Chapter Text
Two weeks later…
Springtime was in full swing in Hermia. Nowhere was it better felt than at the Crastle. Daisies and cornflowers bloomed in the window boxes, rustled by a gentle breeze. Birds perched on the roof where yesterday’s rain trickled out of the gutters.
In the early evening, few people were present at the speakeasy just yet, so they savored the quiet while it lasted. Tango hummed along to music on the radio while he put freshly-washed glasses in the cabinet. Bdubs sat at the bar, poring over pages of sketches for an all-new interior design of the speakeasy, and speaking animatedly to Impulse, who sat beside him with an arm slung affectionately around his shoulders. Bdubs wanted an art deco look with wallpaper to match, but Tango and Impulse were trying to convince him to keep the exposed brick walls. It was a calm moment, laughing with each other without a sense of fear.
Yet notably absent from the scene was their leader: Cleo.
Elsewhere in Hermia, patrons of Dogwarts gathered to dine and whisper gossip under the cabaret music.
Did you hear? They would whisper. The Red King got arrested, then had his charges lifted!
Nobody’s seen him in days, he must be really embarrassed.
Martyn arrived to act as an impromptu bouncer, keeping a watchful eye at the tables and trying not to blow a gasket with every giggling barbed remark he overheard. He promised Ren he would come and check on things, knowing that it would only spawn more gossip if Ren made an appearance himself. He had to keep a low profile with the Deserters breathing down their neck with teeth bared. For now, Martyn was just glad that the evening had been uneventful.
Until…
He practically gaped as his eyes fixed on one particular figure, sitting at a candlelit table for two.
Cleo—Cleo, the Zombie, leader of the Crastle and number one enemy of the Red Shields. She was just sitting there! Dressed in a dark pinstriped suit, casually sitting at the table like she was any other patron! Martyn stormed towards her at once.
God, he wished he could make a fucking scene. He slid into the chair across from her. “Are you bloody mad?” he hissed.
She looked up at him with nothing more than an amused smile. “You made it! Great.”
Martyn’s face scrunched, incredulous. “You have some real nerve coming in here, you know. I can’t say I usually care much for rules and decorum, but since when has it been a-okay to walk into your rival gang’s main establishment and have a fucking lounge about?”
“Oh, quit being so dramatic,” she waved off his scolding. “I’ve ordered some food and drinks for us.”
“Us?”
As if on queue, a waitress came by with a tray. Smiling amiably, she placed two glasses of orange schnapps and a shrimp cocktail in front of them. Martyn mentally noted her face; apparently there were several staff members he needed to have a chat with, if they were dense enough not to recognize the face of Ren’s biggest enemy. Or worse, if they had recognized, and let her in and took her order anyway. Good god, how much pride had the gang lost since the ConCorp job?
“I don’t even like schnapps,” Martyn grumbled.
“Don’t drink it if you don’t want to.”
He stared at her. She stared at him. Martyn drank it.
“So,” Cleo said, plucking a shrimp off the rim of the cocktail glass. “How have things been?”
It felt like a slight that she’d even ask, because she knew the answer was ‘bad.’ Even though they had their charges lifted and the bail paid, the Red Shields being caught in a failed robbery of the ConCorp Vault was not something that could slip under the radar of the underground (or the papers). And considering just how much they’d cost ConCorp—countless destroyed artifacts in the process of stopping the thieves lost them a lot of customers—Scar Goodtimes officially had his sights set on Ren’s head.
This, and their inclination to lay low was also why Martyn couldn’t afford to make a scene right now. In fact, it was probably why Cleo felt confident enough to waltz right into Dogwarts in the first place, knowing how little they could do to retaliate.
“We’ve managed,” he huffed. “No thanks to you.”
She just laughed. “You give me so much credit.”
“Don’t be modest,” Martyn said, a sarcastic flattery. “You’ve had Ren all crestfallen for weeks and it only cost you over a million dollars. Now, my turn to ask something.”
“Go on.”
There were plenty of lingering thoughts about things lost after the failed heist; Ren with his newfound approval from the Shadow Queen or Etho with a heavy payday. But for Martyn, it was one question in particular that consumed his thoughts, from the time when he first saw Cleo at the party on the Wonder, to when he watched Scott shatter a million dollar wither skull on the ground.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Don’t be coy. The skull. Were you just trying to keep it out of our hands, and you’d rather both of us fail than either of us succeed? Was breaking it part of the plan from the jump, or was that a Smajor original? And why—why any of it? Why even take the job, if you were going to cost yourself all that money?”
