Lindsay and Minerva were already at their predetermined meeting spot, back by the van. Lindsay was examining her glittery green acrylic nails, looking bored, while Minerva looked like she was about to crash any second. Not that Ramona blamed her, she'd been manning the wheel for days on end.
"You look suspiciously like you got stabbed," said Lindsay passively, sounding uninterested as her eyes flicked to Ramona's bleeding side. Ramona lifted her hand from where she was putting light pressure on the wound, revealing a torn tunic and a sticky red palm soaked with blood. "Why am I not surprised?"
"It was more of a graze, really," she admitted. "Could've been a lot worse." Claude frowned from beside her, clearly disagreeing. Minerva just opened one eye and sighed.
"Something for me to sew, again?"
Ramona flashed her signature smile. "You're the best, Minerva."
Lindsay frowned. "How long are we going to wait up for Baby and Penny?"
"Do you even know where they went?" asked Claude, recovering from the bar fight by fixing his hair and smoothing his clothes. He wasn't bleeding quite as severely as Ramona was, and in fact the majority of the blood splatters that had made their way onto his clothes weren't his own. He wiped his nose, the only real injury he'd sustained, and then swore as he realized he'd just ruined his gloves. Well, it was a good thing he always had an extra pair in his pocket.
"Penny mentioned weapons..." She shrugged. "Don't know where Bear is. But we could always ask around for the best place to get weaponry."
"Not looking like this," Ramona pointed out, gesturing to herself and Claude. She rifled through her memories of the tavern, struggling to recall if she'd heard anything about any sort of weapons dealer. She hadn't thought to ask. She had heard someone mention going to watch a few rounds of fablemachy, which meant there was likely an arena close by. But how close by she wasn't sure.
Claude went over to help Minerva pull the tarp off of the van and they all went inside. Like clockwork, they sorted through the day's findings before stashing them, putting everything in various containers and bags. Minerva dangled a wallet enticingly in front of Claude, and he stuck his tongue out and showed off three more. Lindsay dumped jewelry and watches into large sacks sitting underneath the seat she usually slept on, Ramona slid various types of currency into their respective drawers that magically pulled out from under a window in the middle row, and Claude stuffed anything edible into one of the boxes sitting in the back. The car really was beginning to get crowded these days. Perhaps, Ramona thought, they should invest in a trailer. No-too conspicuous.
Ramona finally sat down to eat, opening a bag of dried fruit that had been kicked under one of the seats and sighing. After the events of the previous day, she was exhausted. It was like having failed-heist jet lag. Minerva approached her, holding out a hand expectantly. Ramona froze for a moment, a little behind. "Your shirt," she said plainly, and Ramona gingerly touched her wound, the look on her face contorting as if she'd only just remembered it.
"Right," she replied, and unbuttoned first her vest and then the loose beige blouse underneath and handed both to Minerva, who turned them over.
"I can patch these up. Should probably wash them first." She frowned at the now-exposed gash on Ramona's torso. It wasn't deep enough to need stitches, thankfully. Her eyes made their way over to Claude, as well. "And you?"
He reached up to inspect his bloody nose. "Got some blood on my clothes, but that's all." She beckoned for him to hand it over, and he rolled his eyes, removing his gloves and tunic and chucking them at her. She caught them easily, assessing him for a moment longer before promptly spinning on her heels and heading to the back, presumably to wash and sew up their clothes. Ramona gestured to him, holding out her hand.
"Claude, the first aid kit?"
He rummaged around for it, tossing it in her direction. She dug out a bottle of alcohol and a tube of ointment. The smell of it pricked up his senses-he knew he just drank, but he was positive there was a half-finished bottle of cognac somewhere around here...
Lindsay plopped herself across from Claude, tossing her hair. "If Verelia is done snuffling around for something to drink like a dog searching for treats-don't look at me like that, Claude, we can all see you-we should probably find the others. One or both of them could be sitting in overnight jail right now or something." Ramona raised an eyebrow. "Which would be inconvenient and a big fat hassle to deal with," Lindsay added as if it were obvious, being sure to emphasize the fact that she was not emotionally invested.
"Well, you're the spy," Ramona said matter-of-factly with a small smirk. "Find some intel." Lindsay leveled her gaze at her, accepting the challenge.
Ramona fished out a crystal earpiece out of who knows where and handed it to her. Probably her own, given that Lindsay's was broken. She rose, gracefully sweeping towards the door in the front, but Ramona, wincing as she bandaged her side, called for her, "Wait."
She turned, her expression an expectant and condescending, well? Ramona drew in a sharp breath, the injury stinging. "You might want to check out the fablemachy arena."
Fablemachy. Ew. That sounded like exactly the sort of icky, sweaty, manly thing Penny would have a ball with. "Yuck," Lindsay scrunched her nose, and she disappeared to go find the awful sport.
As a matter of fact, Penny was waist-deep in this awful sport. But she wasn't having a ball.
She swung her sword with expert technique, slashing at the enormous beast that was a horrifying mashup of a horned lion, a dragon, and a scorpion. One wing had already been hacked off by a previous challenger, the jagged remnants of it fluttering uselessly as the manticore lunged for her, roaring with such ferocity that a small, and maybe slightly weak, part of her feared that perhaps this would be the day her fighting skills failed her. Even here, in the heat of the fiery moment and caught in the claws of fear, there was something exhilarating about a good, dirty fight-unevenly matched, but so determined to win that she just might be able to do it.
Still, that didn't mean she was happy about being here.
The manticore, which she decided in her head to call Manny, lashed out with its massive, spiked, bloodred tail. The whole creature was soaked in the blood of its previous victims, all of whom had either tapped out or been dragged away on a stretcher. It was still chained to the ground, albeit loosely, given enough room to roam freely but not enough to fly out of the open arena had its wings been fully functioning. Penny flattened on her back and rolled out of the way, the stinging barb just barely missing her shoulder. She shoved herself to a standing position again, stepping back and enticing the monster with the glow of her sword, luring it forward and feinting left. Manny clawed at her, missed, and then suddenly she felt immense heat on her back, swiveling to realize in horror that a wave of fire was coming her way.
It jumped for her and she narrowly escaped by rolling under its stomach, slashing at the tender flesh of its underbelly before emerging on its opposite side, already dripping with sweat. This thing could breathe fire, too? Her blade whirled through the air and the beast cried out once more as the sword ran through its side with a sickening squelch. She was immensely lucky that Manny couldn't lift into the air and evade her attacks properly, its bad wing having rendered its ability to fly useless.
The fact that Penny had managed to injure the thing twice gave her a fresh sense of confidence, but it still nagged her at the back of her mind that none of the three competitors before her had managed to take this beast down. How did one go about killing a manticore, exactly? She had heard somewhere before that you were supposed to poison it in order to make it weaker before slaying it, but she didn't happen to have any manticore poison on hand (mental note: buy manticore poison). This was probably about as weak of a state as she would ever find such a creature in: having been beaten bloody by numerous fighters trying their hand at its head in order to collect fame or money. She had to... confuse it, or distract it somehow.
An idea sparked like flint in her head. She did know a bit of magic, and throughout the past few years she'd gotten good enough at it to be passable at some kind of distraction. The only problem was that this was South Snow, and if she made it obvious that she knew a spell or two, she would undoubtedly be mistaken for a witch or a fairy and it would only be a matter of time before everyone came out with the torches and pitchforks.
The manticore prowled closer, and Penny slowly circled it from a distance, locked in a dangerous dance. Its glowing yellow eyes followed her sword, and she knew she only had moments to act. It would make its move in three... two... one...
