but the fact that their ‘rewards’ connect to the area around the mine makes both of us uneasy. And what in the world did my grandfather have to do with all of this?”

He was silent for a long moment, and then said, “I don’t suppose the two of you can handle this without me? I planning on going home, eating whatever Brandy felt like making, then crashing for the night with a book or two.”

“I’m sorry, Neel, I know the timing’s lousy. We could set up my phone to record instead of streaming, but I’d feel a lot more comfortable with a live witness outside,” Brandy said. It wasn’t that she thought Rasmodius might attack them or something, but with all this talk about magic, how sure could they be of what their own eyes told them? Trisha’s attempt to film the Junimos with her phone showed that cameras blocked out at least some of this weird shit.

Neel sighed and ran a hand through his hair, mussing it in a way that told Brandy louder than any words that the session had been one of the rougher ones. “Yeah. Makes sense. I don’t suppose you thought to grab my fishing gear as a cover story?”

“Sorry, no. We can swing by the farm…” Trisha suggested, but Neel shook his head.

“Let’s just get this over with. I guess if anyone happens by, I’ll pretend I’m reading something on my phone.”

“Sorry again, Neel—we’ll try to keep this as brief as possible, but I don’t think I can sleep until I get some answers,” Trisha said. “Come on, let’s get this set up.”

They left Neel on the dock and Trisha’s phone in the same tree as before and headed for Rasmodius’s tower.

“I was wondering when you would finally return,” the wizard said as the door swung open in answer to their knock. It took Brandy a moment to spot the man; he was seated at the table by the door, deep in shadow.

“And here I thought you could see the future,” Trisha said.

“There are many forms of divination, and I am indeed master of several. All are frustratingly inexact. That you would return, I had no doubt, but the timing of that occurrence was unknown to me, as is the precise cause. Please, have a seat.”

Trisha took the other chair, leaving Brandy to drag over a stool from beside the still-bubbling cauldron. The contents were yellow instead of green, this time. “So you have no idea why we’re here?” Trisha asked.

“I have felt the stirrings of forest magic from the community center, so I would assume that you have been interacting with the Junimos that dwell there. The nature of that communication, however, is veiled from my perceptions.”

“Do you always talk like this?” Brandy asked, propping her elbow on the table and resting her chin on her hand.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The ‘mysterious wizard’ routine. Talking around the point, using twenty words when five would get the job done, that sort of thing. It’s getting kind of old.”

“Brandy…” Trisha murmured, giving her a Look.

Rasmodius, on the other hand, looked more amused than irritated. “I am, I suppose, somewhat out of the habit of talking to other humans, and when dealing with denizens of the elemental realms, precision and evasion in language are both critical tools. I'll try to be more succinct, but please, bear with me.” He turned to Trisha. “What have you discovered?”

Brandy kept an eye on Rasmodius as Trisha once again described what she had seen in the scrolls, both before and after giving the Junimos the items they’d asked for. He was almost as good at Neel at keeping his thoughts off his face, but she thought she saw a flicker of surprise here and there; he really hadn’t known what they would find. “And when I completed the first of their lists, they gave me this,” Trisha said, and laid the seed packet on the table with the tag facing him.

His eyes widened. “That looks like Patrick’s artwork,” he said. “May I?” At Trisha’s nod, he picked up the packet and loosened the drawstring. “Seeds… He had been experimenting with ways to adapt wild plants that have historically resisted cultivation. He thought perhaps magic could bridge the gap where science had fallen short.” He tied the bag shut again and examined the tag more closely.

“Why would the Junimos have it? Or give it to me in exchange for flowers and herbs?”

“And what’s up with the ‘repair’ stuff?” Brandy added. “Robin mentioned that the community center and the bridge over the ravine had both been destroyed by an earthquake at about the same time. I’m thinking that’s not a coincidence.”

“No, indeed it is not, but there was no earthquake, though it felt like that to those of the villagers not in tune with the valley’s magic,” Rasmodius said, setting the seeds on the table in front of him. “I cannot resolve all of your questions, because I don’t have those answers myself. I will, however, give you what information I can. Before delving into the mysteries of the Junimos, however, I must explain a bit more about magic as a whole, and our place within it.” He spread his hands over the table, and five points of colored light appeared in the largest of the crystal balls. “From what I have been able to determine, for nearly as long as there have been humans in the valley, there have been those we now call the sages of the mountain, the forest, the sea, the sky, and the hearth. These correlate to five of the seven elementals: metal, wood, water, air, and fire.”

“What are the other two?” Brandy asked.

Two more objects appeared in the crystal: a brilliant white light above the first five and a dark shadow beneath. “Creation and destruction, the domains of Yoba and the Void,” he said. “It’s all but unheard of for a human magician to have an affinity for either. Rather, every act of magic we undertake lies somewhere between those two poles.” He gestured again and the new additions vanished. “Stardew Valley has an unusual concentration of magical energies, and the sages have long monitored and maintained the balance between them.”

“And my grandfather was one of them?” Trisha said. “You called him the sage of the forest.”

Rasmodius nodded. “He came late to the valley, and to his power—already a widower, and with a child mostly grown—but I believe he was the strongest of the four of us.”

“Hang on,” Brandy interrupted. “You said there were five sages.”

“Ideally, yes, but there has not been a sage of the sea in living memory,” he said. “We did our best to compensate, but had we been five instead of four, perhaps the price paid by each of us would not have been so high.”

“So the ‘earthquake’ Robin mentioned had something to do with the spell you talked about last week?” Trisha asked.

“Correct,” Rasmodius said. “Though it would, perhaps, be more accurate to say ‘spells,’ for each sage had his own role to play.” Another wave of his hand, and the lights disappeared from the table, replaced by a knot of twisting shadow. “There is a being of pure destructive energy—a demon of the Void, if you will—that has long posed a danger to the valley and, should it break free of the seals upon it, the world beyond. I cannot say whether it was attracted here by the concentration of magic or somehow arose because of it, but it is as much a part of Stardew Valley’s secret history as the sages. Actual records are scarce, but we do know that several times over the millennia, this demon has escaped and then been bound anew by the sages of the valley, for a being of destruction cannot, itself, be truly destroyed, only confined. Eighty-one years ago, I and the other sages became aware that the old seals were failing, and it would fall to us to deal with the threat.”

“My grandfather… fought a demon?” Trisha asked; Brandy shared her skepticism, because the Grandpa Pat she remembered had been a quiet, gentle man.

“We were singularly ill-suited for the task that fell to us,” Rasmodius said. He pointed at the table and points of colored light began appearing around the shadow. Green: “A sage of the forest who spent the majority of his time away from the valley and whose primary interest in magic lay in cultivating rare plants.” Red: “A sage of the hearth who loathed and avoided conflict in any form.” Pale blue: “Myself, the sage of the sky, an academic with little interest in the practical applications of magic.” Yellow: “The sage of the mountain, who saw the signs of the demon’s rise and dragged the rest of us out of our comfortably idle pursuits and into a battle none of us were prepared for.” He folded his hands on the table. “We did not believe ourselves capable of binding the demon as it was, and so we came up with what we thought was a terribly clever plan—split the demon’s essence in two and bind these pieces separately. It worked… to an extent, and at a great price.”

“My grandfather and the others lost their powers, and yours were weakened. You told us that part last time,” Trisha said. “What do you mean, though, that it worked ‘to an extent’?”

He grimaced. “The very nature of what we attempted meant that the resulting seals are weak. The sage of the hearth bound half of the demon, the mountain bound the other—a single element each, rather than the five there should have been. Your grandfather had the most complicated task—he was responsible for sundering the demon. I was little more than an observer, relaying messages between the other three to coordinate our timing.”

He fell silent, gazing at—or possibly through—the table, and after a long moment, Brandy prodded, “And what does this have to do with the community center?”

The wizard shook his head slowly. “I wish I understood it fully myself. Each sage kept the details of his part secret from the rest, for if the demon managed to corrupt one of us, we hoped the others might still be able to do enough for our overall plan to succeed. I do know that Patrick’s spell was focused on that building, which lies at the geographical center of the valley. I believe the damage to it and other sites throughout the area acted as a symbolic reflection of the demon’s sundering.”

“And the Junimos, and these seeds? Where do they fit in?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “Wood magic is more often focused on healing than battle, and I thought perhaps the forest spirits were drawn to the spiritual wounds Patrick’s power created in order to mend them. However, the ‘reward’ you received—” he motioned toward the seeds—“as well as your perception of his artwork in the scrolls… this suggests that he had a hand in creating the puzzle you are facing, as his successor.”

“I hadn’t even been born yet!” Trisha protested.

“When Patrick left Pelican Town for the last time, he told those of us who remained behind that the one who stepped forward to claim his keys would be the next sage of the forest. I’m not sure if he saw clearly enough to know that this would be his grandchild, specifically, but he knew that someone would follow in his footsteps.

“But what does all of this mean?” Brandy asked. “Why are the Junimo asking for all of these random things? If the bridge being destroyed was part of some spell to break up your ‘demon,’ wouldn’t fixing it be a bad thing?”

“I can’t answer that for certain,” he said, “but my best supposition would be that Patrick left behind a way to heal the damage he did to the valley in the process of severing the demon.”

Trisha frowned at that, but Brandy recognized the expression as her analyst-scowl. After a moment, her expression cleared. “The mine,” she said. “The demon is bound in the mine, isn’t it?”

Rasmodius nodded slowly—reluctantly, Brandy thought. “Half of it, yes. That was the sage of the mountain’s work.”

It was Brandy’s turn to frown. “Marlon knows about all of this. He and the other guy I’ve heard about—Gil?—are the other two sages, aren’t they? That’s why they’re guarding the mines. But why—”

Rasmodius was shaking his head. “No. Tradition holds that for every sage, there should be a corresponding ‘shield’—a person entirely lacking magic, and thus immune to many of its subtler effects and temptations. A guardian, as it were, to defend the sage from physical threat and to help keep them anchored to the non-magical community. Someone with a deep bond of affection—a lover, a relative, a dear friend. My brother was shield to the sage of the hearth, and Gil, to the sage of the mountain.”

“Who was my grandfather’s shield?” Trisha asked.

“He didn’t have one,” Rasmodius said. “Perhaps his late wife might have served as such, had he come to the valley before her death—or, if he had spent more time here after accepting the sage’s mantle, he might have formed a close enough connection with someone in the valley.”

“So you’re saying I’m Trisha’s shield,” Brandy said. “And that’s why Marlon gave me that sword?”

“It seems likely,” Rasmodius said. “There is a ward upon the upper cave—I haven’t the strength to create a permanent one that would physically bar a person from entering, but it does alert Gil and Marlon whenever someone is within the chamber, as well as whether they have magical potential, so they can prevent them from wandering into danger.”

“The monsters,” Brandy said. “But how are they any less dangerous to me?” She rubbed her arm, remembering the acid sting from the slime creature.

“We knew, at the time, that our seals would not be as strong as those created by previous generations of sages, but it soon became clear that they were even weaker than we had expected. The demon’s influence is confined to the lower caverns, but it draws all manner of creatures susceptible to its corruption toward itself—the slimes you encountered are the most minor of them. Those creatures pose a threat, certainly, but the demon itself is the true danger. An untrained magician would be uniquely vulnerable to its influence, and should they fall prey to its whispers, they might be capable of breaking the seal and releasing the half imprisoned there.”

“Why not just block off the mine entirely?” Trisha asked.

“Because the monsters’ ranks would grow unchecked, and they would eventually overrun the rest of the mountain,” he replied. “Marlon and Gil, being immune to the demon’s voice, have long ventured into the caverns to thin their numbers, but none of us are as young as we used to be. Gil, in particular, is no longer able to take an active role in the fight, and I fear my brother pushes himself too hard to pick up the slack.” He looked at Brandy. “It appears he sees in you a potential successor, whether or not you take up the role as your friend’s shield.”

“Who are—or were, I suppose—the other sages, then?” Trisha asked.

He shook his head. “Should you find out through other means, I might confirm it, but their secrets are not mine to give away.” He drummed his fingers lightly on the table. “I can tell you that, as yet, you are the only new sage to step forward. I have detected faint traces of other magicians within the valley, but none strong enough to suggest a sage coming into their own.”

“Wait, you said Marlon and Gil have been chasing off people who had magic,” Brandy said. “It never occurred to you to give them your nasty potions?”

“This is Stardew Valley,” he said, as if that was an explanation. “Magic runs deep here, and finding someone without some trace of potential is rare. Yet, for all the respect most of my neighbors have for the mystical, few would wish any part of it for themselves. My presence here is not hidden; any who truly have a calling to it may seek me out.”

“You didn’t have much of a problem dragging me into it,” Trisha said.

“There was Patrick’s prophecy to consider. In truth, I was surprised he hadn’t told you about this part of your heritage,” he said. “In any case, the fact that the Junimo appeared to you was a strong indication that your potential would not remain dormant for long. Better to awaken it now than wait for it to emerge over time.”

“Why?” Trisha asked.

Brandy thought she could guess the answer, and the wizard proved her right. “Because the seal in the mine is failing. My scrying leads me to suspect the other still holds firm, though for how much longer, I cannot say.”

“And you expect me to face the demon alone?” Trisha glanced at Brandy. “Well, the two of us, but—”

The wizard was shaking his head. “I truly hope it will not come to that. No, my thought is that if you are able to reach the seal before it breaks completely, a single sage may be able to renew it, and buy a few more decades of breathing room.”

“If we’re able to reach it?” Brandy said. “What do you mean by that?”

“The seal is at the bottom of the mine,” he said, “deep within the heart of the mountain. My brother and Gil have done what they can to keep the monsters in the upper levels at bay, but there is no telling how badly infested the lower reaches have become.”

“So you want us to go back in there and clear out the monsters?” Brandy said. “Just the two of us?”

“For the time being I would suggest Trisha not join you there,” he said. “Although having bonded to the forest grants her partial protection from the demon, time and training are required to make that complete. And she is not, I think, experienced in any manner of combat.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call tossing drunk assholes out of night clubs good practice for fighting slime monsters,” Brandy countered.

“That’s more than I’ve got,” Trisha said. “And I can’t say I’m in a hurry to join you down there. Not a lot of sunlight underground.”

Brandy winced; that was an aspect she hadn’t even considered—not that she wanted Trisha putting herself in danger. “So you want me to go face these things on my own,” she said. “Or was your brother planning to join me?”

“I doubt it,” Rasmodius said. “He does what he can to ensure the creatures in the mines remain confined there, but he isn’t up to long trips into the depths.” He frowned. “What of the other person who accompanied you to the valley—a young man, I believe? Have you discussed any of this with him?”

“Neel?” It took an effort not to glance down at the phone in her pocket. “Of course we have. You’re saying I should take him into the mine? What, because he’s a guy and can protect me?”

The wizard looked startled. “I would be the last person to assume a woman needs a man to defend her. No, I ask because he is another about whom the spirits have nothing to say, a sign that he shares your lack of magic. You would know better than I whether he might be suited in other respects to accompanying you.”

There was a story in there somewhere, the way he had said that, but now wasn’t the time. “We can talk to him about it,” she said, as if he wasn’t listening in right now. On reflection, perhaps it wasn’t as an absurd an idea as all that, given how quickly he had taken to playing lumberjack… and he wasn’t bad with that slingshot he’d found, either.

He was also tired and grumpy and sitting by the pond on a rapidly cooling Spring evening, so they should wrap this up. She caught Trisha’s eye and could tell her friend was thinking along the same lines. “This is a lot to take in at once,” Trisha said. “What are the immediate next steps we should be taking?”

“I would suggest that Brandy return to the mines—with or without your other friend, as you feel appropriate. Once you’ve demonstrated your determination to my brother’s satisfaction, he will be more forthcoming with you. As for you, Trisha… I understand that, unlike Patrick, you intend for farming to provide your primary income, and thus it will require a great deal of your time. However, if you can find a few hours a week, I would be glad to start teaching you what I can about your magic.”

“What you can?”

The wizard spread his hands. “I may describe myself as a master of the seven elementals, but aside from the realm of air, my mastery is of the theory, rather than the practice. I can teach you the theoretical aspects of wood magic, but beyond a few basics common to our different affinities, putting it to practical use will largely fall to you.”

Trisha’s chin rose a little, and she gave him what Brandy always thought of as her “Challenge Accepted!” smile. “All right. We’ll see how it goes. Do you have a phone number or email address, so I can arrange a scheduled time, or should I just drop by when I have the chance?”

“The latter is fine with me; aside from a few of the town festivals, I am usually here. I do have one request, however—please leave the recording equipment at home during our lessons.” He looked Brandy in the eye, then let his gaze drop to her pocket.

Trisha flushed, and Brandy felt her own cheeks heat. “Oh, you noticed that?” she said, though she didn’t make a move to stop the feed—or correct his assumption that she was recording.

He chuckled. “I may eschew most of the trappings of modern society, but I’m not unaware of them. I don’t fault your caution in these initial discussions, but the knowledge I would impart could be very dangerous if it were to fall into the grasp of someone with both the capability to use it and the willingness to misuse it. Or even into the hands of someone who would drag into the public eye what is better left in these quiet corners of the world.”

“Brandy had the idea of adding in comments to make it sound like we’re making an indy film,” Trisha said, “though I think she was more concerned about people questioning our sanity than taking us seriously. But I get your point.” She stood up.

“That was actually Neel’s idea,” Brandy corrected as she got to her feet. He might not like this new arrangement—or he might be relieved he wouldn’t need to play witness any longer. In either case, they should go collect him from his “reading.”

Chapter Text

“I’m still not sure this is a good idea,” Neel said, checking his jeans pockets to make sure the slingshot and bag of small stones he’d collected for ammo hadn’t fallen out. The entrance to the mines was a lot more ominous up close than from the path by Robin’s house.

“Neither am I, but you heard what the wizard said,” Brandy replied, adjusting the way her sword hung at her hip. “Damn, this looks a lot less awkward in the movies.”

“I’m sure the actors have had a lot more practice,” Trisha said. Unlike the two of them, she wasn’t armed with anything but her purse, though its sheer size probably qualified it as some kind of weapon. “Plus, wouldn’t prop swords be lighter?”

“Not unless you want it to be obvious they’re fake,” Neel said. “They’re usually weighted like the real thing.”

“Should we stop by the guild to see if they’ll cough up a blade for you, too?” Brandy asked him.

He shook his head. “Stage fighting’s all about looking impressive without hurting anyone. Even if I’d done any of that recently, my reflexes would be all wrong. I’ll stick with the ranged attacks, thanks.” He checked his pockets again.

“Are you sure?” Trisha put in. “We could at least ask—”

“Look, if we’re doing this, can we get started already? I told Sam I’d be at the Stardrop tonight.” Hopefully he wouldn’t be spending the evening in the clinic, instead.

“Ooh, hot date?” He dodged Brandy’s attempt to elbow him in the ribs with the ease of long practice. “Sam is cute, for a guy.”

“Sure, but he’s really not my type.” No one could be that relentlessly upbeat, and yet Neel also hadn’t seen any sign it was an act. “He and Abigail and Sebastian get together on Fridays for pool and arcade games. I wandered in on them last week, and he invited me to join them again.” He shrugged against the unfamiliar weight of the backpack Brandy had lent him for the expedition. “So, are we going into the mine or not?”

“You weren’t this eager when we suggested it yesterday,” Trisha said as she stepped up to the entrance.

“I just want to get it over with,” he said. If he hadn’t been listening in on the conversation, he might have suspected this was something Brandy had cooked up as an alternative to taking him bungee jumping, even though he was keeping his end of the bargain, damn it.

“Me, too,” Brandy said. “But we’ll take it slowly, and retreat back to the surface if these slime-things—or anything else we might find down there—seem like too much for us to handle.”

“Or when you start to lose signal,” Trisha said, holding up her phone. “Did you work out who’s filming and who’s calling?”

“All my shirt pockets were too deep to keep the lens above the fabric,” Neel said, and tapped Trisha’s icon in his address book. She answered and slipped her earpiece into place as Brandy set up her phone for video. Neel put the call on speaker and buttoned his phone into the pocket of his green flannel shirt. Then he took a deep breath and followed Brandy into the cave, with Trisha bringing up the rear.

They had barely started setting up Trisha’s “listening post”—a folding lawn chair by the ladder descending into the mines—when uneven footsteps outside the cave caught their attention. Based on Brandy’s description, the man who limped up to the entrance could only be Marlon. “This area is extremely dangerous—” he began, then broke off as Brandy stepped forward.

“Yeah, you could have made that a little clearer last time,” she said, “instead of letting me discover the monsters on my own.”

He frowned at the three of them. “You brought friends, I see. Their courage speaks well for them, but there are… certain considerations…”

“Yeah, your brother told us all about it,” Brandy said. If Neel hadn’t been studying him carefully, he might not have noticed the slight flinch at that, and he filed the information away. The way Rasmodius had spoken about Marlon, the two weren’t all that close, but was there actual bad blood between them?

“Hi, I’m Trisha, Patrick Lockwood’s granddaughter.” Marlon’s eyes widened as she stepped forward, though at her identity or appearance—or both—Neel couldn’t begin to guess. “I’m the new sage of the forest, and I’m not going down there; I’m just monitoring communications from the surface.” Her voice echoed from Neel’s pocket, and the gray-haired man turned toward him.

“And I’m someone ‘about whom the spirits have nothing to say,’” Neel said, taking extra care to capture the wizard’s pompous inflection.

“I see you have met my brother,” he said. “Very well, then, I’ll leave you to it.”

“Hey, wait a minute! I still have questions for you.” Brandy stalked toward the man.

He held his ground, which was either brave or foolish of him, since he didn’t appear armed. “I’m sure you do, but the Adventurers Guild has its own rules, and if you want our secrets, you’ll have to earn them. Once you have reached the fifth chamber of the mines—you’ll know it by the elevator shaft opening there—and have slain ten of the slimes that dwell within the depths, I’ll admit you to the guild, and answer what questions I can.” He nodded to Neel. “I’ll even count your kills together, rather than asking each of you to take out ten.”

“How generous of you,” Neel murmured, but Brandy just nodded shortly.

“Fine. Do they all have to be in one trip?”

“No, ten in total will be fine, however long it takes you. The one you killed the first day doesn’t count.” At her glare, he added, “Normally I would wait for you to reach the fifth floor before even issuing the second challenge, but since you have a sage—of sorts—vouching for you, I’m willing to speed things up.”

Brandy snorted. “So I was right—being a mysterious jerk is a family trait.”

The grey-haired man sighed. “You’re hardly the first to say so. May Yoba watch over you, down there.” He turned to go, and this time Brandy didn’t try to stop him.

They finished setting up Trisha’s gear, including streaming Brandy’s video to her tablet so they were both recording and they had a backup source for audio if Neel’s phone lost signal first. “There weren’t any monsters in the first chamber when I went down last week, but that could have changed,” Brandy said, peering down the shaft. “I don’t see anything weird from here, but wait until I’m on the ground before you follow me.” She checked her sword and backpack and began descending.

When Neel joined her, he peered around the dimly lit cave from beside the ladder as his friend made a careful circuit of the space. “I mistook the slime for a weird boulder the first time, until it started moving,” she said. “I don’t think I’ll make that mistake again. Bring that crowbar over here, would you?” Neel turned around so she could untie the metal bar fastened to the outside of his backpack, and she crouched beside one of the rocks. “Yeah, this is the one I moved last time. See the drag marks? Give me a hand shifting it.” Between the two of them, they made short work of uncovering the shaft leading down to the next level, and Brandy crouched beside it. “I don’t see anything moving. Maybe killing the one frightened off the other I saw. Still, get ready to cover me.”

Neel took out the slingshot and one of the bags of pebbles, “From this angle, I’ll be hard-pressed to hit anything other than you,” he said.

“Well, keep it as an option. I’m not sure that thing would do much damage against a giant bag of snot, anyway—I’m mostly counting on you as a distraction.”

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Neel, hon, you’re good at being distracting. Save it for the monsters.”

He took the hint and kept his mouth shut while Brandy descended the ladder. She looked around more, then beckoned him to follow her down. “How’s the signal, Trisha?” she asked as Neel’s feet hit the ground.

“Still good on both counts,” came the response from his pocket, “though it’s dark enough that I’m not seeing a whole lot on the video feed.”

“If we keep going with this, we should invest in headlamps,” Brandy said. “Hang on, let me try something.” She took her phone out long enough to turn on the flashlight function. “Is that better?”

“A bit.”

“Great. It’ll run down the battery faster, but I don’t think we’ll be down here long enough to matter. Neel, could you hand me the pickaxe? There’s the rock I saw last time that looked like it had some copper in it, and I want to check it out.” He unstrapped the tool from her back and handed it to her. “Stand back and keep an eye out for anything coming.”

The shifting light as Brandy swung at the rock made it difficult to tell if there was actually anything moving, but he watched the narrow point in the cave. As rock chips started to fly, he reconsidered how far “stand back” meant and retreated to the edge of the cave, leaning against a peaked boulder—

“Shit!” The rock shifted backward with a skittering noise that sent a chill down his spine. He stumbled away from it just in time to avoid the crab-like pincer that grabbed at him. “You didn’t mention the attack rocks!” he snapped at Brandy as she dropped the pickaxe and drew her sword.

“They’re news to me, too!” she said, jabbing at the claw. The rusted blade slid along it rather than biting in. The light from her phone revealed a creature that looked like a hideously oversized hermit crab, carrying a rock on its back instead of a shell.

Neel fumbled the slingshot out of his pocket and managed not to drop too many of his pebbles before getting one into the sling. His hands were shaking too much to aim properly, and as Brandy kept poking the monster, grinning like the lunatic she was, he tried to steady himself. Instead of calm, however, all he found was a deep anger—at Marlon, for not warning them about the dangers they’d face; at Brandy for dragging him into this; and, most of all, at himself for going along with it because it was easier than arguing with her.

Fury was a familiar companion, and he let it crowd out the fear. His hands stilled, and he pulled back the sling. As Brandy jumped back from another claw swipe, he sent a rock hurtling into what he assumed was one of the monster’s eyes. It let out a screech and pulled its claws back to defend its face, which gave Brandy an opening to stab the sword into its side. Dark blue blood spilled out of the wound, and with another screech, the creature collapsed, its claws falling limp.

“Gross. At least this one didn’t pop like a water balloon,” Brandy muttered, wiping her off blade on the side of the thing’s shell. “Are you all right, Neel?”

“All right” was not the term he would use, but it wasn’t her fault that he had allowed himself to be talked into this. “It missed me,” he replied shortly, and turned his anger toward a more suitable target. “How much you want to bet that jerk Marlon won’t count this as one of our ten, since it’s not slimy enough?” He picked up the pebbles he had dropped and added some of the bits Brandy had chipped off her boulder, for good measure. A few of them gleamed in the light from her phone. “Do you think this is real copper?” he asked, separating out the metallic bits.

“I think you two should come out now,” Trisha’s voice issued from Neel’s pocket. “That thing looked a lot more dangerous than the slime creatures you described.”

“It caught us by surprise, but neither of us got hurt,” Brandy said. “Now that we know some of the rocks here hit back, we’ll be more cautious.” She prodded a few of the boulders with the tip of her sword, with no response. “Let’s make sure this whole chamber’s clear before I go back to digging out that copper.”

“And we didn’t do that in the first place because…”

“Hey, I’m new to this monster-hunting gig, and I’m used to having competent teachers explain the safety guidelines before I do shit.”

“Point,” he said, and let the matter drop. The spike of fury was receding into the usual background noise, but he tried to hold onto the focus it had given him. As Brandy eased toward the narrow space between the halves of the cave, prodding rocks with the tip of her sword as she went, he picked up a few of the fist-sized bits of debris from the ground and hurled them at the boulders around the edge of the room, watching for any reactions. “I don’t there are any more of the attack rocks on this side.”

“Good. Cover me while I check—shit. There’s a slime over there, hidden around the bend.”

Neel joined her by the narrow stretch. “It does look like a bag of snot. What’s the plan?”

“I’d rather not wind up back at the clinic with more acid burns. I told the doc the first one was from knocking over a container of some unknown glop in the shed, but I doubt he’ll buy that excuse a second time.”

“Or else he’ll start questioning our fertilizer storage,” Trisha murmured over the speaker. “And we don’t have any fertilizer, so if he sent the mayor out to inspect the farm for safety violations, we’d really get some uncomfortable questions.”

Neel raised his slingshot. “Should I try to hit it, or aim behind it as a distraction while you attack?”

“Shoot it. If we can pop it while we’re out of splatter range, all the better.”

His first missile bounced off the monster’s glistening surface without drawing a reaction. He picked out a sharp-edged chip from Brandy’s boulder and tried again. This time the stone sank in, and the creature bounced wildly, making sickening squelching sounds as goo oozed from the hole in its surface. Most unsettling was the way its eyes swiveled around to face them without the hole shifting position. “It certainly noticed that,” he said. “I think I just pissed it off rather than doing any real damage.”

“Keep shooting! Maybe enough holes will make it deflate,” Brandy said, adjusting her grip on her sword as the thing lurched a few feet in their direction. He managed another two hits, both about as effective—or not—as the second, before the thing reached the narrow passage. “Okay, my turn.” She lifted the sword over her shoulder and brought it slashing down diagonally, then jumped back, stumbling over her discarded pickaxe. Her blade had left a long slash through the monster’s face, and it slowly collapsed in on itself as translucent goo flowed into a wide puddle. “Hah! That’s one down! Slash, don’t stab, good to know.”

“And I need something better than pebbles to fling at them,” Neel said.

“I bet putting enough of those little holes in it would work, but yeah, not the fastest method. Let’s check the rest of the cave.”

As Trisha worried at them over the phone, they confirmed that there were no more monsters, slimy or stony or otherwise, and Brandy returned to breaking up the copper-laced boulder. They gathered up the remains, Brandy taking the metal ore and Neel collecting sharp bits of stone for his slingshot. Then he unstrapped the crowbar from his backpack again and helped Brandy shift the remaining boulders until they found another shaft leading down.

The third cavern was as large as the first two put together, and they added another three slimes to their tally, with Neel flinging stones to distract the creatures while Brandy closed in on each in turn. A careful check of the rest of the room turned up no mobile rocks, and Neel hoped that meant they were rare. They did find more copper, though when Brandy smashed the second of the ore-containing boulders, most of the metal cascaded down the shaft that had been hidden underneath. “Well, shit. How’s our signal looking?”

He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “I’ve lost a bar on cell signal. Trisha, are we still coming through okay?”

“Brandy’s video is lagging a little, but your phone’s fine. If you think it’s safe otherwise, you can probably go down another couple of floors before we have to worry about the connection.”

One look at Brandy, her eyes bright with excitement, told him there would be no talking her out of continuing. The next floor was divided into multiple chambers connected by narrow passages. It held two more slimes, one of which had some sort of protrusion on top of it and shrugged off even the sharp stones that had pierced the others, though a few slashes from Brandy killed it. “What I want to know is, where did these things come from in the first place?” he said as his friend scraped her hiking boots against a rock to get the green goo off them. “The shafts were sealed by boulders, and I don’t see any other way for them to have gotten in.

“With all this talk of magic, maybe they mutated from little critters that could slip through the cracks in the walls,” Brandy said. “Or else they just appeared one day, like the way Rasmodius zapped himself to and from the tower.”

“Great, and now I have to worry about them teleporting onto my head,” Neel muttered. “Hey, what’s this?” He used his crowbar to prod two small clusters of something glasslike on the floor.

“No clue,” Brandy said, crouching down and aiming her phone at them. “What do you think, Trisha?”

“They might be quartz. Pick them up, would you?” Trisha said. “It’s a pretty common mineral, but it might be a start to rebuild the library’s geology exhibit.”

As Neel complied, Brandy doubled back to one of the chambers they’d already checked for monsters and used her pickaxe to pry open a half-rotted wooden barrel. “Huh, check these out.”

“They look like eggs,” Neel said, backing away from the pair of rough ovoids she held out toward him. “Maybe that’s what those rock-things hatch out of.”

“I think they’re geodes,” Trisha’s voice declared from his pocket. “Rock formations with mineral deposits inside.”

“Cool, when I was at the blacksmith’s shop he had a few on display that had been sliced in half. I bet Gunther would like these, too,” Brandy said. “Here, Neel, turn around so I can put them in your backpack.”

“Uh, no, you can keep the freaky eggs,” he said. “I’ll believe they’re just crystals when I’ve seen the insides.”

“Wimp,” Brandy teased, but unslung her own pack and opened one of the side pockets.

“Which one of us mistook a giant bag of snot for a ‘weird boulder’? At least my monster actually looked like a rock.”

“Okay, that’s fair. Let’s find the way down to the next level—it should be the one Marlon mentioned, that connects to the old elevator shaft. If we’re lucky, maybe we’ll find four more slimes there, too.”

“You have a strange definition of ‘luck,’ Brandy.”

She grinned at him and started down the ladder. As her feet hit the ground and Neel swing a leg over the hole to follow, she yelped and jumped away from the shaft, pursued by a blue-green beetle the size of her head. Neel yanked his foot back to safety and pulled out his slingshot, but a few seconds later the bug went tumbling back the way it had come from, to lie twitching just at the edge of what he could see. “Brandy? Are you all right? There was some sort of giant insect, but she dealt with it pretty quickly,” he added in response to Trisha’s alarmed query; apparently, she’d lost the video feed.

“Yeah.” Brandy stalked back into view and stabbed the thing until the twitching stopped. “It caught me by surprise, is all. I’m not sure it was even attacking, or if it just ran into me when I dropped down in front of it.” She turned to survey the rest of the cave. “I don’t see any other signs of movement nearby, so it should be safe for you to come down.”

As he reached the bottom of the ladder, Trisha’s voice issued from his phone “—id you fi—vator sha—”

He frowned. “You’re breaking up, but if I understood you right, yes, there’s an elevator door right by the ladder.” The response was unintelligible.

Brandy glared around the room, but after a moment she shook her head. “Much as I’d like to try to check off the other half of Marlon’s challenge, we’d better head back up.” Instead of the ladder, however, she headed for the elevator doors.

“What are you doing? There’s no way that thing’s still functional.”

“I wouldn’t trust it even if it was,” she said. “But depending on how the shaft is built, we might be able to climb up and down it instead of having to wind our way through the whole cave system. Hand me your crowbar?” She wedged it through the rust caking the edges of the doors and pried them far enough apart to brace the crowbar across the opening, then leaned through the gap under it. “Score! There’s a lot of bracing here that should be climbable, if the wood isn’t rotted.” She pulled herself back into the cave. “Don’t give me that look, Neel, I didn’t mean we were going up it right now.” She dislodged the crowbar and the doors slowly slid most of the way closed; she shoved them the rest of the way. “For that, I want safety lines.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Neel murmured and started up the ladder.

“—going on down there? Are you two okay?” Trisha demanded as he reached the top.

“We’re both fine, the fifth floor is right at the edge of cell service, and we’re on our way back to you now,” he said. They paused to lever the boulder back over that ladder, since there was no sense in letting the giant bugs they’d discovered have free range, but agreed there was no need to seal every cave as they went back up. They did cover the shaft between the first and second, since there wasn’t anything in the outer cavern they could use to block off the final ladder.

They found Trisha pacing in the late afternoon sunlight spilling through the entrance. “Finally! You’re sure you’re both all right?” She shut down tablet and phone as she approached them.

“I got some slime on my boots, but no skin contact this time, and it doesn’t seem to be eating through the leather,” Brandy said. “And aside from his brush with the not-a-rock, Neel kept his distance and provided covering fire. Nice reflexes dodging that thing, by the way,” she said, turning to him. “I don’t think I mentioned that at the time. I would have thought at first that the boulder had just rolled back.”

He shrugged and forced a grin. “Dagger likes to hide under the furniture and swipe at my feet as I walk by,” he said. “I guess I ought to thank her for the training.”

“Glad she’s making herself useful,” Brandy said, and threw an arm around his shoulders. “Thanks for having my back.”

“Always,” he said. He wasn’t eager to go back in there—especially not if it meant going down an elevator shaft, sans elevator—but at least until she was sure she’d be safe on her own, he foresaw a lot of time underground in his future. He rubbed his hands over his arms, chilled despite the flannel. “I should bring a jacket next time.” Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, he was starting to feel shaky again. A drink at the saloon was definitely in order, even if he hadn’t already been planning to go there. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, grimacing at the dirt now covering both his shirt and his hands, and checked the time. “Oh, good, I have time for a shower and change of clothes before dinner.”

“Do you think they’d mind extra company?” Brandy asked as they hiked down the trail. “I don’t feel like cooking tonight, and it’s been a while since Trisha and I hit the pool table.”

“Actually, I think I’m going to pass,” Trisha said before he could respond. “I want to talk to Rasmodius—see if I can pry anything else useful out of him.”

“Do you want me to come with?” Brandy asked.

“No, I’ll be fine on my own. He’s earned a little trust.”

“If you’re sure…”

“Go! Have fun! Flirt with the bartender! I think she likes you. And kick Neel’s ass at pool for me.”

“Gee, thanks,” Neel said, rolling his eyes. “Actually… I’m pretty sure Abigail and Sam would be fine with you joining us, but Sebastian seemed kind of annoyed that they invited me in last week. Not exactly a people person, I take it. He thawed out a little, by the end of the evening, but I don’t think I have standing to invite more people.”

“Could you ask, at least? I can hang out at the bar instead, but it’s been a while since I had the chance to trounce new people at pool.”

“Don’t get too cocky. You could beat Sam blindfolded—he’s either the worst player on the planet or he’s running a very long hustle—and Abigail doesn’t play at all, if last week was any indication, but Sebastian’s as good as you and Trish.”

“Ooh, a challenge! Seriously, Neel, turn up the charm and get me into this little club.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Chapter Text

Abigail looked up from her phone as a black-haired head appeared in the corner of her vision, but it was Neel, not Sebastian, who had entered. “Hey! Glad you could make it.”

The secretary-turned-farmer looked across the arcade to where Sam had the cue ball in his hand and was using it to knock the other balls around the table. “Sebastian’s not here yet?”

Sam grimaced and batted the 8-ball into a pocket. “He’s got a big work thing today. He said he’d try to stop by if he gets done early, which usually means he’s not showing at all. You up for a game?”

“Sure—would cutthroat be okay? Brandy was hoping she could join us tonight.”

He grinned. “Sure, maybe that means I’ll beat you again.”

The pink-haired woman must have been right behind her friend, because she hip-checked him aside and came in carrying a drink in each hand. “Again? You didn’t mention that part, hon,” she said with a grin as she handed Neel the wine glass, keeping the beer mug for herself.

He tossed a mock glare at Sam. “He sank one ball during the entire game. It happened to be my last one.”

“But I still technically beat you,” the blond said, swatting another ball into a pocket.

Brandy’s eyebrows—which were again perfectly done up to match her hair, even though she didn’t seem to wear any other makeup—climbed higher. “Uh, that’s not how you play pool, Sam.”

“Somebody stole all the cue sticks.”

Abigail laughed and reached behind the couch without looking, drawing out one of the implements in question. “Only because somebody nearly took out a light fixture within minutes of arriving.” She passed them out to Brandy and Neel, but held back from giving Sam his. “I don’t know if you can be trusted with this sort of power,” she said, grinning as she fended off his attempt to reach past her to where the remaining sticks leaned against the wall.