“Hm.” She sipped her schnapps. “It’s not always about the money.”
“That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard.”
“Here’s a truth, then: it was never about you. I didn’t want the Shadow Queen to have that skull because, unfortunately, I have a spine. You might not believe it, but Scott was hired months before your gang. He contacted us weeks before you ever even heard from her. All she told you about ConCorp’s banquet? That was information we gathered, that she fed to you because she didn’t trust me and wanted someone who would stay loyal to her, and Ren fit the bill. She didn’t say a word to him for years—until she needed something. Nothing good would’ve come of it and I couldn’t let it happen.”
“Ouch.” Martyn took a swig of his over-sweet drink. He’d always had his suspicions about Lizzie, but… Ren cared about her, probably too much. And Martyn cared about Ren. Also too much. And that was that. “I wouldn’t call it loyalty, though. It’s more like… devotion.”
She considered this, then smiled. “For once, I agree. There’s a line between loyalty and blind faith that Ren plays hopscotch with. Everything he’s built hinged on her approval. But she’ll never give it, because she doesn’t care. I still don’t know her reason for taking me out, but I do know this: she wouldn’t have needed one. Anyone could’ve been in that grave. The real choice was crawling out.” Cleo’s finger skirted the rim of the candle in the center of the table. The flames came close to lapping her skin. “The only thing you get from groveling on your knees is bruises. And I know you aren’t ready to hear that, but be a dear and pass it along to Ren, would you? He used to be my friend too. I don’t want him to be collateral once I make a mortal out of the woman he worships like a god. Honest.”
Martyn rolled his eyes. “You’re a melodramatic prick.”
“You must have a type, then.”
“Ha-ha. Shut up.” Martyn glanced around Dogwarts at all the happy patrons, and to the window where Ren’s apartment stood across the street. “Here’s another ‘ why.’ Why the words of wisdom for your enemy?”
Cleo shrugged. “I suppose… I’ve seen evidence of what I thought could never be true.”
“And what’s that?”
“Change being possible. I just thought you ought to know.”
Martyn didn’t know what to say to that; he didn’t entirely know what she even meant. He glanced at the band on the stage.
The singer was singing a love song, full of words Martyn was too proud to repeat, much less believe. It was the sort of thing that Ren would hum, curled up on the sofa with his head in Martyn’s lap, no matter Martyn’s insistent ineptitude regarding that mushy feelings stuff. Five years ago, the vulnerability of it all would’ve made him scoff and think less of Ren as a leader. But he found he didn’t care anymore. He stroked Ren’s hair and let him hum love songs. Was that blind faith, or a change in himself? He didn’t know. Maybe he didn’t care, either.
“One last question,” he said.
Cleo snorted. “Another?”
“Humor me.” He frowned. Opened his mouth, closed it, and composed his words. “Seriously, how the fuck did you already know we were also on the ConCorp job?”
A long pause while she chewed her food. Her expression betrayed nothing. Finally, she said, “Guess you’ll have to live wondering.”
Egg on his face for trying to get a straight answer, he supposed. Then, Cleo stood up from the table. She pulled her wallet out of her pocket and tossed several bills haphazardly onto the table before buttoning up her blazer.
She smiled at Martyn. “My treat, darling. I’ve had a bit of a windfall.”
He stared at the money as she walked away.
And lived wondering.
— ☆ —
“Don’t be like that! I did literally everything you asked me to! I thought you’d be happy, but it feels like you’re mad at me.”
Jimmy easily could’ve evaporated his cup of tea, judging by the simmering rage he was glaring at it with. His arms were crossed, sitting across from Scott at an outdoor cafe table. “I’m mad because I know you’re lying.”
Scott shrugged. “Can’t prove it. Did you see me commit any crimes?”
“No.” Jimmy opened up a manila folder, flipping through papers and reciting words like it was killing him to read them. “Spotless record. No criminal contact or reported affiliation. Extremely promising rehabilitation. Newly rehired at the Chromia Circus Troupe.” He shut the file, and his eyes met Scott’s. “Y’know, if that was actually true, I’d come and watch you perform some time.”
“Aw, Sheriff; if you want to watch me perform, all you have to do is ask!”
