Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter One: Denial

It's funny the things that pop into your head when you're about to die. Things like What the hell is the school going to tell my parents? and Holy shit that's a lot of teeth and Oh God why did I think it was a smart idea to visit the goddamn dragon?!?

Then again, maybe those are the typical thoughts of someone face-to-face with the Wyrm that lives under the English building, but they get eaten before they can share them.

I guess I should have expected something to snare me eventually. Elsewhere University is a strange enough place for the people who choose to come here; it's a whole new level of weirdness for those of us that are chosen.

Ugh, I don't mean to make it sound like an extra-special destiny thing. I mean, it might be, for all I know. But if that's the case, what destiny could we "chosen" possibly have? (There aren't a ton of us, for the record. We have a support group that meets by a sculpture — an iron rosebush made by a now-missing student — on Tuesdays. It's the only place we're sure we're all safe). But once our feet hit the grass of Elsewhere, all of us became weirdness magnets.

Take Flatscreen, for example. She's a Computer Science major and should be well off the radar of the Gentry, but hardly a week goes by where she doesn't have to check to see if her one-night stand is actually human. Or Strings, the Music Major, who's been taken…somewhere else…so many times that his RA has a special system for identifying the Changelings that try to take his place. Or the twins, North and South, who have the dubious honor of being the only people to have faced That Thing on the Staircase without having lost body parts or their sanity.

Like I said, weirdness magnets.

But me? I'd been careful. My aunt had gone to EU, and once she'd heard I'd been accepted her face had gone pale. We'd had a long talk after. She remembered (I've never been brave enough to ask what she traded for them, those memories she shared with me) all the rules and the precautions. I was forewarned when a lot of students aren't. I was lucky.

She told me what I had to do to protect myself from the Gentry: Carry the salt, the iron, the rowan branch. Offer no pleases or thank yous, no matter who you're talking to. And — above all other rules — make no deals.

So I came to EU with salt in my pockets, rowan in the soles of my shoes, and an iron ring on a chain around my neck. My nickname, Book, already prepped on my tongue. "Please" and "thanks" already discarded.

I was I was careful and tried to be clever. And above all else, I made no deals.

Most students — of the Gentry-viewing variety, at least — make at least one deal before they leave Elsewhere University. They want more time, or more beauty, or things harder and costlier to come by. Some students even make deals with one another, like the whispered "I'll come for you if you come for me. Deal?" and the "Trade you a salt packet for yesterday's notes. Deal?" swapped between people who trust easier than me. It was just another part of campus life, an expected step in the process.

Plenty of people had a more eventful time at EU than I did. They were stolen, or gained powers, or befriended the crows, or bested one of the Fair Folk in a game of chance. My first roommate, Dandelion, once got lost in the woods for a week and returned home with a color-changing coat and a mirror that could show someone's worst memory. But I never even got lost in the Library — and everyone got lost in the library! (Rowan twigs in your shoes will always lead you home, my aunt had said, but she neglected to mention they lead you away from adventure, too).

Do you know that feeling you get when you're in a room with someone who's mad at you? That sort of claustrophobic vibe tinged with just a hint of malice? Imagine feeling that in every room you went into — especially the empty ones — and you'll have an idea of what my experience at school started to be after the first semester. Sure, nothing ever touched me thanks to the salt and iron and rowan (and the nightly offerings of cream), but it wasn't exactly a comfortable existence for me. It was a lot like waiting for a jack-in-the-box to pop out at you.

From freshman year until senior year, my life was quiet. I saw plenty of the Gentry — I'm cautious, not blind — but I didn't interact with any of them. And as my graduation date drew closer I saw how many of my classmates got mixed up in bad deals and overzealous investigations. Students vanished forever, or came back wrong. Talents and fears were bargained away. Precious memories were lost. Doom dangled — invisible — above scores of heads. I knew how lucky I was to be graduating and getting away unscathed.

My aunt sent me letters at school. Sometimes she would include something for my protection. Most times it was just advice. My senior year she wrote a lot about what to expect after graduation. Memories will start to fade when the diploma is in your hand. My aunt's words, written in specially-mixed iron ink, burned on the white paper. The Gentry will be nothing more than superstition. Your nickname a tradition of the school. Elsewhere a demanding but ultimately harmless college. Unless you make a deal, you will forget the truth.

And just above her signature, in letters almost too tiny to read: The memories are not worth the deal. Take your diploma and run.

Truthfully, by the end of my senior year I was exhausted and looking forward to getting away. Elsewhere, for all its weirdness, is still a damn good school. The English Department expected its students to be well-read and accomplished writers, and I worked harder during that program than all my other years of school combined. Between academia and my precautions against the Gentry, I was a high-strung basket case one bad day away from a nervous breakdown.

So I looked forward to my freedom from Elsewhere University. I'd arranged to move home and find a job after graduation, debated taking a short backpacking trip around Europe (I never claimed to be original), and to get on with the rest of my life.

Yes, I had everything figured out.

Until I received my acceptance letter from Elsewhere University's Master's Program, that is.

Chapter Text

Chapter Two: Anger

Would it surprise you if I said a lot of things went to hell soon after that? To hear that my parents sold their house — the one I was supposed to move back into — to follow their dream of traveling the country in a mobile tiny home? To hear the job I'd been offered was gone when the company mysteriously went bankrupt? To hear that every backup plan I made blew up spectacularly?

To say I was upset was an understatement. Pretty sure my swearing peeled back the paint on my apartment walls. How dare the Gentry do this to me? What the hell were they after? (These were only my thoughts, of course; I wasn't stupid enough to say the words aloud).

I wrote to my aunt for advice. Her wisdom had been spot-on before, and I desperately needed reassurance that I could fix whatever was happening. I scribbled page after page of questions: What combination of iron, salt, and rowan did I need to protect myself from this? Could I come stay with her after graduation? Would my Bachelor's degree still save me and would the memories still fade once I left campus? I wrote like a madwoman, easily filling half a dozen pages before I forced myself to stop and send the letter.

Her response came three days later:

Book, there's nothing to be done. They have closed all roads to you save the one they have offered. All you have now are the stories I have already told you. Remember the salt, the iron, the rowan. Leave out your offerings. Abandon "Please" and "Thank You" and "Sorry" for a while longer. Guard your tongue and shield your heart.

I tried so hard, my precious niece. I'm so sorry I couldn't save you.

(That was the last I ever heard from my aunt. Later, when my parents stopped at her house for a surprise visit, they found the place boarded up and no indication anyone had been living there for at least a year. Supposedly they received a postcard from her the next month, saying that she'd moved to Scotland to pursue a PhD in folklore studies. I know that's not true. Whatever my aunt had traded to the Fair Folk, I think they decided to collect).

Family options exhausted, I had to try other avenues for help. The first Tuesday after my aunt wrote, I went to the iron rosebush. The other Elsewhere Anonymous members (weren't we so clever, so smart in our name? Wasn't it such a lovely joke?) were already engaged in conversation when I arrived. When I got there, though, they stopped talking and stared.

I must have looked a mess. My hair was uncombed and my eyes red from crying and a lack of sleep. Pretty sure I'd been wearing the same clothes for at least three days. And I was clutching the letter in my hand and babbling almost incoherently. It's no wonder that Strings gently freed the paper from my grasp as Flatscreen and the twins tried to soothe me.

Strings read the letter and scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Well, shit," he said. "Elsewhere has a Master's program for English?"

"No, it doesn't!" I snapped. "And I wouldn't have applied to it even if it did!"

No one asked me if I was sure. None of us had applied to Elsewhere in the first place; it wasn't surprising to see it choose for itself again.

Flatscreen gripped my hand. "They obviously aren't ready to let you go," she said. "It'd be flattering if it wasn't so creepy."

"None of you got one?" I demanded of all of them. "It was just me?"

One by one, they shook their heads. Strings handed the letter back to me, and I shoved it deep in my pocket. This was not the reassuring meeting I was hoping for.

North and South spoke with one voice, as they had ever since their encounter with That Thing on the Stairs. "The school wants something from you," they said. "A deal, a trade, a promise. You've made no exchanges and it wants more chances."

"Yeah, but none of you have made deals," I pointed out. "Right?"

There was an uncomfortable silence. "We're not all as...vigilant...as you, Book," Flatscreen said gently. "We've had to make sacrifices."

I stared at her. "You bargained with them?" I shook my head in disbelief. "You bargained with the Gentry?"

"How else to survive The Thing on the Stairs, but with a deal?" North and South asked. "It had ruined all others before us."

"Every time I'm taken I miss school and a Changeling screws up my grades," String interjected. "I've had to make bargains."

"I gave beads to Jimothy." Flatscreen shrugged. "It seemed the safest way to make a deal."

"But why would you want to?" I asked.

"Because avoiding the Gentry is exhausting and we didn't want to turn into—" Flatscreen's cheeks turned pink and she abruptly stopped talking.

The others wouldn't make eye contact.

Slowly, it dawned on me what they weren't saying. "You didn't want to turn into me," I finished for her. "A crazy person who spends all her free time spilling salt, stuffing twigs into her shoes, and wrapping iron around her skin."

"Don't say it like that," Strings protested. "It's not bad to be careful, Book. But you kinda took it to an extreme. There's a difference between caution and paranoia."

"And the Gentry feel they have been denied," North and South added. "A little deal, like what Flatscreen made, would have rendered you uninteresting. No deals — and no Elsewhere adventures — has made you a challenge. And they will want to break you."

"So what am I supposed to do? Give beads to Jimothy? Offer something to the Librarians? Trade the color of my eyes for a Gentry trinket?"

Strings scratched at his beard, looking embarrassed. "I don't think those things are going to cut it anymore, Book. I think they'd want something big before they'd leave you alone."

"Well, they can forget it." Anger pooled in my stomach, solidified like a hot stone. "Because I'm not going to their shitty program."

You'd think I'd learn not to make those sorts of statements out loud.

I wish I could say that I found an incredibly clever way to avoid spending more time at Elsewhere University, but I didn't. Every plan, no matter how far removed I thought it was from the Gentry, broke apart. If I didn't figure something out, I was going to be homeless and jobless and vulnerable in ways that my 23-year-old self had never had to contemplate.

So I signed the damn acceptance letter. And the next day I met with my advisor, Ms. Mooneyes, to discuss my future.

