Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Rat Grinders aren’t so bad, Adaine’s decided.

Hands work meticulously in her spellcraft, the modified mold earth and mending spell she’s been working on for a few weeks now leaving her fingers, the two lodestones resounding in her palm as she paints the glyph in the air. “ Apart ,” she whispers, and Adaine watches as the earth around her at Loam Farm lifts and separates from the red shatter of the rage stars, with Riz right below holding a bag, collecting the remnants with the thickest pair of gloves he could find in Elmville.

Her eyes cast to the side, seeing Fig and Ruben joking about something Bard related as they hand pick through the sifting screen of shatter-laden dirt. Further out is Kristen and Lucy, replanting the bundles of lavender along the wood post fence line. Lucy laughs at something, and Kristen beams with delight. Fabian, Mazey, and Ivy have another sifting screen they’re going through, and Gorgug and Mary Ann look as though they’re taking a water break from reinforcing the broken deck.

They’d been here going on two weeks, and were almost done with the whole yard; another few days and it should be clean and, maybe not ready for planting, but certainly livable. Fingers twitch as the spell ends, both only lasting for a few seconds. It’s frustrating to cast cantrips over and over again, but she hasn’t found an easier way to arcanely clean the soils of Elmville without usings all her spell slots during the day, or routinely having to stock up on consumable spell components—she may be paid to be the Oracle now, but it doesn’t pay constant component use kind of money.

It’s frustrating to even do this project. Adaine had put up a fight, Riz too, when Kristen had originally proposed it to the party a few days after election night. She didn’t want to be involved in cleaning up someone else’s mess yet again —as if The Bad Kids hadn’t saved Solace three times in as many years—but Kristen had pulled the Sad Eyes after talking to Lucy, and if Lucy was asking, who was she to say no? It’s a way of thinking she isn’t sure she understands: how could Lucy, who was killed by these people, want to keep being around them? How could she want to see them succeed after performing heinous acts?

Eyes drift back through her party, and their mingling with the others. They all seem so … comfortable around each other now. Of course, all of them apologized—at least, Ivy, Mary Ann, and Ruben had. It took Mazey a few weeks to warm up to Ivy, but eventually they seemed to talk, and now all they do is hang out (she knows it drives Fabian up a wall). Kristen and Lucy had hit it off almost instantaneously—her and Fig had teased the cleric relentlessly, but truly, it seemed to be platonic. Two clerics that had experienced death. Kristen talks about Buddy a lot.

As she casts the spell again, Adaine remembers the Synod Mall, the rage she briefly felt, before choosing something else. Fallinel destroyed, the forest of Sylvaire reduced to the broken bones of trees. She remembers the helplessness that came along with that rage, and the desperate attempt to get away from it. She divined a future where she could find her mother—but not at that cost. Instead, she chose the future where her and Aelwyn are hunched over books, eating dinner together, still family.

It was hard to pick that future. Adaine tries to remember that when it comes to The Rat Grinders.

They were actually really interesting the more she got to know them. Ivy had the same wit and smart remarks that Aelwyn did, and the two of them fell into the same sort of comfortable banter, but Ivy wasn’t nearly as bitchy as she had been with the rage shard in her. All of The Bad Kids were obsessed with Mary Ann—even Gorgug, who seems to have gotten … extremely close to the kobold over the summer, and now that Ruben knew about Wanda Childa (Adaine chuckles to herself at this, that the ruse had even gone on that long), him and Fig were forming a genuine relationship based on their love of music, and not the insanity that came with tricking a kid to love your Alter Emo.

No one knows where Buddy Dawn went. Ivy remembered him being … obsessive when it came to the false god name Fig had originally given Porter. She briefly wonders what could have happened if Kristen had gotten through to him, had been able to sit and talk to him about what Helio truly was. Bobby Dawn left shortly after his nephew, to all of their welcome, especially Fig and Sandra Lynn.

Kipperlilly is still dead.

So … that solves that problem.

And Hakinvar had backed out of his party’s summer cleanup project forty five seconds after Aguefort had assigned it to them.

***

“I can’t participate,” he says. Nothing in his expression betrays his thoughts. She thinks about casting detect thoughts on him, itching to know what is so goddamn important that he can’t clean up the mess he helped make. Adaine wants to put her hands around his neck and squeeze. She wants to grab hold of his stupid horns and yank them back and forth until he’s dizzy. She wants to take the Sword of Sight and show him exactly how good of an Oracle she is.

Her own party stands in the back of the office against the wall, The Rat Grinders in chairs in front of them surrounding  Principal Aguefort’s desk. She watches as Lucy shifts uncomfortably in her seat. The frost genasi had asked them to come, to make a statement: if The Bad Kids would be generous enough to supervise their work this summer, perhaps Aguefort wouldn’t make the rest of them repeat their junior year. It was a solid enough plan, have herself and the others corroborate that they were doing their part to clean the town and use the skills they learned in junior year to count as a test grade.

Adaine thinks they should’ve had to take the Last Stand, like they did.

Kristen argued with her that The Rat Grinders would never pass, and that it was ‘cruel and unusual punishment.’

Principal Aguefort sits back in his chair, his hands steepling, one leg crossing. He levels a look at the dragonborn. Adaine gives off a soft smirk when his tail fidgets at the base. “Is there a reason, Mr. Hakinvar?”

“ I have some,” he clears his throat, “uh, family matters, to contend with.” When it’s obvious that Aguefort is holding for more information, Oisin sighs before adjusting his posture. “There will be a brawl between the cousins on who gets estate privileges and inheritance of my ancestor’s treasure, since no one has come forward to claim horde rights in her … death. As my mothers first born, it is my duty to represent our lineage in the family brawl.”

Everyone is looking at him. In retrospect, Oisin sits ramrod straight, eyes locked to Principal Aguefort. If she really admired him, Adaine would even say he looked, maybe not proud, but at least determined to be a part of this family tradition.

But she doesn’t admire him.

So she rolls her eyes behind his back.

Fabian slumps further against the wall.

Kristen switches from leaning on one leg to the other.

Fig’s fingers drum haphazardly against her thigh.

Gorgug won’t make eye contact.

Riz’s eyes squint the barest hint.

Ivy looks concerned.

Ruben rubs his hands on his pants.

Mary Ann fiddles with her Quokki pet.

Lucy looks … sad.

Aguefort lets it sit a moment, the weight of Oisin’s words palpable in the air of the office. “Well then,” he says, leaning forward to write something on his desk. “If you are not back in Elmville before summer’s end, I will see that Tiberia has a plan for your education. I would stop by her office on the way out and ask for an appointment.”

“It shouldn’t take longer than half the summer to get the family affairs in order, providing I … uh, providing I win. The brawl.”

“Excellent. That will be plenty of time—” and here is where Aguefort’s eyes become shifty, a glint of the chaotic wizard seeping back in “—to assist your party and prove your worth!”

The Rat Grinders left the office shortly after, Aguefort holding her party back to get parameters of the test, what needed to be done, and where. When they all finished, her and Riz with handfuls of notes on theory and to-do’s, she feels her crystal buzz with a text, and then another.

Fig stretches her arms above her head and says, “I don’t know about you guys, but FUCK I am hungry. Who wants diner food?”

Adaine hands Riz her notes and takes out her phone. Aelwyn’s contact pops up.

(aelwyn):  sister.
(aelwyn):  i have boxes that need packing and all this pizza i just ordered. would you care to assist me tonight?

Adaine smiles at her phone. “You guys go on ahead, I’ll meet you at home. Aelwyn needs help packing and is bribing me with pizza, so I know she’s desperate.”

“Does she need extra hands? We can assist if need be,” Fabian offers.

She almost says yes, but then remembers the state her sister’s apartment had been in before and quickly rethinks. “No, I don’t think you guys actually want to meet the cats in that state. I’m sure they’re all skittish from the boxes and might get panicky. Maybe at the end of it when we’re moving things back into Mordred. But thank you for offering, Fabian.”

Her friend shrugs, as if offering his help ever comes lightly. “Of course, Adaine. Let us know when we’re needed.”

“Yeah, of course. I know we’re on break technically, and don’t have classes, but I want to grab my textbook to work on a new spell this weekend to help us out. So I’m going to head to my locker and then go to Aelwyn’s. I’ll text Jawbone about being home later.”

“Okay! Hit us up if you need anything, or if Aelwyn needs anything!” Fig gives her a wink, and a comforting feeling washes over her. Sandra Lynn has accepted her as an adopted daughter of sorts, but Fig has also taken her in as a sister as well, and her magic has become a succor to the wounds left behind from her family.

“I will, thanks guys! See you later!”

Adaine heads off in the opposite direction, towards her locker and the wizarding hallway. She texts Aelwyn back:

(adaine):  you had me at pizza. just got out of a meeting with p. aguefort. stopping by my locker and i'll dimension door?

(aelwyn):  meeting with aguefort? interesting.
(aelwyn):  you'll have to tell me all about it when you get here. yes, dimension door.

(adaine):  oh trust me, you will want to hear about this
(adaine):  be there soon! love you

(aelwyn):  love you.

A smile on her face—her and Aelwyn are finally at the point where they can say ‘love you’ and not delete the texts and then send divinatory magicks to pull a gotcha! on the other. She walks towards her locker, the wizard hallway empty for half-day break or studying for rapidly approaching finals.

Taking the Last Stand was stupid and hard and she would never do it again, but man, did it feel good to not have to take junior year finals. Briefly, Adaine feels a guilt a come over her, knowing that she would never want to take the Last Stand exam again, but had actively wished for the Rat Fuckers to take it. She pushes that guilt to the side. The situations are different, she tells herself. 

Adaine reaches her locker, enters her code, and grabs the textbook she knows has her transmutation notes in. She thumbs through the pages, hoping to find the mold earth spell, wondering what she can use to beef it up a little bit, help her with cleansing the soil around town, when suddenly there’s a large bang around the corner. A locker being slammed. 

She hears someone yell, “You don’t get it!”

And against her better practices, she knows that voice. She just heard it in Aguefort’s office, deep, honeyed rumble explaining why he can’t help with the project she’s attempting to make a new fucking spell for.

She should go. She shouldn’t eavesdrop. Aguefort had told him to go to Tiberia’s office and request an appointment, and there’s no way he was yelling at a teacher.

“No, you don’t get it!” That was Ivy Embra.

There’s no way Adaine isn’t snooping now. She closes her locker as quietly as possible, placing the textbook in her backpack and slipping it over her shoulders. She creeps to the corner of the locker hallway, not daring to put her head over the side and double check, but keeps an eye on the shadows they cast on the floor.

Ivy’s shadow seems erratic on the floor—pacing? She continues yelling, “We literally all just got back to relative fucking normalcy, and you’re trying to drop out?! ” 

He what?

“No, Ives, I—see, you’re putting words in my mouth. That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant!”

“It’s not, though! Ivy, I might not come back!”

Ivy’s shadow stops, and then moves out of vision. Adaine quietly curses and keeps an eye on the floor. If they start moving towards her, she’ll have to think quick. Invisibility? Dimension door? “That’s fucking stupid, Oisin. You live in Solace. You’ve lived here for years . Those Kalvaxus supporting fucks don’t come close to the kind of family we are—”

He’s muttering “No, no, no…” under his breath while she speaks. Another bang, this one louder and more forceful, and Adaine resists the inherent jump from the surprise sound. “Ivy. Listen to me. I. Might. Not. Come. Back.”

There’s a deep pause. Adaine holds her breath, waiting to hear if they move. Did he mean—? What? That his family would … kill him? Her fingers twitch against the pommel of her sword, unsure of where to be placed. 

“That’s not … That’s not … no, no way. Oisin ,” Ivy’s voice sounds pleading. “They won’t do that to you.” Another pause. “You’re blood , you’re the Hakinvar namesake. They can’t touch you.”

“Ivy,” Oisin lets out an exasperated sigh, and there’s another thump against the lockers, this time denser, as if it was his whole body. “I wiped out half my clan in a single night, and while I won’t miss a single goddamn one of those traitor fucks, there might still be more.” There’s a rustling sound, a backpack being put down. She doesn’t remember either of them having a backpack during Aguefort’s meeting. “You have to be okay with that possibility. That I …”

“We already did that once, Oisin. For Lucy. I won’t do it again, I won’t find someone else.”

“Oh, and what? We’re just gonna give me and Kip the fucking treatment we should’ve given Lucy?” Sarcastic. Adaine can feel the hum of electricity in the air, the tips of her hair frizzing the way it does before lightning strikes. “The dignity of a mourning period?”

“This is different and you know it.”

“Yeah, and the only real difference is the anger I feel now is …” He gives out a heaving sigh, and the charge of the air diminishes. Adaine hadn’t realized how … tumultuous his emotions could make his draconic heritage. “The apartment is taken care of. I’ve paid it off for two more years.”

“Don’t pull that bullshit with me, Hakinvar. You don’t get to tell me I might die, get over it, you have a place to live still . I’d sooner live with my fucking parents again than replace you.”

Adaine hears as someone sits on the floor, and then the other follows. “You know, I thought I was supposed to be the obsessive one.”

“Well, you’ve rubbed off on me, you dumb dragon.” They laugh, but it sounds strained.

She should leave, she’s heard more than enough of a conversation she wasn’t supposed to be privy to. Is there a difference between divining and spying? When she chooses to listen versus being forced? It will take her multiple nights to sort through the information she just heard, and Adaine is about to leave, text Riz and fill him in on what she just learned, when Oisin says, “I thought … I thought not having the rage shard in me would make it easier. Would make seeing them easier. But it’s not anger, it’s … I don’t know. It hurts, in a different way. I spent years shoving that feeling down, that obsession, the need to horde. I hated the way it made me feel. And in one year it’s all undone. I feel thirteen again, biting back the storm in my mouth. I didn’t mean to lose it a few moments ago.”

Ivy sighs. “Apology not accepted, it’s not something you should have to say sorry for.”

“She stood behind me in his office and all I wanted was to—”

“I know. I saw. Fuck, I heard .”

“Oh. Well, that’s fucking embarrassing.”

“Yeah, a little.”

“Do you think Adaine heard?”

Heard what? She hadn’t heard anything in Aguefort’s office from him. In fact, he had been quieter than a mouse, sitting straight in his chair, almost tense .

“I mean, she was glaring daggers at you. But that feels par for the course with what you did to her.”

“God, I hate this.” Another thunk. Did he hit his head on the lockers? “She’ll never talk to me, Ives. If I could even get her to look at me without pure hatred I’d die a happy man.”

“You’re not gonna die. Not before I die.”

Adaine doesn’t know how to process this. It’s too much. After a moment of their quiet, she backs away from the corner, and doesn’t stop until she gets to Aelwyn’s.

***

“—daine, helloooo?”

Adaine focuses back in front of her, Kristen’s hand waving dramatically in front of her face. She blinks a few times, unsure of what’s going on, when she realizes they’re no longer at Loam Farm, but she’s sitting in Krom’s diner, at her normal window seat. 

“There she is,” Fig says. “Back on the material plane?”

“Did you have a future vision thing?” Kristen asks. 

Adaine stares ahead, Ruben in front of her with a fry in his mouth. Lucy is next to him, and then Ivy, and Mary Ann. They’ve unconsciously—at least for her—separated themselves by party. She had gotten lost in the memory of that day, the conversation she had overheard. “Uh, yeah, I think I’ve been in and out for a bit now. What were we talking about?”

Eyes almost immediately unfocus again, sliding to the window and looking outside. It had been early afternoon the last she remembers, and that feels like a long time to get lost in a memory, especially any memory that includes Oisin Hakinvar, considering it was fully nighttime now. She sees the Hangman outside, kickstanded next to the parking spot that is taken up by the Hangvan, and the rinky-dink four door that Ivy’s been driving all summer in the one over. Krom’s seems to be slowing down, with a couple spots in the lot opened up, which means it really must be later than anticipated, because the diner was usually busy until eight or nine. 

She’s had time to process that conversation, time to go over every single detail of his words and parse their meaning, hidden or otherwise. His clan—maybe others, she’s not well versed in dragon and dragonborn customs, and she most certainly did not do research, because she doesn’t care—participates in something he called the family brawl , where supposedly the winner comes out with whatever reward they are fighting over. The spoils, at least this time, are his Ancestor’s hoard, since no one claimed killing rights of the Great Blue Dragon of the Waste. There’s a possibility that those who fight in the family brawl do not survive to tell the tale. Oisin is the firstborn of his clan, or at least of his mother’s side. The only thing she really knows about dragonkind (other than Goldenhoard was a dick) is that they tend to be matriarchal, so Oisin winning would be … a deviation. 

Ivy and Oisin live together. Ivy’s words implied her parents … weren’t the best. Oisin knew people in his family supported Kalvaxus, and he ‘won’t miss a single one’ of them.

She isn’t sure what, but Oisin felt … something about her. Something obsessive. Something he blamed on his draconic origins. Something she never caught before. He doesn’t want hatred between them.

Well, that’s too fucking bad. Because she’ll hate him until she’s blue in the face dead. He made an idiot of her. She’ll never let him get away with it.

“—something for an EP!” Lucy beams at the gnome as Adaine clues back in. “I got to listen to it this morning, it sounds great!”

Ruben pauses in his chewing, a fry half hanging from his mouth. “I mean, it’s better than nothing, right? We’ll see how Lola likes it when I send it in.”

Ivy’s phone goes off, and Adaine watches as the wood elf reads whatever text she got and her eyebrows furrow. Headlights from a car pulling into the parking lot glare against the window for a moment before dimming from her vision. 

Fig scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Ugh, Lola. She was good for a bit, but that girl has serious issues.”

“Who among us doesn’t, let’s be honest.” Ivy contributes half heartedly. Her fingers flit through a few different screens, before settling back on one, watching something. Adaine gets a strange feeling when Ivy’s eyes go wide. 

“I mean, yeah, we’ve all got issues,” Kristen butts in, “but if we’re talking issues ? I vote Narad—”

Suddenly Ivy says, “What the fuck?” before harshly putting her crystal down on the table. She half stands up and leans over Lucy (“Oh, okay,”) and Ruben (“Uh, that’s my fries, Ivy!”) to look out the window.

Adaine looks at Ivy’s crystal, open to a text message thread with Hakinlame , with the last text sent from them saying, come outside, loser . Her head swivels to the window next to her, and what had been a vacant spot in the parking lot of a slowly dwindling Krom’s Diner to the right of Ivy’s small car is now occupied by a sleek, muted matte gold colored two door lowrider.

And getting out of the driver’s seat, as if she summoned him by thinking of him, is Oisin Hakinvar.

Her throat closes up. Every part of her tenses. She watches as Oisin steps out of the car and stretches, arms above his head, lifting the edges of his shirt up by his waist. Adaine abruptly whips her gaze to the table. She wants to leave, but Kristen is next to her, and Fig next to her, and Fabian at the edge, with Mazey and Gorgug in two chairs at the head of the table. There’s nowhere to go without climbing over everyone. She can’t dimension door, everyone would see her cast a spell. She shouldn’t want to leave anyway, this was her party having a meal after a hard days work, but her fingers grip the table’s edge nonetheless, her foot tapping on the floor underneath.

“Oh, you piece of—I’m gonna beat the shit out of him!” Ivy turns around and climbs over Mary Ann (who only leans back into the booth seat, still engrossed in her Quokki pet game). As she runs out the door, Adaine barely hears her call out over the roaring of blood in her ears:

“ That’s my best fucking friend! ”

Chapter Text

It’s nearly nine thirty when Oisin drives past the Welcome to Elmville! sign.

It’s a welcome sight, after nothing but desert for weeks on end, to see the town’s humble lights and homes, the gently paved roads, the greenery that still feels so bright even in the evening. He can physically feel the change in humidity, the windows rolled down as he coasts into Elmville, a clear night with the stars shining. It should feel good to drive back here, to see things still intact and working, to bathe in the quiet of night, knowing that what they did almost two months ago hadn’t destroyed the good things about Elmville.

Instead, what sits in him is hollow. Empty. Devoid.

Where there used to be anger, Oisin feels … nothing.

Well, maybe not nothing. There is something there, something he doesn’t want to give voice to. It’s not anger—or, at least not rage . The overpowering red that had laced his heart, had tainted his vision, had made him do unspeakable things, had helped him justify it . Maybe what he feels isn’t rage or anger, but rather the absence of it. The vacancy left behind by the shatter star. He’s suddenly very aware of his scar.

He’s suddenly very aware that he hadn’t needed to adjust the seats in this car when he started driving home.

It’s not bad, he thinks. His dad could have done worse. It’s not nearly as flashy as Oisin thought it would be, but matte gold just isn’t his style. It would’ve better suit one of the cousins, but there was no other way home that wouldn’t have taken an extra two weeks. He stuck out like a sore thumb in the Baronies, and Birchburg had some … odd people in it, who gave him odd looks. Oisin had driven straight through the rest of it, only stopping in Bastion City to gas up. The sleep deprivation seemed to be settling in, but if he went back to the apartment without telling the Rat Grinders , his party , his friends , Ivy, Ruben, Mary Ann, and Lucy that he was home, then he was sure he’d add a couple more bruises to the already greenish yellow ones lining his ribcage and shoulders. So when he rolls up to a stop sign right next to Krom’s Diner, Oisin grabs his crystal and pulls Ivy’s contact up, swiping through to see where her modified Hunter’s Mark placed her at.

It takes a second to load, but when it does, Oisin gives off a grin, because Ivy is much closer than he originally thought, as he looks over into the parking lot and spies his beat up silver four door. He quickly texts her, come outside, loser , and puts his crystal back on the passenger seat, eyes catching the ruined section of his backpack that once held the Rat Grinders patch he had ironed on.

His stomach rolls as he shifts gears and pulls into the lot of the diner. Really, what he probably needs is to eat; car snacks are only viable for so long. He parks in the open space next to his car, and quickly gets out to stretch and take a look in though the passenger side window, assessing the damage Ivy’s messiness has done to the interior when he hears:

“ That’s my best fucking friend! ”

Oisin turns just in time to catch Ivy barreling from the front door of Krom’s and right into his arms. The impact of her knocks him off kilter for a moment, and he lets out an “ Oof!” as his hand reaches out behind him to steady them against his car. He laughs and puts his other arm around her and squeezes. “Shi— Ivy! Can I breathe?!”

“God, I am so excited you’re home!” When she finally lets go, Ivy gives him a smack on his upper arm—the unhealed one, of course, his luck. “That’s for not telling me you were coming back!”

“Ow! God!”

Another hit to his lower stomach, “And that’s for leaving me alone in that stupid apartment!”

Breathily, he responds, “Well, maybe I shouldn’t have come back if I was just going to get beaten up again!” He rubs at his arm, watching her expression shift from stern to chuffed. “Besides, you Hunter’s Marked me, you one hundred percent could’ve just checked my location.”

“That’s not the point, you idiot.” She’s smiling though, and that hollow, empty feeling where the shattar star had been feels as if it’s beginning to fill. He looks behind her as the diner door opens again, and Ruben, Lucy, and Mary Ann come out to join them. Oisin gives them a similar dopey smile, the feeling that comes over him something profound and rewarding. He left … on not great terms, but respected, and after dealing with violent family, seeing them … he hopes they feel the same way.

Ruben walks up and gives him a low five; him and Mary Ann touch tails when Ivy steps to the side. 

Lucy gives him a wide berth.

It’s understandable.

Ruben starts them off with, “So … how was the Red Waste?”

The street lights in front of Krom’s diner are bright in his face as he leans against his old car, the weight of him giving it a soft movement. “You know, I was going to be nice and be like, ‘Oh, outside of the brawl it was good! Nice to see family again.’ But honestly? Place sucked. I hated it.”

His eyes travel out to the street, watching as a soft breeze blows through the leaves at the top of a tree. Bright green, even in the dark. The Wastes were seasonless. In the dark, there was just dark, lit up by the starry sky, cold and devoid. The days felt endless and hot, dry and burning against his feet. For a moment, stepping on the warm sand felt like coming home, refreshing, but the aching returned quick. It was no longer a salvation, but a sentence.

“I missed the color of Elmville. I’m glad to be back,” he adds. Ivy slips her hand in his and gives a squeeze before letting go.