“Abbs, come on…”

She parried another grab; her sword practice was coming in handy in unexpected ways, which made it worth the way her back and shoulders still ached from her training session that morning. “Hmm, promise me after this game we’ll do a few rounds of Journey of the Prairie King,” she said.

“Deal,” he agreed, and she passed him a stick, then stood up to return the rest of her hoard to the rack on the wall.

As the others were setting up their game, she ducked out to the main room to grab the specials menu and put in her drink order, since Emily looked too busy at the bar to come to them. “No sashimi tonight, sorry,” the bartender said as she filled a beer mug from the tap.

“Darn, that might actually have gotten Seb to show up,” she said.

The blue-haired woman’s head tilted. “He’s not coming?”

“Probably not. He’s been taking on every freelance gig he can grab, and while he always says he’ll try to make it down here when he’s done for the day…” She shrugged. Sam kept muttering about the snowball, but Abigail wasn’t so sure their friend was using work as an excuse to avoid them. She didn’t think Joja’s arrival in town had hurt the carpentry business as badly as her dad’s, but she couldn’t help wondering whether his recent workaholism was similar to her own realization that her folks might need her to help support them if things kept up as they were. It would explain the stress extra he was under lately. “At least he still makes time for band practice.”

“That’s good,” Emily said. She glanced over her shoulder at her boss, then leaned forward and stage-whispered, “I’ve been trying to convince Gus to do a live music night, but he’s not sold on it yet.”

“Aw, thanks, Em, you’re the greatest bartender ever.” She collected her beer and the menu and breezed back into the arcade. “Hey, folks, what are we eating tonight? My vote’s for the pepper poppers!” Brandy proved to be as much of a spice fan as she was, but the guys opted for pizza. While she waited for the food to arrive, Abigail found herself hovering by the table instead of retreating to the couch and playing on her phone like she usually did. It wasn’t as if she had suddenly developed an interest in pool, but she didn’t want the newcomers to think she was ignoring them, instead of the game. As a bonus, her back muscles were happier with her standing than slouching against the cushions.

“Neel!” Brandy exclaimed as the ball her friend had just hit bounced off the edge of the pocket. “Are you feeling all right, hon?”

“I’m fine,” he said, trying to fend her off as she pressed her wrist to his forehead.

“Well, you’re seriously off your game. That’s the third easy shot you’ve fucked up.” Abigail concealed a grin; the pink-haired woman’s language would horrify her mother, but the swearing came across as affectionate.

“Easy, right.” Sam muttered as he leaned over the table for his turn. A little louder: “It’s a little late to try to turn pool hustler, you know.”

Neel shrugged and traded the cue stick for his wine glass. “It’s not like I’m missing on purpose. With all the wood chopping and other work I’ve been doing since we got here, I guess I’ve gotten stronger. I keep overshooting, or undershooting trying to compensate.”

“Wait, you mean you’re hiding actual muscle under all that flannel?” She grabbed his upper arm. “Come on, flex for me.”

“Knock it off, Brandy,” he said, rolling his eyes as he pulled away from her grip. “What did you expect? The most athletic thing I’d done since college was carry file boxes from one room to another. I mean, they weren’t small boxes—it’s not like I was a complete wimp—but nothing compared to swinging an axe half the day.”

Sam stepped back from the table after screwing up his own shot, though at least without damaging anything this time, and raised his eyebrows. “Since college? What, were you a jock in school?”

“Hardly. I did theater, and the program director was a retired choreographer who always picked shows with lots of dancing or fight scenes, or both.”

“You were a drama major?” Abigail asked. Not what she would have guessed, but it would explain the “innocent me” act he had pulled last week.

“Theater arts, technically, plus a literature minor. I did my thesis on changes in playwriting over the last few centuries, using mostly shows I’d been in as examples.”

“Nice—no extra reading.” She’d leaned toward a lit major at first, figuring it would be easy, but had bounced off the mountain of tedious “classics” she’d been expected to wade through. “What about you, Brandy? What did you major in?”

“I didn’t do college,” the other woman said, circling the table. “By the end of high school I was sick of being cooped up in classrooms. I just wanted to get out into the real world!”

“Yeah, I get that,” said Sam. “What did you do before you came here?”

“Little of this, little of that,” she said, stretching awkwardly across the table before shaking her head and straightening. “Turns out restaurants frown on waitresses telling asshole customers to fuck off, and retail’s worse than school for long, boring hours indoors. I was starting to look at trade apprenticeships, but then one of Neel’s exes got me a gig as security at the nightclub where he worked. That turned out to be a good fit.”

“No way, you were a bouncer? Was it like the movies, breaking up bar fights every night?” Abigail could picture the tall woman doing so, and maybe that was why Marlon had let her into the mine.

Brandy laughed. “Not if I could help it. Management would much rather you talk people out of starting shit in the first place. Less wear and tear on the furniture, not to mention employees and other customers. Most days it was just checking IDs and reminding folks that no means no, whether it’s the bartenders cutting them off or someone turning them down for a date.” She scowled down at the table. “Sam, I’d be a lot more annoyed if I thought you had set the balls up like that on purpose.”

“You want the bridge?” he asked, turning around to grab the short “cue stick” with the metal bits on the end. Abigail had always wondered what it was for, since neither of the guys ever used it.

“Nah, I think I got this.” She hopped up to sit on the edge of the pool table, placed her left hand on the felt, and swung her stick around behind her arched back to take aim.

Sam’s jaw dropped as the white ball struck one of the yellow ones and knocked it into a pocket. “Wow, you have got to come back here the next time Seb actually shows up,” he said. “Someone needs to break his winning streak.”

Brandy grinned at him as she dropped back to the floor. “Maybe I’ll be able to convince Trisha to come along, too. We spent the last few years trading the champion’s title back and forth at our local bar.”

“Neel mentioned both of you were good,” Abigail said as Brandy lined up another shot. “I’m not really into pool, but it’d be fun to watch Sebastian get his ass kicked for once.” She placed her fists against her lower back and leaned into them, closing her eyes and stretching until she felt something pop.

The sound was echoed by the clacking of balls on the table, and she looked down to see the white one disappear into a pocket.

“Hah, now’s who’s off their game?” Neel said, pulling it back out, along with a couple more. He passed one to Sam.

Brandy’s cheeks flushed, almost matching her hair. “Just a fluke. Don’t get too comfortable. Oh, look, the food’s here! Thanks, Emily!”

By common agreement, the game was paused while they all fell upon the food—another difference from pool nights with Sebastian, who ate between turns, meaning Sam did, too. A lull in the conversation around the table gave Abigail the opportunity she’d been hoping for.

“Hey, Brandy, Maru mentioned she’d seen you going into the mine. How come Marlon let you, when he chases everyone else off?” The pink-haired woman spluttered into her beer.

Sam’s eyes widened; Abigail hadn’t mentioned it to him, and apparently that bit of gossip hadn’t reached him by any other route. “That place is dangerous. You didn’t actually, like, go in, did you? Just in the entrance cave?”

Brandy and Neel exchanged a glance. “Wait, you’ve both been in there, haven’t you?” Abigail exclaimed. “That is so unfair; I’ve been trying to convince Marlon to let me join the guild for ages, and he just gives me this obnoxious ‘go home, child’ attitude.”

Rather than replying, Brandy popped another pepper into her mouth and looked at her friend. Neel shrugged. “Maybe it’s because he hasn’t known us since we were little kids?”

Brandy swallowed and added, “And it’s not like he’s let us into the guild, or told us anything useful. He’s got this ridiculous list of challenges we have to meet first.”

“What sort of challenges?” she said, leaning forward. If she could just prove to Marlon that she was old enough to handle the danger…

“I… don’t think I should say.” The other woman wouldn’t meet her gaze. “Look, if I go through with this checklist shit and get into the guild, I’ll see if I can find out more, but I don’t want to step on any toes, here.”

Abigail wanted to object, but Brandy’s offer was more than she’d been able to wring out of Marlon or Gil—on the rare times she’d encountered the older man instead, he’d been just as obstinate as his partner. “Ugh. Okay, thanks for that, I guess.”

“Are there really monsters down there?” Sam asked. “Or—are you allowed to say?”

The two newcomers exchanged another look. “Marlon didn’t exactly spell out the rules,” Neel said after a long silence.

Brandy made a face. “Yeah, there are monsters, or at least, I don’t know what else to call them. Big slimy blob things that splatter acid goop everywhere if you stab them.” She rubbed her right forearm, and Abigail remembered Maru saying the woman had been to the clinic the same day she’d seen her going into the mine. “And there was this thing—which Neel discovered by sitting on it!—that looked just like one of the boulders lying around until it stood up and started snapping at his ankles.”

“Don’t forget the giant beetle that nearly got you just before we left,” Neel added, uncharacteristically grim.

Brandy winced. “I’m still not sure if it was actually attacking me, so much as my head happened to wind up in its way when I dropped down that ladder. It didn’t put up much of a fight—I think it was nearly as startled as me.”

Neel shuddered. “Can we talk about something else? I came to the saloon to unwind from that little ‘adventure,’ not relive it.”

“All right, all right,” Brandy said. “So, you’ve heard about our pasts in Zuzu—what about you two?”

Sam shrugged. “I used to live in the city, too, though we moved here when I was about the same age my kid brother is now, and I haven’t really left the valley since. I was planning on college after high school, but when my dad got stationed up north I didn’t want to leave Mom and Vincent on their own.”

Brandy’s gaze darted, oddly, to Neel. “He’s in the military? By up north, d’you mean—”

“He’s at the front,” her friend said quietly, his usual sunshine dimming for a moment.

Brandy jumped—Neel must have kicked her under the table, given the way she glared at him. “What were you thinking of studying?” the dark-haired man asked.

Abigail could tell Sam was as relieved for the change of subject as Neel had been a few minutes ago. “Music,” he said. “I’ve always loved to play, and I have all these songs in my head, but I don’t know how to get them out. The basic tune’s easy enough, but chords and harmonies and which instrument should play which bits and stuff like that—it’s all trial and error, and half the time the things I want to write slip away before I can pin them down. The library’s got a book on music theory, but it’s obviously not meant for beginners—I couldn’t make any sense of it. I’m trying to save up enough for an online program like Abby’s.”

“Technically it’s ‘low residency,’” Abigail said as the farmers’ attention turned back to her. “I’m enrolled in U of Z’s extension program, and I’ll have to go there for the last few years. Right now my folks can only afford for me to take one course at a time, so it’s going to take ages to get to that point.” Assumed she ever figured out a major.

Sam, spirits bless him, knew about her struggles in that regard and deflected any further questions by stuffing the last of his pizza into his mouth and mumbling something about getting back to the game.

By the time Brandy won the match, Abigail had lost interest in favor of the arcade machines. Ever hopeful, she prodded the long-defunct game beside Journey to the Prairie King, but it continued its endless loop.

“What’s that one?” Brandy said, leaning over her shoulder. “‘Junimo Cart’? Never heard of it.”

“Yeah, I don’t know where Gus got it either,” Abigail said. “Or why he keeps it plugged in, for that matter—it’s never worked. It just goes back and forth between the title screen and a demo. I tried looking it up on the web, but I couldn’t find anything about it even existing.”

“Weird.

The guys joined them by the games. “Sebastian thinks somebody reskinned an existing game and pawned it off on Gus as a local-interest thing,” Sam said. “And that they broke something in the process.”

“Was ‘Junimo’ the name of a town founder or something?” Neel asked.

“Nah, it’s more of a local legend,” Abigail said. “They’re supposed to be nature spirits, so why they’d be riding a roller coaster is beyond me.”

“If game concepts had to make sense, there’d be a lot fewer of them,” Brandy said. “Too bad it doesn’t work—I’ve always liked platformers and runners.”

“Same, though I like action games like Prairie King better,” she replied. “I just bought the home console version, but it’s even harder than the arcade one. Speaking of which—Sam! We’re up!” She dropped a coin into the machine, then promptly collected it from the return chute and put it through the Player 2 slot as well. “Gus asked Sebastian to rig so it doesn’t cost anything to play,” she confided to the farmers. “He just wanted it for entertainment, not as a money-maker.”

“Nice of him,” Neel said, hiding a yawn behind his hand. “Sorry. Been a long day, and I’m wiped out.”

“Planning on abandoning us early again?” Abigail asked. “At least tell me you’re coming to the Egg Festival tomorrow.”

“We’ll be there. Trisha, too, even if I have to drag her,” Brandy promised.

“Awesome. I’m definitely going to enter the egg hunt—are you?”

“I thought that was for the kids?” Neel asked.

“Anyone who wants can join, though there’s certain colors of eggs we’re not supposed to touch, to make sure Jas and Vincent find plenty.”

“My little brother gets so excited for festivals. He’s been talking about tomorrow’s egg hunt all day,” Sam said, not looking away from the game. “I’ll probably enter, too—but Abby always wins.” He grinned as her sprite died beneath a pile of orcs. “At least I’m better at video games than her and Seb.”

Abigail took advantage of the few seconds’ wait for her character to respawn to stick out her tongue at him. “He’s right about the festival, though—I’ve been the champ for years.”

“Ooh, I like a challenge!” Brandy said. “Count me in. What about you, Neel?”

He shrugged. “Maybe? It’ll depend on how much of a scramble it is to get everything done on the farm before the festival. And on that note, I’m going to head home.” He patted his pockets. “Shit. Brandy, I left my wallet in my other pants. Could you cover my share? I’ll pay you back tomorrow.”

“No problem, hon. After all, I know where you live!”

Neel rolled his eyes and waved to the rest of them as he left.

“Does he stick you with the bill often?” Abigail asked, during another character-load delay.

“Nah, he’s usually got it together better than this. He was in a hurry to change and head over here tonight,” she said, but she was still staring at the doorway. “He’s got a point, though. I’m not going to be able to get away with sleeping in tomorrow, so I should go home, too.”

“Is your friend that strict a boss?” Sam asked. “Must be a Joja thing—my manager’s got a real bug up his ass about schedules.”

Brandy chuckled. “She was never management, thankfully. From the way she and Neel talked, I think Joja sends those types to whatever the opposite of charm school is. No, I’m more worried about her pushing herself too hard trying to make up the slack.” She ran a hand through her hair, which evidently wasn’t as stiff from whatever product she used as Sam’s was, since there was no crackling sound. “Years as a professional night owl did not prepare me for farm life. Fuck, some nights I didn’t go to sleep until 6am, and now that’s when my alarm goes off.”

“I’m glad I mostly get afternoon shifts at work, even if I’d rather have more hours overall,” Sam said. “The couple times I’ve had to open sucked.”

Brandy sighed. “I guess a lot of it’s what you’re used to—and that means I should get to bed before my brain decides to kick back into night-owl mode. It was great hanging out with you two—we’ll have to do it again!”

“We’re here pretty much every Friday,” Abigail said. “Plus Seb when he’s not working. He can be kind of chilly at first, but he’s okay once you get to know him.”

“And easily swayed by raw fish, from what Neel said, which makes him sound a bit like our cat.”

“Ooh, and how is Dagger settling in?” Abigail asked. Brandy’s departure was delayed as she showed them her photos. She didn’t have nearly enough of them—though the ones of the tiny creature “attacking” Neel were adorable—and it wasn’t long before she put her phone away and headed out of the arcade to take care of her half of the bill.

“She and Neel make a cute pair, even if it seems like an odd match,” Abigail mused as Sam finally lost his last life on the game and pulled out a coin to restart it.

He gave her an odd look. “Uh, I’m pretty sure they’re not,” he said. “A couple, I mean.”

“Really? But she calls him ‘hon,’ and she was sort of feeling him up earlier.”

Her friend snorted. “What, the muscles thing? Trust me, his reaction to that was not the ‘my girlfriend is touching me’ sort. Not even with a side of ‘and embarrassing me in public.’ And Brandy…” He grinned and shook his head. “No, I’m pretty sure she’s got her eye on someone else.”

“Ooh, did I miss her flirting with you? Or you with her, for that matter?”

He laughed. “No, definitely not. I know when I’m out of my league.”

“Who, then?”

But Sam refused to tell her, even when she threatened to swipe all the cue sticks again before their next pool night, so she figured he was making it up to hide his own disappointment.

Chapter Text

“Please, come in, Trisha,” Rasmodius said, his voice barely muffled by the door as she was about to knock on. She pursed her lips and pushed it open. “No, I wasn’t using magic to watch for you,” he added before she could ask. He was seated at the table, and he waved a hand at the other chair. “I happened to be looking out the window as you approached.”

She grinned ruefully as she sat down. “I’m surprised you didn’t try to keep up the ‘all-knowing wizard’ routine,” she said. “I probably would have bought it.”

That earned her a smile, but his expression sobered almost at once. “All the more reason not to do so,” he said. “Trust is a vital part of the relationship between teacher and pupil. I must confess, I hadn’t expected to see you back here quite so soon.”

She folded her hands on the table in front of her. “Brandy and Neel went down into the mine today.”

“I see. From your demeanor, I gather the expedition was a successful one.”

“They weren’t hurt, thank Yoba, but they had a few close calls. Yesterday you said something about forest magic and healing. If they’re going to keep putting themselves in danger, I want to know what I can do to help.”

“Admirable,” he said. “I shall caution you, however, that such magic is more about supporting a body’s natural regenerative abilities than bringing about the sort of dramatic, instantaneous recovery you may have encountered in stories.”

“That’s still something,” she said, “and with all due respect to Grandpa, it seems more useful than trying to make dandelions grow where you want them to. We’re doing well enough with the commercial crops.”

“Very well; once you have a grasp on the basics of wood magic, I shall focus our lessons on the aspects connected to healing. That said, I would be most curious about the results, should you decide to plant the seeds the Junimos gave you.”

“Thank you,” Trisha said, and pulled her tablet and a folding keyboard out of her purse.

The wizard frowned. “I did ask that this not be recorded…”

“I’m not doing audio or video, but I need to take notes somehow, and this is faster and more secure than handwriting,” she said, launching the program she’d selected for the purpose. “This app has a password, plus there’s one on the tablet itself. The files it creates are encrypted, and so is my cloud back-up service. Plus, this can handle drawings in addition to typed text, in case there are diagrams or symbols I need to learn.”

Rasmodius stroked his beard. “I understood enough of that to take your word that this is a safe form for your grimoire. To begin with, I would like you to think back to when I had you drink the forest potion. Could you describe for me what you sensed?”

A couple of hours later, the wizard declared that they had reached a good point to stop for the evening. Trisha flexed her hands and wrists; she hadn’t spent this much time at a keyboard since leaving Joja, and the portable one was too small to be comfortable at the best of times. “So, for now I should just do those mental exercises you taught me whenever I have the time?” She started putting away her gear.

“I would ask that you make time at least once a day—perhaps first thing in the morning or just before bed. Practice beyond that will be helpful, should you find additional moments of peace and privacy, but I realize you have responsibilities to your farm and your friends.” He rose from the table as she stood up. “Once you are comfortable with reaching out to the forest’s energy, we’ll continue your lessons. However, do feel free to come back sooner, should you have questions or if you discover more about the Junimos and their requests.”

“I will. Thanks again, Rasmodius.”

Night had fallen by the time she left the tower, and she turned on her phone’s flashlight as she picked her way through the woods. Trisha frowned as she reached the beginning of the path they’d roughed out through her overgrown farmland; the tall grass was already starting to reclaim it. She had taken only a few steps onto the property when a sudden burst of motion startled her, until she recognized the bright-glowing eyes staring at her. “And what trouble have you gotten into today?” she asked the cat. It was astonishing how much mischief such a small animal could find, but Brandy was right that putting Neel in charge of it had been a good plan. The kitten only mewed at her and rubbed against her leg before disappearing back into the weeds.

Then she learned precisely where the edge of cell coverage was, because her phone beeped to inform her she had several missed calls. Before she could check who had been trying to reach her, it rang, an unfamiliar Zuzu City number on the screen. “Hello?”

“Trisha! Finally! I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for over an hour!”

It took her a moment to place the voice in such an unexpected context. “Clarissa? Sorry, service is spotty out here. Did you get a new number?”

“No, I’m borrowing a friend’s phone, just in case.”

“Well, that’s certainly ominous,” she said, and lifted a hand in greeting as she spotted Neel on the path past the farmhouse. “What in the world are you talking about?”

“Your ‘customer complaint,’ of course,” Clarissa said. “What in the world were you thinking? If I hadn’t caught it before it made its way into the system, there’s no way I’d be able to get you rehired.”

She wasn’t sure what her expression looked like, but Neel did a double-take as he passed her and then followed her up the steps to her porch instead of continuing toward his own cabin. “Farming’s going pretty well, so that might not be an issue, but I still don’t understand what you mean, Clarissa. The guy’s not so much bending the rules as setting fire to the management handbook.”

“Oh, for Yoba’s sake, Trisha, did you even look at what you were typing? The name didn’t ring a bell? No one’s going to issue so much as a slap on the wrist to Colonel Morris’s nephew.”

“He’s—are you sure? It’s a common enough name, and they don’t look anything alike. If he’s that well connected, why would he be running a single JojaMart in a rural district?”

“Not my division, and I’m not going to go digging into it, because I need my job. Reading between the lines of what you wrote, someone’s trying to shuffle him off to where he can’t do much damage while they wait for him to screw up badly enough that even his name can’t shield him from the consequences.”

“Consequences like customer complaints?” Trisha said pointedly. Brandy came through the gate at that point, saw the pair of them on the porch, and joined them; Neel waved her to silence when she started to ask what was going on.

“Consequences like running too long in the red,” Clarissa countered, confirming Neel’s theory about how the corporation handled—or didn’t—managers who broke the rules. “Look, if other people living there have a problem with him, encourage them to write in. It probably won’t do much good, but it’ll add to the paper trail. Just make sure there’s no obvious connection to you, because it could look like you’re trying to get back at the colonel for the whole rooftop security thing.”

“But I didn’t even know—” She broke off. “No, you’re right. I’m actually not holding a grudge—an hour on the roof is nothing compared to spending all day outdoors, like I am now—but it wouldn’t help anything if they’d use me as an excuse to toss out the rest of the complaints.”

“I’m glad you understand. I despise nepotism, but that’s all the more reason to make sure that when he does fall from grace, he can’t claim someone else pushed him. And I’m really happy to hear you’re doing well. I’d love to catch up, but not on someone else’s minutes. Talk to you later!”

Trisha turned off her phone and looked at her friends. “Did you catch the gist of that?”

“They’re going to do even less about Morris than I predicted?” Neel leaned against the rail and gazed across the dark fields.

“Yeah. Turns out his uncle’s the head of security, and no one wants to make waves.”

“Morris… Huh, didn’t even occur to me,” he murmured. She and Brandy both frowned at him, because there was an odd note in his voice, but before they could push, he shook himself. “Well, it is what it is. I’m going to call it a night.” As he walked toward his cabin, a small gray shadow pounced out of the kale patch, and he dodged to one side before sweeping the cat into his arms.

Brandy grinned at the sight. “Bless Marnie,” she said quietly.

“Yeah.” Trisha shoved her phone in her purse. Joja’s corporate decisions were no longer any of her concern, and all she could do about the local jerk was support his competition. “Did you two have fun at the saloon tonight?”

“Yeah, it was great!” It was hard to tell in the dark, but she thought Brandy was blushing. Perhaps that flirtation with the bartender had gone well? “You should join us next week. I don’t think anybody’d care if you weren’t eating with us.”

“Maybe I will. I take it Sebastian didn’t mind the extra company?”

“He wasn’t there. From what his friends said, he skips more often than not.” She shrugged. “Not much he can object to if there’s a new normal by the time he shows his face again, is there? And I promised them you’d be at the festival tomorrow, so don’t even think about chickening out. People here are really nice, y’know?”

“Yeah, I’ll come with you two.” She might as well get the rest of the introductions over with all at once, and everyone she had met so far was too polite to gawk. “I’ve got homework from Rasmodius, so I should head inside and work on that. We’ll need to get up bright and early tomorrow to tend the crops before we go.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Brandy said, and started down the stairs. “I think Neel’s got the right idea—go to bed early so waking up at fuck-this-o’clock isn’t as painful.”

An hour later, when Trisha gave up on trying to contact the “soul of the forest” in the trees surrounding the farm, she glanced out the window and saw Neel’s lights still on, though Brandy’s cabin was dark. She considered texting him to ask what he was up to, but if he’d fallen asleep reading—not a rare occurrence, though it had been a while—she didn’t want to wake him up.

Chapter Text

The Pelican Town Egg Festival was exactly what every made-for-TV movie set in a small country village said it should be, and Neel eyed the setup with suspicion. “Are you sure we’re not unwitting contestants in some reality show?” he murmured to Brandy and Trisha as they approached a brightly painted stall near the edge of the town square. “Because, come on.”

Brandy snorted. “No, my parents used to take me to the local fairs in the district where Pop grew up, and they’re all pretty much like this.” They watched as Marnie handed some money across the counter to Pierre, who gave her a pink stuffed rabbit in exchange. She passed the plush toy to Jas, who Neel had learned lived with her at the ranch, though he wasn’t sure how the two were related. The little girl staggered beneath the bunny, which was almost as big as she was.

The shopkeeper waved as they drew near. “Can I interest you in a souvenir? Surely you’d like something to remember your first big event in Stardew Valley!”

Brandy, being Brandy, made a beeline for a display of plastic lawn flamingos. “Ooh, Trisha, look!”

“If you want one, it’s coming out of your personal account, not the farm’s,” Lockwood’s owner said sternly. “And it stays by your cabin.” Preferably where Trisha wouldn’t be able to see it from her window, if Neel was reading her tone right.

“Hmm. I’ll have to think about it. There are some other things I’ve been saving up for. I ought to at least get a postcard for my folks, though.” She flipped through the box of them on the counter, then gasped. “Strawberry seeds! Since when have you carried those?”

Pierre smiled. “I finally got my shipment in yesterday evening. If you’d like some, I suggest you buy now; the company only releases a small quantity for retail sale every year—they mostly supply the big industrial growers—and I usually sell out by the end of the festival.”

Trisha picked up one of the seed packets and read the back, then pulled out her phone, no doubt to check the stats on strawberry prices. While she analyzed, Neel turned his attention to the rest of the festival. It looked like nearly everyone in town was there—he even saw Marlon beside the town bulletin board, talking to Robin. There was no sign of Rasmodius, though the “wild man” Brandy had told them about meeting was standing over by a tree, watching the festivities as if unsure he was welcome to join in.

He had to fight to keep his eyebrows from rising as Shane approached the souvenir stand. The man was smiling, an expression Neel hadn’t thought him capable of. He’d even taken the time to shave properly.

“Hey, welcome to the Egg Festival,” he said, the hostility he’d displayed when Neel had made a brief attempt to talk to him at the Saloon last night nowhere to be found. “Be sure to check out the buffet. Gus did most of the cooking, but our hens have been working overtime to prepare for this festival. They deserve the best tonight… bowls full of sweet yellow corn!”

Neel had no idea what to make of a cheerful Shane. The man was Marnie’s nephew, from what he’d heard around town, so he ventured, “All the eggs here came from the ranch?”

“The ones for the buffet. I, uh, don’t recommend eating any of the ones Willy and I hid for the egg hunt,” he said, picking at a few bits of glitter clinging to his shirt. “They’re hard-boiled, but even if they hadn’t been sitting out all day, we got them extra cheap because Joja was about to toss them as out of date.”

That was probably more words in the space of a few minutes than Neel had heard the other man speak since they’d arrived in Pelican Town, but the mention of his employer had darkened Shane’s mood as much as it had Neel’s. He wondered if the man knew anything about what Morris was up to, but this was not the time or place to follow up on the potential leads Trisha’s phone call the night before had revealed. He dragged the conversation back to neutral ground—for now. “So you help out with the animals?”

Shane shrugged. “Just the chickens. It’s the least I can do, since my aunt only charges me a token rent.” As Trisha and Brandy joined them—Brandy had opted for not one, but two flamingos—Shane’s attention focused on the farm’s owner. “Uh, hi. I don’t think I’ve met either of you. Though I’ve seen you at the saloon.” He nodded at Brandy.

“She’s Trisha. I’m Brandy,” the latter said.

From the look on his face, Shane was holding back the obvious question by force of will, and Neel spared a moment to be grateful that, for once, the man didn’t appear to be drunk or hungover. Finally, he blurted, “Have you considered raising chickens?”

Trisha, who had also been bracing for a query about her appearance, just stared at him. After a moment, she said, “Uh, no, not really. We’ve got our hands full with plants, right now. I’m not sure we’re ready for animals.”

“We do have a cat,” Neel felt compelled to point out.

“Cats mostly take care of themselves, though,” Trisha countered.

“Tell that to the litter box in my cabin,” he said.

“Chickens aren’t that much more work,” said Shane. “Just give them a coop and a fenced-in area with plenty of grass and bugs, and they’ll be laying eggs for you in no time! They don’t like to go out in bad weather, though, so you do have to feed them in winter and on rainy days.”

Marnie wandered over, having evidently caught the gist of the conversation. “There’s nothing quite as peaceful as watching a flock of hens going about their business,” she said. “And you’d have fresh eggs every morning! I’m sure Robin would be delighted to build you a coop, if you’re interested, and I’d be happy to hatch a few extra chicks to sell you.”

“I’ll think about it,” Trisha said, her tone suggesting she was letting the poultry enthusiasts down gently. “It would be a big investment, at this point.”

“Oh, I understand completely, Miss Trisha,” Marnie said. “Just keep it in mind for the future—I can barely keep up with the local demand, and I know Pierre would welcome an additional supplier.”

“I’ll do that,” Trisha said. Marnie was perceptive enough not to push further, and Shane was now occupied with admiring Jas’s new toy, so they made their escape.

As Neel and Brandy began introducing Trisha to all the people she hadn’t encountered before, Neel noticed that the “hidden” eggs weren’t hard to spot. There was enough variety in the colors that he didn’t think they could all be the ones designated for the children to find. Given what Shane had said about the quality of the eggs beneath the paint, he supposed no one wanted to risk them going unnoticed after the event.

Willy inadvertently confirmed his suspicions, when Trisha, not having been around for the first part of the conversation with Shane, asked if he was joining in the hunt. “No, lass, I’m the opposition, so to speak. Sometimes I’ll hide an egg too well and no one finds it… well, until summer rolls around. Then the hot air starts to bring out the rotten smell.” He chuckled nervously. “The mayor doesn’t drive his truck all that often, and he didn’t appreciate that particular surprise last year. I thought it was plenty obvious, but no one thought to look in the wheel wells.”

Brandy laughed. “Abigail mentioned that there were some eggs we were supposed to leave for the kids. Which ones?”

“This year, it’s the ones that are painted in red and yellow patterns. Any other color combination’s fair game.” That fit with what Neel had observed; the eggs he’d spotted most easily were those colors. “And needless to say, don’t mention it to the small fry. They’ll figure it out for themselves in a few years, but until then, it’ll keep things a bit fairer. If you’re thinking of entering, though, Abigail’s the one to watch. Sharp eyes on that one—she’d make a good ship’s lookout.”

Brandy grinned. “She was bragging about it last night, but I’m planning on giving her a run for her money. Oh, hey, speak of the Void, there she is! C’mon, Trisha, you should say hi. And you haven’t met Sam, have you?”

Neel looked toward the group—he’d spotted Sebastian talking with his friends a few minutes ago, but there was no sign of him now. He waved goodbye to Willy and followed Brandy and Trisha to the opposite side of the square. As they drew near, Neel felt a tendril of unease coiling up his spine; Sam looked like he’d been crying, his eyes and nose red. He glanced toward Jodi, but if there had been bad news from the front she wasn’t showing any signs of it. But then the blond man spotted them and smiled broadly. “Hey, Brady. Deel. Glad you could bake it.” He turned away and blew his nose loudly. “Ub… my doze… allergies.” He blew again, and this time when he spoke his voice was almost normal. “It’s not usually this bad.”

“The weather forecaster did mention the pollen count was going to be really high today,” Brandy said sympathetically.

“I should’ve watched the news, I guess,” Sam said. “My daily pill isn’t hacking it, and I don’t want take the other stuff till after the hunt, ’cause it makes me spacey.”

“More than usual, he means.” Abigail elbowed her friend. “This is Trisha, the new owner of Lockwood Farms.”

“Oh, right! Hi! I guess your friends told me enough about you that it feels like we’ve already met. I’m Sam.” He extended his hand to shake hers, glanced down at the sodden tissue he was still clutching, and converted the gesture into a wave.

Trisha smiled. “Likewise, but it's good to finally put a face with the name. I’ve been so busy getting the farm up and running that I haven't even seen half the people here before today. It’s a little overwhelming.”

“Speaking of people, is Sebastian here?” Neel asked. “I thought I saw him earlier.”

“He’s down by the river,” Abigail said, miming smoking a cigarette. “He’s not really the festival type, but his family makes him come to all of them anyway.”

“Oh… I was hoping to meet him,” Trisha said. “I hear he’s the local pool champ.”

“For now,” Brandy said with a grin.

Abigail mirrored the expression. “It’ll do him good to have more challengers. Until you three showed up his only competition was this walking disaster.” She poked Sam in the arm

“Hey!” Sam said, but he didn’t contradict her.

Brandy’s attention was drawn away by something across the square, and Neel followed her gaze. Marlon was now standing by himself, and her gaze sharpened. “Here, Trish, hold these for me for a sec, would you? I need to have a little chat with someone.” She thrust the flamingos into the other woman’s arms and strode away before she could object.

Abigail watched her go, and her eyes widened when she saw where Brandy was heading. “Ooh, Marlon can’t very well scamper off to his clubhouse in the middle of a festival,” she said. “I wonder if I could get close enough to eavesdrop…”

Sam caught her sleeve as she started to walk away. “Leave it alone, Abbs. The guy might only have one eye, but you stand out almost as much as Brandy does.” He tweaked a lock of her purple hair. “He’ll clam up for sure if he notices you hanging around.”

She rolled her eyes, but didn’t argue. However, as she peppered Neel and Trisha with questions—mostly about Dagger—she kept glancing over to where Brandy was having what looked like a cordial chat with the man in the eyepatch… if you didn’t know her as well as Neel did. From her rising frustration, he suspected Marlon wasn’t being very forthcoming. If the mines were as dangerous as Marlon and Rasmodius had each implied, why not tell them everything straight out? He paid just enough attention to the conversation at hand to offer the occasional remark as he focused instead on keeping the surge of anger from showing.

Then Abigail looked past him and raised a hand in greeting, and he turned to see Sebastian approaching—and looking as out of place amid the cheerful festival decorations as Neel felt.

Chapter Text

Sebastian stubbed out the remains of his cigarette and put it in his pocket ashtray, but lingered beside the river, watching the water rush past on its way to the sea and wishing he could follow it. Everyone was in the town square, so the beach would be just as deserted as on a rainy day. He considered lighting another cigarette, but he had been gone long enough that his mother—or worse, Demetrius—might notice, so he instead stood up, brushed bits of grass off his black jeans, and walked back toward the town square. It was almost time for the egg hunt, and soon after that enough people would be leaving that he could do the same without his stepfather getting on his case. In the meantime, he could hang out with Sam and Abigail, then pretend he was watching the hunt—

He stopped by the edge of the square; his friends were no longer alone. The short, dark-haired man with his back to the river could only be Neel, who wasn’t too bad, but Sebastian had never met the woman beside him. He knew who she was, of course; he’d heard all about the new farmers, whether he wanted to or not. Trisha didn’t look as frail as his mother had made her out to be, though she hadn’t exaggerated about the green skin. The sunny yellow blouse the woman wore tied up to expose her midriff only accentuated the weird color, and the bright pink lawn flamingos she was holding away from her as if they might explode at any moment didn’t help, either. He gave serious thought to retreating back to the river, but at that moment Abigail turned around from whatever she’d been staring at and waved, directing the others’ attention toward him.

He took a deep breath and approached the group. “Hey, Seb, you just missed meeting Brandy,” Sam said. “But this is Trisha.”

Sebastian nodded to her, but didn’t say anything. She shifted the hideous plastic birds in her arms and smiled. “It’s nice to meet you. I hear you’re pretty good at pool.” Her eyes—mostly green, like the rest of her—glittered, at odds with the rest of her casual attitude.

He thought back to the last time he’d played; this was the one who Neel had said would be calculating your odds of winning—or not—during the game. “I can generally hold my own.” He didn’t accept the implied challenge; knowing his friends, Sam or Abigail had already invited her to join them next week, regardless of how he might feel about it. They’d both texted him that Brandy had been there last night. Still, Neel joining in hadn’t been too awkward, and if the others were as good as their friend claimed, it might be nice to have a challenge at the pool table.

Then Mayor Lewis shouted that it was time for the egg hunt, and Sam and Abigail abandoned him to the newcomers without a backward glance.

“You’re not joining in?” Trisha asked.

He shook his head just as Neel said, “Nah, probably not fair,” and Sebastian felt his face heat as he realized she hadn’t been talking to him. If the other man noticed his embarrassment, he didn’t say anything about it. “Not your thing either, huh?”

“Not really,” Sebastian said. “We used to have a rotten egg toss, though, which was kind of fun in a gross way. Mayor Lewis put an end to that pretty quick, when he got elected.”

Trisha’s nose wrinkled, but she laughed. “It doesn’t seem like the kind of thing he’d approve of. Who was the usual victor in that game?”

Sebastian shrugged. “Alex, more often than not, but… well, let’s just say everyone was really motivated to throw the eggs as far from themselves as possible.” Both farmers grinned at that.

“Anyone else? Hurry up, the hunt is about to begin!” Lewis shouted from the middle of the square. Sebastian snorted quietly; Maru was lined up with the others this year, though in the past she’d always dismissed the egg hunt as silly kids’ stuff—probably more of her trying to worm her way into his life by doing stuff his friends were interested in. Vincent and Jas were there, of course, but in addition to Sam and Abigail there was a tall woman with hair as pink as Trisha’s flamingos who must be the third member of their crew.

“You know Brandy’s going to be insufferable if she wins,” Trisha said, giving Neel a pointed glance.

“Abigail’s going to win,” Sebastian said. “She always does.” If he didn’t know better, he’d suspect she watched out her window when Willy and Shane hid the eggs, but she had too much pride to cheat.

“I’m… not sure that would make Brandy any less insufferable,” Neel murmured cryptically.

Trisha’s eyebrows rose, but it must be some sort of inside thing, because she didn’t seem confused, only surprised. “Then perhaps you ought to do something about it,” she said.

He sighed. “Yeah, sure, why not.” He headed for the square and picked up a basket just as Lewis began the countdown.

As soon as the mayor hit “go,” Abigail sprinted away from the square, followed closely by the pink-haired woman, both of them laughing as they grabbed for the same egg. His friend got there first, Sebastian noted with satisfaction, despite having a shorter reach. Sam picked up something from a flowerbed and promptly started sneezing hard enough to sink any chance he might have had, and Maru apparently thought the eggs would be a lot harder to find than they actually were, searching deep in bushes and under anything not fastened down. The little kids were tripping over each other in excitement, grabbing at the most obvious prizes. And Neel…

Neel looked for all the world like he was just going for a casual stroll around the town, except that every few steps he reached down and picked up an egg.