The offer came with a campus residence, a generous financial aid package, and a personalized Master's program designed just for me. I wanted to refuse it all, but Ms. Mooneyes pointed out that everything was "freely given" to the first attendee of their flagship Master's program.

Oh, Ms. Mooneyes. She was already old by the time I knew her. Eyes and hair steely grey, skin creased with age. She spoke in a voice that was half-whisper and half-mumble, making me strain to hear everything she said. Eventually I worked out that I was their guinea pig; the program was specially designed, Mooneyes said, to make sure its candidates were able to study their chosen concentration in-depth.

"I know it's a long program," she mumble-whispered. "But with the job market the way it is, you'll come to appreciate the extra time away from the world."

I frowned. I couldn't remember anything in the letter mentioning the length of the program. "Wait, how long is it supposed to take?" I asked.

"Seven years, dear. Surely you saw that part?"

Seven. Goddamn. Years. I'd be thirty before I escaped.

I might have jumped out of my seat then. I might have raised my voice. Might have mentioned that there was no way I would stay in the program that long. There might have even been something like screaming and very vague threats. I might have done all of these things, but I don't remember which recollections are real; it's all a bit hazy now. By either magic or sheer unflappable resolve, Ms. Mooneyes managed to send me out of her office with all my orientation materials and a step-by-step plan for the next seven years of my life.

Later, in my new campus residence, as I poured salt over every doorway and wove rowan and iron wherever I could, I made a promise to myself: I would get through this program unscathed, as I had the last. I would make no deals. I would meet with no Gentry. I would make sure this school, with its absurdly-long trap of a program, let me go.

And if only I hadn't met Between, perhaps I could have.

Chapter Text

Chapter Three

I was ready to go to war with the Gentry.

Or at least I told myself I was. I'd painted a sort of romantic picture of the situation: me — the lone warrior — standing up against them — the forces of chaos and darkness. I'd be like Joan of Arc — or Boudica — standing up against my oppressors. The other students would be impressed, and speak of me in hushed whispers full of awe. I'd be a campus hero!

Let me be honest here, with the benefit of a few years distance: I really wanted to be special. I think everyone does. But I'd been raised on a steady stream of books where the chosen hero resists all odds and emerges triumphant. I'd been chosen by Elsewhere, so surely I was destined for something.

But hiding in your house and sprinkling salt doesn't carry the same weight as those who boldly strode into the campus's lost places to seek out what was taken or to gain what they wanted. Heroes quested; I hid.

So when the first year crawled by with no attention from the Fair Folk, I was both relieved and a little insulted. They'd worked so hard to keep me at Elsewhere that I was sure every day was going to be a struggle against the Gentry's intentions. Instead, they seemed content that I'd remained at school, and made no effort to contact me at all. I wasn't even seeing them like I used to.

For the first time since I came to Elsewhere, I felt like I could afford to breathe a little. I still carried my salt and iron and rowan, and I left out the cream each night, but I wasn't constantly on-edge while I waited for the Gentry to jump out at me. Flatscreen and Strings and North and South suddenly made more sense to me; they must not have felt constant anxiety once they knew the Gentry no longer cared about them. Finally I could enjoy some of that same peace.

The Master's program was demanding, but fascinating. Unlike a normal college program, where I would have been required to take GE courses in addition to my more focused work, Elsewhere essentially allowed me to work via independent study. I had a list of requirements I would have to complete before my seventh year, but the pacing and the exact focus of that study was mine to determine. A variety of tutors were available to me, and I was expected to meet weekly with Ms. Mooneyes to discuss my progress, and I had all the resources of Elsewhere at my disposal.

The crowning achievement of any Master's student is their thesis, and Elsewhere was no exception. After my first year, Ms. Mooneyes gently recommended I start considering what my ultimate focus would be. My independent study, she pointed out, was a bit haphazard and had centered quite a bit on fairy tales. I was casting too wide a net, she said, and needed to figure out what I was looking for in the old stories.

A year of a lack of Gentry attention had smoothed the edges of my caution. I was challenged in school and had unlimited resources. I was — I realize now — wonderfully happy. Happy enough to make the biggest mistake of my life.

"I'm looking for magic," I told her. "I think that's what I'm writing about."

Ms. Mooneyes listened as I admitted I wanted to collect stories about Elsewhere. "A sort of new Grimm's Fairy Tales," I said. "We have unique traditions and conventions that are informed by classic fairy tales. I want to hear the stories and contrast them with Grimm and Perrault and other fairy tale collectors. Maybe throw in some Bettelheim critique to draw parallels between themes. But basically I want to write about Elsewhere and its uniqueness."

"It's an ambitious project," Ms. Mooneyes cautioned. "It would involve a lot of research. Recording student stories and collecting waivers for permission to use those stories. An obsessive analysis of what you think is the source material."

"You think I should choose something else?"

"I didn't say that. But I do think you should be aware of the scale of your project. Something of this magnitude could very well eat up all your free time. It would be a marvelous thesis for the school's collection, but I would caution you against devoting your entire self to it."

We talked about the project for a little while longer, weighing pros and cons. I wish I could have recognized that she was trying to dissuade me from looking too closely at the Gentry's affairs. But the little idea had burrowed down deep in my brain and taken root, and the more I tried to get away from it the deeper it wrapped me up. I even started to entertain the thought that all my years of guarding against the Fair Folk might do some good for later generations. Without realizing it, I talked myself into writing about the Gentry.

I called it Iron, Salt, and Rowan: Tales for Surviving Elsewhere University.

I should have called it Book Is An Absolute Moron and Her Thesis Ruined Her Life.

I threw myself into my project with a focus that would have concerned friends — if I'd had any left. The other members of Elsewhere Anonymous had graduated long ago, and the new iron rosebush crew (they nicknamed themselves Salt of the Earth, a name so good I was instantly envious) just seemed so young on the only day I'd tried to join the meeting that I never bothered going back. And since my program was independent study, I had no other classmates or points of contact while I studied. I didn't even have a job because the program covered all expenses. I was in the perfect cocoon of academia.

Time passed normally, even if I wasn't really aware of it. I did leave campus occasionally, for holidays and family visits and such, but most of my time was spent collecting and researching. There were just so many students to track down and so many fairy tales to read; every moment I wasn't working was just a moment I was wasting.

By the time my last semester — and the end of the seven years of the program — had arrived, I had nearly a thousand pages of stories cross-referenced with classic fairy tales, a strong critique of campus traditions, and something I was so immensely proud of that by the time I made my last edit I burst into tears. It was the most brilliant work I'd ever done and I knew I'd never accomplish anything like it again. It was exactly what I wanted it to be.

Ms. Mooneyes praised it and signed all the paperwork. "You've done marvelously, my dear," she said in her mumble-whisper. "I can imagine that your work will be a great point of reference for other students and academics. Please take a copy down to the campus print shop and have them print it on the good paper. Then you can turn it all in to the graduate studies office."

"And then I'm done?" I could hardly believe that I'd finally really graduate and leave the school.

"And then you're done." Ms. Mooneyes patted my hand. "Congratulations, dear. You should be very proud."

I whistled and sang and even did a little dance on my way to the print shop. I didn't have enough paper or ink in my own printer to take them a physical copy, so I carried my laptop there for a file transfer. A flash drive would have been quicker and more convenient, but I knew that it would be my luck I'd "lose" it on the way and just have to make another. At least the laptop was big enough to keep track of and was Gentry-proof.

Fifteen minutes later the print shop employee finished copying my file. "It's a pricey job, but it'll look good," he said, after I paid the (frankly) ridiciulous fee for the linen paper and the page count. "Should be ready in...let's say three days? That'll give us plenty of time to make sure it's perfect."

"Sounds great!" Nothing could bring down my mood; I even waved cheerfully on my way out the door. "See you then!"

If I had been paying attention, I would have noticed the shape in my peripheral vision. Nearly seven years of a Gentry-less existence had made me slow, had convinced me I was of no more interest to them. I hadn't realized that they were just far more patient than I was.

Someone ran into me and we became a tangle of limbs on the ground. "Oh my gosh, I didn't see you!" a female voice said. "Let me help you up."

I was dazed, but still wary of offers of help. "No, I'm fine," I said, untangling myself without looking at the girl. "Just a spill."

It wasn't until I reached for my bag that I saw her hand was already splayed out across it. A hand with two extra fingers and skin the texture of wood. With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I looked into her face. Her mouth was split wide in a grin — revealing six rows of pointed teeth and a crimson tongue. One of her catlike eyes closed in a wink.

I blinked, too startled to do much else, and she had a human form when my eyes opened again. "I...I have to get going," I told her, picking up my bag with a shaking hand.

"Yeah, me, too," she said, smiling just a little too wide. "See you around!"

As she disappeared into the crowd, I frantically tore open my bag. Her hand had been on it, but hadn't made direct contact. Maybe—

I let out a wail when I saw the scorch marks on the battery pack.

The collective effort of the IT department couldn't bring the laptop back to life. The hard drive itself had been fried. "When was the last time you did a backup?" a young man named Screensaver asked. "Any chance you've got your files saved somewhere else?"

I shook my head miserably. "Not since I started working on the thesis," I said. "The laptop's only a year old. I've got an old one with all my research and notes, but this laptop is the one I did all the writing on. It was my birthday present to myself." I was babbling, but it was all I could do to keep from sobbing.

Screensaver pursed his lips, clearly wanting to scold me for negligence but restraining himself admirably. "Well, you said the print shop is making a physical copy, so at least you'll have that," he said. "Maybe they'll give you that digital copy, too."

I took a deep breath. "Yeah. You're right. You're absolutely right." I gave him an iron bracelet and a large block of salt for his trouble. "I have to go. Stay safe out there."

He eyed me strangely. "You, too."

The print shop was closed for the night by the time I left the IT department, but I was there bright and early the next day. I explained my trouble to the clerk, who promised me a digital copy once the physical copy was printed. "Just a couple more days," he said soothingly. "It'll be all right."

I went away still feeling uneasy, and mostly stayed locked in my house for the next two days.

On the third day I ran to the print shop so I could be there when it opened. When the employee unlocked the door, I was breathless and at the counter almost before she stepped clear of the threshold. The young woman stared at me, but offered a smile even as I struggled not to grab her and demand my stuff.