“We’re glad to have you back,” she tells him. “Some of us didn’t want you to leave.”

“ All of us,” Ruben pointedly says toward her.

Ivy rolls her eyes. “Yes, yes, all of us.”

A smile on his lips. God, is it good to see them.

What are you going to do, Oisin? When you go back to that quaint little town and they don’t want you? When they shun you? Geou wux confn rerkir spical ekess ve?

Mary Ann tugs on his sleeve, “So. You’re alive. Did you win?”

Oisin grins down at her. “Yeah. I won the brawl.”

“You what ?!” from Ruben and Ivy at the same time.

He puffs himself up a little bit, his tail twitching. Dragon pride . “You are looking at the inheritor of the hoard of the Ancient Blue Dragon of the Waste.”

“Holy shit,” Mary Ann breathes.

“You’re joking.” Ivy hits him in the shoulder—the left one, thankfully, which isn’t as marred as the other. “You’re so fucking joking, aren’t you?”

Oisin shakes his head, the grin still plastered on his face. “No, I’m not joking. I won my ancestor’s inheritance. I also won clan rights, but—”

“Holy shit! ” Ivy yells.

Lucy pitches in, “You won clan rights? ”

“I did, uh,” he pauses. “But I gave them up.”

The brawl had been vicious. Brutal. One he definitely shouldn’t have survived if relying on just his strength alone. His cousins were older, stronger—Oisin should have died at least twice if he was being generous, three or four times if he was being honest. It lasted two days, and half the participants were gone before the first nightfall. The Red Wastes had no where to hide, so if you were spotted by someone who was stronger than you, you’d better start believing in a deity. His fangs hurt from tough dragonborn scales. Darragh had kicked the shit out of him, Sloane clawed through two of his tattoos on his right arm and many more on his back, Ceallach tore the fringe on the left side of his head. It took him a month just to get back to relative health, not even his general healing magic had been enough at first, only sleep had seemed to help. 

But for how strong his cousins were, Oisin had been smarter.

It’s a sense of pride at the thought. Dragonborn are a supercilious lot, violent when threatened. They all thought he’d gone soft as a wizard, wouldn’t be able to handle it in the wake of his father’s death, of his colossal failure just a week before. He had been scrawny and weak the last time he saw them, but if Porter had done anything for him, it was make him take a hit. If Jace had done anything for him, it was make him hone his skills. If Kipperlilly had done anything for him, it was make him think . He was a better tactician, better spellcaster, better conjurer than anyone in his family now. And they all knew it.

He hadn’t killed anyone. Oisin told himself before going in that he wouldn’t dare—not again. The clan was already smaller now by his doing, and would only get smaller as the brawl went on. The thought of taking another life made him viscerally sick after everything he had done. He hadn’t won by violence, but through sheer arcane mastery, surpassing even the strongest sorcerers in his clan.

He supposes Jace and Porter taught him something else, too: their weaknesses.

Being the last one standing had given him dominion over the hoard, and chief status of his clan. But he didn’t want it. Not even because they would never accept a fledgeling dragonborn, barely out of his clutch, but because that kind of power … that wasn’t something he craved. He was never a sorcerer, never had that innate magic crawling under his scales like some of his other brood mates. It just wasn’t for him. He saw what happened to people who reached too far above their station.

Niamh on her knees, screaming at him, lightning turning the desert sand to glass.

“I gave it to my cousin,” he amends. “She deserved it, anyway. So she … is chieftess, and I settled up with the remaining family and divided out what I thought was fair.”

Mary Ann tugs on his sleeve until he looks down. “How much was her hoard?”

He takes a deep breath. “After everything was counted? … Twelve million gold.”

Lucy’s hands come up to cover her mouth, eyes wide. Ivy fully sits on the hood of his father’s car, one hand covering her forehead, the other on her hip, mouth open. Ruben is hunched forward on his knees. Mary Ann has a shocked look on her face.

“That’s more than Kalvaxus had,” she tells him.

Oisin has had a bit of time to get used to the shock, the insane amount that everything had added up to. It wasn’t just straight coin, some of it was material goods with high prices, like the car that Ivy sits on, that Oisin had put so many miles on driving back to Elmville.

He nods. “Those idiots sure didn’t know who they were turning on.”

“Fuck, for twelve million gold,” Ivy starts, “I’d drag her ass out of the sky so fast.”

The laugh that comes from him is something sudden, guttural, and loud, cackle echoing in the mostly empty parking lot. It cuts through the silence that had permeated their shock. After a moment, he hears Lucy snort behind her hands, and Mary Ann’s look of shock has morphed into a large grin. He can’t stop laughing. It’s the exhaustion and the hysteria of the last year rolling together on top of the fact that he agrees with Ivy . He doubles over, shoulders shaking, one hand grabbing at his glasses before they slip off his face, the other holding his abdomen as he tries to make eye contact with Ivy and wheezes, “I—I said—”

Mary Ann lets out a cackle that sounds fiendish. They’re all laughing together, now. Ruben has fully sat down on the ground, covering his face, “Ivy just—Could you imagine if they hadn’t?!”

“I’m so sorry,” Ivy is shouting, even without his glasses Oisin can see the red in her face from the exertion. “I’m so sorry! I just—what do you think it, hah, what do you think it looked like—”

“When Riz just fucking shot her??” he supplies. “Twelve million gold, and you’re brought down by—”

“Didn’t he like, eat Kalvaxus?” Mary Ann says next to him.

“Oh my god, he did, didn’t he!”

Ivy coughs out, “Luce—Lucy, are you okay?”

Lucy is staring at all them, her chest moving in silent laughter as she watches the scene unfold.

Oisin is clutching his stomach, his mostly healed broken ribs hurting but unable to stop. “Do you remem—do you remember what Porter said to me when—”

Ivy is wiping at her eyes, as if attempting to save her makeup. “When he, oh my God, when he was like ‘Well, Hakinvar, better get your big boy spellbook’ or something!”

“Right after, right after we watched them take out like five dragons, just so serious. So into it still, and I was like oh we’re so fucked , and Buddy—Buddy—”

“Buddy was like, ‘We can’t lose with Bakarath!’ I can’t b—I can’t breathe—”

“I thought she was gonna kill him again!” He props himself up on his knees, “I tried, I tried saying that to one of my cousins and he just looked at me like I had sprouted a second head.”

“I kinda,” Oisin looks over to Ruben, who is now just laying down, Lucy sitting next to him, “I kinda want it on a cross stitch pillow.”

“It was so shitty, so terrible,” Ivy’s given up on her makeup, and is now just wiping tears from her cheeks. “I wish you remembered more, Ruben, it was so awful, and so, so hysterical.”

Oisin rubs at his face. “Just a motivational cross stitch pillow that says if Bakarath can do it, so can I .”

“I need you to sto—I can’t do this with you at all .” 

They all start to settle down, and Ivy lays back on the hood of the car as her laughter dies, her legs dangling over the front grill while Oisin straightens his shirt. Mary Ann pulls a napkin from her backpack and hands it to him, and he cleans his glasses with it.

“Where did you get this car?” Ivy asks, turning her head to look at him.

He puts the napkin in his pocket. “It was, um, hah, it was my father’s.”

She immediately sits up. “Oh, fuck, and I’m like, just laying on it.”

Oisin leans back against the passenger door of his old car, arms crossed, and says. “Don’t even worry. It’s not like I liked the guy. I just needed something to drive home.”

The silence creeps back in, the hysterics that had him in stitches before gone as the weight settles back in between them. Ivy knew his thoughts on his father, and Ruben had kinda known before the entirety of last year got wiped from memory. Mary Ann had quietly—emphasis on quiet—understood the tension.

Lucy didn’t know yet. About his dad.

He’s about to say something, when Mary Ann asks, “So, how much did you keep?”

Oisin looks at her, and then goes around the small circle and makes eye contact with everyone else. “After taking care of the cousins, and my mom, and putting some of my share in an interest account … three million gold.”

“Oh my God,” Ivy whispers as she slides off the hood.

He can’t believe it either, if he’s being honest.

“What are you going to do with it all?” Lucy asks.

Oisin looks to the cleric, and suddenly every part of him aches again. “I’ve done a lot of financial reworking the past few weeks, and I think I’ve got the final numbers.” He begins ticking it off on his hands. “A million straight to Elmville for damage control and repairs, including the school, Loam Farm, and the replanting project around the lake.” Second tick, a deep breath. “A million to the Bad Kids.”

Ivy chokes on full air. Ruben stops tapping his foot against the pavement. Mary Ann, who’d been fiddling with her Quokki pet game, stills. Lucy’s mouth hangs open in an almost comical fashion.

“A full million? A full million?” Ivy chokes out, coughing dryly at nothing. “Like a whole million ? A Milli Vanilli?”

He nods. He’s thought this through. “A full million. They can split it however they want. But Fabian shouldn’t have to pay for the damage to his house. Kristen didn’t deserve to get expelled. Fig and Gorgug have been jerked around by Porter since freshman year. Riz … well, Kip was fucking obsessed with the guy. That deserves a reward at the very least.”

And Adaine.

The thought hangs there, unsaid. Palpable still between his friends. No one says her name. He’s grateful.

A third tick. “I threw half a million back in the hoard to accrue, so actually I had three and a half.” A fourth and final tick. “And the last million … to us. I want to sponsor our party.”

They all go silent. When the moment lasts, paranoia crawls in, and he nervously adds, “If there is … still a party.”

There’s no movement from anyone. Oisin can feel the tension in the air between them, a taut string, a tightrope with no safety net. He swallows hard, the taste of ozone on his tongue, lighting behind his teeth. It isn’t until this moment, when that empty feeling starts creeping back in, that he realizes the vacant, hollowness in his chest had started filling with something else, something he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Longing. Aspiration. Expectation. Hope .

The grief of silence, of his friends—who he had just laughed himself to tears with a few moments ago—tiptoeing in the wake of the inevitable hard conversation. The one where they address their wrongs, where they acknowledge the missing person between them. It’s like eggshells, and none of them have ever been good at this: Ivy’s never been one for apologetics, righteous or not; Ruben’s ambition left little room for anything else in his heart; Mary Ann was … Mary Ann, the quiet, unassuming, go with the flow type; and Oisin’s pride would be the death of him.

But there is no pride now. He stands before them, offering everything he can, everything he has, and it won’t ruin his ego if they decide there’s no more party, but it will rip his heart to shreds.

He hadn’t realized how much he assumed they’d still be together. It feels stupid now, his planning on sponsorship, in the face of Ivy’s tight expression, Ruben’s nervous tapping, Lucy's big doe eyes staring at him with pity. He feels the fool, and he can’t tell if it was Porter’s fault this time, or his own for placing the expectation.

Mary Ann tugs on his sleeve again. “I don’t want to be a Rat Grinder anymore.”

Oisin’s heart breaks. There’s a sinkhole opening up in the middle of his chest, threatening to swallow him whole. It’s such a blindside, and he feels stupid for having even thought anything other than why would they want to be in a party with you . He can feel the storm in his veins, but Mary Ann keeps hold of his eyes, and there’s something … expectant in her gaze.

And it hits him. Like a ton of bricks, it hits him.

Oisin sets his expression and nods at her, goes over to his father’s car, opens the driver door and reaches inside. He stares at the ruined section of his backpack on the passenger seat for a moment, the front pocket that once had the Rat Grinders patch attached, before opening the zipper and pulling out the patch. He shuts the car door, walks back to the front and holds it up, the tatters of thread hanging off it. “I don’t want to be a Rat Grinder, either.”

He throws it down on the ground in front of them.

There’s quiet again, and then Ivy grabs her crystal and flips it around. Oisin watches as she tears a sticker off the back, crumples it in her hand, and throws it down with his patch. “Fuck that stupid ass party, it got me nothing but trouble.” She flips off the ground before crossing her arms. 

Ruben stands up, leverages his finger under the patch on his sleeve, and tears it off. He looks at everyone before tossing it on the ground with the rest. “It’s time for a new sound. I don’t need to be a Rat Grinder for that.”

Mary Ann shrugs her backpack off. “We don’t grind rats,” as she takes off her patch and throws it in the middle.

All four of them look at Lucy, and Oisin’s heart beats quickly as he watches for her reaction. She stands tall, her braided hair slightly askew from the laughing fit earlier. Her face feels impenetrable and, not for the first time, does Oisin attempt to scrub over the memory he has of Lucy’s body mangled in the woods, his hands on her ribs, his claw marks in the trees, with better memories. Her face laughing, her eyes crinkled in the corners, her hands on Ruben’s shoulder.

She looks at all of them.

She saves Oisin for last.

He watches as she takes a deep breath, and offers something … plaintive. “I was never a Rat Grinder.”

Ivy looks at him. “We need a new name.”

Ruben quietly says, “There’s five of us this time.”

Oisin looks at Lucy, gauges her reaction. She bites her bottom lip before closing her eyes, and she nods.

He understands what she’s feeling. Because he feels it, too.

It’s weird … without Kipperlilly here. The Rat Grinders was a dig at her, at her leadership, at her strange obsession with getting better than the Bad Kids. It hadn’t been so strange to him, especially when he was revivified with Ankarna’s rage star in him—he knows obsession, how it gets under your skin, between your muscles, wraps itself around your bones and sits and waits and marks its territory, on the verge of sinking its teeth into anyone or anything that vaguely might threaten it. It’s ingrained in him, in his being, and he had given Kip leeway for hers, understanding what it does.

It was stupid of him. He’d never do it again.

You don’t give into your obsessions.

That’s how you end up here.

He knows they’re not ready for this conversation, not prepared for it. It’s not the time or place, anyway. So Oisin nods with her, and asks, “How’s the summer project going? I’m back, and I want to help.”

The tension doesn’t … evaporate, but it does lessen, to a degree. Mary Ann says, “We did Thistlespring Tree first, because it’s a Root Warden. It only took a week or so.”

“Adaine made a spell to help move things along, to separate out the dirt and the shatter stars,” Ruben adds.

Oisin doesn’t dwell too long on that, but there’s a deep part of him that acknowledges her intellect. She would .

“Has anyone done Lake Shimmerstone yet?” he asks.

The quiet returns, everyone’s expressions shifting to something akin to avoidance. Lucy takes a deep breath, opening her eyes. “No, I haven’t … wanted to go back. So we’ve put it off, and we’re doing Loam Farm right now. But I suppose we can’t do that for much longer.”

Oisin keeps his eyes locked on her. A blooming starts in his chest, and scar tissue of where the shattar star had been starts to ache again, reminding him. “I’ll take care of it,” he offers suddenly.

Lucy looks up in shock. Oisin makes a note of her large eyes, a wetness clinging to the inside corners. “What? No, I can’t make you do that just because I don’t—Absolutely not, you can’t do it alone.”

“Luce,” his voice quiet, a sad smile appearing. She’d go back to Shimmerstone so he didn’t have to be alone. She is so kind. She has always been so kind. It’s good to know that a year long death hasn’t taken that from her. For a moment, a blissful one, he thinks maybe his party—his friends —actually have a real chance at recovery. If Lucy can still be kind after so much done to her. “I gotta participate in this project somehow. I won’t make you go back there, ever. Especially if you’re not ready.”

“You’re not making me, though!”

He reaches a hand out, a gesture of peace, wanting to interlock them together and work through it, and Lucy, ever so subtly, flinches .

Oisin’s entire world comes crashing down on him.

It has to be visible on his face, the surprise, the hurt, the resignation that Lucy wouldn’t want him to touch her , because the shock hits her just as hard, doe eyes flitting between his and his still offered hand, half-hearted and limp at the wrist now. “No, Oisin, no, I didn’t mean—”

He needs her to stop. “Lucy, I get it. I—”

Ruben and Mary Ann have taken a step back, Ivy standing straight against the front of the car, tense and ready for … something, anything, who knows what. Lucy makes quick back and forth eye contact with all of them, pleading. “Please, no, I don’t want you to think—I love you so much, Oisin. Please.”

His chest is tight, the red scar feeling hot and itchy. His frills twitch, and the tear in his right one stings as it moves, flattens against his skull. His tail sweeps low behind him. “You can be mad at me, Lucy. God knows I’m mad at myself.”

“No!” Her voice is loud, one of her hands comes up to cover her mouth, and her chest heaves. It’s so easy for them nowadays to give into the emotions as they come barreling in. After feeling nothing but anger—and in Lucy’s case, nothing at all—for so long, any other emotion is a welcome treat. Except for this one, he thinks. Is it possible for the hollow emptiness to dig itself even further into his chest? Can the hollow become more hollow? Lucy shakes her head and shuts her eyes tight. “No, I’m not mad at you! I just—”

Ivy takes a step towards her and gently raises a hand to rub at the cleric’s back. The sight is enough to drive him sick. Because Ivy can touch Lucy. Because Ivy didn’t kill Lucy. The base of his tail fidgets, and he feels the end wack against the curb in a loud thump. His stomach flips, and it registers in his head that hasn’t eaten anything but a granola bar and coffee since that morning, so there would be nothing to throw up even if he wanted to.

He doesn’t deserve to touch her after what he did.

Oisin’s next words come out broken, strangled in a way he wasn’t expecting. “You know how sorry I am, right?”

Her eyes open. There are tear tracks on her cheeks, he can see it from where he stands, the wet of her eye lashes. He made her fucking cry . A self loathing settles in right where the hollowness forms. “ Of course I know. I—I know you never would have—If they hadn’t—if she …”

A pause between everyone, and it’s so quiet he can hear the rustling of their clothes as they breath.

If Kipperlilly hadn’t.

Oisin watches as Lucy’s lip trembles, and she pulls a face as if she’s going to sob, and suddenly she’s crossed the divide that’s appeared between them, running into him, her arms interlocking behind his back and her face in the crook of his neck. Her chest heaves into his, and Oisin’s arms to gently embrace her, feeling the soft of her sweater between his fingers as he grips tight to one of her shoulder blades, the other snaking up to cradle the back of her head and embed in her hair, playing at her crown braids. He nuzzles into her.

To have her flinch … to see it, and then hold her. He hadn’t done this in over a year, and his ribcage shakes with an intake of air as he settles into her, and she into him. There’s a wracking in her shoulders, and a muffled sob from her as her arms tighten.

And they stand like that for a few more moments. Until she’s calmed down. Until he’s calmed down.

Because everything feels so overwhelming now.

“Lucy,” he mumbles by her ear. “Lucy, can I drive you home? Do you want to go home?”

There’s a long pause before she nods her head against his shoulder. “Please take me home, Oisin.”

He glances up. Ivy is standing in the same spot by where Lucy had been, but Ruben and Mary Ann have moved into stand next to her. All three of them nod, having heard his question and Lucy’s answer. He doesn’t want to leave them, but Lucy needs some time to collect herself, and even though he loves all of them dearly, he also needs time to collect himself.

Oisin’s eyes scan the parking lot quickly, looking for something, anything, in order to make a plan. He turns to the left—

And the Bad Kids are plastered to the diner window, staring out at them. Watching.

He sees Adaine.

It’s a stupid idea, but he does it anyway. His fingers, barely leaving Lucy’s back, point directly at Adaine Abernant and he sends off a message:

I’m bringing Lucy home for the night. Can they stay with you until I come back?

He keeps eyes locked with her, sees when she gets the message. For an unbearable moment, he braces himself for the flavor of her magic when she eventually sends a message back. And he waits. And waits. But she isn’t responding. Until the allotted time finally passes and he watches as she takes a deep breath and nods her head yes.

He shoots off another one before he can stop himself:

Thank you.

Adaine nods again.

Before he can figure out what he’s feeling, Oisin looks back at Ivy and says, “Stay with the others, I’ll drop Lucy off and come back.”

There’s a shadow that flickers over Ivy’s expression, but it’s gone just as fast as it arrived. “Yeah, absolutely.” Ivy meets him at the passenger side door of his new car with Lucy, and helps her get in. When the car door shuts, she mumbles, “Text me.”

He nods, gets in the car, buckles up, backs out of the lot, and heads towards Lucy’s home.

Chapter Text

They’re all watching out the window as the rest of the Rat Grinders leave the diner. Gorgug, Mazey, and Fabian have slid into their seats of the booth and look outside, Riz sneaking out from between Fig and Kristen under the table and at the window. Adaine watches as they all talk and say hi.

“Damn, that car is hot,” Kristen says next to her.

“It doesn’t really look driven,” Fabian adds.

Mazey puts a hand on his shoulder. “It’s probably new.”

“Does that mean he got his inheritance?” Fig asks.

Riz shrugs. “Dumb move to spend it on a car when you have one.”

“Kind of … tatious,” Kristen drags out.

Adaine looks at her. “What?”

Kristen grins, holding in laughter. “You know, tatious, like if something is ostentatious, then its opposite is tatious.”

It’s enough to distract her, and Adaine is secretly grateful for yet another installment of Words with Kristen Applebees. She gives her friend an incredulous look. “That isn’t—tatious isn’t a word. And it’s wrong.”

Fig chuckles on the other side of Kristen. “Oh my God, did you think tatious, like if you split the word up, that it means the opposite?”

“Like how if something is replaceable versus irreplaceable!” Kristen turns to her. “You drop the beginning!”

“That’s not how that works,” Adaine says, “and the word you were looking for is literally ostentatious. His car is literally ostentatious. It’s flashy and showy, it’s conspicuous.”

“Conspicuous!” Kristen snaps multiple times. “I was thinking conspicuous! Because inconspicuous!”

Fabian laughs, “Kristen, for your birthday, I’m going to get you a dictionary.”

“How am I expected to live, laugh, love in these conditions?” She leans back against the booth, arms crossed. “It feels like a criminal offense that I’m stuck between you guys and I can’t ribbon dance away.”

“Madam President, I will switch with you right now if you need to ribbon dance.”

“At ease, girlie. I will weather the storm.”

Adaine swallows hard, and looks back out the window when she hears a roaring sound. What she sees outside the window is this: Oisin bent over at the waist, his glasses in hand, lightning behind his teeth, shaking; Ivy sitting on the hood of Oisin’s new ostentatious car with her shirt pulled all the way up to cover her face; Ruben kneeling on the ground, his hands over his eyes; Mary Ann with a grin on her that Adaine hasn’t seen before; and Lucy, eyes wide and mouth open, shoulders gently shaking.

They’re laughing about something. Hysterical with it, it seems.

She supposes it’s a good thing that their party is together, in high spirits, enjoying each other's company. That’s what the project was for—yes, to clean up the town, but Aguefort would’ve been capable of that himself, and with Ankarna fully realized, she also assumedly would’ve done some divine intervention and helped clean. The project was truly to help them take action on their mistakes and be better. With all of them here, they could really do that now. Rely on each other.

Adaine’s gaze is transfixed on him. He’s wearing something not in his normal style—not that she knows or cares what his normal style is—but is probably something that would be more comfortable in the Red Waste: a pair of creamy white linen trousers that end just above his ankles, high waisted and belted, and a dark green button up, soft and muted, maybe olive, she can’t particularly tell in the street lights. It looks good with his scales, deep blue like the lightning that sits in him, the sky right before a storm.

She can still taste the petrichor on her tongue, the way his magic feels like electricity, his Sending spell leaving a dewdrop-y texture imprint on her brain. Potent, staticky, roiling like clouds. Adaine wonders if he knows what his magic’s sensory effects are—are all blue dragonborn like that? Or is it just him?

She wonders what her magic tastes like to him.

It’s so stupid, the whole thing is so stupid. She feels like an idiot. She should’ve seen it coming—must not be a very good oracle—a mile away. He offered her diamonds. Just the fact that she had vouched for him, had thought he was cool and interesting, smart, his tattoos …

Her cheeks hot, she shakes herself from that thought, before she continues down a path that seems deadly. He fake flirted with her. So what? It doesn’t make him special.

Get over it already, she tells herself, watching as his party settles into conversation again. He barely flirted. You read too much into it. It meant nothing and he made you look stupid. You took your eye off the ball, Adaine. Don’t let it happen again. Hot dragonborn or not, you’re better than that.

She turns her gaze back to her friends. “Can we not talk about him? Anymore, tonight, please.”