Sebastian glanced sidelong at Trisha, who grinned at him. “The thing about Neel is that he notices stuff, and I don’t think he’s physically capable of forgetting anything,” she said. “I’m sure he spotted most of the eggs as we were walking around, even though he wasn’t planning to enter the hunt, and that means all he had to do was figure out a good route between them.”

“That’s what he meant by it not being fair?” She nodded. He didn’t ask about their friend being insufferable, though; it felt too close to the kind of village gossip that had always made his skin crawl. “Huh.” He watched the rest of the hunt with more interest than previous years. He thought Abigail and the other woman—Brandy—had found more eggs than Neel… but they’d found the same eggs, and as far as he could tell it was evenly split who was getting to each one first.

When Lewis finally blew his whistle to announce the end of the hunt, Sebastian headed closer to the square to find out the results, barely aware of Trisha following behind him. “Hah. I got eight,” Abigail said, returning from the mayor’s official count of her basket.

“Do they do a tiebreaker?” the pink-haired woman asked as she joined them. “So did I.”

Abigail’s eyes widened, but before she could respond, the mayor clapped his hands. “All right, folks, now for the results. Wow, look at all these eggs! Now, if only I could get you kids to pick up litter this efficiently, we’d have the cleanest town this side of the Gem Sea!” He laughed, and there were a few forced chuckles in the crowd; he made some variation on the same joke every year. “And now, the winner of this year’s egg hunt… Neel! Here’s your prize! Enjoy.” As the new champion stepped forward to claim a cheap straw hat—the mayor had definitely expected Abigail to win again—his two fiercest competitors stared at him with identical expressions of shock. Sebastian couldn’t help a smirk; he wasn’t sure either had noticed Neel joining the hunt. He wondered where Abigail’s sudden rivalry with Brandy had come from; last night’s Saloon hangout must have gotten interesting, and now he wished he’d been able to go.

The adult participants—except Maru, thankfully—came back to the edge of the square. Trisha promptly thrust the flamingos at her female friend. “Here, take your monstrosities back.” At least that solved one mystery.

Brandy shifted her basket over her wrist so she could cradle the plastic birds in one arm, but her attention was on their other friend. “I can’t believe you sniped me, you jerk,” she said, jabbing a finger of her free hand at Neel.

He dodged the poke at his shoulder with an ease that suggested she did that a lot. “Don’t blame me for your lack of strategy,” he said, settling the straw hat onto his head. It ought to have been ridiculous, but instead it made him look like he’d stepped out of some stock image site’s “farmer” tag. He peered into at his basket. “So, what are we supposed to do with these? From what Willy said, taking them home to eat is right out.”

“We usually set the baskets out for people to admire the artwork on the eggs, then they all get tossed out at the end of the day,” Sam said. He turned his head aside and sneezed. “I’m going to go get some allergy meds from my mom and then hit the buffet.”

“Now there’s a plan I can get behind, at least as far as the food,” Brandy said, jamming her plastic birds into the ground beside them and heading for the long tables. “You coming, Neel?” she called over her shoulder.

“In a bit,” he said. He was poking through his egg basket. “Wow, someone put a lot of work into these, for something that’s going to wind up in the garbage. Pity they don’t blow them out instead of hard-boiling them.” He held up one with a miniature painting of the Stardrop Saloon.

“That one must be Leah’s,” Abigail said. “I don’t think she can bring herself to half-ass anything even remotely artsy. It would be neat if we could save them, but wouldn’t emptying out the eggs make them too fragile?”

Neel shrugged. “You can fill them with resin, though I guess that might make them kind of heavy for the little kids to carry around.” He set the basket by his feet, and one of the eggs in it caught Sebastian’s eye.

“Wait, is that—” He pulled the black shape out of the basket. “Nope, just glitter.” He set it back down, glaring at the metallic red flakes now clinging to his fingertips.

“Yeah, that was one of the weirder ones,” Neel said, picking it up. “It didn’t exactly fit with the rest of the festivities.”

“It’s a void egg,” Sebastian said. “Well, an imitation of one, anyway.”

“A what?” Trisha asked. Her hand, which had been reaching out to take the fake from Neel, jerked back.

“It’s a valley thing,” Abigail said. “People who keep chickens sometimes find one in their coops—an egg with a jet black shell flecked with red. Rumor has it they’re left there by an evil witch, or possibly that she turns regular eggs into void eggs by cursing them.”

“Marnie found one when the three of us were kids,” Sebastian offered. “She was babysitting the whole lot of us while our parents were off doing something or other. I thought it was neat, actually, but she was pretty freaked out. They’re supposed to be bad luck.

“But they’re so rare, it seems more like finding one would be lucky,” Abigail countered. “I mean, I’ve never heard of anything bad happening because someone found a void egg, so it’s just a little drop of magic in a mundane life.”

Sebastian snorted. “My stepfather says it’s probably just a rare genetic trait in the local chicken population, or something like that. He’d love to get his hands on a real one to study, even though his specialty’s plants.”

Abigail shook her head. “Some people wouldn’t recognize magic even if the witch materialized an egg right in front of them.”

“If they’re such ill omens, who would decorate one of the festival eggs that way?” Trisha asked.

That was a good question, Sebastian thought. It was too simple to be Leah’s work. Emily did a lot of the egg painting, too, but while she sometimes went on about auras and psychic harmony, she was firmly on the crystals-and-light end of the flake spectrum. He glanced over at his friend. “So, did you do any of the eggs this year, Abbs?”

“Nope, it’s not mine,” she said. “I bet Emily would know who else helped out, though.”

Neel returned the egg to his basket and tried to wipe the residue off his fingers. “Just check to see who else sparkles red. Glitter is craft herpes.” Abigail giggled, and even Sebastian chuckled at his description. “Shane had some on him, but he said he’d helped hide them, so that doesn’t mean much. I didn’t see any on Willy, and it definitely doesn’t seem like his style.”

Sebastian could only shrug; he didn’t know the fisherman very well, either, and Shane’s only redeeming quality was that he kept to himself.

“Maybe the witch decided to join in the fun, this year,” Abigail said. “Anyway, I’m starving. Let’s go eat!”

It was Sebastian’s turn to make a face, and he stayed where he was as Neel started to follow Abigail. The other man turned around. “You’re not coming?”

He was looking at Sebastian, not Trisha, who had also made no move toward the tables, so after another moment’s hesitation, he said, “It might be the only thing my stepfather and I agree about—eggs are a really weird thing to eat. On the other hand, he likes them anyway, so…” He bit back any further complaint; it was one thing to gripe about Demetrius to his friends, but these two were still mostly strangers. “You two go on, though. I’m sure the food’s great, if you like eggs. Gus knows his stuff.”

“Yeah, he was bragging about his all-egg menu for today when I was at the saloon last night,” Neel said. “At least there’s punch?”

Sebastian’s hands found their way into the pocket of his hoodie, gripping his cigarette carton. Was it too soon to slip away for another smoke? “You might want to approach the punch bowl with caution. I’m pretty sure I saw Pam adding an extra ingredient, if you know what I mean. Sam’s already warned his mom not to let the kids have any.”

Neel’s nose wrinkled. “Thanks. Not looking to get drunk in front of the whole town,” he said. “On that note, though, I’m going to grab some grub.” He headed for the buffet.

His friend didn’t follow him, and Sebastian gave her a curious glance. Her lips quirked into a strained smile. “I’m… kinda with you on the egg thing.”

He couldn’t find an easy response to that, and the silence that followed was tense enough that it would have killed any appetite he did have. As he searched for a way to excuse himself without being rude, it occurred to him that maybe Trisha felt as awkward in a crowd as he did. At least he knew everyone here, most of them for years—

And some of them for considerably less time, but still too long, he thought as one of the more recent arrivals picked that moment to approach. “Greetings on this fine spring day!” Elliott said, offering them—or rather, Trisha, since that’s who his gaze was locked on—a shallow bow, careful not to tip the plate he held in one hand. He was wearing a glaringly white jacket and one of those ridiculous floppy scarf-tie things. “And how are you enjoying your first Egg Festival?”

Any hope Sebastian might have harbored of seeing Elliott’s enormous ego popped were crushed by the shy smile Trisha was giving the pompous twit. “It’s been fun, so far,” she said. “I think I’ve finally met everyone in town.”

“Ah, yes, the annual events do draw the whole community together,” Elliott said.

Sebastian decided that was his cue. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Trisha,” he said, and felt a certain grim amusement as the other man finally realized the two of them had been talking—sort of—not merely standing near one another by chance. He pulled the carton out of his pocket, extracted a cigarette, and started to turn away.

“Oh—yes, it was. If Sam or Abby are looking for you…?”

“They know where to find me,” he said, heading for the river without a backward glance.

Yoba, he hated festivals.

Chapter Text

Elliott frowned at the departure of the black-clad villager; he hadn’t meant to interrupt a conversation. Trisha—and Yoba bless the man for using her name, even if it was sure to slip away from him soon enough—followed his gaze. Her dark hair was braided back from her face today, giving him an unobstructed view of her profile. “He seems a bit shy,” she offered.

“Perhaps you’re correct,” he said, though “surly” was the word he would have selected. “I haven’t had much opportunity to get to know him, despite living here for over a year. He doesn’t socialize much beyond his close friends.”

“I could tell it was awkward for him when Sam and Abigail both wandered off and left him alone with me,” she said, her smile sympathetic. “He was probably grateful for the opportunity to escape.”

She was as kind as she was lovely, he thought, and hoped his own gaffs were similarly glossed over in her mind. Her blouse was a cheerful yellow-checkered cotton, the sleeves rolled up above her elbows and the front tied into a neat knot to shorten it. With it, she wore denim cutoffs and sandals, and he considered offering her his jacket, for while it was warm for spring, the breeze still carried a hint of chill. She didn’t seem bothered by the temperature, however, and it had been even cooler when he had first met her on the beach, wearing substantially less. “Then I’m glad I could be of assistance, however unintentional,” he said. “And I am also thankful you were able to escape your own labors to join us here. Have you had the opportunity to sample Gus’s excellent spread, yet? I do believe he’s outdone last year’s efforts.”

Her gaze dropped as her cheeks reddened. “I wish I could. It looks beautiful, but unfortunately I can’t eat eggs.”

Elliott looked at his plate, loaded with that very ingredient, in alarm. “Oh, dear, I didn’t mean to put you at risk! Let me dispose of this—”

Her striking hazel eyes widened, and she laid a hand on his forearm as he started to turn away. “You don’t need to do that! I’m not allergic—being around them isn’t a problem. It’s just that if I ate any of that… let’s just say the rest of the day wouldn’t be much fun.” She withdrew her hand, and his arm felt colder for the loss.

“I still feel bad, eating in front of you.”

Her shoulders rose and fell. “It doesn’t bother me—I’m used to it.”

“Might I at least bring you some fruit punch? I don’t believe Gus found a way to incorporate the theme of the day into that.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass. Word’s going around it’s spiked.”

“Oh, dear. Leah did remark that it tasted unusually good this year.” He ought to find her and give a warning, but he didn’t wish to leave his present conversation, either. He looked around the square and saw the lady in question standing with one of the other farmers—Brandy—who was also holding a plastic cup; from Leah’s startled glance at her own drink, the warning had been given without need for his intervention. She then grinned at the magenta-haired woman and took another sip. “I had best avoid it, too; I still have work to do this evening, and I’ve never found alcohol to enhance the writing process, despite popular belief.”

“I doubt it would help me get the seeds I just purchased into the ground tonight, either,” she said. “Though depending on how long the festivities go on, I might have to wait until tomorrow morning to plant them, anyway.”

“If the seeds can wait a day, why not enjoy the respite now? Taking breaks from work can make you more productive in the long run,” he said, “though I suppose some aspects of farming aren’t amenable to that approach.”

“That’s true enough,” she said. “On all accounts—I’ve been so focused on all things that have to be taken care of every day that I’ve scarcely had time to breathe. It would be a good idea to sit back and make a better big-picture plan for the farm.”

“It’s important to take time for yourself, as well,” he said, and a scrap of memory floated up that she had mentioned having health issues prior to her arrival and might take his words in that context. She looked much less wan than she had at their first meeting, so he doubted such advice would be necessary, even if that was what he had intended. He scrambled for a way to redirect it toward the path he had meant to follow. “At least in writing, the greatest inspirations often come from things seemingly unconnected, and to focus too intently on one’s work risks blocking out those ideas. I realize that agriculture is more concrete than the arts, but I don’t believe that alters the way the human mind functions.” It was, of course, possible to go too far in the opposite direction, hence the reason he had gone to such lengths to minimize casual distractions, but festival days were always a welcome break in his routine.

“You’re probably right about that. It isn’t quite the same, but in my old job the key to getting an analytical model to perform accurately was often figuring out what ‘irrelevant’ information had been left out of the dataset I was given.” Her expression turned thoughtful. “My long-term plans need to incorporate what I want—and not just with respect to the farm’s productivity. I suppose I’m so used to work consuming most of my life that it didn’t occur to me to take that extra step back. Thanks, Elliott,” she said. The smile she gave him left him feeling momentarily as lightheaded as if he had been drinking the spiked punch.

Chapter Text

“Good morning, Miss Brandy,” Pierre called as she entered the shop. “Are you bringing in more vegetables to sell? They’ve been very popular, and I’d be happy to take more flowers off your hands, as well.”

“I’ve just got parsnips today,” Brandy said, hefting the basket onto the counter. “It looks like we’ll have our first batch of green beans tomorrow, though, and by midweek we should have cauliflower, as well as a few other crops we replanted.”

“I’ll look forward to that,” he said as he began sorting through the roots. “I remember the previous owner saying Patrick Lockwood must have some good soil out there, because while he didn’t raise a lot of crops, the ones he sold through here were always the best in the shop.”

“Hopefully we’ll live up to that reputation,” she said, flipping through the magazine rack as she waited for him to finish. One of the entertainment rags had a cover story about an upcoming movie with a familiar title, and she picked it up, turning to the cover article.

“Did you want to add that to your shopping?” Pierre said a bit pointedly, sliding the offer slip across the counter to her.

“Sure, but don’t take it off the parsnips—it isn’t a farm expense,” she said, fishing her wallet out of its pocket. “I’m not picking up groceries today, though I’m sure Neel will be by tomorrow or day after for more propane.” At least here, unlike their old apartment, he wasn’t running everyone else out of hot water with his long showers.

The shopkeeper’s brow wrinkled. “Surely you at least need more seeds,” he said.

“No, between the new strawberry plants and the extras we bought last time, we’re all set for the land we’ve cleared so far.” That, and Trisha had decided to use a section of the newly emptied parsnip patch to plant some of the seeds the Junimo had given her, which they’d agreed to keep to themselves. There was no telling whether seeds that old would sprout—or what would grow from them—and Brandy was still surprised that Trisha had decided to take the risk, but she was also curious what the results would be.

That wasn’t the only thing she was curious about. “Is Abby around?” she asked as she tucked her bank card back into its slot.

“Unless she snuck out through the window to avoid being asked to help in the shop,” Pierre said; he grinned, but it didn't sound like it had been entirely a joke. “You’re welcome to go in.” He waved at the back door of the shop.

“Are you sure?” she asked. Folks out here were a lot more casual about people wandering through their homes than she was used to.

He shrugged. “Aside from the bedrooms and my wife’s sunroom, most of the house is open to the public during the day. The great room’s the only place in town suited for gatherings like Caroline’s exercise group—and it brings people through the shop on a regular basis. Also, the previous owners were devout enough to have a chapel built, and we’ve maintained it for worshippers. There are a few people here now, in fact, since it’s Sunday. Just knock on Abby’s door if she’s got it closed.”

“Cool, thanks,” she said, and headed for the back. The worship service must have just let out, because Sam’s mother was on the other side of the door, jerking her hand back as if she had been reaching for the handle. “Oh! Sorry about that.” Brandy stepped back into the store to let her and George pass. When they had gone, she hesitated in the hall, because Pierre hadn’t said which room was Abby’s, and there were no helpful signs like at Maru’s place—but there were sounds coming from the room up the stairs and to her left. She tapped on the closed door, with no response. She was about to knock again, harder, when she heard Abby swear loudly, and she had the door open before she could second-guess herself. “Are you all right?”

The purple-haired woman yelped and the game controller in her hand went flying. She jerked around on the pillow she’d been sitting on. “Brandy? You scared me, sneaking into my room like that!” The TV in front of her showed a display that looked a lot like the arcade game she’d been playing a couple of days earlier.

“I knocked, but I guess you didn’t hear me,” Brandy said, running her hand through her hair as her face heated. “Sorry about startling you—the last time I heard someone curse like that, we nearly had to call an ambulance.” There was a reason they didn’t let Trisha help with the cooking anymore, and it wasn’t just because she wouldn’t get to eat the results.

“Oof, then I’m sorry for scaring you—I’m just frustrated with this game. I’ve been playing ‘Journey of the Prairie King’ for hours and I can’t even beat the first level! I swear, they made the console version ridiculously hard. Sure, unlike the arcade game you can save your progress, and there’s more story scenes, but none of that matters if I can’t get to the first save point!” She sighed. “Maybe I’m just terrible at the game.”

“You were doing okay at the tavern the other night,” Brandy said. “Maybe you just need a little time to get used to the different controls?”

“Maybe that’s it. Hey, do you want to try this level together with me? I think I might do better with your help. Hang on, the other controller’s around here somewhere…”

“Sure,” Brandy said. “I’ve never played it—arcade or otherwise—but it looks similar to other top-down shooters.”

“It’s got its quirks, but the basics are pretty standard,” Abby said, handing over a controller as Brandy sat down beside her. She described the controls and the possible power-ups, then started the level.

Nothing happened for a moment, and Brandy took a moment to get a feel for how fast the character responded. “Ack! Sorry, I didn’t mean to shoot you!”

“Hah, don’t worry, players can’t hurt each oth—Here they come!” The music had changed and a cluster enemy fighters moved onto the screen. She groaned a few seconds later as an orc popped out of the entrance on the opposite side from the bulk of them, taking out her character.

“Try to keep to the corners,” Brandy suggested. “They can only come in from those openings in the middle, right?”

“Yeah, but then you don’t have as much room to move. It’s easy to get pinned down.” The green-hatted player blinked onto the screen and she sprang back into action.

One of Brandy’s kills left a power-up behind, and she darted toward it. “Ooh, shotgun! Gah! Look out behind you, Abby!” She fired off a series of wide shots against the orcs descending on the other player, but one got through; a few seconds later Brandy moved too close to an entrance and got taken out by a newly arrived orc. “Oof.” At least while both players were waiting to respawn, the game removed all the enemies from the field. “With most of these games there’s more of a pattern to where the baddies come from.”

“Yeah, it’s annoying that way,” Abby growled as she died again; she was down to her last life.

Brandy’s eyes narrowed. The other woman liked to keep moving, which meant the orcs were constantly shifting direction, making aiming tricky. But if the two players stayed as close together as possible, the enemies were more predictable than if they were adjusting to two different sets of movements. “Oh, hey, there’s an extra life. Go grab it, Abby—I’ve got your back!” She lost another of her own in the process, but at least that had bought the other player a little breathing room.

“Omigod, there’s a nuke! Get it!” Abby did a fair job of imitating Brandy’s earlier cover fire, complete with player death, but when Brandy fired off the power-up against the descending hordes, a blinking arrow appeared at the bottom entrance. They charged through the opening and Abby went straight for the save point. “Hey, we did it! That was fun! Thanks, Brandy. I didn’t think you’d know how to work a joystick so well! But it seems you’re experienced.”

Brandy caught herself just before she could respond that joysticks really weren’t her thing; coming from Neel or Trisha the comment would have been a double entendre, but she doubted Abby had meant it like that. “An ex of mine had the same kind of console,” she said instead. “I haven’t played this game before—and like I said, platformers are more my thing—but I’m used to the controller layout. That was fun!” After fighting real monsters in the mines, it was nice to have nothing more than gamer pride on the line. “Do you want to try the next level?”

Abby flexed her fingers and set the controller down. “I think I’d better take a break before my thumbs fall off.”

“Okay. Hey, did you know they’re making a movie out of this? I just saw an article about it.” She pulled the now-creased magazine out of her back pocket.

“Oh, yeah, it’s going to be terrible—did you see who’s directing?—but I’m hoping it’ll be the so-bad-it’s-funny sort of awful. C’mon, let’s see if we can sneak out to the kitchen for a snack without the religious types trying to pull us into a sermon.”

“Your dad mentioned the chapel. How many people come to services here?”

“It’s usually just Sam’s mom and Mr. Mullner,” she replied. “They tune in one of the broadcast sermons, though, and sometimes Jodi will decide it’s something me or Mom really need to hear.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m not really religious—I figure the local spirits are more likely to help out in a pinch than some distant creator-god—and Mom’s even less interested than I am, for all that she and Jodi are besties.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about running into her,” Brandy said. “She and George were on their way out when I got here.

“What!?” Abby grabbed her phone off a pile of game cases. “Ugh, my battery’s dead. What time is it?”

Brandy checked her own phone. “A bit after two.”

“Shoot! I was supposed to be at Sam’s an hour ago.” She stuffed her feet into her boots. “I have to get going now, but we should get together to play more of the game some other time.”

“Definitely!” Brandy followed Abby back into the store.

“Oh, good, you finally decided to come out of your room,” her father said. “The new shipment’s over by the east wall.”

“Sorry, Dad, I’m already late for practice! I’ll take care of it when I get home,” she said, heading for the door, only to pause as Pierre cleared his throat. “Da-a-ad…”

“It’s only two boxes, and you had all morning,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “I don’t ask for that much help from you, and—”

“Fine! I’ll shelve it now.” Abby turned toward Brandy, who was wishing for Neel’s knack for vanishing during awkward moments. “Since my phone’s a brick, would you mind stopping by Sam’s place to let him and Seb know I’ll be there as soon as I can?”

“Sure, not a problem. I was heading that way anyway.” Not strictly true—she’d been planning to go to the beach to see if anything interesting had washed up—but she could check that out after helping Abby.

Chapter Text

“But maybe—”

“Sam, I swear to Yoba if you don’t make up your mind—” Sebastian didn’t finish the threat. It wasn’t like he’d actually follow through on quitting the band, and Sam would shrug off anything else he might say as a joke. “Just pick something. If it doesn’t work out, we can try a different style next.”

His best friend grimaced and fingered a silent chord on his guitar. “Yeah, but by then everyone will have us pigeonholed into whatever type of music we do first.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “And by ‘everyone’ you mean the… what, three dozen people in town? Less than a third of whom would care?” The real problem, he thought, was that Sam was so caught up in all the different possibilities that settling on one felt like having the rest taken away. He stared down at the keyboard and turned the sudden insight over in his mind. He’d had a couple of clients like that, enchanted by all the mutually exclusive things they wanted a program to do. The freelancers’ forum had plenty of suggestions for how to push a client into making a real decision, but was it his place to pull one of those tricks on Sam? The band had been his friend’s idea in the first place…

And they were never going to get anywhere with it, let alone escape from Pelican Town, if Sam kept on like this. “Screw it,” he muttered, and Sam frowned.

“Seb, what—”

“No, listen to me. The very next person you see—aside from Abigail, assuming she ever decides to show up—you’re going to ask them what sort of music we should do. And that’s that.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Dude, my mom’ll be back from church any moment now, and you know her taste.”

He shuddered, but that was the other side of this particular brain hack—getting an answer that was so definitely wrong sometimes produced a snap decision to get away from it. Still, this was Mrs. Ferris they were talking about. “Fine. The next person who’s not a band member or one of our relatives. And keep in mind that if you try to dodge this by staying inside, you’ll wind up asking Shane when you finally go to work.”

“I could call out sick,” Sam said, then shook his head. “Ugh. Fine. I guess that’s still better than me being flaky about it for the next decade.” He struck a soft chord, and then another.

Sebastian flipped on his synthesizer’s drum machine to match the tentative beat, since Abigail was late and, oddly for her, ignoring her texts. As Sebastian started to add a few notes of his own around the guitar, he heard the front door open and Jodi’s voice, muffled by distance, telling someone “they” were in Sam’s room. Good; he’d been starting to worry their drummer had gotten in hot water with her parents again.

As it turned out, Sam wasn’t going to have to worry about Shane’s musical preferences, because the crayon-bright hair on the head that peaked around the doorframe was pink, not purple. “Hey, sorry to interrupt,” the woman he had sort-of met at the Egg Festival said.

“Oh, hi, Brandy! Sebastian and I were just having a little ‘jam session,’” the guitarist said.

“Yeah, Abby mentioned that. She asked me to let you know she’ll be here soon; she lost track of time, and then Pierre guilt-tripped her into stocking shelves before she came over.”

She started to lean back, as if to leave, and Sam lowered the guitar. “Uh, thanks, Brandy,” he said. “Why don’t you stick around for a little?”

She shrugged and came all the way into the room. “Why not? Wow, you’ve got quite a setup here.”

“Yeah. We’re trying to start a band, but we still don’t know what kind of music to make. There’s too many possibilities.” Brandy just nodded in apparent sympathy, and Sebastian cleared his throat pointedly. “Say, Brandy,” Sam said with a laughable attempt at sounding casual. “What kind of music do you like?”

“Oh, I can find something in just about any genre that works for me,” she said, and Sebastian suppressed a groan. “But I worked the club scene for so many years that anything with a strong dance beat feels like home. The more energy to it, the better.”

Brain hacking for the win, Sebastian thought as Sam’s eyes took on the faraway look that suggested he was listening to music that didn’t exist yet. “Huh. Hey, you know what? That’s exactly the kind of style I’ve been thinking about… well, one of them… for the band.” His gaze sharpened as he looked at his friend. “What do you say, Sebastian? Should we do this?”

Sebastian looked at his keyboard again. “High-energy dance music” was still a broad category, but it gave them a starting point. “Okay.”

Sam grinned. “Thanks for the help, Brandy. With my guitar skills and Sebastian’s wizardry on the synthesizer, we’re going to be a screaming success. I’m sure of it!” The “wizard” in question felt his face heat, but Brandy had the courtesy not to laugh at Sam’s over-the-top confidence. Sam’s smile widened as they heard the front door opening again. “Now I just need to find someone to play drums,” he added, raising his voice.

“I’m sorry I’m so late!” Abigail said as she burst into the room. “Thanks, Brandy!”

“You could have texted us instead of sending a courier,” Sebastian said.

“Ugh, no, I couldn’t. I need a new charger. My phone was plugged in but still dead. At least, I hope the charger’s the problem.”

“I can take a look at it later,” he offered. He wasn’t as good with hardware as his stepsister, much as he hated to admit it, but he knew his way around phones pretty well.

“Thanks, Seb, you’re a hero. I need my phone! It’s my lifeline!” She collapsed melodramatically across Sam’s bed.

Brandy was watching her antics with apparent amusement, but then her eyes went distant… not unlike Sam’s “mental radio” look. “Hey, glad I could help out, but I should leave you to your jam session and get back to the farm.”

“Yeah, thanks a bunch, Brandy,” Sam said. “I’ll see you around.”

“Make sure you invite me to your first concert!” she said as she left, closing the door behind her.

Abigail sat up. “Concert? Sounds like you let her think we’ve got our shit together a lot more than we actually do.”

Sam reddened. “Well… Seb kind of pushed me into a decision, finally.” He explained. “Is that all right with you?”

“Sure, dance beats are fun.” She took her usual place behind the drum kit and pulled out her sticks. “Though I’m a little bummed we probably can’t work my flute into that.”

“Well, maybe,” Sam said. “I mean, Brandy said ‘dance music,’ and that covers a lot.”

Which was exactly what Sebastian had been afraid of, but before he could say anything, Abigail jumped onto yet another tangent. “Hah. ‘Brandy said,’ huh? I know it was a challenge from Sebastian, but ’fess up, you’re glad it was her who walked in, aren’t you? You do have a crush on her!”

Sebastian stared at his best friend, who hadn’t breathed a word of any such thing. “I do not!” Sam said. Abigail planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Okay, sure, she’s gorgeous and super cool, and under other circumstances I might, but she is definitely not interested in me.”

“See? I told you she and Neel are a couple. I’m surprised they didn’t ask Seb’s mom for one big cabin instead of two little ones.”

“The grant wouldn’t have covered that,” Sebastian pointed out. “Just the basic prefabs Mom produces.” Though he didn’t really think the two newcomers had been acting couple-ish yesterday, unless that was what Neel’s odd exchange with Trisha had been about.

“I don’t think—” Sam broke off, shaking his head. “Could we just do some actual music? Please?”

“Yeah, leave the gossip to our moms,” Sebastian agreed, but he was definitely going to rib Sam about his “crush,” real or not, after Abigail left. Brandy was exactly the kind of girl he could see his friend falling for, and his certainty he didn’t have a chance with her was odd, considering his usual confidence.

But the band finally had something resembling a direction. He was grateful to the newcomer for that, at least.

Chapter Text

As Neel cast his line again, he reflected on how odd it was that fishing had so quickly become his preferred activity when he wasn’t needed on the farm itself, given that he’d never so much as held a fishing rod before moving to Pelican Town. This was a nice break from the physical labor of clearing brush and trees or tending to the crops, but it still produced something useful, even if some days that was merely the reduction of litter in the waterways. The repetitive motions and long periods of waiting were close enough to mindless to give him space to think, but required enough focus that he couldn’t get too lost inside his own head. The scenery was hard to beat, too, regardless of where he set up. Even the mine entrance, visible from where he sat on the grass beside the lake, fit into the landscape, a rustic hint of industry—if you didn’t know what lay inside.

He grimaced across the water. Brandy had wanted to return right after the festival to finish off Marlon’s challenge, goaded on by whatever he had said to her before the egg hunt, but Trisha had put her foot down; there was too much to do at Lockwood Farm to spare all of them right now. He wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed that both women assumed he would be going back in there with Brandy; he was glad he had been of some help, but the more he thought about the unnatural creatures they had encountered, the more uneasy he grew. Perhaps facing them again would help dispel that, but…

He turned his head away from the cliff wall as something tugged on his hook. He reeled it in easily and sighed as he placed yet another carp in the ice chest beside him. Willy had told him there were largemouth bass in the lake, but he had yet to catch one. Maybe he had misunderstood the old angler’s advice, and they came out after sunset rather than the other way around? He ran the conversation back through his mind and shook his head; unless Willy had misspoken, Neel was sure he’d interpreted correctly. He glanced up at the sky; the sun had already disappeared behind the mountains, though it wasn’t fully dark yet. He’d be back here tomorrow unless his luck changed in the next half hour or so.

When Neel fished in the river in town, people stopped by to chat, though they didn’t stick around for long conversations; watching someone else fish must surely be one of the most boring things on the planet. There hadn’t been any such interruptions today, in this more isolated location, which suited his current mood just fine. He’d traded distant hellos with Demetrius and Robin when they’d come outside to stand arm in arm gazing over the town below, so upon hearing a door close behind him, he assumed the carpenter and her husband had gone back inside. The sound of approaching footsteps was a surprise, and he looked up from baiting his hook to find Sebastian eyeing him, a pack of cigarettes in one hand. “Hey,” Neel said, nodding since his hands were too occupied to wave.

The taller man’s head bobbed in an echo of the motion, but he didn’t return the greeting. As the silence began to grow awkward, he stuffed one hand in the pocket of his sweatshirt and pulled out a disposable lighter. “You mind? I’ll try to stay downwind.”

“Go for it,” Neel said. “Sorry if I stole your spot.” He hadn’t seen any sign of discarded butts around the lake, but maybe Sebastian was more careful about that sort of thing than most smokers in the city.

Sebastian’s shoulders twitched upward. “Lake’s public property,” he said, then fell silent as he lit a cigarette and took a long draw. After releasing a cloud of smoke, he added, “There’s not usually anyone else here this time of day, that’s all.”

Speaking of time… The light was probably too far gone, but he cast again anyway. “Willy swears there are bass in here somewhere, but I’m starting to think he’s caught ’em all.”

“Nah, he hardly ever comes up here. Lake bass are the big green ones, right?”

“According to the photos I've seen,” Neel said wryly. “Couldn’t prove it, though.”

Another shrug. “I’ve seen them in the lake. Fishing’s not my thing, so I don’t know what you’d need to catch them.”

“More luck than I’ve got, apparently.” He watched his bobber move with the water’s slow current and nothing more. Sebastian didn’t respond, but the quiet felt more comfortable this time. Neel twitched the pole a few times, hoping a little movement might make the bait more appealing, but nothing tugged back.

After several minutes, Sebastian broke the silence. “So… this is what you do all day?”

Neel turned his head to grin up at him. “Hardly. I spent the morning chopping down trees and breaking up deadfall down on the farm, and half the afternoon pulling weeds. And now I’m trying to catch a possibly mythical fish, though I’ll take your word that they’re out there.”

The corner of Sebastian’s mouth quirked as he flicked ash from the remains of his cigarette. “There are bass in the river, too, you know.” He stubbed out the ember with his boot, then took a little metal box from his pocket and slid open the top to deposit the butt inside.

“Different species, though,” Neel said. “I need a largemouth bass.”

“What for?”

Years of practice kept any trace of a grimace off his face at his careless choice of words. He could hardly say it was because a Junimo had asked for one. A challenge from Willy? No, better not to bring in a third party, even if the chances of them comparing notes were low. “Brandy asked me if I could catch one,” he said. “Some new recipe she wants to try, probably.”

Sebastian cocked one eyebrow. “I know Mom’s basic cabin plans don’t include a kitchen,” he said. “From what she’s said, the original farmhouse doesn’t have one either.”

“We brought a microwave with us, though, and we’ve got a hot plate Robin loaned us. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but Brandy’s a pretty good cook, even if she occasionally gets a bit too creative.” That much was true. “Anyway, even if I don’t manage to land a bass, I’ve got a bunch of carp and a few other fish I can sell to Willy, so this hadn’t been a complete waste of time.” He squinted into the rapidly falling twilight. “I should probably pack it in. What are you up to—planning to head to the saloon?”

“Nah.” Sebastian stuffed his hands in his sweatshirt’s pockets. “If gas wasn’t so expensive it’d be a great night to ride my motorcycle out toward the city.”

Neel blinked; he wouldn’t have thought the lanky computer programmer to be the biker type, and the sudden image of Sebastian in motorcycle leathers was… interesting. And distracting; it took him a moment to realize he’d been asked a question, and he gave himself a mental shake. “When I’m not working? Read, mostly, though I gave up trying to do that while I fish after I nearly dropped a book in the river. I’ve been working my way through Trisha’s sci-fi collection lately.”

“Oh yeah? Well, did you read the new Cave Saga X? I won’t spoil it for you, but oh man…”

“Cave Saga? Can’t say I’ve heard of it. Sounds like some sort of time travel thing? Or historical fantasy—well, prehistorical, I guess.”

A headshake. “It’s… somewhere between military sci-fi and space opera, maybe?” he said. “Far future, anyway. Captain Cave’s the main character. Well, she’s a captain now. The series follows her whole career, so at the beginning she’s only a cadet. The series has a little bit of everything—space battles, a couple of mystery arcs, and there’s all sorts of political stuff that’s been mostly in the background, but the last few years it’s been getting more central…” Sebastian trailed off, the sudden enthusiasm that had brightened his features closing down. “Anyway, it’s a good series.” He turned to stare out across the lake.

“It sounds right up my ally,” Neel said, wondering what had caused the sudden shift in mood. “Does the library have it?”

“No, the last librarian was a real snob about ‘proper literature,’ and Gunther’s been focusing on rebuilding the nonfiction after that asshole wiped out the collection. I have the whole series, though. I could lend you the first book, if you’re interested.” He scuffed at the ash-mark in the dirt with the toe of his boot.

Neel studied the other man’s profile under the guise of checking his line again. Sebastian looked like he’d regretted the offer almost as soon as he’d made it, despite the fact that the brief discussion had been the most animated Neel had seen him, and the combination was intriguing. “That’d be great,” he said, and started to pull in his line. “Since I’m clearly not going to—woah!” He lunged forward as the fishing pole was nearly yanked out of his hands. Neel swore as the spinning crank on the reel smacked his fingers, but he managed to regain his grip on the handle and start turning it the opposite way. Whatever was on the hook had a lot more fight to it than the carp and chub he had been catching all afternoon. Was this an exceptionally big bullhead, like the one he’d caught the other day, or—

It was hard to tell, in the rapidly fading light, but he thought he caught a flash of green beneath the waves as the fish made another break for freedom. “Got you now,” he muttered as he let the line play out just a little before reeling it back in, vaguely aware that Sebastian had backed away from the splashing but was still watching him. The last thing he wanted was for the fish to break the line, like the probably-a-catfish he’d lost the day it had rained. His present catch wasn’t quite that feisty, however, and after a long struggle he managed to haul it out of the water. “Hah! Now that is a largemouth bass,” he said, holding the landing net aloft. Then he looked down. “And… it’s not going to fit in the ice chest.” It would have been a tight fit even if it were the only fish he’d caught—the thing was nearly three feet long—but he didn’t want to dump out the rest of his catch. “I’d better take it straight home.” He glanced over at Sebastian, who had lit another cigarette. “So, I’m afraid I’ve got my hands full right now, but about that book…?”

Sebastian shrugged. “You can stop by and pick it up later, if you’re still interested,” he said. “I’m usually home.”

“Great.” Neel managed to break down the fishing pole and wrangle it, the bass, and the ice chest’s pull handle without looking like too much of a klutz—he hoped—as he headed for the shortcut to the farm. “I’ll catch you around.”

The only response was a brief flare of a cigarette’s ember, and what might have been a wave.

Chapter Text

Elliott set his pen aside and flexed his fingers. He had been sitting here for hours, filling numerous pages of his idea notebook, but hadn’t managed a single word on his manuscript yet. Even most of his notes had been about other story concepts that might work better than the plot he had originally set out to write. He had finally worked out a rough idea of how he wanted the book to go yesterday… but seeing it laid out, even as such a loose outline, he couldn’t help but think it was hopelessly contrived. The worldbuilding was too mundane in some aspects, too implausible in others; the characters, with the exception of the central three and one minor character who kept trying to steal the spotlight, were mere cardboard cutouts. He buried his hands in his hair and wondered, yet again, why he had decided this was a good idea—though he wasn’t certain whether the thought was directed at the book he was struggling to write or his entire present life.

He was jerked out of his gloomy reverie by a tap at the door. “Who is it?” he called, untangling his fingers from his hair and checking to make sure he hadn’t mussed it too badly.

“Hi, Elliott, it’s Trisha,” came the response, and he jumped to his feet, pausing only to close the notebook.

“Trisha! Come in!” He hurried to open the door for her, though it wasn’t locked. She wore a denim sundress today, the soft blue a pleasant contrast with her hair and skin. He swept a hand in echo of his verbal invitation. “Welcome to my humble… well, shack,” he added sheepishly. At least he had swept out the inevitable sand and done some other tidying during a fit of procrastination earlier that day. His bed was even made, inasmuch as he had dragged the faded quilt up to cover it, though that had been more to lessen the temptation to go back to sleep than for appearance’s sake.

She looked around with curiosity but not, so far as he could tell, any judgment. “This is nice. You’ve got a lot more space than I have.”

“Really? I would have thought a farmstead would be more generously proportioned.”