"The boy who works here said I could pick up my thesis and the digital copy today," I said in one breath. "I really need them badly. The print order is for 'Book.'"

She nodded and disappeared into the back room. When she returned with empty hands, I already knew what had happened.

"The printing was actually finished late last night," she said, tensed as if sensing my rage. "Ms. Mooneyes picked it up on your behalf."

The bell over the door rang in my ears as I ran out.

I ran like I was being chased, like I was Usain Bolt, like I'd spontaneously grown wings. I ignored the stares of the undergrads who weren't used to seeing a thirty-year-old woman run in panic. I ignored the annoyed caws of the crows. I ignored the hiss of a cat as I literally leaped over it and kept running. My world had narrowed to me and the path to Ms. Mooneyes's office, and nothing else was going to stop me from getting there.

I didn't knock when I reached her office door, instead choosing to throw it open and step inside. "Where the fuck is my thesis?" I shouted at the figure seated at her desk.

It was not Ms. Mooneyes in the office. It was a man a little older than myself, with dark hair and bright grey eyes. The edges of his mouth quirked up in a smile — no doubt at my openmouthed horror at yelling at a stranger — as he rose from his seat.

"Book," he said politely. "It's a genuine pleasure to meet you at last."

I remained standing in the doorway, a hand thrust into my pocket to grip a salt packet. "I'm looking for Ms. Mooneyes," I said. "Where is she?"

"Gone," the man said. "Or, rather, I'm afraid she's been called away."

Called away like my aunt? Called away like the students not savvy enough to bargain? I knew what the words really meant, now that I had a cumulative eleven years to study the school. It meant that I wasn't going to see Ms. Mooneyes again.

I swallowed back the fear in my throat and closed the office door. "I want my thesis back," I told him. "Do you have it?"

His grey eyes studied me for a moment before he shook his head. "No," he said, gesturing to the open chair across from him. "Your thesis has already been handed off to its current keeper."

I kept a hard grip on the salt pack even as I eased into the chair. He didn't take a seat until I did. "Why did you take it?" I asked him. "What do you want from me?"

"Me?" he asked. "Nothing. I didn't take your thesis."

"The Gentry didn't plan this?"

"Oh, no, they did," he said. "But I'm not Gentry."

I eyed him more closely. He was handsome and well-dressed, without a mark on him or a hair out of place. Those grey eyes were too bright and too clear. It was as if he'd stepped out of the pages of a catalogue. He was the sort of man you'd lust after if you exchanged glances with him in a crowded room. Hell, he was the sort of man I'd be lusting after if I wasn't more concerned about where my thesis had gone.

Not Gentry? Bullshit.

From beneath my shirt I pulled an iron ring on a chain — one of the last presents my aunt ever sent me — and peered through it. There was almost no change to the man; he was still shaped like a human, still handsome, and still well-dressed. But he seemed surrounded by a soft silver glow, and his eyes seemed like they were lit from within. Baffled, I tucked the ring back into my shirt and stared at him.

He smiled wryly. "Human," he said, in answer to my unasked question. "But one who made a very, very stupid deal with the Fair Folk. So now I'm less than them, more than you. You can call me Between."

I snorted. "As in 'between a rock and a hard place'?"

"Sometimes, yes." He settled back in his chair. "I suppose you could say I'm their liaison. I serve as a negotiator between the Gentry and the students."

"The Gentry don't use negotiators," I argued. "They deal directly."

"Don't assume that your studies have shown you everything, Book," Between said. "Tell me: what do the Gentry do?"

"They make deals."

"Why?"

"To gain something."

"But why?" Between pressed. "What good does human time do them? Why ask for talents? Why trinkets?"

I opened my mouth and immediately shut it again. Because I didn't know. I had assumed that whatever the Gentry asked for had some value to them, but I'd never once considered why. They favored certain humans, they liked cream and flattery, but why? Why had I never considered this question after eleven years of living right next door to them?

Again Between smiled wryly. "It's power," he said to me. "Above all else the Gentry deal in power. What's a greater expression of power than making someone surrender something precious? They take what they do because it increases their own standing to possess it. The more impressive the deal they make, the more they are honored amongst their own people."

I was beginning to feel lightheaded and was glad I was sitting down. "So what you're saying is...?"

"When you made no deals your first four years, they were furious," Between said. "They saw it as you hoarding a resource that should have been theirs. So the offer for additional schooling came. And then they realized there was a greater opportunity to be had in waiting. You've put seven years of time, effort, and focus into your thesis. You've written the most comprehensive and flattering account of the Gentry's dealings in the history of Elsewhere. It would bring you attention and acclaim and a sort of immortality through your words. Not to mention that without it, you have no final project for your degree. You've made one document the most important thing in your life — if not an expression of your life itself."

Between folded his hands and leaned forward, his face grim. "And they took it," he said. "And now, if you want it back, you're going to have to make a deal. And because this deal involves such a large exchange of power, I'm here to act on their behalf."

My entire body felt like ice. I rubbed my arms to try to restore warmth to them and failed miserably. I hoped that Between wouldn't see my hands shaking, or hear the pounding of my heart in my chest. It was tempting to scream about the unfairness of it all, but I knew that the Gentry had a different view of fair than humans did. All it would earn was laughter.

"And of course my advisor is gone," I said instead. "So I can't even apply for an emergency extension."

"You could, of course, walk away from the school without finishing," Between pointed out. "But it would be mean you've wasted seven years of your life. And if you'll check your acceptance paperwork, I think you'll find a clause that explains a failure to finish the program means you'll be responsible for repayment of tuition and board and expenses for the last seven years."

I felt nauseous and wondered if throwing up on him would be considered a grave insult worthy of punishment, or the first installment of my repayment. "Not finishing is not an option," I said. "What do they want for it?"

"That depends. One of them will take a child in payment. Another wants half the years of your life. Someone else wants an eye, your lungs, the liver. All your memories of your aunt. Your ability to pronounce a word correctly. The taste of your favorite food. The use of your legs. There have been other...unsavory offers...which I can detail should you be inclined to hear them."

"More unsavory than what you've already listed?"

Between hesitated. "Let's just say that several of the Gentry are more creative than humans are comfortable with," he said at last. "But the point is there are a number of possibilities and Gentry willing to offer them."

I was about to inquire further when I realized what he said. "Wait, several offers? As in more than one of the Gentry has my thesis?"

"The seizure of your thesis was a joint effort on the part of several Gentry," Between said. "As a result, several are offering deals to return it. Hence the competing offers. Whichever one you deal with will be considered the rightful owner, so you don't have to worry about making more than one deal. Just whichever deal is most appealing to you."

"But which one actually has it?" I pressed. "As in, which one is currently in possession of the collection of papers known as my thesis?"

"Currently? None of them. Your thesis is being held in trust until you make a decision."

"Where?"

Between shook his head. "Book, I would discourage you from this line of thinking."

"I have the right to attempt to deal directly with the one who holds my possession," I snarled. "Tell me where it is."

He shrugged, almost sadly. "It's with the Wyrm."

The Wyrm. The one that lived under the condemned English building. The dragon said to be guarding faery gold. The thing that you never, ever went to see because it would kill you the minute you set foot in its domain. The creature with less than a book's worth of information about it because no one wanted to risk its wrath. That Wyrm.

"So you see," Between said, taking my silence for defeat. "It's better to find the least objectionable deal from the Gentry. The dragon will kill you outright, while with the Fair Folk you have a chance to come out relatively unscathed. In fact, you'll be able to negotiate from a position of strength, because the Gentry will be competing against one another instead of against you. I have a list of offers—"

But I was already on my feet. "Keep them," I told him. "I'm not interested in dealing with any of the Gentry."

He must have read the intention on my face; he was on his feet and blocking my exit in an instant. "You can't be serious," he said, holding the door shut with one hand. "It will kill you, Book."

"It has my thesis."

"And that sheaf of papers is worth dying for?" He actually looked scared. "Don't be an idiot."

"Let me pass," I said. "You have no power to hold me here, or force me to make a deal."

Slowly, he removed his hand from the door, looking pained. "Book, please listen to me. This is not a good idea."

"It's not your concern," I told him, confused as to why he looked so personally hurt by my decision. "I'm going."

Finally, he stood apart from the door and even opened it for me. "Then I wish you luck," he said. "If you live, come and see me after."

"Why?"

"So I'll know what to tell the Gentry."

I felt Between's eyes on me as I passed through the doorway. "Where do I—?"

But he wasn't there anymore. Perhaps the Gentry took him back. Perhaps he hid himself. Either way, I couldn't worry about it.

I had a Wyrm to visit.

Chapter Text

Chapter Four: Depression

What do you take with you on your way to visit a dragon?

Stories vary, of course. Some people claim you need a sword and a mirror. Drugged meat. Someone pure of heart. A talking bird. Enchanted arrows. Nothing but what you can hold in your hands. Nothing at all.

None of these dragons had been real dragons living beneath an old English building, though. There weren't instructions for those kinds. So in the end I took an empty backpack, my usual protective measures, and a flashlight. At least if I died, it wouldn't be in the dark.

The old English building sat in the western corner of campus, surrounded by fences and caution tape. Faculty was always quick to warn students away from it, claiming "asbestos" or "lead pipes" or "coolant leak." But no matter how dangerous it supposedly was, there was never any move to dismantle the building. It sat perpetually rotting, an eyesore even at a distance.

Everyone knew about the Wyrm that lived beneath it, but I'd never met anyone who'd actually seen it. Equally difficult was the task of finding out anything other than a barebones tale. According to what little information I had scrounged up, the building had once been the entrance of one of the Gentry's courts. There they hoarded treasures bargained away from students and laughed at the folly of mortals. Treasure, though, attracts dragons, and the Wyrm forced its way in and chased the Gentry from their former residence. The Wyrm claimed the hoard for itself and refused all deals the Gentry offered for its return. Since it was too strong to conquer and accepted no exchanges, the Wyrm remained safely ensconced in the old building, and anyone who tried to steal from it met their doom.