“Don’t even start with that.”
Scott just smiled, glancing around. It was a beautiful day, and he had the vision to enjoy it. One of his first purchases with his cut of the heist money had been a new glass eye (the yellow crystal one, for all its magical helpfulness, had not been tailored to his eye socket and thus wasn’t particularly comfortable). His new one had a simple night-vision spell on it, and was a pearlescent white.
“Look, you said, no funny business, and I took that to heart. Trust me. You better make peace with getting your way,” Scott said. “It doesn’t seem to happen too often.”
Jimmy slumped over in a manner that was not particularly commanding or refined, but he seemed too frustrated to care. “And you, clearly, got your way too, so… congratulations, I guess. Once we get through the last hearing, your parole is officially over. And hopefully it’ll stay that way so I don’t have to deal with you anymore”
“Of course. I’ll make sure to stay out of your hair by never getting caught.”
Jimmy gave him a look.
“I mean, I’ll stay out of your hair by being an upstanding citizen,” Scott corrected. “That’s what I meant—that’s what I said!”
“Sure.”
With a few more formalities, Scott left the cafe shortly afterward.
He had places to be that day. It was Pearl’s last day in Hermia before she left on a train for a brilliant world-trotting holiday. She’d moved the rest of her stuff from her old dingy apartment into her room at the Crastle, and it was just as much of a task to pack it up once again. Scott planned to help her with the ordeal and see her off. His heart ached that she’d be away for so long, but he also knew that she’d be back, and he couldn’t wait for that day to come.
Scott waited on a quiet street by a bench and a brick alleyway for the trolley to come, and take him to the Crastle.
But something caught his eye.
Suddenly, a light in the alley, as a cigarette lit up orange. A slow exhale of smoke, and as the ember dimmed and brighted, there was a glimpse of a woman’s face. Her pink bob, and feline ears.
Scott tensed. “What are you doing here?”
Inhale. Exhale. Lizzie leaned against the wall. “I think you know why.”
“Where are all your little guards?”
“Oh, they’re here,” Lizzie sighed, almost lackadaisical. Scott glanced around, as if they’d suddenly appear, but they didn’t. “Don't think I don’t know what really happened in the ConCorp Vault. The deal with Governor Sausage? Framing the Red Shields? Destroying a wither skull?”
Scott chuckled. “That does sound like something I’d do.”
“Here I was, thinking you’d be reasonable.”
“People tend to think that. They’re always so surprised when they learn it's not true. Surely you didn’t leave your fortress just to tell me that, right?”
“I’m here to say that there’s consequences for your actions.”
He snorted. He already knew that well. “Well, if that’s all, I have something to say to you too. I want to thank you.”
Lizzie’s brow furrowed. “Thank me?”
“Sure. If you’d never hired me, I never would’ve had any of this. It helped me realize I’m worth a lot more than a paltry one-and-a-half million dollars, too,” he snickered. “So as a token of thanks, I want to give you a word of advice.”
She stared expectantly at him, silent.
“You should really stop acting like you’re still the queen of the underground,” he said, as calmly as if he were saying that her blouse was really not her color. “Your syndicate has outgrown you. You’d probably have a better chance of surviving if you let them forget why you left in the first place. People like their money around here, and you stole a lot of theirs. So really, threaten me all you want. I’m not afraid of you. None of us are.”
“That’s a nice sentiment,” Lizzie mumbled. “But they can’t do anything to me.”
“And, Lizzie?” Scott continued. “The Zombie says hi.”
He couldn’t see it in the dark, but Lizzie paled, and nearly dropped her cigarette.
At that moment, the trolley pulled into the trolley stop. Scott grinned sweetly at Lizzie. “That’s my cue. Bye-bye!”
He got on the trolley.
Lizzie gazed at her cigarette. An emotion all too common tugged at her mind: a sense of fear. Fear for what was next to burn.
Damn Cleo. Damn those Star Thieves. Damn it all.
The Shadow Queen returned to her domain in the darkness. But she could see the light of the fire edging closer, desperate to spread.
— ☾ —
“And… it closes!” Pearl flipped the brass latches on her suitcase shut. Her Crastle room was mostly empty now, stuffed into boxes and suitcases for her to bring along on a new adventure. God, for a while she’d almost forgotten what money could mean. For so long it was an intangible force that harkened her eventually freedom from Hermia… but the new clothes and the leather luggage set weren’t bad either.