She chuckled softly. “My grandfather didn’t live there, though; he only visited from time to time. I guess he saw it more like camping out than a real home. Robin said it would be pretty easy to put on an addition, and I think I’ll take her up on that offer once I can afford it. There’s a fine line between ‘cozy’ and ‘cramped,’ but since I’m outside most of the day, I can live with it for a while.”

He couldn’t help but smile in echo of her good cheer. “I’m grateful not to be quite so… cozy as that. This is my writing desk. It’s where I spend most of my time.” He rested a hand on the weathered wooden surface, placed as far from the bed as possible since those who studied such things largely agreed that maintaining separation between one’s working and sleeping spaces was important. He had added a leather desk pad, more to protect his writing from the ancient piece of furniture’s well-grooved surface than the reverse.

She surveyed the array of writing implements arranged along the back of the desk. “When you mentioned you prefer to write by hand, I was picturing a stack of notebook paper and a box of ballpoints.”

“I have no shortage of either, but sometimes the words flow more easily if I treat the physical act of writing them as an art in itself. I’ve even dabbled with quills, though finding the right sort of feathers can be challenging.”

“You have quite a collection. Are those fountain pens?”

“Many of them are.” He picked up one of his favorites, with a casing of hand-turned wood, that the town carpenter had given him in the Winter Star exchange. “For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a writer.” He paused, trying to recall… “Have I told you that?”

“You mentioned you moved to Pelican Town to work on a book, but that’s all.”

He nodded. “That’s why I live out here by myself. I figured a lonely life by the sea would help me focus on my literary aspirations. There’s enough phone reception to allow for emergencies, but little more than that. It keeps both the distractions and the naysayers at bay, so to speak.”

“Naysayers?”

The sympathy in her expression drew him into speaking more candidly than he had intended. “Everyone back home said I was nuts… that I could never make it as a writer. Can you believe it?” His hand rose toward his hair, and he shifted the gesture into an irritated wave, instead.

“I heard a fair amount of that when I decided to take over Lockwood Farm,” she said. “‘You don’t know anything about farming.’ ‘You’ve never really had a green thumb, despite—’” She flushed and looked away, but Elliott thought he could fill in the rest, and wondered again at her unusual skin tone. “My parents felt the need to point out how many houseplants I’d forgotten to water as a kid, as if that’s the same thing at all. Even Neel and Brandy thought I was off my rocker, at first, though they’ve been supportive since the initial shock wore off.”

Supportive indeed, to have accompanied her on her new endeavor. Even his sister, who supported his ambition, thought his method of pursuing it was not the wisest. From others… “Indeed. ‘For every successful author there’s 1000 who fail miserably.’ Such pessimism… it’s sickening.”

“If everyone listened to the folks eager to tell us what we can’t do, there wouldn’t even be that one success,” she declared.

His breath caught in his throat at the way her hazel eyes flashed, and it took him a moment to find his voice again. “I can see it in your eyes… you believe in me. You’ve got that same spark.”

“Well, of course! Just the fact that you’d be willing to go to this length to achieve your goals puts you ahead of all the folks who sit around wishing for their dreams to come true.” A graceful wave of her hand encompassed the cabin. “All you have to do is keep going.”

“Now that’s inspiring! That’s what I’m looking for…” His gaze fell on the closed notebook, and an idea began to form. She had been reading when he first met her, hadn’t she? “A question… What books do you like?”

“Well, I’ve kind of been on a biography kick, lately. Autobiographies, especially—there’s something about reading how other people have faced the challenges in their lives that make your own seem a bit more manageable, isn’t there?” He nodded, but reflected that such a book, from him, would be woefully short. “And I’ve been studying a lot about agriculture, naturally. But if you mean just for fun… mostly science fiction,” she admitted.

That surprised a delighted laugh from him. “I would’ve never guessed! I suppose even those of the ‘earthiest’ professions sometimes have their heads in the stars.”

“Oh, sure. And the more out there, the better,” she agreed. “Not that I don’t love a story that’s grounded in plausible science, but I’ve spent so much of my career grinding reality down to the numbers that it’s refreshing to read stories that throw some of that out the window—or the airlock, as the case may be.”

“I’ll remember that,” he said, feeling more confident about his novel than he had in ages. Perhaps the weirder elements weren’t so unsellable as he had begun to think.

“So, what sort of book are you writing?”

He hoped his smile didn’t look as strained as it now felt. “That’s… an excellent question. I’m afraid I’m still having a bit of difficulty coming up with a way to describe it briefly.” Had been, in fact, on the verge of abandoning it entirely, were it not for her fortuitous visit. Even saying it was science fiction felt awkward, given her revelation. He cleared his throat. “Well! Enough talk about me!” How to redirect the conversation? His gaze fell on the bedraggled houseplant on his desk. “Hmm… You mentioned you’d been reading a lot about farming, and you have some practical experience now, as well. You probably know a lot about plants, don’t you?”

“‘A lot’ might be a bit strong, but I’ve been gathering data. Why?”

“Would you mind taking a look at this rose, here? I’m afraid it’s not doing so well. I’ve only had it a couple of weeks, and I’ve been watering it regularly, so I’m not certain what’s wrong. Perhaps I’m overwatering?” The pot had a water sensor that turned color when the soil was too dry, but would it warn about being too sodden?

She moved closer to his desk and lifted a sagging leaf with one finger. “Do you always keep it on your desk?”

“Yes, my sister suggested my workspace could use some cheering up,” he said. He had a few other houseplants, but none of them were flowering species.

“I’ve been looking into growing fairy roses in the Fall, and they like a lot of sun. This is a different variety, but I think that’s still the most likely problem. You might want to move your desk closer to a window, or put the flowerpot in the sun for a few hours each day and then bring it back to your desk when the light shifts.” She glanced up at the bare-bulb light fixture hanging over his desk. “You could also try a full-spectrum light—the kind meant for indoor gardening—but that might be a bit harsh for a desk lamp. Besides, plants do better in natural light, if that’s an option.” Her hands stroked her arms, as if a draft had found its way into the room—not, unfortunately, an uncommon event.

“That sounds like sage advice,” he said, and wondered what he had said to inspire the sudden wry twist to her smile. “I fear sitting in front of the window would prove unduly distracting, so I shall try moving the plant. How long do you think it ought to sunbathe?” He recalled how they had met, and felt his cheeks flush.

But she didn’t seem annoyed, only amused. “Fairy roses want at least six to eight hours, so I’d start there. I don’t think it has to be all at once, either—three hours at one window and three more at another later in the day would probably be fine.”

He reached for a scrap of paper and a pen, or else he was going to forget the details as soon as she left. “Put the rose in the sun… about six hours over the day,” he murmured as he scrawled the words down. “Any other advice?”

She shook her head. “If that doesn’t work, let me know and I’ll see what else I can find out.” She retreated from the desk, toward the door.

A new thought occurred to him. “Have I kept you from something with my nattering on? For that matter, I don’t believe you mentioned what brought you here in the first place.”

She really did have a lovely smile. “Nothing in particular, on either count—I was dropping off some fresh veggies Willy asked for and saw your light on, so I thought I might drop by and say hello. And now I hope I haven’t kept you from your work.”

“Not at all—I had already laid my pen aside for the day. Say, do you have plans for dinner? I was going to head to the Stardrop soon, myself.”

She tensed. Had he been too forward? He had meant it only as a friendly invitation… hadn’t he? Before he could explain, or perhaps dig himself in deeper, a soft electronic chime issued from her purse. She took out a high-end smartphone and glanced at it, her eyes lighting with happiness—and, he thought, relief—at the message displayed there. “I’d better head back to the farm. It looks like Neel had some success on his fishing trip today.”

“Then I shan’t keep you,” he said. “It was nice of you to stop by, and please feel free to do so again, should you happen to be in the neighborhood.”

“Count on it,” she said with another dazzling smile as she let herself out of the shack, which felt far emptier without her presence.

Chapter Text

“I can see why you didn’t want to try stuffing that into the fridge.” Trisha eyed the fish Neel was carrying and unlocked the door to the community center. Since he had his hands full, she turned on her phone’s flashlight.

“I wasn’t sure if your little friends would accept a stack of fillets,” Neel said as they walked toward the shattered aquarium. The turquoise Junimo in charge of the scroll there bounced at their approach before fading away.

“The images I saw in the scroll were of whole fish, so I’d rather not risk it.” For the same reason, she had been reluctant to buy the fish from Willy instead of sending Neel to catch their own; the fisherman always cleaned his stock before putting them out for sale. “I suppose we could try it, if there’s something you’re having trouble finding,” she said. “I didn’t get the impression they were upset when I offered them the spring onion instead of a leek, just that they wouldn’t—or couldn’t—accept it.”

“I’m just glad they’re not so picky that you, personally, have to be the one to acquire everything on their lists,” Neel said. “This sucker gave me enough of a fight that I was worried Sebastian might have to haul me out of the lake.”

Which meant she would have either lost the pole or been pulled into the water, though she was stronger than she had been a few weeks ago. “You were hanging out with Sebastian? I didn’t picture him being interested in fishing.” Or hanging out, for that matter. He hadn’t exactly been rude to her at the Egg Festival, but it was clear he would rather have been almost anywhere else. She knelt in front of the scroll.

Neel shrugged as he laid the fish on the ground next to her. “I was on the shore of the lake by his house when he came out for a smoke. We chatted a bit. You ever hear of a sci-fi series called ‘Cave Saga X’?”

“The title sounds vaguely familiar, but I don’t know anything about it. Why?”

“Sebastian’s a fan. He’s offered to lend me the first book.”

She chuckled and reached for the fish and scroll. “Well, someone found the way to your heart awfully quick.” She had only been teasing, but as the gloom of the community center faded into the gold-and-white forest pond, his expression suggested she had struck an unexpected nerve.

By the time she laid her latest gift beside the others from the lake—both of which were just as fresh as when she had placed them there a few days earlier—and returned to the real world, he no longer looked like she had smacked him with one of his fish. She couldn’t resist prodding further. “So… is there something going on there?”

“No,” he said, wiping his hands on a handkerchief to remove whatever fish slime still clung there. “I mean, it’s nice that he’s not as hostile as he was the first couple times I talked to him, but he’s not my type.”

“Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?” Trisha asked as she got to her feet. “Because based on your history, he totally is.” Her friend had always been drawn to geeky beanpoles, though usually the melodramatic theater-nerd subset rather than the quietly awkward sort.

Neel looked down at the cloth in his now-still hands. “All jokes aside, do you really think I have any business even thinking about a relationship right now? I get the impression Sebastian has issues of his own. He doesn’t need me dumping my whole fucking subscription on him.” He folded the handkerchief and stuffed it back into his pocket. “Besides, I don’t read him as being interested, so none of the rest matters. You ready to go?”

She bit her lip as he headed for the door; the nerve she had hit was more raw than she had realized. “I’m sorry, Neel. I didn’t mean—”

He waved off her apology, though he didn’t turn around. “I’m not upset with you, Trish. It’s just been a long day.” He looked over his shoulder at her, and a ghost of a smile played over his face. “Try to keep in mind that just because you’re falling hard for the local beach bum, it doesn’t mean the rest of us need to follow suit, y’know?”

Her face heated. “I’m not—” One of his eyebrows arched, and she amended her denial. “I’m not that obvious about it, am I?”

“Probably not to anyone but Brandy and me,” he allowed. “So… do you think it’s mutual?”

She thought back to the way Elliott’s whole face had brightened when she had encouraged him not to listen to his detractors. Was his reaction solely to her words, or to the fact that she had said them? “I’m not sure. We’ve had a couple of nice chats recently, but is he just being polite, or is there more to it? He… sort of asked me to dinner today, but I think he just meant it as a friendly thing.” She wrapped her arms around herself.

Neel started to lean back against the wall, then apparently thought better of it, moving away from the grimy surface with an exaggerated shudder and opting for pacing instead. “So… did you react as badly as he did to the daffodil, whatever that was all about?”

Her cheeks must be glowing by now, but she shook her head. “No, your text came in at the perfect time,” she said. “I just said I was needed on the farm.”

“Instead of telling him food’s not a great date option for you?” He held up his hands in surrender at her glare. “Not trying to tell you your business, Trisha, but I also don’t get why you’re making such a secret of it.” He paused by the little hut in the corner and crouched down to peer inside. “I’m sure everyone in town is wondering.”

“But no one has said anything,” she said. “Well, except for Dr. Harvey, and that was in his professional capacity.” He had looked vaguely panicked when she had gone in for the meet-and-greet appointment she’d asked for, and his relief at learning she would still be seeing Dr. Chang in the city for her routine care had been palpable. She, in turn, had been glad to find that the town’s only physician took her particular concerns around emergency care and minor illnesses and injuries seriously. “However curious our neighbors might be, they’re treating me like I’m normal. Do you have any idea how nice it’s been, not having to constantly justify my existence?” Joja Corp had been accommodating—until it wasn’t—but part of that meant that HR had needed to have a number of stern conversations with some of her coworkers over the years. She suspected, though she had never asked Clarissa for confirmation, that new hires likely to encounter her got a briefing up front. Yet she had still had to explain dryad syndrome over and over in social situations.

“Ah. That aspect hadn’t occurred to me.” Neel straightened and started down the hallway toward the room with the first scroll. “I wasn’t trying to push.”

She swept a few loose strands of hair back from her forehead. “I know. And I’m not trying to keep it secret, anyway. I just… don’t see any reason to bring it up, if no one else does. Where are you going?”

“Robin told Brandy the place was closed down due to water damage from frozen pipes, but it doesn’t look like that out here. Was the problem in one of the other rooms?”

“Rasmodius did say it wasn’t really an earthquake,” Trisha said, following him. “The bit about the busted plumbing was just to account for why the community center was closed for good.” She froze. Who had put out that excuse? She wasn’t sure how long Lewis had been mayor, but he certainly hadn’t been surprised by the state of the building when he had brought her inside—had practically insisted she investigate the place. He knew more than he was letting on, and now she had yet more questions for both him and her mentor.

“Uh, Trisha?” Neel’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. He was staring through the doorway into the room she thought had been a pantry.

“What? Don’t tell me there really are rats!”

“Rats, no, but maybe one of your bouncy little friends? There’s definitely another scroll in here.”

“What?” She joined him in the doorway and saw a bright green Junimo blinking at her over a gold-edged parchment. “Where did you come from?” she asked the creature; it was the same color as the first one she had seen, hiding behind Lewis.

It didn’t respond—of course—only bounced in place a couple of times before disappearing in a burst of sparkles. “I’d better see what it wants,” she said. “You ready to take a memo?”

Neel made a show of pulling out his phone, though he wouldn’t need it unless the list was another collection of unfamiliar things she would have to describe rather than name. She knelt beside the new scroll and touched it.

The view that unfolded before her eyes was achingly familiar—not only the style of the gold-and-white artwork, but also its subject. She was aware of trees behind and beside her, but in front of her, tidy crop fields stretched across the distance to her own little cottage. The first bundle that caught her eye was a spring green similar to the one in the craft room, and she was unsurprised to find it asked for several of the crops she was already growing. “Spring crops,” she murmured. “Parsnip, green bean, cauliflower, potato.” Aside from the cauliflower, she could probably find the rest among what Brandy had saved for cooking, but they’d have a new crop of each soon enough that she didn’t need to raid the larder. She named off the summer and fall crops as she examined those bundles, and then reached for a cool blue one, wondering what the Junimo expected her to grow in winter. To her surprise, it asked for more of the crops from the rest of the year, but there was something different about this one. “I don’t understand,” she said, and a new picture shimmered across the fabric. After a moment she recognized it as an antiquated version of the metallic seals used by Ferngill Farm Commission to rate goods after official inspection.

She pursed her lips, wondering if the expression carried over into the real world the same way her voice did. “I guess we don’t need to worry about bringing the Junimo the very best of everything,” she said. “For this set, they want five gold-quality parsnips, melons, pumpkins, and ears of corn.” The bundle felt a little small to hold all of that, even allowing for what Rasmodius termed the “symbolic nature of the spell’s interface.” “Or maybe three out of the four? Fifteen total? I guess I’ll find out what they’ll accept when I have it.” She let go of the bundle and looked at a red one. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. Neel, we’ll be finding out if they take store-bought. Two kinds of milk, three kinds of eggs, and wool. Grandpa didn’t even keep livestock! Why would he expect me to have all of this?” Though again, as she gave Neel the details, it felt like she might not need quite everything to satisfy the spirits. Still grumbling, she reached for the last bundle. “Argh. Have you seen what Pierre charges for fruit tree saplings?” She named the various fruits and artisan farm goods she was also certain her grandfather had never produced. “The reward for this had better be something more than random rocks in the mountains—” She gasped as a brief glimpse of the pantry as it had been, filled with shelf-stable and fresh foods, faded and a new image took shape.

“Trisha?” Neel asked, voice worried, as she sat back from the scroll and stared at it. “What—”

“The greenhouse,” she said, her thoughts racing. “They’re offering to repair the greenhouse.” If they could grow crops all year round—even at a much-reduced capacity in the winter—then her spreadsheets for their financial outlook would have a lot fewer red highlights. And it was surely a safer “reward” than the ones in the mountains. It was too late to go shopping for dairy products at Pierre’s, but she resolved to be back as soon as he opened the next morning.

Chapter Text

It was a little disturbing, Neel thought as they entered the community center, how quickly watching one of his oldest friends make solid objects—or in this case, liquid ones—disappear had become just another part of life. The sun rose in the east, Dagger attacked his feet through the blanket if he didn’t get up to feed her as soon as his alarm went off, and Trisha gave gifts to creatures only she could see. He wished this was something he could discuss with this therapist. Had his initial astonishment and wonder and worry faded so quickly because she treated her magic—magic!—so matter-of-factly, or was he slipping back into emotional numbness? Dr. Ramirez was annoyingly good at spotting the slightest hint of evasiveness, so he didn’t dare try to make up some sort of analogous situation that didn’t involve wizards and forest spirits.

As Trisha crouched beside the pantry scroll holding a bottle of milk that Marnie had sold to Pierre less than an hour earlier, Neel turned to Brandy. “Is it weird that this is starting to seem normal?”

“You, too?” she replied. “I keep having to remind myself to keep my guard up. Just because these Junimo critters seem harmless doesn’t mean they really are.”

That was close enough to how he felt to be reassuring. He shifted his attention to Trisha; yesterday he thought he had glimpsed a hint of a pattern in the sparkles that lingered after the fish had disappeared, but had been that a trick of his imagination?

He didn’t get the chance to compare, however. After a minute or so, Trisha sat back on her heels and frowned. “They won’t take it. Hand me the cheese, would you?” She unwrapped the wedge of Marnie’s cheddar before trying again, with the same results. “I guess that answers that question.”

Neel rubbed a hand over his chin. “I don’t think we have enough land cleared yet to graze even one cow. Maybe we should start with a coop?” Dagger didn’t show any interest in birds, though she had finally figured out how to kill the mice she kept bringing him, so she could probably be trusted around chickens.

Trisha made a face but nodded. “I’ll head up to Robin’s place now—”

Brandy was already shaking her head. “Her shop’s closed today. Didn’t you notice the music from the aerobics group coming through the walls when we were at Pierre’s?”

“Oh, right. I could talk to her about it after the class is done…”

“Give the woman a break, Trisha. She takes one day off a week,” Neel said. “That’s not going to make much of a difference in the long run, is it?”

“You’re right,” she said, though not without a grimace. “And it’ll give me time to update my spreadsheets so I can plug in her costs once we have them. Marnie’s, too.”

Brandy rolled her eyes behind Trisha’s back, but Neel understood her obsession with the farm’s numbers; it was the way she was used to thinking about success and failure. More to the point, her spreadsheets were somethings she could control. To her, even knowing for certain that they’d be in the red at the end of the season would be better than not knowing. “That sounds like a plan. Anything else you wanted to do while we’re in town, or should we head back to the farm?”

Trisha stood up and dusted her hands across her jean shorts. “If we’re going to be raising chickens, I’d like to know what we’re in for. I’m sure Marnie would be delighted to teach us, but I’m going to hit the library so I’m not wasting her time with basic-knowledge questions.”

“Good idea—count me in,” Neel said. “How about you, Brandy?”

“I’ll walk over there with you. I’ve been meaning to ask Clint about cracking open those geodes we found, and then I’ll see if whatever’s inside them is the sort of stuff Gunther’s looking for.”

“And if it’s little mutant crab-things?” Neel asked. He didn’t really believe they were eggs, but after being attacked by a “boulder” he didn’t dare rule it out completely.

This time Brandy’s eyeroll was aimed at him. “Then they’ll be small enough to squish,” she said, “and Gunther might be even more interested. Do you two want to come in with me at Clint’s or head straight to the library?”

“I wouldn’t miss the monster babies for the world,” Trisha said with a grin. Brandy merely sighed and led the way out of the community center.

The first geode turned out to be a disappointment on both monster and mineral fronts, being solid stone throughout. The second was better, though nothing like the glittering crystal formations displayed on the blacksmith’s shelves. Clint carefully chipped out a small, yellow-brown deposit from its rocky prison and handed it to them. “Looks like an earth crystal,” he said. “Gunther could probably tell you for sure. Where’d you find these, anyway?” His thick eyebrows rose at the glance his three customers exchanged. “You’ve been poking around in the mine, haven’t you? Gil mentioned Marlon might have found some new members for their guild, last time I was up there.”

“We’re still on the fence about that part,” Neel said. “You’re friends with Gil?”

The blacksmith shrugged broad shoulders. “Wouldn’t go that far. I supply the guild with blades and other weaponry, from time to time. Marlon used to stop by with ore to sell or trade, but I gather they don’t do much mining these days.”

“You make swords?” Brandy leaned forward on the counter. “Marlon gave me one, but it’s more rust than steel, and I could use something more solid—”

But Clint was shaking his head. “Sorry, I’m not licensed for private sales. You’d have to go through the guild or another authorized retailer.” And someone other than Marlon would require documentation of why they wanted weapons, Neel thought, which would open up a whole new can of worms.

“We’ll get out of your hair, then,” Trisha said. “Thank you for the help with the geodes.” They’d paid him for the work, of course, but the fee Clint charged was barely a token.

“If you find more, bring ’em by,” he said as they headed for the door. “Never know what you’ll find in a geode. It’s a nice break from the usual routine.”

“As long as what we find isn’t alive,” Neel muttered as the door closed behind them. “Then it’s still a change from routine, but not such a nice one.”

Brandy poked him in the arm. “Knock it off. If Clint’s been working with the guild, he’d know if there was likely to be anything dangerous in the rocks he’s breaking.”

Neel shrugged, unrepentant. The more he thought about what they had seen in the mines, the more his skin crawled, which also pointed toward his lack of freaking out over Trisha-the-wizard not being a mental-health warning sign. But he let the subject drop as they reached the library.

Gunther looked up from the book he was reading as they approached. “Good morning. Do you need some research assistance?”

“Kind of,” Brandy said, placing the translucent stone on the counter. “We found this in a geode. Clint said he thought it was something called an ‘earth crystal,’ and you might know more?”

The librarian adjusted his glasses and peered at the mineral. Then he took a jeweler’s loupe out of a desk drawer for a closer look. “It is, indeed, and a very nice specimen of one,” he said. “Earth crystals have some properties in common with amber, being of organic origin, but the crystallization process is considerably faster than amber’s fossilization, though still on a geologic timescale.” He set the loupe aside. “I know we had discussed this a while ago, but would you consider donating this to the museum? It’s just the sort of thing I’d like to have on display.”

“That’s what I had in mind,” Brandy said. She took the two crystal formations Neel had picked up in the mine out of a pocket and set them beside the stone. “What about these? I think they’re quartz, but that might be too common to be worth showing off.”

Gunther picked up his lens again. “Yes, definitely quartz, and there’s educational value in even the most common of minerals. I would quite like to have one of them.” He grimaced. “I wish I could pay you, but I’m afraid my budget is stretched too thin with library acquisitions.”

Brandy glanced at the keeper of the farm’s joint finances. “We’re happy to donate them,” Trisha assured Gunther. “If we’re going to be part of this community, I think it’s important we do what we can to help out.”

He inclined his head with a smile and picked up one of the pieces of quartz. “Then I’m most grateful, indeed.” He slid the other piece back toward Brandy. “Clint could give you a fair wholesale price for that. If you’d rather look for a buyer locally, I believe Maru refines quartz for use in her electronics, and Abigail and Emily both collect minerals of various sorts.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” Brandy said, giving the crystal a little toss before tucking it back into one of her pockets. “I’m going to head back to the farm and work on fencing. Good luck with your research, you two.” She headed out the door.

Gunther set their donations to one side and folded his hands on the countertop. “And what sort of research would that be? Looking for more information on our local mineral deposits?”

“Nope, chickens,” Neel said.

“We’ve decided to diversify beyond crops,” Trisha added. “Marnie was very convincing at the Egg Festival about the benefits of raising poultry.”

Gunther nodded. “She’s quite passionate about the matter. She even self-published a book about caring for livestock, some years ago, though the library’s copy is among the missing volumes. Fortunately, we do have quite a bit of other material.” He led them to the appropriate section and made a few recommendations, then left them to their reading.

A couple of hours later, Trisha had a lengthy notes document in her tablet and Neel’s head was stuffed with more information about animal husbandry than he would have imagined existed, a season prior. “Are you sure we can’t get woolly rabbits?” he asked as they carried the last of the books back to the shelves. “We need wool anyway, and I’ve seen what the end product sells for.” And they were adorable.

Her amused look suggested she had heard what he hadn’t said aloud, but she shook her head. “They’re also a lot more labor intensive—and expensive—than chickens or cows. As for the wool, I think sheep would be a better investment, though not right away.”

He sighed and returned the book on raising rabbits to its place. “You’re probably right. Just the chickens, for now?”

“Yes. We’ll see how that goes, and then look into branching out further.” She tucked her tablet back into her purse. “I’m going home to make sure Brandy hasn’t managed to hurt herself.” Gunther no doubt assumed their friend had been referring to building fences; both of them knew she’d meant practicing with her sword. “How about you?”

“After reading that much about chicken diseases, I need a chaser for my poor brain,” he said. “I’m going to hike up the mountain and see about that book Sebastian mentioned.” Trisha’s eyes twinkled at that, but she didn’t resume her teasing from the day before.

The worst part, he thought, starting up the incline, was that she wasn’t wrong. Getting involved with anyone right now—let alone an antisocial grouch who smoked like a chimney and didn’t seem to realize that clothes came in colors other than black—would be a terrible idea, and yet he kept recalling the moment that the other man’s mask of chilly indifference had slipped as he talked about the books he enjoyed. Neel supposed it was another sign of recovery, if an inconvenient one. Repeated exposure to the fact that the attraction wasn’t mutual ought to be the surest way to get over it, he thought as a cheerful blue roof came into view.

Chapter Text

Abigail leaned on the rough stone wall of the bridge by the JojaMart and gazed into the water; her reflection glared back at her, and she tried to smooth away the scowl. Another day, another fight with her father. It wasn’t like she even wanted to take over the store from him, but him deciding that meant the height of her ambition was to be a shopkeeper’s wife like her mother was beyond annoying.

Of course, if she had any clue what the height of her ambition was, it would make her parents’ narrow notions about what she should be doing with her life easier to counter. It was hard to argue with a suggestion that she choose her next college course based on what would be useful in assisting her “future spouse” to manage the shop when she didn’t have any strong feelings about what class she should take instead.

And the worst part was that she’d stormed out right before lunch, and without her purse. Not that Gus wouldn’t let her run a tab, but that would mean admitting that she didn’t want to go home. Sam was at work, so she couldn’t swing by his place to see if she could mooch a meal from him. Sebastian? When Robin had passed through the store that morning on her way to work out, Abigail had said she might stop by to see him, but he had been so cranky about people interrupting his work lately that she was reconsidering, even if he would probably feed her before kicking her out.

“Uuuuuugh.” She crossed her arms on the stone and rested her forehead on them.

“Wow, sounds like you’re having a rough day.” The sudden voice beside her made her jump. “Whoops! Sorry, it seems like I’m always sneaking up on you without meaning to,” Brandy said, leaning one hip against the bridge. She looked like she was holding in a laugh.

Abigail supposed her reaction must have looked funny from the outside. “Oh, hi, Brandy. Yeah, I guess I’m not in a good mood right now.” She turned back to the view of the river, trying to will her heartbeat back to its usual speed.

“Sorry to bother you, then. But maybe this’ll help?”

She looked over to see the other woman's open palm, and on it—“Hey, how’d you know I was hungry? This looks delicious!” She picked up the quartz crystal before her brain caught up with what her mouth had just said. Brandy was gaping at her, and she felt her cheeks heat as her mind raced. She hoped her chuckle didn’t sound as forced as it felt. “Oh, I guess that must’ve sounded pretty weird, huh? It’s kind of a running gag between me and the guys, and I forgot for a moment you wouldn’t know.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, when we were kids I got one of those ‘junior geologist’ mineral collection kits, and I said the quartz looked like rock candy—you know, the sugar crystals on a stick they sell at fairs?” Brandy nodded. “Sam dared me to lick it, and I pretended it was tasty.” The story was true, more or less, except for the fact that she hadn’t been pretending, and the crystal had been noticeably smaller when she spat it back out. Her friends were very careful not to mention anything about the incident except when they were alone—she had better make sure to tell them that it was now a “joke” as far as Brandy was concerned.

“Sounds like the kind of thing I’d pull,” the other woman admitted, grinning. “Do you not want it, then? The museum only needed one of the pieces I found, so I figured I'd give the other to someone who’d like it, and Gunther said you collected this sort of thing.”

Most of her rock collection was just there as a cover story, but it was a convenient one. “I do, and quartz is one of my favorites.” It didn’t taste anything like the cloying sweetness of rock candy, though she had never been able to find the words to describe the flavor. She tucked the stone into the pocket of her vest and blushed again as her stomach growled.

“I guess you weren’t kidding about being hungry, though? I should let you head home for lunch.” Abigail couldn’t help making a face, and the other woman’s grin faded. “Something wrong?”

“I did say I was in a bad mood,” she replied, then shrugged. Brandy was bound to hear about it from someone, gossip being the main form of entertainment in Pelican Town. “My dad and I had an argument this morning, and I don’t want to deal with more of his bullshit right now. But I, uh, kinda stormed out without my purse, so I guess I’m going to have to swallow my pride. Either that or the quartz you gave me.”

Brandy’s soft chuckle was sympathetic. “Neither sounds very appetizing. Why don’t you let me buy you lunch at the Saloon?”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly ask you to do that!” Had she thought Abigail had been angling for a free meal? Her face was burning.

“You didn’t ask, I offered,” Brandy pointed out. “You sound like you need to decompress. You can vent, or we can just shoot the shit about other stuff, whichever.”

That sounded like a much better plan for her afternoon than moping on the bridge and trying to ignore her grumbling stomach, except… “I can pay you back later.”

Brandy shrugged. “You can if you want, or return the favor some other time. It’s not like one meal’s going to break the bank—even dive bars in the city charge more for a burger, and they’re nowhere near as good as Gus’s.”

“If you’re sure… thanks!” Abigail said.

“So… venting or distraction?” Brandy asked as they left the bridge.

“I’m… not sure. Actually, if you don’t mind my asking… how did your folks react, when you told them you were going to go off into the countryside to be a farmer?” As soon as the words left her mouth she regretted the question—what if Brandy’s parents were dead, or they weren’t on speaking terms, or—

But Brandy grinned. “A bit confused. As my impulsive decisions go, it was kind of tame.” Right, her job before this had been as a nightclub bouncer. “And relieved, I think, when I explained it was Trisha’s idea and not some weird code for ‘I’m joining a cult in the woods.’ Not that I would, mind you, or that my folks would think I might, but…” She fell silent. “Well, unless you count the Adventurer’s Guild. I’m still not sure what to make of all that.”

Abigail tried to ignore the pang of envy that Brandy had gotten so much closer to joining the guild than she had managed yet. The fact that the pink-haired woman was having second thoughts about it, given what she’d said about her life, did give her pause. “Well, I don’t think it’s a cult, anyway. Neither of those guys strike me as the type.”

As Brandy turned aside to open the door of the Stardrop, what Abigail could see of her expression hinted at more secrets she hadn’t shared, but all she said was, “I’m pretty sure you’re right. Still weird.”

Gus looked up from setting glasses on a shelf as they entered. “Well, hello, you two! Abigail, I’m surprised to see you here this early—did Emily let it slip I was going to have spicy eel on the menu today?”

She grinned; perhaps this day wasn’t a complete loss, after all. “No, but I’m glad to hear it! I’ll take one. It’s amazing,” she said to Brandy as they made their way to a booth. “Probably my favorite thing on the specials rotation.”

“You know, I’ve never had eel,” the other woman said. “I like spicy food, though. I’ll have the same, Gus.”

“Coming right up!” He disappeared into the kitchen. Since it was too early for Emily to be on shift, that left the two of them alone in the main room.

“So… do you want to talk about it?” Brandy asked.

“Yeah, I guess that might help,” she said, but then had no idea where to begin.

After a moment, the other woman said, “Do you and your father argue a lot?”

“Lately, yeah. Mom, too, though we don’t fight quite as often.” She studied the chipped silver polish on her nails. “I appreciate my folks paying for college and letting me live with them rent-free while I’m in school,” she said, “but they act like that means they get to dictate everything about my life. What I should wear, how I should spend my time even when I’m not studying, what classes I should take… None of that was part of the deal. And they think they’re helping—like they know what my future should look like better than I do!” Abigail slumped against the back of the booth bench. “The worst part is, I don’t know what I want, long term. Just… not running Dad’s shop. Or being someone’s good little housewife, like Mom. That might work for them, but it’s not me.”

“That’s pretty rough,” Brandy said. “I feel you on the not knowing part, but I guess I’m luckier when it comes to parents. My fathers have never been shy about pointing out if they think I’m being too reckless, and I know they’ll have my back if I fuck up bad enough to need serious help, but for the most part they’ve been cool with letting me find my own path, stumbles and all.”

“I wish my parents were more like that,” Abigail said. Then she straightened in her seat as Gus came back with a tray holding their food and two extra-large glasses of water.

“Give me a shout if you want anything else,” he said, putting a plate in front of each of them, then retreated to the far end of the bar, out of easy earshot.

Brandy took a bite of her eel and her eyes widened, but she didn’t grab for the water. “Wow, that is good,” she said after swallowing. “Hot, but not kill-your-tastebuds spicy.”

“Gus knows his way around seafood,” Abigail said, and raised her own fork to her lips, closing her eyes to savor the flavor. When she opened them, Brandy was taking a gulp from her glass, her cheeks tinged with pink. “Got a bit of extra heat?”

“Yeah,” she said, setting the glass down. “Still tasty, though.”

“Well, thanks for lunch,” Abigail said. “And for listening to me rant.”

“I’m glad I ran into you on the bridge,” Brandy said. “Sounds like you needed someone to talk to.”

“I guess I did. I’d usually go bug one of the guys, but Sam’s working and Sebastian’s… well, Sebastian.”

“What’s his deal, anyway? I’ve run into him a couple of times, but I’m not sure he’s said more than five words to me.”

She didn’t sound upset about it, just curious, but the idea of discussing one of her best friends behind his back didn’t feel right to Abigail. “He’s… just not a people-person,” she said. “It takes him a while to warm up to new folks.” If he ever did, but she kept that part to herself. “Plus, since he decided computer programming was going to be his career instead of just a hobby, he’s gotten super focused on that, and it’s hard to drag him away from his work.” She sighed. “I miss hanging out with him as much, but at least he knows what he wants to do with his future.”

“So, no idea at all, then?” Brandy asked, her grey eyes filled with sympathy. “I have to admit, a big part of the reason I came out here with Trisha was because I’d fallen into a rut—like, I didn’t really want to spend the rest of my life tossing assholes out of bars, but it was starting to feel like that’s what was going to happen.”

“I know I want… well, adventure,” Abigail admitted, her cheeks flushing from more than the spicy food. “I know that sounds a little childish, but—”

Brandy laughed. “Abby, I do shit like jumping out of airplanes for fun. I get the ‘adventure’ part.”

“Skydiving? That’s so cool!”

“Skydiving, bungee jumping, rock climbing… I admit it, adrenaline is my drug of choice. But just looking for the next thrill’s been getting old. I guess that’s why this guild thing kind of appeals to me. If I’m going to be risking my neck anyway, maybe it’s better if there’s some sort of purpose behind it. What about you—why are you so determined to join them?”

“I’ve always loved being up on the mountain,” she said. “Sebastian’s so lucky, getting to live there, even if it seems like all he talks about sometimes is getting away from Stardew Valley. Hanging out by the lake, soaking in the spa, climbing as high I as I can get and just staring out toward the horizon…”

“Wait, there’s a spa up there?” Brandy interrupted. “No one’s mentioned that before!”

Abigail grimaced. The scar on the hillside felt like a personal insult, somehow. “Yeah, it’s a natural hot spring that got turned into a bathhouse ages ago. The Joja jerks collapsed the pass to it last Winter, and they haven’t even stared clearing that part of the landslide, yet. I’ve heard you can still get there by train, but who has time to go all the way out to Grampleton and back—twice?”

“Damn, that sucks. I love a good hot tub soak. But about the mine?”

“It’s the only part of the mountain I don’t know like the back of my hand. When I was a kid, I thought Marlon and Gil just wanted to keep all the fun to themselves, but as I got older I realized they were serious about it being dangerous, and not for the usual reasons an old mine would be. But no matter how much I promise them I take the risk seriously, they won’t even talk about letting me join the guild.” She glanced across the saloon; Gus was still polishing glasses and studiously ignoring them, but she lowered her voice anyway. “I started teaching myself how to use a sword last year. If I prove I can take care of myself, maybe they’ll finally relent.”

“Wait, seriously?” Brandy’s exclamation drew a glance from Gus, and she leaned across the table and said more quietly, “How, exactly? ’Cause that jerk Marlon shoved this rusty old blade into my hand when he dared me to go down there, and I’ve just sort of been flailing around with it. I’m trying to practice on my own, but I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing.”

Abigail couldn’t help a giggle at the image, since Brandy normally seemed so competent about everything. “Mostly online,” she admitted. “There are a few people who do serious training videos—not movie stuff, the real thing, at least as far as I can tell. I could send you the links?”

“You’re a lifesaver, Abby,” she said with a grin. “I won’t be able to do much with them right away—we’re still working on getting decent internet on the farm—but even watching something on my phone while I’m in town and then working from memory at home has got to be better than what I’ve been doing.”

“Give me your email and I’ll send them when I get back to my computer,” Abigail said.

Brandy dug a stubby pencil out of one of her many pants pockets and scribbled the information on the edge of the napkin under her water glass. “Here. And don’t worry about paying me back for lunch—those videos’ll be payment enough!”

When they finished eating, Abigail in a much better mood, and even her father’s grumbling when she strode through the shop on the way to her room couldn’t dampen her spirits.

Chapter Text

Sebastian looked up from his computer in mingled irritation and confusion at a knock on his bedroom door. “Yeah?” He tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice, since knocking instead of barging in was something to be encouraged.

The door opened and a head peered around the frame. “Hi, Sebastian. Is this a bad time?” Neel asked.