This was the part that troubled me: if the Wyrm and the Gentry were enemies, why did the Wyrm have my thesis? And if it had never given up anything from the hoard, how did the Gentry expect to give my thesis back to me if I bargained with them? There was so much of this scenario that didn't make sense, but I couldn't take the time to figure it out; the filing deadline for my graduation paperwork was the next week, and I needed to submit the thesis with my paperwork. Besides, I was afraid that the longer I waited, the more chance there was that the Gentry would retrieve my thesis to hide somewhere else, or would come up with a worse plan to force my cooperation. Time was a luxury I couldn't afford.

I suddenly — desperately — missed my friends from Elsewhere Anonymous. They would have been able to talk me through my options, known what to say and how to say it. But they were scattered to the winds now, either graduated or unreachable, and at least two of them only had a vague recollection of who I was. Flatscreen had left the oddness of Elsewhere behind totally and was working as a programmer at a big gaming company. She and her now-fiancee had met at a technology conference and were busy designing a women-centric fantasy game for mobile phones. Strings had stopped playing music after school and had taken over his family's antique business. He always found the most valuable and unusual trinkets in secret compartments in the antiques, and was something of an expert in the field by now. North and South, were by far the strangest case: they'd gone up to see That Thing on the Stairs immediately after their graduation ceremony and had never come back. Some students say that if you're near the stairs on a new moon, you can see the twins softly glowing on the steps, still keeping That Thing at bay.

Did those things happen because of the deals they made, or was it the shape their lives took when Elsewhere drew away? What shape would my life take, when I was gone? As I pondered these questions, I found a gap in the fence that would allow me access to the building. There was no more time for stalling. Gripping my flashlight in hand, I passed through the rotting doors and into the edges of the Wyrm's domain.

The smell hit me first. You know the way the reptile section in a pet shop smells? Like dead skin and heat and something else you can't quite identify? The whole building smelled like that. And looking back on it, there probably was asbestos and rat droppings and dead birds and who knew what else in that building, too. But with everything rotting together in heaps it was hard to tell. I tried to breathe through my mouth so I wouldn't smell it; I abandoned the plan when the taste of the air was worse.

My flashlight only lit a bit of the way in front of me. I wondered if it would fail in the presence of the Wyrm — electronics always failed around the Gentry, but I didn't know about electronics and dragons — and wished I'd taken the time to bring a candle or some matches. I couldn't figure out why the beam of light darted around so badly until I realized my hands were shaking. Despite my best efforts, I couldn't steady myself.

I gave brief thought to turning back and seeking out Between. Perhaps he'd deal with me favorably, perhaps not. But I wouldn't have to face a dragon in a rotting building just to get my book back. And maybe one of the Gentry was looking for something less damaging than a limb or a sense or a baby. Maybe—

Maybe you're a coward, I thought. And you should stop looking for the easy way out.

I felt a draft of moving air and shined my flashlight in the direction where I thought it came from. There was a hole in a wall that released a puff of air every few seconds, like a gentle breath. It must be where the Wyrm lived.

I squeezed my flashlight tight and walked through.

Since I'd taken pains to avoid everything related to the Gentry, I wasn't prepared for how beautiful their lost court was.

If I'd had to guess, I would have said the room in which I found myself was some sort of grand ballroom. The floor was made of polished blue opals that glowed like they were lit from below. Huge columns of dark stone spiraled upwards to support a ceiling almost 50 feet above me. Painted on the ceiling was a mural that looked like the clearest night sky, complete with twinkling stars and an aurora that snaked its way across the whole of it. Mosaics of precious stones and metals lined the walls. Delicately-rendered glass jars housed blue flames that shone light into every corner of the room. It was all so impossibly large and impossibly beautiful and impossibly magic that I was torn between gasping in delight and crying from sensory overload.

That isn't to say the room was pristine. Many of the dark stone columns had been knocked down. Walls were missing pieces of their murals. I saw what looked like smashed instruments and discarded garments. The air was stale and lonely and the whole place gave the impression that it had been abandoned in a hurry. The ruins might have been remarkable, but it was still clear that it was long past the glory days of the Gentry.

Still, if everything made by the Fair Folk was this level of exquisite, I could understand why the students of Elsewhere wandered into the odd places on campus. How could you return to ordinary life after seeing something like this? Why wouldn't you make a deal if it meant you had the chance for access to magic for the rest of your life?

I was so taken by the room that I had forgotten my original purpose. Then came a snore loud enough to rattle my ribs, and I remembered that I was still standing in a dragon's living room. I had expected to find it sleeping on a pile of gold, like the stories said. I didn't expect it to be sleeping in a coiled pile amidst perfectly-organized bins and Ikea furniture.

Plastic storage bins full of gold. Tables topped with jewelry organized in neat trays. Bookshelf after bookshelf teeming with volumes far more ancient than their storage vessels. Every bit of the Wyrm's treasure hoard was organized as if a museum's curator had gone through and prepared it for future study.

And of course, there was the Wyrm itself. It was at least a hundred feet long and about two and a half times wider than my outstretched arms. White scales gleamed in the blue light, bright as new vellum. Spines the color of fresh ink ran from the back of its head to the forked tail, and a horned crest in the same color made it look like it was wearing a crown. Despite what I had been picturing when I thought dragon, the Wyrm didn't have legs or wings. It actually looked more like a supersized, legless lizard than a mythical beast.

How did it organize the hoard so carefully without hands? I wondered.

The Wyrm let out another snore and shifted in its sleep. It was only then I could see my initial examination was wrong and it wasn't totally limbless; it was wearing a huge set of golden prosthetic arms. How they attached or how it used them were still mysteries, but speculation could wait until I was safely away. I was more focused on the three stacks of white papers (bound in clear plastic folders) that were gently cradled in the Wyrm's massive golden claws.

My thesis.

Wyrms are possessive of their hoard, so taking my thesis from this Wyrm would be suicide. But to leave it there, after coming so far already, was unthinkable. So my options were to leave here with my thesis, or to die horribly in the attempt. Not much of a choice, really. And I'm stubborn, so I took a deep breath and a step towards the Wyrm.

Tradition demanded that I be clever and bold and announce myself to my adversary. What happened was I tripped over a piece of uneven flooring and dropped my flashlight. It was the loud clatter of the Maglight on the stone that woke the Wyrm.

The Wyrm moved quicker than it had any right to. As soon as the flashlight hit the ground it was awake, uncurling itself and roaring like a subway train screeching to a halt. Reflexively, I covered my ears and crouched to protect my head — stupid, because what did that matter if it bit my head off? — and nearly shut my eyes against the sight of it. Golden claws slammed into the ground on either side of my body as the Wyrm wound itself into a little arena to keep me trapped. Venomous bile dripped from the Wyrm's fangs and its rank breath washed over me with each growl.

It's funny the things that pop into your head when you're about to die. Things like What the hell is the school going to tell my parents? and Holy shit that's a lot of teeth and Oh God why did I think it was a smart idea to visit the goddamn dragon?!?

Ah, yes. This is where I started my story, isn't it?

As I cowered beneath the Wyrm, I realized that it hadn't made a move to kill me yet. Its teeth were close and dripping poison, but I wasn't dead. I could hear its breathing and smell what it had for breakfast, but I wasn't being added to the menu. Were there rules to this encounter I wasn't aware of? Was it, like the Gentry, bound to certain behavior? It must be, if it had caught me trespassing and hadn't punished me.

It was only a theory, but it was all I had. I forced my trembling legs to stand me upright once again, hoping as I straightened that I wouldn't immediately pass out. Though I made myself look into the Wyrm's dark, catlike eye, my tongue froze in my mouth. What was I supposed to say to something so immense and powerful? How could I speak to something that had cowed even the Gentry? I had no words to offer it.

The Wyrm, however, had no such difficulties in speaking to me. "Well, thief," it said in a rusty voice. "Speak. What have you come to steal from me?"

The intensity of its eyes kept me paralyzed. All I could picture was the Wyrm's teeth snapping my head cleanly from my shoulders. Not even the Gentry would help me down here, even if I could call for their help. Would Between come, if I yelled for him? Or was I now officially a lost cause?

The Wyrm growled. "I am not patient," it said. "Speak before I grow bored."

How to address a dragon? I remembered the stories said flattery and awe, but I was too terrified to generate the words myself. I seized on the first that came to me: Tolkien. "O tremendous one," I said haltingly. "Truly, songs and tales fall short of your reality. I did not believe them."

The Wyrm snorted. "You have nice manners for a thief and a liar. But you quoted the passage wrong." It cocked its head to the side, studying me. "Or did you think I wouldn't recognize The Hobbit when I heard it?"

The situation was absurd enough to make me forget myself. "You've read The Hobbit?" I blurted out.

The Wyrm drew up its head indignantly. "Do you think my shelves for show? Do you think me a dullard who only roars and guards? A beast without brains? Insolent child. I should kill you for such insults."

Its teeth came close to me and I raised my hands in a halting gesture. "O beautiful Wyrm," I said, "the stories don't speak of your knowledge. They speak only of your wealth."

The teeth came no closer. "And of course it is my wealth that has brought you." The Wyrm sounded disgusted. "How disappointing."

"I didn't come for your gold or treasures," I said quickly. "I only came to reclaim something that is mine."

"Many have come seeking something they regretted giving to the Gentry. I have crushed their bones between my teeth. Why should I not do the same to you?"

"I didn't bargain this away. It was stolen and given to you." I glanced at its claws, but my thesis was nowhere to be seen. "The Gentry took my thesis so I would barter with them. I came to get it back."

The Wyrm's eyes narrowed. "You are Book? You are the author of Iron, Salt, and Rowan?" it asked. "The collection of fairy tales about these grounds?"

I stared. "You...read it?" I asked.

It growled. "I have not finished yet. The print is very small and the pages difficult to turn. Should the volume be published I would hope for a large-print edition."

This was more absurd than the fact it had read The Hobbit. Why hadn't any of the stories mentioned that the Wyrm liked reading? Why not mention it was—

A bubble of laughter escaped my mouth. "Oh my god," I said, unable to stop giggling. "You're a book Wyrm!" The noises that left my mouth were perhaps a little hysterical, but the sentiment behind the laughter was genuine.

The snap of the Wyrm's jaws inches from my nose was amazingly effective at ending the giggle fit. "Tread carefully, girl," it growled. "Being interrupted in my reading has not put me in a fine temper."

I was smart enough not to point out the Wyrm had been sleeping. Instead, I swallowed and offered what I hoped was an apologetic smile. "O Wyrm," I said, "my human tongue made praise sound like insult."