The audience collectively gasped as Manny tumbled to the ground under the suddenly overbearing chains, hopefully oblivious to the wiggling of Penny's fingers. The chains tightened and pulled back, constricting the manticore's body. Its poisoned tail swung aimlessly regardless, and she gasped sharply, turning her head quickly, as it grazed her cheek. Manny roared.
But it was too late for the manticore. Penny beheaded it-or, at least, she attempted to. Her enchanted sword jammed into its neck and got stuck. She muttered a silent prayer, hoping her fairy godmother or someone-anyone-was watching over her as she channeled an enhancement spell into her biceps and swung with all her might.
Manny's head came clean off, and the audience cheered louder than anything she'd ever heard before.
Penny stumbled out of the arena, dazed, dripping with sweat and grime and something hot and sticky, before she was grabbed by the woman who had dragged her into this in the first place.
"That was brilliant!" she exclaimed, pinching her cheeks and grinning like a madwoman. She patted her face, cocking her head to one side. "You don't suppose you'd be interested in signing a contract...?"
"Not in a million years," Penny growled, pushing past her. And that was when she heard the whispers.
"Fairy! I swear I saw her using magic!"
"Witch!"
"That one's a duster!"
"She weighed down those chains, did you see it?"
"She used magic; she cheated!"
Thankfully, this seemed to work mostly in her favor as people cleared the way for her to stomp frustratedly in the direction of the weapons booth. To her astonishment, Bear was there, jaw dropped and eyes wide open. He fumbled for words, but only came up with: "You're bleeding."
"I don't doubt it," Penny panted, rummaging around in her clothes for the money she needed and shoving it towards Adrik, who didn't look the least bit surprised that she had come back all in one piece. He slid her bow and its supplies across the table. "Everything hurts and I'm running solely off of adrenaline." She brought a tentative hand to her flaming cheek. Hopefully that would pass.
"I hope you have a getaway car nearby." Adrik narrowed his eyes, nodding towards the crowd.
"We do," Bear assured him, eyeing the crowd worriedly. While they had parted for the girl before, they had trailed after her.
Penny glared down the confused, angry Lakelanders that were shouting at each other and would undoubtedly soon decide to come after her. "I'm not a duster. I know maybe five spells, all self-defense."
Suddenly the woman in the fur hat was behind her. "Wonderful! Wasn't that wonderful, Adrik?"
"Where's my money?" Penny cut straight to the point, the crowd a little too rowdy for her comfort. The woman faltered for just a moment.
"Oh. Yes. See, well, actually, you never signed a document, so-"
Penny got close enough that the woman could feel her hot breath on her face. "I don't want a loan. I don't want any sort of sketchy contract. You're going to pay up for everything I just went through or I will fairy-flipping find you," she spat, voice razor-edged and expression much worse. "I want to get out of here and never see you again, so let's get on with it." The woman stumbled back, hand pressed delicately to her stomach.
"Yes-yes, of course." Her nervous gaze flicked to the weapons dealer. Adrik sighed and gestured for her to oblige. He was in on whatever this scam was too, it seemed. Promise some sorry old chap a boatload of money, and as they usually ended up near-death and carried away in an emergency cart, nothing would ever actually have to be paid. But they weren't used to spells. Penny must have come straight out of left field.
Probably the most reluctant exchange of money Penny had ever witnessed occurred then, and she passed the bag to Bear, not breaking eye contact with the woman. "Check it."
Bear held a coin up to the light, angling it. He tapped it between his teeth, and dropped it back in, apparently satisfied. "Legit. How much is this supposed to be?"
Penny tilted her head. "Two hundred, was it?" The woman swallowed.
Bear jiggled the bag. "There's no way this is two hundred." He poured the contents of the bag onto the weapons counter, and Penny joined him, spreading the coins and quickly scanning them. The numbers added up in her head.
"He's right. A hundred and twenty." She flicked one. "Plus one."
"I'll take care of the rest," said Adrik, and he pulled the remaining amount from the register. The woman whom Penny still did not know the name of-and almost wanted to, for the sake of holding a grudge-looked incredibly unhappy about the whole situation. Penny herself delighted in this fact.
It was then that the uproar in the crowd became enraged enough that Penny glanced back, briefly fearing that they wouldn't make it out in time. Time had taught her that when accumulated in large groups, people tended to become more bold in their actions. She wasn't interested in becoming the victim of a Tolavian mob. "We should probably scram, Pen," said Baby Bear, and she agreed, linking arms with him and giving one last glare to the people who had attempted to scam her. The woman was positively seething, but she'd be damned if Adrik didn't look amused. She couldn't read him properly as she was accustomed to doing, but perhaps she just had to accept that some people radiated nothing but mixed signals. She and Bear ducked away from the fablemachy arena and back into the street. She didn't miss the chanting that started out soft and slowly increased in volume, fading away again as they left but still echoing in her head.
Witch. Witch. Witch. The stories of burning magic users over the last few centuries had always come from Snow. Ironic, then, that their beloved queen had been cursed to be exactly that. Naturally, it didn't matter anymore. You know-since she was dead. Maybe now witch-burnings would start up again. Penny would laugh.
They clambered onto the bed of a rickety old truck that made Gray look worthy of some sort of car pageant prize, the old man driving it having offered them a ride back across town in exchange for a few spare shiners.
Penny adjusted her position atop a pile of itchy straw, pulling her knapsack to her chest and fiddling with her arm warmers. "I should've just stolen the bow," she grumbled, clearly irritated. Bear shook his head.
"You won that money, square. Don't it feel good knowing that?"
"It feels good knowing I deprived that scum-blooded witch of her cash."
"It probably offends actual witches when we use them to swear, y'know."
Haven't you heard? she thought bitterly to herself. Here in Tolava, I am a witch. All she said was, "When I need etiquette lessons, I'll be sure to come to you."
Bear frowned, the sarcasm going over his head slightly-an impressive feat for how tall he was. "I don't think I could teach you anything you haven't learned already. Weren't you a princess?"
She shot him a pointed look. "Yes. And I don't much like talking about it."
He dipped his head. "Right." He hesitated. "But if you ever do..."
"I know who to come to in that case, as well."
Bear smiled brightly, and it was almost enough to soften Penny's charcoal heart. Almost.
She sat up suddenly, peering down the street. "Is that Lindsay?" she murmured, scooting closer to get a better look. It certainly looked like that was Lindsay making her way towards the arena. Shoot. She wished she had brought her earpiece with her, but for once she had had poor oversight. Stress, maybe. She turned quickly to Bear. "Do you have your earpiece?"
"Oh, sure. I always leave it in my pocket and I didn't have a chance to change my clothes." He put it in, tapping it. "Hey! Lindsay! On your right!"
The figure of Lindsay froze, glancing around like a lost squirrel. What part of on your right did she not understand? They didn't have any way of stopping the truck, so they would have to just hope that Lindsay followed them. At the pace this abomination was going, it wouldn't be all that difficult, but then again for some ungodmotherly reason Lindsay was wearing kitten heels.
Could one run in kitten heels? Lindsay probably could, actually.
Something like ten minutes later, the truck slowed to a stop at the corner of Bush Street and Mulberry Bulevard, and Lindsay managed to catch up to them. "Everyone's been waiting on you two at the meeting place," she explained, touching her eyelashes and blinking a few times. "Is my mascara smudged?"
Penny rolled her eyes and began the walk toward the meeting spot. Bear offered helpfully that it wasn't. When they finally reached it, Claude rolled open the door, and Penny was surprised to find that he was not only gloveless but also shirtless. Upon second thought she wasn't sure why that was surprising at all. "Way to take a million years," he said loudly. "It's been so long that the Dragon Ages are back."