“Oh, hey,” he said, waving him in, and Neel came all the way inside, looking around curiously. “Gimme one sec.” He started to add a comment to remind himself of where he was leaving off, then glanced up as his unexpected visitor started moving back toward the door. “Where are you going?”

“It looks like you’re pretty busy. It’s nothing important—I can come back later.”

Sebastian shook his head. “Sorry… I had to finish this line before I lost my train of thought, but I could use a break. You want some coffee?” Belatedly, it occurred to him that his mother would have made the same offer, if Neel had come to see her. No, wait, it was Tuesday—she wasn’t home.

“As much as I’d like to take you up on that, farm work starts ridiculously early in the morning. I’ve found that having coffee after noon means I have trouble getting to sleep early enough, which means even more caffeine to get through the next day, and… well, vicious cycle.” He shrugged and glanced over the array of computers on Sebastian’s desk. “What are you working on?”

“A freelance project,” he said. “I can’t really go into specifics—like I said the other day, I mostly do security stuff.”

“Yeah, I understand,” Neel said. “I don’t miss all the hoops I had to jump through at Joja, but I get why they’re necessary.”

“So, what did you—” A chime and a pop-up window on his computer screen interrupted him, and he frowned at the screen. “That was an instant message from Sam… I guess he wants to hang out. Ugh. I don’t really feel like going out today.” He wished he could call the words back as soon as they left his mouth; Neel was practically a stranger.

Before he could try to explain—or, more likely, dig himself an even more embarrassing hole—his mother breezed into the room. “Oh, hi, Neel,” she said, looking confused to find someone other than Sam or Abigail there. “Sebby, I know you don’t like it when I come in here…” He winced at her use of the childish nickname; he’d been trying to get her to stop calling him that for years, but it was as useless as convincing her to knock. “But I ran into Abigail at the store and she said she was looking for you.”

“Did you tell her I’m working?” His voice was sharper than he’d intended, but if his mother noticed she didn’t comment.

“I did, but she said she’d probably stop by anyway,” she said.

He scowled at his computer screen. “No one takes my job seriously. No one ever bothers Maru when she’s working at the clinic… does everyone think I’m just surfing the web all day?”

“It’s not like you work set hours,” she said. “You could afford to be a little more flexible for your friends.” She glanced to the side, and Sebastian felt his face heat as he remembered that they had an audience, and one that looked as if he was presently wishing himself elsewhere. “Sorry if I missed you upstairs earlier, Neel. I don’t usually open the shop on Tuesdays, but if you wanted to talk about a building project for the farm I’d be happy to chat.”

The other man shook his head and offered her a smile with no trace of the awkwardness he must surely be feeling, caught in the middle of this old argument in someone else’s family. “That’s all right—we do actually have a job for you, but Trisha needs to run some numbers first, so she'll come up tomorrow to go over the details. I'm here because Sebastian offered to lend me a book yesterday, but I had my hands full at the time.”

It took Sebastian a moment to remember the conversation they’d had the day before. “Oh, right, the first volume of Cave Saga X.”

His mother rolled her eyes, but he didn’t think Neel saw, since he had half-turned to look at the bookcase behind Sebastian’s desk. “I should get dinner together,” she said. “I’ll see you around, Neel.”

After she was gone, Sebastian shoved his hair back and exhaled. “Sorry. She doesn’t usually go off like that when there’s someone else around.”

Neel let out a small huff of a laugh. “I got really good at being invisible, working at Joja—‘No, don’t mind me, I’ll just keep alphabetizing these forms while you big-shots discuss confidential business plans in the file room instead of your offices!’—and I guess it’s a hard habit to break. I am sorry for interrupting, though. It sounds like you get that a lot.”

“It’s all right. I really was planning to take a break,” he said. He pushed his chair away from the desk and walked over to the bookcase. “Here’s the first part of the series I was telling you about,” he said, pulling out the thick trade paperback.

“That’s quite a doorstopper,” Neel said, taking it and flipping a few pages. “You didn’t mention it was a comic series,” he said.

“Graphic novels,” Sebastian said, feeling his shoulders tighten. “That’s actually an omnibus of the first several books—the early ones were pretty cheaply printed, so I was glad when they started putting out the trades and I could replace the ones that were falling apart.” He was starting to babble again, and he clamped his mouth shut.

“Thanks, Sebastian,” was all Neel said, but he tucked the book under his arm. He had gotten what he’d come for, but he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave. “Do you think you’ll keep doing the freelance thing long term, or are you looking to move to something more settled, eventually?”

“Well, I’m trying to save up so I can move out of here,” he said. “Probably to the city or something.” He hesitated. “You know, if I’d gone to college I’d probably be making six figures right now…” It sounded arrogant, but he was good at programming, and he wished he could convince his stepfather that there was nothing he would have learned at Maru’s fancy university that he couldn’t teach himself—in less time and without the tuition bills. The lack of a degree did have its disadvantages, especially when he was first starting out, but these days his track record mostly outweighed that. “A couple of my clients have made job offers, but I just don’t want to be part of that corporate rat race, you know?”

“Having been there, I understand completely,” Neel said. “Not the same line of work, obviously, but it doesn’t get more rat-racy than Joja. So, even if you moved to Zuzu or someplace like that, you think you’d still do freelance?”

“Well, and I guess I just feel more comfortable hidden behind the computer than dealing with people face-to-face,” Sebastian said, and then ducked his head to hide what he was sure was a spectacular flush. What had gotten into him today? Maybe it was just that Neel was the first person who seemed to be listening when he talked about his plans, rather than nodding blankly or trying to convince him to do something more “realistic.”

His goals were realistic… as long as he kept his eye on the targets he needed to hit. “I should get back to work… I need to get this module finished by tomorrow.”

“I’ll get out of your hair, then,” Neel said. “Thanks again for the book.”

“Sure.” As Neel headed for the door, he added. “If you like it and want to keep reading, just drop by for the next volume.”

“You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“Nah, feel free to pop in whenever. Uh, within reason. I’m not a farmer, and I’m not exactly a morning person.”

“I kinda got that impression,” the other man said. Sebastian’s face heated again, remembering their first encounter, but there was nothing mocking in Neel’s wry grin. “I’m not really one, either, but if I get good enough at faking it, maybe I’ll even fool myself. I’ll make sure to stop by in the afternoon.”

“Thanks.” Neel left, closing the door behind him, and Sebastian buried his face in his hands. Had that conversation been more awkward, or less, than the one by the lake yesterday? He should have mentioned then that Cave Saga X was a graphic novel series… He shouldn’t have mentioned it at all. Neel had said he was reading Trisha’s books. The sort of woman who would be making eyes at that pretentious twit Elliott wouldn’t read comics; even if she did like science fiction, it would be the “literary” sort. Neel wouldn’t have bothered coming by if he’d known what sort of book Sebastian was offering him; he’d only been humoring Sebastian when he took the omnibus with him.

He sat back in his chair and, after a moment’s debate, lit a cigarette instead of heading upstairs for more coffee. His unexpected guest might still be there, if his mother had snagged him to discuss whatever project the farmers were thinking about—and if Neel had left, she’d be on his case again about making time for his friends. He did, even if not as he or they would like, but despite her comment about being more flexible, he had to work within his clients’ timeframes if he wanted to get repeat business.

His computer chimed again, and this time he replied to tell Sam that no, he really couldn’t hang out today, then logged out of the chat app. He stared at the comment he had left to himself for a long moment, trying to remember where he had been going with it… right, they were using an encryption protocol that was out of date, and he’d patched something similar for another client a few weeks ago. He dug into his notes from that one to see how he’d handled it; if he could repurpose some of the code, he could shave hours off of his timeline, start the next job early, and maybe even make it to the saloon on Friday…

He ignored Sam’s ring tone as his fingers moved over the keyboard, and after a few attempts, his cell phone fell silent. His best friend would be annoyed with him, but Sam wasn’t capable of holding a grudge for more than half an hour, tops.

For a small mercy, Abigail didn’t follow through on her comment to his mother about tracking him down, and he was able to work undisturbed until his stepfather barged in to summon him to dinner.

Chapter Text

One by one, Trisha laid the vegetables she had collected on the bright green cloth, paying careful attention to the strange inner sense her meditation exercises had been helping to refine. As she offered up the last item—a single green bean retrieved from the cooking share Brandy and Neel had claimed—she thought she felt the moment it shifted from the real world to… whatever the gold-and-white woods were. Rasmodius theorized that her grandfather had used his artwork to create some sort of interface between the material plane and the one the Junimos called home, but he wasn’t sure of it.

Just like in the craft room, the silky cloth folded itself tightly around her offerings and transformed into a flower. What it left behind, however, was much more substantial than a packet of seeds. She opened her eyes at the audible thump of boxes hitting the floor, followed closely by a “Holy shit!” from Brandy. The little green Junimo bounced in place, the glowing bundle of spring crops held over its head, and then waddled toward the doorway. “Should we follow it?” Brandy asked, her eyes tracking the light.

Trisha closed her eyes; she could sense the knots of energy that were the Junimo and its burden in the hall. “No, I know where they’re going,” she said, getting slowly to her feet. It had taken her and Brandy three trips to haul the day’s produce down to Pierre’s, and that was after the work of harvesting it all. She picked up one of the small cardboard boxes, and Brandy angled her phone’s flashlight so they could see it better.

“‘Speed-Gro Fertilizer’—doesn’t Pierre sell that? The box looks different,” Brandy said.

That was an understatement, Trisha thought as she turned the box this way and that. “Graphic design trends have changed a lot in the last eighty years.” She pointed to the date stamped on the bottom of the box.

Brandy let out a low whistle. “That is way past its best-by.”

“But it doesn’t look like it’s been sitting around for decades. I wonder if it’s still any good?” The product’s current packaging made a point of the fact that it had been a trusted brand for over a hundred years; how much had their formula changed over time? “We could take it up to Demetrius for analysis—pour out a sample and say we found it in the back of the shed?”

“You might want to run that by your wizard friend,” Brandy said. “If it’s something that should have broken down but hasn’t, that could raise some eyebrows.”

“You’re right,” Trisha said. She took photos of each side of the box and returned it to the neat stack beside the scroll. “Let’s leave it here for now. I want to do some research on its safety profile before bringing it home.”

“Good idea. Library next, then?” Trisha nodded and gathered up the two remaining gold-rated parsnips from the seven she’d saved out of what they’d had Pierre evaluate; the Junimo had insisted on sets of five for that bundle. “I want to stop by Clint’s on the way, see what’s in the geodes we found this morning—without Neel giving me shit about monster eggs.”

Trisha laughed. “You can’t really blame him,” she said. They had left him behind to play gofer for Robin if she needed any help while surveying the area they’d chosen for the chicken coop. The good-natured charm he put on around the carpenter might only be a mask, but maybe she would need something run between the farm and her shop, giving him a chance to say hello to her son… That part, she certain wasn’t an act, and while he might think the crush was hopeless, Sebastian certainly hadn’t gone out of his way to talk books—or anything else—with her or Brandy!

“More geodes?” Clint said as Brandy set the two rough spheres on the counter. “You’re spending a lot of time in the mine.”

“Actually, we found these on the farm,” she replied. “Neel and I broke up some rocks to level the ground for our new chicken coop, and these were in the rubble.”

“Been known to happen,” Clint said, picking up the first one.

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Trisha said a few minutes later when he held out the two halves of the geode; deep purple crystals sparkled within.

“Now that’s a proper thunder egg,” Clint said. The exterior of the other geode shattered despite the care he took with it, but the blue and white crystal cluster inside came out in one large piece. “Celestine, I think,” he said, handing it to Brandy. “You folks planning to donate these to the museum?”

“If Gunther wants them,” Trisha said, collecting the thunder egg pieces.

The librarian did, indeed, want the minerals, and confirmed Clint’s identifications. He was also delighted with their other find of the day, which Trisha had turned up while expanding one of the crop fields. “I realize it may not look like much,” he said, carefully brushing away a loose bit of dirt from the the fist-sized statuette, “but this is an excellent specimen of a Second Bronze Age chicken figurine. They were quite common in that era, though archaeologists argue over whether they held some ritual significance or were simply a popular decorative motif. I would love to display it.” Trisha happily agreed, and he carried it into the back room.

He emerged a few minutes later with a cloth-covered object about two feet high. “I’ve been thinking about what I could do to thank you for your donations, and I recalled I had seen this in storage.” He set his burden on the counter and whipped off the cloth.

“It looks a lot like the one we just gave you,” Trisha said, “Aside from the size and materials, that is.” The wooden chicken was a bit larger than the hens she’d seen at Marnie’s ranch, and perched on a tall tree-stump base.

“Indeed, it’s a modern recreation of the same concept—a mass-produced one, judging by the label on the bottom. There are a few odds and ends like this tucked away in storage, most with so much dust I suspect they predate my immediate predecessor. I was already thinking of you for this, since you mentioned you were investing in chickens, but your donation today makes it especially apt.”

Trisha had no idea what they were supposed to do with an oversized wooden hen, but on glance at Brandy told her they’d be taking it home, one way or another. “Awesome! It reminds me of these concrete geese one of my aunts in Castle Village has in her yard—she makes little outfits for them for all the holidays.”

“Maybe it could keep the chicks company in the coop,” Trisha suggested, but she couldn’t help a grin at the thought of Neel’s reaction if Brandy asked him for help accessorizing the bird.

Gunther chuckled. “On a more practical note, I’d like you to have these, as well. I had meant to start a little garden of my own, but I simply didn’t have the time.” He set a small stack of cauliflower seed packets beside the statue. “I realize it’s too late to plant them for this season, but they should still be viable next year.”

Trisha froze, her hand outstretched to pick them up. “Too late?” They had already bought the seeds to replace what they had harvested today, and then some—cauliflower seeds were expensive, but they had one of the best profit margins, as well. She pulled out her tablet.

“Well, yes,” Gunther said as she opened the spreadsheet she had created to track their crops. “It’s terribly vulnerable to the summer heat. I think coffee’s the only thing grown in this region that can survive the sudden rise in temperature…”

Trisha hardly hard him, swallowing a curse as she found the formula she’d miscopied. “Oh, no. No-no-no—” She barely noticed Brandy thanking Gunther for the gifts or taking hold of her elbow to guide her away from the desk.

She did notice when her friend yanked the device out of her hands. “Talk to me, sweetie.”

“I screwed up!” she hissed, grabbing at the tablet, which Brandy held just out of reach. “I was counting on a second harvest, but I messed up a formula and now we won’t be able to bring in the cauliflower before the heat wilts it. Now give that back!” Brandy relented, and Trisha adjusted the numbers to account for the loss. “We’ll barely break even—and that assumes all the other crops do well.” She tapped around the spreadsheet, relieved to find no other errors. “We’ll have hardly anything for summer seeds. How could I have been so careless?” Tears pricked at her eyes.

Brandy slung an arm around her shoulders. “Mistakes happen, Trish. It’s not the end of the world.”

“But it might be the end of the farm. We put everything into this season.” She could barely choke out the words around the knot in her throat. Her parents had wanted her to sell the land; there was no way she could ask them for help. Brandy’s would be willing, but they didn’t have much to spare. And Neel… No. She was not going to ask him to make up the difference out of his brother’s life insurance.

As Trisha started thinking through her personal expenses, looking for places she could squeeze out a few extra Gs, she heard a sudden gasp from Brandy. “What about the gift from the—your friends? The fertilizer?”

Trisha’s eyes widened. “If it’s any good…” How much was Speed-Gro supposed to accelerate growth—the formula from eighty years ago, not today’s? She drew in a deep breath and prayed the flutter of hope wasn’t about to be squashed. “Well, we did come here to do research. Let’s hit the books.”

Chapter Text

Abigail was so busy puzzling over what sort of friends would give fertilizer as a gift that it wasn’t until the two farmers came around the end of the bookcase that she realized it would be obvious she was eavesdropping. “Hi. Umm…”

“Abby!” Brandy’s cheeks went pink. “Gunther didn’t mention there was anyone else here. I hope we weren’t disturbing you.”

“Nah, you weren’t being that loud, and anyway, I finished my homework hours ago. I’m just messing around with these to dodge bonus chores at home.” She waved a hand at the highlighter doodles spread across the table.

Trisha smiled with apparent relief and made a beeline for the card catalog, but Brandy lingered by the table. “These look neat. What are you working on?” She moved closer and Abigail hastily shifted the open book beside the papers to cover her work. Pink eyebrows rose, and Abigail smiled in apology.

“Sorry. The guys asked me to come up with some logo ideas for our band, but Sam wants everything to be a ‘big reveal’ when we do our first concert, whenever that is.” Not in the least because picking a name was turning into almost as big an ordeal as choosing a musical style had been. They’d agreed that narrowing the list based on potential logo coolness was a good place to start, so at least her complete inability to draw birds should knock “The Pelicans” out of the running—how corny could you get?

“Awesome,” Brandy said. “So the book’s just camouflage in case your folks come looking for you?”

“Not really. I like to draw, but I have no idea what makes a ‘good’ logo, so Gunther suggested this book on graphic design. It’s a lot more interesting than I’d expected! I think I might see if U of Z’s offering an intro-level class this year.” She grimaced. “Assuming my dad’ll let me. It’s the sort of thing he thinks is useless artsy stuff.”

“Well, that’s absurd,” Trisha said as she pulled a book from a nearby shelf. “Graphic design is one of the cornerstones of marketing. The field’s not even all that ‘artsy,’ though that’s certainly one component of it. Some of the top people on Joja’s graphics team can barely draw a stick figure, but they’re experts at art direction, layout, and everything else that goes into producing ads and packaging.”

The last thing Abigail had expected was to hear a polished version of her own half-formed impression based on skimming the book, particularly from someone who was such a rules-and-numbers type. “Can I steal that for the fight with my dad?” she blurted. “Well, parts of it—I’d better not bring up Joja.”

“No, I wouldn’t imagine that going over well,” Trisha said. “As for the rest, steal away.” She carried her book to one of the study desks across the room and set up her tablet.

Abigail turned to Brandy. “What do you think?”

“Me? I don’t know anything about that stuff, but you said it was interesting and Trisha says it’s practical—sounds like a winning combo.”

“I don’t know if I’d be any good at it.”

Brandy shrugged. “Only way to find out’s to try.”

“You’re right,” she said, and started gathering up the pens and highlighters scattered across the table. “Though with my luck it’ll be years before an intro class is offered.”

But when she got home and logged into the class catalog, Graphic Design 101 came up at the top of the search results… with only one place left in the online section. She mashed the select button before she could overthink the decision, and printed off the confirmation page for good measure. The course description emphasized the same business-y stuff that Trisha had mentioned, so she hoped that would head off any argument—but this was the first time in ages she had been excited about an upcoming term, and if her dad didn’t like it, he could just deal. He might be paying the tuition, but this was her life, and she was going to live it her way.

Chapter Text

Abby must have decided Sam could be trusted with pool cues this week, because when Brandy entered the arcade he glanced up from the shot he was about to make. “Hey, Brandy. Neel. Did you talk Trisha into joining us?” The shot went wide, and he sighed and retrieved the cueball from a corner pocket.

“Nope, she decided burying herself in data analysis sounded better,” Neel said.

Sam put on a wounded expression and pressed a hand to his chest. “Do you seriously expect me to believe someone would rather crunch numbers than hang out with the coolest crowd in Pelican Town?”

Brandy laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t take it personally. Trisha really likes spreadsheets.” Though the data she was analyzing had more to do with magic than dollar figures; Robin’s presence at Lockwood the last two days had put a crimp in Trisha’s study of the “wild seeds” she had planted and she was making up for lost time. That was hardly something she could tell Sam and Abby, though. “D’you want to practice some more, or are you ready to rack ’em?” She wouldn’t mind a chance to chat with Abby before they got into a game.

But Sam reached for the frame. “Let’s play. Practicing solo is boring.”

Brandy passed a stick to Neel, who asked, “Are we doing cutthroat or pairs?”

“I don’t play,” Abby said from the couch.

He leaned against the arm of the overstuffed chair next to her. “I got that impression. What I meant was, is Sebastian planning to grace us with his presence tonight?”

She snorted. “Signs point to ‘no.’ He’s got a big project.”

“And I’ve got a big snowball with his name on it,” Sam muttered as he lifted the frame.

“Hasn’t your mom noticed it yet?” Abby asked.

“Nah, I buried it under a couple of bags of broccoli that’ve been in the freezer for over a year. No one in the house likes the stuff, not even Mom, but JojaMart had too big a sale on it for her to pass up.”

“Why do you have a snowball in your freezer in the first place?” Brandy asked.

Sam grinned. “To remind Seb that there are consequences for ignoring his friends. Or maybe to throw at Lewis during the Flower Dance when he’s trying to be all dignified, but then I lose my leverage with Seb… it’s a tough choice.”

Brandy laughed. “I gotta remember that idea when winter rolls around. You want the break, since you lost last time?”

“And the time before that, and before that, and—”

“Stuff it, Abbs,” Sam said fondly as he positioned the cueball and took aim.

Neel tried to take her out early, but Sam missed the memo that they were supposed to be ganging up on her and kept shooting for Neel’s numbers. “Hah, victory is mine!” she said as she picked off her friend’s final ball.

“Hey, I’m still in the game!” Sam objected.

Abby giggled, which was what Brandy had been hoping for. “You keep telling yourself that,” she added for good measure.

“Yeesh, Neel, you weren’t kidding about the trash-talk,” Sam said.

“Wait until you hear her and Trisha going at each other,” he said. “Have you two ordered food? I’m starving.”

“Nope, just grabbed beers on the way in,” Abigail said. “Weird—Emily’s usually at least dropped off a menu by now.”

“I’ll pick one up,” Neel said, leaning his stick against the wall. “There’s something I wanted to ask Gus about, anyway.”

He hadn’t returned by the time Brandy finished clearing the pool table. “I know Neel didn’t get lost between here and the bar,” she said. “I’m gonna see what’s keeping him, and maybe grab a drink. Anyone else need a refill?” Sam just shook his head and held up his half-full glass mug. “How about you, Abby?”

“Hmm? No, I’m good, thanks,” she said, not looking up from her phone.

Brandy held back a sigh and pushed through the arcade doors. She found Neel perched on a barstool listening to Gus. The conversation involved hand gestures that looked vaguely obscene until she got close enough to hear the saloon owner talking about the importance of thoroughly mashing whatever ingredients they were discussing. Instead of interrupting, she turned to Emily, who was wiping down the counter. “What’s that all about?”

The blue-haired bartender smiled. “Neel flagged Gus down to let him know he wouldn’t need the dining room next week, and then made the mistake of saying that you folks would be raising chickens soon, and would he be willing to share any of his egg recipes from last week’s festival? I think he’s getting more than he bargained for—I don’t think the boss has even noticed he’s not writing any of this down.”

Why would Neel have cancelled? Maru had told them it would be at least another week before she had the signal boosters ready to test. “Neel’s basically a walking audio-recorder,” Brandy said to fill the silence that had fallen. Her laugh sounded brittle to her, but the other woman didn’t seem to notice. “He never takes notes—drove our teachers up the wall in school.”

“That’s a useful gift,” Emily said. The glance she sent toward the two men was a bit uneasy, though, and Brandy reminded herself that most people weren’t used to the idea that the person they were talking to might be committing everything they said to memory—whether he wanted to or not.

Time to change the subject. “That’s a fantastic blouse.” It was a brilliant red that made the woman’s hair look even brighter, with ruffles along a V-neck just deep enough to show a hint of cleavage.

“Thank you!” Emily beamed at her. “I like making my own clothes, but it’s not easy to get cloth. And it’s such a long trip to the city.”

“You made that? Wow! I can sew well enough to mend my stuff, but I’ve never tried making anything from scratch.”

“It’s not that hard if you’re working from a pattern, although lately I’ve been playing with combining elements from different ones…” She glanced toward the other end of the bar, where Gus was now pantomiming what Brandy hoped was a dough-kneading technique. “Oh, dear, I’m rambling on almost as badly as he is, and I’m sure you came over for a reason. What can I get for you?”

The way Emily’s eyes lit up when she talked about sewing made turning the conversation back that way tempting, but it would be awkward if Sam and Abby had to send out a search party for the search party. “How about a pint of the house stout and a menu?” she said instead.

Emily’s cheeks reddened. “My goodness, I don’t know where my head is today. I meant to pop in for your drink order when you first got here, but I guess I got distracted. Here’s that menu, and I’ll bring your drink in a minute.”

“I’ll wait here for a bit,” Brandy said. “I might need to pry Neel loose so we can get back to the game.”

But as Gus paused for breath, Neel caught her eye and said something to the man that made him chuckle ruefully. “Sorry about that,” her friend said as he joined her at the bar. “Hi, Emily. Could I get a glass of plum wine, please?”

“Sure thing!” she chirped, and Neel headed for the arcade.

Brandy caught his elbow before he reached the door. “Emily said you’d cancelled your reservation for next week.” She kept her voice quiet, though there wasn’t anyone else near them. “We had a deal—”

“And I’m keeping it,” he said. His voice was low and tight, though for all anyone could tell from his face, they might have been discussing the weather. “They still want me to do in-person every few weeks. I’ve already talked to Trish about being gone for most of Thursday.”

“Oh. Fuck, I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions.”

He shook his head. “Look, Brandy, I’m not going to try to weasel out of this. I know it’s something I need to do. So, one less thing for you to worry about, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks, hon.” She threw her arm around his shoulders for a quick hug as they returned to the arcade.

Inside, they found Sam holding his cue stick above his head while Abby tried to snatch it. Given the way the light hanging over the pool table was swaying, she probably had good reason, though her argument was focused on wanting to play Journey of the Prairie King. “Oh, hey, the menu!” Sam said, tucking the stick behind his back when Abby turned around.

Once they had settled on food—pizza and fried mushrooms—and given their order to a very apologetic Emily, Abby turned her sights on her friend again. “Please, Sam? Just a level or two?”

“It’s never just a level or two,” the blond said. “And I don’t think Neel and Brandy came here to watch us play video games.”

“Aw, I’ll play with you, Abby,” Brandy said. “We made a pretty good team last time. Shooting pool’s kind of dull without a serious challenger, anyway,” she added, prompting an indignant protest from Sam and a token one from Neel.

“Awesome! You’re the best, Brandy.”

She knew what to expect from the purple-haired woman’s playing style, this time. Abby charged straight into the fray without giving much thought to tactics, so Brandy assigned herself the role of defender, keeping the enemies off her teammate’s back. The strategy worked well enough to get them past the first boss, but they fell to a massive wave of enemies shortly before dinner arrived. “You’ve been practicing, huh?” Abby said, and popped a fried mushroom into her mouth.

“No, I just got a feel for the game at your place.”

“We definitely need to do that again. Victories are more fun when there’s someone to share them with.”

“You got that right,” Brandy said. “I don’t have a ton of free time, but I’ll let you know when I can get away from the farm for an hour or two.”

“Cool. Oh, speaking of time—I’m going to be taking graphic design this fall, after all. Dad isn’t thrilled, but since I’d already rushed to snag the last open slot in the course, he decided it wasn’t worth the change fee.”

“That’s great!” If you had to be stuck in a classroom—even an online one—you might as well study something that interested you.

“Thanks again for encouraging me. Otherwise I probably would’ve caved and picked something from Dad’s suggestions.”

For once, Brandy wished she had Neel’s flare for the dramatic. The moment felt like it called for more than the “Glad I could help!” she managed before Neel and Sam dragged her back to the pool table.

But this time Abby chose to hang out around it with them, instead of retreating to the couch or the game machine, so that was something.

Chapter Text

Elliott was sufficiently preoccupied with his enthusiasm for the new plot twists he had come up with earlier in the day that it was only when Leah ordered a rare second glass of wine that he realized something was amiss. “Enough of my literary meanderings. What’s troubling you?” She started to shake her head in denial, but he fixed her with a stern look. “I may have been a poor friend thus far tonight, not to have noticed, but I am not entirely caught up in my book.”

She sighed. “Another email from Kel. Nothing bad!” she added quickly as he frowned. “Only one of those ‘thought you’d like this joke’ things. It’s just…”

“It’s just that you have asked her to leave you alone,” he said. “Multiple times.”

“I know I should just block her address, but… I miss being friends with her, Elliott. I keep hoping she’s moved on, but it’s always the same—a few casual notes back and forth and suddenly she’s acting like we’re still a couple, and when am I coming home… It’s been two years!”

“Some people simply aren’t able to adapt to such a change in a relationship,” he said, and refrained from adding, “or are unwilling to do so.” He had never met Leah’s ex-girlfriend, but his secondhand impression suggested she was in the latter category. Leah, however, insisted on seeing the best in people. “I truly think the kindest thing to do—for you both, painful as it may be—is to cut her off. Respond only to reiterate that you don’t wish further communication, or ignore the message entirely.”

They both fell silent as Emily brought out the requested drink and checked if they needed anything else. When the bartender had returned to her post, Leah tugged at an errant strand of her copper-bright hair. “I hate to say it, but you’re probably right. I need to think about how—or if—to reply to her, but this can’t keep on like it has been.”

It was not the first time he had made a similar suggestion, but always before she had brushed off his advice. Any further encouragement would come out rhyming with “I told you so,” so he merely said, “If you ever need to talk, you know where I may be found.”

Her answering smile was wan, but it grew more genuine as she looked past him. “At least there are people around to remind me that relationships can work out,” she said.

He turned in his seat, expecting to see the town carpenter and her husband, staples of the Friday-night scene at the Stardrop. The two were indeed present, but Leah’s gaze was focused on a different pairing. Brandy had her arm around her male compatriot, and he leaned his head briefly against her shoulder before they separated, disappearing into the arcade. “Do you really think so? That they’re a couple, I mean.” Their body language just now had struck him as more friendly than romantic, but perhaps he had missed some clearer sign in the preceding moments.

“I’m hardly the only one,” Leah said. “Just yesterday I heard Caroline and Jodi talking about how adorable the two of them are together.”

“Hmm.” He tried to recall the times he had encountered them together, but no details—confirmatory or otherwise—sprang to mind. Of course, his attention at such moments had been focused on the third member of their group. Perhaps that explained her absence from the saloon—giving the two time to themselves? Though they had been quick to accept the invitation to join the friends in the pool hall, and he was quite certain that it was not a double date.

Leah tapped his forearm, and he realized she had continued speaking while he was lost in thought. “My apologies. What did you say?”

“That half the town is expecting them to pair up for the Flower Dance next week. Speaking of, I had a lot of fun last time. Would you be my partner again this year?”

“Next week, already? My goodness, Spring has flown by,” Elliott said, and raised his mead to his lips to buy time. In truth, he had been thinking of asking Lockwood Farm’s new owner, yet the way she had shied away from even a casual dinner invitation was etched in his memory with unusual clarity. Besides, it would be unspeakably rude to respond to Leah’s entreaty with, “Yes, but only if the person I would prefer to dance with turns me down.” He set the mug on its coaster. “I’d be happy to,” he said. Town gossip about Brandy and her maybe-beau aside, it wasn’t as if the pairings at the dance actually meant anything.

Chapter Text

Neel was unsurprised when Trisha and Brandy both had excuses prepared for not coming with him to Marnie’s ranch. Their reasons were perfectly plausible, but he’d realized weeks ago what they were up to. Part of him wanted to snap at them for trying to manipulate him; another part, to critique their technique. Mostly, however, he was grateful—if sometimes bemused—that they still cared enough to try.

He set all of that aside as he reached his destination. Marnie looked up from the romance novel she was reading as the cowbell over the door clanged. “Good morning, Mr. Neel! You’re here bright and early—you must be eager to bring your new residents home.” She reached beneath the counter and brought out a plastic pet kennel of the same type they had wrestled Dagger into for her vet checkup.

He mentioned as much to Marnie. “How is that sweet little thing settling in? I don’t see any bandages,” the rancher said with a wink.

“I’m sure the field mice whisper her name in terror, but she’s figured out that humans are more fun when they’re not bleeding,” he said. A peeping sound issued from the carrier, and he leaned over to look inside. “They’re tiny!” A tan ball of fluff hopped forward, partly blocking his view of the lighter one behind it.

Marnie laughed. “They won’t stay that way for long. Feed ’em up right and you’ll have fresh eggs in no time. Oh, but while they’re chicks, you’ll want to keep them in the coop except when someone can be there to supervise. Even when they’re full-grown, be sure they’re shut in safely at night; there aren’t a lot of wild predators around, but that’s not the same as none. And be very careful if you let the chicks and the kitten outside at the same time. These girls aren’t much bigger than mice, right now.”

“We will, but I don’t think that part will be a problem,” he said. “Dagger chases the occasional butterfly, but she hasn’t shown any interest at all in birds.” He watched the farm’s new charges while Marnie reeled off a whole litany on the care and feeding of chickens, most of which he already knew from the library and their earlier discussions with the rancher. After a couple of minutes, he noticed another small creature trying to sneak into the room.

So did Marnie. “Jas! Come meet Mr. Neel, dear.”

“Already did,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “He and the farmer ladies gave me and Vincent those flowers.”

“Oh, that’s right, Miss Penny mentioned it. Come say hello, then. She’s very shy,” Marnie added more quietly—though not so low that the child hadn’t heard, judging by the way she drew in on herself even more.

Neel ground a firm mental heel on the flare of anger—not so much at Marnie’s words as the lack of understanding behind them. Kids could come across as timid for a lot of different reasons, but most of those wouldn’t explain the too-familiar shadows in Jas’s eyes. Seeing a reflection of his own awareness of the fundamental hostility of the world in a child that young was wrong—but the universe didn’t care, did it?

He had plenty of practice in keeping his thoughts from showing, and he smiled at the little girl. “Hi, Jas,” he said. A particularly loud peep from the animal carrier followed the greeting, and he shook a finger at the wire door, mock-stern. “Excuse me, is your name Jas? It’s rude to interrupt people when they’re talking.”

Jas giggled and took a few steps closer to the counter. He gently turned the carrier so she could see inside. “Oh, you have two! That’s good. They won’t be lonely.”

Trisha would have preferred to start with a single hen, but the Junimo wanted both brown and white eggs, and the breeds Marnie raised only produced one or the other. He still wasn’t sure what to make of the forest spirits, but he could be thankful for this much, since Marnie had also mentioned that chickens were social creatures. “You’re right,” he said. “I think they’re already friends. See how close Ms Loudmouth here stays to the quieter one?”

“That’s not a very nice name,” she said, holding onto the counter’s edge as she stood on her toes for a better view. “You’re not really going to call her that, are you?”

“No, it was only a description. We’ve been thinking about names, but we didn’t want to decide until after we met them.”

“Good,” she said, then looked up at him, her brown eyes much too serious for her age. “You’ll take care of them, right? Keep them safe and give them lots of pets and treats?”

“Of course he will,” Marnie said. “He and his friends are good farmers.”

Jas was not going to be mollified by this third-party endorsement; her gaze was still locked on him. “You promise?”

He spared a glance at the tiny, fragile creatures in the carrier, and a thought for all the things that could go wrong. An airy reassurance on his part would be a lie, but… “I’ll do my very best,” he said. “My word on it.”

She studied him for a moment longer, then nodded and extended her hand. He shook it exactly as he would an adult’s, and she favored him with a small, satisfied smile before scampering back the way she had come from.

Marnie chuckled and thanked him for humoring Jas; Neel nodded without comment and picked up the carrier.

As he reached for the front door, he saw Shane leaning against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed over his chest and face unreadable. Had he had witnessed the exchange with Jas—perhaps realized Neel hadn't been “humoring” the little girl? Before Neel could venture a greeting, he turned on his heel and stalked away.

With a mental shrug, Neel set aside the questions his visit had raised and left for the farm. At the moment, the more pressing concern was whether he could talk Brandy out of naming their new charges after alcoholic beverages.

Chapter Text

Sebastian cupped his hand around his lighter to shield it from the brisk spring breeze. When he finally got his cigarette lit, he inhaled and tilted his head back against the tree trunk to blow smoke at the scraps of sunlight that found their way through the leaves overhead.

“I’m glad you could make it today.”

He lowered his gaze to where Sam was sprawled on the grass just outside of the willow’s shadow, leaning back on his elbows. “I always make time for band practice.”

“Well, yeah. I just meant it was a really good jam session today. Those new songs are coming together like magic, and you know it’d take me ten times as long to figure out all the parts on my own.”

Sebastian relaxed against the tree; he’d been worried Sam was going to gripe at him about getting out more, like everyone else. “I just poke the keys until you say it sounds right,” he said, and raised his cigarette to his lips again. There was more to it than that, of course. Half the time when Sam picked out a melody on his guitar or hummed a tune while strumming chords, it was just obvious how his synthesizer fit in, and Abigail was nearly as good at finding unexpectedly perfect rhythms—but it was his best friend who had the instincts to turn all that raw material into music. Finally settling on what sort of sound they were going for had cut the trial-and-error way down, too.

“So…” Sam ventured after a minute or two of comfortable silence.

Sebastian turned away from the river and found his friend watching him with unusual seriousness. “Yeah?” Here it comes, he thought, bracing for another lecture, and probably threat of a snowball, as if that had been the part of his “surprise birthday party” he had objected most to.

“I wanted to run something by you before I mentioned it to Abby,” Sam said, surprising him again. “Now that we’re finally getting our shit together with the band, I’ve been thinking about what’s next. There are a bunch of places in Grampleton and Zuzu City that do, like, new-talent slots—you know, looking for the next big thing. A few have their audition windows open now, so I was hoping to record a demo song to send around. Between the new tunes and the stuff we’ve messed around with before that fits, we could put together a short set pretty easily, and that’s what these gigs usually call for. What do you think?”

“If you say we’re ready, let’s go for it! That’s been the plan all along, dude—how is it even a question?”

Sam sat up and shrugged. “If we start getting gigs, we’d need to add extra rehearsals to build up our set list, and then there’s the actual time away for performances. Is that something you can fit into your schedule?”

Sebastian flinched; he’d let his guard down too soon. “Sam…”

His friend grimaced. “Look, Seb, I’m not trying to get on your case—just the opposite. I know your work’s important to you, and I don’t want you to feel like I’m demanding too much of your time to chase after my silly dream—”

“It’s not silly, and it’s not just your dream,” Sebastian said, his voice sharper than he had intended. He flicked the ash from his cigarette and raised it to his lips to give himself a moment to gather his thoughts. “I’m putting in so many hours on programming right now because I can—because the work’s there. With freelance it’s either feast or famine, and I’ll never be able to convince a landlord that’s not a relative to rent to me if I don’t have the savings to cover lean times. Right now I doubt I could get an apartment in Grampleton, let alone Zuzu City.” A while back, he’d even asked Willy about the boathouse the fisherman had hired his mother to fix up, but it had been too late—he already had a tenant lined up, and Sebastian couldn’t have afforded the rate, anyway. Now, maybe—but it was still occupied. He ground out the cigarette and stuffed the butt into his ashtray. “I’ve got to get out of my mom’s basement.” Sam—unlike Demetrius, who was the main reason he was determined to move out as soon as possible, even if only to somewhere else local—refrained from pointing out that his savings would grow a lot faster if he ditched the cigarettes and sold his bike. But then, his friends understood that those were two of the few things keeping him from completely losing it. Nicotine, the freedom to get away from Pelican Town for a few hours when he needed to—and their music.

