The Cavalier Sisters

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"You know you aren't supposed to cause others great harm," Percy said. "Imagica prides itself on its lack of unnecessary violence. Intelligence over brute force."

"You seem to have forgotten that you aren't exactly in Imagica," Dolores said, hands tightening on her bow and arrow. "This is the Gateway. My Gateway. My rules."

Percy crossed his arms and scratched his chin in wonder. "Pray tell, what could this man have possibly done to deserve death?"

"He was a greedy, insignificant clod like the rest of them, trying to steal our valuables and antiques," Dolores said. "Then he called me an abomination. A freak of nature."

Percy clicked his tongue, shaking his head. He kneeled before the dead man.

"Don't worry, handsome," he said. "We'll fix you up just right, and when you awaken, this will be a distant nightmare."

He grazed his fingers down the man's eyelids, closing them, and he stood.

"To answer your question," Percy said, brushing the creases out of his suit, "I've come to tell you that the Collective is working on a new project, and I need you to refrain from violence because this project will be in very close proximity to us."

Dolores sneered. "What project?"

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Unlike Dolores, Mallory was fond of company from the outside—as long as company was polite. Not that she would torture or kill anyone who wasn't, like her sister would, but she wasn't against teaching a lesson in kindness and acceptance before contacting the Collective. Thankfully, the Prince of Foxwood kept any unkind words he had to himself. He'd been pursuing a young woman to make his princess, and he'd consulted a seer to find her, but the seer's directions had led him to the Gateway instead of the woman's true whereabouts. When he'd encountered Mallory, he'd thought he had ended up in a faraway Never kingdom, but he'd quickly grown receptive to her hospitality. Now he was sitting across from her at the round table in the pink-and-white dining room, the ornate, stone-carved fireplace crackling with warmth.

The prince sipped some tea and nibbled on a crumpet, seeming to force himself, even though the spaniel woman assured him that he didn't have to consume anything if he had no appetite. Dark strands of hair clung to his forehead that shone with sweat.

"Is it too warm in here for you?" Mallory asked.

The prince shook his head, smiling nervously. "It's just right."

"I could make sandwiches, if you'd like," Mallory offered. "Do you fancy cucumber and herb butter?"

"Uh, no, thank you," the prince said. "I'm allergic to cucumbers. And lactose intolerant."

"Really?" Mallory said. "The crumpets were made with milk."

"Oh. That's fine."

The prince sipped more tea, then put his cup down, averting the spaniel's gaze and allowing silence to settle between them. He cleared his throat.

"I... hope this isn't a strange question," the prince said, "but I seem to hear a low throbbing sound, like a heartbeat." He chuckled. "It must be my own. I mean, not that I'm anxious or anything—"

"No, you're correct," Mallory said. "We are a floor above one of the heart chambers."

The prince blinked. "Pardon? 'Heart' chambers?"

Mallory nodded. "The Gateway is mostly organic, you see. Behind these walls are muscle, tissue, and bone. The floors and ceilings too. Blood and neurons carry the information for life, the soul. It's how my sisters and I are able to sense disturbances in the Gateway and communicate with it. We're bound to it by spirit."

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