"Put on some clothes, Verelia," Penny said, shoving past him. Ramona glanced up from a map of what looked to be Fairy Kingdom, sitting behind the driver's seat and also shirtless. Minerva was hand-stitching something across from her. Penny leaned against the seats. "Am I supposed to assume Minerva has been third-wheeling a steamy makeout session?"
Claude gagged behind her, but Ramona didn't even look up. "Skies, no. We would never exclude Minerva like that. We of course allowed her to join in." Bear and Lindsay came inside, and Minerva glanced Penny's way, sighing at the sight of her torn clothes. Slowly she realized that Duckie and Claude must have been in an altercation-presumably not with each other.
"Who did Claude tick off?" asked Bear, making the same assumption.
"For Cinderella's sake," Claude muttered.
"Someone very large. And a tavern full of people broke enough to want to turn us in to the authorities," Ramona added. Penny snapped to attention.
"Did the cops show up?"
Ramona shook her head, setting down the map. "No one in their right mind in that place would dare call the cops; it was like a breeding ground for scum like us and a whole lot worse." She leaned back, running her fingers through her tangled black-and-platinum hair, which was down for once, tips tickling her shoulders. "As far as wanted posters go, the only people we really need to worry about are me and Claude, who have actual identities. Until you four have mugshots in the system you're all safe, and even in my case I'm willing to bet it'll take at least a week for the Snow authorities to find so much as my real name-forget about tracking me down. I was honestly impressed that royal investigator dude had even heard of me."
"We should still be careful if there's already prices on your heads," Bear said with a slightly nervous twinge in his voice, scratching the back of his neck.
"License plate," Minerva grunted with no explanation, tying a knot and cutting off the end of a thread with her teeth. It didn't need one. Everyone understood. Claude yanked open the glovebox and rifled through the spare license plates, picking one out along with a screwdriver and going outside. Ramona pulled a random tunic over her head and followed, leaving the door open.
"'H-K-L-4-0-1'," Ramona read aloud, crouching down beside the current license plate. "You think there's pictures of this one in the system already?"
"After the car chase? Oh yeah. Best to switch it up," Claude said definitively, unscrewing the plate and dropping the hardware into Ramona's outstretched hand. He set the old one in the snow and installed the new one: 34JS7A. It had the name of some random Rose area he'd never heard of printed on it. They had a few from Fairy, a number from Villagetown, and even one from Tower if he remembered correctly.
When it was finished Claude stood to head back, and that was when a bright blue pigeon came hurtling toward him and smacked right into his shoulder. He let out a long string of curses as the little bird squawked and flapped madly, repeatedly diving toward him until he scrambled to grab the letter tied to its leg.
"MESSAGE FOR CLAUDE VERELIA! MESSAGE FOR CLAUDE VERELIA!" the pigeon shrieked. Everyone except for Minerva, who was still immersed in clothes-mending, hastily emerged from the van, eager to watch Claude be humiliated by a bird and hoping for poop. Ramona, for one, was quite positive there were no pigeons in Snow Kingdom. Lindsay, Bear, and Penny hovered around the corner, straining to get a good look at what was going on.
"Shut up, you idiotic son of a witch! Stupid bird delivery," Claude grumbled frustratedly, tearing off the wax seal. Ramona pocketed the screws and delighted in greeting the pigeon, which gravitated to her immediately for some reason and landed in her open palm. She winced as it screeched again.
"PAYMENT REQUIRED! PAYMENT REQUIRED!"
She pulled from one of her pockets a small pouch of dried plums. She scooped out a few and offered them to the pigeon, who was happy to oblige. Then she slid the string of the pouch over its head so that it hung around its neck, patted it, and watched as it flew away. She turned to Claude as he popped open the envelope. "From your sister?"
"Oh, yeah," Penny said with a disinterested eye roll, "his imaginary sister."
Claude sighed, tilting his head skyward. "You all do this to me every time. She's really very wonderful, you know. She plays the-"
"The flute, we know, she plays the flute," Lindsay sighed. Minerva's head peeked out of the van.
"Is Claude going on about his 'sister'-" she made air quotes- "again?"
"Yep."
"Here we go," Penny said exasperatedly. "And where did you say she lives?"
"A tower in just about the middle of nowhere, with the Writer-I don't know why you all think I'm making this up!"
"It's probably a symptom of a much larger problem," Bear said sympathetically, scratching at his beard. "Pathological lying can lead to other issues, and maybe he's started to become delusional," he suggested earnestly.
Penny crossed her arms. "Well, if he believes in the Writer."
"I believe in the Writer," Minerva said so quietly Ramona almost missed it. But she didn't, and it piqued her curiosity somewhat more than the letter had. Her eyes made their way over to Minerva, but by the time she made eye contact Minerva dropped it and went inside to resume her sewing.
"Okay, first of all, I am not a pathological liar-" Claude began loudly.
"There it is again," said Lindsay.
"And secondly, haven't you heard her piece? Everyone has. Sicilienne, Op. 78?"
"The anonymous piano piece," Penny deadpanned. "I thought your sister played the flute."
Claude paused. "Well, she does. I mean, she plays the piano, too! She can play a lot of instruments, actually-she has a talent for it-"
"Okay, everyone, packing up shop; let's move," said Ramona loudly from where she'd apparently disappeared to. The thieves bickered as they shoved their way back into the van, Ramona already in the driver's seat.
Penny stopped.
"Oh no. Uh-uh. Not happening. Move it, Duckie. Ain't none of us are letting you drive until the end of the world comes and we have no other options."
Ramona flashed a smile and scooted over into the passenger's seat instead. Minerva smoothly maneuvered her way past Penny and seated herself on Ramona's left, and Penny spared her a glance but didn't stop her, bringing a hand again to the side of her face. Ramona grabbed the first aid she'd used earlier for Penny's benefit. Baby Bear put a hand on Minerva's shoulder and she recoiled instinctively, glaring at him.
"Minerva," he murmured, quietly enough that no one else would hear. "It's been days."
He was referring to the driving. Minerva yanked back the gearshift, double-checking the mirrors. "Leave it alone, Baby," she snapped. She couldn't get that feeling out of her head-the horrible, gut-churning feeling of hands tearing through her hair, trailing down her arms, pressing into her hips. The feeling of spiders under her skin. It wasn't even seduction that she had an issue with, really. She didn't hate weaponizing her own power. She hated that she knew now how men and boys had seen her when she was too young to understand it. She'd been sixteen when she finally gathered up her courage and left Hill Village. Sixteen. Not old enough to drink anywhere except Fairy, not old enough to join knighthood, not old enough to legally travel overseas without a chaperone. Certainly not old enough to consent to virtually anything. Sixteen.
Things were easier now, but they were also harder. She had the crew, but she was also alone. Alone in her journey of recovery. She had to accept who she was and what she'd been and what others had done to her. She had to come to terms with her family and her home and the fact that she could never go back. She had to shove back Claudette and Paulette's voices in her head, constantly offering unwanted advice and snippy backhanded compliments. Some days it was harder than others.
So when she needed something to focus on-the feel of the pedal, the map of the road set against the front window, the cars in front of and behind her-Bear needed to shut up and let her be. He shrank back like an exceptionally large scolded puppy, and guilt flooded her chest, but she refused to soften her expression, setting her jaw and directing her eyes to the road.
Meanwhile, Claude, irritated, elbowed Lindsay out of the way and slumped into the seat behind Penny. He opened the letter again and scanned it. Contrary to popular belief, Sicilienne was very real.
My dearest Claude,
Just what, pray tell, were you thinking when you decided to keep this from me? I have today been informed of your, shall we say, extracurricular activities-or is this what you do for a living? I do not appreciate being lied to by the person I cherish most.