They all look at her, and Gorgug softly says, “Yeah, of course, Adaine. We can talk about something else.”

Fig crosses her arms and leans back against the booth. “We have put off the whole ‘How Do You Solve A Problem Like Kalina’ conversation.”

“Fuck that cat,” Kristen and Riz mumble together.

“I mean, yeah, she’s definitely a problem,” Fabian says.

Kristen leans forward and eats a fry from Ruben’s leftover plate. “Cassandra hasn’t seen her, like at all. She can’t get in contact with her, which is insane because Kalina is literally her familiar.”

“She can’t still like, see through us, right?” Fabian looks at Riz. “Cause if we have to do that shit again, I will lose it.”

Riz shakes his head. “No, no, I don’t think she can. We ended it, the plague, when she was defeated. I think it was just like, a condition of sorts, that ended when she died.” He points to Adaine. “Have you been able to see anything about her? In the future?”

Adaine adjusts her sitting so she’s not as easily tempted to look outside. “No, I haven’t seen anything. But also, that’s not how the visions work. Like yeah, I want to be the Oracle to All, but I’m still considered the Elven Oracle, so all of my visions include an elf, or like someone with elven descent or ancestry.”

“I mean, I guess that kinda narrows it down, though, right?” Kristen picks another fry and hands it to Adaine. “Like, that means she’s at least not with your mom.”

“Yet,” Adaine says, and then eats the fry.

She doesn’t understand the letter from the Court of Stars. A powerful wizard is doing … something, in the forest of Sylvaire. It didn’t have to be her mom, but she can’t think of anyone else who it would be. Both her and Aelwyn had just assumed. And if it is her mother, that means she found a way to get her magic back. She adds, “Or, she’s found some way to conceal herself from my divination.”

“What if we scried on her again?” Riz asks.

“On Kalina?” Adaine shuffles her posture, grabs her spell book from the holster on her thigh, and opens it on the table. “I mean, it didn’t really work that one time, cause she was in everyone, and it was really confusing.”

“But if she’s not a plague anymore …” Kristen leans over to peer in Adaine’s spell book.

She flips through a handful of pages at the beginning of the book, to the section of spells she learned sophomore year, until she lands on Scrying . “It could yield different results, and I think I’m familiar enough with her by now that it could be easier, but I don’t have anything that really ties me to her except that photo we used.”

Riz nods. “I don’t have it on me, it’s at my office. But I could get it for you this weekend and maybe Monday we try?”

“Yeah, that works. I would need to trance tonight anyway, and I’m not sure my sword would be able to do Scrying. I used that glass orb last time.” Adaine bites her bottom lip. “And that’s not available anymore.”

“Yeah, but you’ve casted Scrying since then,” Fig says.

“Does it have to be like, a, I don’t know, something magic?” Riz scratches his head. “Like could it be the mirror in my office? Something that you can look through?”

She shakes her head. “It needs to be an arcane focus, worth at least a thousand gold. Which my sword is. And I did use it to scry on Kipperlilly before, when she had the Nondetection up.” Adaine shrugs. “I don’t know, my sword should work. I just get nervous when it comes to Kalina. I could try scrying my mom. Maybe with Aelwyn, she could help me.”

“Maybe we try both,” Gorgug offers. “It can’t hurt.”

“I’ll talk to Aelwyn,” Adaine nods.”We can do that tomorrow before the par—”

From outside comes Lucy’s voice, pained and loud as she shouts out, “No!”

Adaine turns to the window, suddenly cold, and watches as a bloom of frost creeps across the bottom of the glass pane. The Rat Grinders all stand in a circle in front of the two cars, but Ivy is standing now instead of on the hood, and Ruben and Mary Ann seem to be back further, giving space. Oisin’s hand is outstretched toward Lucy, and Lucy shuts her eyes, leaving his gesture empty.

“What’s going on?” Fig asks, and the rest of her party scrambles over each other to catch a glimpse of the disaster happening outside. Adaine has half her sense to close her spell book to make room as she slides it towards the wall. Fabian is on the table, with Mazey perched next to him, Riz placed in Gorgug’s lap to make more room as the half-orc flattens himself against the window. Kristen is hovering over her shoulder, and Fig standing on the seat, one hand on her and the other on Kristen for balance as she strains her head to see.

The tension between them is palpable through the glass, and it’s like watching a train wreck in slow motion, like bullet-pointed notes. Oisin lowers his hand, Ivy moves in toward Lucy to rub at her back, and Adaine sees the dragonborn’s posture go rigid, his tail fidgeting low and quick across the ground, hitting the curb. He mumbles something, and his expression is akin to a wounded dog. She can see one half of his face, the twitching in his jaw, the clenching of his hand, his frills flatten along the base of his skull, and the same with his tail.

Lucy opens her eyes, and the looks she bears shatters Adaine’s heart. The last time she saw pain like that had been two years ago, in the forest of Sylvaire when Aelwyn had realized her mistakes. She watches the cleric put a hand to her heart, and she emphatically says something. Lucy pauses, and when her face scrunches up as if about to collapse, she runs across the gap between her and Oisin and throws her arms around him.

It takes him a moment, as if shocked, before his arms wrap around her, his hand in her hair. They stand like that, hugging, for what feels like an hour.

Kristen in her ear, “I’ve never seen Lucy cry.”

“What happened? Did he hurt her?” Behind her, from Fabian.

“She’s hugging him, I don’t think he hurt her,” Fig’s hand squeezes her shoulder.

“I should’ve been watching,” Riz mumbles, “I shouldn’t have taken my eye off him.”

Oisin’s head starts to look around slowly, eyes scanning the parking lot before he turns to the building.

And looks directly at her.

Adaine feels her throat close again.

He points at her, and she hears his voice in her head: I’m taking Lucy home for the night. Can they stay with you until I get back?

It’s a message. She shouldn’t be able to feel it, like fresh rain on her skin. She shouldn’t be able to smell it, storm water that sweeps through a creek and stirs the plant life. Sending had been more potent, real magic and not just a cantrip, but Message is still strong, and she’s awash in geosmin. It’s heady, and for a moment, Adaine can’t even think of a way to respond. She should message him back, tell him to eat shit, deal with it on his own, but she can’t even get a basic thought out, let alone twirl the copper of her ring to begin.

Adaine waits. She needs the heady to be gone. He’s watching her, and his magic has barely faded when she nods her head.

His look of relief is tangible in his next message: Thank you.

She nods again.

Her whole party glued to the window, they watch as Oisin and Ivy place Lucy in his fancy new car before he gets in the drivers seat and takes off. Out of the parking lot, down the road, toward the center of Elmville.

“They’re uh,” she starts, and then stops. Adaine blinks the haze of petrichor away, before beginning again. “He’s taking Lucy home. He said he’ll be back for them. Asked if they could stay with us for now.”

“Oh shit,” Riz is looking at her. “Did he message you?”

“Yes, uh,” She doesn’t know what to say after that.

Kristen looks at her. “Maybe, well, let’s pay and maybe we should go across and hang out on the front porch until he comes back.”

Fabian gracefully removes himself from the table, holding his hand for Mazey as she slides out behind him. “You guys go, I’ll cover the bill tonight.”

“I have to go to bathroom anyways,” Mazey says, “We’ll meet you out front in a few.”

Fig gives the minotaur a sly smile. “Oh, see, I know what that means. Ayda and I sometimes have to ‘go to the bathroom.’” She puts quotation marks around the last part as she walks across the bench to gets out of the booth, Kristen behind her, and Adaine following when she holsters her spell book.

Mazey blanches. “No, I like, I really have to go actually. Like, just me.”

“Okay, okay, I see how it is.” The tiefling winks at Fabian, “You treat her well, Maximum Legend.”

Kristen turns to Adaine, eyes open wide. Fabian pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fig, if you don’t leave, I will make you pay.”

“Gotta go!”

They walk outside, leaving Fabian and Mazey behind, and meet with the remnants of the other party. Ruben and Mary Ann stand next to each other, quietly talking about something, but stop when the door opens and the Bad Kids come into view. Riz, Fig, and Gorgug go to stand with them, and Kristen and Adaine move toward Ivy, who is watching the road, her arms crossed. It’s not a glare she wears, per se, but it certainly isn’t a soft expression.

“Hey,” Kristen says gently. “We’re all settled up inside and are going to go sit on the front steps of the house.”

Ivy blinks a few times before throwing her head back and letting out a long breath. “Uh, sure. That’s fine. Oisin took Lucy home, he wanted us—”

“We know,” Adaine interrupts, “he messaged me right before he left. You’re more than welcome to hang out with us still.”

Gorgug speaks up, “I’m actually gonna drive Mary Ann home tonight. Riz, do you want me to drop you off on the way still?”

Riz nods. “Yeah, that should be fine. It’s getting late, anyway.”

Ruben looks to Ivy. “Ives, we have the other car still, do you want to just drive home?”

Ivy pauses, thinking. She reaches into her pocket and takes out the keys, tossing them to Ruben. “Why don’t you go home? Take the car so you can load your stuff and bring it to Tilly’s tomorrow.”

“Oh, fucking sick, bro, are you playing that party?” Fig hits his shoulder, and the force of it makes Ruben stumble.

“Yeah! It’s just a couple songs, though, not the whole night. Ivy put in a word for me.” He smiles up at her. “Maybe Fig and the Cig Figs could make a guest appearance.”

She crosses her arms and looks intrigued. “It’s a Hudol party, so I don’t know how well our music will go down. I don’t think they’d let me rock out for eight minutes to ‘Dawn of Justice.’” A sudden grin, and Fig snaps her fingers. “I bet ‘Burn Towns, Get Money’ would go wild! Oh! Or a collab with you and Gorgug on ‘My Van Is A Boat’ or ‘Satellite’ would truly move me to tears.”

Gorgug blanches. “Maybe not … Maybe not those songs. Those should stay in the vault.”

“Oh, shit, yeah, no, you’re totally right.” Fig looks immediately reprimanded. “Oh, God, that was like, totally insensitive of me. I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I just don’t think I want to perform those … live, anymore.”

“Absolutely, Gorgug, like no issue there.” She grimaces at Ruben. “So maybe ‘Burn Towns, Get Money.’”

“Oh!” Kristen waves her hands. “Go full queer and do ‘Check It Out, I’m Gay!’”

“What’s the queer scene even like at Hudol?” Fig asks. “Adaine, you’re the only one I know who’s gotten close to going.”

Adaine shrugs. “They’re all a bunch of repressed spell casters, I bet there’s tons of closeted kids there.”

Kristen chuckles. “Oh boy, repressed spell casters. My favorite.”

“They are?”

“Yeah, they’re just so sad and tragic. Like baby, let me fix you.” She raises her eyebrows suggestively. “Let me show you the wonders of Officer Kristen.”

Gorgug takes Mary Ann’s hand and they move towards the Hangvan. “On that note, we’re gonna head out, guys.”

“I come with my own set of handcuffs!”

Adaine waves to Riz. “Text me if you find the photo!”

He shoots a finger gun off at her. “Can do!”

They all say goodnight to Gorgug, Mary Ann, and Riz, and as the Hangvan pulls out of its spot, Ruben swings the keys on his fingers and makes his way toward the car. He pauses just before he opens the door, a sheepish expression on his face. “Hey, uh, I don’t have any fire spells stocked. Would any of you be willing to, uh, burn those patches?”

Ruben points to a section of the sidewalk, and Adaine looks down to see a crumpled piece of paper and three patches with the Rat Grinders symbol on it. Something in her stomach flips. “Are you guys not … a party anymore?”

Ivy stands straighter. “We are.”

“Just, uh,” Ruben locks his gaze with Ivy before nodding. “Going back to our roots, I guess. Hey, that could be a song.”

Ruben leaves, and Fig takes it upon herself to burn the patches with Ivy standing guard. Adaine notices she’s unusually quiet, even when Fabian and Mazey come out of the diner and Fig ribs them for their extra long bathroom break—which Mazey then ribs back, saying Fig can’t tell time if she thought that was long, and maybe Ayda ought to be doing a better job—and when they walk across the street, Ivy sits on the top step with her back facing the railing, leaning on it, staring out into the road.

They all take their places on the stairs: Adaine sits back against the front door, spreading her legs out straight and her hands in her lap; Fig and Kristen take the other side of the steps, first and second stairs, leaning against the other railing; Fabian and Mazey stand at the bottom, half perched on the Hangman.

It’s quiet between all of them. Adaine resists fidgeting. The Bad Kids are never this quiet, there’s always something to be talking about, and she has a feeling that if Ivy wasn’t here, they’d all be debriefing their thoughts on what happened between the Rat Grinders—ah, the former Rat Grinders, new party name unknown—in the parking lot. But Ivy is here, and something is not good with her.

Kristen, for all her faults, can be incredibly insightful and intelligent when it comes to others. It’s not a surprise when she gently says, “So … can we ask what happened? Or is it like, something you don’t want to talk about? Because that’s fine, none of us could fault you.”

Ivy takes a moment, eyes on the road where Ruben had driven off, lets another minute go by before she inhales deeply and shuts her eyes. “It wasn’t really a fight, they weren’t mad at each other. There wasn’t any rage behind it, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

Her walls are up, Adaine thinks. Ivy reminds her so much of Aelwyn. “I don’t think any of us thought that, it didn’t look like rage,” she says.

“Oisin didn’t want her to go to Lake Shimmerstone, and Lucy didn’t want him to go to Lake Shimmerstone. He reached out, and she—” Ivy pinches the bridge of her nose, expression souring even more. “I’m not mad at her, I can’t be mad at her for it. It’s just frustrating because things are different now, and Oisin is different now—God, it like, just hit me that the last time she really, and I mean like really hung out with him, he was still thin and gangly and awkward and nonthreatening.” Ivy heaves a sigh. “She flinched at him, at him moving towards her, and I know why she did it, and he knows why she did it, and she knows why, we all fucking know why, and it still happened, and it still sucked.”

Mazey’s low, soft cadence asks, “Has she talked to Jawbone at all? Or even a regular therapist?”

“Yeah, I wonder if it’s just like, lingering fear from Porter and Jace,” Fig comments. “Cause like, that would make sense, Oisin being big now and a spell caster and it’s like seeing the two guys who killed you in someone who’s supposed to be a friend.”

Ivy looks at all of them, blinking as if she’s confused. Adaine furrows her brows, a sinking feeling in her stomach. “I don’t—Wait, do you guys not … know?”

“Know what?” Fabian asks.

“I thought you would’ve known, you figured everything else out.”

Kristen sits forward. “I don’t think we’re following. Was it not Porter and Jace who killed Lucy?”

Ivy’s eyes keep shifting between them. Adaine sits up taller, bringing her legs under her to criss cross as she takes her spell book off its holster and sets it to the side along with her Sword of Sight. She keeps her gaze on the wood elf, and watches as Ivy’s expression goes from confused, to guarded, to reluctant, and then to sad.

“I know that there’s—I get that you guys don’t know him. Not like you know the rest of us. But I need you to know that Oisin is my best friend. He’s like, he’s been family to me for years. I am so extremely proud of him. Disgustingly, adoringly proud of him, and I’d obviously never tell him that to his face, but he knows it, or at least, he better.” She looks directly at Adaine, and something in the back of her mind flicks on like a lightswitch: Ivy is telling her this.

The only one who actually has a problem with Oisin.

“He has all of my respect, and then some,” Ivy continues, “for all the shit he’s had to do, and put up with, and overcome. Decisions he’s had to make. And yeah, not all of them are good, but not all of mine were good, either, and I’m still sitting here, on your steps. We go on random diner trips, and I go to the mall with you. He deserves that, too, ten times over, no matter what he fucking says. So when I tell you this, you need to understand.”

Ivy’s eyes bore into hers, and Adaine understands the sentiment behind it: Ivy is about to tell them something tragic, and horrible, and she’s to keep an open mind.

So she nods, almost imperceptibly, but it’s enough for Ivy to sit forward, and begin recounting the events. “When … when Kipperlilly killed—no. We all trusted her. Kip was smart, and whip quick, and many if not all of her plans turned out with us top. There was never any reason to think she would be wrong. Yeah, we killed rats in the Far Haven Woods, and Oisin and I came up with the Rat Grinders, but that didn’t mean we didn’t trust her. We just ragged on her a bit, cause she was so uptight about everything, and prim and proper, and Oisin and I joked all the time that she would’ve been better suited for Hudol had she just classed differently.

“When she killed us, she did it systematically. She had a plan, like she always did.” Her eyes close for a moment, and she takes a deep breath. “She killed Oisin first, with Porter’s help.”

From the corner of her eye, Adaine can see Mazey bring a hand up over her mouth. Fabian grips her other.

“Her, and Porter?” Fig asks.

Ivy nods. “There wasn’t ever real animosity between them, Oisin just knew how to push her buttons, and did it often, I mean, we both did, we all did. He questioned her a lot, but it was never because he thought she was bad—he, I don’t know, he was trying to make her think. They functioned the same, intellectually, wanted something to prove them right, wanted more information, more knowledge, that type of deal. We all trusted him as much as we trusted Kip, and when he did something, and we saw the effects, we all knew it would be fine.”

“If all your friends jump off a bridge, do you do it too, kind of,” Fabian mentions.

“Yeah, exactly, except it was just Oisin and Kipperlilly. If we saw them jump off a bridge, we’d know there had to be a good reason, and would follow. Not like sheep, but because we trusted their judgment.” There’s a glassy look to Ivy’s eyes. “She killed me next. And then Ruben, and Mary Ann.”

Kristen nods, and whispers, “She saved Lucy for last.”

Ivy brings a knee to her chest, the other one sliding under her. She stares directly at Kristen and Fig, making a point. “Kipperlilly and Lucy … there was never anything that happened between them, nothing that any of us know about, at least. But Oisin and I had a bet that they’d get together before we graduated, if they could just admit it. It was so obvious to all of us.”

The two of them nod in understanding. Not that Adaine didn’t—clearly Kipperlilly and Lucy’s relationship had some sapphic undertones, or overtones if she’s being honest, based on what Ivy says—but rather, that maybe the two openly out and self proclaimed ‘girl kissers’ of the group might catch more meaning. Adaine’s never kissed a girl.

Adaine’s never even been kissed.

She pushes that thought down for another time.

“When it came time for Lucy, Kip … she … couldn’t do it. Couldn’t bring herself to kill … whatever, between them. She tried justifying not doing it to her, and I remember I had been so mad because how come I had to die and get a stupid fucking shard shoved in me, how come Oisin, and Ruben, and Mary Ann had to, but she fought to keep Lucy as is? I was so unbelievably angry.” Ivy shakes her head. “I guess that was the rage. It felt unfair.”

Ivy looks far away. When she doesn’t continue, Adaine prods gently, “What happened?”

The wood elf looks up to her. “I was already home that night, Oisin had stayed later at school for something, I don’t know. When he came home, he sat on the couch and told me that Porter had talked to him about Lucy, and that if Kipperlilly wouldn’t do the ritual on her, then it was now his job, and if he wouldn’t do it then … Porter and Jace would.”

Something roils deep in Adaine’s stomach, sitting heavy and uncomfortable. She remembers the night they found Lucy, switching her third eye to the Ethereal plane and seeing the unholy glyph, Ankarna’s redacted name, etched into her chest. She remembers the fear that gripped her, making the terrible joke about using the diamonds from Professor Badgood for Tiberia’s class as a way to release the tension.

Ivy continues, “Oisin was … that was the angriest I’ve ever seen him. I thought he’d go into a rage. He slammed doors, he was out in the backyard, yelling. It was the rage shard, yeah, but it was also something else. I told him he didn’t have to and he said there was no way he was going to let those two fucking near Lucy, not after how weird Porter had been towards other girls at school.”

Kristen’s brow furrows. “He didn’t think that Porter would …”

The unsettled feeling in Adaine’s stomach quickly turns to nausea as Kristen trails off, the thought lingering in the air, not needing to be said to be understood. Two adult men in the woods alone with a young teenage girl. Oisin thought Porter would do something unspeakably horrific, worse than killing her and shoving a rage star in her chest.

Ivy nods again, “He did. He didn’t trust Porter, he barely liked Jace. And if Kip wasn’t going to do it, then he at least knew that Lucy could trust him.”

“I’m so fucking glad that creep is dead,” Fig mumbles.

“That doesn’t make sense, though,” Fabian says, “I studied her body, both The Ball and I. Lucy was killed by multiple assailants.”

It dings in Adaine’s head just as Kristen quietly gasps, “Oh my God, Oisin is a dragonborn and a spell caster. It looked like multiple assailants because he could get physical and cast spells.”

The nausea lurches, and Adaine brings a hand up to cover her mouth. The unholy glyph, the scratches and dried blood and broken bones and spell damage. Something had clearly gone very wrong. She thinks about all the broken trees and bushes that surrounded, how it was obvious they had been broken after Lucy’s death, the one tree used to cover her. What the hell happened that night?

She hasn’t realized she’s said it out loud until Ivy pivots herself to look at her. “I don’t know, I never asked him, I never pried, and he never told me. He came back to the apartment covered in blood and scratches—I think the blood was his own, though, not Lucy’s. I had to drag him inside, he was just throwing up in the bushes by the street.”

“That’s awful,” Mazey mumbles.

“It was bad,” the ranger agrees. “It was really bad.”

They’re all quiet for a moment, digesting what they’ve just been told, this new fact that it wasn’t even Porter who killed the Rat Grinders, but Kipperlilly, and if not at her behest, then Oisin. She tries to put the pieces together, make the puzzle fit, but she can’t reconcile the much thinner, ganglier dragonborn from the yearbook photo with the horrific scene she saw of Lucy.

But maybe that’s just it. Maybe she can’t reconcile it, because yeah, he had the rage shard in him, and yeah, Lucy was given an unholy last rites, but she had been buried, and there was no force damage on her the way there was with Yolanda. There were lacerations, and breaks, and spell damage, but Gorgug had pegged giant looking at the trees. They had all assumed it was Porter. Maybe it was still Porter, at least for the heavier bits.

Which means Oisin had killed Lucy, watched as she didn’t come back, and then went and told Porter, and Porter assumedly went back out to hide the evidence.

Ivy takes a shaky breath. “I need you guys to understand that if Lucy was Kip’s right hand, then Oisin was her left. And when Lucy didn’t come back, Oisin became both. Porter beat the shit out of him over the summer, kept him on a barbarian training regimen. I think he saw the draconic as a thing to exploit, something he could use. Kippperlilly used him just as much, used things she knew about him to her advantage. Like the shrimp jump party at the beginning of the year? Kip didn’t want to go, but Oisin convinced her that if we didn’t, we’d be drawing attention to ourselves. So she made him write that spell, and we played beer pong all night. She told him he better be convincing.”

Adaine bristles. That ping pong ball scheme. When she thought he was flirting with her. When he offered her barrels of diamonds. When she got nervous and ran away. The embarrassment of thinking someone could like her. Hearing that Kipperlilly had been behind it, Adaine is furious all over again. Be convincing. Well, she wouldn’t fall for it again, that’s for certain.

Ivy continues, “God, he even played the long con with his clan.”

Fig leans forward. “What do you mean?”

She sighs and leans back against the railing again. “Okay, like, I don’t fully understand the draconic intricacies, or clan rights, or anything like that. But like, half of Oisin’s clan was hellbent on avenging Kalvaxus, they like, worshipped the guy, or something, and it was because his grandmother—ancestor—whatever, also I guess used to follow him? But the other half of Oisin’s family—his mom’s side, his father was a certified Kalvaxus Apologist—they were super against him and couldn’t understand why some of the clan wouldn’t raise his grandmother the same way. 

“Anyway, Oisin played his father, and that side of the family. He told them that by coming and fighting the night of the election, he could guarantee Kalvaxus would be avenged, by killing the party who killed him, but he did something to the summoning spell. I don’t know what it was, it was different then the one he told Kip and Porter about, and when I asked him about it that night, he said he made it so you guys couldn’t lose.”

All of them look at each other. Fabian looks confused, and Kristen and Fig seem surprised.

Adaine is mad.