The force behind that music was being unusually quiet, and Sebastian pulled himself out of his own head and looked at his bandmate. Sam’s brow was creased with worry as he stared up at Sebastian, who reached for something to lighten the mood he’d dragged down so fast. “As dreams go, I’ll take a world tour with you and Abigail over a shitty studio apartment in the city any day,” he said. “So, that was way too many words to say that yeah, I’ll make more time for the band if we need it.”

Sam grinned at him. “You had me worried for a minute there, dude. Anyway, I was thinking the second piece we worked on today would be the better audition number, ’cause I don’t know if that cool brush effect Abby came up with for the other would record well with my setup…”

To Sebastian’s relief, they stayed away from any more loaded topics, and by the time he had to head back up the mountain, he felt almost cheerful. The band was finally getting somewhere, and with any luck at all that somewhere would be out of Pelican Town.

Some of his good mood evaporated as he came up the last slope and saw the front door opening, but it was Neel who emerged, not his mother or Demetrius coming out to scold him for not magically knowing they’d decided on an early dinner or something. “Hey,” he began, but broke off as he caught sight of the other man’s face.

But it must have been the angle of the light from the setting sun that made it look like Neel was annoyed about something, because he smiled easily. “Sebastian! How’s it going?”

“Not bad. What brings you up here? More construction already?”

“Nah, the coop’s all we can handle for now. I was done with the book you loaned me, but Robin said you weren’t home, so I asked her to give it to you.”

“Oh.” His hands were empty now. “So, I guess you didn’t like it.”

“No, it was great! Why would you think that?”

Was Neel just humoring him again? “You, uh, didn’t want the next volume?”

A blank look met that statement, then, “You weren’t there?”

He opened his mouth to say that Neel could have just gone in to get it, but stopped. Of course he wouldn’t have done that. They’d talked a few times, that was all—he wasn’t an old friend like Sam or Abigail, who’d know to leave a note on his main monitor or just shoot him a text. He tried again. “So, I’m home now, if you did want Volume 2?”

“Yes,” Neel said, a little too quickly. He looked like he was on the verge of saying something else, but just shrugged. “If you’re sure you don’t mind?”

“It’s fine. I can grab it for you now.” As Neel followed him inside, though, he couldn’t help wondering if the other man would have been so eager if Sebastian hadn’t “caught” him on the way out.

His mother wasn’t at the shop counter, so it wasn’t a surprise to find her in his room, though the fact that she had decided to tidy up his desk was. “I can do that myself, Mom,” he said as she swept a couple of energy bar wrappers into the plastic bag that had been lining his wastebasket.

“Oh, I know, Sebby, but I came down to drop something off and I figured I might as well. Neel stopped by while you were out—”

“He knows,” the man in question said from the doorway. “Hi again.”

“Oh, hello! Did you need something else, after all? I’ve already shut down the register, but I could turn it back on…”

“That’s okay. I ran into Sebastian as I was leaving, so I asked him for the next book in the series.”

Hoping to avoid another awkward conversation like the last time Neel had been there, Sebastian stepped around his mother and picked up the second omnibus. “Here you go.” As soon as the book was out of his hands, he retreated to his computer desk.

“Thanks! I’ll let you know when I’m done,” his unexpected visitor said, and turned for the stairs without lingering.

To his surprise and relief, his mother followed. “I forgot to ask earlier—did Lewis let you folks know about the Flower Dance?” he heard her ask as they climbed the stairs.

Sebastian barely registered Neel’s, “I’ve heard the name tossed around, but not much more. What is it?” over the sudden hammering of his heart. He dropped into his desk chair and buried his face in his hands, all trace of his earlier good mood gone. He’d managed to—not forget, but at least put out of his immediate thoughts, the fact that one of the worst festivals on the calendar was only a few days away. He really had to find a way to get out of this town for good.

Chapter Text

“I don’t know about this,” Brandy said, plucking at the skirt of the dress Neel had talked her into rush-ordering. She wasn’t big on ruffles and lace, and this outfit had way too much of both. “I must look ridiculous.”

Neel leaned against the wall of her cabin, arms crossed, and raised an eyebrow at her. “Are you questioning my fashion sense?”

“Yoba forbid,” Trisha said around the hair elastic she was holding with her teeth as she braided a lock of hair back from one temple; a matching braid already hung down the other side of her face. “We’d never hear the end of it.” She finished her braid and tied it off, joining it to the other behind her head with a flower-shaped barrette. “You look fine, Brandy. Not much like you, but very pretty.”

“Not helping, Trisha,” Neel said, smoothing the lapel of his pale grey suit. Why he had such a thing in his closet already, Brandy had no idea—she’d never seen him wear it before, and he usually went for darker, more colorful clothes—but the only thing he’d bought new for the “Flower Dance” they’d been invited to on such short notice was a tie, light green sprinkled with pastel blossoms. “You saw the photos Robin sent me of the last few years, Brandy. This isn’t a show-up-in-whatever deal like the Egg Festival, and your usual version of ‘dressy’ wasn’t going to cut it.”

Trisha giggled. “I would pay money to see you show up to this thing in your clubbing gear,” she said. “But let’s save that for next time, if we’re still holding on.” She hadn’t needed to buy a new outfit, either; Neel had okayed one of her fancier sundresses. She looked way more comfortable in the flowing ivory fabric than Brandy felt in her new dress.

“At least it’s pink,” she murmured, adjusting the sash around her waist.

“I did keep in mind who I was shopping for,” Neel said, “and not just in terms of the color. The flutter sleeves won’t bind your arms, the skirt’s full enough that if you really feel it necessary, you can kick someone in the face, and it has useful pockets. Do you know how hard it was to find a pink dress with pockets that wouldn’t ruin the line of the skirt the moment you put something heavier than a lipstick in them?”

Mindful of the close quarters, Brandy tried a slow-motion roundhouse kick and found that he was right about that part, at least. And she had to admit the shoes he had picked out to go with it were perfect—pink ankle boots laced with white ribbons wouldn’t be practical for anything else she did, but the soles were flat, and they were sturdy enough for a dance being held somewhere in the forest. The fact that he had found all of it for a price she could afford, even with overnight delivery, just about qualified as magic. “Okay, I see your point.”

“Please don’t actually kick anyone in the face,” Trisha said as she stood up. “Or anywhere else.” She was smiling as she spoke, but an edge to her voice that suggested there was a trace of real worry in the warning.

Brandy rolled her eyes. It wasn’t like she was prone to random violence; she just didn’t like clothes that limited her options if other people decided to start shit. “Trisha, sweetie, I promise that if I do have to apply these pretty little boots to somebody, there will be no question in anyone’s mind that they deserved it. I doubt it’ll be an issue, though. Everyone here’s either really nice, or the ‘just leave me alone’ flavor of unfriendly.” Though after the spiked punch at the last shindig, she hoped Lewis or Gus would be keeping a closer eye on the drinks today. “Now let’s get going, or we’ll miss the dancing!”

They followed the map that had been drawn on the back of yesterday’s letter informing them of the event—and it was a good thing Robin had given them a heads-up, because if that had been the first they’d heard of it she would be dressed in leather and fishnets—and found a temporary bridge laid over a narrow ravine at the southwestern edge of the forest. It looked sturdy, and judging by the distant sounds of voices and music quite a few other people had already crossed it, but Brandy still insisted the three of them go one at a time. “I wonder why they don’t build a permanent bridge,” Neel mused, glancing back over his shoulder as they started down the gradual slope toward the river below.

“Given the state of some of the bridges around here—Oh!”

Brandy turned around as Trisha broke off; her friend had frozen in the middle of the path. “What’s wrong?”

“Not wrong. Just odd. We just walked through some sort of magical boundary. It feels like Rasmodius’s work.”

Her dress’s pockets were deep enough to hold her utility knife, but there was no way she could have hidden her sword, and she was now feeling its absence. “Can you tell anything more about it?”

Trisha closed her eyes and, after a moment, shook her head. “It’s not directed at us, so I can’t detect much about it, if that makes sense?”

“As much as any of this does,” Neel muttered, which matched Brandy’s take on it.

“I’ll ask him about it,” Trisha said, opening her eyes. “Let’s join the party.”

They weren’t as late arriving as they had been to the Egg Festival—they’d brought in the final harvest of several of their spring crops the day before, so there was less watering and weeding to do today—but it still looked like they were the last to arrive in the wide clearing beyond a bend in the cliffs. Pierre had set up his souvenir stand again, and Brandy wondered if he ever took an actual holiday. He raised a hand in greeting as they approached, then turned around. She could hear a rattle of ice, and he straightened to hand a bottle to someone on the far side of the stall.

A shock of bright blue hair appeared past the edge of the stand as the person leaned forward to see who had arrived. “Hi Brandy! I’m glad the three of you could make it!” Emily wore a sundress the color of a robin’s egg, with white ruffles at the neckline and hem, and she had pinned sprigs of tiny white flowers into her hair. “Wow, you all look fantastic!”

Brandy was suddenly grateful for Neel’s love of shopping. “Thanks! So do you! Did you make your dress?”

Emily’s grin widened and she swished her hips, the lightweight fabric swirling around her legs to show clean white sandals and toenails painted the same sparkling blue as her fingernails. “I did!”

“Really?” Neel stepped up beside Brandy. “You did an amazing job with it. Are you a professional seamstress?”

Was it her imagination, or did Emily’s smile look strained? “Oh, no, it’s just a hobby. I don’t think I’d enjoy it nearly as much if I had to worry about how much to charge, or deadlines other than when I wanted to wear something.”

“Fair enough,” Neel said; if he saw anything odd in Emily’s reaction, he didn’t let it show, but then, he wouldn’t. He turned toward Pierre’s booth. “So, how much are the drinks?”

“There’s no charge for beverages,” the shopkeeper said. “Lewis just asked me to distribute them to avoid any… mix-ups… like a couple of weeks ago.” He named the options, and Trisha’s eyes lit up at the mention of a brand of sparkling mineral water that she could drink safely. Brandy opted for a bottle of Gus’s homebrew beer, while Neel took a wine cooler. “I do have a number of souvenirs for sale, if you’d like to take a look,” Pierre added as Brandy debated whether to follow her friends farther into the clearing or strike up a chat with Emily, who had stayed by the booth.

“I’ll catch up with you two in a bit.” He didn’t have anything as wild as the flamingos this time, Brandy thought, but the decor kit looked like fun, with different pretend-natural accessories to set up for each season. She glanced at the price and decided, reluctantly, to keep it in mind for some other time; she’d wiped out most of her remaining fun-money for Spring on the dress and boots. She did pick up another postcard for her parents, though, and tucked it into her pocket along with her wallet.

“I wish I’d thought of that,” Emily said. “But I’m pretty sure I cut my dress too close through the hips to put in pockets without them looking weird.”

There was, Brandy thought, absolutely nothing wrong with the way Emily’s dress was cut, but this didn’t feel like the right time for a comment like that. “I’ve never liked carrying a purse, so no pockets is a no-go for me,” she said instead. “Neel tracked this down for me—he said something about most dress pockets not really being made to hold much, so this was a lucky find.”

“He’s got good taste.” Again, she thought there was the slightest chill from the other woman when her friend’s name came up, but it wasn’t something she could pin down. “Is it new for the dance?”

“Yeah, dresses aren’t usually my thing, any more than handbags,” Brandy admitted. She looked around at the rest of the clearing. “To be honest, for formal stuff like this I’d probably feel more comfortable in a suit like the guys are wearing, not that I had anything like, either.”

Emily’s head tilted, her eyes going kind of distant. “You could definitely pull that off,” she said. “You do look good as you are, though. That’s a great skirt for dancing.”

It was as good an opening as she was likely to get. “So… Lewis’s letter about the dance said it was a pairs thing. Would you…”

The other woman’s smile widened, but she shook her head. “I’m very sorry, but I’ve already agreed to dance with someone else.” She glanced across the clearing toward the buffet, where a handful of people were loading up plates. “Marnie asked me to keep an eye on Shane,” she said, her voice low. “I know Pierre won’t over-serve him, but sometimes he brings his own. This way he’ll at least wait until after the dance to start in on it.”

Brandy grimaced. “I’m familiar with the type,” she said.

That won her a frown. “Shane’s a person, not a ‘type,’” the blue-haired woman said.

Brandy held up her hands in apology. “I just meant I get the situation—I worked as a nightclub bouncer, back in the city. It’s really kind of you to look out for him, and I’m sorry if I came across as judgy.”

“And I’m sorry I snapped at you,” Emily said. “Shane… doesn’t talk about it much, but, well, bartender. I know a bit about what’s eating at him, and there’s little enough I can do to help.”

“So you do what you can,” Brandy said.

The other woman nodded, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She smiled up at Brandy, looking more like her usual self. “Well, I don’t want to take up all your time. I’m sure you’ll find a dance partner!”

“Oh, if nothing else, there’s Neel,” she said, but took the hint. She saw Maru not far away, but as she drew nearer she heard her accepting Harvey’s request for a dance. She hid a frown at that; he was her boss, wasn’t he? The younger woman didn’t act like it was a romantic thing, though, and besides, she’d already decided that, cute as the young scientist was, they were not a good match. Penny was standing not far away, but… no, the pretty redhead hadn’t even noticed her early attempts to flirt. Beyond them was someone she recognized but had scarcely seen since they’d met, and she walked over.

“Hi… Linus, right?” The old man’s clothes were as patched as before—she thought it might be the same shirt and trousers, though it was hard to be sure—but they were clean, and he had tucked little flowers into the patchwork seams.

He jumped at the sound of her voice. “Oh… hello there,” he said. “It’s nice of you to talk to me.” She felt a little guilty at that; she had seen him at the Egg Festival, but he had been half-hiding by a tree, making quick trips to the buffet tables only when no one else was nearby, and she had been too busy introducing Trisha to the people who had approached them to seek him out. “Did your friend like the leek you found for her?”

“Yes, she did—it was just what she needed. Thank you again for helping me.” The seeds the Junimo had given Trisha had been slow to sprout, but they had grown into clusters of normally wild plants—some of which Pierre was currently trying to sell as souvenirs, at quite a nice markup. “I guess there won’t be many more for a while, though.”

Linus nodded. “Spring is almost over… what a shame. Not that the other seasons don’t have their beauties and bounties, each in turn.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing them all,” Brandy said. He nodded and his gaze turned inward again, suggesting the conversation was over. As she walked away, someone else waved from the edge of the clearing.

Marlon leaned against the fence that separated the grassy area from the trees beyond, his only concession to the event’s dress code a single yellow daisy pinned onto his tunic. “I didn’t realize you knew Linus,” he said as she joined him.

The “wild man” had gotten wary when she had asked about Marlon, she recalled, and glanced his way; he didn’t seem worried that she was talking to the one-eyed man now. “He gave me some tips on foraging a few weeks ago,” she said. “I don’t really know him beyond that. Has he lived here long?”

“He comes and goes as he pleases, but always turns back up in the valley, sooner or later.” He gave her a stern look. “If you spent more time on the mountain, you’d encounter him more often.”

That was definitely a dig about the fact that she hadn’t completed his little challenge yet. “I came here to help Trisha with her farm, not fight snot monsters,” she said, keeping her voice low.

His expression didn’t change. “Are you so certain the two are unrelated?”

He must be referring to the “sage and shield” thing his brother had told them about, and the demon bits buried in the mine. She realized she was stroking her right forearm again, and lowered her hand; the acid burn had healed without even a trace of a scar. “The spring crops are winding down, and it’s too early to start planting for summer,” she said at last. “I should have a chance to go back there soon. Between us, Neel and I have already taken down six of your ten slimes—unless you meant monsters in general? Because there was a rock thing and a giant bug, too.”

He inclined his head. “Only four more to go, then. Shouldn’t be difficult.” He straightened a bit, and Brandy caught a glimpse of motion out of the corner of her eye. She turned a bit and saw Marnie passing by, in a flowy flower-print dress that was quite a change from her usual practical clothes. “Marnie looks lovely today,” he murmured. “I suppose—” Then he shook his head. “I look forward to hearing of your success, but for now, go enjoy the party. Will you be dancing with Neel?”

Brandy snorted. “Only as a last resort.” He was an excellent dancer, and better him or Trisha than sit it out, but that wouldn’t be her first choice.

Marlon’s response was a near-silent huff of laughter. “I see. Well, then, I won’t hold up your search for a more suitable partner any longer.”

She had meant to ask him about the ward Trisha had sensed, but with so many people wandering around, this wasn’t the time. She spotted a flash of purple across the clearing, and headed for the food table. Maybe Abby would like to dance? She couldn’t get a good read on the younger woman—sometimes she seemed to be flirting back and other times, as oblivious as Penny—but it was worth a shot.

Chapter Text

Neel picked up a paper plate from the buffet table, watching sidelong as Trisha made a beeline for her favorite beach bum and Brandy chatted with Emily. It hadn’t escaped his notice that the blue-haired woman had been less than pleased when he joined the conversation, but was it only that she had been talking specifically to Brandy or was there more behind the chill? He always got the impression that her cheery customer service was a little more of a mask with him than other patrons of the saloon.

He turned away with a mental shrug; he’d never been anything but polite around her, so if she did have some issue with him she could deal with it herself. He reached for the handle of a spoon, only to jerk his hand back as someone else grabbed it first.

“Oh… ’scuse me,” Shane said, depositing a heap of what Neel assumed was guacamole on a plate already piled high with chips and other dips. He dropped the spoon back in the bowl and dunked a chip into a pile of salsa before popping into his mouth. “Mmm… excellent sauce.” He did the same with the guac. “Ah, this green stuff is spicy!” It didn’t sound like a complaint, but after chewing a little longer, his eyes went wide. “Ow… really spicy!” He grabbed a can from the table beside him, and Neel was surprised to see the same kind of sparkling water Trisha had taken. “Good, though.”

Forewarned, Neel took a smaller helping onto his plate. The maker had definitely not gone easy on the hot peppers, he thought, tasting it, but hadn’t overdone it, either. “I’m pretty sure Gus wouldn’t serve anything that wasn’t,” he commented.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t do all the food every time, and I dunno who made this,” Shane said. He was wearing an ill-fitting grey-green suit that only highlighted his perpetual stubble, but he looked like he’d made an attempt to comb his hair today, and he had a tulip Neel was pretty sure had originally come from their farm as a boutonniere. His brows drew down toward a scowl, as if he had just realized who he was speaking to, then lifted. “How’re the girls you took home doing?”

After a moment of confusion, he realized Shane meant the chickens. “Gin and Tonic? They’re fine, and they both started laying yesterday.” The Junimo hadn’t wanted either of those eggs, even though they had met the color requirements—Trisha said they felt too small—but hopefully that would change as the birds got older.

Shane snorted into his drink. “You named them after a cocktail?”

“Brandy picked the names. Gin’s what she wanted to call our cat and I won that battle, so Trish and I let her have this one.”

The other man just shook his head. “Well, I don’t suppose it matters much to the hens what we humans call ’em, as long as they’re fed. You folks keep looking after those two, got it?”

“Will do,” Neel said, and Shane wandered off with a nod.

“Wow, I think that’s the most words I’ve heard him use at one time since he’s lived here.” The sudden voice beside him nearly startled Neel into dropping his plate, and he turned to find Abigail at his elbow. She was wearing a white dress that washed out her already-pale skin even more and looked like it might tear at the seams if she moved her shoulders; a pair of blue jazz blossoms stuck up from her hair like one of those alien-antennae headbands.

“I’ll take having my ear talked off about chickens over being told to fuck off for saying hello,” Neel allowed. “Where was he before this, do you know?”

The fabric of her dress had more give than he’d thought, and survived her shrug. “I’ve overheard him talking about city life once or twice, but I don’t think he was in Zuzu. He showed up about a year ago, Jas in tow, and moved in with his aunt.”

Neel looked across the clearing to where the little girl and Sam’s brother were playing some sort of tag. “Jas is Shane’s kid?” He’d known she lived with Marnie, too, but…

“She calls him Uncle, but I don’t think they’re related,” Abigail said.

Sam joined them at the table, a can of Joja Cola in hand. His cream-colored suit was too broad through the shoulders and decades out of date, and the flower on his lapel was a silk lily that had seen better days. “Mom said he’s her godfather, and gripes about the fact that he doesn’t bring her to services at the chapel. Dunno what happened to her parents, but given the timing…”

Abigail grimaced, and Neel felt his expression harden into a mask. Most likely the war, then—though he supposed it could be any of the infinite other ways the universe could fuck someone over.

Then Abigail made another face as Sam cracked open his soda and chugged at least half the can. “Ugh. How can you drink that crap?” she asked as the blonde man belched. It was an obvious attempt to change the subject, but Neel wasn’t going to object to moving out of dangerous territory.

“Caffeine is the only thing keeping me conscious,” Sam said, “and this stuff has even more than coffee. Ugh, allergy meds suck.”

Given the tubs and garlands of flowers everywhere Neel looked… “Not your favorite festival, I take it?”

Sam took another swig of his drink. “Nah, if I didn’t like it I’d have a perfect excuse to skip out. You know what? I admit it… I really like flowers! Spring ones make me sneeze my head off, but that’s not their fault. They’re just… out there, being pretty, and…” He trailed off, staring into space.

Abigail frowned at him. “Dude, did you accidentally take a double dose again? Do I need to get Harvey over here?”

“Gah, no, keep the doc away! I just need to eat something.” He grabbed a plate and started loading it with food. “Can’t live on soda and antihistamines alone.”

Neel was about to ask if Sebastian had found an excuse to miss the dance when a whiff of tobacco smoke tickled his nose. He turned toward the river and forgot, for a moment, how to breathe. The tall figure leaning against the fence at the very edge of the clearing was barely recognizable without his trademark black jeans, hoodie, and scowl. The absence of that last was particularly surprising, since Neel doubted he had donned the pale slacks and jacket voluntarily. Unlike Sam or Shane, however, his suit was the right size—an off-the-rack fit, rather than custom-tailored like Neel’s, but at least he didn’t look like he was wearing hand-me-downs. Blue was a good color on him, too, though he needed a darker shade than the pastels dictated by the festival’s theme. Sapphire… no, midnight blue, something close enough to black that he might not even mind…

He tried to set the image aside as Sebastian raised the cigarette to his lips again, his gaze fixed on the river flowing past the clearing. He looked up when Neel approached, and watching that relaxed expression vanish beneath sudden, coiling tension made him wish he’d stayed chatting with Sam and Abigail. Since he couldn’t turn around without making things worse, he raised a hand in greeting.

“Did you want something?” Sebastian said, not quite hostile but far from welcoming. Unlike everyone else Neel had seen, he wasn’t wearing any flowers or floral-print accessories.

“Figured I’d stop by to say hello,” Neel said, “and to thank you for putting me onto Cave Saga X. I’m really enjoying it. Good story, and the artwork’s incredible.” Books that size would normally last him a day or two—maybe three, given how busy they’d been on the farm for the past week—and he’d assumed graphic novels, with so many fewer words, would take a fraction of that. After reading several chapters of the first volume at his usual speed, however, he had found himself hopelessly confused by plot points that seemed to come out of nowhere, until he went back and paid more attention to the pictures. Every page—every panel—held nuances of expression or background details that might or might not be critical information later, more than half the story told in drawings instead of text. Even now that he had gotten the hang of “reading” the images, it was slower going than he had expected.

“From the third omnibus on, it’s in color, too,” Sebastian said. “There’s talk about reprinting the first two that way, too, but I guess it would mean redrawing a lot of the art, not just filling it in, so it’s a long-term project.” He shrugged. “I don’t think I’d be in a hurry to pick that up. Aside from the cost, I’ve been reading the series since it first started, and the early art… that’s just how it is, in my mind, if you know what I mean?”

“Sure, like when they recut a movie you loved or try to ‘modernize’ the special effects.”

“Exactly,” Sebastian said, pushing away from the fence, only to wince.

“Are you all right?” Neel asked as the other man leaned back again; he looked like he was trying to avoid putting weight on his right foot.

“Yeah, I just, uh, banged my ankle last night, and it’s still kind of sore. I really hope Abigail doesn’t step on my feet again this year.”

“Oh, you’re dancing with her?” Neel managed to choke back a promise that if Sebastian paired up with him instead, he would be guaranteed not to get trod on. Damn Trisha, for forcing him to face the fact that his awareness of their neighbor had turned into more than vague aesthetic appreciation.

The other man’s scowl was now back in full force, though not directed at Neel. “Yeah. Our mothers would never let either of us hear the end of it if we tried to sit it out. Since we’re stuck with this nonsense, we might as well be stuck together.”

“I guess that makes sense.” And now Neel sort of wanted to go ask the purple-haired woman to dance, in order to spare Sebastian. The problem—problems with that were that Brandy would be annoyed with him if she was thinking of asking Abigail, and he didn’t think Sebastian would recognize the gesture for what it was, anyway. The first guy he had been interested in since… in quite a while, and it was looking increasingly likely that he was straight.

Damn Trisha.

Sebastian put out his cigarette and headed for the buffet, and Neel followed, just in time to hear Brandy asking Abigail about the dance. It was immediately clear that the other woman was no more aware of Brandy’s interest than Sebastian was of his, because she answered a different question that happened to use the same words. “I really hate dancing in front of everyone… It’s so embarrassing. Mom makes me do it. Seb’s in the same boat, so we’ve been suffering together for years.”

“Not a fan of dancing, huh?” Brandy said.

Another shrug, and Neel was seriously beginning to fear for the integrity of her clothes. “Real dancing’s fun, but this is, like, weird old-fashioned country stuff, and Mom insists I wear her old dress from back when she was Flower Queen… Ugh. It’s never fit right, and with all the muscle I’ve put on, um, stocking shelves and all that, it’s worse than ever. Maybe next year I can at least talk her into getting me something new.”

“What’s this Flower Queen business about, anyway?” Brandy asked. “I overheard the kids saying something about it.”

Abigail rolled her eyes. “Supposedly it’s a reward for the ‘young person’ who’s done the most for the town in the previous year, but Haley’s the only one who actually wants to lead the dancing. All she does is take a few photos the mayor keeps saying he’ll turn into a tourist brochure one of these days, but no one else puts their name in the running.”

“So it’s always a girl? Vincent was complaining that couldn’t win it.”

Sam snorted. “Nah, we could have a Flower King, or a Flower Monarch if anyone in town was nonbinary. It’s just been Haley for so long I guess my brother doesn’t realize that.”

She looked like she was about to ask another question, but at that moment Mayor Lewis clapped his hands. “It’s almost noon, so everyone who’s dancing, please come take your places!” Sebastian and Abigail groaned in unison and began trudging toward the other side of the clearing. Sam, on the other hand, stuffed the last few chips into his mouth, tossed his plate into the trash barrel, and strode off across the grass to collect…

“Penny? Not who I would have expected,” Neel murmured.

“Yeah, quite a few odd pairings here,” Brandy said. “Want to make it one more? I struck out big time.”

“Sure, why not?” He gave her an elaborate stage bow and offered his arm. She snorted and took his elbow; with her longer stride, it must look like she was dragging him to the other dancers, who were arranging themselves in two facing lines, men in one and women in the other. He and Brandy eyed each other, both clearly wondering if they could get away with joining the “wrong” sides, just for laughs, but opted to stick with tradition.

They wound up on one end, next to Abigail and Sebastian. “So, are we going to make complete asses of ourselves, jumping in without practice?” Brandy asked.

Abigail shook her head. “Haley and Alex will start, and everyone else up and down the line copies them as close as we can. She knows that several of us will straight-up murder her if she does anything that makes us look more ridiculous than these clothes already do, so she keeps it simple. As long as you’re not crashing into everyone else, you’re fine.”

Neel leaned forward to survey the rest of the dancers. Elliott was on the far end, and opposite him was the artist, Leah. Beyond the women’s line, he could see Trisha standing near Lewis; she was nowhere near as skilled at putting on a congenial mask as he was, but hers was probably good enough to fool someone who hadn’t known her since childhood.

His curiosity about how that had shaken out was overridden, moments later, by a flash of reflected light from the top of the low cliff that rose around the clearing. The music began, but he nearly missed his cue to start as he wondered why Rasmodius was lurking above them, and what that might have to do with the magic Trisha had sensed when they arrived.

Chapter Text

Maintaining her composure would be easier, Trisha thought as a stately waltz began to play from the portable speakers next to her, if Elliott would stop shooting her apologetic glances over Leah’s shoulder. And if the other woman didn’t look quite so smug about having gotten him to promise her this dance before Trisha had known it was happening.

The event had started off well enough. She had been nervous about the dress; she had always loved the way it fit and flowed around her, but rarely wore it because the ivory fabric brought out the green tones in her skin more strongly than most colors. In the end, budget had been the deciding factor—the farm’s finances were tight enough that she couldn’t justify buying a new dress, not when she would probably need to dip into her personal-spending funds to cover the cost of summer seeds and she already had this one carefully folded away in her clothes chest. Elliott’s eyes had lit up when he saw her, so either the effect on her skin wasn’t as pronounced as it looked to her, or he didn’t find it as off-putting as others she had dated.

Not that she and Elliott were dating. A few awkward and/or friendly chats did not a relationship make. Neither were he and Leah, as far as she could tell, but not for lack of interest on the other woman’s part. What did that mean for her own chances? She was going to feel very silly if it turned out he wasn't attracted to women at all, because if the beautiful redhead had been looking at her that way… She sighed as the couples—pairs, rather, on either end of the line finally joined in the dance. She couldn’t see Neel and Brandy all that well past the others, but from the glimpses she caught they were hamming it up as much as their lack of familiarity with the dance steps allowed. Leah and Elliott, on the other hand, were following the Flower Queen’s lead closely, as were most of the others.

It was, she decided as the dance began to wind down, kind of a weird tradition; almost everyone in town under the age of 100 was in the twin lines, but a lot of them looked reluctant or outright resentful. Only Haley and Alex had anything like a spark between them, and even that, she wasn’t sure of. Perhaps she should have asked Clint to pair up with her for this; from the way he was looking the dancers, there was someone there he wanted to dance with, too.

She was being ridiculous. The dance had taken perhaps five minutes out of an otherwise lovely event, and now that it was over Elliott was headed her way, with Leah following. “As you can see, the Flower Dance is a great deal of fuss over rather little substance,” he said, adjusting the ascot he wore in lieu of the ties the other men sported. On someone else it might have looked affected, but it suited him.

“It’s still fun, though,” Leah added. “Thanks for being my partner for it, Elliott.” She flipped her fiery braid back over her shoulder. “And now I’m starving—I’m going to hit the snack table. It was nice to see you again, Trisha.” Her simple, light green dress swished around her legs as she strode across the clearing.

Elliott watched her for a moment, his expression unreadable, before turning back to Trisha. “And what did you think of our little local ritual?” His choice of words sent a sudden chill down her spine, though she was certain he hadn’t meant anything by it—that was just the way he talked. But there had been that spell she sensed when they first arrived, and while she hadn’t felt anything during the dance itself, she had been preoccupied with a particular dancer… one who was now looking at her with concern. “Are you all right?”

She shoved the question aside for now; she could ask Rasmodius about it the next time she saw him. “I’m fine; just lost in thought for a moment. The dance was lovely. Was it the same as last year?”

A momentary shadow crossed his face, and she wondered what she had said. Then he smiled and shrugged. “I don’t recall the exact steps, but it was similar, if not the same. I gather the lead couple has some freedom to change things up, but going too far afield would confuse the other dancers.”

“Yeah, Abby said half the folks out there would be only too ready to rip Haley a new one if she made them look like fools,” Brandy said, as she and Neel joined them. Trisha gave her friends a Look, but the primary recipient only grinned. “So, what happens now? Do they open up the dance floor, or do we stand around stuffing our faces for the next couple of hours?”

“The dance marks the official end of the event,” Elliott said. “Though last year many of us stayed to chat and, ah, do our part to clean off the refreshment table.

He turned toward the buffet, and even as Trisha’s heart sank—did every festival in Pelican Town have to be so food-oriented?—she realized Neel was trying to catch her eye while the other man was distracted. She frowned at him, and he looked pointedly up the side of the embankment. She followed his gaze and saw at once what he was getting at; Rasmodius stood above them, almost hidden by the trees. Again, a chill stole over her despite the glorious sunlight, and she bumped up her timetable for that chat with the wizard—by a lot.

Her mineral water was finished, so she tossed the can in the recycling bin as the four of them approached the table. She could get another from Pierre, but… “I should head back to the farm to get some work done,” she said. Brandy started to lower the guacamole ladle she had just picked up, and Trisha shook her head. “No, you and Neel stay here, have fun! We took care of all the physical stuff this morning, but I’ve still got a lot of numbers to crunch before we decide what we’re planting for the summer.” It was true enough, if not her only reason for leaving so early. So much of their finances going into the season would depend on whether the fertilizer her grandfather had left in the care of the Junimos worked as advertised, and while so far it seemed to be, she wanted to take extra care not to make a similar mistake with the summer plants.

Elliott, too, had been reaching for a fresh paper plate, but he drew back his hand. “Might I walk you home?”

She wanted to say yes, but she didn’t think she could—or should—explain the stop she intended to make along the way. “I appreciate the offer, but this doesn’t exactly strike me as a dangerous neighborhood,” she said, smiling up at him. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

The brief flash of disappointment in his eyes almost made her change her mind—she could always go back out to the woods—but he didn’t press the issue, merely returned her smile and said, “I often find a solitary stroll through the forest or along the beach to help focus my mind for my work, as well.”

His ready understanding left her feeling warmer than the sunlight, and it was with even more reluctance that she left the clearing. But as she crossed the makeshift bridge and began making her way through the dense woods along the top of the ridge, that warmth faded rapidly. The forest around her felt alive… but not in the way it did when she tried to connect to it from the farm or the more familiar woodlands near Marnie’s ranch. This was a crawling, uneasy life, and by the time she caught a flash of reflected light from her mentor’s sequined hat, she wished she had asked Brandy to come with her, unarmed or not.

“You shouldn’t be up here,” he said quietly, not turning around, as she picked her way through the last bit of undergrowth. She didn’t bother to ask how he’d known she was there; she had managed to avoid snagging her dress on anything, but her approach had been far from stealthy.

“Why are you here, then? Why not join us at the dance?”

“Someone needs to stand sentinel, and I am, at present, the only one available.” He turned to face her at last, and she was startled to see the exhaustion in his face.

“So that was your work I sensed on the way to the dance,” she said. “What is it you’re guarding against?” He raised his eyebrows at her in a manner that meant he thought she ought to already know the answer. “I can sense something weird about the woods around here, but I don’t know what’s causing it, and trying to figure it out without someone to watch my back felt like a bad idea.”

“A wise choice, although unless you took a most roundabout path to reach me, my ward would have kept you safe,” he said, eyebrows still high.

And still would, if she was understanding him correctly. She looked around her; there was no way she was going to sit on the ground in this dress, but a nearby tree ought to give her enough support, if she needed it. She braced one hand against the rough bark and closed her eyes.

It was getting easier to reach out this way, though it still took more effort than slipping into the gold-ink illusions her grandfather had left in the community center. Perhaps that was because in the world of the scrolls, she was still solely and solidly herself; feeling the edges of her self-awareness blur and blend into the woods around her was unsettling. She could sense Rasmodius’s spell like a swirling breeze, a rough sphere encompassing the clearing below and extending through the trees around them. The eddies in the air grew more turbulent near the edges, particularly in one direction, and she flowed through the trees toward the disturbance.

She recoiled at what she found. The knots of twisted energy weren’t large, but they were dense—cold violence given physical form. “What are they?”

“The same type of creatures your friends have encountered in the mines,” the wizard said. “There is an infestation of slimes deep in the woods. Whatever dregs of Void power they spawn from are weak; they can’t venture close enough to town to be a danger, but the clearing where the dance is held is within the edge of their range. They are naught but an annoyance to an experienced fighter, but dangerous to the unsuspecting. Since changing the location is ‘unthinkable,’ I take the necessary steps to ensure they do not intrude on the festivities.”

She didn’t miss the irritation in his voice. “The mayor insists on keeping it here?” His silence was as close to confirmation as she was likely to get, raising yet more suspicions, but she thought this was not the time to press the issue of what role Lewis had in all of this. “The dance… is there more to it than the obvious? I didn’t sense anything during it, but it didn’t occur to me until afterward what an odd tradition this is.”

Rasmodius favored her with an approving smile. “An excellent question. I think it likely held some ritual significance, once, though religious or magical or both, I couldn’t say. Sadly, any deeper function was lost long before my time; all that remains is the power of tradition to unite a community, which is no small thing itself.”

“And tradition says it’s held in a potentially slime-infested clearing across a makeshift bridge—oh, that’s why there isn’t a permanent one, isn’t it?”

“Indeed. With a full complement of sages and shields, perhaps the deep woods could be rendered safe throughout the year. As matters stand…” He shrugged. “Better to remove the easy temptation to return to the clearing. Anyone bold enough to climb across the rocks would at least be of a mindset to help them cope with encountering any slimes that venture this far.”

“Where do they come from, anyway? Why not wipe them out at the source?”

“It’s not so simple as that. I theorize that the demon may have been bound within the deep woods, long ago, and enough of its influence remains to spawn a few lesser monsters. Such an energy cannot be ‘wiped out’—one cannot destroy destruction itself. The forest will reclaim it eventually, but in the meantime the eddies where ruin and regrowth collide produce the living bubbles of malice we call slimes.”

She shivered, recalling the images Brandy’s phone had captured down in the mines. If those were what Rasmodius considered “lesser monsters,” what lay deeper in the mines?

Before she could ask, however, the wizard turned away from her to look down over the clearing again, and his shoulders sagged in relief. “Ah, good, they’re not lingering as long this year. There was a time I could have held a ward like this and still joined in the dance,” he added, as if to himself.

“If people are leaving, I should go, too,” Trisha said. “I said I was heading home, and running into someone in the forest would be awkward.” Elliott might assume she had gone for a longer “focusing” stroll than she had implied, but if he saw her coming out of the dense undergrowth when she wasn’t dressed for it, he would surely guess that something was up. He didn’t seem to mind her obvious peculiarities, but there had to be a limit, and she didn’t want to find it quite so soon.

“Trisha.” She turned back toward Rasmodius. He looked even more tired than when she had first reached him. “If you were thinking of dropping by tomorrow for lessons… please don’t. I’ll need at least a day to recover from all this.”

“I understand,” she said, and started picking her way back through the underbrush.

She made it back to the farm without seeing anyone else, and was soon ensconced on her bed with her tablet. Instead of spreadsheet formulas, however, her thoughts kept turning to the wizard. She suspected his weariness was due to more than the work of protecting the clearing for a few hours. “With a full complement of sages and shields,” he had said, and she hadn’t missed the wistfulness in his voice. Right now there was… her. If she could be called a “sage” at all, this early in her training—she still wasn’t clear on that part. The forest was supposed to be her domain, but she didn’t have any idea what went into shielding the dance from slimes. Or how to deal with the—presumably worse—monsters in the depths of the mine, or what to do about the half-a-demon imprisoned there.

