Spectres at the Feast

The Watchman

"She seemed to," Julia shrugged. "We won't know for sure until we get back to our own time."

"Fine, let's get outta here, then." Penny straightened up.

"Ready?" Quentin asked.

"Yeah, you have the spell?"

"Yep."

The three joined hands and Quentin began incanting while Penny closed his eyes in concentration. There was a moment of stillness, and then a rushing sound combined with immense pressure on their eardrums, and finally they were jerking through space and time, molecules sparking and vibrating with the power of the magic. Light, sound, and matter pulsed around them with brief flashes of clarity before they were ripped away. Images dimmed and blurred, figures warped like fun-house mirrors swayed, until everything came into sharp focus, and the three found themselves sprawled on the floor in the house at Brakebills, in the center of a spell-circle, gasping for breath, their muscles like pulled taffy.

~*~*~

"Okaay," Margo spoke first, "So, you thought you'd just pop back in time, no big deal, and defeat the Beast when he's just a pup?"

"Not exactly," Julia answered. "Not kill him. Keep him from being molested. If he was never assaulted, then he never gets banned from Fillory, and never becomes the Beast."

"That idea is all kinds of problematic," Eliot drawled, sipping a glass of wine. "Did we really all agree to that? I mean, there is no just 'popping back in time.' Have you never seen Doctor Who? You can't just go changing shit arbitrarily."

"Well, Jane is dead," Quentin pointed out. "She was the Watcherwoman. Since she couldn't turn time back again, and we weren't strong enough to fight the Beast, this seemed like the best way."

"It wasn't a terrible idea," Alice came to Quentin's defense. "They couldn't have known what would happen."

Quentin fell back onto the worn couch, frustration riding him hard. "What do you mean? Is Martin still the Beast?"

Eliot, Margo, and Alice exchanged uneasy glances.

"Ah, well," Alice looked to the other two for help, but they studiously avoided her eyes, "You changed history, just not the way you intended."

"Basically," Margo jumped in, "You exchanged one villain for another. Jane killed Plover by poisoning his tea. Martin was never assaulted, and therefore never banned."

"But..." Julia ventured.

Eliot sighed, "But, when she killed Plover, she lost her innocence, thereby getting herself banned from Fillory. Eventually, she went mad, became uber-powerful—yada, yada, yada—and turned into the Beast, herself."

"So, let me get this straight," Penny spoke up for the first time since they got back. "We actually did exchange one monster for another?" He fell onto his back, laughing wryly. "We just can't fuckin' win, can we? I mean, no matter what we do, we lose. I say we get high as fuck and wait for the end of the world. She must be on her way to kill us by now, right?"

"Pretty much, that, in a nutshell," Eliot confirmed, taking a drag off of his cigarette.

The group lounged despondently in silence for several long minutes before Quentin spoke up. "Wait, if Jane became the Beast, what happened to Martin? I mean, Jane didn't go by Jane, she went by Eliza before we changed things and was close to Dean Fogg. Is Martin around? Maybe under a different name?" They all looked at each other, the unanswered question hanging between them. Quentin jumped to his feet, ready to run out the door to find answers, when suddenly the light dimmed, and the air became still.

A chill crept into the room, and the beat of a moth's wings was the only sound, immobilizing them all.

"Nice try," a deceptively smooth voice cooed, as the air was rent with the thrumming of a million moth's wings. Bright auburn hair flew from within the swarm, and the slender figure of a woman was all they could make out as she glided into the room. "Unfortunately, you all lose, again."

Alice was the first to stand, her fingers working quickly to conjure some kind of battle magic, but the Beast was too quick. With a flick of her fingers—six on each hand—she rendered Alice's spell inert, drawing a strangled scream, which cut off abruptly, as her fingers were twisted into unnatural positions. Swiftly, her head snapped back, her neck breaking. Margo and Eliot stood side-by-side, but with the thrust of the Beast's arm, both were thrown high into the air, impaled on the sharp points of the chandelier high above. Penny reached for Quentin and Julia in an attempt to flash them all away, but with the flick of her fingers, the Beast set him ablaze with a greenish-yellow fire that burned only him. Leaving him to writhe in agony on the floor, Jane stepped toward Quentin, but Julia blocked her path.

The Beast clicked her tongue reproachfully. "You should know by now, you are no match for me, child." One slender hand rose, mimicking a vice grip. Julia clutched her throat, gasping for air, but the hand squeezed, and her airway narrowed further. Her body lifted into the air, her legs jerking, her face turning blue, until she stopped struggling. Quentin watched on in horror, unable to move, unable to do anything but gape at the carnage before him. Suddenly, Julia's still form dropped to the floor, and the Beast turned her attention to him, stalking toward him slowly, purposefully. "My dear Quentin," she crooned, "Finally, it's just you, and me."

Quentin stood shakily, his voice quivering with fear, "Wh-what are you going to do?"

"You, love, will die, too. Very slowly, and very painfully." Her hand rose in his direction, fingers splayed, and then she closed her fist. Quentin wailed in agony, his bones shattering into a million pieces, and collapsed on the floor like a broken marionette, blinded by anguish. Her low chuckle filtered through his dulled senses. "You'll likely bleed out internally after awhile, although if you're lucky, you'll pass out from the pain, first." Her hand caressed his cheek softly. "It really is too bad—you never were a match for me, you know." Sauntering across the room, she stood before the full-length mirror before the surface rippled like water and she stepped through.

Quentin lay alone in misery and blood, when a tall man he recognized to be Martin entered the room. "Damn," he muttered. "Too late. Time to go back to the beginning, I suppose." He pulled an intricately designed pocket watch from his breast pocket, and began spinning the hands backwards as Quentin sank into unconsciousness.