“Couldn’t lose?” she asks, and the bitter is so present in her voice she can practically taste it. “Fabian’s house was thrown into the sky! We had tons of kids stuck on that ship hundreds of feet in the air! Kristen’s goddess was almost corrupted again! ‘Couldn’t lose?’ What did he do to fucking help?!”

Ivy sits up straighter, meeting Adaine’s vitriol with her own. “I don’t know what he did, but he sure as shit wanted them dead as much as you did, and they are. So perhaps it could’ve actually been fucking worse.” She stands up, and Adaine watches as the walls that were slowly coming down during the conversation are immediately built back up, the guarded look in Ivy’s eyes strong as ever. A subtle guilt etches into her, the anger she used to carry when talking to Aelwyn—she knows better now, how to speak through that. “He won his ancestor's inheritance, by the way. Do you want to know how much he’s giving to you?”

Fig’s eyes go wide. “Holy shit, he did win?”

“He won the whole fucking thing, actually. Because he’s good . And he’s giving your party a million fucking gold.”

Fabian startles so hard that the Hangman goes wobbling, Mazey struggling to keep her balance in its wake. Kristen’s entire mouth drops open. Fig stutters out something incoherent. Adaine goes perfectly still and feels her breath catch.

“Would you like to rag on him some more?” Ivy crosses her arms in their stunned silence. “Because he didn’t think Fabian should pay for the damages to his house. He didn’t think Fig and Gorgug should’ve had to deal with Porter’s weird obsession with them. He didn’t think Riz deserved Kipperlilly’s ire for years. He wants to help. He’s also giving a million gold straight to Elmville for the clean up project.”

“Holy shit!” Fig shouts.

Fabian grabs Mazey's hand. “How much was the inheritance?!”

She stares them down. “His ancestor's hoard was twelve million.”

“Oh my God,” Adaine whispers.

She doesn’t know what to think, what to do. It’s more than Kalvaxus was worth, and he’s giving it away. She’s struggled for money since her parents left, had worked a job and scraped by and spent months stressed, convinced the Court of Stars to pay her for prophecies and divinations. Ayda had given her a cache. And now Oisin is giving her party a million gold.

And he’s giving a million gold to the town.

Kristen stands to join Ivy. “What is he doing with the rest of it?”

Ivy glares. “He left most of it for his family. The couple million he had left was split up between the town, your party, and us. He offered to sponsor us.”

Fig adjusts herself on the top stair. “I want to ask something, but I’m not trying to be rude or mean. This is just a genuine question because I had a thought and I want to be told no.”

Squinting, Ivy nods a go ahead.

Fig says, “Like I said, not mean, but was that—like do you think that was his plan all along? Kill the Kalvaxus supporters in his family and get the inheritance?”

Without any hesitation, “No,” Ivy, stone cold, returns. “I think he thought you guys would claim hoard rights, and when you didn’t, he had to fight for his right to be anything in that family after killing his father and his grandmother and many other cousins.”

“He killed his own father?” Adaine’s voice breaks. Her hands are shaking. She took her meds this morning, but the onslaught of information has her mind working overtime. It’s so much to keep track of, her thoughts are running wild, spinning in her head. Oisin killed Lucy. Twelve million gold. A million to her party. Oisin killed his father.

Oisin killed his father.

Memories ring back in her head.

Adaine’s just, she’s a baby. Whatever you decide to do, I’m with you. We will live immortal lives. They’re cruel people. Will you be my big sister? The time has come for a new and better daughter. I’m sorry. I’m strong now.

The unending forests of the Nightmare King. The tides of the wide misty ocean. The relief that came with the knowledge: she would never have to be afraid again. He hurt her and he hurt Aelwyn and it was nothing but torment and it was over before her father even left the ground.

Adaine feels her hands shaking still, but she takes a few deep breaths. Adaine’s Furious Fists stills at her fingertips before it can even begin.

Fig is next to her, and Adaine is unsure when she had gotten there, but her hand is rubbing slow circles against her back, and it’s helping the sudden snap back into her body. They’re on the front porch, not in the forests of Sylvaire. She’s not full of rage chasing her mother.

She doesn’t know what to feel right now.

Ivy doesn’t seem nearly as angry as she had been. In fact, Adaine would say concern is her main expression. Her friends are all staring at her. “Is everything … okay? Why is everyone looking at me?”

Kristen moves on the right of her, and Adaine startles slightly as her friend's hand comes to mimic Fig’s movements on the other side of her. “You got all … divinatory, again, but it was way more prominent this time. I tried casting Lesser Restoration on you, your eyes were glowing and your hands were flexing like you were trying to cast something.”

Adaine stares at them. “I, uh, God, I’m sorry. I didn’t … I don’t know what happened. I just sort of starting thinking about—”

“You were mumbling something about your dad,” Fig whispers.

“O-oh.”

“Are you okay?” Ivy asks, the concern still etched in her features.

Adaine nods, and then looks at Fig and Kristen. “Yeah, I think I’m fine now. You guys don’t have to worry about me.”

She sees Fabian exhale a deep breath. Another Bad Kid who’s killed his father. Mazey holds his hand as they make eye contact, and Fabian gives her a slight, almost imperceptibly small nod. Recognition. Understanding.

From up the street, a car revs closer.

Chapter Text

“Drop out,” she growls, a hand coming up to wipe the blood from her mouth. “We can make this painless, Oisin. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He knows Niamh is delicate, on the last of her threads if she’s attempting to bargain. But Oisin learned his lesson with Daithi—you don’t bargain at the end. His fangs still hurt, he’s sure his mouth is just as bloody as his cousin’s. “Niamh,” he starts, rolling his injured shoulder back. Oisin grits his teeth at the pain: he can push through it. He’s died twice now. If he dies here, it won’t be any different.

But her patience is running thin. “You don’t even live here anymore! What is it to you? Did you even care about Rioghnach?”

“Did I care?” He reaches for his component bag, but there’s hardly anything left. “Of course I cared! She was better than him!”

“Jaciv relgra wux vi diraguren, Oisin! Kii ornla wux tuor ekess zexenuma?”

He feels around—snake’s tongue, he thinks. And honeycomb. He has one second level spell left. “Tagoa nomeno ui sia skatuch.”

Before she can react, Oisin crushes the honeycomb in his claws, rolling the snake’s tongue in it. He throws one hand out and shouts, “Yield!”

He feels the magic leave him, watches Naimh’s expression as she fights it, throwing her head back and forth, a blur of blue scales and red blood. Her eyes are shut tight, hands at her temple, but she slows and he feels when Suggestion takes hold, a tether between their minds. He levels at her, as her arms come down to her side and she stares ahead, tears in her eyes. “Put your weapons down and yield,” he tells her. His voice shakes.

It’s dirty. It’s barely acceptable. It feels wrong to win this way. But Niamh deserves to live. He won’t take that from her.

Niamh’s tail thrashes behind her, but she complies. One hand grabs her dagger from her belt, drops it to the ground. She kneels next to it, never taking her eyes off him, before she hunches over, her nose to the dirt, hands fisting in the desert sands.

Her screams are so loud.

***

There are times, he thinks, that he understands Kipperlilly’s anger.

Never at the Bad Kids—not like her—but in general. The anger. The rage. The clawing desperation. It sits under his tattooed scales and festers like an open wound—can the shatter star scar on his chest still be considered a wound if it’s closed? If it’s healed? If it’s just a fleshy mark left over his ribcage and not gaping anymore? If he can’t touch it and feel the sinew and muscle wrapped tightly around a little glass piece?—raw and unwelcome. He’s spent years caging that feeling, locking back the possessiveness, the obsession, the innate anger, the lightning crackling under his skin. He was doing so well.

In the span of a year, it’s gone.

That feeling is scary, the loss of control, the breaking of something carefully crafted over years of dominance, a mastery of it. It comes with being dragonborn, it comes with the draconic ancestry, but the vileness of it never sat well with him. The need, the desperation of it, the taking, and the taking, and the taking. 

He understands Kipperlilly.

But he hates her all the same.

The car ride to Lucy’s is quiet; Oisin doesn’t even flick on the radio. They sit in relative silence, the sniffling of her next to him occasionally filling the car. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t think there is anything to say.

When he pulls up to her house, Oisin puts the car in park and lets it idle. When Lucy doesn’t get out after a few moments, he turns the car completely off and unbuckles.

The silence in the car is stifling, the idle thrum not available to mask the awkward. If he strains, he can hear the crickets outside, the slight rustling of leaves at the top of the trees, the distant sound of a car turning the corner.

“I don’t know what to say,” Lucy breaks it first.

Oisin feels a weight in his chest. “Neither do I,” he tells her.

She wipes at her face, rubbing at her eyes. “You know how much … this feels so …”

He gently nods, pulls a face. “It does feel so.”

Lucy snorts before tossing her head back on the head rest. “I know you think I should be mad at you.”

One hand drums on the steering wheel, his nail beginning to wear into the leather. There’s a fleeting moment where Oisin can see himself digging his claws in and raking it down the wheel, ruining the perfect texture and condition, continuing onto the seat and destroying the upholstery of this stupid, perfect car. He blinks a few times, letting out a harsh breath. “You should be, yes.”

“I’m not, though.”

“I don’t know why.”

“Because anger has no place between us, Oisin. That’s why.” Lucy sits forward, adjusts herself so she’s sitting on an angle in her seat, leaning back against the door. “I don’t have the energy to be angry, I never did. And in any case, I was never angry with you. I know why you did it. Ivy told me, a few days after you left.”

He doesn’t face her yet. He can’t make himself do it. Because really, deep down, he knows why he thinks Lucy should be angry with him.

And it’s because he’s angry with himself.

Angry that he trusted Kipperlilly. Angry that he lost control. Angry that Porter tied strings to his wrists and moved him around like a puppet. Angry that he let him. Angry that he didn’t tell anyone. Angry that he got played. Angry that they used him over and over and that he let them use him. Angry that he was aware of it the entire time.

To be angry once is one thing. To be raised angry is another. He had it so under control, everything was fine. And then he was angry again. And he’s still angry now, even without the shard.

Oisin wonders how much of the anger from the shatter star was Ankarna, and how much was just him.

Lucy continues, “For what it’s worth, I think I actually should be thanking you.”

That does it. He turns then, aware that he stares at her as if she sprouted a second head. “Lucy,” he starts, “I literally killed you. Like full on murder in the woods. Did some weird arcane-celestial type shit on you.”

“And it could’ve been Cliffbreaker.” She pauses. “But it wasn’t. It was you, and I’d take it again if it meant he’d never get near me.”

His expression hardens thinking about Porter. Oisin had never liked him, found it weird when Kip had broached the subject of Porter training them in the woods towards the end of sophomore year. Her unrelenting anger towards the Bad Kids had them all watching their every move, even without meaning to, and he had seen the strange looks he gave towards Fig, the disappointment at Gorgug, and the hundreds of other weird comments he made towards Kipperlilly.

If he didn’t know any better, Oisin would’ve written it off as a professor just trying to help.

But Kip was always desperate for attention.

He didn’t think she’d get the kind she wanted from him.

Oisin grits his teeth. “I never let him touch you, not even after you were dead. I never let him or Jace.”

“I know,” she says, her voice soft. “I know you didn’t, and that’s something I am so incredibly grateful for.” She holds out her hand, and Oisin takes his off the steering wheel and holds hers. She doesn’t flinch. “I thought … you’d be mad at me.”

His expression softens. Her hand is clammy in his, and Oisin grips it tighter. “Why would I ever be mad at you?”

He’s staring at her, and can see when the grief overtakes her. Her eyes, so round and sweet, fill with something so sorrowful, it kills him inside. “For not coming back.”

Oisin shakes his head. “That’s stupid, Lucy. I couldn’t be mad at you for that.”

“I left you,” she says, and the tears in the corner of her eyes are back. “I left you that night! I shouldn’t have—”

“You didn’t—”

“I did! I did, though! I left you with her , after I knew how she could be—after I saw the change in her.”  Lucy looks off to the side, staring out the front window. In the streetlight, Oisin can see the wet tracks on her cheeks, and for the second time that night, he wishes he could just keep his big mouth shut. Lucy swallows hard and blinks a few times. “When she came to me and told me about how Professor Cliffbreaker wanted to make us stronger … it was like the light in her finally turned on. She seemed so confident that she could be something bigger than what she thought she was—I felt like trash, for being so reserved and hesitant. I should’ve wanted her to feel good about herself, especially after all the times she told me how inferior she felt to … to the Bad Kids.”

He stays silent now, letting her talk. Because there isn’t anything he could say to alleviate her guilt—he feels it too.

Lucy wipes at her cheek. “I never thought she was inferior. I always thought she was so smart, so sharp. God, she was so …” She heaves a sigh. “I guess … egg on my face, for wanting something.”

Oisin watches her. It was a running joke between him and Ivy—a bet on when Kip and Lucy would get together. They were so hesitant, it was so drawn out, and Ivy joked plenty of nights after they got back to the apartment about ‘the latest chapter in the slow burn romance’ that was the two of them. A tentative hand touch here, a lingering gaze there. It was more than either of them could say for their love life, and perhaps it was bitterness that kept him from voicing any real concerns or support for them in either direction, but it was something else too. Because it wasn’t just a bet on when Kip and Lucy would get together. That was only half of it.

It was a bet that he would ask out Adaine when they finally did.

It was also fear. Bitterness and fear.

He doesn’t want to think about that now, though. “Did you? Want something?”

She’s still staring out the window. “I don’t know.” Lucy pauses. “Do you think it would’ve changed anything?”

Oisin doesn’t want to ask the question, but he does anyway. “Would you have still said no if she had killed you instead?”

Because that’s the question, right? The question wasn’t would Lucy and Kipperlilly dating have changed Kip’s mind —because that was never the question. It wouldn’t have. Kipperlilly was so entrenched in her own desperation to be something that nothing would have stopped her, that he’s sure of.

The quiet overtakes the car. He can hear the crickets outside again. He’s terrified of the answer, because if Lucy says yes, then that means he killed her, shoved a gem in her, and watched as she actively rejected the ritual, tried again … and again … and again in some desperate attempt to make sure he was doing it right , hid her body, and then spent a year never saying her name, never thinking about what she looked like, rotting under a tree in the Far Haven Woods, ignoring the year book, refusing her parents calls … for what? For the mission? He didn’t give a shit about Porter’s ascension to godhood, or bringing back Ankarna, or whatever the fuck that nutcase creep wanted. For Kipperlilly? He didn’t even care about the Bad Kids, not in the way Kip did. What did he even fucking do it for?

The shard hadn’t done much more than exacerbate some of his more basal instincts. The rage, the obsession, the possessiveness, the hunger, the need to prove himself, everything he had suppressed since coming to Elmville. Everything he was ashamed of in himself. Is that why he did it? Because his stupid fucking draconic ancestry took over? Came out with teeth bared and claws sharpened, starved and malnourished, frenzied and violent? Had he done it to himself?

He’s nauseous at the thought. Because if Lucy says yes, then Oisin has blood on his hands for nothing. For everything.

It feels like a betrayal. Like someone he trusted, cared about, ripped the rug out from under him.

Lucy takes a breath, her hand squeezing his. She’s still holding it.

“I would have still said no.”

The relief he feels is overwhelming. He squeezes her hand back.

Lucy looks over at him, and he can’t figure out why she suddenly seems so blurry, until she reaches over with her free hand and slots his glasses on the top of his head. He feels the wet marks slide down his face.

“She really did a number on you, didn’t she?” Lucy asks, and the smile she gives him is so soft that the breath he takes in shakes with the effort.

His voice is hoarse when he responds, “On all of us.”

Her head shakes gently. “You didn’t deserve it, Oisin. What they did. What she did. I know you think feeling like this has to be some sort of penance for killing me—it’s not, though. I don’t want you to feel guilty for doing it when I’m nothing but grateful for it being you.”

“It shouldn’t have happened in the first place,” he mumbles. “I should’ve said no, too. I was just scared.”

“And you want me to be mad at you? For being scared?” It’s so incredulous to her, he can see it on her face, as she barely holds in a laugh, crying just like him.

He snorts, wiping at his face. “Well, when you say it like that.”

Lucy lets it out now, her eyes crinkling in the corner. “It sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?”

They quiet down again, and Oisin wipes at his eyes until they’re clear. “Are we okay?” he asks.

She nods, “We’re okay.”

“Are we still okay if I start working at the lake on Monday?”

Lucy leans forward to hug him, “Yeah, we’re still okay.”

It’s awkward in the car, the two of them being so tall, but Oisin squeezes her as tight as he can, and she does the same. When she gets out, he waits until she’s inside before he leans back against the seat and lets out a shaky breath.

They’re okay. Him and Lucy are okay.

One day he’ll be able to face her parents.

God, he really needs so much therapy.

Before Oisin can think too hard about the conversation—he’s exhausted, really, and thinking about it anymore will start him crying again—he turns the car back on and pulls out his crystal.

(oisin):  just dropped lucy off. need gas and i’ll be right there

(ivy):   we’re across the street
(ivy):   go down the gravel driveway and you’ll see us
(ivy):  it’s their house, the big fuck off haunted ass mansion across the street

Of course it is. Because the Bad Kids could never do anything in half measures, the house had to be a mansion, and it had to be haunted, and it had to have a gravel driveway.

He takes off down the road, rounds the corner to a gas station. The night is hot and sticky, so he takes off his overshirt while pumping gas, leaving him in a tanktop. He eyes a small deli place across the street that’s open—that’s insane, it’s almost eleven at night, this town continues to surprise him, and it’s not even a city—and orders a sandwich for himself, and one for Ivy, and gets her a fountain soda. When he’s back in the car, he scarfs down half of his, barely tasting it, the pang in his stomach from not eating beginning to subside. Oisin eats the second half slower as he drives towards Krom’s again, and he can’t decide if it’s the insane hunger that makes it taste so good, or if this weird sandwich place is actually the best kept secret of this town.

He spots the gravel driveway across the street, expertly hidden by tall arborvitaes and the surrounding flora, and takes the turn, going slow over the gravel. He drives past a small building—a chapel? Is that the cemetery?—and more and more trees—where even is this house? Ivy said it was huge, he couldn’t have missed it—before rounding a small bend and Mordred Manor comes into view, tall and looming, through a set of open wrought iron gates, and around the fountain—of course there’s a fountain with the haunted house, why wouldn’t there be—before parking in the front of the house.

He gets out of the car, the last bite of the sandwich in his hands as he eats it, and kicks the door shut behind him. There’s a part of him that knows it’s probably unseemly, but the bigger part—the hungrier, feral part—couldn’t give a shit. “Oh man, so there’s this weird deli over by Lucy’s house, Midnight Sandwich?” He swallows, savoring the taste on the way down. “Best fucking sandwich I’ve ever had in my life. Don’t know who thought sandwiches at like eleven at night was a good idea, but I could open mouth kiss them right now. God, you just don’t get this in the Waste.”

Everyone is quiet. His eyes immediately go to Adaine, sitting on the porch in front of the door. She seems far away, and making a point of not looking at him. Figueroth and Kristen are crouched next to her, and he notices Fig’s hand on Adaine’s back. Ivy is standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking pissy with her arms crossed. Fabian and Mazey are closer to him on the sidewalk, Fabian’s motorcycle idling softly behind them.

Oisin feels as if he’s intruded on something—not for the first time that night—and sweeps his gaze over them one by one. When he lands on Adaine again, her magic hits him full throttle, even from the distance. Sparkly, the way seltzer feels on his tongue, and the scent of hundreds of books being opened for the first time. He hasn’t realized how much he’d been craving it, waiting for a Message earlier that never came. It’s not directed at him, it feels more like remnants of the arcane, a lingering taste in the air, but it shoves his senses back to the night of the shrimp jump party, to the same sparkly, papery feeling laced with a hint of frosted air as she made his drink cold.

Something about this feels different, though. He can’t place his finger on it, but it doesn’t have the same undertones. Her gaze stays rooted firmly towards the ground, and he gets the sense from Fig that she is in german shepherd mode. He almost makes the ‘who died?’ joke, but stops himself just short, realizing it might be in poor taste. “Uh,” so succinct, you’re doing great, Hakinvar, “I’m just here to grab my party, and I’ll get out of your way.”

Fabian’s body turns towards him, and Oisin feels his throat tighten suddenly. They lock eyes. He doesn’t want to kill Seacaster anymore, that’s for sure, but the residual rage hasn’t really subsided yet, and the draconic instincts in him are alight, growling deep in his head. Oisin shoves that feeling behind a door and bolts it closed. He has no right to feel threatened right now, not about Fabian—who is dating someone, mind him, and it’s not Adaine, so get over it, you big, dumb, fucking lizard—but when he stands himself upright and begins moving towards him, Oisin feels his hackles raise.

It’s a stalking sort of walk, an ambling-gait with purpose. Oisin matches him and stands up straighter, his full height, preparing for the worst. Maybe he does have a right to feel threatened: he hadn’t realized he was walking into a fight. He doesn’t have his spell book or component pouch on him—they’re in the car.

Fabian isn’t much shorter than him, maybe a only a few inch difference. When he’s directly in front of him, he pointedly asks, “Man of your house? Pardon, man of your clan?”

His gaze moves up to Ivy, silently trying to ask what in the hells is going on, but she just raises her eyebrows and gives a small shrug. Oisin focuses back on Fabian, and with his shoulders still tense, warily responds, “Something like that, yeah. Man of my clan.”

Fabian holds the eye contact with him. They stare at each other for at least another few seconds, assessing each other, when the half-elf brings up one hand balled into a fist, and gives Oisin a light rap on his chest, right over the shatter star scar. “Good man. Good man, Oisin.” He points a finger in his face. “You show those Red Waste-ian fucks who we are here in Solace, who you are here in Solace, yeah?”

The energy is insanely off now, because it feels like Fabian is trying to square up, but what comes out of his mouth is … not fighting words. This is not what he was expecting. What was even happening right now? “Yeah. Yeah, I showed them.”

“That’s it, that’s fucking it! Hoot Growl, motherfucker!” Fabian holds his hand out, as if wanting a shake.

Utterly confused—and yet also, a kernel of pride sitting in him, at being the subject of someone else’s hype— Oisin obliges, but it’s not a handshake. Fabian grabs his thumb, and then slides his hand back before locking their fingers together.

Did Fabian Fucking Seascaster just dap him up?

His gaze falls to Oisin’s upper arm, exposed in the tank top. “Your tattoos are all shredded up here.”

Oisin nods. He knows exactly what his arm looks like, and it’s not pretty. “Should see my back. Took ‘em a bit to figure out that’s how I hold concentration.”

Fabian gives him a big smile. “Sick as fuck, bro.” He reaches up to pull his collar away from his neck, and Oisin sees the Maximum Legend tattoo now covered over with a gold script font. “Got it from my father, in Hell. Real gold. And this one is a gift from Fig.” He pulls his sleeve up to show a beautiful clock piece with wildflowers encasing it. “There’s also a Pac-Man styled ghost on me, but it runs around and I can never find it, it has big hairy feet, very strange.”

“ Ghost Step tattoo?” he asks, and Fabian nods in agreement. “That’s awesome, man. Arcane tats are where it’s at.”

Fabian’s hand comes up to pat him where his now ruined conjuration tattoos are. “We’ll get yours fixed up. Maybe add a few more, yes?”

He must be running a fever. “Yeah, I want to get them fixed, see if I can change the design a little bit.”

“Good, good,” Fabian smiles again. “Professor Shadow gave me the Ghost Step , we can probably get her to do yours. Or maybe we take a trip to Bastion City! I heard they have a good arcane tattooist in the city, lots of good reviews.”

Mazey stands up and dusts her hands off on her pants. “Alright, come on, Fabian. It’s late, and I want to get comfortable.”

He turns to look at her, and whatever lingering resentment Oisin might have harbored quiets as he sees Fabian’s lovesick gaze at his girlfriend. “Oh, yes! Mazey, let’s get going. We can put on a movie and, ah, get comfortable.”

Oisin sees Fig lean into Adaine, “Oh, they so totally fucked in the diner bathroom,” and Adaine gently shoves her friend’s shoulder.

Mazey takes hold of the motorcycle and pulls it up towards them. Before Fabian jumps on, he looks back at Oisin, and winks at him. “See you tomorrow night, Oisin. Good night, everyone!”