Your break-in at Snow Palace? Not just any break-in. I'll have you know that you intruded upon one of the most significant tragedies of our time. The consequences amount to much, much more than you and your fellow criminals could ever possibly imagine. And you've all just involved yourselves.
I think we're due for a visit. This time I'd like for you to come to me-oh, yes, and bring your friends. You know the way.
- disappointedly, Sicilienne Verelia
All the world fell away as he processed this.
It was the shortest letter she'd ever written. He could actually feel the color draining from his face. He read the letter over and over and over, and couldn't come up with anything to think except she knows. Claude had kept Sicilienne from the fact that he was a thief and a liar for as long as he could remember. It was so much easier now that she'd left; all he had to do was not mention it when he wrote to her. How did she know? The Writer had told her, no doubt. He wouldn't be surprised if that man knew everything. He'd distrusted him at the start, but there was something about the Writer that exuded wisdom and power. Besides, maybe he'd been a little desperate. Was it so wrong to want what was best for Sicilienne, even if it meant leaving her behind?
"So... does anyone know where we're going to go exactly?" Lindsay asked skeptically, interrupting his train of thought.
Ramona leaned back, stretching her legs. "Well, we can go to Fairy or we can go back to Rose. The only problem is that either way we have to figure out a way to get overseas again, and Pirate's Bay isn't exactly my favorite place on the map."
Lindsay's eyes flashed. "Need I remind you that I'm wanted for treason in Fairy?" she said coolly, but her expression read murder. It was no secret how much hatred she harbored for the royal family.
"Yeah, and-" Claude pocketed the letter, forcibly pushing it to the back of his mind with considerable effort- "I'm wanted for grand larceny there, and from what I gathered today my face and my name have found each other. News makes its way to Fairy spella fast." Believe me, I know, he added in his head.
Ramona's lips twisted, thinking. "How much do you value that nice blond hair?"
Claude brought a hand to his hair self-consciously. "A lot, thanks."
"Lindsay, do you still have those old fashion magazines you used to collect?"
She brightened considerably at the thought, the comment about Fairy already forgotten. "Sure!" Then her brow furrowed. "Why?"
Ramona tilted her head, that expression settling in that always did when the skeletal structure of a plan was forming in her head. "If Minerva can make us clothes to fit in with the Fay, and we change our appearances for a while, we can probably blend in long enough to plan at least a couple of heists on the way to Water Kingdom."
"Duckie. When the queen banishes you, you don't come back." Lindsay's tone suggested a silent addition to that statement: unless you're leaving with her head. Claude leveled a glare at Ramona, holding up a hand.
"I am not dying my hair. If anyone needs to dye their hair, it's you."
"I can shave it off in your sleep," Penny offered from behind him, sounding a little too excited about that prospect for Claude's comfort.
"Yeah, I would have to hide my hair, too," Ramona admitted, wincing as she bandaged her side.
"What are you so eager to go to Fairy for?" Claude narrowed his eyes. Ramona was adaptable; she didn't take the most difficult option out of convenience. Just because Fairy was closer than Rose didn't mean she would automatically gravitate to it... unless there was something else motivating her. She cracked a smile and reached into the satchel she'd brought with her today, unrolling a severely wrinkled poster she'd stashed there earlier.
He took it. ANNUAL BLACKHEARTS CRIME CONVENTION. Black Apple Villainy was only the largest crime syndicate in the world, run by a gang no one spoke the name of for fear of summoning them. Not a little gang that protected each other to survive, like them. A legitimate, widely-recognized organization that produced some of the most dangerous criminals alive. Every year they held a competition that drew bounty hunters, thieves, witches, and arsonists from all over the world to compete for a hefty cash prize. It was held on a different day every spring, always in a different location, to keep police forces on their toes. Ordinary folk and law enforcers alike braced themselves for crime spree season, but the pressure was much more intense being a criminal yourself.
"Got this at Crooked Crown Tavern. It's being held in East Fairy this year."
Baby Bear shuffled over, ducking his head and sitting down between Lindsay and Ramona's seats. "What are we talking about?" he asked, knitting needles in hand.
Claude waved the paper in the air. "Duckie's got it in her head that we can enter the Blackhearts this year."
Bear's face fell. "Oh, Duckie, you know how I feel about the Blackhearts. It always ends badly."
"Think about it, Baby. We would never have to steal again!"
"Yeah, if we won," Penny pointed out. "Have you seen us, though? We're about as amateur as you can get."
"Okay, now that's being a bit harsh," Claude said defensively. Lindsay looked as if she was weighing the possibilities, but the irritation at so much as the idea of going to Fairy still lingered behind her eyes. Ramona looked far too eager, like she'd gotten an idea in her head and there was no sensible way of getting it out. And everyone said he was delusional. "Mona, I know I say this every day, but you're a lunatic. We just failed two heists in a row. We aren't going to be winning any competitions."
"Yeah, no thanks to you," Penny muttered. Claude scowled. "Duckie, I think maybe you should sleep on this one. Let's just find an inn for now, and then we'll worry about getting the hell out of Snow Kingdom."
Ramona spent the rest of the drive counting coins, and she didn't say anything else. But she was staring into the distance and grinning like an idiot, and that couldn't be good.
Claude had another reason why the Blackhearts Convention was the least of his problems, but he couldn't say it. Not here. Not now. Sicilienne's words were echoing in his head. He could practically hear her saying them.
You know the way.
He didn't think he'd ever have to go to the Writer's tower again. But he had that feeling, the feeling that somehow Sicilienne was in danger, and he couldn't just ignore that.
He didn't realize he'd fallen asleep, head against the window, until Lindsay kicked him awake.
"Get your heels off me!" he grumbled, shoving her away and clambering out of the van. Bear managed to hit his head twice before ducking out the door, towering over the rest of them as the thieves all assessed what stood before them. This was what a traveler might call "the middle of nowhere". Snowy mountains and evergreen trees for miles, no people and only a few woodland creatures in sight. And then a lone structure-The Shoemaker's Inn, a small and crooked building, each individual floor on a slightly lopsided angle in comparison to the last.
Ramona stopped just short of entering, realizing something. "The news of the queen's death has probably reached far and wide by now. We should be careful."
"Oh! I almost forgot." Baby Bear handed Ramona a knitted brown hat, smiling warmly. "I made this for you."
She smiled back, pulling it on and tucking her hair into it, tugging it lower over her bangs. "Thanks." Anything that could cover her hair was, more than a gift, a disguise. It really was a wonder how she was simultaneously the most and the least conspicuous out of all of them-a forgettable face but unforgettable distinctive features that would almost certainly have the police tailing them everywhere she went if it wasn't for her ability to blend into crowds.
"Well, we have food to eat, at least," said Lindsay, who was carrying a satchel filled with some of the stolen goods they'd gathered earlier today, "but we're running a little low on coin. Need to find a pawn shop tomorrow or at least sometime this week. Maybe on the way to Fairy, apparently," she added with a pointed look aimed at Ramona.
"Penny got two hundred shiners from fighting a manticore," Bear blurted, and Penny tossed up her hands.
"Bear! Now I can't keep it all for myself!"
"Sorry!"
"Two hundred?" Claude said indignantly, so astonished that he briefly forgot all about his sister.
"Bah, look at this place," Ramona said, not looking the least bit surprised. "This is the cheapest-looking excuse for an overnight that I've ever seen."
"A place that looks like the Leaning Tower of Gingerbread had better not be expensive," Penny said, placing her hands on her hips.