The Wyrm made a sound like a chuckle. "A clever attempt to dodge begging my pardon. Very well, girl. You say you've come to retrieve your manuscript. But what will you leave me in exchange?" It extended one of its golden arms. "The Gentry made me these, if I promised to keep your manuscript for them. They let me turn pages, and reach for my books, and scratch my snout when it itches. What can you offer me greater than these?"

My heart sank. So that was why the Wyrm kept my book — the Gentry had made an excellent trade to make sure it happened. The only thing I'd come with was an empty backpack and a flashlight, neither of which would be of interest to a creature with so many riches. I'd been so focused on taking my thesis back that I hadn't thought about what I'd have to leave behind.

The Wyrm wasn't Gentry; I didn't know the rules for bargaining with it. And truth be told, I probably shouldn't have even tried.

But remember how I said I was stubborn?

"Your books," I said, thinking quickly. "I didn't get to see them before. Can I look at your shelves before I offer you my deal?"

The Wyrm's eyes narrowed. "If you are planning on holding my things hostage—"

"I'm not." My mouth felt dry and I wished I'd thought to bring water. "I give you my word."

A beat of time passed. Slowly, the Wyrm's body uncurled itself from around me. "You have two minutes," it said. "Then I would hear your offer."

I practically ran to the shelves. "Nice bookcases," I commented as my eyes swept the titles. "Ikea delivers out here?"

"No. Students purchase and discard them at the end of the school year. Sometimes the staff drag them here for me, to keep me content."

"Then you don't leave the building?"

"And leave my hoard unguarded? Foolishness. The Gentry make no moves while I'm in residence, but that does not mean they would not reclaim this space should I leave it."

This didn't really require an answer, and the Wyrm didn't seem to expect one. I spent the rest of my two minutes reading each and every shelf I could — careful not to touch the volumes — and admired the leather-bound copies that crowded every inch of available space. I couldn't be sure without opening them, but most of the collection appeared to be over a hundred years old. A rare book collector would have had been weeping.

Yes, a collector would have been overjoyed. But a reader? A reader would have been bored. How excited could you be reading the same books over and over without getting to discover anything new? It was one thing to revisit old favorites; it was quite another to be stuck with an unchanging supply.

And just like that, I knew what to offer.

A growl came from the Wyrm. "Time's up. Either make your bargain or get out."

Knowing that it would let me out alive was small comfort. I was still about to take a stupid risk. "Your books are beautiful," I said carefully. "But I can't help but notice a lot of them are outdated."

A hiss came in reply. "Outdated?"

I fought the urge to apologize and powered on. "Yes. Your atlases will bear the names of countries that no longer exist. Medical textbooks won't name the newest diseases. Poets that died centuries ago and didn't experience the world as it is today. Textbooks without scientific advancement like particle physics and genetics. Biographies written by people with nostalgic biases. Everything here is old. There are whole book genres that aren't represented on your shelves at all."

"Such as?"

"Lots of fiction, for instance. Steampunk and cyberpunk and westerns. Science fiction and dystopian fiction. Confessional poetry. Modernism and post-modernism. Flarf poetry." I silently gave thanks to the extensive Library and curriculum of Elsewhere University. "And that's just a small sampling of fiction and poetry off the top of my head. That's not getting into the nonfiction. Nowadays producing books is cheap and easy, so anyone can write and distribute one. There are books on even the most obscure topics now. But you wouldn't know anything about it because all your books are just the ones the Gentry left you."

The Wyrm was still listening, so I pressed on. "No one comes down to see you socially — the fact that no one knows anything about you tells me that's true — and anyone who has been here doesn't come up again. They don't carry books on the way to steal from your hoard, do they? How long ago since you got that copy of The Hobbit? How many times have you read it? How many more years do you want to keep rereading the same books and never seeing anything new?"

The Wyrm's eyes had left me and were studying its shelves. "The last time I had a new book — before yours — was fifty-three years ago. A student came to steal my gold. I ate him, and added his things to my treasures. The book was amongst his belongings. I have read it hundreds of times and can quote it from memory."

It had grown thoughtful. Those gold claws tapped on the opal floor. Then it remembered my presence and looked my way again. "What are you offering, girl?" it asked.

There was no turning back now; I had to make my gamble. "I'm offering you the books you can't get on your own," I said. "If you give me my thesis, I'll bring you books to read."

"Hmm." The Wyrm's claws tapped the stone again. "How many?"

"Two per week," I said.

"For how long?" The Wyrm's eyes were bright with greed.

"Ten years." I had picked the number on a whim and it was too late to amend it now. "That's over a thousand new books," I added.

Its mouth turned up in an expression of displeasure. "And what are a thousand books to one as long-lived as I?" it scoffed.

"Well, for starters, it's more books than you'll have if you just keep mine." The words bordered on disrespect and had slipped from my mouth without filtering through my brain. My mouth snapped shut and I could feel the blood drain from my face.

There was a long beat of time before the Wyrm threw its head back and laughed. The beat of it was like a subwoofer in my head. "Bold!" it said. "I could leave you a wet smear on this exquisite floor and still your tongue stays sharp. You have risked much in coming here, so I will counter with my offer."

Anything was better than an instant execution. "What's your counteroffer?"

"Three books per week, two of your choosing and one of mine. For twenty-five years." The Wyrm's head titled to the side, watching my face for an indication of my feelings. I showed it nothing, so it continued. "In exchange for this, I will return your thesis to you. And I will allow you the privilege of writing about me for your next book."

Three books a week for twenty-five years. It would be a massive undertaking — expensive and time-consuming to collect them — and the Wyrm would need a lot more Ikea bookshelves. But in return I'd get my pages back, a subject for another book, and a big "screw you" to the Gentry that had tried to manipulate me.

What else could I do but agree?

When I at last emerged from the old English building — weary and dirty and dreading the fortune I was going to spend in books for a dragon — it was with my thesis in my backpack and a small bubble of hope in my heart. I had my thesis and I wasn't dead. I had my thesis and the Gentry hadn't claimed me. I had my thesis. I had my thesis.

I was too tired to smile, but I did allow myself to feel the tiniest bit clever. Who else had gone down to the Wyrm and lived? Who else had ever made a deal with the beast beneath the English building? Who else had thwarted the Gentry's long-organized plan? If I'd had anyone to brag to about my exploits, I would have been famous in an afternoon.

I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand. When I pulled it away, I could see Between waiting just outside the gap in the fence where I'd first come in. He was wearing a long, dark coat and had his hands shoved deep in the pockets. He looked positively miserable.

He inclined his head at me when I approached. "Hello, Book," he said. "You're still alive, I see."

Was he upset because he didn't get to broker a deal on the Gentry's behalf? I told myself that must have been the reason for his hangdog look. "Yes," I told him, as I slipped through the gap and out of the Wyrm's domain. "You came to meet me?"

His eyes flicked briefly to my backpack, which made me cling to it a little tighter. "You got your thesis back." It wasn't an answer to my question, and his statement wasn't meant to be taken as a question of his own. "What did the Wyrm ask for in exchange?"

Our conversation was filling me with unease, but I couldn't figure out why. "Books. Three books a week for twenty-five years."

Between's eyes closed and he grimaced as if he were in pain. When he opened his eyes again, his face was stony. "I'm going to ask you an upsetting question," he said. "I want to ask you how you think you can possibly fulfill your bargain with the Wyrm."

I frowned at him. "By buying books?" I said, unsure of why he was even asking me. "It'll be expensive, sure, but bookstores exist everywhere. It's a very straightforward deal."

He shook his head. "It isn't," he said. "Will you let me tell you why?"

"Could I stop you?"

"Of course. I won't stay if you don't want me here. But I think you should let me tell you your problem first."

My stomach twisted even as I nodded. "Okay."

"You know that the borders here are...thin." Between paused, tilting his head to the side as he considered his next words. "While attending Elsewhere University, you are subject to the rules the Gentry create. Free of this campus, you're no longer subject to their whims. Gifts you gain fade away, unless drastic measures are taken. Memories, too, disappear."

I nodded impatiently. "I know. That's why I'm trying to leave. I want to go back to a world where I don't have to panic if I forget to put salt in my pocket and rowan in my shoes."

He continued as if he didn't hear me. "Gifts and memories fade," he said. "Consequences do not. Promises and bargains still have weight. Breaking your word has a price."

I opened my hands and shrugged. "Not planning on skipping out on any deals, though. I made my deal with the Wyrm and I intend to fulfill it."

"How?"

"I already told you: by delivering books I promised."

"And after you graduate?" Between raised his eyebrows, as if pleading for me to understand. "When your diploma is in your hand, and you've left the campus, what's going to remind you to deliver books to a dragon?"

A slow wave of realization finally crashed over me. "Oh my god," I whispered.

Between nodded sadly. "I doubt very much your bargain with the Wyrm included a clause about retaining the memories of the Gentry and the Wyrm at Elsewhere. Which means those memories will fade after your graduation. Which means you will forget about your deal with a very powerful magical creature. Which means a number of very unpleasant things will happen to you after you leave. As I said, the gifts are temporary, but the consequences are lasting."

It didn't matter that I was outside; I had to sit down before I passed out. "There has to be a way," I said. "I can get someone to deliver—"

"What company would deliver to a condemned building? And what student besides you would ever visit the Wyrm?" Between shook his head again. "No, Book. You've painted yourself into a corner here. If you graduate from Elsewhere and leave, you'll break your word to the Wyrm and something terrible will happen. There's no getting away from that."

Over my years at Elsewhere University, I'd shed plenty of tears. I'd cried over grades and sleepless nights and a few failed dates and my missing aunt and not having the right flavor of cookie when I was deep in thesis-panic. But those tears had all been private and hidden away behind walls lined with salt and iron. The tears I shed then were uncomfortably open and under the view of someone whose allegiances I still wasn't sure of. Big, messy tears paired with whimpering and moaning. Tears that make other people embarrassed on your behalf.

When the worst of my sobbing had died down, Between was holding out a handkerchief. "Freely given," he said softly, noticing my hesitation. "Freely given, Book."

I took it and scrubbed my face as best I could. "So basically what you're telling me is that I was an idiot." I hated the quaver in my voice. "And that I've supremely fucked myself over."