He grabs Mazey’s hand, and as she straddles the seat behind him, the minotaur smiles and says, “Bring your A-Game tomorrow, Hakinvar.” The Hangman revs, and the two of them peel off.

Oisin stares blankly at the driveway, not understanding what just happened. He turns back to the others, sure the incredulousness is written all over his face. “I know I’m tired, but I didn’t think I was that tired? Like that was a fever dream, right? That didn’t happen the way I just saw it?”

Ivy walks up to him. “It sure happened, you’re not delusional.”

He blinks a few times, still unsure of the events. “Like he fully squared up, that was a square up, that was a fight walk. And then compli—he dapped me?!”

Ivy crosses her arms and pouts. “Did you eat all of it, and not share?”

Oisin stares at her, dumbfounded. “What?”

She pulls a face at him, dismissive. “The fucking sandwich, Oisin. Hells, pay attention!”

“The what ?” He has to be feverish. “The sandw—yeah, I ate all of it.”

Ivy rolls her eyes, “And you didn’t share?”

He scrunches his face at her, sure that he’s missing something, but Ivy’s expression remains the same haughty one she normally had when he gets food without her. Her eyes hold his, and for a fraction of a second, he sees her widen them, glance to the side, and then move back, indicating something, but the exhaustion is catching up with him, and he’s desperate for bed, so he plays along with her.  “Did you go to the diner and not bring me leftovers?”

She scoffs and looks away.

“Don’t get all huffy on me,” he says, and leans into the open passenger side window to grab the fountain soda he got her. “I got you a sandwich, too. I also got you a soda but I don’t hear a thank you.”

She smiles at him, reaching out for the cup and taking a long sip from the straw. “Ugh, there’s nothing like a fountain Coke.”

Kristen, from the top of the stairs asks, “How’s Lucy?”

Ivy steps to the side so he has full view of everyone. They’re all staring at him, waiting for an answer, and it hits him that Ivy was attempting to dull his reaction down about Fabian, guide him towards something. He keeps his eyes on Kristen, not wanting to slide them even a fraction to look at Adaine. “Lucy’s home, she’s good,” he tells her.

Ivy gives him a blank look. “Are you guys okay?”

Oisin leans back against the passenger door, looking up the front walk. Mordred Manor is … aptly named, he figures. Its creaky and haunted appearance fits the attached cemetery behind it, and the gravel driveway acts as a first alarm for anyone approaching the set back house. One of the lights on the lower floor is on, he’s assuming that’s the living room, and a light in the spiraling tower is bright against the tall trees that grow next to it. He thinks about all the time his party must’ve spent here in the weeks he’s been away.

He scratches at the back of his neck. “Yeah, we’re okay. We talked for a bit before she went inside. It’s gonna take some time before we’re like, really good, but … I think we’ll be fine. She, uh, she’s good with me starting at the Lake on Monday.”

“Do you want help?”

His first instinct is to say no, to keep them away from it, but Oisin can see Lucy’s sad eyes in his mind, and instead says, “No, no, I mean—I think—I’ll just go out on Monday and assess how bad it is. And maybe see … if I need help.”

Ivy gives a slight nod. “Yeah, okay. Are you sure?”

His hands fidget, and Oisin cracks his fingers idly. “Yeah, I’m sure. I uh, yeah. I’m good, Ives.” He swallows hard at the sudden silence and looks around, anything he can use to alleviate the sudden awkwardness. “Where, uh, where’s the car? And Ruben and Mary Ann?”

“Gorgug took Mary Ann home,” Fig says.

“And I gave Ruben the keys and had him take the car,” Ivy adds.

Oisin’s eyes open wide. “You let Ruben drive the car?”

She shrugs, swirling the ice in her soda. “Yeah, I taught him how to drive it.”

“You? Taught him how to drive stick?”

Ivy brings the straw up to her lips, “P.S. the car needs new brake pads,” and takes a long, drawn out chug.

He lets out a long sigh, putting his glasses on the top of his head and rubbing at his eyes. “Can I just give him the automatic? I hate this car. I don’t even want it.”

“It’s auto?” Ivy scoffs. “I don’t want to drive it anymore. You can do whatever you want with it.”

“You can barely drive the stick.”

“Excuse you, I’ve gotten extremely good at it since you’ve been gone. All I do is drive now.”

He opens his eyes, and puts his glasses back on. “What did he mean? See you tomorrow night. What’s tomorrow night?”

Ivy raises her eyebrows. “Oisin. It’s Tilly’s solstice party.”

Oisin attempts to keep the long, drawn out groan inside, but it comes out anyway. Talulah Foxfoot, one of Ivy’s fey cousins who goes to Hudol. The last time he saw her was the previous summer—when they’d all been corrupted with rage. It was the solstice already? He feels like it should be later in the year before remembering just how much time he had spent recovering. She had hit on him every party he’d been to, and while it felt good to be noticed, there was no way he’d be doing anything with one of Ivy’s family. “You’re not gonna make me go, are you?”

“Of course you’re going.”

“I literally just got back! I’m exhausted, Ives.”

“We’re all going,” he hears from Fig.

“And Ruben and his band are playing,” Ivy adds, “so you’re going.” She takes another sip of her soda.

“Fine,” he says, rubbing at his temples. He'd have to text Ruben a congrats. “I’ll go. For Ruben. But the minute Talulah makes a weird comment or asks for my number again, I’m gone.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Ivy waves him off dramatically. “The minute the pretty fey girl makes googly eyes at you, I will run interference.” Her eyes suddenly light up, and Oisin feels a dread pooling in his stomach. “Although, she’s done nothing but text me for a week now about, is he going to be home in time? Would he leave the Waste for the party and go back? I made sure to stock that drink he likes.”

His eyes widen. “Okay, yeah, we’re done here. Good night, everyone.”

Ivy laughs. “Do you think he’d go see a movie with me? I learned a draconic dance for the party that I want to show him. Should I wear this color? It would match his sca— ”

Oisin grabs her shoulders, the embarrassment flushing his face a bright shade of purple. He looks over the top of her, “It’s been so real, we’ll see you tomorrow,” thrown towards the Bad Kids who are left.

He specifically doesn’t look at Adaine.

Ivy laughs the entire way home.

Chapter Text

“Adaine, you are breathing extremely loud for someone who is supposed to be concentrating.”

Adaine falls backward onto the floor in a huff, staring at the ceiling. Her arms splay out to the sides, her legs uncrossing and bending at the knees. “It’s not any use! We’ve tried over and over and we still can’t see her.”

Her mother is untraceable. She must have Nondetection up. Even with Aelwyn and her pooling their arcana together, Scrying just isn’t catching her. They’d been at it for at least two hours now.

Aelwyn blows out the ambience candles, and the tower goes dark before a quick mage hand flicks the lamps on. She blinks a few times in the brighter light, rubbing at her eyes. Adaine feels the floor thud under her as Aelwyn crawls across the circle to lay down next to her. “Lying down on the floor is beneath me, little sister. I don’t know why you do it.”

“Floor time is great,” Adaine defends. She turns her head to the side and watches as Aelwyn shimmies into place. One of the cats—Branwyn, the black one—jumps off the bed and comes to sit directly on the elder’s chest. “And you were just sitting on the floor with me.”

Aelwyn scoffs, petting the cat. “Sitting on the floor is different from lying on it, you brat. My hair is going to get all dusty now.”

Adaine brings one hand up to mimic her speech, “My hair is going to get all dusty now.”

Quick as lightning, Aelwyn’s mage hand is wrapped around her wrist. She throws her head to the side to glare in mock outrage. “Adaine, really, is that the best you’ve got?”

She rolls her eyes and faces the ceiling again. The mage hand disappears.

Aelwyn continues to look at her. “I mean really, Adaine, you’ve been testier than usual all day, and rather unfocused. What crawled up your ass and died?”

Adaine knows what’s bothering her—has been bothering her since last night. She doesn’t want to say it, though, because saying it makes it real, and she doesn’t want it to be real. So she opts for the noncommittal, “I didn’t trance very well. Hector over there—” she points off toward her bed where she knows damn well the ancient orange beast that her sister babies is knocked out on her pillows “—kept trying to suffocate me and I woke up about a billion times.”

“Hmm, billion, with a B, that certainly is a lot of times.” Aelwyn hums to herself, scratching behind Branwyn’s ears. “Now, do I have to waste the spell to cast Detect Thoughts on you, or are you actually going to tell me?”

Adaine continues to stare at the ceiling. Her head spins with thoughts. “It’s a lot of things,” she mumbles.

Branwyn’s purring is loud between them. “Bullet point them for me. We can go over whatever you want.”

She wishes she had Boggy at the moment. “It’s … I don’t know. There’s so much. It’s mom, and Kalina, and all day yesterday I kept disappearing into thoughts or memories, and I just lost so much time. We were at the farm, and then suddenly I’m at Krom’s, and then we’re in the front of the house, and I’m panicking on the front steps.”

Aelwyn is thoughtful for a moment. “Don’t take this wrong way when I ask it. Did you take your meds yesterday?”

Adaine nods, and the feeling of her head bobbing against the floor settles her a little. 

Her sister inhales deeply. “Well, did the thoughts or memories feel like when you get visions?”

She thinks on that a moment. With her visions, it’s obviously always something she has never seen before. Adaine watches them, takes notes on the things that seem important, on what happens—it’s never as if she’s looking back. Though the process can be the same, if she is analyzing a series of events, looking for more in it. She takes careful notes on all of her interactions, a terrible symptom of the way she was raised—don’t say the wrong thing, what did they mean by that, is there an ulterior motive? It’s only recently that Adaine has stopped dissecting everything the Bad Kids say around her. Trust is a heady thing.

Did her memories feel like visions, though?

Adaine breaks it down in her head.

1. What was the first memory? 

Her spying on Ivy and Oisin in the hallway, listening as he broke the news to Ivy about leaving for the Waste, and what it meant for him: the possibility of truly dying, no goddess sanctioned resurrection this time, and how he wanted no hatred between them.

2. What spurred it on?

She had been looking at the Rat Grinders—she doesn’t know what to call them still, now that they’ve burned their patches—and comparing them to her own party. Their friendships and romance and how natural it felt to be around them, now that they were not corrupted by Ankarna’s rage stars.

3. What happened afterward?

Oisin came back to Elmville.

Okay, well. That’s slightly ominous. But not ominous enough to constitute as a vision.

And then she had a panic attack sitting on the stairs, lost in memories of the Nightmare Forest, of drowning in the waters. What had spurred that on? She had been thinking of her father, but only because she had been thinking about how both her and Oisin had killed their fathers—fathers they apparently weren’t on good terms with. Her and Fabian have talked about it a bit, but Fabian’s relationship with Bill Seacaster is just so different to her and her father’s: Angwyn would have killed her if she hadn’t done it first. She doesn’t know the details of their relationship, if Oisin’s father would’ve done the same, if maybe he did it as an act of survival. For him and his clan. Like she did, for her and her sister.

She was thinking of him, at Loam Farm, and she was thinking of him again last night. But the memories were totally different, and were spurred on by different thoughts.

Adaine doesn’t like that he’s the catalyst each time.

“No,” she says, “I think I analyze them the same, but looking back on a memory and seeing a vision feel … different. Like watching a movie versus rereading a diary entry.”

“What were they about?”

Adaine rubs at her face again. “You’re going to think it’s stupid.”

Aelwyn rolls her eyes. “I think everything stupid, Adaine, but you are not.”

“Oh, sentimental now, are we?” She puts her hands down and rolls onto her side, facing her sister. Adaine reaches out and scratches Branwyn behind the ear, and the cat slinks off Aelwyn and saddles up next to her, getting comfortable between them. She takes a deep breath. She can tell Aelwyn this. “I was thinking about a boy.”

Aelwyn’s eyes open extremely wide.

Adaine props herself up on an elbow. “No, no! Absolutely not! Do not make that face! It’s not like that.”

Her sister’s lips are tight, suppressing a smile. “I’m not making any face, little sister. Why would I make a face at you telling me something so clearly intimate, as if thinking about a boy isn’t an activity most young girls participate in.”

She sits up fully now, and Branwyn loudly meows at her for moving so quickly. She tries to backtrack. “I wasn’t—I wasn’t thinking about a boy, I was thinking about one of the members of the Rat Grinders, who just so happens to be a boy.”

“Oh, tomayto, tomahto,” Aelwyn scoffs and sits up next to her, running her fingers through her now dusty hair. “I bet I know exactly who it is, too.”

“There’s only two of them.”

Aelwyn looks directly at her, challenging. “Oh, and you’re going to tell me that blue isn’t your color?”

Adaine seriously contemplates casting Hideous Laughter on her sister. She can feel her face heating at Aelwyn’s rhetorical question. Her sister only smiles. “Little sister, you are an open book.”

“I am not!” she retorts.

Aelwyn’s smug expression doesn’t leave. “Of course, you’re not. Who am I to be saying that, your only sister who’s been around your entire life and knows everything about you?” She pretends to inspect her nails. “From your shitty parents to the dragons you kill—or should I say dragonbo—”

Adaine grabs a pillow from the ground and smacks her sister with it. Branwyn loudly yelps and runs off. Aelwyn’s hair poofs in the impact, and she laughs, “Okay! Okay! God! I’ll shut up! I get it!”

She lets out a long, drawn out groan and falls back to the floor again. “There’s no way you got that so easy, you must have cheated.”

Aelwyn takes the pillow and puts it behind her, starting to fix her bangs again. “You underestimate me still, brat. Just because I’m nice now doesn’t mean my skills go unused. I still watch you like a hawk. And also, gnomes aren’t your type.” When her sister is finally happy with her hair, she continues, “Is this the same boy you refused to tell me about a few months ago? When you were so busy?”

Adaine stares at the ceiling of her tower. She didn’t want to think about it. Why not? You’re very fetching. She had been busy, yes, with school and solving the mystery about Lucy’s murder and Ankarna. Only the feeling then was not to discuss it because she was embarrassed to have a crush—now, she doesn’t want to talk about it because … she is embarrassed to have gotten played.

She doesn’t still have a crush.

It would be so stupid of her to have a crush on a guy who doesn’t even like her.

“I feel stupid, Aelwyn,” she says quietly.

Aelwyn stills perceptively next to her. “You are not stupid, Adaine. Why do you feel that way?”

“Because.” Adaine doesn’t want to look at her when she says it. “It wasn’t real. He flirted with me as a means to an end. It didn’t mean anything. I built a crush up in my head and then he was mean and I feel stupid for letting it get to me.”

Aelwyn is quiet when she asks, “What do you mean, he was mean? Mean like I’m mean? Or mean like …”

When she trails off, Adaine knows what she’s trying not to say. They’ve gotten good at predicting each other’s sentences, especially when it had anything to do with their parents. Aelwyn has really come such a long way. Bad things don’t justify good things, and vice versa, but in a wild world where some terrible spirit made me make a bargain, I’d take them to get you. Was he mean like their parents?

Her eyes travel along the ceiling, tracing the structure of the wood beams up to the tip of the tower, catching the grain and the knots. Mordred is nothing like her childhood home. It’s not polished and sterile, untouched and covered in white. Mordred is messy and haunted and dark, and there are nails everywhere—the time Kristen got “nail gun happy” while helping Jawbone renovate when they first moved in, safe to say no one lets her around the power tools anymore—that stick up at odd angles, doors that lead to nowhere. Doors that lead to everywhere. Rooms that are empty and filled at the same time. She is unafraid to be here. Adaine never felt like this at home.

She can’t have been that good an Oracle if she didn’t see the storm coming.

Didn’t see the storm coming? Must not be a very good Oracle.

“No,” she says. “Mean like me. Like I was, when Eleminthindriel died. When I made the comment about her not being good. He made the same comment to me, that night of the election. Because he sent a storm that I didn’t see in my visions of Fabian’s birthday.”

“And you feel stupid for not seeing it coming, like Eleminthindriel.”

“I feel stupid,” she agrees. Adaine’s fingers twitch. “I just … I thought he was cool, and he offered me diamonds at the shrimp jump party, and he seemed so nice and well put together, and he was a spellcaster who didn’t get all uppity like some of the others—honestly, most of the others I’ve met.” She pauses. “And it was nice to think that someone could think the same things about me and not be a raging asshole.”

Aelwyn looks at her for a moment, and it’s still quiet between them, but Adaine sees as her sister lies down next to her again, on her side this time. “I know what you mean. The feeling of being used by someone … someone that you thought wouldn’t. Or someone you didn’t want to.”

Adaine turns her head and the two of them make eye contact. Aelwyn’s expression is soft, vulnerable in a way she hasn’t seen from her in a long time.

I visited Penelope Everpetal’s grave. Told her that she was a horrid bitch and that I missed her.

“Did you like her?” Adaine asks.

She expects Aelwyn to deflect, as always. Bat it away with a mind your business, sister. But Aelwyn only continues to look at her before breathing in. “She was my friend. Aren’t you supposed to like your friends?”

Kipperlilly and Lucy … there was never anything that happened between them, nothing that any of us know about, at least. But Oisin and I had a bet that they’d get together before we graduated, if they could just admit it. It was so obvious to all of us.

“People suck so hard,” Adaine says.

“Oh, they suck tremendously,” Aelwyn replies.

“Just so bad.”

“Awful, terrible people.”

“We should become hermits.”

“We should absolutely not. You saw how I lived.”

“No, you’re right.”

Aelwyn furrows her eyebrows. “You know what, fuck this kid.” She sits up, and Adaine props herself up on her elbows. “Stupid, shit little dragonborn isn’t going to make my baby sister feel like a fool. That’s exclusively my job.” She looks down at her. “You’re going to a party tonight, right?”

Adaine fully sits up now. “I am. The Foxfoot’s solstice party.”

“Foxfoot,” Aelwyn hums, and it clicks. “Delilah! Oh, I remember Delilah Foxfoot from Hudol—it’s a Hudol party?”

She nods. “Yes. But it’s not Delilah. It’s some girl named Talulah.”

Aelwyn dismisses that with a wave of her hand. “Talulah was her younger sister. A bunch of eladrin. So, I guess Delilah’s off at University in Bastion City and her younger sister is taking over. That will be very interesting. Are the Rat Grinders going? Is the dragonborn going?”

Adaine nods again. “And the best part, apparently Talulah has a great big crush on him and has been trying to get with him every year.”

There’s a twinkle in her sister’s eyes, and Adaine’s seen it enough times to be wary. Aelwyn says, “Oh, that’s going to make this so much better. He’s not going to know what hit him.”

She squints her eyes. “You’re not going to hit him, are you?”

Aelwyn only smiles. “Oh, I’d love to. But no. You are.” The concern must show on her face because Aelwyn stands and continues, “Now, go shower. I have the perfect outfit for you.”

***

Adaine feels extremely exposed without her jacket, but Aelwyn—and even Fig and Kristen—had told her the denim would be too clashing, and it was hot out, she could deal without it for one night.

Everything is straight from Aelwyn’s closet. Courtesy of her sister, Adaine wears a creamy white strapless corset styled top tucked into a pair of deep blue denim high waisted shorts with several buttons instead of a zipper. Kristen had picked out a pair of silver strappy sandals and a matching handbag with an extremely thin over the shoulder strap. She had, thankfully, gotten out of wearing the fishnets Fig had wanted her to wear in favor of just shaving her legs.

Aelwyn hadn’t wanted her to wear a bra.

Fig had slipped her a pair of no-show inserts she keeps for her tour to make her a little more comfortable.

Adaine keeps her sword on her, and her component pouch has been transferred to the handbag. She tried so hard to sneak her jacket out the Hangvan when Gorgug pulls up to the address, but Kristen was too quick and tossed it towards the back.

“You look good, Adaine,” Fig says, throwing an arm around her. She wears her signature style, ripped fishnets and a skirt with her combat boots, bass strapped to her back. “You don’t have to worry so much. But also, if you really want the jacket, we won’t stop you.”

Kristen appears on the other side of her, clad in her wranglers, still brandishing her staff. “Yeah, absolutely, I mean I know I just hid it in the van, but you can totally wear it if you really want to. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. But like, damn girl, show it off a little!”

“Fine, it’s fine, I’m fine!” Adaine tells them, and yes, she’s uncomfortable, but she knows she looks good. She had put her hair up in a clip, and Aelwyn did her makeup, and yeah, the sword looks awkward at her waist, but it's better than a giant crystal ball.

And she isn’t going anywhere without her focus.

Mainly because nine out the ten parties she’d gone to over the years had ended in major combat.

She doesn’t expect this one to, but she can’t be too careful. Especially at a Hudol party.

Gorgug and Riz mimic the girl’s sentiments as they all get out of the car, and Gorgug puts the keys in his pocket.

There are a lot of cars on the street, and Gorgug had to park kind of far away in order to find a spot big enough for the van to fit. Fabian and Mazey had followed them on the Hangman, and parked closer to the house. When they get closer, Adaine sees them and waves.

Mazey salutes Kristen. “Madame President, the wranglers really look good today.”

Kristen perks up. “Thank you, I put them into to party mode!” She gestures down to the cuffed bottoms and laughs.

Mazey looks towards her and whistles. “Damn, Adaine! Look at those legs!”

“What leg?” Fabian asks, securing the helmet on the Hangman’s handles. “Is our dear Adaine showing leg?”

“Oh, God,” she mumbles, but she’s smiling all the same.

“And shoulder! She’s giving shoulder!” Mazey laughs.

“Yes, yes. I am showing leg and shoulder. You don’t need to hype me up.” Adaine grins at the both of them. “Okay, you can hype me up a little bit.”

All the Bad Kids whoop and holler around her, and Adaine feels a swelling in her chest. Maybe she doesn’t need the jacket.

“Where’s Ayda?” Fabian asks when they die down.

Fig chimes in, “Compass Points had some sort of event for the solstice today, so she’s doing that and gonna join us later.”

“Aelwyn didn’t mention an event,” Adaine muses. “I wonder if she’s skipping.”

Fig puts her hands on her hips. “She better not be. Ayda made it out to be huge, so I hope she has some help.”

“Yeah, cause you really can’t count on Rawlins,” Riz adds.

Adaine puts her hands up in surrender. “I’m not her keeper! She’s become very responsible lately, I’d assume she went after we left.”

They begin walking towards the house, and Adaine listens to the unimportant bickering of her party with a smile on her face. The homes in Tillering weren’t nearly as fancy as some of the ones near her old house, but they were just as big and felt more … suburban. The Foxfoot house is right next to where Fabian parked, and the walk is short, and Adaine takes in the big picture windows with the dancing lights on inside, the beautifully cut topiary bushes on the front walk, the evenly spaced cobbled walkway that leads to the front door, and around the back, and the huge front porch with sitting chairs. As they get closer, the music becomes more prevalent, and she can see Gorgug drumming in the air to the beat, and Fig nodding her head along.

“Well, it’s no ship,” Fabian says, “but a party is a party! Let’s go!” He takes Mazey’s hand, and the two of them fly up the stairs, practiced dancers, and in through the front door.

The music is much louder with the door open, but it sounds like a speaker, and Fig says, “Wait! Shoot, Ruben was supposed to play tonight, I wonder if he’s here. I never texted him.”

“Maybe he’s around back?” Gorgug offers, and points to the side of the house.

Kristen takes a peek over and then turns to smile at them. “I see like half a stage back there! They must be in the backyard!”

“Oh, hell yeah!” Fig starts running over, and Gorgug follows.

When Adaine hesitates, Riz turns to her. “Are you coming, Adaine?”

Her nerves are suddenly making her stomach float. She swallows, and smiles at Riz, “Uh, I’m going to find the bathroom and grab a drink. I’ll meet you guys in the backyard!”

Kristen, Fig, and Gorgug have already rounded the corner. Riz hesitantly looks over his shoulder at the now missing members of their party. “Are you sure? Do you want me to stay with you?”

“No, no! I’m fine. Fabian and Mazey already went in so I’ll see what they’re doing and meet you guys!”

Riz gives her a once over, and then says, “Okay, but if you need anything, let us know!”

She smiles at him, but it feels tight, even to her. “Definitely!”