"We are thieves," Minerva murmured. "Lack of cash never stopped us before." She shoved a pair of glasses and a stick she'd picked up towards Claude. "Pretend to be blind."
His jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"
"To cover up your face, half-wit."
"Yeah, and lose the gloves," Ramona added. "Too recognizable and too expensive for a guy heading into a place like this."
Claude groaned. Penny threw a shawl around Lindsay to cover up her not-very-Snow-like clothing choices. She squinted at Bear. "I wish we could shrink you. But I only know a little bit of magic, and I think you might explode if I tried."
His eyes widened. "Please don't try."
"This'll have to do," Ramona sighed, and then they headed in, fingers crossed and hoping for the best-and with Bear carrying a considerable amount of their overnight luggage.
Thankfully, the receptionist, who was wearing purple lipstick that Minerva was eyeing curiously after she spotted the tube resting on the desk, hardly spared them a glance. It was late, and if they were lucky, wanted posters didn't make their way this far out into the mountains.
"How many rooms?"
Ramona shot Minerva a don't do it look. "How much for a room?"
"Ten gold pieces if you like poisonous rats and mold, fifteen if you don't."
"Fifteen shiners?" Lindsay said indignantly.
"What's in a room?"
"A bed, a couch, a bathroom. It's not half bad."
The catch was undoubtedly that it was about as clean as a public toilet. Ramona turned to the others. "We could all fit in two."
"Three would be better," Penny said, side-eyeing the men.
"Then hand over forty-five shiners, will you? Ain't you got two hundred?"
"I'd really rather not sleep in the van again," Bear whispered. He was at least twice the size of all of them and suffered the most on car nights. Ramona poured coins onto the desk and the receptionist counted them.
"Two rooms it is," she grunted. "I need a name to put that under."
"Heather Ambers and company," Ramona said without a moment's hesitation.
"Villagetown name. You all are far from home. When will you be checking out?"
"Tomorrow morning, I should hope."
She scribbled something down and slid two room keys across the counter. "Here's your keys. Have a good night."
"Thank you, miss." The tags attached to the keys read 3-17 and 3-24 respectively, so everyone trudged toward the rickety stairs, looking uneasy about it.
"This place smells like the wrong end of a cow," Claude commented, waving around his pretend walking stick, "but at least we finally get to shower."
A brief moment of silent communication passed between Ramona and Minerva then, Ramona already understanding what she wanted without her needing to clarify. She never had-and if she could manage, never would-forced any of the girls to share a room with the boys overnight. Ramona herself might have trusted Claude, but Minerva certainly didn't, and she would have bet money that Penny didn't either, even if she had always seemed amiable with Bear. Ramona, for one, had had much worse roommates before than the two of them, so she didn't mind evening out the split. But Minerva had been raised in a world where men couldn't be trusted, Penny raised in a world where people took what they wanted by force or blackmail or what have you, and Lindsay raised in a world where she got her space and didn't take no for an answer. So, no, she didn't need Minerva's piercing emerald glare to remind her what the order would be, and it slightly worried her that she was always so hell-bent on making sure it didn't change, silently or otherwise. Maybe one of these days she would find time to work through Minerva's trust issues, but she had a feeling she wouldn't be all that fond of that idea.
Oh well. When you collected fairytale losers like some kind of criminal magnet and helped them organize heists, you didn't always have time to work through everyone's repressed trauma. How had she ended up with this many crew members, again? It seemed like ages ago, despite she and Claude only having met less than three years prior and forming the gang long after that. Ramona wasn't qualified to be a therapist, she was hardly fit to be a mother hen, and she was scraping by in her role as leader as it was. Chief thief, went her intrusive thoughts just then. Oh, giants. She had better never say that out loud or it would stick and Claude would manage to convince everyone to default to it instead of her name. He'd done it before-and she hadn't even come up with that one. You know, I think the Ugly Duckling works, he'd told her once. 'Cause of the wings. And your nose. It's kinda beakish. How girls ever found him charming was beyond her.
She dropped the key into Minerva's hand and slapped Bear on the back, linking arms with Claude (Bear was far too tall for her to reach. She wondered if perhaps he had giant heritage or all animagi just had body structure according to their transformative species.) and starting the walk to the other side of the hall, where their room would presumably be. "Let's get some rest, guys. Especially you, Claude. You need beauty sleep. A lot of it."
The offended look on his face was almost worth it when he shoved her into the wall, annoyed. Bear stifled a chuckle. Getting on Claude's nerves was so easy when you knew how to do it. It was impossible to resist. Besides, it was revenge. He'd been tossing her backhanded insults for years.
"It's not funny, Bear," said Claude rather haughtily as he strode past Ramona to reach their room first.
"It's a little funny," Bear admitted, and Ramona grinned widely at him. They went inside and circled the scope of it. It wasn't all that large, the ceilings low enough that Bear had to hunch over slightly and the bed only big enough for either Bear alone or both Claude and Ramona, if they squeezed in. But the floor didn't look particularly uncomfortable, and there was just enough space for the pop-up kitchen and for the girls to come over in the morning to discuss where to go next.
All in all, not the worst place they'd stayed. Ramona plucked a dead cockroach off the couch, wrinkling her nose, and tossed it out the lone window. The crisp Snow air flooded the room. She hoped they wouldn't be unlucky enough that it would snow tomorrow, but the kingdom was called that for a reason. The crossover bridge to Fairy, the only legal way to get there, was a very long travel in a vehicle as old and decrepit as theirs was, even with its magical add-ons. They would have to head way up north. But since they were already in South Snow... she hadn't thought it through very well when they came this way. Then again, maybe it was better not to try the legal route when they were about to become the most wanted persons in the kingdom.
Pirate's Bay was doable. She'd done it before, sure, but she'd done a lot of things in her teenage years that she didn't intend to ever do again. Doable but not ideal. She would have to contact some of her old colleagues, and they wouldn't be too keen on helping her when she had cut off ties with Black Apple Villainy some years ago. She had never been involved with No-Name-you couldn't leave once you'd committed and Ramona didn't much like committing to things-but it still wasn't the most forgiving groups of people she had worked with in the past. Gah, pirates. Such a pain. And one breach of their territory without the proper permission from the right people, and you were either immediately dead or started an all-out war. Ramona didn't think she was quite important enough for her home country to start a world war on her behalf, so dead she and the rest of her crew would be if she didn't tread carefully.
She must have been entirely immersed in thought because she was startled when Claude abruptly shut the window and locked it. She hadn't even realized he had come to stand next to her. He crossed his arms, turning to her.
"I was just thinking."
"Sounds treacherous."
"You're always quick to come up with pseudonyms. And the same ones over and over, no less."
Ramona glanced at him, caught at least mildly off guard. "Yeah, I always use my siblings' names." Even if she didn't, what was wrong with being fast at coming up with fake names? She had left home when she was twelve. She wasn't exactly new to this. Claude overanalyzed everything for some reason.
"Where do you get Ambers?" he said in a tone that was about as gentle as a police interrogation. Ramona's brow twitched. Oh. He didn't... Sometimes Claude, for all his genius, came up severely lacking in basic common sense. Had she really never mentioned that Swan was a pseudonym? She supposed it was a perfectly reasonable name given that one Bernard Bear was in the room with them, but still. Either the miscommunication was her fault for avoiding talking about any connection to her family like the plague, or Claude's not paying enough attention to that particular detail, or more likely, a combination of both.
"It's a common name in Villagetown," she said with a shrug, already uncomfortable with the conversation. She averted her eyes and Claude narrowed his. It wasn't a lie. A name like Ambers in Villagetown was akin to Nakamura in Snow or Montoya in Water. "People don't question it."