"Not supremely," Between said. "There are still options for you."

I sniffed and scrubbed my eyes again. "Yeah? Like what? Another bad deal, but with the Gentry this time?"

Between crouched down in front of me. "Let me help you this time," he said. "Let me broker a deal on your behalf. It won't be painless, but I know them and how they work. Ask me."

I shook my head — not out of denial, but confusion. "Why would you want to?"

He reached out and took my hand. His eyes peered intently into my face. "Ask me for help," he said again. "You'll owe me a favor, but I can make sure your next deal is the last you'll have to make."

I was quiet for a long time. There was a trick in it all somewhere, in this silver-eyed man holding my hand and begging me to let him do this for me. I thought of my aunt warning me to get away from the school as soon as I could, and how the Gentry had taken her away even when she hadn't been on campus in decades. Of Elsewhere Anonymous and their deals that allowed them to leave — or remain — as fitting their bargains. And of the Wyrm beneath the English building even now anticipating its new books. Would it come after me itself if I didn't deliver, or send something on its behalf?

No matter what choice I made now, the consequences of my actions would follow me the rest of my life.

"Book." Between's hand squeezed mine once for emphasis. "Ask me."

What else could I do but agree?

Chapter Text

Chapter Five: Acceptance

In my second year in the grad program, I'd gone on a blind date with an anatomy student. (I know, it sounds like the setup for a bad joke, but bear with me). Anyway, he'd used this cheesy pickup line: "You're like my pinkie toe; I'm going to bang you on my coffee table later." After he finished wiping my drink off my face, he tried to salvage the situation by explaining that when you smash your toe, you don't actually feel pain immediately. What you're actually feeling is the impact, the pressure of the hit — the pain takes longer to reach your brain. "And if you just give it a few minutes," he continued, "I'm sure that the humor in my joke will hit you the same way."

The bartender had poured me a new drink — "Freely given!" she'd said cheerfully — just to watch me throw it on him again.

(He didn't bang me on his coffee table later, for the record. Nor did the date even get beyond that point; I went home and hoped I wouldn't run into him on campus. And a few weeks later, the guy tried the same pickup line on one of the Swan Maidens that hang out by the campus lake. Apparently there is not a pain delay when roughly half your bones are systemically broken by a woman who can bench-press a linebacker without breaking a sweat. Swan Maidens are no joke).

Anyway, the date might have been a dumpster fire, but the bit about the stubbed toes was interesting. I found myself thinking about it a lot, particularly when I'd made a decision that didn't have instantaneous consequences. Like now, after making a deal with an agent of the Gentry to correct a mistake I hadn't realized I was making. It was just a matter of waiting for the pain to hit.

And it took an agonizingly long time of it.

Three days. Three days of sleepless nights and decreased appetite and a graduation date that stalked closer and absolute radio silence from Gentry and Between alike. Three days where I hid in my house behind extra layers of iron and salt and rowan and left out extra cream and bread and honey. Three days where I wondered if I'd doomed myself entirely.

Do you have any idea how long three days feels when you think you're screwed?

On the evening of the fourth day, there was a knock on my door. Between stood on my doorstep, once again wearing his heavy coat despite the spring warmth. There were dark circles under his eyes and his hair was mussed. Even his clothes were rumpled and dusty. It was the first time he didn't look like a model out of a catalogue. Now he just looked like a guy on laundry day who hadn't slept in a while.

"Did they hurt you?" I found myself wanting to reach out to him and struggled against it. "Are you in pain?"

He offered an exhausted smile. "I'm fine. Dealing with the Gentry is...taxing. But it's worth it. I got us an audience."

I frowned. Gone for three days and all he got was an audience? "With who?" I asked.

"Your generous patron, of course." Between's mouth twisted into a bitter smirk. "Getting to him was difficult, but he's going to be your best bet for a favorable outcome. He's already invested in keeping you, after all."

I shivered despite the warm air. "So we have to meet him face-to-face?" I asked. "No chance I can get everything in writing?"

Between made an apologetic face. "You know how they are."

I did. For whatever reason, the Gentry preferred verbal contracts. I'm sure much of it had to do with tradition, but no doubt it was easier to trap mortals in bad deals with word games than written papers. But I really didn't want to actually walk into the Gentry's living room if I didn't know I was going to walk out again.

I eyed the horizon; it was getting close to sunset. The wary on campus knew to be indoors before the sun went away. I had the sinking feeling I knew our destination, but still asked, "I assume you're here because the meeting is tonight?"

Between nodded. "I came to escort you to Underhill."

Underhill is not a good place for humans. It's not any sort of place for humans. It's the epicenter of the Gentry's power, the Fairy web that human flies get caught in when they think they're being clever. Humans that went there came back wrong — or not at all — unless they were extraordinarily skilled and bold and quick-witted. And my visit with the Wyrm had shown me that I was, at best, only one of those things.

Dealing with the Wyrm was a lucky gamble; the Fair Folk were Russian roulette with five chambers filled.

"Will you be there?" I hated the way my voice cracked as I asked the question.

Between smiled with genuine warmth. "Of course," he said. "I am responsible for you."

It the closest thing to a vow he could probably make. It would have to do. "All right, then," I said. "Give me a minute to get ready."

Bringing too much protection into the Gentry's domain wasn't a wise decision, but I absolutely wasn't going to leave home without taking some precautions. I put extra rowan in my shoes so I'd be able to find my path. Salt packets in every pocket. Iron rings on each finger and one more on the chain around my neck. I'd already eaten dinner, so I wouldn't be tempted to eat their food, but I drank some water and used the bathroom. (In one of the stories I'd collected for my thesis, a student had bargained away a year of her life because she was desperate to pee. She'd been very embarrassed to tell me the story, and agreed only when I swore to change her fake name to an even faker one). Afterwards I put on a coat and slipped more iron and salt into those pockets, too, along with a small bottle of water in case my mouth got dry.

When I rejoined Between outside, he ran his eyes over me but said nothing about all the protection I was bringing. Instead, he extended a hand to me and asked, "Ready?"

He didn't flinch at the iron when it touched him. "I'm ready."

We walked into the woods together.

The world was wrong.

The trees weren't like any I'd seen.Their trunks twisted and curled like they were snakes, and the wood swelled like it was breathing. There were no leaves on the branches. I could swear they reached for me when I walked by, so I held tighter to Between's hand and tried to quicken my pace.

My eyes were dazzled by colors that had no names, and lights danced and flickered just out of reach of my fingertips. A sweet smell, heavy and cloying like airborne molasses, clung to every surface. Music like chiming bells sounded aggressively in my ears; it called to me to dance and sing and stay.

It was like realizing you were in a dream just before you woke up. It's frustrating as a writer to not clearly describe what I saw and heard and smelled and felt, but Underhill is designed to throttle human senses into submission. It's an eldritch location, after all, and hard for the human mind to comprehend. So I started staring down at my hand clasped safely in Between's and hoped it would be enough to keep me grounded.

"Still with me?" Between called back, without slowing his pace. I knew he didn't mean physically.

"Yes."

"Good. Take heart. We're nearly at the meeting point. Underhill will ease up a bit when we're there. It's like being in the eye of the storm."

Sure enough, there was a spot ahead of us where the music stopped sounding and the air stopped teasing and the trees pulled away. Sticks and logs were scattered on the ground like old bones — I refused to look to see if they were bones — and they crunched beneath my feet. The light here flickered like firelight even though there was no fire to be seen.

"Keep your wits about you," Between said. "Don't let them goad you into early agreement."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak just yet. Between smiled and gave my hand a squeeze before letting it go. I fought the urge to reach for it again, instead shoving my hands in my pockets to touch the salt and iron there.

We suddenly weren't alone anymore.

There were Gentry staring out from the trees, or just out of reach of my arms, or standing directly in front of me. Their forms shifted and changed every time I blinked or looked away. Their voices sounded like dead leaves in the wind; I couldn't understand anything they were saying. I gripped the salt packet and iron nails tighter, reassured by their presence.

"Never act like prey," my aunt had said once, when we were alone at a family gathering. "They will be looking for your weaknesses, for any sign of hesitation in your words or deeds. If ever you do face the Gentry, be bold and loud. They like to win, but they will be impressed by cleverness and bravery. And if you make an enemy of one of the Lords or Ladies, there will always be another willing to grant you favor to spite them. Never let them see you're afraid."

I drew my shoulders back and kept my chin raised. None of the Gentry had approached us yet, which meant that this was the audience and not the Lord that wanted to barter with me. I glanced at Between questioningly. He made a gesture that suggested I wait, so I kept my mouth shut.

A shape began to solidify clearer than the others and stepped forward. It was ten feet tall and wide as a couple of cars, covered in mossy feathers from shoulder to ankle. Three sets of bony arms disappeared in and out of the feathers, motioning as if to beckon me closer. On its shoulders was what looked like a huge owl skull with burning coals for eyes. Logs splintered beneath its taloned feet with each step it took. When it saw me, it spread its wings wide and flapped them, shrieking into the night.

Between coughed politely. "You are in the presence of the Lord of Moss and Shadow," he told me. "He was the primary architect of the plan to obtain your thesis."

So this was the one trying to make my life hell. I raised my head to look into the Lord's face; it was disconcerting looking into the skull and I hoped I didn't look as scared as I felt. "Greetings to you, Lord of Moss and Shadow," I said to him. If nothing else, the Gentry wouldn't accuse me of being rude.

The Lord of Moss and Shadow ticked his head to the side — I'd seen birds of prey do this when gauging the distance to a mouse — and clacked his beak. She has come to bargain. I felt his words rather than heard them.

I glanced at Between. He offered the barest of nods, encouraging me to continue.

I turned back to the Lord. "Your agent has brought me to discuss terms," I told him.

More dry-leaf crackling whispers from the surrounding Gentry. The Lord turned his head to study my face. He bent down closer, easily within striking distance if he had the desire to move. I gripped my protection tightly and kept my eyes on the hulking creature before me. I couldn't afford to slip up now.

She was brave to face the Wyrm, he said. Her book was returned to her without our help. But there is something else she wants now. She has her pages, so why else would she come?