When Riz disappears after the rest of their friends, Adaine takes a deep breath, and leans against the front porch railing. She just needs a moment before going in. It’s just so many people, she can already hear them all inside, and the thought of there being a backyard full of people, too … it feels overwhelming already. She takes out her crystal and sends a text off to her sister.

(adaine):  there’s a lot of people here and i’m just standing outside

(aelwyn):  it is a party, dear sister. of course there are going to be people.
(aelwyn):  and haven’t you been to bigger parties before?

(adaine):  i mean yes i have, but i don’t know these people
(adaine):  and that was a very quick text back, aren’t you supposed to be working?

(aelwyn):  i broke rawlins and i’m hiding in the friendship section.
(aelwyn):  i’ll go back to work if you go into the party.

(adaine):  ugh. okay

(aelwyn):  don’t be so melancholic. you look good. go kill that dragonborn.
(aelwyn):  or i will.

(adaine):  go back to work before i text ayda

(aelwyn):  fuck you.

(adaine):  fuck you too
(adaine):  love you

(aelwyn):  kisses love you, you brat.

Adaine slides her crystal back into her pocket, takes a deep steadying breath, and walks in through the front door.

There are tons of kids in what appears to be a living room type area. The music is exceptionally loud inside, but she gets the impression it’s because people were talking loud, so the volume was turned up, and then people talked louder, so the volume was turned up higher, and so on and so forth. She thought Fabian’s house had been cramped during the election night when they got like half the town to come to his birthday party, and while she hadn’t known everyone there, she has known most of the people. Here, in a new place with new people she doesn’t recognize, it didn’t matter that it was half the size, it felt far more overwhelming. Adaine places a hand on her bag, knowing the little orange pill bottle sits inside if she needs extra. Jawbone had told her it wasn’t a good idea to take more than the recommended dose, but she had also taken four pills that first time those years ago, standing outside the gymnasium.

She looks around, attempting to get a lay of the land (she doesn’t see Fabian or Mazey in here—had the two of them already disappeared?) before moving forward: there’s the large living room off to the right, a set of stairs leading up on her left, and what looks like a small at the back of the room leading off towards a kitchen, or dining area. There’s most likely a bathroom upstairs, should she need it, but standing outside for the moment to text Aelwyn had helped her nerves far more than hyperventilating in a bathroom would.

Adaine wanders through the living room, weaving between bodies of Hudol students—none she recognizes—before making her way into the kitchen, when she spies a group of girls she remembers from her years in the lower school of Hudol. Hells, if she could remember their names, she might be set. The other high elven girl (Misty? Mandy? Mary? Milly? Ugh) looks up from her conversation, and the grin that spreads across her face immediately sours Adaine’s stomach.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” she says, and Adaine watches as the girl and the two others she recognizes leave their spot at the counter and meet her at the doorway. “An Abernant at a Hudol party—I have half a mind to ask where your sister is.”

Adaine swallows hard. “She’s a little old for these now, far prefers the ones on Leviathan.”

The girl laughs, and one of the others says, “Myrise, perhaps Adaine is here to provide what her sister used to.”

The name finally rings a bell—Myrise Greencrest, one of the highest scoring testers in her year when she attended Hudol. The two of them had been neck and neck for valedictorian for three years running when Adaine had failed the entrance exam for the upper school. The sour feeling in her stomach churns at the memory.

Myrise gives her a glance over, assessing her, sizing her up. Adaine isn’t one for the classism of Hudol (at least, not anymore), but she can see that her previous academic rival still holds fast to the wealth her family owns, if the large diamond pendant around her neck has anything to say about it. “If she is,” Myrise drags out, swirling her cup, the ice tinkling against the plastic. It looks distinctly out of place in her hands. “I’d recommend starting with the Hellions. They’ve been itching for something to get their aggression out on, and I think a cute little Aguefort girl is exactly what they were talking about last week.”

The way Aguefort leaves her mouth, Adaine immediately gets the insult. It sounds exactly the way Aelwyn used to say it. There’s a part of her that, not agrees, but understands the distaste for the Adventuring Academy, as it was the same sentiment she had shared when first starting, and again last summer, when fighting the Night Yorb—the immaturity of it, despite saving the world four times over. But then she remembers Kipperlilly, the girl who would’ve done much better at Hudol than at Aguefort, and Adaine’s anger begins to boil under the surface. It is not Aguefort that’s bad—it is the people that believe they are better than it.

She opens her mouth to say something, but what comes out is not her own voice.

“Myrise! Darling, I’ve been looking for you all over!”

Adaine turns her head, and from behind her she spots Ivy, but it isn’t her that speaks. It’s the girl next to her.

An eladrin.

Myrise’s expression turns tightlipped. “Tilly, honey!”

When Ivy and Tilly—she assumes this is Talulah Foxfoot— approach, Adaine gets a good look at the host of the party. Summer, it looks like, is the season Talulah has donned today, perhaps in anticipation for the solstice. Her skin is a deep emerald green, with bands of gold adorning her arms and legs. Her honey-hued blonde hair falls down in loose ringlets, and bark-colored eyes are wide and fierce as she stands stark next to Adaine, giving Myrise the same sort of look-over. “Truly, I hope you’re not bothering my special guest. It’s not every day the Elven Oracle pays a visit.”

Myrise’s tongue swipes over her teeth through a closed mouth before tightly smiling. “I wouldn’t dream of bothering an Abernant, I just remembered her from our younger years and wanted to say hello.”

“I would love if you showed dear Adaine here the same respect you do me,” Talulah says, and Adaine looks over the eladrin’s shoulder to make eye contact with Ivy, who is wide eyed and cross armed a step behind.

“She is deserving of it,” Myrise forces out.

“She is, isn’t she?” Talulah glances to the side at her, and winks out of one eye before turning back to the other. “Myrise, I absolutely love those studs of yours.”

The elven girl, still tight, lifts the hand she isn’t holding her cup with and touches the diamonds that decorate her ears. “They’re family,” she says.

Talulah gives a grin that would feel predatory if it was directed at her. “Give it another year or two and I think you’ll finally grow into those ears enough to wear hoops.”

Ivy lets out a halting laugh, and Adaine bites her lip to keep her own inside.

Seeing when she’s outmatched, Myrise gives a polite smile, makes an excuse for needing to leave, and trots off with the other two girls right at her heels, her tail between her legs. When they’re out of earshot, Ivy chuckles, “Sometimes I wonder where it is I get my piss poor attitude from—and then I remember I’m related to you.”

Talulah laughs with her. “People just need to be put in their place, sometimes. Myrise is consistently one of those people.”

“She was a bitch even when I went to Hudol, and that was quite a few years ago,” Adaine offers.

The eladrin turns with a smile that is bright and welcoming. “And she will continue to be one.” She offers a hand out in greeting. “Talulah Foxfoot, but you can call me Tilly. Welcome to my party, Adaine.”

She returns the gesture, smiling. “It’s wonderful to be here—how did you know who I was? Did Ivy tell you?”

Tilly’s bright smile suddenly seems sharp as she leans in. “I’m fey, Adaine. It’s my job to know everyone’s name.”

“I told her the Bad Kids were coming,” Ivy says, and hands her a can of spiked seltzer. “Where are the others? Fig texted when you were on your way.”

Adaine stares at the can, unopened. Displacer plum, she hasn’t had this one before. “They saw the stage and ran around back, but Fabian and Mazey came in here and then immediately disappeared.”

“Bet they found a bathroom,” Ivy sing songs.

“Young love, adorable,” Tilly says, and then appraisingly, “Cute outfit. Great minds think alike.”

She looks down at her own ensemble, the white top and the dark denim shorts, and compares herself to Tilly—who wears a silky white crop top, and a pair of lighter blue cutoff shorts. “I think I like your shirt better,” she offers.

Tilly’s smile widens, and Adaine is acutely aware she has said the correct thing. “Come outside with us, we were about to start dancing!”

She cracks the can open and takes a sip, content to follow them. Plum isn’t normally her go to, but the sweetly smooth flavor added in with the seltzer are a good combination. “Where’s the rest of your party, Ivy? I haven’t seen Lucy or Mary Ann.”

They walk past a counter, and Ivy sneaks another can from a cooler. “Lucy came early with Ruben to help set up, so I think she’s outside still with him, and Mary Ann has like a sixth sense when it comes to Gorgug, so where he is, she won’t be far.” Ivy cracks her can, and holds it out to toast. Her and Tilly raise theirs and they clink together before taking a drink. “Oh, and I left Oisin playing pong with Randall and those dryad twins—Cleome and … ah, shit, I forgot the other’s name.”

“Brier!” Tilly offers. “And they’re not twins, they’re triplets! Aconis is the other one.”

Ivy squints at her. “I thought Aconis was the giant-kin?”

Tilly shakes her head. “No, you’re thinking of Aseen. With the really blue eyes?”

“There’s too many goddamn people here, Til!” Ivy laughs.

Adaine tries her hardest not to focus on the information Ivy tells her about Oisin—that he’s playing beer pong with a bunch of people she doesn’t know—but it stays in her mind, anyway. She wonders if he’s kept his shots straight, if there’s anyone that’s gotten his eye and thrown him off his game, like the way she thought he was about her.

Well, that settles it. She’s absolutely not going to go find him. She’s not even going to bother. Aelwyn can eat it, Adaine is absolutely not ready to see him after last night, after learning so many things about him in such a short time span.

They walk outside, and there’s even more people in the backyard, milling around and talking. Her eyes go directly the little platform stage at the far end of the yard, and spies Ruben tuning a guitar, talking to Fig, Gorgug, and Mary Ann. She peers around them, noticing Ruben is still using the My Clerical Gnomance logo, but there’s a new girl on the drums, and someone else on keyboard, with a bass hanging from their shoulder.

Adaine looks around again, spying Kristen and Lucy in conversation with she thinks another cleric from Aguefort—good to know they’re not the odd ones out here, at a Hudol party. She can’t find Riz, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t around. Her eyes continue scanning, Ivy and Tilly’s light conversation in the background as she jumps from person to person, not recognizing anyone yet, until—

She almost skips right past him, if not for the blue of his scales catching her eye in the early evening light. Oisin is leaning against a table, drink in hand, talking to three other guys: two dryads, and a human. He’s wearing a pair of olive green shorts, almost the same color as the shirt he had been wearing last night—the button up, not the tank top that showed off his tattoos, some ruined and some not, and his strong shoulders, and the way the muscles in his arms moved as he lifted his—good gods, Adaine, pull yourself together!—and an oversized white crew neck t-shirt half tucked into it. It’s plain, and still not what she’s used to him wearing, but her mind briefly shorts anyway before she blinks and tunes back into the conversation.

“—ike my brother, Tilly, so I don’t want to hear this,” Ivy is saying.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry,” Tilly tells her, but the tone of her voice tells Adaine she isn’t as sorry as she should be. “I just don’t know how you live with him and don’t want to climb him.”

Adaine’s face immediately heats when it registers what they’re speaking about. She keeps her mouth shuts as Ivy drags a hand over her face. “Because I live with him, Til, that’s why. And like I said before—he’s basically family. You don’t want to climb Florian, do you?”

Tilly seems … smitten. Staring off in the direction Adaine had just been. “No, I suppose not.”

The conversation seems dropped for now, and Adaine is grateful for it. She’s not jealous. There’s nothing to be jealous about. Other people can have people they’re attracted to. Those people can be eladrin and dragonborn. It doesn’t have anything to do with her. Oisin never actually flirted with her. The only conversation they’d had since the big fight was the Message cantrip last night, and she hadn’t even talked back to him. She had just nodded.

She has no right.

So why does she still feel this way?

I don’t know what it was, it was different then the one he told Kip and Porter about, and when I asked him about it that night, he said he made it so you guys couldn’t lose.  

Adaine can’t figure out what Ivy meant by that. It had angered her—it still angers her, to think about it—that Oisin had thought they’d needed help. She tries to piece it together in her mind, but the loud sounds of the party are drowning her out, and suddenly, when Adaine gets out of her head and back into the conversation, Kristen, Lucy, and Fig are standing with them.

“He’s gonna rock so hard, I can feel it in my bones,” Fig says, adjusting her fishnets.

Lucy is beaming from ear to ear. “I’m so proud of him, you guys are gonna love his new music. I really think this fits him!”

“Is this some of the EP you were mentioning last night in the diner?” Kristen asks.

“Yes! And that entire tracklist was done live, so it should sound just about the same!”

Fig stands up straight again. “I should really let the kid use my studio. For real, this time.”

Adaine’s gaze passes over all of them, and lands back on Tilly, who seems to still be staring at Oisin. When she glances at Ivy, the wood elf seems distraught, her teeth grit tight and hands wrung. Adaine remembers Ivy saying something about running interference for him.

Ivy’s voice comes out nervous when she says, “Tilly, maybe we should go back inside. I finished my drink and I want another.”

But Tilly only smiles again, that smile of a predator. “You know what, Embra? He’s not going to say no tonight. I can feel it.”

“Til, that’s not a good ide—”

“Feel free to put money down, ladies,” and Tilly takes a step out of their circle to look back at them. “but Talulah Foxfoot is killing a dragon tonight.”

She walks away, towards Oisin, and as she does, something clicks in Adaine’s head.

Talulah is wearing gold. She has gold on her arms, on her legs, she wears several different gold rings, and bright blue gemstone earrings. As she turns around, Adaine can see that the shirt she wears is bare on the back, aside from two gold chains crisscrossing over her spine. 

This was premeditated. This was planned. Tilly is walking up to a dragonborn dressed to the nines in gold.

Ivy stares wide eyed ahead, as Tilly crosses the yard towards Oisin. “Oh no.”

When the eladrin reaches him, a thought comes unbidden into Adaine’s mind, a memory from her Surviving Dangers course, in the chapter about dragons in her textbook

To get close to a dragon, you need to know what they hoard.

Chapter Text

“Randall, you illiterate fuck,” Oisin shouts, “I knew you couldn’t read, but I didn’t think I’d have to tell your math teacher you can’t do basic subtraction!”

The firbolg laughs loudly, bent over at the knees. “No, you can’t tell her that, I’ll literally never pass senior year if you do!”

They’re both a little tipsy, despite being in the lead. Oisin has sunk every shot so far—he’s not counting the round where Cleome kept yelling miss! at him—and there’s only one cup left on the opposing side. The two dryads, Cleome and Brier Elmsense, are doing just as well, however, and leaving Randall in charge of removing their cups has Oisin wondering if they’re doing maybe a little too well.

He can’t figure out why he was so hesitant to come, the party’s been fun thus far: he’s holding his liquor, he’s got friends from previous parties around—one’s who aren’t jumping down his throat for answers as to why his party had colluded with a teacher and tried summoning a rage goddess and killing other students—and Ruben is absolutely on fire up on stage, and has been all night. The bard’s new sound is definitely better than anything he’s played so far, some type of indie rock-ish that really brought out his lower register, something Oisin can appreciate.

He hates to say it, but he’s actually having a good time.

And Ivy seems to be holding up her end of the bargain and keeping Tilly far, far away from him.

The cool evening air is a balm to his slightly hot skin, a light breeze occasionally lifting his shirt and providing relief from the coursing alcohol in his veins. It’s not enough to keep him buzzed—a bigger body means more is needed to make him feel much of anything now—but it allows him to keep drinking throughout the night, and maybe not feel like crap tomorrow morning, which is great because the fey at this party can drink.

“Will you call your shot, Hakinvar?” Cleome calls out, fixing the rack on the table.

Oisin grins fiercely at the dryad. “What do I get if I win?”

Cleome looks up, his dark brown eyes black in the settling twilight. “You want to add stakes?” A wicked smile appears on his face. “You know if you miss this shot, we win, right?

Brier leans on the table, wobbling the edge a bit, “Which means you have to do shit if you lose.”

Oisin rolls his shoulder back, the buzz dulling the pain in it for the most part. “The two of you couldn’t win even if I was smashed right now, let’s be honest.”

Randall chokes on his drink, spitting half of it out on the grass while gargling out a laugh. “I heard you lost to a couple of AV club nerds last year, sober.”

Well, he was having a good time.

Oisin grits his teeth, but tries to hide the sudden irritation on his face, looking back to Cleome. “Name it, Elmsense. Whatever you think would be fitting.”

Cleome holds his cup, swirls it a bit in his hand, giving him a glance up and down. “Fine. You win? I’ll go streaking at the first Hellions Owlbears game of the year.”

All three of them look over to Cleome, eyes wide and mouths open. Oisin watches the dryad intently, but there’s nothing but confidence in the way he holds himself, in the challenge in his eyes. Cleome has a smile that feels victorious already, and Oisin grabs his own drink from the table, and raises it up. “If you win,” he starts, feeling the energy in him gradually rising to the provocation, “I’ll go streaking at the first Hellions Owlbears game of the year.”

The dryad’s fierce smiles turns downright villainous, and the two of them toast each other in lieu of shaking hands. “Making a deal with the fey, mate,” Cleome winks at him. “Not the smartest. You have too much to drink?”

Oisin returns it as much as possible, placing his beer down on the table to grab the ping pong ball and clean it off. “You know what they say about dragons,” he says, and gets himself into position to take the shot. He lines his arm up, calculates the distance left for the last cup. If he angles a little higher this shot, he should sink it just as easy as the rest. Eyes glance up briefly to Cleome and Brier, seeing they stand back at least a few feet, before he winks back at them. “Vain and prideful fucks.”

He lets the ball go. It arcs beautifully in the air. Oisin’s grin widens tremendously as it vanishes inside the cup, the tiniest plop! the only evidence it ever hit the water. 

“Oh, fuck me!” Cleome shouts, and Oisin and Randall laugh loudly next to each other, dancing to the upbeat song that plays as they win.

“You have to do it!” Randall shouts, and Oisin downs the rest of his beer in victory.

***

The four them, Cleome, Brier, Randall, and Oisin, continue to hang out for the rest of the night. He listens to Ruben play music, drinks more, and feels good. He’s gone almost the entire night without once thinking of her, and Oisin will call that a victory in and of itself, until he spots the Bad Kids—at least, a few of them—walking through the backyard straight to Ruben. She isn’t with them, and he feels his stupid teenage heart sink at the realization that she might not be here, before he composes himself and continues talking to the guys.

He’s in and out of his thoughts, hardly listening as the others talk about their senior year schedules. Randall’s got an internship with some company in Bastion City, hoping to see Tilly’s older sister at the university there—they’ve all told him that’s a bad idea, Delilah isn’t much better than her younger sister—and Cleome and Brier are meeting their brother in the feywild for a few weeks before classes start. Oisin tells them he needs to finish the clean up project before senior year, or Aguefort will expel his entire party. Randall tells him to transfer to Hudol and join the Hellions. Oisin politely declines.

It’s not that he’s sad Adaine isn’t here—okay yeah, he is sad, but not enough to ruin his mood completely. It’s not like he could talk to her anyway. He was ballsy last night to message her, and she hadn’t said anything when he came to grab Ivy at their house afterwards, so it’s not like he’s missing out on anything amazing. He feels genuinely loserish, knowing that all he could bring himself to do would be to stare at her.

Oisin doesn’t know how to talk to her, is the issue. He owes her an apology. He’s giving her party a million gold—God, how would she even take that? He had tried to give her diamonds last year and she had all but thrown the offer back in his face. He can’t blame her, they hardly knew each other, but he wasn’t lying when he told Cleome that dragons were vain and prideful—it stung a bit to be rebuffed, and if he’s being honest, he doesn’t know how he’d react now if she denied the gold.

Stupid fucking draconic ancestry.

“Looks like Oisin is going to need a shot …” Brier mumbles into his cup.

He clues back in, brows furrowing at the dryad. “Huh?”

Randall gently elbows him. “Speak of the devil, eight o’clock.”

Oisin turns to look, his eyes scanning over the sea of students in the backyard, before he lands on Ivy’s tall head above the crowd, coming from the slider door attached to the Foxfoot kitchen. There’s a sinking in his stomach as he catches glimpses of emerald green through the bodies.

“I’m gonna need a shot, yeah,” he agrees.

He doesn’t dislike Tilly—most fey are sneaky and devious, in his dealings, far preferring to deal in riddles and twisters than straight forward niceties—but she, and the rest of the Foxfoots seemed to be a cut above the rest, having lived in the material realm for so long. But it’s just that: she’s a bit too forward. Oisin thinks back to last summer’s solstice party, when Delilah was still here and Randall had been drooling in the corner at the very air she breathed, and how Tilly had been just as forward then as she had the years past, only it became … worse, somehow.

Oisin isn’t one to judge; he’d been pining after Adaine since that first class Thursday morning freshman year, when she’d walked in with that huge glass orb, not a wrinkle on her Hudol uniform, sitting stock still at the front of the class. But there’s something off putting at the idea that someone had been more into him when he was full of anger, misplaced and violent.

Brier laughs and hands him a new beer, and Oisin gratefully cracks it and takes a chug before the dryad heads off to grab something a little harder. Randall looks at him with sympathy before asking, “Is there a reason you won’t give her a chance?”

Oisin rubs at his face with his free hand. “I don’t know. I was … different … last year.” Randall and Cleome nod. He doesn’t need to go into more detail. “Maybe if she showed real interest in who I am now, and not whatever version of me she’s concocted in her head. But that is a big maybe.”

“I don’t know, mate,” Cleome says, “she’s hot. ‘Nuff for me.”

“Your hand is enough for you,” Randall replies.

The two of them bicker until Brier gets back with a bottle of something clear, vodka or tequila, he isn’t sure. Oisin’s eyes scan the crowd again, looking to see where Ivy and Tilly ended up, when he sees her.

Adaine.

Standing with both of them.

For a moment, he’s grateful that she showed up, but then the nerves set in, and he can’t take his eyes off of her. If he was on fire, he’d burn in the spot before he looked away. She’s wearing something different tonight, something he’s never seen her in, not even at the parties at Seacaster’s. Her hair is up in a clip, exposing the soft slant of her shoulders. She’s got a pair of high waisted shorts on, and some kind of strapless shirt that shows off … a lot. Her entire outfit shows off a lot, and Oisin is suddenly aware that his mouth is open, and the alcohol in him is buzzing strong under his skin, making him warm. He swallows hard.

He tries not to think of it often—doesn’t want the obsessive and possessive tendencies to rear their ugly heads, especially now—but he’s always known Adaine is attractive. He’d be an idiot to deny that fact. Even by dragon standards. His kind feast on those who understand looks can be a valuable asset. Vain and prideful fucks. But that was Adaine in jeans and a jacket. She’s showing skin tonight. She’s showing a lot of skin. 

Adaine Abernant is fucking hot.

And the sword at her side, Oisin might actually need something to bite. It looks good hanging off her hip—hips he can see.

“You’re drooling,” Randall says.

Oisin tears his gaze from her to look at Brier. “Fuck a shot, give me the bottle,” he says, and grabs the liquor, taking a long swig. Vodka, he finds out.

“You’re gonna need another one,” Cleome says quietly, “because she’s coming over here.”

He chokes slightly on the vodka, eyes snapping back towards Adaine, but she stays in the same place. She is, however, watching him. Oisin feels his face go hot again, and starts to ask what he meant, when he realizes that Cleome doesn’t know Adaine. He isn’t talking about her.

He is talking about Tilly.

Next to Adaine stands Fig and Kristen, eyes also watching him, and on the other side of her is Lucy and Ivy, the latter of which is frantically waving her hands side to side to get his attention. Tilly is missing from their group.

Tilly is missing from their group because she is walking directly at him.

Oisin suddenly regrets coming to the party.

He takes another quick swig of the vodka and hands it back to Brier, vowing in his head to make Ivy’s life a living hell at home for at least a week.

She’s smiling at him, and calls out, “Oisin! I haven’t seen you all night!”

“I’ve been out here,” he responds, giving her a gentle smile. “Ruben’s supposed to play again in a few—hey, I wanted to thank you for having him on stage.”

“Of course! You know, after Ivy told me he’d switched his sound up, I absolutely had to have him over.” She comes to stand right next to him, too close for comfort, really, and he inhales deeply—

And something has his blood on fire.