Across the room, Grian stacked several boxes onto Pearl’s coffee table. “Thank goodness,” he said. “You seriously have way too much stuff.”
She put her hands on her hips. “At least I organize it instead of leaving it all over the floor.”
“Hey, my floor is organized. You just don’t get my system.”
“How many times have you accidentally stepped on a thumb-tack?”
Her brother’s wings puffed up defensively. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
She laughed. Of all the loose ends to tie up after the ConCorp job, Grian had been the most frightening for her. She’d been terrified that he’d sold her out to Scar on purpose, content to let him shake her down for information, or worse. But after Grian found out about Joel, Pearl could hear even over the phone as Grian ripped his boss a new one, demanding to know why on earth would he send Joel of all people to interrogate his sister. Did he even think of asking nicely, or, hell, going to Grian first? Scar, evidently, had not thought of that. Grian still felt terrible, and had been running around to help Pearl out all week.
As it turned out, Joel had made a recovery from the gunshot wound, and to Pearl’s surprise, hadn’t said anything about Pearl and Scott’s involvement in the heist. That she knew of, of course. But… she had a good feeling.
“When’s your train leaving again?” Grian asked.
“This evening,” Pearl replied. “There’s still a couple quick errands I have to run. And someone important to talk to.”
Grian hummed knowingly. “Well, I’ll be back around then to see you off. I have to go make some bombs for Scar,” he said this with an eye-roll, like a child being made to wash dishes. “He wants to declare war on the Red Shields or whatever.”
“He’s not… you know. On our trail, is he?”
Grian scratched at the collar of his sweater, pulling his cap back over his head. “Nah. But I don’t think it matters anymore. All of ConCorp’s stuff is destroyed, not stolen, and Scar’s been wanting an excuse to take Ren down a peg for years.”
She laughed. “Good to hear. Be careful out there, alright?”
“You got it. See you later!”
She waved to him as he walked out of the apartment—and then he seemed to bump into somebody coming up the stairs. They laughed and exchanged greetings before continuing on. Pearl’s heart leapt.
Is that…
“Pearl!”
“Scott!”
Scott appeared in the doorway, grinning. The two of them embraced. Pearl was still re-familiarizing herself to the sensation. Sometimes, it felt like they were back in the Vault chamber, terrified in the face of failure and death. Pearl could so clearly remember the tears, the heartache… and the overwhelming relief that came with knowing her best friend was okay. She’d missed his hugs.
As they broke away, Scott looked around at all the luggage. “Look at all this! Are you already— is that a new suit? Excuse me. Are you already done packing?”
Pearl laughed, flapping open her new jacket to show its crescent moon-patterned inner lining. It felt nice to wear something that felt so… her. “Yes to both!”
“You look great .”
“Aww, thank you! I might be done packing my stuff but, but I’m still so glad you came, because there’s something I really wanted to talk with you about. It’s actually kind of a funny story.”
He cocked his head. “How so?”
“Well, it’s funny because I didn’t realize until today that I actually, accidentally… bought two tickets instead of one.” She reached into her jacket pocket, and pulled out the tickets in question.
Scott hummed. “Fancy that.”
“Yeah. So, rather than just selling it to someone else I was thinking about if there’s someone I maybe would want to invite to come with me. I thought about Grian, but I’m still a little mad at him for the whole Joel situation, plus he’s busy with work. So are Impulse and Gem. I went and talked to Cleo, but she has a lot to do with the Crastle right now and gave me some advice and… and I thought about it, and…”
Her gaze finally lifted off the floor, meeting Scott’s.
“I realized that there wasn’t anybody I’d rather travel the world with than my best friend,” she confessed. “If you’re interested.”
Both of Scott’s eyes were looking equally glassy all of a sudden, which was impressive, since one of them was literally glass. He sniffed. “You want me to come with you?”
Pearl rubbed the back of her neck, smiling. “Well. If you can fit it into your schedule.”
What does it take for the world to change? Surely, it needed something momentous. Unforgettable and dramatic, that could make the foundations of a city shake. A movement in culture, a clash of the old and the new. A war of syndicates, or a daring heist.
Or maybe, all it takes is an extra train ticket, and a hatchet, finally buried.
Scott stepped forward and took Pearl’s hand.
“I think I can manage that,” he said.