"You see much, Lord of Moss and Shadow." Flattery was never a bad touch when it came to dealing with the Gentry. "Yes, I have come to bargain for something else. Completing my book means I've fulfilled my graduation requirements for Elsewhere University and I will be free to leave it. But I will also forget the things I've learned and seen here. I want to bargain to keep the memories of the Gentry and the magic of the school."

The Lord of Moss and Shadow laughed long and low in a tone that made my teeth vibrate. Ah. Her deal with the Wyrm has lasting consequences, does it? Afraid of breaking her word when she leaves? Afraid of what comes for her in the night should she fail to keep her bargain?

I stiffened as one of his bony hands reached out to caress my face. A long game has she provided us, he said fondly. It is almost disappointing to have her come to us now.

I ignored the way his hand ran its way through my hair even though it made my skin crawl. "If my presence is disappointing, I can go," I told the Lord of Moss and Shadow. "I'm sure there are others who would be happier to see me."

His hand fastened on my hair painfully and yanked me closer. She is ours! The burning coals in his skull had woken to active flames. She has been ours since she first put pen to paper!

I raised my iron-ringed hand, exposing a salt packet to the open air. The Lord's hand released instantly and he actually drew back. She dares? the Lord of Moss and Shadow hissed. She dares raise her weapons to us? We who first saw her talent and sought to nurture it? We who have been her patron for eleven long years? We who have provided her with a means to survive so that she would not have to draw her attention from her writing? We who have treasured her? She dares?

I was glad I had been at Elsewhere long enough to have discarded apologies. I was also glad that I knew enough to reclaim my talents for myself. "I was writing stories long before I came here, Fair One," I said. "Whatever claim you think you have on my talent, you are incorrect."

No. The skull didn't smile, but it somehow gave the impression anyway. We chose her long ago. Her aunt was incautious. She would read the girl's first stories to any who would listen. "Isn't she clever? Isn't she talented? I hope she keeps writing." The girl's words were unpracticed but had seeds of talent. We heard them. We would have her here, where the words would be for us. The aunt learned her mistake too late, learned she should have said nothing. She bargained to keep her memories to protect the girl.

My stomach flipped. I knew it was bait, but I still couldn't stop myself from asking, "What?"

The Lord's voice was full of pride. The aunt knew we wanted the girl and would bring her here. The aunt wanted to give her protections and warnings, but knew she would forget. "Let me remember," the aunt said. "Let me keep the memories, and I'll come to you when she's finished with her undergraduate work." She kept her memories. But she could do nothing when we offered the girl more school. The aunt did not think we would try so long. But we are patient. So the aunt kept her word, but we kept the girl longer and she could do nothing to help.

My aunt's last message suddenly made sense: "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you." I had often wondered what she had apologized for — especially since she had been the one to warn me never to apologize — and now I knew. She'd accidentally brought me to the Gentry's attention; everything she'd done since then had been her attempts to keep me safe from them. The deal to keep her memories was for my benefit. I was the reason she was gone.

How many stories had I written for my aunt over the years? How many had my mom happily mailed to my aunt — lonely after her late college start and eager for words from family — before one of the Good Neighbors had listened in? How scared must she have been when she realized she'd put me in danger?

Tears pricked at my eyes when I realized that I didn't even remember my aunt's real name. She'd come back from school laughing about how she'd grown used to being called Persephone now, and maybe I should just call her Auntie P. Even my parents and grandparents did it. My aunt had sold her entire self to the Gentry just for me to avoid the exact situation I found myself in. What a waste of a bargain.

I felt sick and touched her ring at my neck. Later there would be time to cry. For now, I had to get out of this situation and survive. I owed her that much.

"That was my aunt's bargain — her price — not mine," I said around the lump in my throat. "Everything you gave while I've been at school was given without strings attached. I owe you nothing. And if you will not tell me the price for my memories, I'll be on my way."

The Lord of Moss and Shadow trilled, perhaps a little disappointed that I wasn't more emotional. The price is obvious. Her memories only fade if she leaves Elsewhere. To keep her memories, she cannot leave. Instead, she will remain with us, our treasured storyteller, as we have always wanted.

I crossed my arms and kept my shoulders straight. "No."

He extended all six of his arms to me, as if asking for a hug. That is the price. She will come to us, remain with us, and the memories are hers to keep. We have delights to amaze her, the finest food to feed her, and love with which to shower her. She can see her aunt again, and share her pretty words with us. She will not age or grow sick, and remain with us forever. She is desperate to keep her memories, yes? This is what we ask to allow her to keep them.

I glanced at Between and raised my eyebrows. Was he going to make good on his promise to help me, or was he just there to watch me flounder helplessly? Very subtly, he shook his head and moved his hand in an unwinding motion as if to goad me to continue. I wanted to smack him in the head; the price was already too high, so why keep going?

The Lord of Moss and Shadow's eyes were glowing softly. He shifted impatiently from foot to foot. Does she accept our bargain? Will she be ours?

The question gave me pause and I frowned. It sounded more like he was asking me to prom than asking me to give up my life to the Gentry. Everything from his posture to his voice reminded me of a guy desperate to get his crush to notice him.

And then it dawned on me: he didn't think of this as a price — in his mind, he was offering me a gift.

Because this is what he'd wanted for decades. He'd heard the stories, my stories, and pined for the human who could write them. I wasn't convinced that the Gentry ever really loved humans — none of the stories I'd collected so far seemed to point to a true love match — but he did have a certain affection for me. Affection like a spoiled child might have for the puppy of their dreams. "I'll feed you and pet you and keep you healthy," he was saying in his own way. "And all you will ever have to do is perform tricks for me." He wanted me to be his treasured pet, and he thought he was doing me a great kindness by taking me away from the human world.

And this was his last chance at keeping me, wasn't it? If he'd held on to my thesis, I would have had to bargain with him and agree to his terms. But I'd made a bargain with someone else, and he'd been outbid. I wasn't desperate with my back against the wall, and I didn't have to deal with him exclusively. The only thing he could offer me was his twisted version of love, and even that wasn't going to be enough to tempt me to agree.

Despite what the Gentry wanted me to believe, I had power.

I licked my lips and hoped I wasn't making a huge mistake. "Lord of Moss and Shadow," I said, "the offer isn't good enough."

His scream sounded like a raging forest fire. His eyes were burning white-hot and his wings beat the air around us. For a second I was afraid he was going to attack me and I reached for the iron and salt in my pockets. But Between was suddenly in front of me, his hands up in a halting gesture. The Lord of Moss and Shadow paced furiously, glaring at me, but for whatever reason he wouldn't move beyond where Between stood.

She is ours, the Lord said, voice low. We have marked her as ours from the beginning. She will not find another of us who will barter with her. If she will not except our gifts, she will lose her memory and break her vow to the Wyrm. Vengeance will fall upon her head.

He stopped pacing and stared at me. She will accept, he growled. Or she will suffer.

Well, that was an interesting wrinkle. The Gentry couldn't take me unless I gave them permission, but there was nothing against them actively cursing me. The Lord of Moss and Shadow felt like a very old, very powerful member of the Gentry, too, and I couldn't help but wonder if there was truth in his claim that no one else would deal with me. He wasn't Royal — there's no way I'd be standing if he were — but he clearly had some influence with the others if no one had stepped forward to oppose him by now.

"Now, now, My Lord," Between said, sounding remarkably relaxed despite the furious Lord in front of him. "There's no need for curses just yet. Book cannot accept your offer, nor would it be safe for your Court if she were to do so. She has already pledged herself to the Wyrm and none here will risk its wrath by taking its servant."

The Lord of Moss and Shadow growled again, but there was less edge to it. She is ours, he said, somewhat sulkily. The Wyrm had no right—

"It is already done," Between interrupted. "And unless you wish to parley with the Wyrm, Book cannot be your possession. Let us then come to another agreement that might offer satisfaction."

He gestured to me. "You said that if she remains at Elsewhere University she will keep the memories, yes? There is more than one way to remain at the college."

Don't you dare volunteer me to stay on this campus longer, I wanted to tell him. Don't you dare. But I kept quiet; I could smell a plot a mile off and I wanted to see how it panned out.

Between took the Gentry's silence for permission to continue. "The departure of Ms. Mooneyes has left a vacancy in the English Department," he said. "And with the completion of her course requirements, Book now possesses the necessary degrees to become an instructor here."

I opened my mouth to protest and immediately shut it again. This was what I had asked Between to do, wasn't it? Bargain for me? If he was trying to get me a teaching position, maybe that was the best possible outcome. Or else I'd put my fate in the hands of someone who wasn't on my side at all, in which case I was already screwed.

"Think on it, My Lord," Between said. "Book would remain on campus. She would continue to write — and I daresay the school would arrange readings of her works for interested parties. And she would be mentoring classrooms full of students. She would know which talents to nurture and which to discourage, and it's likely she could elevate the quality of work coming out of the English program. Ms. Mooneyes read you some of her thesis, yes? It was full of magnificent tales of the Gentry. But there are so many more stories for her to tell and for her to encourage."

Between turned to me, watching my face carefully as he spoke. "She is a great writer, and a brave woman," he said slowly. "The school would benefit from her services were she to agree to stay. I daresay a number of students would find her invaluable."

He turned back to the Lord of Moss and Shadow. "You cannot keep her for yourself," he said. "But you can keep her within sight. And you will still hear her stories."

The Lord's eyes couldn't narrow, but the dimming of the coals made it seem like they could. She would continue to live at the University? And write her stories? And teach others to write as she does?

"I would teach them to write like themselves," I said, before Between could answer. "But as the best version of themselves."

The Lord of Moss and Shadow's hands stroked his feathers absently. For a long time he didn't speak and I was sure he was about to hurt us both somehow. After what felt like forever, he gave a deep sigh and tucked his hands back into his plumage. His eyes glowed a pale orange as he looked at Between.

We will hear the agent's suggestions, he said at last.

Between bowed, smiling. "Certainly, My Lord."

The negotiation took hours of back and forth. Between had amazing stamina for arguments, deftly countering any offer that the Lord of Moss and Shadow tried to pressure me into taking. Three plays on words I would have missed, subtext I was really sure I was still missing, and a few implied threats were all child's play for the two of them. Throughout it all Between remained calm and cheerful.