"Hmm." Claude scrutinized her expression. "You know what the problem with your philosophy is?" he said, stepping closer.
She forced herself to meet his eyes again. Just let this go. Just let it go, dammit. I'll tell you all about it another day. Not today.
"Enlighten me."
"You have to be a thief and a liar. You can't have one without the other."
Ramona exhaled. Claude knew when to push and when not to. He was their resident interrogator, after all. She had to remind herself it was a good thing. He would get this out of her eventually, and that was fine, but she couldn't handle it today. Heather Ambers and company. She couldn't handle memories of Heather today, or Jacob, or any of the others.
"Just go take a damn shower, Clo. You smell like a sewage tunnel."
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A hundred years ago, give or take a decade or so, Princess Briar Rose had fallen into a deadly sleep. Camilla Foxflower-not her family, not her prince-was the only reason she was alive. And yet it seemed that the man whom she had instructed herself to awake the princess was constantly taking all the credit. Well. That was just the way these things worked, it seemed. Anyway, the point being, Nikolai always irritated her slightly, but today he was getting on her last nerve.
"Why don't we just evacuate everyone? At least until this all blows over-"
Camilla sighed, her head resting in her hand and rubbing her temples. "You mustn't abandon your people, for the last time, Your Majesty-"
"I know what I'm doing, Seven. What if they come after us next? They could be after all of us. There's nothing to do but leave." Unfortunately, the skills acquired by trekking through dangerous terrain and beheading great beasts and waking hundred-year-old princesses from enchanted sleep did not carry on into practical kingdom management. The Novikov sons' father had contracted the stardust plague and passed before they ever got to finish their training, thrusting them into the family business without warning. Both Alexios and Nikolai were free spirits, and to them every problem could be solved with adventure, like one of the taglines at those FastTrav portal hubs. Find your destiny-an adventure around every corner! Numerous advisors, bureaucrats, and managing offices had always been there to help, but at the end of the day, Nikolai-the king, and, of the two of them, the one who held seniority-made the decisions.
"And go where, exactly, Your Majesty?" asked Wolfgang de Roches, the head royal advisor to Beauty and Alexios. He, like Camilla, who was there to advise Briar and Nikolai, looked perpetually exhausted. It was one thing to be turned invisible and locked in the castle for a year. It was entirely another to deal with not one but two entirely incompetent young kings who could hardly keep up with the rising crime, homelessness, and hunger statistics they'd inherited when they both decided to take up the throne together. And Camilla had seen it all, the slow but steady progression in the last two centuries that she'd been alive from prosperity to anarchy. One would think that having two sets of royals would make the monarchy twice as likely to succeed, but while Camilla loved her kingdom and was ever loyal to its rulers, some days Nikolai and Alexios seemed like two halves of a whole idiot.
King Nikolai lifted a finger, then dropped it. He began to pace, his wife tapping her fingers on the armrest of her throne. Nikolai could never sit still. "Perhaps we could... put up a barrier," she murmured, a dreamy expression on her face. Neatly curled strawberry-blond ringlets spilled over her shoulders as she tilted her head. "Like Tech Zone."
"And how, precisely, would we pay for a tech wall?" Queen Beauty snapped. She and Briar rarely got along. The public didn't know, of course. They would go ballistic. They had a perfect image in their heads of the both of them. But Briar and Beauty came from two entirely different nations and two entirely different generations, and it was nearly always impossible to convince them to see eye to eye because of it.
"Tax raises!" King Alexios said eagerly, snapping his fingers. Taxes were his solution to just about everything. The citizens of Rose Kingdom never agreed. Camilla had to admit that while Alexios was probably even better than his older brother at the saving-damsels-and-fighting-monsters part of his job, economics had never been one of his strengths. He also had an irritatingly unpredictable temper, but today he was just jumpy, as if he'd drank far too much tea.
"What are we supposed to tell the citizens?" Beauty added. "Surely we cannot simply say outright that a major monarch has fallen."
Briar worried her lip, looking anxious. She only ever had three moods. Half-awake contentment; mild worry; and a state of unsettled, watered-down emotion, as if she was confused about whether to be sad or angry or nothing at all. Maybe it was a side effect of the hundred-year sleep. It made for a docile queenship. She turned to Camilla, a dainty hand resting gently on her arm. "Fairy Godmother? What do you think we should do?"
Camilla squeezed her hand, offering a comforting smile that seemed to relax Briar, making her smile back. She swept her gaze across the throne room, smoothing her poofy pale pink skirt decorated with embroidered and live flowers alike. Everyone whose eyes she met calmed at least slightly, her magic settling the room. "There's no question that the citizens are in a state of unrest," she said gently, "and informing them of the death of the Snow Queen may further disturb them. This is a prosperous kingdom. But we have been undergoing a period of... difficulty, certainly." Her eyes flicked to Nikolai. "I fear that things are escalating." She was slightly nervous to admit the next part, but she dared voice it anyway. "Excessive waves of immigration have changed things, and not everyone is in favor of it. Nikolai, Alexios, there are some who may find your heritage to blame if things do not improve." She turned and nodded to Beauty. "You as well." Then she placed her other hand atop Briar's. "Your heritage, your bloodline, is incredibly important. You must take control of your kingdom again. Only then can you restore the people's faith in your rule."
Immigration hadn't been a problem. Rose was the most diverse kingdom in terms of culture and heritage-although Fairy still surpassed it in terms of species-and no one had ever seemed to mind. A wide range of appearances and dress and festivities and styles of life had always been celebrated in Rose without contempt. But that was before the Second Wave of the plague hit. Distrust had bloomed, snaking cracks through a kingdom that hadn't been divided before. And Alexios and Nikolai, who carried a Lakelander name, their grandfather having married into the family, were suddenly more foreign in the eyes of the citizens than they had been before. It didn't help that Alexios had been cursed along with the rest of the castle for an entire year, and it certainly didn't help that he had married a Villagetowner. Nikolai rescuing the long-lost Rose princess was a victory, and had at least boosted their image somewhat. But Camilla feared it might not be enough.
And now, as if that wasn't difficult enough, something far worse had occurred. Someone had killed the Queen of Snow. According to Snow Palace's intel, she wasn't their only target. And it was no mystery as to why her husband and stepson had been left untouched. Everyone knew the significance of the Snow White tale. Sleeping Beauty and Beauty and the Beast were no less significant.
In other words, the Rose monarchy could potentially be next.
"She's right," de Roches muttered. "If the people don't believe in you, they won't care that you're in danger. You either reclaim your legitimacy, or you stand in danger of being overthrown. With all due respect, Your Majesty, charging them more money won't make them happier."
"We are going through a rough patch in history," Camilla admitted. "But in the end it will be just that: a rough patch. We will solve this challenge, and the next, and whatever comes after that, because you are all under my protection." She rose and bowed her head. "Now, in order for me to properly advise you all, I must meet with the Board of Homeland Security. Permission to be excused, Your Majesty?" she said, addressing Queen Briar. Briar's gaze was wandering again, her mind somewhere far away.
"Yes, yes..."
Camilla ducked out of the room, her sparkly heels clacking on the marble flooring. Wolfgang de Roches followed her out, falling in step with her as she headed down the hall.
"Part of me wishes we had some sort of war going on in order to distract the people, unify them again," said de Roches disdainfully. She lifted her eyebrows.
"There are always pirates to start war with. They're only right across the water."
De Roches wrinkled his nose at the thought. "Do not say such things aloud. I fear the royals would seriously consider it."
He was right, likely.
"Where are you off to?" said Camilla, fluffing her bubblegum-pink hair.
"Someone has good word that crime spree season is steadily approaching," he replied with a grimace. "So it's off to law enforcement for me."