It’s warm, it smells warm, and sweet, but not sweet like chocolate, sweet like … Oisin wracks his brain. The scent is so familiar, it’s clawing at his throat. It’s floral in nature, something succulent maybe, but he can’t place it for the sudden swimming in his head, for the salivation in his mouth. Everything goes hazy. It’s as if his mind tries to shut off, but his heart is pumping overtime. He blinks a few times, trying to right his thoughts.

And then a soft breeze comes by, and he can think again, the scent disappearing, and Tilly is looking at him, the wisps of her hair flowing gently. What just happened? Oisin stares at her dumbfounded, his heart still racing from before, his skin itchy, and his eyes travel to the earrings she’s wearing—blue diamonds or sapphires, he can’t tell in this light—and the gold banding on her arms, and the outfit that bears resemblance to Adaine’s, the white of her shirt stark against the dark green of Tilly’s summer form. A deep dread settles in his stomach.

When he looks back towards the guys, Oisin notices they’re gone. Randall, Cleome, Brier—just gone from next to him. He looks around, but doesn’t spot them immediately, and the confusion from earlier is back tenfold. Where did they go? “Til—”

“You know, Oisin,” she interrupts, stepping in closer. “I was really happy when you came home in time for the party. I had assumed you’d miss it, what with the clan brawl, and whatnot, but Ivy let me know you made it home last night.” Her hand swings in, and he can feel her fingers gently touching his. “I’m sure you must be exhausted, but I really wanted to thank you for coming anyway.”

Oisin tries his hardest not to breath, not until he feels the gentle breeze against his skin again, but the scent is still there, an undercurrent in the slowly evaporating space between them. He can feel his heart start racing again. “I–yeah,” he clears his throat, tries to steady the hand she touches, but it’s a losing battle. “I come every year, so I, uh, I didn’t want to … miss. It. The party.”

Tilly looks up at him through thick lashes, and Oisin is extremely aware of what she’s attempting to do—way more forward than she had been in previous years. “The party,” she agrees, and something shifts in her eyes.

He is aware of three things that happen within the next few seconds:

First: Tilly takes another step towards him, and with Oisin already against the table, he has nowhere to back up to escape whatever she has planned. He instinctively breathes again, a small intake of air, and he’s accosted with the cloying scent again, sweet and cinnamony. He can feel his lightning catching on the base of his tongue.

Second: Tilly’s hand switches in his, no longer playing at his, but instead palm to palm. He can feel the light drumming of her fingers against the tips of his, and the racing of his heart has his hands clammy. He thinks about taking it away, but the sweet scent is addling his thoughts, not letting him pick a direction.

And third: she takes her nails, sharpened and painted, and drags them up his palm, over his wrist, and rakes across his pulse point.

He feels everything in him tense. The frills on his arms raise. His tail sweeps low and thuds against the legs of the table that Tilly has him against. His claws extend. Oisin looks down at her, and she wears a predacious smile, teeth showing, eyes practically glowing. He feels his heart in his throat.

“Do you think, maybe,” her voice is so quiet, he strains to hear her over the beginning sounds of Ruben’s next set, “that we could … take this inside?”

It’s not his smartest idea, but Oisin needs to get away. He drags his eyes from hers, holds the breath weapon that’s ready at the back of his teeth, and grips her wrist as he drags her towards the house. Out in front of her, the scent is gone, trailing behind them, and he can mostly think again. He takes a couple deep breaths, trying to purge it from his system, but his thoughts are still sort of cloudy, and his bones are desperately trying to jump out of his skin, his heart beat hitting his chest hard enough he can feel it over the bass.

He takes Tilly inside through the sliders he watched her come out of. The kitchen is full of kids. He moves past them towards the front of the house. The living room is full of kids. An irritation builds in his chest. He spies the stairs going up, and roughly drags her behind him up the stairs. There are several doors, all of them closed. The irritation is now anger. “Where?” he growls at her.

Tilly’s voice has a quality to it he isn’t sure he likes—soft, breathy—when she answers, “End of the hall.”

He takes her down the hallway, throws open the door, and stalks inside. His mind is clearer now, and she has some explaining to do. “Til, we should really talk.”

Oisin’s eyes scan the room, and his stomach sinks again as he realizes he’s in her bedroom. There’s a large bed against the far wall, with ornate drapery surrounding it, and a long dresser with a vanity attached. Everything is covered in feywild filigree, grass greens and baby blues, silver and gold and mithril. None of the windows are open, but he can hear the muffled sounds of party goers, and Ruben’s singing.

Oh, he’s so stupid.

He hears the door shut behind him with a click, and his eyes turn back to see Tilly leaning against the wood frame. Her fingers twitch, and the little lock on the handle flicks into place. Oisin swallows hard. Whatever she’s wearing, with a locked door and closed windows, it will certainly fill the room soon. He needs to tell her before he can’t think straight anymore.

Tilly, however, has other ideas. A smile creeps on her face, her eyes bright and predatory. It’s not a walk towards him, it's stalking. “I don’t want to talk tonight, Oisin. I don’t think you want to talk, either.”

“Til—” he backs up a step, and then another, and another, trying put distance between them as she gets closer, but if he steps any farther back, he’ll hit the bed.

She’s right in front of him now, and her hands reach up to touch his shoulders, drag down the front of his chest, lingering over his rapidly beating heart. Her scent is so powerful this close, it takes everything in him to not drool. “Oisin,” she purrs.

Tilly stands up on her tiptoes, her eyes half lidded and leaning in, and within a second, Oisin is done for.

She kisses him, hands fisting in his shirt, and he can only grab onto her because whatever it is she smells like, he wants more . It’s overwhelming this close, but God, does it smell good. It’s intoxicating. His mind is fuzzy, but it feels like being buzzed, and he’s been buzzed before and made sane decisions. He holds her waist, pulls her slightly closer, and he can feel the smile on her lips at the movement, before she pushes him towards the bed.

His knees hit the edge, and the alcohol from earlier stumbles him so he sits on the bed with a force he wasn’t expecting. Tilly is on him in an instant, her hands steadying on his shoulders as she situates herself on his lap. His hands instinctively find her hips, and the smile she bears is vulturine, so fey in quality that he has to work overtime to convince himself that he isn’t prey under her gaze in the literal sense, no matter what his body is telling him right now.

He’s so afraid to open his mouth, can feel the lightning catching on the base of his tongue, itching at his teeth. It’s embarrassing. It feels childlike to be unable to control his breath—why can’t he control it? What does she smell like?

“What—” he blinks a few times, desperate to get control back. “What are you wearing?”

Tilly’s hand travels up from his shoulder, languid, tempting. Her teeth are visible when she smiles again. “Do you like it?” Her voice is soft, frying in the low tones as she rakes her fingers into his frills. His eyes roll back, and he struggles to keep a moan in at the feeling. “I got it special from the city, it’s supposed to … entice.”

It’s working. Too well, if he has anything to say about it. He knows this is not what he came up here to do, but hells, if this isn’t better, her nails against his scales, the subtle way her hips move when she talks, the cinnamon on her breath. He wants to roll them over so she’s underneath him and see how loud—

He blinks hard again. No, he doesn’t. Oisin looks up at her. Her body is silhouetted in the soft lamp light from behind, but even that feels so bright against his eyes. “Entice? Like specifically?” His voice is shaky.

Tilly laughs, and the shaking in her core reverberates across his lap, making him bite his cheek to keep control. Her words come out slow and lilted. “Oh, Oisin, you’re so sweet. So sweet, and smart, and strong.” Hands grip at his upper arms. Her smile is predatory again, and her eyes travel down his person, raking across his form—it doesn’t escape him where she lands on before dragging her gaze back up. He’s sure his skin is purpling, his face hot when her hand reaches up and takes his glasses off, tosses them to the side. “And innocent. God, I want to ride you into oblivion.”

Her mouth is on his again, and he can feel her hands move to his shoulders and push down. Oisin falls back against the bed, Tilly adjusts her body on top of his so she is more comfortable, and his mind goes blank at the soft moan she lets out when his hands travel across the expanse of her back. His nails catch on chain, and it occurs to him that Tilly is wearing gold and gems all over, smells like something so violently sweet, has him on a bed of expensive sheets—everything that someone with draconic ancestry would be not only into, but desperate for.

It’s depraved of him—he doesn’t like Tilly, not like this—but the way her hands touch him, the scratching of her nails on his skin, the way her scent is practically lighting him on fire … is it so bad? Why had he fought this? Her tongue licks across his canines, and his hands grip her hips tight. There can’t be anything wrong with this, except for the fact that it’s Tilly and not—

It’s not who he wants.

It’s not the girl he had practically drooled over just a bit ago.

She isn’t Adaine.

Is it so bad if his mind wanders, he thinks, nails trailing across her lower back. She arches above him. Is it so bad if he imagines the girl on his lap is elven? If she has blue eyes and soft skin and legs for days? If she is the one panting into his mouth, running her fingers across his horns, hair tumbling down to frame her face like a curtain? If he imagines they snuck up here to fool around?

What would she do if he ran his tongue across her bottom lip? Would she open her mouth, let him in? Could he taste the back of her teeth, let the electricity building in his throat sneak its way into hers? He imagines her whimpering above him, hears it in his thoughts, lets his hands rake forward to tease at the top hem of her shorts, feels the give as the button undoes, her stomach muscles tensing as he gently scratches at the newly exposed skin. Her hands grip his horns for leverage, pressing him down towards the bed.

Adaine rolls her hips against him, hard and rhythmic.

Oisin sits straight up.

Tilly’s cheeks are rosy against the green of her skin, lips bruised and sucked and he has to get up now, she has to get off of him.

He unceremoniously dumps her to the side, and she gives a light yelp at the sudden action. He lunges off the bed and away from whatever interaction was about to just happen, walking towards the windows, batting away curtains and blinds and desperately yanks one open for fresh air, for a breeze, for anything to get him to think. The music is louder now, her bedroom window facing the backyard. He adjusts himself in his shorts, painfully aware of what he’s just cockblocked himself from, aware of what he had been imagining.

“Oisin,” Tilly starts, and he can hear the bed creak as she moves.

He whips around, frantic. “You need to stay over there.”

Tilly freezes. Her entire body teeters precariously on the edge of the bed, half standing, half sitting. Her eyes go wide, and it suddenly dawns on Oisin that his fingers are playing with a bracelet at his wrist, a bracelet that holds a small, straight piece of iron.

He lets his concentration go.

Tilly unfreezes, and her expression is one of disbelief. “Did you just fucking cast Hold Monster on me?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he says, and it sounds desperate. “Tilly, I need you to stay over there. Do not come near me right now.”

After a moment of intense silence, Tilly sits back on the bed, her arms crossed. “What the fuck is it, Oisin? What just happened?”

A breeze sneaks in through the window, and Oisin turns back to toss the curtain to the side, breathing the fresh night air in deeply. When his mind clears enough, he looks back. “What are you wearing?”

“The perfume?”

“Yes.”

“I told you, I got it in the city,” she says and points to her vanity. “It’s the one with the blue top, clear bottle, oval.”

Oisin takes the few steps to her vanity, squinting at the bottles on the table. His glasses are still somewhere on the bed with Tilly, and he cannot risk getting close to her again. He finds the one with the blue top, and holds it close to his face to read the ingredients.

Roasted chestnut. Cinnamon. Ginseng. Lemon. Earl extract. Various other herbs.

Bloodspine.

Bloodspine.

He turns back to Tilly, sudden nausea rolling his stomach. “Do you know what’s in this?”

She looks at him questioningly. “A bunch of stuff? I’m not sure of the specifics. I asked her for something that would … be of interest to a … dragon.”

“There’s bloodspine in this, Tilly,” Oisin says. His voice is like ice, even to his ears. He throws the bottle to her, and she catches it. “Do you know what that is?”

“A flower? I—” She looks at the bottle and then back at him. “Oisin, I’m a spellcaster, not a botanist. I don’t know. What is it?”

He wants to throw up. The sweet scent he couldn’t place finally has a name. “Bloodspine is a succulent found in the Red Waste. It’s a paralytic and hallucinogen. ”

Her eyes go wide. “A what ?” Tilly starts to move off the bed, but Oisin raises his hands again. She stills. “I—Oisin, I swear I didn’t know—”

“It’s a bad trip when you ingest it, and I’ve been breathing it in.” He puts a hand to his face. “Along with whatever other aphrodisiac-based shit is in it.”

Tilly stirs again, and then thinks better of it. “Oh God, I asked her for something for dragonborn—I didn’t think it would—”

“You didn’t think!” He scoffs. “I—I have to get out of here.” Oisin takes a deep breath and holds it, moving towards the bed to collect his glasses before heading for the door.

“Oisin! Wait!” Tilly stands up finally and hovers in the middle of her room. “I’m sorry! I—I’ll shower! I’ll get it off me! I’ll empty the bottle down the sink!”

His hand pauses on the door handle, hesitating. He’s not thinking about taking her up on the offer that’s hidden behind her pleas—that they continue when she’s clean, making out on her bed, headed who knows where (he’s in denial, he knows where it was headed, and the part of him that’s still hazy wants nothing more than close his eyes and let Tilly do what she wanted with him, let his imagination run wild again)—but the guilt and shame are stronger than the haze now that he’s breathed a little clean air. He hesitates because he wants to know why.

Oisin turns back to face her. Now that she’s standing, he can see the way her shirt is rucked up, her hair out of place and ill-contained, the button on her shorts undone, bottom lip bitten and bruised. The exposed skin of her stomach has scratch marks that seem to appear from behind her waist. To any guy, she would be the picture of fucking sin, worked up and asking for him to stay. He had done that. “What about me do you even like, Til?”

She seems stumped for a second. “What do I like?”

“Yeah, Til. About me. Why?”

Tilly stares at him, and he can practically see the gears in her head turning. His heart sinks. It’s disappointing. Not because he likes her, but because he had at least assumed it’d be something.

She opens her mouth, and then closes it, opens again. “Oisin, I like you because you’re smart, and strong, and you’ve got this confidence about you that I’m extremely attracted to.”

Oisin furrows his brows at her. “I’m anything but confident.”

“You were last year.”

And there it is. His reason to leave.

Oisin flips the lock back open and leaves the room, with Tilly still standing in it.

He makes his way back down the hallway, back downstairs. There’s still so many people here, he realizes they couldn’t have been upstairs for more than twenty minutes. He hovers at the base of the stairs for a moment, but doesn’t see anyone from his party. He just needs to find Ivy, he just needs to hand Ivy the key to the car. He’ll walk home, take the time to clear his mind of the bloodspine.

As he makes his way through the throngs of students, Oisin catches a glimpse of himself in one of mirrors on the wall. He’s flushed, purple as all get out, and has Tilly’s lip gloss all over his mouth. He does his best to wipe it before heading towards the backyard. When he comes out of the kitchen door, Ruben’s music is louder than ever as he starts a slow intro to another song.

You're talking while you're fast asleep
As I walk slowly from your house
Back in your room remain the words I wanna say to you
But couldn't leave my mouth

His stomach rolls again. Ruben stands on stage, guitar in his hands as he plays a couple upbeat chords, the bassist and drummer adding in. The lights on stage flash different colors of white and blue.

Does it come as a surprise?
Language of averted eyes
Silence is what I do best
Still, I hear it all
Wasting time around my head
So I talk to myself instead

The drum kicks up, and Oisin’s head starts pounding along with it. He needs to find Ivy and go.

Sitting out the weekend
Couldn't do it again
Say you want it right now
But I wouldn't know how
It's something that I can't do
Then what am I supposed to?
Quite the people pleaser
If only I could please her

Oisin spies Lucy and Kristen, the two of them standing with another girl he doesn’t recognize. Lucy has … something in her hand—there’s no way it’s a cigarette, it has to be something else—and she’s laughing and dancing to Ruben’s song with the Bad Kids cleric.  His eyes skip over a bunch of other people, when he hears Figueroth Faeth’s distinctive lower tremor.

“He’s an indie pop boy! We’ve lost another good one!”

He turns to his left and sees Fig’s bright red bass standing out amongst the rest of people. The back of Ivy’s head is visible standing next to her, and Adaine on the other end.

Ivy laughs, “You have to admit, this is his genre!”

“It’s a bop, and I hate it!” Fig cries.

Indecisive feelings of enjoyment
Hold that thought, I think I need a moment
I'm aware there's something I should tell you
But my voice annoys me
Bite my tongue off with a smile

Oisin marches over to them, dodging kids with cups and a dancing circle, grabs Ivy’s shoulder and whips her around. Whatever giddy look she had on her face vanishes in an instant at the outrage of being touched without her consent, and then immediately turns to disbelief and concern. “Oisin? What are you doing? What were you doing?”

I can't feel it anymore
Cause recently the line is blurred
Between depression and bliss

He fishes the car keys out of his pocket and hands them to her. “Take the car. I’m walking home,” he shouts over the music.

Now I see that the times all change
They waste away
But I just want to sleep today
And I don't want to talk to you right now
You say but …

She makes a face at him. “What?! Oisin, what is going on?”

I’m sitting out the weekend
Couldn't do it again
Say you want it right now
But I wouldn't know how

Fig and Adaine have turned around now to stare at them, but Oisin refuses to look at her. Not after earlier. “I’m walking home,” he repeats. “I have my crystal, call me if you really need me to come back and get you.”

“What are you talking about? Why are you leaving?” Ivy looks confused, but he needs to go. “What happened?”

It's something that I can't do
Then what am I supposed to?
Quite the people pleaser
If only I could please her

He shakes his head. “I’ll see you at home,” and then he turns and walks towards the side of the house, making his way through the front. He doesn’t dare attempt inside, afraid that Tilly has come downstairs already. The table he stood by earlier still has his half drunk beer from earlier, and the bottle of vodka where he left it, none of the boys from earlier in sight. He grabs it and takes a chug. The sting in his chest feels good for a moment, before it’s too much and he coughs, putting the bottle down.

Ivy calls his name behind him, but it’s lost in the sound of the music, in the crowd of students cheering during an instrumental break. He passes by the stage, and the music is loud enough to drown his thoughts for a moment, but as he gets further down the walk of the house, towards the side walk, makes a hard right down the street, Oisin can hear the song fading in the background.

I’m talking while you’re next to me
Did I ruin the moment?
If I could tell you how I feel
Would you know what the words meant?
For sake of conversation
Could you read the writings on my sleeve?
Cause that’s the best you’re gonna get
So maybe I had better leave

Chapter Text

“I’m walking home,” he says again. “I have my crystal, call me if you really need me to come back and get you.”

Oisin’s eyes are almost entirely black, filled with just his pupil and hardly any color. The slight shake of his hands as he gave Ivy the keys immediately caught Adaine’s attention. There’s some sort of glittery residue by his mouth, and his face is practically purple.

There’s a panic to Ivy’s voice when she loudly asks over the music, “What are you talking about? Why are you leaving? What happened?”

Oisin shakes his head. “I’ll see you at home,” he says, and then starts to walk off.

Ivy juggles the keys, her drink, and her crystal, trying to put something in her pocket. “Oisin!” she calls. “Oisin!”

“Did you see his eyes?” Fig asks. “I don’t think he’s okay.”

Adaine tries to keep an eye on him, making sure he isn’t stumbling or anything, but she quickly looses him in the crowd for a second, and she curses under her breath. “I think he went towards the stage?”

“Should I go after him?” Ivy asks. There’s an instrumental break, and a bunch of students cheer.

She’s craning her neck around, trying to catch a hint of blue, or a long tail—he’s dragonborn, he can’t blend in that easy—when she finally spots him at the table he was standing at with those boys, a bottle of alcohol upended in a chug before he puts it on the table and walks around the side of the house. “Up front! He went around the side of the house.”

“He hands me the keys as if I haven’t been taking shots since we got here,” Ivy scoffs.

“Ivy!”

All three of them turn to see Tilly walking through students. Her hair is tossed up in a quick and messy pony tail. “Ivy! Where did he go? Did you see him? Did you see Oisin?”

“He just left, gave me the keys.” Ivy rounds on her. “What happened?”

Now that she’s closer, Adaine can see that Tilly looks distraught. Her hair has knotted in the hasty updo, and her makeup looks askew. The pretty lipgloss she had on earlier seems missing. “Oh, that’s just great, he’s high and mad and now he’s gone!”

Ivy blanches. “He what?”

Tilly starts pulling at her hair, taking out the hair tie and fiddling with it as Ruben’s next song comes on, loud and heavy drums filling her ears. Adaine’s eyes open wide. He was high?

“Yes!” Tilly shouts. “We were upstairs, and everything was fine—fuck, and now he’s gone and he wouldn’t listen, I tried to apologize, I followed him downstairs!”

“Tilly, slow down, what happened?”

“I drugged him!” Tilly hisses, running her hands through her hair.

Adaine and Ivy, in unison, screech, “You what?!”

“Not literally! I didn’t mean to! I didn’t know!” She takes a few deep breaths. “I fucked up so bad, Ivy. The perfume I got, that I told you about a few weeks ago? He said one of the things in it is a hallucinogen—oh God, no, and we were making out and he was high the entire time!”

Adaine feels her blood run cold. Ivy stills, statuesque next to her, and she can feel the rage seeping off of the wood elf. “You got him high, and then made out with him?”

The way his eyes had been blown out. The shaking in his hands as he gave Ivy the keys. The flushed complexion. Adaine’s mouth drops open as the pieces click together, when the anger sets in.

Tilly is still frantic. “I didn’t know it would do that! That lady at the shop recommended it to me—and then he ran off before I could make sure he was okay!”

“Holy shit,” Fig breathes.

“Ivy,” Adaine starts, “you have to go after him. He shouldn’t be alone right now.”

Ivy turns to her, eyes wide and angry, her voice terse. “Adaine, I am six shots deep. Lucy—” and she points off behind them towards where Kristen and her and walked off, “—is high as a kite with Applebees. Ruben is on stage, and I haven’t seen Mary Ann since we got here, presumably because her and Gorgug are doing gods know what.”

“He needs somebody!” Tilly shouts. “And it sure as shit isn’t me!”

Adaine wants to scream. “Fig, can you—”

Fig immediately throws her hands up. “I did dragon spice earlier with Max Durden, I can’t drive.” She grimaces. “I’m so sorry, I thought I was gonna be here until Ayda showed up, I didn’t even think about needing to leave.”

Ivy puts two hands on her shoulders, and stares her in the eyes. “Abernant. Please. Please find him. Please make sure he is okay.”

Her hands clench. She can’t say no, there’s no way she can. Her feelings aside, Oisin should not be alone, and if she has to be the one to make sure of that, Adaine can swallow her pride. She holds her hand out for the keys.

Ivy hugs her. “I owe you so much, you have absolutely no idea. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She hands her the keys. “Ruben drove this one here, so you’ll have to adjust the seat. He’s in the driveway, there should be no one blocking him cause we put up cones.”

“Adaine,” Tilly says, “please tell him I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean for this to happen.”

She stares hard at Tilly, letting her ire sit plainly on her face. When Tilly shrinks back, Adaine feels a smug satisfaction grow in her. She doesn’t have any words for the eladrin right now. That’s a lie, she has lots of words, however, none of them nice. Adaine grips the keys. “Fig, text Jawbone or your mom and let them know I’ll probably be late.”

Fig nods. “Should I say anything about Oisin?”

Adaine shakes her head. “No, not yet. If I think he needs more help than I can give him, I’ll call.”

And then she’s off. Adaine makes her way through the crowd, weaving between other people until she finds her way to the side of the house, following Oisin’s footsteps. She gets to the car, which Ivy was correct about not being blocked, thankfully, the less time she had to worry about finding someone to move out of her way, the better. She unlocks it, throws her sword in the back and gets in, immediately adjusting the seat.

She is promptly met with a stick shift.

Adaine groans. The last time she drove stick was a summer ago, during the Bad Kids Night Yorb quest, when she did that brief leg of the journey through Birchburg and got everyone so car sick that Gorgug took the reigns back. This is gonna be rough. Adaine hits the brake, and then the clutch, before starting the engine, listening to it turn over and over until it finally catches.