In the end the offer was this: I was to remain at Elsewhere University as an instructor of English. I would be provided with faculty housing, a salary and benefits, and vacation time. I would produce at least one new book per year and stage a public reading in one of the open-air theaters on campus. Once every five years, I would be required to visit the Lord of Moss and Shadow for a special reading of Gentry-centric stories. In turn, the Gentry would not attempt to take me captive or steal my things, and I could keep my knowledge of the Gentry and the magic of Elsewhere University.

I have no idea how Between managed such a beneficial deal, but it was easily the most stunned I've ever been on campus.

Even the Lord of Moss and Shadow seemed impressed. The agent argues well, he said begrudgingly.

Between bowed. "My Lord flatters me."

And does she agree to these terms?

I hesitated. To push my luck or not? I decided to risk it. "There are two things I want to add," I said.

Greedy, the Lord chided.

"They are minor things, Lord of Moss and Shadow," I said, bowing like Between did. "Firstly, I would like my aunt to attend my readings."

And her other request?

I looked towards Between. "There may be times I need to speak with you, more than just every five years. Between has dealt with both of us fairly, and I would trust him to do the same in the future. I would ask he be available should I need to call on him again."

The Lord gave a chittering laugh. Is that all she wants? To see her aunt and the agent? Such are simple additions. We will allow them. Will she accept the offer negotiated here tonight?

When Between gave me a nod, I decided it was safe to agree. "I, Book, accept the terms as they have been given. Do you, Lord of Moss and Shadow, agree to abide by them?"

Upon blood and stone and moonlight, we agree.

He extended one of his hands to me. It was cold and dry when it wrapped around my wrist. I felt a sharp pain and saw blood welling up from my skin. Sticky black ichor dripped from his own wrist; I tried not to think about how bones could bleed. I could hear the gentle pat-pat-pat of blood and ichor hitting the ground beneath us.

The pact is sealed, the Lord of Moss and Shadow said. And naught may break it asunder.

The coals of his eyes blazed so brightly that I had to shut my eyes against them.

When next I opened my eyes, I was lying flat on my back on the grass next to my house. The sky was just starting to stain itself with dawny pinks and golds. Between was seated next to me, idly shredding bits of grass with his fingers. He'd removed his coat and had stuffed it beneath my head as a pillow.

"Morning," he said once he saw my eyes were open. "Feeling all right?"

"I...think so?" I said as I sat up. "How did we get back here?"

He shrugged. "Magic," he said simply.

I glanced down at my wrist. There was no evidence of a wound. "Did all of that really happen?" I asked. "Did you really arrange that deal with the Lord of Moss and Shadow?"

"Oh, yes." Between's smile was radiant. "If you'll allow me to indulge in a bit of pride, I have to say the negotiation went beautifully. It's by far the best deal I've argued yet. By the way, it was kind of you to include me as a provision in your bargain. It will save us both a lot of time and trouble in the future."

He stood up and stretched, offering his hand to help me up. "You can expect a written job offer in the next few days. It'll be safe to sign it, since you've already made the important agreement. After graduation you'll be able to move into your new housing and there will be an office ready for you in the English Department. I'll be there to help you move in, of course. And then eventually we can talk about that favor you owe me."

I swallowed hard. "Right," I said. "The favor."

He laughed. "You don't have to be nervous," he said. "You have my word that it's nothing untoward. But it's not good to speak of favors in the open air, you see. In the meantime enjoy your graduation and the end of your time as a student here. I think you'll find that things will be much more interesting as a teacher."

Unexpectedly, he bowed over my hand. "Book, you and I are going to work wonders together," he said softly. "You'll see."

Between retrieved his coat from the grass and slipped it on. "Oh, I should probably mention your hair before I go. It's...different. Very fetching, though."

I snagged a few hairs in my fingers and peered at them. They were a bright shade of grey, which was interesting considering my hair is usually a dark blonde. "Is my hair totally grey now?" I demanded. "Why?"

"Closer to silver, I'd argue. But I'm afraid it's a side-effect of your deal. It lets Gentry — and people — know you're off-limits. Usually it's the eyes that change, but I'd wager the Lord of Moss and Shadows has a fondness for your shade of blue."

"It's permanent?"

"I'd imagine you could cover it with hair dye if it bothers you. Contacts work on the rest of us." Between laughed a little. "But like I said, it looks good on you. And silver has been a very popular color lately."

"Very comforting, Between."

He grinned at me and I found myself grinning back. "See you soon, Book," he said with a wink. "Take care of yourself in the meantime."

"I will," I told him. "You, too."

He walked away whistling, and when next I blinked, he was gone.

I stood outside for a long time, thinking. Eleven long years of resisting the Gentry had finally come to an end. Now I had a deal with a dragon and a job with the very University that had caused me so much stress. I'd made a bargain with the Lord of Moss and Shadow, and owed a favor to a silver-eyed man who I barely knew and yet trusted with my life. And by next semester I'd be teaching students how to improve their writing and likely bringing them to the attention of the Gentry I'd worked so hard to avoid.

I thought again of my aunt and everything she'd done to protect me. Of all the knowledge she'd gathered and passed on in the name of keeping me from the Gentry. How ultimately she'd saved me from making careless mistakes that would have put me in debt to the Lord of Moss and Shadow. She'd been brave and clever and powerful and I was grateful for everything she'd done.

Between the Gentry and the Wyrm, there was very little chance I'd ever leave Elsewhere University. The Fair Folk might have promised to stop trying to trap me at every turn, but there was a school full of students who didn't have that same luxury. Students — my students — were going to get taken and tricked and make bad deals unless someone helped them. Who was to say that someone wasn't me?

After all, I'd had a great teacher myself.

I smiled. Between was right; we were going to work wonders together. Wonders full of salt and iron and rowan, wonders of guarded speech and brave deeds, wonders of lasting friendships and clever words.

And I couldn't wait to get started.

Chapter Text

Epilogue

"I smiled. Between was right; we were going to work wonders together. Wonders full of salt and iron and rowan, wonders of guarded speech and brave deeds, wonders of lasting friendships and clever words. And I couldn't wait to get started."

The last words echoed in the spacious room and lingered for a beat longer than should have been possible. The Wyrm lifted its head when the final syllable had faded away. "That ending," it said, "is both resolution and cliffhanger."

I set the manuscript down in my lap. "Well, yeah," I said. "That's kind of the point. Finishing one story while seeding another."

"And I also can't help but notice that despite it being titled Book and the Wyrm, there's very little of me in it."

Groaning, I flopped back into my chair. "See, this is why I didn't want to read it to you yet. You always criticize." I glanced at the time on my phone and started packing up my things. "Besides, it serves as a good introduction to you. You're going to be the ensemble darkhorse of the piece. People will be clamoring to know more."

The Wyrm snorted. "Excuses, excuses. I notice you didn't spend paragraphs waxing poetic about how beautiful I am."

"Then I obviously need to reread that chapter to you next time, because you were very clearly awe-inspiring and badass." I waggled my finger at the Wyrm playfully, a feat I never would have contemplated at our first meeting. "You have so little faith in me."

"Would I trust you with my book requests if I didn't think you had a passing acquaintance with competency?"

I laughed. "I guess not. Anyway, I've got to get going. Staff party in the English Department."

"Enjoy your evening, Book. For your sake, I hope the Gentry aren't the caterers this time."

"You and me both." I slung my bag over my shoulder, but paused before I headed for my exit. "Hey, I've got something to ask you. I've been trying to think of a tactful way to ask this for weeks. But I have to ask you bluntly since I can't figure out a way to work it naturally into conversation. In the book about you, should call you by a name? And is there a gender you want me to mention? It kinda feels weird to keep referring to you as an 'it' and by your species."

The Wyrm chuckled warmly. "I was wondering if you'd ever be brave enough to ask. Yes, you may refer to me as a female in your book. And as for my name...." She scratched her belly with her prosthetic claws, thinking. "If you wish, I suppose you may call me Pages."

Her scales really did look like blank pages. The name suited her. "Well, then, Pages," I said. "I'll see you next week. Have a good night."

But she was already absorbed in the latest book I brought her, and made only a noncommittal noise as I slipped out of her domain.

I shivered when I emerged from the decrepit building. It was nearly the end of my first semester as a teacher, and the December air had a bite to it that made my teeth chatter. I pulled my coat around me tighter and rubbed my hands together to restore warmth to them.

Someone held out a pair of gloves to me as I passed through the gap in the fence. "You're lucky it hasn't started snowing yet," Between said. "I'd be chipping you out of a block of ice."

"I'm fine," I said. "But you're sweet to worry."

"Now there's something no one's ever accused me of being." He continued to hold out the gloves, then remembered himself. "For heaven's sake, freely given! They're from your office."

I grinned and took the gloves. "Can never be too careful," I said, slipping my hands into them. "Did you come down here just to scold me about my gloves?"

Between sighed. "No," he said. "It's not about the gloves."

I finally took the time to notice the dark circles under his eyes and his mussed hair. We'd spent enough time together by now that I knew he only ever looked tired and disheveled when he was trying to complete a deal for someone. But he hadn't mentioned any potential deals to me, and we'd been working in tandem for the last three months. Was he moonlighting without me? If so, why wouldn't he have just let me know?

"Between, what's wrong?"

His face was pained as he said, "I need to call in that favor you owe me."

This time my shiver had nothing to do with the cold. "Okay," I said, trying not to panic. "Right. The favor. The favor I promised you and we've never really brought up because there hasn't been a need for it. That favor."

"Book. Please."

I shook like a bird fluffing its feathers, partly to warm up and partly to get myself under control again. If he was using the p-word, it was serious. But this was Between, right? My friend who had been nothing but kind to me since our deal? The one who stopped by my office for conversation on his way to his next big negotiation? The one who had a smile that made me go a little weak in the knees every so often? The one who had almost — just almost! — kissed me one night when the moon was full and we were tipsy and I'd slipped on the stairs and twisted my ankle? And the one who never brought up the fact that we'd nearly kissed because I pretended like it hadn't happened? Surely Between, who had done nothing but treat me fairly and respectfully, wouldn't ask a favor that was difficult or dangerous or incredibly stupid. Because he was far too level-headed for that sort of thing.

He was still staring at me expectantly. "Right, the favor," I said. "Yes, of course I'll help you. What do you need?"

Between took a deep breath. "I need you to help me steal my sister back from the Gentry."

Well, shit.