"Oh, dreadful," she sighed. "I don't want to worry my queen, but I do fear the worldwide problem is only worsening. And Snow White! I'll bet the Fairy Godmother Council is positively scrambling overseas. I should expect a hundred summons in my inbox by sunrise."
A young woman suddenly came rushing toward them down the hall, in the attire of Queen Beauty's maids-a velvet black dress cinched at the waist with a white beaded belt. Between her obvious Villagetowner heritage and the feathered decoration that stuck out from her ponytail Camilla recognized her immediately as Aveline Beaufoy, de Roches's girlfriend. She clutched the envelope in her hand close to her chest, her eyes trained on de Roches.
"Oh. I wasn't expecting you to be together. What a pleasant surprise," she said with a sparkle in her eye, dangling the envelope in the air. "A letter for Miss Seven."
Camilla accepted it, politely glancing away as de Roches spun Aveline and dipped her into a kiss. She ignored whatever they were muttering to each other and flipped it over-it was from Snow Palace, addressed to the Seventh Fairy Godmother of Rose. She carefully pressed her fingernails underneath the royal seal, removing the letter and skimming it.
Miss Seven,
I imagine you have already been informed of Queen Snow White's death, but if you haven't, there it is. The investigative bureau has been working overtime since the moment her body was initially discovered by her son, and yet something in me fears that their abilities may not be sufficient to uncover and quash the threat in time to prevent a second incident. I do not wish to instill fear in anyone's hearts, but I believe I'm simply voicing the thoughts of everyone around me: a killer targeting royalty is on the loose, and not just any royalty, but the most powerful royalty in the land. The Royal Alliance. There can be no way of telling who is next.
Not a single soul in Snow Palace truly knows what to do, even as the king maintains a relatively stable façade. The last ruler of Snow was a vicious monster herself, and the now-deceased current queen, may she rest peacefully, was only marginally trusted by our people after the awful curse. For a long while, 'Snow Queen' instilled fear in people that should have loved her. And just when things were improving tragedy fell upon us. Now all that remains are a Towerian king who married into the royal family and his son. If everything can be this upside down, and fairytale heroes can be struck down by lowlife criminals, then who can trust their monarchs to defend them?
There was a time when I was but a lowly huntsman, hired to retrieve the heart of a princess who never could have deserved it. When I was freed from hiding Snow White was gracious and made me guard, and I swore to protect her for all my days. I have failed, Miss Seven. And there is nothing to do now but protect her heir, instead. You of all people surely understand the pull of destiny, the call to protect those that matter most. It is a difficult thing to give your life to a cause that will not always make decisions you approve of and will not always see you as you desire to be seen. But even if I were a kitchen servant I would honor my king and queen, and the best way to honor them now is to act, even if it means stepping outside the boundaries of my usual duty.
We have before us a disaster of cataclysmic proportions, and I admit to being lost in the woods, in many ways. Your expertise in these sorts of catastrophes was recommended to me by Prince Everette (who sends his regards) and I was hoping to arrange a meeting if it is possible to fit in with your presumably busy schedule. I thank you dearly for taking time to read this letter among the current chaos.
- Sir Felix Lange of Snow
"Something important?" Aveline Beaufoy said curiously, smoothing her skirt.
Wolfgang spared Camilla a mildly interested glance. She clutched the letter tightly.
Cataclysmic proportions indeed.
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"Duckie?" Bear said nervously, wringing his hands.
Ramona paused rifling through her collection of recent newspapers searching for potential future targets or perhaps someone they could turn in for ransom nearby. Her eyes flicked in his direction. "Yeah?"
He dropped the bags he was carrying and arranged them neatly beside the bed. "The transformation yesterday... it took me a while to turn back, didn't it?"
She was pretty sure she knew where this was going. She rubbed her temples, struggling to repel an oncoming headache. "It did, I know." She met his worried gaze. "You think something might be wrong."
He swallowed, sitting on the bed with a slightly concerning creak. "Uh... can I be totally honest with you?"
She shrugged. "Always."
"My mama used to tell me that sometimes, if you transform too often, your body can get more used to the animal form than the human form. Make you revert more to your primal instincts. I won't give you the whole lecture or anything-I barely understood it-but basically you can get stuck permanently in one form or the other." He scratched at his beard, a habit. "Lately... I dunno. I didn't want to freak anyone out, least of all you, but every time I turn..." He looked at the floor. "I feel less and less human. I feel like I'm losing myself. Like one of these days I'm going to go into full bear mode and never come back." When he met her eyes again his were watery.
Shoot. Not him too. Claude was running around screwing up heists and helping random queens, Minerva was refusing to sleep and being really closed off again when Ramona had been hoping she was past that, and now apparently one day they would all wake up and Bear would be a bear, permanently. Next thing she knew, Penny was going to end up with some life-threatening injury from a fight gone wrong, or Lindsay was going to run off and murder Queen Ella before the Corpse Flower Assassin even had a chance to get to her. They were a mess. Well-they'd always been a mess. They were an extra mess, emphasis on the messy.
And Ramona herself was itching to grasp that Blackhearts award. If she couldn't find her place in the world then she could always make one. But her crew... reluctantly, if her crew was all tangled and cracking at the edges she would be forced to throw the whole thing out the window. A girl did have to have priorities. Unfortunately, a girl had to have money, too.
Her eyes wandered, searching the empty air for answers. "If this is a condition, can it be cured?"
Baby Bear made a face. "Maybe. I don't happen to know any witches that specialize in transfiguration. Then again, I don't know any at all. There's no witches in the Unicorn Forest." Ramona knew plenty of witches. It was just a matter of who and where and how much does it cost.
"Well," she said with a thoughtful frown, "I'm glad you told me. We'll prioritize looking into it."
Bear looked as if he might be about to cry. She sighed, opening her arms. "Come here, big guy. We're gonna take care of it."
Baby Bear hugged Ramona, and he was stacked with so much sheer muscle that with a single squeeze, he managed to pop her whole back. She arched her back and stretched when he released her, rolling her neck.
"Wow; thanks. I actually really needed that." She held up a finger. "But remind me never to let you near my wings. You'd snap them like a twig."
"How does it work exactly?" The quick subject change worked like a charm to ease Bear into a calm again. Bear grabbed the weathered purple trunk he'd brought in, popping the latch, and they both jumped back as the pop-up kitchen (a patented ElfMaid product, only sold in Fairy Kingdom and Rose Kingdom) exploded into existence. He picked up a few of the other bags he'd brought and Ramona stepped forward to help him set up, pulling out some of the baking ingredients he'd only acquired that morning. "You know, the whole disappearing and reappearing thing."
Ramona's wings shimmered into existence, poking through the holes in her shirt and settling neatly onto her back. "Honestly? I have no idea." Half-lie, she thought. "But that's kinda the way I go about everything. I'm tempted to make a joke about 'winging it', but I won't for your sanity's sake."
"The greatest wisdom is knowing that you have none," Bear said cheerily. Ramona snorted.
"Well, don't expect anything wise from me. What are you making? Something sugary, I hope."
"Muffins." he frowned. "Blueberries or starberries?"
"Blueberries, definitely."
The bathroom door opened and Claude, shirtless and scratching at a nasty purple bruise on his torso, came into view. "Ugh, fair warning, the water is freezing." He nodded to Ramona. "Hey, Ramona? Could I talk to you for a second?" As long as he wasn't going to bother her about her siblings anymore. She had no desire to recount the events of her childhood. But the fact that he had bothered to use her name made her suspect that he wanted to discuss something serious, and Ramona's family tree was hardly pertinent at the present time. Bear glanced over, worry washing over his face.