She closed her eyes and took a slow breath in and out. She hadn’t known anything about parsnips or fertilizer or chickens when she had decided to move to her grandfather’s abandoned farm. She could learn this, too; organizing and analyzing information was what she did. She opened her eyes, dismissed the spreadsheet app from her tablet in favor of her “grimoire,” and began reading through her notes from what Rasmodius had already taught her. She needed more data, and right now she didn’t even know what all the data categories she needed were. She began jotting down questions she should ask her mentor the next time she spoke to him.

Chapter Text

Abigail’s footsteps slowed as she passed the bus stop. Brandy had told her to drop by if she wanted, but that had been weeks ago, and she wasn’t sure if the invitation was still open. She should have texted first—Brandy might not even be there! Had she mentioned the offer to her friends? Neel probably wouldn’t mind her hanging out, but she didn’t know Trisha very well. “Hi, I want to wander around in your weeds and play with your cat. Sure, that sounds totally normal,” she muttered under her breath as Lockwood Farm came into view.

She stepped through the open gate and froze, because it had changed so much since she had dragged Sebastian out here to explore last Fall that she felt like she’d somehow stumbled onto some other farm. The battered, peeling boards of the old cottage’s walls and porch had been replaced and given a fresh coat of paint. The brush and trees and rocks that had taken over the area around the building had been cleared, and small crop fields spread across the land, some filled with neat rows of greenery and others bare, no doubt waiting for the same summer seed shipment as her father. A faux-log cabin sat next to the farmhouse, Brandy’s pink flamingos stuck in the little patch of grass in front of it; beyond that was another cabin with stone siding and no delightfully tacky birds. The shattered greenhouse hadn’t changed, though, and to the south there was only a rough trail hacked through the rest of the overgrown farmland.

There was also no one in sight. She squared her shoulders and walked down the no-longer-weed-choked path that connected the cabins. Beyond the crops, a rough wooden fence had been installed, and the familiar spikes of pink hair on the figure crouched next to one of the posts was reassuring. “Hi, Brandy!” she called.

The other woman looked up and grinned. “Hey, Abby! Glad you finally decided to come visit!” She stood, brushing dirt from her knees, and shoved her hammer into a tool belt made of age-cracked leather. “Or does your dad have you out running errands or something?”

“No, I got my stocking out of the way early today. Looks like you’re working, though—I don’t want to get in the way.” The low building enclosed by the fence was a coop, judging by the mismatched pair of hens scratching at the ground. “Oh, cool, I thought I heard Neel say something about you folks getting chickens. Did you really name them after booze?”

Brandy laughed. “Well, technically tonic’s a mixer, but yeah. Since we got ’em as a pair, I figured they ought to have matching names. Kind of a theme, I guess—I got teased about my name as a kid, so I decided to run with it and started naming stuffed animals after other kinds of drinks. This was the first time I’ve had the chance to name a real critter, since Neel put his foot down with Dagger.” As if summoned by the name, a gray shape joined the brown and white ones in the chicken pen. “And speaking of our little troublemaker…” The brown hen raised her head to watch the cat, who sauntered across the grass as if the birds didn’t exist and jumped onto the fence beside them. Dagger half-closed her eyes as Brandy scratched her head. “She’s mostly learned to keep her sharp bits to herself, but if she looks like she’s asking for a belly rub, don’t fall for it.”

“I’ll remember that,” Abigail said, extending a hand toward the cat. Dagger sniffed her, then headbutted the tips of her fingers. “Oh, you’re a sweetie,” she said as the kitten leaned into her scritches, purring like an avalanche.

“Most of the time,” Brandy agreed, “though I doubt the local mice would agree. Poor Neel gets at least half of one deposited on his doorstep every day.”

“Ew! But that means she’s doing her job.” The cat jumped down from the fence post, and both women watched her head into a crop field, tail held high.

“Yeah. There’s been a lot less nibbling on the produce since Marnie brought her to us. But, uh, speaking of jobs…” Brandy patted the fence.

“Oh, sorry, I should get out of your way.”

“You’re welcome to stick around—I just need to work while we talk, if that’s all right?”

“No problem! The fence looks finished, though.” Abigail followed as Brandy walked along the rails toward the coop.

“The wood’s done—I was just shoring up a weak spot, ’cause we knew fuck-all about building fences when we put it up, and it showed—but we saw some paw prints around the coop this morning that were definitely not Dagger’s, so we’re adding chicken wire. I don’t think anything could get into the coop itself, but we don’t want a predator snatching one of our critters when they’re out in their yard. Plus, it’ll keep the hens from wandering too far and maybe deciding our crops are chicken feed.” She pulled a pair of thick work gloves out of a pocket of her cargo pants and began wrestling a tall roll of grey wire mesh upright.

“Makes sense. Uh, do you want a hand with that?”

“I can probably manage it myself, but I wouldn’t object if you want to help hold it in place while I fasten it down,” Brandy said. “Let me find you some gloves, though. The ends of the wires where they’re joined can be pretty sharp.”

“Oh, that’s not a problem, I’ll just be careful where I grab it.”

Brandy leaned the roll of wire against the side of the coop and dug into the toolbox next to it. “There’s no reason not to use safety equipment if you’ve got it, and we have plenty. Here.”

“And here I thought you were a risk-taker,” Abigail said, but she put on the bulky leather gloves Brandy handed her.

“There’s a difference between trusting that the ’chute I’ve checked and rechecked will open properly and challenging my tetanus booster for shits and giggles. Or yours, in this case,” Brandy said, returning to the fence. She unrolled the wire mesh a few feet. As she began arranging the end against the coop wall, Abigail noticed for the first time that a narrow ditch had been dug around the edge of the fencing, into which she settled the bottom of the fencing, angled outward. “Hold it right here, would you?” She took what looked like an oversized staple out of a pocket and set it against the wall over one of the wire intersections, driving it into the wood with a few strokes of her hammer.

As Brandy placed another staple, Abigail ventured, “So… which sort of risk was going into the mines with a rusty sword you don’t know how to use?”

The other woman blew out an irritated breath. “A miscalculated one. I figured it was a prank, that Marlon was maybe part of a crew trying to make their own reality show or something. But I was wary enough to call Neel and keep him on the phone with me while I explored, so if something went really wrong he’d be able to send for help.”

“That was smart,” Abigail said.

Brandy grimaced. “For a definition of ‘smart’ that ended up with Doc Harvey treating me for acid burns on my arm, sure. So, um, if you do ever find yourself in there with a sword, don’t stab the slime monsters, ’cause they splatter everywhere if you pop them. Long slashes seem to be the way to go—that way, they just deflate.”

“That’s good to know.” It was a nice change not to be treated like a little kid, but exploring the mines was starting to sound even more dangerous than she had thought. “Why’d you go back, once you realized it wasn’t a prank?”

The pink-haired woman pressed her lips together for a moment. “We wanted to find out more about what was going on. All three of us went up the mountain for that trip—Trisha stayed in the upper cave while Neel and I went down with our phones streaming to her. Unfortunately, the cell signal gets thin really fast, and none of us liked the idea of going deeper without a way to call for help.”

“It’s funny, I don’t picture Neel as the fighter type.”

“He isn’t, but he’s closer to it than Trisha. He found an old slingshot in the tool shed, and his aim was good enough to distract the monsters while I figured out how to stick a sword in them.”

“Have those training videos I sent you helped at all?”

That won her a quick grin. “I’m feeling more confident about not injuring myself, but I haven’t had a chance to put my skills to the test. I promised Trisha I wouldn’t go back down until we worked out the communication issues.”

“But it sounds like you are planning to go back,” Abigail said. “You’re serious about joining the Guild, then?”

Brandy shrugged and pulled out a pair of wire cutters, kneeling at the corner where the fence met the coop to snip a slit so the part of the fencing she was bending into the ditch overlapped at the bend. “I don’t know about the Guild itself, but… yeah, I guess I’m committed.”

Abigail frowned. “You know more about what’s going on than you’re letting on, don’t you? I thought you said you’d tell me what you learned from Marlon.”

“He’s not my only source of information. Look, could you let it drop, for now?” Brandy looked up from the fence at last, her expression pleading. “There’s more at stake than just monsters and minerals in the mines. I’ve got some theories, but I’m not sure how much is okay to share, yet.”

She wanted to keep pushing, but that “yet” helped her rein in her frustration. At least Brandy wasn’t stonewalling her like Marlon and Gil. “All right. But… you’re not just leading me on, right? You will tell me when you can?”

“That much, I can promise,” Brandy said. “Thanks, Abby.”

“Yeah.” Abigail stared at her feet, trying to find some other topic of conversation. “What’s with the ditch?”

“Neel’s idea—he was worried about predators trying to dig under the fence, so we’re going to bury the bottom bit. He dug the channel for it this morning—well, from here to the gate, anyway. He’ll fill it in when he gets home this evening, and then we’ll keep going around the rest of the fence tomorrow. We’re looking into better solutions for the long term, ’cause this is definitely not going to be pretty, but it’ll do the job for now.

“Did he go off fishing and leave you to wrestle the fence alone?”

“No, He had some stuff he needed to take care of in the city, so he dug his ditch, got cleaned up, and caught the early bus to Zuzu. He’ll be back around sunset, unless the bus runs late.”

“Oof, that’s a heck of a day trip,” Abigail said. “Since I stopped by to give you a hand, maybe we should go ahead bury the fencing?”

Brandy grinned at her but shook her head. “It’s nice of you to suggest it, but he was reluctant enough to ‘abandon’ Trish and me for the day, even if neither of us feels that way about it. If we did his part of the work, too, he’d feel even worse about it.”

“Does he get prickly about being the only guy on the farm?”

“Nah, it’s not a gender thing. He just hates feeling like he’s not pulling his own weight.” She dusted off her hands as she rose from her crouch. “And as far as he’s concerned, there’s always at least one more thing that just has to be done.”

“A real workaholic, huh?” Wire-ends she hadn’t noticed snagged at Abigail’s gloves as she helped brace the mesh against the next fence post, and she was grateful Brandy had insisted she wear them.

The other woman bit her lip, and she wondered if she’d said something wrong. Finally, Brandy shrugged. “At least when he was still working for Joja, there was a limit, you know? They don’t like paying overtime if they can help it. Now, he’d work himself to exhaustion every day if we let him. The guy does not know how to relax. His idea of kicking back is speed-reading every book he can get his hands on.”

“Wow, he doesn’t come across as that intense,” Abigail said, though she supposed his girlfriend would know best. “He’s pretty chill at pool nights.”

Brandy sighed. “Trish and I make him take breaks, when we can. A little alcohol helps, but most of his ‘chill’ is just good acting.” She drove the next staple in with a bit more force than necessary, and Abigail thought the breath she drew in was a little shaky. “Look, I don’t want to give you the wrong idea. I worry about him sometimes, but moving out here’s been good for him. For all three of us.”

It was definitely time for another change of subject, though this time Brandy didn’t ask flat out. “Where is Trisha, anyway?” Or was that a change of subject? Surely Brandy would have mentioned it if she’d gone with Neel.

“Out foraging in the woods,” Brandy said. “Your dad pays pretty well for wild herbs and flowers, and she’s got a knack for tracking them down. Which is kind of funny, her being such a city girl before this. I think I’m the only one who’d really done anything close to this sort of stuff before.”

“But you’re a city girl, too, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but my pop’s from Castle Village, out in the Red Hills district, and it’s not much bigger than Pelican Town. Whenever we visited his family, my cousins were always eager to show me what country life was like—mostly to offload some of their chores, I think, but it was fun to do something different for a while. And I took as many shop classes as I could fit into my schedule in high school.” They had reached the gate, and after she secured the mesh to the final post, she pulled out the cutters again, twisting the wires back around the rest of the fencing. “Thanks, Abby, that took a lot less time than I expected.”

“I’m glad I could help.” The two of them stood back to look at the fruits of their labor, and Abigail struggled to think of something complimentary to say about it.

Brandy began laughing. “Wow, that looks like shit. I knew it was going to be slapdash, but this—” She pulled off a glove and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, still chuckling. “We’d better talk to Robin A.S.A.P. about building a barn, because Neel is going to have a cow when he sees this.”

Abigail giggled, both at Brandy’s reaction and the mental image she painted of Neel’s. “It’s unique, all right. What are you going to do about the gate itself?”

“More chicken wire, though obviously we can’t bury it partway like the rest. I’ve got an idea to stiffen the bottom with some narrow boards, but I’m not sure about how to keep something from burrowing under that. Maybe I can track down some cement?”

“My mom has some paving stones left over from a job that she’d probably sell you at a discount,” an unexpected voice came from behind them.

They turned to find Maru standing at the end of the mountain path, peering over the top of a large cardboard box. “Hey, Maru!” Brandy said. “Don’t tell me you hauled that all the way down here! If you’d called I could have brought the wheelbarrow up .”

The younger woman laughed. “It’s not heavy, just awkward. Where can I set it down?”

“Depends on what’s in it. I don’t think we’ve got anything on order from your mom, so is that…”

“Yup! I did a trial run at home and they seem to be working as intended, but the real question is how much they’ll boost the signal down here where it’s already so attenuated.”

“Even a little bit would be an improvement,” Brandy said. “You can drop it on my porch.” She turned to Abigail. “We hired Maru to design some cell signal boosters so we could get a decent connection on the farm,” she said.

“Ooh, neat,” she said, peering down into the box. Then she looked up as the implications of what Maru had said sank in. “Crap, does this mean I won’t be able to get far enough away from town to keep my dad from calling me home for extra chores?”

Maru grinned as she began unpacking. “I don’t see any reason to mention this little project to him, but I doubt it’ll stretch the range very far. If my projections are right, there should be decent signal in the cabins, but by the time you get to the edge of the forest, it’ll drop down to about what you have here right now.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Maru,” Brandy said. “Do you have time to do the installation?”

“The one for the farm is plug-and-play, although there’s a slot for a standard battery pack as a backup.” Maru handed the farmer a device that looked like it might have begun life as a desk lamp but now sported an impressive array of electronic doodads at the end of the hinged neck. “What I'm not sure of is whether installing this here will be enough or if you’ll need a midpoint booster somewhere along the road to town. That would be a pain, because you’d need to change batteries on a regular basis or hook up a solar panel or something.”

“Is that’s why there’s other stuff in here?” Abigail said, hopping up to sit on the porch rail as Brandy set the “lamp” to one side and pulled out a squarish metal case.

“Er, well, and…” Maru trailed off and looked at Brandy.

“It’s okay—Abby knows about me and Neel exploring in the mine,” she said, and Abigail’s interest sharpened. “She’s actually the one who gave me the idea.”

“I did?”

“Remember the other day when your phone was dead, and you called it your lifeline? That’s when it occurred to me that Maru might also be able to rig up something to get the cell signal deeper underground.”

“You didn’t mention that part to me,” Maru said. “Anyway, you said that at least parts of the electrical system are still functional, so I designed these for dual-mode power, too. If there’s a way to safely wire them into the existing lines, the batteries would just be for backup; otherwise you’d need to change them about once a week.”

“That’s a pretty big ‘if,’” Brandy said, twisting the device this way and that. It had loose wires coiled around it instead of a wall plug and cord. “Most of what I know about electricity work is ‘don’t touch.’”

“Marlon could advise you,” Maru said. “You’d never guess it by the way he dresses, but he was a professional electrician before he retired. He’s probably been maintaining the wiring down there, or it would have failed ages ago.”

“Huh. I didn’t know that,” Abigail said. Not that they’d done a lot of casual chatting in between him or Gil scolding her for even looking into the entrance of the mine.

“Cool, I’ll ask him,” said Brandy, and Abigail felt another pang of envy. “But they will run on batteries?”

“Yup. I’m not sure how deep each one will reach. If you don’t need to use one as a midpoint booster for the farm, I’d recommend installing the second one in the mine as soon as the signal from the first starts to drop off; that way if one fails you should still have enough of a boost from the other to reach the surface.

“Thanks, Maru. And if I need more…”

The inventor’s smile faded a bit. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the idea of extra cash, but now that I have the proof of concept worked out, making additional copies would be kind of boring. I can print you a clean copy of my working diagram and instructions—it’s all off-the-shelf components aside from the case. You mentioned you’d done a bit of simple metal work in school, so that part’ll be easy enough. Marlon should be able to help if you’re not sure about the rest of the assembly.”

From the look on Brandy’s face, she didn’t share Maru’s confidence in her abilities. It was kind of weird, given how sure of herself she was in most things. “Well, I can give it a try,” she said.

The booster Maru had made for the farm worked all too well, Abigail thought as a series of texts from her father scrolled onto her phone as soon as Brandy switched on the device. He wasn’t demanding she return now, though, so she didn’t bother to reply. Brandy was thrilled with it; she was able to stream a sample video with no lag at all—not, Abigail noticed, one of the sword-training ones.

Maru retreated back up the mountain once she’d tested her other two devices, but Abigail stayed to keep Brandy company while she waited for Trisha to get back from the woods. She ventured a few more questions about the mines, but gave up—for now—when she realized that was getting her nowhere. The last thing she wanted was for Brandy to think she only wanted to be her friend to pump her for information.

“Ugh, Maru and her inventions,” Abigail grumbled, checking as her phone as another flurry of messages arrived. “I’ve got to run—Mom wants me to help make dinner. Last time I ignored her, she got Dad to assist, instead.” She shuddered. Her mother had the sense not to try to save a few Gs by “using up” shop stock that had started to go bad. Her father, on the other hand… “I’ll catch you later!”

Chapter Text

Brandy watched until Abby was out of sight—it was a very nice view—and then nearly jumped out of her skin when someone cleared their throat behind her. She yelped, spun, and found Trisha grinning at her.

“She’s cute. How come you haven’t asked her out already?”

“’Cause I’m not sure she’s into women, and she’s getting to be a good enough friend that I don’t want to make things weird if she’s one of those people who come across as flirty when they’re not meaning to?” There was also the fact that the purple-haired woman might be more interested in the mine than Brandy herself.

Trisha opened her mouth as if to say something, then shook her head. “Nope, staying out of this.”

“What? Have you heard something? You have, haven’t you? She’s already seeing someone, isn’t she?” She consoled herself with the reminder that there was still Emily… except that the pretty bartender had some sort of bug up her ass where Neel was concerned. Brandy couldn’t for the life of her imagine why, unless maybe his therapy sessions in the back room of the saloon weren’t as private as he thought? She didn’t know what exactly he talked about, and Emily didn’t seem like the type to snoop, but if she’d happened to overhear some fragment out of context, maybe that explained it. Another reason to be grateful for Maru’s contraptions.

The basket draped over Trisha’s forearm tilted as she raised her hands, nearly spilling the onions and flowers it held. “I haven’t heard anything. Or seen anything, or perceived anything in any other fashion.”

Brandy’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, I get it, you just don’t want me twitting you about your own little crush, huh? And what have you done about that, hmm?”

“Don’t even start,” Trisha said. “I’m about sixty percent sure he’s interested in more than friendship. If I get to ninety percent before he makes a move, I’ll ask him out and see what happens.” Her phone chimed and she dug through her purse for it. “Neel missed the earlier bus by minutes, so he’ll be late getting home,” she said, just as Brandy’s phone pinged with what was probably the same message. “Oh, that’s perfect—I’ve got an idea to run by you. You know how he gets about mysteries and puzzles—Hang on, I have a full-strength signal?”

Brandy grinned and seized the change of subject. “Maru came through for us.” She showed Trisha the main booster—installed in her own cabin, since it was between the others’—and the two for the mines. “I was thinking of heading up there this afternoon.”

“Neel won’t be home until after dark,” Trisha protested. “And Rasmodius gave me some practice exercises I want to work on while they’re still fresh in my mind.

“I’m only going to pop in long enough to test out the boosters and see if I can find another four snotbags. I can do that on my own, with you as my ground control. I’ve been practicing with the sword, remember? It won’t take long, and I’ll skip the monster mashing if it looks like too much to handle solo.”

Trisha looked like she wanted to object, but after a moment she shrugged. “Okay. Let me get this stuff sorted to take to Pierre tomorrow, and then we can go.”

Half an hour later, Brandy was prying open the elevator in the upper cavern. The doors opened with only a little effort, and—as she had suspected—there was an emergency hatch in the bottom of the car. She anchored her climbing lines to a length of old mine cart track wider than the doorway, strapped into the climbing harness and headlamp she’d ordered, and lowered herself into the darkness while Trisha fretted above her, echoed by the phone in Brandy’s pocket. The cross-bracing in the shaft held firm as she made her way down, carefully testing each timber before putting her weight on the wood. She’d been practicing moving around while wearing the sword, too, so having it bounce at her hip was only a minor distraction. There was a convenient nook in the shaft wall just outside the first door, so she set the booster into it and switched it on. “How’s the signal now?”

“You’re coming through loud and clear,” came Trisha’s reply, with no hint of static.

“Great. I still have plenty of line, so I’m going to go down a little farther and plant the other booster.” There was another door in the shaft, this one with a “10” stenciled on it, and another handy “shelf” to hold the metal box. Trisha confirmed the signal strength, so she tried to open the lower doors, with no luck. “Ugh. Feels like they’re jammed from the other side. I’m going back up to Five,” Brandy said.

No giant insects or other monsters attacked as she pried the doors open and pulled herself into the cavern beyond, though her ears picked up an ominous squelching sound in the distance. “Okay, I’m in.” She unclipped her climbing lines, drew her sword, and crept forward, pausing every few steps to listen and giving the boulders a wide berth in case they sprang to life. Around the first corner, she spotted a lone slime. “There’s one,” she murmured, and adjusted her grip on the hilt the way the videos had shown. She darted forward and slashed, then jumped back as the slime reacted. A couple more slashes saw it deflating into a puddle. “Three more to go.”

Taking out the monsters without Neel there to keep them off guard was more challenging, but they were spaced out enough that she could fight them one at a time. “…and four. Hah, not so hard!” Compared the first two trips, the third foray into the mines was almost a letdown.

“Good. You’re coming back up now, right?”

“I’m just going to take a quick peek around to see if there’s anything worth picking up—” Brandy broke off as she ducked her head around the corner and spotted two slimes in the chamber beyond. They were too close together to try to take one down… really close together, in fact. “Trish? I don’t suppose your wizard friend has taught you how to erase memories, has he?”

“What? No, that would be awful! Why would you ask something like that?”

“’Cause I did not need to know how slimes fuck.” There was now a third, much smaller bag of snot between the first two, and Trisha was laughing at her, the traitor. She backed away from the side cavern and headed for the elevator; no way was she going to test whether these things had mama-bear instincts when she was down here alone. “I’m leaving now.” She checked her lines, closed the elevator door behind her, and dropped back down long enough to turn off both signal boosters before climbing back up to the entrance.

Trisha’s eyes were still glinting with amusement when Brandy pulled herself up through the bottom of the elevator car. “So now you’re a monster voyeur?” she asked, ending the phone call.

“Not willingly,” Brandy grumbled, packing up the rest of her gear. “Let’s go have a chat with Marlon, and then I’m going to the Saloon to find out if Emily has a recipe for brain bleach.”

But when they reached the Adventurers Guild, Marlon refused to let Trisha through the door. “My challenge was to your friends,” he told her. “I can appreciate your looking out for them, but you didn’t have any part in fighting the slimes yourself.”

“Since Rasmodius said I shouldn’t go into the mine yet, that hardly seems fair,” she countered.

“Very little in life is,” he said. “Besides, the guild is meant for shields, not sages.”

Trisha’s chin rose stubbornly at that, and Brandy stepped in to try to head off the argument. “It’s not like I’m going to keep secrets from my best friend,” she told Marlon. “You might as well tell both of us and save me from having to repeat it all.”

“You can tell her as much or as little as you like,” he said, “but I’ve already bent our rules as much as I’m willing to.”

Both women glared at him, but it didn’t look like he was going to budge. To Brandy’s surprise, it was Trisha who backed down. “Fine. I have sage stuff I’m supposed to be working on tonight, anyway. When Neel gets home you can fill both of us in at once.”

If Marlon had any objection to that plan, he had the sense not to say it to Trisha’s face. Brandy was tempted to “walk her home” and start another phone call… but Marlon knew about their streaming trick. Instead she entered the building. “I really am going to tell her everything,” she said as he closed the door behind her. She glanced around; the inside of the cabin looked like it had been decorated by a film company with too big a budget and too little common sense. There was a bearskin rug on the floor that was either real or a very convincing fake, and the room was lit mainly by “candles” with flame-shaped bulbs, held in fixtures made to look like silver skulls and bones. Weapons straight out of a movie replica catalog hung on the walls to her left and right, and an oversized map with a footprint trail leading to a giant red “X” broke up the wallpaper behind a shop counter.

He shrugged. “That’s fine—there aren’t many secrets between a shield and their sage. But this’ll be easier to get through if Gil and I don’t have to worry about offending a fledgling wizard.”

“She finally got around to finishing our quest, did she?” A man who looked a couple of decades older than Marlon was sitting in a rocking chair by the fire. “Where’s the other one?” He pushed himself up from the chair and limped to the table in one corner of the room, dropping heavily onto a stool.

“Neel had errands in Zuzu City,” Brandy said. “We finally figured out the cell reception problem in the mines, and I didn’t want to wait for him to get back to try it out.” Her eyes narrowed as she turned back to Marlon. “You said you’d count our kills together. You’re not going to make him take out four more of those things, are you?”

Marlon retreated behind the counter and rummaged through a drawer. “I suppose I should, but no, if he’s inclined to join I’ll let him. You would need to decide for yourselves which of you would be the forest sage’s shield, however.” He shoved something into a pocket before joining the other man at the table, then waved a hand at the remaining stool.

Her eyebrows rose as she sat down. “Wouldn’t she be safer with both of us protecting her?”

The older man—Gil, she assumed—snorted. “If it worked that way, we could just surround a sage with warm bodies.”

“Gil’s right,” Marlon said. “The relationship between shield and sage has to be a very close one—usually, the closest in either of their lives. Most often a romantic partner.” He gave Brandy a curious look.

“Uh, no, definitely not. I mean, I like the ladies and Trisha’s bi, but neither of us is the other’s type. And Neel has zero interest in women, so another big nope there. We’ve all been thick as thieves since we were toddlers, though.”

“It’s not a requirement, only the most common arrangement. It can be challenging to explain such a tight bond to a lover who isn’t part of it.”

“No kidding.” She’d had a couple of girlfriends who couldn’t get over being jealous of her friendship with Trisha—or Neel, which was even more absurd. “Why, though? Why not just—like Gil said—surround a sage with everyone who’s willing and able to help?”

“Because part of what you’re protecting your sage from is herself,” Gil said.

“To put it bluntly, yes,” Marlon said.

Brandy frowned. “Rasmodius said something about that—the demon being able to corrupt wizards, I mean.”

“That’s mostly a risk for an untrained magician, who might not recognize it influencing their thoughts. But wizards…” Marlon sighed. “You’ve met my brother. It’s too easy for those who devote their lives to magic to lose touch with the rest of humanity—sages more so than most, according to everything I’ve seen. That’s why the one absolute rule is that a shield can’t have any trace of magic of their own. The way the sages are tied into the power in the valley… it’s like it gets hardwired into their sense of who they are, and magic starts looking like the best solution to every problem—or the only solution. Occasionally it is, but most of the time…”

“Takes a lot of trust to be able to call ’em on their crap and have ’em actually listen,” Gil said. “And just as much to know when to let ’em run with it.”

“Okay, so why bring both me and Neel in, then? Just in case he’s better suited to the job than I am?” On reflection, that wasn’t as ridiculous as it sounded; Yoba only knew Trisha was more likely to call bullshit on her than the other way around.

“That’s one part of it, but mostly it’s because there are supposed to be five of you. Normally it’s the sage that draws in the shield, but maybe it can work the other way around.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small cloth bag, which he dropped on the table in front of her. “If you’re serious about this, here’s your guild badge.”

She undid the drawstring and looked inside. “You’re joking, right? Do I get a costume, too?” It looked like something you might find in a kid’s fast-food meal, a toy coin with “Adventurers Guild” picked out in garish red against a silvery background. But when she dumped the contents of the bag onto the table, the “badge” landed with a solid clunk of metal, rather than the painted plastic it resembled, and the cord threaded through the pendant felt like real leather when she lifted it up.

Marlon grinned at her. “On paper, the Adventurers Guild is a theatrical supply business—prop swords and armor and the like for movies and plays,” he said. “Most people assume the rest of it is just marketing schtick or a fondness for LARPing, and we don’t go out of our way to correct them.” He waved a hand at the walls. “Those blades are all blunt, of course, and most of them are cheap pot metal, but the ones Clint makes for us take an edge quite nicely.” As if to demonstrate, he drew the small dagger from its sheath on his belt and placed it on the table beside the pendant.

She picked it up and angled it in the light; it was wickedly sharp. “Nice,” she said, setting it back down. “Why bother with the badge, though? It’s not like there’s so many ‘employees’ you’d have to worry about not recognizing someone.”

“Because that’s Rasmodius’s work,” Gil put in, his face somber. “It’s connected to the ward on the mine, and once it’s tied to you, as well, it’ll alert you when someone tries to enter.”

“Tied to me? Sounds like you mean more than just putting it on.”

Marlon tapped the hilt of the dagger with one finger. “A drop of blood, drawn with this knife. My brother does have a flair for the melodramatic.”

He was serious, she decided after staring at him for a moment. “Ooookay.” She unslung her backpack and fished out the first aid kit. Gil gave her an approving nod as she tore open a disinfectant wipe and started cleaning the blade, then her hands. She carefully pricked the back of her left hand with the tip of the dagger and let a single drop of blood fall onto the back of the badge before covering the cut with a bandage. “Did it work? Nothing happened.”

“That’s because we’re not wizards—we can’t sense the spell itself,” he said. “But put it on and wait here.” He pulled a matching pendant from underneath his tunic and set it on the table, then left the building. She slipped the long cord of her badge around her neck. A minute or so later, she felt the disc vibrate against her chest, for all the world like her cell phone ringing when set to silent. “Huh.”

“Yup,” Gil said. “It’ll do that whenever someone without a guild badge is in the upper cavern. It’ll get warm to the touch if they have magic potential. Rasmodius’ll give your sage friend her own key to keep from setting off the ward, once she’s ready, so if you feel it get hot, get here quick as you can. Marlon and I do our best, but we’re not so spry anymore.”

She ran a finger along the edge of the coin. “Understood.” She slipped the pendant under her shirt as Marlon returned. “It wouldn’t take long for someone to get from the entrance to that first ladder, though.”

“The ward slows down those with magic,” Marlon said, dropping back onto his stool. “From what my brother’s said, if they’re thinking of going in rather than just hanging out in the upper cavern for whatever reason, it’ll inspire some serious second thoughts. It won’t stop anyone really determined, but it’s always given one of us time to get there.”

That led to a question that had been weighing on Brandy’s mind since she’d first heard of all this. “So… you’d have a pretty good idea of who in the valley is, or could be, a magician,” she said, and the two men exchanged a glance. “Rasmodius said some shit about that being pretty much everyone who’s from here, but that he was waiting to see if any of them came to see him.”

Marlon grimaced. “My brother’s got it in his head that one sage is enough, for now—do a quick patch job on the seal, and punt the real fix to a later generation.”

“In other words, wait until it’s ‘safe’ to even think about recruiting anyone we’ve known since they were in diapers,” Gil said.

“Well, that explains why he was so glad to see Trisha,” Brandy said. “But it doesn’t sound like you agree with him.”

He sighed. “Maybe your friend really is—or will be—strong enough to keep the seal from breaking, but it’s not like it was doing a bang-up job even when it was new. All a quick fix will do is ensure the mines keep filling up with void-spawned monsters as fast as we can cut them down.”

“We” now being “Brandy and Neel,” given what both Rasmodius and Marlon had said. “But you haven’t tried to recruit anyone, until me.” She watched closely for their reactions as she said, “Maru mentioned she’d been down in the mines proper—just the first cavern, but she didn’t say anything about someone showing up to chase her off.”

Neither of the men were fooled by her casual tone, from their faces. Marlon shrugged. “We’re charged with keeping potential magicians out of the mines. Anyone else… well, if she’d thought to look deeper I’d likely have issued her the same challenge I did you. She got what she wanted, though, and didn’t return.”

“And meanwhile, Abigail’s been trying to join the guild for years,” Brandy said, and Marlon’s lips tightened. “Hah. I’m right, aren’t I? She’s one of the ones with potential.”

“As you’ve been told, the lack is rarer than the presence, among those born in the valley,” he said carefully. “That said… I’d recruit her in a heartbeat if I could. She has the right attitude for a shield.”

“Did you know she’s been teaching herself how to use a sword? She linked me to some really great lesson videos when she found out I’d been fighting monsters in the mines.”

Gil stiffened on his stool, and Marlon’s eye widened. “You told her about that?” Marlon said, then he went suddenly still. “Didn’t my brother tell you not to?” There was a glint in his eye at odds with his stern tone, and Brandy grinned.

“Well… no, I don’t think he mentioned anything about it, one way or the other. Well, keeping the magic part secret, yeah, but not the rest. Should I have kept my mouth shut?” Already too late, of course.

Marlon’s answering smile had a grim edge to it. “If the great Rasmodius trusts your discretion, I don’t see why I should question it. Although,” he said more somberly, “be careful what you do tell her. Yes, I wish he would do more to seek out those with the potential to make good sages, but he’s not wrong to be cautious. Someone taking up that sort of power for the wrong reasons could cause a lot of damage—to themselves, as much as to the Valley.” He tugged at the end of his beard. “Best, I think, to encourage her to talk to my brother. Subtly. If he thinks she was pushed into it, he might just send her away, but if it’s her own idea, even if she had some help coming up with it…”

Brandy ran a hand through her hair. “Subtle’s not my strong suit, but I’ll try.” She abandoned a half-formed plan to start their next conversation with, “So, want to be a wizard?”

Marlon nodded and leaned back against the wall. “Thank you. However that turns out, you’ve still got a long way to go before you’re fully prepared to be your friend’s shield, so I suppose we should talk about the more immediate future. Tell me about your ventures into the mines—starting with everything you think you did wrong.”

“You mean like letting some jerk with a sword con me into going down that ladder in the first place?” she said, and he smirked at her.

“And after that?”

As she recounted her and Neel’s “adventures,” he stopped her periodically to correct some assumption she had made, or share practical advice for dealing with the various creatures in the mines. It was a far cry from the sink-or-swim initiation, and she wished she had thought to bring something to take notes—or Neel. But now she had a better idea of what they’d be up against when they returned to the mines.

And they, or at least she, would definitely be returning, she thought, her amusement fading as Marlon and Gil talked about what lurked deeper in the mines—and the fact that a handful of the creatures that lived close to the surface had managed to make their way out, over the last year or so, though so far they had been dealt with before they could become a danger to the town. If monsters like the walking skeletons or shadow brutes they described ever got loose…

No. She wasn’t going to let that happen.

Chapter Text

Maru stared down at the oversized plastic envelope on the kitchen table and tried, again, to talk herself into delivering it. She’d promised Brandy, and putting it in the mail was ridiculous when it only needed to go down the mountain path. It wasn’t as if Abigail was likely to be there again. Or still.

She grimaced; there was zero evidence to support the hypothesis that the two were an item. She’d been trying to catch Abigail’s eye for over a year and had been met, not with rejection, but complete obliviousness. Brandy, on the other hand, had been flirting back… until suddenly, she hadn’t, and Maru had no idea what she’d done to put her off. Had the farmer decided she was too young, or too geeky, or just… too Maru? She blinked rapidly as her eyes started to sting. The most likely theory was that the other two women were just friends, or even that Abigail was only angling to find out more about the mine and their neighbors’ weird role-playing club.

Staring at the envelope wasn’t going to get it to its destination. Maybe she’d be lucky—Brandy wouldn’t be home, and she could stick it in her mailbox. She could do that even if Brandy was home but wasn’t outside, and who would be, on a day like this?

The usual answer to that question shuffled into the kitchen looking more wrung out than usual. Her brother—stepbrother, as he was always quick to point out—barely glanced at her as he poured himself a cup of coffee, or rather, tried to. “You’re supposed to start a new pot if you take the last of it,” he growled at her when the pot dispensed only a couple of ounces of liquid.

“I didn’t touch your coffee.” She lifted the teabag from her mug. “It’s almost two in the afternoon—are you just now getting up?”

He grunted. “I wish. I’m never working for this client again. This is the second time they’ve screwed me over on deadlines. I’m gonna sleep for a week once I finally finish this.”

He was being more talkative than usual, not that that was saying much. She studied him, taking in the dark shadows under his eyes. “Wait, you mean you didn’t sleep at all last night?”

He shrugged and slugged back the dribble of coffee in his cup with a grimace. “I caught a couple of power naps. These assholes were more than a week late giving me the files I needed to get started, but they still expect me to finish by Monday morning, because they’re going live at noon.” He started reloading the coffee maker, swearing as the grounds wound up scattered across the counter instead of in the filter.

“And why didn’t you tell them to stuff their deadline?” Maru said, grabbing a wad of paper towels from the roll behind her and passing them to him.

“Because the on-time bonus is big enough that I should have known this was going to be a shit show? I can get it done, I’m just not going to be doing much else this weekend.”

“I hope you’re not planning to ‘power nap’ the whole time. Sleep deprivation is really bad for you.”

“Yeah, no kidding. I’m not—I just wanted to get a solid start on it to be sure I could make it to band practice tomorrow. Sam wants to try recording a demo to send to some audition calls.”

“Wow, that’s exciting!” The last she had heard about the band was Abigail complaining that they still hadn’t picked a type of music to play

Sebastian just shrugged. “Dunno if anything’ll come of it, but at least we’ll have given it a shot.” He looked down at the table. “What’s that?”

She poked the corner of the envelope. “Some schematics I said I’d take to Brandy—a cell signal booster I designed. I dropped off the ones she hired me to build yesterday, but they might want more of the portable model for—” She stopped herself; the farmer might have told Abigail about her adventures in the mines, but that didn’t mean she wanted everyone to know. To her horror, she felt tears starting to well up again. “For if they want to extend coverage in the short term, like if they’re working on the southern part of the land,” she said, and reached behind her for a paper towel. She dabbed at her eyes and nose in what she hoped was an inconspicuous manner.

Unfortunately, lack of sleep appeared to make her brother more observant, not less. “Are you all right?”

She forced a grin. “Either I’m developing a new allergy to something or I’m fighting off a cold,” she lied, and then inspiration struck. “That’s why I was fortifying myself with hot tea before venturing down to the farm. The weather’s totally gross today, and if this is a bug the damp isn’t going to help it.”

“It’s raining?” He opened the blinds she’d closed against the dreary gray sky.

“Just drizzling,” she said. “I… no, you’ve got a ton of work to do, right? Otherwise I’d ask if you’d mind taking it for me.”

He looked over his shoulder at her, eyes narrowed. “You’re not as sneaky as you think you are.” But after gazing outside for a few more seconds, he said, “I’ll go. The rain’ll do a better job of waking me up than caffeine.”

“Thanks, Seb, I really appreciate it,” she said. “And I’ll get the coffee pot going, so it’ll be ready when you get back.”

“Deal.” He picked up the plastic envelope. “You said it was for Brandy?”

“Yeah—have you been out to the farm since they moved in?” He shook his head. “You can’t miss her place—it’s the one with the plastic flamingos in front of it.”