"On second thought, maybe I should add healing powder," he muttered, deft hands already measuring and mixing ingredients with dishes he'd dug out of the cabinets in the pop-up kitchen. For someone so massive and muscular, he could work delicately with the smallest things. Ramona still didn't trust him with her wings, though. It was weird enough that Minerva seemed to be fascinated with their mechanics, entranced by anything that flew for some reason she had yet to understand. Ramona pushed off the wall and headed over, her wings fluttering slightly of their own accord. She was still sore from the fight but felt significantly more relaxed with her wings exposed to a bit of air.
Claude put conditioner of his hands and started running them through his hair, avoiding eye contact. "So... I got a letter today from my sister, right?" he said carefully.
"Right." Ramona wasn't sure where this was going, but for once in his life Claude sounded nervous.
"And I've told you where she lives. Kind of. Not that any of you seem to believe me."
Relieved that they'd changed the subject from their earlier conversation, Ramona shifted, crossing her arms. She was smiling ever so slightly. "Can you really blame them? You lie all the time. Minerva, for one, doesn't believe a word that comes out of your mouth." She met his eyes in the mirror, earnest. "But I know you're telling the truth about your sister."
Claude turned to face her, folding his arms as well. "And how do you? You always seem to know when I'm lying. So what's my tell?" Ramona may have been observant, but she wasn't an empath like he was, wasn't some kind of walking lie detector. Did he give something away, something that only the select few who truly knew him could pick up on? Sicilienne had never noticed, although perhaps she was a poor example as she'd never been all that perceptive.
Ramona sighed. "I know you, Claude. I've known you for a long time. That's your tell."
Not an answer. After a moment more of scrutiny he decided to drop it. "Fine," he said reluctantly. It wasn't relevant right now anyway. But it was bothering him, and he was going to figure it out eventually. "But if it ever compromises me, it'll be your fault," he added. He blew air out of his cheeks, wishing he could stall but knowing delaying the conversation further wouldn't benefit either of them. "Do you believe in the Writer?"
She hummed, thinking about it. "I'm not sure," she decided. "I'd like to think that there's someone out there looking out for us." She assessed his expression as if it were another puzzle, another map to determine the weak spots of in order to execute a proper robbery. "You really think he's real, don't you?"
"I wouldn't have if I hadn't met the man myself," he admitted. Ramona's eyebrows shot up.
"So we're dealing with a man. Not a god."
"Not by a long shot." Claude tried to retrieve a picture of him from the depths of his memories. It had been a long time, and he'd seen a lot of things since then. "He's actually a cripple if I remember correctly. Nice guy; a little too into how mysterious he is."
"And you're sure he's not a fraud?" Ramona said curiously. She didn't even sound judgemental, perfectly willing to explore the possibilities. She had always been that way, he supposed-possibilities were her favorite thing in the world.
"I couldn't care less if he's legit or not. He's been taking care of my baby sister for three years, given her what I never could. Taught her to read, write, do arithmetic. She's safe and that's more than I have to offer her." His mouth twisted wryly. "If this Writer guy is what's best for her, whether I like it or not... so be it."
He walked past her to get to his bag, producing from it the folded letter he'd received earlier. He held it out to her and she handled it gingerly, as if damaging it in some way would miraculously summon the Writer himself. "For context," he said, "Sicilienne was never made aware of the existence of our friend Dolos."
Ramona read through the letter a couple of times, only providing a "Hm," her expression hardly changing.
"She's never said anything so... ominous before," Claude said, tearing at his hair and beginning to pace. He glanced warily across the room at Bear, who was singing to himself and licking his mixing spoon, likely considerate enough to be tuning out their conversation on purpose. Thank Mother Goose for Bear. "I have a bad feeling about this-this-whatever is going on. The queen, the mark of the Corpse Flower Assassin, all of it. And if Sicilienne needs me to come see her, I'm going to drop everything and go see her. Besides, she has access to all the information in the world. Maybe she has an explanation for everything."
She nodded slowly.
"Well... if we go see this Writer fellow, is he gonna arrest us?"
Claude's brow furrowed. "No?"
"Then it sounds like we're all going to meet a myth," she replied, her eyes wide and bright and her grin just a little mischievous. Leave it to Ramona to instantly believe an idea so preposterous. Maybe, Claude figured, that was why he'd chosen her to confide in. Spilling his guts wasn't exactly his greatest skill. He'd never told anyone-not even the crew, not even Sicilienne-about where he'd grown up, how he'd lost his older sister to the plague, all the treacherous things he'd done to survive. But Ramona didn't need to know, because she always just understood without him saying anything at all. That was how she drew people to her. That was how the crew had come together in the first place. And maybe it was something he'd sensed when they first met.
He had learned loads about the Ugly Duckling since that first day in an alleyway behind a convenience store, gun to her head. She didn't, for one, slit throats and vanish into the shadows. She hated to kill almost as much as Bear hated it, and he rarely saw her angry. Another thing about the Ugly Duckling? Somewhere deep down she was just a little bit crazy, crazy enough to believe that his sister was in a tower in the clouds somewhere, that some guy who called himself the Writer needed their help.
Maybe it was preposterous to believe that he and the gang were important. That something truly was changing in a world where no one had ever questioned how it worked and nothing had ever changed, not really. That they were all involved. It didn't seem all that reasonable. But Claude wanted to believe it, just a little.
He thought of the way he'd felt when he'd found the name Rumpelstiltskin. Maybe he liked the idea of being a hero.
And... and maybe this was his chance.
"Well, where do we find this Writer?" Ramona prompted.
Claude lifted his eyebrows. "Quite literally in the middle of Nowhere."
"Okay... where on a map?"
He waved a hand. "Not lowercase-N nowhere. Uppercase-N Nowhere. You won't find it on a map. You just have to kinda know how to get there."
"I think I've heard of Nowhere," she conceded, squinting into the distance.
"I've been there. Once."
"Your sister implied you should know how to get there."
"It's been three years. I don't know why she thinks I'll remember..." His voice trailed off as he seemed to realize something. Ramona waited expectantly. "Wait. Why don't we just use FastTrav?"
She cracked her knuckles. "Time to dust off the ol' falsified passports."
That night, after everyone had eaten and showered, muffins cooled in the pop-up kitchen while Bear flopped onto the bed which was only just big enough for him to fit. Claude settled onto the couch, his bruises aching, clutching the letter in his fist. And Ramona Swan, who was not so ugly but probably was some kind of duckling, lay on the carpeted floor with her head resting on her arms and her wings splayed out.
In the other room Penny and Lindsay shared a bed, Penny scowling as Lindsay pulled the blanket closer to herself, mumbling in her sleep. Minerva was sprawled out on their couch, spinning a tube of purple lipstick in her fingers.
On second thought, maybe they weren't heroes. Maybe, at the end of the day, they were still just thieves.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
...So. Over 12,000 words. Ah. These seem to continue to progressively lengthen.
I know this was a looooonnnggg wait, so hopefully I can manage to compensate for it with an equally long chapter. I've been moving, so I've been busy, but I'm glad I could finally cough up all 26 pages of this eldritch monster. After watching Ocean's Eleven twice, I put myself in a thief sort of mood and was able to finally clean and polish it for publishing (once I convinced my wonderful editor to help me). This chapter... I have no idea why it was so hard, but I'm glad it's done.
Hey, my editor deemed it publishable, so that means it's time to send it out into the world! To my fellow writers, I pray that you have a better time with your next chapter than I did with this one. I pass the baton to you. And I'm sure Chapter 6 will be a breeze ;) if it isn't, then may my soul rest in peace.
⸺Ginger