“She actually put those things up? I thought she just bought them out of pity for Abigail’s dad,” he said. “Guess there’s no accounting for taste.” He left the kitchen before she could come up with a response.

Chapter Text

Neel looked up from the screen at a tap on his door. It was too tentative to be Trisha, and Brandy usually bounced off the locked door before she thought to knock. “Just a minute,” he said. Who in the world would come all the way out to the farm in this sort of weather? To his surprise, he found Sebastian on his porch. “Hi? What are—oh, shit, you’re soaked! Did you get stuck outside or something?”

His heart gave a funny little lurch as the tall man offered him a sheepish grin. “It’s okay, I like the rain. Sorry to bother you—I was actually looking for Brandy’s place? These are from my stepsister.” He held up a clear plastic document envelope, sealed with tape and beaded with raindrops, and his brows drew together. “She said Brandy’s yard had those flamingos from the Egg Festival, but I didn’t see them.”

Neel rolled his eyes. “They’re normally there, eyesores that they are, but Trisha’s holding them for ransom.”

“She’s… what sort of ransom?”

He felt the corners of his mouth quirk upward at Sebastian’s baffled expression. “I didn’t ask for details—I know better to get between those two when they start up this sort of nonsense.”

“Do they argue a lot?”

“Nah, it’s just a game. Do you want a cup of coffee or something? Or I could just take those off your hands and give them to Brandy when she gets back from the store.”

“Coffee would be great,” Sebastian said, sagging against the doorframe. “Maru said she’d have a fresh pot made by the time I got home, but I could use some to help me get back up the mountain.”

“Come on in, then. Mine just finished brewing,” Neel said, stepping back from the door. The other man wiped his boot soles on the mat outside before coming inside, but they were still leaving a puddle. “Do you want a towel, too?”

“Oh. Sorry about that—I’m okay, but I don’t want to make a mess of your house…”

Neel looked askance at him, but he really did seem perfectly content with the fact that his clothes were well beyond damp, and “content” looked damned good on him. “Don’t worry about it—your mother said these floors should stand up to anything we could throw at them.” Sebastian shut the door behind him and looked around curiously. “Help yourself to the coffee pot.” It was currently set up on top of his dresser, the clean mugs arranged alongside it. “Oh, and look out for—”

Sebastian yelped as the subject of Neel’s warning lunged out of her favorite hiding place beneath the dresser as he approached. Dagger gave a yowl of her own as she made contact with her victim’s sodden jeans and rain-slicked boot; the kitten all but levitated onto the coffee table, shaking her paws as if offended by the wet. “Serves you right, brat,” Neel said, tapping her nose gently. “Sorry, but also thank you—I’ve been trying to train her out of sneak-attacking people, and this little encounter’s probably done more to convince her than I’ve managed so far.”

Sebastian’s laughter was shaky. “That startled me. I didn’t realize—no, wait, I think Abigail mentioned there was a cat on the farm. She’s yours?”

“I’m not sure she really belongs to anyone, but I got volunteered to be her headquarters,” he said, scratching behind her ears. “Dagger’s usually outside during the day, working as pest control, but she’s not a big fan of getting wet.”

Sebastian didn’t inquire about the name, so maybe Abigail had filled him in on that, too. He kept a wary eye on the cat as he filled a mug with coffee, then paused with it nearly to his mouth. “Uh, this isn’t decaf, is it? Didn’t you mention you didn’t do caffeine in the afternoon?”

“No, it’s the real thing. I was up late last night, and I decided to risk it so I could focus now.” Therapy wiped him out, but not in the way that helped him fall asleep quickly; just the opposite, in fact. For the first time, Neel noticed the exhaustion underlying Sebastian’s unusual near-cheerfulness. “What about you? When I mentioned coffee you looked as relieved as I was when Robin offered me some, that first morning after we moved here.”

Sebastian made a face that Neel hoped wasn’t a response to the sip he’d just taken. “Pulled an all-nighter on a client project,” he said. “Not something I want to make a habit of, but I’d really like to get this done on schedule, and they waited until the last possible moment to send me the information I needed.”

“That’s rough. Does that mean you’re not going to make it the saloon tonight? I think we’ve finally convinced Trisha to join in.” Belatedly, it occurred to him that adding yet another new person to the gathering might not be a great incentive.

“No, I’m already going to be pushing my luck going to band practice tomorrow.” Before Neel could process that little tidbit—he was a musician, too?—he changed the subject. “I said I’d bring Maru’s stuff down here because I figured that was the only way I’d make it outside before the rain stopped. So, what’s the deal with the flamingos?”

Neel snorted. “Damned if I know. I spent yesterday in the city, missed the bus I’d meant to take, and when I finally got home I found Trisha hiding plastic birds in my crawl space.”

“Wait, you have them? I thought you said you didn’t get involved.”

“I am strictly a neutral party. If Brandy happens to ask if I know where they are, I will tell her yes. If she asks the right questions, I’ll even tell her where they are. Trisha knows that.”

Sebastian shook his head and took another sip of coffee, without grimacing this time. “But you don’t know what the ransom is?”

“Nope. That’s between the two of them.” If there was an actual ransom at all; Trisha could read a bus schedule, so he wouldn’t have caught her unless she meant him to, and he suspected they were putting this on for his benefit. There was no good way to tell them to knock it off without hurting their feelings, but he wished they would stop trying to give him “mysteries” to solve as a distraction. He already had a real one to puzzle over, and now Dr. Ramirez wanted him to start doing a bunch of journaling crap. His thoughts turned guiltily toward the still-sealed smartwatch box that was somewhere under the couch, where Dagger had batted it last night. He’d taken out his laptop to finally get it set up but had started poking at Joja, instead.

His unexpected guest’s gaze wandered over to the “bedroom” corner of the small cabin. “Wow, you use an actual bookmark?” He nodded at the book on top of the stack of boxes Neel was using as a bedside table.

“Yes, though I’m rethinking that since a certain someone can’t tell the difference between a tassel and a cat toy,” he said. “Fortunately I’ve remembered about how far I’ve been each time Dagger’s pulled it out, so I didn’t spoil the story trying to find my place again.”

“It looks like you’re almost finished with the second volume. If I’d known, I could’ve brought the third with me,” Sebastian said. “Uh, if you’re still interested, that is.”

“I am well and truly hooked, though I haven’t had a lot of reading time the past few days.” Without meaning to, his gaze slid toward the “desk” he’d set up on the table.

Sebastian winced. “Oh. Sorry, I’m interrupting something, aren’t I?”

It was Neel’s turn to grimace. “It’s not a big deal. I’m not getting anywhere with it, anyway.”

“Oh? What are you working on?” Before Neel could object, Sebastian had leaned over to see the screen. His eyebrows rose. “Are you looking to go back to Joja?”

“There’s not enough money in the world,” Neel snapped before he could rein in the sudden surge of anger, not at Sebastian’s inadvertent snooping but the subject of his own.

His guest yanked his hand from the laptop. “Sorry I asked.”

“And I’m sorry I barked at you. It’s been a… frustrating project.”

“Working there was that bad, huh?”

Only once he had started actually paying attention, Neel thought, but he shoved that fury, too, back beneath the surface. “For the most part it was just a job, you know? And Trisha’s back-up plan if farming doesn’t pan out is still to go back, despite—” He stopped himself; he couldn’t explain how their former employer had screwed her over without revealing more about her than she would want. “Anyway, if it does come to that, I’ll be looking for a new job somewhere else.”

“What are you searching for, then, and why use a secure browser for it?” Sebastian nodded at the computer and the tidy stack of papers beside it. “Um, never mind, it’s none of my business, is it? And I should get back to my own work.”

But you just got here and Stay out of this for your own good held a brief debate in the back of Neel’s mind, and an unexpected third thought won out. “Actually… maybe you could give me some advice?” Sebastian was local and he knew computer security a whole lot better than Neel. “There’s something really fishy about the guy running the local JojaMart, but I haven’t been able to figure out what he’s up to,” he admitted. “I’d rather not tip off anyone that I’m poking into it, because what I do know is that he’s got big corporate connections. Trisha tried to file a complaint about an unauthorized ‘coupon’ he was passing out not long after we got here, but a friend of hers at HQ intercepted it and warned her that pushing the issue would keep Joja from rehiring her.” Neel considered that a benefit rather than a drawback, but she had let the matter drop.

“Isn’t that just what Joja does, though? Move into a community, offer super-low prices to drive the local business out, and then jack everything way up once they’re the only game in town?” Neel’s eyebrows rose at the bitterness in Sebastian’s voice, and the other man shrugged. “Abigail’s folks are really hurting since that place opened. She and Sam argue sometimes over the fact that he works there, but it’s not like he’s got other options in town.”

“Officially, the JojaMart concept is to provide retail and grocery options in ‘economically depressed regions’ that don’t already have them, but even Trisha will admit that’s stretching the truth. The situation here’s weirder than that, though.” He leaned over the table and pulled a rumpled piece of paper out of the stack. “I’d almost believe JojaCorp sent Morris out here to fuck up until not even nepotism could save him, if not for this.”

Sebastian frowned as he read the notice. “Mom mentioned getting one of these. She was annoyed it didn’t give an estimate for when they’ll clear out the rest of the landslide, but they’ve never shared the schedule for their operations up there, so it’s not like that was a surprise.” He handed the letter back to Neel.

“What’s strange is that Morris signed it,” Neel said. “Joja’s mining and retail arms are completely separate, and Resource Extraction has its own PR group—they shouldn’t be going through a local store manager to issue statements. And then there’s this.” He jabbed at the “JojaCo Amendment” bit. “I thought at first Morris had just dropped some random letters and numbers in to make things look more official, but the more I stare at it the more it feels like I ought to recognize it. I’m not finding anything through a casual search, though, and like I said, I’m worried about raising red flags that might come back around to bite Trisha.”

“Do you want me to take a look?” Sebastian asked.

“No, this is my bugbear, and I’m probably being paranoid,” Neel said. “It’s just… I know this browser’s supposed to be pretty secure, but is there anything else I should be doing?”

“Can I check out your setup?” Wordlessly, Neel turned the computer to face him fully, then watched as Sebastian’s fingers danced across the keys and trackpad, checking various settings. “You could add a VPN that obscures your location,” he said after a bit. “I can recommend a few, but none of the good ones are free.” He made a couple more suggestions, then grimaced when he lifted his coffee mug and found it empty. “I really do need to get back to work.”

“Sorry to eat up your time with my nonsense. And I’ll be sure to give those plans to Brandy.”

“Thanks—and thanks for the coffee, too. Stop by when you want the next book in the series.” He started for the door.

“That’ll probably be tomorrow or the next day, but I can wait until you’re done with your project.”

Sebastian shook his head. “Don’t worry about it; I’m going to be coding until my eyes bleed, so I’ll be glad for an excuse to look away from the screen, even if it’s just for a minute or two. Though with my sleep schedule even more messed up than usual, maybe you’d better text me before you come over.” Neel counseled himself not to read anything into it as Sebastian reeled off his phone number. “Oh, and I’ll be at Sam’s place most of tomorrow afternoon, for practice.”

“The band you mentioned? What do you play?”

Sebastian looked surprised. “Brandy didn’t say anything about it? She dropped by a couple of weeks ago. Sam’s on guitar, Abigail’s our drummer, and I play synthesizer.”

“Nope, hasn’t come up.” A fact that he was going to have words with her about… or maybe not. Trisha’s occasional mild teasing was nothing compared to what Brandy would dish out if she twigged to this ridiculous crush. Worse, she might let something slip around Sebastian or one of his friends. “That’s cool. Do you have any gigs coming up?”

A shrug. “We’ve barely got our act together enough to start thinking about that, though Sam wants us to record a demo tomorrow to send to a couple of open audition calls. Which means I really need to go.”

“Good luck with your project,” Neel said as Sebastian opened the door.

“Same to you,” the other man said. As he stepped from beneath the shelter of the porch, he tilted his face up to meet the rain, and the lingering memory of the faint smile that curved his lips as he did so made it very difficult for Neel to keep his attention on figuring out the watch interface for the mood journaling app he’d agreed to download, let alone how to reduce what he felt to a single icon.

Chapter Text

“For fuck’s sake, Seb!” A harsh dissonance filled Sam’s bedroom as the blond man lunged over, still clutching his guitar, and slammed the stop command on his computer’s recording app.

Sebastian winced and lifted his hands from the keyboard. “Sorry.” He’d forgotten for a moment that they’d decided to move Sam’s guitar solo after the first bridge instead of the second and had just trampled said solo.

Sam deleted yet another audio file and set up the computer to try again. “It should not take three hours to record one song,” he muttered under his breath, and Sebastian bit the inside of his cheek. It wasn’t like he was the one who had messed up every time—Abigail had broken a drumstick, Vincent had barged in several times before Jodi had called Penny to take him on a “nature walk,” and then she had interrupted them herself seconds before they’d reached the end of the next try to ask if they wanted a snack. Even Sam had missed notes a couple of times.

But it had mostly been him. “I warned you I didn’t get much sleep. Maybe we should do this next week.”

“If we put it off, we’ll miss the audition window for The Pit,” Sam said. “They’re our best chance at getting a gig in Zuzu City, and I don’t want to wait until next year for a shot at this.”

When they’d been messing around with the band for how many years already? But he kept his mouth shut. He’d been the one to force Sam’s hand about picking a direction, so he could hardly complain if his friend wanted to keep the momentum going. “Right,” he said. “I’m going to go have a smoke and try to clear my head.”

He ignored Jodi’s familiar disapproving look as he shook a cigarette out of the pack on his way to the front door; she knew he always waited until he was clear of her yard to light it. When he reached the river’s edge, he closed his eyes as he inhaled, trying to let go of everything except the song they’d been rehearsing as he exhaled. It was as successful as such attempts usually were, meaning not at all.

Sebastian opened his eyes and watched the river flowing by. The programming job was going as well as could be expected; it wasn’t anything that called for creativity, just basic coding and bug hunting. He had even found a few spare minutes to dig at Neel’s little puzzle, though he hadn’t gotten anywhere with it. It was weird, but the same permit number—or whatever it was—that had raised the other man’s hackles looked vaguely familiar to him, too, though he had no idea why.

He took his phone out of his pocket to try one more search and was surprised to see a text alert from Neel. He’d turned off even the vibration feature after Abigail’s phone had popped up an audible alert in the middle of a recording session. He unlocked the screen and stared at the message, puzzled. Had the cat sent it? It looked more like a keyboard smash than mistyped words… He grinned and tapped the reply button.

got to the end of volume 2?

You could have warned me it was a cliffhanger!

i read them as they came out

switch to color made the wait for next one 2x usual

Oof.

You home yet?

still at sam’s

recording is hard

mostly me being spacey

He grimaced. Why had he sent that last one? Neel didn’t need to know that. Hurriedly, he typed another message.

mom’ll let you in if you want to get the next one now

i can let her know

Nah, I can wait a few hours. Got stuff to do anyway.

I’ll stop by after dinner, if that’s OK?

sure

see you then

Neel sent a single smiley face in response, and Sebastian found himself echoing it in real life as he finished his cigarette and headed inside.

Sam gave him a fishy look as he took his place behind the keyboard. “You’re in a better mood. It was just tobacco in that cig, right?”

Sebastian rolled his eyes—as if he would be smoking anything else in public, or when he had a deadline to meet. “I got Neel into Cave Saga X, and he just hit the first big cliffhanger. He texted me to yell about it.”

Abigail’s eyebrows rose. “He texted you? Dude, you wouldn’t even give me your number when you got a new one—I had to pry it out of Sam.”

“That was years ago, and it was because you kept burning through my data plan by sending me guinea pig videos.”

“Yeah, he’s kind of got you there, Abbs,” Sam said. “David’s cute, but no one needs that many megabytes of twitching rodent noses. I only caved because you’d calmed down with the ‘proud parent’ schtick.” He adjusted a tuning peg on his guitar. “Anyway, can we give the song another shot?”

“Ready when you are!” Abigail raised her drumsticks.

“Let’s get this done,” Sebastian said, hands poised above the keyboard. He ran through the tune in his head as Sam got the software ready. The blond nodded to Abigail, who tapped out the beat, and Sebastian hit the first notes exactly on cue.

This time, when Sam stopped the recording, it wasn’t because someone had fucked up. “I think we’ve got it!”

Chapter Text

It was strange to look out over the fields and see so little growing. The strawberry and green bean plants remained, but they'd stopped producing flowers, as if aware the end of their season was near. The other rows were all there, neat and brown and waiting for her to plant something, but doing so now would be futile. It was nearly Summer, but Pierre was still selling seeds for Spring, and those plants would wilt in the growing heat long before they produced a crop. He assured her he was expecting delivery of his Summer stock early Monday morning, and had suggested she invest in seeds for next year.

She was sympathetic to the edge of desperation in his sales pitch but had turned him down, because Lockwood Farm’s finances were a lot tighter than she liked, even though the Junimos’ fertilizer had saved the second cauliflower harvest. Most of this season’s slim profits were going into seed stock for Summer, and Brandy and Neel had agreed, at their planning meeting the evening before, that anything left after that would be set aside for the animals and equipment necessary to complete the Junimos’ shopping list for the greenhouse. It was too late to plant trees that would bear fruit in the summer, but she still held out hope that they might be able to afford an apple or pomegranate sapling in time for Fall.

Trisha abandoned her contemplation of the bare-but-not-barren fields as Brandy’s door slammed behind her friend. “Hey, Trish, Neel and I are going to grab an early dinner at the saloon and then shoot some pool. You want to come hang out with us again?”

She shook her head as she stood up. “I might stop by later, but I’ve got some work to do here, first.”

Brandy’s eyebrows rose. “We brought the harvest in and sold what we’re not going to eat ourselves, the coop fence is as solid as we can make it, and Neel and I even finished clearing out those trees and rocks to make room for the barn once we can afford it. What’s left to do? The pub can wait, if we overlooked something.”

“Oh, no, you two go on! It’s homework, not farm work.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, sweetie? You were pushing yourself awfully hard today.”

Trisha smiled. “But I wasn’t, not really.” She’d be a bit sore tomorrow, but she was only did-a-full-day’s-work tired, nothing like the bone-deep exhaustion of those first few days on the farm.

“If you’re sure…”

“Go! Have fun! When I’m finished I’ll text you to let you know whether I’m in the mood to trounce the two of you again.”

“In your dreams! You got lucky yesterday.”

“No, she didn’t,” Neel said, joining the pair in front of Trisha’s cottage. “Elliott wasn’t even there.”

“Neel!” Trisha’s face heated as Brandy cackled.

He shrugged unrepentantly. “Oh, wait, I get it—Brandy meant you were lucky Abigail was there to distract her from the game.”

It was the other woman’s turn to blush. “Wow, you’re in rare form tonight,” Trisha said, snickering. She eyed him as he feigned innocence, fiddling with the fancy new watch he’d picked up in the city. “Did you finish that book you were reading at lunch?”

“Yes, and it ended on a massive cliffhanger, so I’m going to head up the mountain to grab the next one after Brandy kicks my ass at pool. Call it a consolation prize.”

And a chance to see Sebastian, she thought, but she resisted the impulse to twit him about it. Their friend would no doubt be relieved that Neel’s emotional armor was showing some real cracks, but sometimes she didn’t know when not to push. Given Neel’s certainty that his crush was doomed to remain unrequited—and Trisha didn’t know the other man nearly well enough to question that conclusion—Brandy needling him would be more likely to make him shut down than open up. “You made sure Dagger was in for the night?” she said instead, and he nodded. “Then have a good time, and say hi to Robin for me if you see her.”

She watched the pair as they headed for town and considered calling after them to wait for her—after all, she had put in a long day’s work already. Instead, she went inside to collect the tote bag she had prepared earlier, carrying it to the southern part of the property, which was still littered with trees and boulders that would shield her from casual view if anyone dropped by the farm. Rasmodius had agreed that the experiment she proposed was worth pursuing, as frivolous as it felt to her, and she wasn’t sure if it would work at all if she put it off until Summer.

She sat on the ground with her back against the fallen trunk of a large tree and dug into her bag, laying a horseradish, a leek, a daffodil, and a dandelion in a neat arc in front of her. Neel and Brandy had been surprised when she had claimed most of the second harvest from her grandfather’s mystery seeds for her personal share, but they hadn’t argued. The seeds had been basically free, after all, and Pierre didn’t pay that much for wild forage. Finally, she took out the seed bag the Junimo had given her, now empty. She held it loosely, with the tag facing her, and closed her eyes.

Reaching out to the forest had become almost routine, but still she shivered as she felt her senses shift, suddenly as aware of the trees around her as of her own limbs. The tall grass and weeds brushed against her consciousness like her hair against her neck—and the thin cardstock in her hands radiated a soft, gentle warmth.

Trisha smiled and opened her eyes, letting her gaze follow the intricate inked lines that edged the tag. The paper didn’t unfurl into an illusory world the way the scrolls in the community center did, but the concepts that drifted into her thoughts as she gazed at it went beyond anything Rasmodius had taught her.

When she was certain she understood, she laid the bag aside and held her hands above the plants that had grown from its contents. Her heart was racing, and she took a few slow breaths to focus herself before drawing upon the power the forest offered her. She wove that energy around the herbs and flowers, then gradually drew the net tighter and tighter, filtering the plants’ essences from the background noise of the flattened grass they lay upon. She cupped her hands around the knot of potential and willed it into a new form.

For a moment, it felt as though the forest itself held its breath, and then the power she had called dissipated with a silent pop. She opened her eyes; a thin outline of dust traced the shapes of roots and leaves and petals on the ground in front of her, carried away an instant later by the slight evening breeze. And in her hands, she held seeds, smooth and brown and uniform, just like the ones her grandfather had left with the Junimos. Within them, she could sense tiny fractions of the essences she had bound together, all four contained in each tiny packet. She rolled them gently in her palm and wondered what Robin’s scientist husband would make of her creations. She shook her head; best not to trouble Demetrius’s understanding of the world, not without a better reason than idle curiosity.

She carefully poured her seeds into the cloth bag and pulled the drawstrings tight, but didn’t tie them. She arranged the rest of the tote bag’s contents around her—after all, it didn’t count as an experiment if it couldn’t be repeated.

By the time she was finished, the little sack was almost too full to close. She put the handful of ingredients that remained back in her tote, for the spell required equal amounts of all four and there had been more flowers than herbs in this half of the harvest. She could go foraging tomorrow to round out the numbers and make sure the spell worked as well with wild plants as those she had grown herself… or she could follow through on her original plan and take a day off.

She stood up—and immediately sat back down, this time on top of the log that had been her backrest. “Okay, rest it is,” she murmured as she waited for her head to stop spinning; the spell had not been as effortless as it had felt in the moment. Trisha took out her phone to let Neel and Brandy know she wasn’t going to join them and was surprised to see how late it was. The time shouldn’t have come a shock, not when the sun was so low in the sky, but no wonder she was tired; she had been working magic for nearly two hours!

The light hadn’t vanished completely, and she pulled her T-shirt off as she walked slowly back to the house; her sports bra was modest enough for anyone who might happen by—and if not, that was their problem, not hers. She lingered on the porch steps, soaking up a few last calories until the sun slipped behind the hills, and then went into the shed behind the house.

Tomorrow was definitely a day for reading on the beach, she thought as she reached for a metal cabinet whose manufacturer swore it was proof against mice and insects. She had more than enough seeds to make a start for next year…

She froze, one hand on the latch. There was no guarantee there would be a next year for Lockwood Farm. By the time Spring came around again, she might be back in a cubicle at Joja… Her shiver had little to do with the evening breeze on her bare skin. Back to a starvation diet of grow-lights and whatever scraps of sunlight she could snatch during commutes and breaks and weekends? No, thank you. “There will be a next year,” Trisha whispered into the deepening twilight. She would find a way to make it happen.

She opened the cabinet and tucked the bag of seeds into one of its many drawers, arranging the tag so it could be read through the clear plastic window in front. Then she went still again, her eyes caught by the partial swirls of ink visible around the words. Had any of her grandfather’s “doodles” been the simple artwork they appeared? She closed the cabinet and took her phone out again. “Hi, Mom! How’s the vacation going?” After a few minutes, her mother realized that her daughter probably hadn’t called out of the blue to hear about snorkeling, giving Trisha the chance to ask, “You’ve still got Grandpa’s sketchbooks, right? Would you mind sending them to me the next time you’re home? I was thinking it’d be neat to have a few of his drawings to decorate my cabin…”

Chapter Text

Elliott leaned back in his chair until it creaked, watching a spider build a tidy web in the corner of the ceiling. If only the narrative he was attempting to weave would come together so neatly!

He sighed. His arachnid houseguest was guided solely by instinct, with none of the hesitations and complications imposed by conscious thought, and observing the process was unlikely to help him untangle his literary dilemma. He let the front legs of his chair fall back to the floor and stood up. He was tall enough that he could easily swat the spider down or catch it in a cup to release outdoors, but he had never shared the common horror of the creatures. Having it in the rafters might help with the much more bothersome flies and mosquitos that inevitably found their way inside.

Instead, he collected his pocket notebook and a pencil stub, checked his hair in the mirror, and opened the front door. Perhaps Willy was in the mood to indulge his neighbor’s need to rant about uncooperative scenes and annoyingly compelling side characters. Failing that, there were always the seagulls…

Or a more convivial sounding board, if the lovely woman strolling down the path from town were amenable. “Good morning, fair lady,” he said, tipping an imaginary hat to her. “Ending the season as you began it?”

“Something like that,” she said, kicking off her sandals as she reached the soft sand. She wore a blue sundress, its straps narrower than those of the swimsuit beneath it. “We brought in the last of the spring harvest yesterday and Pierre’s summer seeds won’t arrive until tomorrow, so I get an actual day off.” She set her canvas tote bag at her feet and pulled out a beach towel. It was not, to his relief, the eye-searing green one she had been stretched out on when they first met, but a soft yellow, with narrow stripes of robin’s-egg blue appearing at either end as she unfolded it. “The sun, the waves, and a loaded e-reader… what more could I want?”

Was that a hint that she wished to be left alone, or… “Would a spot of company, and perhaps conversation, be an unwelcome addition to that list?” he asked, and was rewarded with her breathtaking smile.

“Not at all,” she said. “Pull up a patch of sand.”

“I’ll be back in a moment,” he said, and returned to his cabin to retrieve the beach chair tucked behind the chest of drawers. It had come with the cabin, but unlike the other furnishings it had remained unused to this point. He took a few seconds to make sure that the canvas was still intact; it would be most embarrassing if it dumped him onto his backside in front of company.

He stepped back outside to rejoin her and found that she had taken advantage of his brief absence to shed her sundress. She was preoccupied with folding the coverup into her bag, and so he took a moment to appreciate the view afforded by the very nice bikini she wore. He thought it was the same as when he had first encountered her, though he didn’t recall enough of the details to be certain. She was definitely less gaunt than she had been that day, he was glad to note.

She looked up from her bag as he approached, pulling out her tablet but resting it on her folded legs without turning it on. The plastic bag she had been using to protect it had been replaced by an expensive-looking case, black leather with an abstract pattern picked out in gold leaf and the screen covered by clear plastic. “I see you’ve upgraded,” he said, nodding at the tablet as he set up the chair beside her towel, turned around so he would be facing her. The seat was only a few inches above the ground, so she wouldn’t strain her neck trying to talk to him. He stretched his legs out in front of him and resigned himself to the fact that he was going to be shaking sand out of his trousers for the rest of the day.

“The case? I’ve had it for ages, but I didn’t expect to have time for beach reading right away, so it was in the moving truck,” she said. Her fingers caressed the edges, and he noticed writing pressed into the bottom: her name—“TRISHA”—and beneath that, something too small and faded to read. She followed his gaze to the embossing. “It was a college graduation gift from my parents,” she explained as he tried to fix the name into his memory yet again. “It’s a little flashy for my taste, really, but it’s already outlasted one tablet, and it’ll probably survive this one, too. The only downside is that it’s hard to use a stylus with it.”

“Are you an artist, then?” Leah preferred physical media for her work, but he knew some embraced digital painting and the like.

But Trisha laughed. “Oh, hardly. I like taking notes by hand occasionally, and sometimes it’s easier to brainstorm ideas by sketching out a diagram—but having too much paper around puts me on edge.”

“Not a fan of clutter, hmm?” He thought of his own overflowing wastebasket and was glad he had encountered her outside instead of at his door.

“It’s less about having the paper than the potential for losing it,” she said, with an exaggerated shudder. “Data getting lost or corrupted is literally one of my nightmares, and it’s much easier to have multiple backups of digital work.”

“I quite sympathize; the sweet friction of pen and paper is the music of my soul, but I make sure to bring my pages to the library every few days to type them up, to prevent just such loss.” It was an unusual obsession for a farmer, though, and he studied her a moment longer, trying to recall… “Have I ever inquired what you did, before coming to this tranquil little village?”

“No, I don’t think it’s come up more than in passing. I was a data analyst at JojaCorp HQ.”

“Really? Well, that certainly explains your concerns around information integrity.”

“Ugh, yes. There was nothing worse than digging into a really interesting problem and then figuring out all the work on it so far was wasted because someone screwed up the column order for part of the dataset, or a transmission glitch turned chunks of it into garbage, or—” Trisha waved a hand as if to encompass the myriad of problems she had encountered.

“That would be frustrating.” The problems she described were easy enough to sympathize with, though when he attempted to picture her in business suits and sleek, modern offices, his imagination failed him. “That’s quite a career change, from a high-powered corporate position to small-town farmer.”

Trisha laughed a little at that. “High pressure, not power. I had no control over what Joja’s execs did with the results of my analyses.” Her slender fingers drummed at the edges of her tablet. “I miss the work, sometimes—sure, there’s still plenty of numbers to crunch to make sure the farm stays running, but nothing like the really complex puzzles I used to deal with. I don’t regret my decision, though—I love it here.” She closed her eyes and tilted her face toward the sun, and the smile of pure happiness that curved her lips made Elliott’s heart race. She was, he thought, quite the loveliest person he had ever met.

He glanced away as she opened her eyes, hoping she would attribute the warmth that flooded his cheeks to the sun beating down on them. If she noticed anything amiss, she chose not to comment on it. “I haven’t seen you since the Flower Dance,” she said, “and we didn’t have much of a chance to talk there. How have you been? Is your rose doing better?”

“Much better, thanks to your advice,” he said. “And I have been faring reasonably well, myself.”

“How’s the writing coming? Oh… Is that not a good question?”

He must have grimaced without realizing, and he tried to smooth his expression. “It’s… going. Which is more than I can sometimes say, so I ought not complain too much.” The gentle breeze picked up a little, and one hand rose to his hair, checking that it was not disarranged. “I… was actually on my way to see if Willy might be willing to play sounding-board for me, when I encountered you, instead.”

“Does he help you with your work often?”

Elliott chuckled. “He listens to me ramble with more patience than I deserve, and then suggests ridiculous revisions involving seafood,” he said. “But talking through whatever issue I’m having is often enough to unstick the mental gears, as it were.”

She grinned and stretched out her legs, setting her tablet to one side before leaning back on her hands. “I can’t promise silly fish, but I’m happy to listen, if you’d like.”

“If you’re sure…” He scanned her face for any sign she was just humoring him, but the offer appeared genuine. “Well… the problem is that I’ve written a scene that is quite compelling, does an excellent job of conveying information about the characters involved, and absolutely does not belong in the book I’m writing,” he began. She listened far more attentively than Willy as he described how the scene—the very one she had unknowingly inspired that first day of Spring, a flashback to how the hero had met what should be a minor character—kept pulling attention, both his and the theoretical reader’s, away from the main story. A single flashback stood out from the linear plotline like a beacon; attempting to squeeze in other flashbacks or connecting threads threatened to pull the side character too far into the spotlight or make the main story too difficult to follow.

“And I know what I ought to do is to keep moving forward, and figure out how to fix the problem when I have the whole book to edit, but I’m quite certain that if I don’t address it now, the resulting uncertainty will make that revision substantially more difficult. The most logical approach is to declare that I’ll cut it out entirely, and figure out some other way to bring in the little bit of vital information it currently conveys, but…” He started to rake his hair back from his face and checked himself in time, turning the gesture into a frustrated wave. “This scene… It shines. It took less time to write than others half its length, the dialogue flows perfectly, the descriptions…” He closed his hand into a fist and pounded it lightly against his knee. “But it just doesn’t fit.”

“Hmm.” Trisha was gazing up into the clear blue sky, and he worried he had put her off entirely with his whining. “So, I guess this is the point where I’m supposed to mention clam chowder or something, but… would it be out of line for me to try to make a useful suggestion, instead?”

“I would welcome it,” he said.

She worried her lower lip between her teeth for a moment before speaking again. “From what you’ve said, you have a really great scene that belongs to a different story than the one you’re writing. Why not write that one?”

“I’ve put far too much effort into my novel to go haring off after a new idea,” he said, but that wasn’t the only reason the suggestion didn’t feel quite right, and he made himself consider it more closely. “Besides… I don’t think there’s enough to it to sustain a whole book.”

“It wouldn’t have to be a book,” she said. “Why not try making it into a short story? Something you could sell on its own, get your name out there for when you’re looking for a publisher for the novel. Isn’t that a thing a lot of writers do?”

“Well, yes, but my previous attempts to write short fiction always have always tried to turn into novels themselves…” But an idea that was too thin for that, where he already knew the boundaries of when it would begin and end because he’d worked out the details of timing as backstory for the novel… “That could work,” he murmured. Even if it wasn’t good enough to publish, knowing which bits belonged to that side story and not to the novel would help him disentangle them from his real plot. He fished his notebook out of his pocket. It would give him the chance to experiment with a different viewpoint character, as well, either alternating with or instead of the novel protagonist’s…

He had filled several pages of his notebook before he realized he was being quite rude. “Oh, dear, I must apologize,” he said, lowering the journal. “Once the muse starts whispering to me I tend to forget everything around me.”

Trisha looked up from her tablet and smiled. “That’s all right. I’m glad I was able to help.”

“And in exchange, I have been terrible company, though at least you have your book…” He leaned forward to catch a glimpse of what she was reading and saw, not a page of text, but a diagram—one that, after a moment’s study, he realized must represent her farm. “I thought you were taking the day off,” he said, mock-stern.

“You’re not the only one who can get caught up in an idea,” she said ruefully. “I really was reading until a few minutes ago, when something in the book reminded me of a decision I still needed to make.” Her head tilted. “Well, turnabout is fair play. Apples or pomegranates?”

“I beg your pardon?”

She tapped a small area of green on her diagram. “I’d love to plant a full orchard, but fruit trees are expensive. We should be able to afford at least one sapling in time to get a harvest this year, but more than that would be a stretch. Apples and pomegranates both produce in Fall, so I’m looking at one of them. Which should I plant?”

“I’m afraid I have no idea which would be the wiser investment,” he said, but she held his gaze, and he recognized that he was not going to dodge the question so easily. “Speaking from a purely selfish perspective, I would quite like to have a local source for pomegranates,” he admitted. “On the rare occasions Pierre has them in stock, they’re dreadfully expensive, since no one in the district grows them.”

“I’ll take that into consideration,” she said, and brought up the keyboard on her tablet long enough to make a note that he couldn’t read, upside down as it was.

“I hope I haven’t steered you wrong…” he began.

“I’m not going to make a decision based on a single datapoint, though I do appreciate the feedback,” she said. “If the summer harvests are better than projected, I might be able to afford both, anyway.” She left the counterpoint unspoken: if her crops did not do as well as she hoped, it could be a moot point for the opposite reason. A few swift gestures then returned the screen to her book. “There. Now it’s official—no more farm work today.”

The quiet that followed was a comfortable one, as she returned to her reading and he, to his notebook. The beach chair was not the most ergonomic of seats to work in, but the company more than made up for that. The afternoon passed like a pleasant dream; the words flowed from his pen onto the pages of his pocket notebook—mostly notes, but the occasional fragment of this or that possible scene, as well—and whenever he found himself at a momentary block, his companion was ready to lay aside her reading for a few minutes idle discussion.

He did his best to conceal his disappointment as she tapped the power button on her tablet and set it, not on the towel beside her, but in her tote bag. “This has been lovely, but Neel and Brandy should be getting home soon,” she said.

He levered himself up from his chair as she gathered herself to rise, but she didn’t ask for his assistance this time. “Your friends took advantage of the lull to play hooky, as well?”

“Neel’s in charge of our chickens, so he didn’t get quite as much of a day off as the rest of us,” she said, shaking out her sundress; her next words were muffled as she pulled it over her head. “I think Brandy was going to drag him up the mountain to explore once he was done collecting eggs and sweeping straw.”

“An interesting choice of pastimes,” he said. Perhaps the rumors about town that the two were a couple had some truth to them, after all.

She shrugged as she bundled her towel into the tote. “I suspect Neel bowed out of the rock climbing bit and found a fishing spot or something. Either way, I’ll get to hear one of them complaining over dinner.” She sounded thoroughly cheerful about the prospect, and he found himself mirroring her smile. “Have a good evening, Elliott, and I hope we run into each other more often this summer!”

“I shall endeavor not to be a stranger, Trisha,” he said, and she tossed a final grin over her shoulder as she set off for town.

It wasn’t until he had settled in at his writing desk to expand upon his earlier brainstorming that he realized how readily her name had rolled off his tongue. He nodded in satisfaction; once he did finally manage to convince a name to stick in his memory, he was unlikely to lose it again, which removed at least one potential way he might embarrass himself in front of her.

“Trisha,” he murmured again, just to make sure.

Chapter Text

Given that it's now November 30th, I've obviously missed my original target to start posting Rock Candy. I hit a big writing slump in late summer and am slowly pulling out of it, but my updated estimate is that I'll be able to start posting in April. On the plus side, once I do start posting I should have at least a full year of twice-a-week updates, so hopefully there won't be as much of a gap, if any, between Part 2 and Part 3. By way of apology for the delay, here's some images I've put together of my characters, as well as an invitation to ask any burning questions you might have in the comments to this chapter; I'll do my best to answer, but I reserve the right for that answer to be "that would be a spoiler"!

I can't draw worth beans, but fortunately there are a lot of digital tools to help me visualize my characters, starting with the game itself. Here's an image of Trisha, Neel, and Brandy in front of the farmhouse (no, I don't actually have a multiplayer game with all three of them in it; I created 3 new saves for the sole purpose of grabbing screenshots with each of them & edited them into a single image).

Next are some "photos" of all six main characters, which I created with a now-defunct Flash avatar-maker, back when I was first starting on Spring Seeds for NaNoWriMo 2018. These have been pinned above my desk ever since then.

A few months ago someone reminded me that HeroForge.com exists, and I spent way too much time putting together digital minis of the characters. Facial feature options were fairly limited, and I'm not completely happy with any of them other than Elliott, but it was still fun to put them together. Also, I picture Dagger as a short-haired cat, nowhere near as fluffy as she appears in Neel's mini, and striped with a white chest rather than solid grey, but there was only one "cat" prop, with minimal "painting" options.

Finally: I generally haven't responded to most comments, because a lot of the time I couldn't think of much to say beyond "Thanks!" or "Mwa-hah-hah!" but I have appreciated each and every one of them. Feel free to ask me just about anything in the comments here, and I'll do my best to respond in a timely manner.

Thanks again for reading!