She backs down the driveway, the car bucks harshly—is this the car he was talking about last night? The one he liked better than the automatic ? Adaine is starting to wonder if this subdued crush of hers is actually worth it if this is the kind of thing he gets picky about—and hovers at the end, wondering which way to go. It had only been a few minutes since he left, so he can’t have gotten far, especially on foot. She stares down the sidewalk to the right: going that way will bring her towards Mordred, and she doubts that’s the way Oisin came, if his and Ivy’s apartment is over by Ballaster like she briefly remembers Ivy saying once. Her eyes scan back over to the left, and she spots the Hangman, idle at the curb. She doesn’t see anything else though, and Adaine curses quietly to herself in the car. There’s got to be some way—Locate Creature.

She throws the car in park, reaching back for her sword. No bloodhound fur in her components, so her focus will have to do. Adaine situates herself in the front with the Sword of Sight on her lap, and casts the spell. The first thing that comes to mind when she thinks about him is the scent of petrichor, and it suddenly fills the car, swirling and heady, she almost wants to close her eyes and just breath it in. A fog begins accumulating on the left side windows, and Adaine puts her sword in the backseat again, and hits the clutch again to change gears, leaving the driveway and heading down the street.

She passes by the Hangvan, and comes to a harsh stop, the seatbelt locking on her chest. This is so embarrassing, she really hopes that when she finds him, Oisin will want to drive—he was drugged, Adaine, of course you’re not going to let him drive, think! She puts the car in park in the middle of the road, and gets out to check the back door of the Hangvan. It’s, thankfully, not locked, and Adaine throws it open and crawls in the open space, reaching for her denim jacket. She gets back in the car once it’s procured, tossing it in the back with her sword, and continues on down the road.

It only takes a couple of minutes to find him. His blue scales are obvious even in the faded twilight, standing on the corner right before the main road. As the car creeps closer, Adaine can see his hands are in his pockets, face lifted towards the sky, and his chest is rising and falling in what looks like deep breaths. She pulls up, and rolls down the driver side window—a hand crank? Really? This car is definitely vintage—but Oisin doesn’t even move. His eyes are closed.

“Ivy, I said I want to walk home.”

“Wrong elf,” she replies.

Oisin’s head snaps back down, eyes wide as he stares at her. It’s an uncomfortable silence for a moment, the rumble of the engine loud in the calm of the night away from the party, before he says, “You’re in my car.”

Adaine bites her lip, fingers drumming on the steering wheel. “I am.” When he doesn’t say anything back, leaving them in stupefied silence again, she continues, “Are you going to get in?”

He blinks a couple of times, and then takes another deep breath. Adaine unlocks the doors when he walks around towards the passenger side, and she watches as he gets in, adjusting the seat back a little to make himself more comfortable. He won’t look at her when he asks, “You can drive stick?”

He’s not looking, so she doesn’t know why she nods. “Yes. Gorgug taught us on the Hangvan last year right before summer.” Adaine hits the clutch, and tries to shift gears, but the old car lurches dramatically, and Oisin is tossed forward, hands bracing himself on the dash while her seatbelt locks again. Her face is hot, and she’s embarrassed when she says, “I, uh, haven’t driven stick since then, unfortunately.”

His hands are still on the dash, and he puts his head down. Adaine sneaks a peak to see if he’s going to throw up—she’s stupid, she should’ve checked to see if there was a bag in the car, or grabbed one of Riz’s emergency stock from the van—but hesitates when she sees he’s … smiling? There’s a gentle rumble that emanates from him, and it takes her mind a few seconds to process that he’s laughing.

Adaine’s face heats even more, and her hands grip the steering wheel tight, knuckles white, staring ahead. This is so stupid, of course he’s laughing at her. He’s only ever laughed at her. When he offered her diamonds. When he asked to study. When he said sorry . When he teleported Kipperfuck Battleloser after she killed Buddy. When he Sending’d her. When, when, when. The entire time he laughed at her stupidity, her naivety, her sheltered upbringing, using it against her. Adaine grits her teeth, roughly starting the car again after stalling, and heading around the corner.

Oisin sits up again, buckling his seatbelt. He’s not laughing anymore.

She turns right onto Main, heading towards Ballaster. “You know, you don’t have to laugh at me. I came and got you as a favor to Ivy. Not because I care, or anything.”

They hit a speedbump, and Adaine is going just a mile or so too fast, so the hump is harsh, but Oisin is looking at her anyways. She keeps her eyes on the road. “I wasn’t laughing at you, Adaine.”

He says her name correctly. With the correct emphasis on the end. Uh-DAINE . She hasn’t heard it spoken like that in a while. All of her friends have Solesian accents, even Aelwyn had adopted it, the two of them choosing when to use their Fallinel accent. It sounds … different, coming from him. In his low tones, ones that were obviously meant for draconic and not elvish. Not bad. Just … different.

He continues, “And I didn’t expect you came to get me out of the goodness of your heart. Especially not after I said that I wanted to walk home.”

She turns left, up the little side road that will take her towards the bridge over Marigold River, and stops at the stop sign. There’s no one out on the road, only the streetlights and stars, but Adaine hesitates. Ballaster is over the bridge. She should turn right and go over the bridge and go to his neighborhood and drop him off and go back to the party and give the keys back to Ivy. But she hesitates.

Oisin is still looking at her. “Do you want me to drive?” he asks, softly in the silence of the car.

Adaine doesn’t look at him.

He said her name right.

This is so stupid. She could get in trouble for this.

Without flaw this time, Adaine gently shifts the gear and heads straight, instead of going over the bridge. She passes city hall, the courthouse, and hangs a left at the smoothie place. Oisin is looking out the window, and says, “Uh, where are we going?”

“Basrar’s,” she replies.

She can see in the corner of her eye that Oisin squints at her, and then looks back outside. “It’s like, ten o’clock. Basrar’s isn’t open.”

“It is if you have the key.”

***

Adaine quickly enters the security code into the alarm system so it doesn’t sound off and alert the police. She doesn’t want to have to explain to Basrar what about this is so important. Her hands find the potlights switch and turns them on, giving just enough light to see without being overbearing in the early night. The shop had closed about two hours ago, so Basrar won’t be back until the morning.

Oisin follows in behind her, eyes swiveling around, as if looking for something.

Adaine slides in behind the counter, putting her keys back in her pocket. She bunches up the sleeves of her jacket—yes, she had put it back on—and grabs two bowls. “What flavor do you like?”

“Uh,” Oisin trails his hand across the tops of the booths. He turns and looks at her. “Anything nondairy?”

She pauses. “I think there’s a couple options.” She squints at him. “Didn’t you drink the bad baby milk?”

He leans against one of the tables of the booths. “I did.”

Adaine’s hands hover over the freezer cover, feeling the cold seep into her skin. “So why do you need nondairy?”

A grin comes over his expression, crossing his arms. “Dragon, Adaine. Lactose and I don’t particularly get along.”

She stares at him. She doesn’t know why him speaking her name with the correct accent is so … distracting. Something just isn’t adding up, though. “But you drank the bad baby milk.”

Oisin chuckles. “I did,” he repeats.

She must be missing something, some sort of context. “Why?”

His gentle laughter settles, and the two of them are left staring at each other. His eyes shift fractionally, down and up, and Adaine suddenly feels her chest tighten. There’s a brief thought—small, inconsequential, unimportant—that she is slightly disappointed in herself for putting her jacket on when she got out of the car.

Oisin clears his throat and looks away, avoiding her gaze. “I, uh, didn’t want you to waste a spell. Cause you made it cold.”

Adaine swallows, and lets her hands open the freezer section where they keep the nondairy options. She grabs the scoop, gesturing with it. “That was idiotic of you, because I used Ray of Frost, which is a cantrip. I didn’t waste a spell.”

He mumbles something that she can’t hear. For a second, she weighs the option of ignoring it, but decides that he doesn’t deserve Nice, Polite, Fallinel Adaine. He gets Bad Kids Adaine. “Repeat that, I didn’t catch it.”

She’s still watching him, sees as he fumbles over the beginning of his sentence. “I—I said, uh, that I paid for it, don’t worry.”

She narrows her eyes. “What do you mean?”

Oisin looks back at her, a diffidence about him. “I mean, I threw up all night. Milk and anger, great combo.”

Adaine pauses, staring hard at him. Of course, he was under the influence of the rage star that night. They had hid it so well. She puts two scoops of strawberry into his bowl. It’s the good kind of strawberry that has actual chunks in it, and not just that fake, almost cough medicine-y flavor of strawberry. She hovers over the freezer, and then takes two scoops of the same for herself. There’s no need to dirty more dishes for Basrar, grabbing a second scoop. She grabs two spoons, and when she gets over to the table with their bowls, Oisin slides into one side of the booth, and Adaine the other. 

She takes a bite of hers. Oisin stares down at his.

“What were you angry about?” she asks, another bite in. “That night, at the party.”

He blinks a few times. “The shrimp jump party?” When she nods at him, Oisin shakes his head. “I don’t know, the rage shard made me angry at … anything and everything. It didn’t matter how inconsequential it was.”

She stares openly at him, one eyebrow cocked. “Did you get mad about Fig pretending to be Lucy?”

“Probably, I remember she told me right away.” But he seems hesitant, not as if he’s lying, but as if he isn’t saying something.

“What else?” she asks.

He blinks a few more times. “Adaine, what are we doing here?”

She takes another spoonful—he’s avoiding the question. “Eating ice cream.” If he can, so can she.

“No. Seriously.” He hasn’t touched his bowl. Oisin stares her down. “Why did you bring me here? To ask questions?”

When they’re this close, Adaine can see his eyes are back to a normal dilation. The blue of his scales are just that, blue, and not flushed purple anymore. His breathing is no longer erratic. His hands don’t seem shaky. That’s good, that whatever he had inhaled didn’t seem to have long lasting effects, the same way dragon spice or dusk moss would. Her eyes rove over him, checking to make sure other parts of him aren’t showing any malaise, lingering on his shirt when she sees two distinctive wrinkle marks. One by his shoulder on his right side, and one over his heart on his left.

Adaine feels her stomach flip when she thinks about how they got there. Hand sized, two fist marks, like grabbing. She isn’t stupid. She knows they’re from Tilly. She knows why they’re there.

She looks down at her bowl, fiddling with the spoon in between her fingers. Her skin is suddenly warm, too warm in the jacket. She doesn’t know why she put it on when they got out of the car. “Tilly found us in the backyard a few minutes after you left.”

Oisin is still staring at her, unmoving. After a moment, he takes a deep breath and leans back against the seat. “So. What? You felt sorry for me, or something? Ivy asked you to come get me cause she was too drunk to drive?”

“No. Well, yes,” she puts her spoon down. “I came because Ivy asked me to, not because I felt sorry—or no, that’s not it, either. I am sorry, I meant, like, I didn’t come out of pity, or anything like that.”

His gaze is intense, and Adaine meets it with her own, unwavering. “Did she tell you what happened?”

She nods. “Some of it. I left before I could get really angry.”

“Why would you get angry?”

Adaine places her hands in her lap. “Oisin, she drugged you.”

Oisin lets out a snort. “She didn’t … drug me, I—”

“That’s how she phrased it.”

“I don’t—She didn’t know.” His hands rub at his face, skewing his glasses for a second before he puts them on top of his head. He pulls at the skin around his eyes before closing them and letting out a low groan. “She didn’t know what it was, and I’m not—I’m not mad at her for that.”

Adaine stares at him long and hard. “You should be.”

His eyes open. He puts hands down on the table. “What?”

“Mad at her,” she says, her voice raising in pitch. “You should be mad at her for drugging you.”

He gives her a confusing look. “Why?”

Adaine’s eyes open wide. Is he okay? Is he still under … whatever effects? “Why? Why should you be mad at someone for drugging you? I don’t know, let’s count the ways.” She holds up her fingers and ticks the reasons off. “It’s a gross violation of your autonomy. There was no prior consent, at least from what I remember of you stating last night. Not knowing doesn’t negate that it happened. And you didn’t want—” She cuts herself off, not wanting to phrase it in a way that seems like she knows what he wants. She rephrases, “Hallucinogens can make you see and do things you wouldn’t normally do.”

Oisin rolls his eyes. “It’s not like she made me do anything I didn’t want, it’s just—” He seems to think better of himself and stops. Adaine sees a soft change in the color of his scales, especially on his face. He turns his head to the side, staring into the middle of the room. She sees the way the tear in his frill pulls taut at the movement. She sees the scratch marks by his neck. “I can’t be having this conversation with you,” he mutters.

Adaine looks down at her bowl of slowly melting ice cream. She doesn’t know how to logically put together what he said with what she’s feeling. Did he want to … do whatever it was him and Tilly did? Make out? After she heard him last night ask Ivy to ‘run interference’ for him, after she saw the way he blanched when Tilly walked across the yard toward him. It’s so petty and ugly of her, but she can’t help but draw the lines: that he could flirt with her, could lead her on for the better part of a year, and not mean anything by it, but actively attempt to avoid Tilly and still swap spit—Adaine’s stomach churns.

Her mind quickly spirals. Is there something wrong with her? Is there a reason why he chose her last year, why he singled her out? Is it because he remembered their shared class freshman year, and she didn’t, and thought, Gee, she’d be an easy target? Is it obvious to everyone that she’s never been in a relationship? That she’s never been kissed? You’re very fetching. Except Oisin is out here making out with girls he supposedly doesn’t even like, and Adaine hasn’t even been kissed.

She’s hot, so hot in the jacket. Adaine shrugs it off, letting it fall behind her on the booth, keeping it by her waist. “Is there something wrong with having it with me?”

He turns back to her, and his expression goes from withering to … something she can’t place. His eyes go wide, and his entire body stills in his seat. Oisin clears his throat again. “Aside from the fact that there’s a very high probability that you hate me?”

There’s a long silence between them. Adaine watches one of the scoops of strawberry fall deeper into the bowl as it melts, and she picks up her spoon and takes another few bites. After a few moments, she sees Oisin do the same.

He eats about half of his bowl in silence before he puts the spoon down. “It’s a hallucinogen, bloodspine. It was in her perfume. It’s also a paralytic, but I don’t think it was actually a high enough dosage to do anything really damaging, and I feel fine now. It’s worn off, and that’s not what I’m mad about—anyway. It played with my mind, let me … imagine things that I knew weren’t real, but it felt like it.” His scales, a sort of cerulean and oxford blue mix, change more as he talks, turning violet, or periwinkle. It’s actually cute, if she gave it real thought, the red tinge of his blood flushing his skin and making the blue switch to lavender. “And she … did something that just sort of snapped me out of it.”

Bloodspine. The only reason she knows about it is because of their time in the Red Waste fighting the Night Yorb, when Riz had gone on a plant ID spree, taking pictures of everything and uploading them to some app that would tell him what they were. They stayed far away from bloodspine after that, not one of her party members chomping at the bit for the chance to be paralyzed while high and hallucinating. She can’t imagine the dread that came over him when he realizes what was happening. Adaine feels the swell of anger in her—Oisin doesn’t have to be angry at Tilly for it, but she can be.

“What did you imagine?” She’s nice and doesn’t say ‘hallucinate.’

Oisin flushes darker, a plum maybe, or byzantium. His eyes dart away quickly again. “That it was … someone else.”

Adaine’s eyes widen. That’s not what she was expecting—in hindsight, she doesn’t know what she was expecting, just not that. It comes to her mind unbidden, and she quickly tries to stamp it out, but it’s there: the thought of Oisin, eyes blown wide, on top of Tilly, his leg between hers, saying some other person’s name.

Her stomach flips again, and Adaine presses her legs together under the table. She wonders who it is.

No, she doesn’t. She doesn’t want to know.

Her voice is tight when she asks, “What did she do? To snap you out of it?”

Oisin still won’t look at her, and he’s still flushed, can see it creeping down his neck, disappearing under the white of his shirt. “She moved … a certain way, it made me aware of what was happening, and I stopped it before anything else could happen. I didn’t want to …” he pauses, and she can tell he’s trying to phrase it properly. His hand clenches and unclenches. “It would have been wrong to go further with her, while thinking of a different girl.”

A girl. He was thinking about another girl while kissing Tilly. Adaine can’t even imagine the disaster that would’ve caused if he’d even uttered her name, and not Tilly’s. The eladrin would probably have lost it. Adaine knows she would have, if some guy was kissing her in her bedroom, and said another girl’s name—she could easily imagine Furious Fists getting the better of her. 

Another thought comes to her, haunting in the background: it wasn’t that Oisin didn’t want to … do things, he just didn’t want to do them with Tilly.

But he wanted to. With someone else. And imagined her instead.

There’s an anger building in her again, a sort of self righteous indignation that has her hands twitching, pulling at her knuckles that just won’t crack. Oisin could flirt with her—offering diamonds to someone the first time you meet them should be considered flirting, she thinks—and have it mean nothing, but he could make out with Tilly and hallucinate another girl while doing so? God, Adaine, you certainly can pick them.

She picks up her spoon again, not getting anywhere with cracking her knuckles, and she figures eating is better than breaking her fingers under the table. “What are you mad about then?” she asks, entirely avoiding the bomb he just dropped on her. “You mentioned you weren’t mad about the bloodspine, but something else.”

Oisin’s eyes turn back towards her, still not really looking at her, but maybe past her. His glasses are still on the top of his head, and he takes them off fully now, putting them on the table next to his bowl. She briefly wonders how bad his vision is without them. “I am mad at her,” he says, “trust me. Like, yeah, the bloodspine irritated me, but it wasn’t her fault—or at least, I’m choosing to believe her when she says she didn’t know about it. I’m mad about what came after. When I asked her about it.”

Adaine continues eating, but at a slower pace. She only has a few bites left anyway, she doesn’t mind much if it melts in the bottom of the bowl. She plays with the spoon between her fingers.

Oisin continues. “It’s one thing to, I don’t know, to want me for …” His low rumbling voice seems agitated, eyes casting back down to his half eaten bowl of ice cream. His blush surges back again, slower than before, not as prominent, a pretty lavender under his eyes. Adaine forces herself to look away from him, feeling her own face get hot as he tries to say it without saying it. “To want to— do things, to be like, casual, or whatever. But she made it extremely obvious that what she wanted out of me wasn’t just me. She wanted … me last year. The me from last year.” His voice turns scathing, sarcastic. “She liked my ‘confidence,’ found it attractive. Which is a bit of a blow to the old ego, considering the big fuck off scar I have on my chest, and my dead friend, and my dead teachers, and my dead family members, and my broken party, and my possibility of being expelled.”

His hand knocks against the table a few times, accenting his revulsion with each reason he lists. Adaine’s eyes are wide, hanging on each word as he says them. She doesn’t know what to say—what could she say? That earlier anger is back, and Adaine finds that the stilled rage she witnessed on Ivy’s face before she left the party sits in her now, crawling across her skin, letting her mouth hang open in shock. It’s abominable—he has a right to be angry, she’s sure about that, whatever villainous intentions he had last year—and nothing could have prepared her for the carelessness of it, of the entire interaction between him and Tilly. 

Her mind immediately jumps back to the Synod Mall, that brief dance with the rage shard she had. Fallinel destroyed. The forest of Sylvaire reduced to skeletal trees and remnant ashes. To feel only rage, to have your innermost thoughts and desires reduced to what about them makes you angry. Adaine is suddenly extremely aware of the restraint the Rat Grinders must have had last year—to not go berserk, to attend classes, to sit still, to listen to a man who only wanted to use them. She doesn’t think she could do it. She doesn’t think Kristen could, or Fabian, or Fig—Gorgug and Riz might, but the rest of them?

Oisin looks so … tired. It’s bone deep, more than just the effects of the bloodspine or the time of night. He’s beat up, she saw some of it last night, with the scars on his arm where his tattoos are, when he told Fabian you should see my back. His frills are ripped, he makes a very slight wincing sound each time he leans wrong on his left shoulder.

No. I think he thought you guys would claim hoard rights, and when you didn’t, he had to fight for his right to be anything in that family after killing his father and his grandmother and many other cousins.

She can’t imagine someone only wanting that version of her.

Her crystal buzzes a few times in the pocket of her jacket. She gently reaches down and pulls it out, and sees a couple notifications from Riz, not in the group thread.

(riz):  I saw what happened
(riz):  Let him know the bottle is gone, I took care of it
(riz):  Don’t tell him I saw, that would be weird
(riz):  Just tell him about the bottle

Adaine pulls a face at her crystal. “Uh,” she says aloud.

Oisin sits forward a little bit. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I—” Adaine hesitates, and then answers Riz.

(adaine):  what do you mean you saw??
(adaine):  what did you do with it??

She drags her gaze from her crystal, hiding the screen slightly against her chest so Oisin can’t see any of the texts. “Riz just let me know that he … took care of the bottle? Of perfume. Whatever that means. He said it’s gone.”

Oisin furrows his brows, grabs his glasses off the table and puts them back on. “What?”

Adaine shrugs. “I don’t know, that’s the text I just got. That he took care of it.”

“Did he take it? What does he mean gone?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know, he just said ‘the bottle is gone.’”

He reaches into his own pocket, pulls out his own crystal, and texts someone before mumbling, “Fuck, she’s got her crystal on do not disturb still.”

Adaine’s buzzes again in her hand.

(riz):  I have it, planned on texting Misty Asharm w the botany club on Mon.
(riz):  Make sure no lingering effects
(riz):  We can talk about about me seeing later
(riz):  It was
(riz):  A Lot

“He has it,” she tells Oisin, “something about wanting the botany club president—Misty—to look at it. He wants to make sure there’s no lingering effects.”

Oisin settles back into his seat, his crystal clattering on the table. Adaine glances at it briefly and sees the screen is still open to a text thread with Ivy, a handful of blue background texts sent to her with no response.

(adaine):  okay
(adaine):  thank you
(riz):  Np

Her fingers fidget on the back of her crystal, wrangling in her thoughts of just exactly what Riz saw, before she sets it down, staring at Oisin. He has closed his eyes, his head back on the booth seat, horns hooked over the top. His arms are crossed, the frills around his elbows tense, the muscles in his arms pulling at his arcane tattoos in ways that make them shimmer in the dim light. “Is that okay?” she asks. “Or would you prefer something else?”

He takes a second to respond, eyes still closed. His breathing is even, measured, like he’s trying to keep it so. “That’s okay,” he responds. “I’m fine with someone analyzing it. Just don’t let it get back to me or Til. I don’t want names involved.”

Adaine grabs her crystal, sends off another quick text to Riz stating what Oisin has just said, before closing it and putting it back on the table. “Done.”

“Thank you,” Oisin says, and then his eyes open, and he’s sitting up again, staring at her. “Really, Adaine. Thank you.”

She nods gently, his draconic lilt travels over her name so … it’s not harsh, but grumbly and slightly soft, but maybe soft isn’t the right word—more slithering and agile, like saying it affords some sort of slide between syllables. “Why do you say it like that?”

His brows rise in confusion. “Say what?”

Well, she’s gone and done it now. No use back pedaling. “My name.”

He stares at her in perplexity. “Am I saying it wrong?”

“No, no, it’s right.” Adaine doesn’t know what she’s doing. “It’s just—that’s how you say it with a Fallinel accent. Not even my sister says it like that anymore.”

His eyes … wander. Over her. She catches when they fall below her gaze, when they travel down her arms. She can feel the clip in her hair sliding out, and she’s sure she looks like an idiot, half dressed with her hair messy and unkept. She doesn’t know how Aelwyn convinced her to wear this top. She wants to put the jacket back on, but hesitates.

Oisin clears his throat. “I, uh, I speak a little bit of elven from Ivy—cause she is one, an elf, y’know.”

“She is.”

“So I learned the Fallinel accent from her, cause she has one.”

“She does.”

“I just assumed that’s how you said your name.”

Her face is hot again. “It is.”

His cheeks are a pretty lavender again. “Do you want me to say it … different? Like with a Solesian accent?”

She can hear Fig and Kristen in her mind screaming. “What does it sound like in Draconic?”

“Uh,” is all that comes out of him for a moment, before he says, “Well, Draconic doesn’t translate names, so it would probably just have the inflection in the beginning, like—” he takes a deep breath, “hudæyne.”

It sounds like her name, she can hear it underneath, can still make out the Fallinel way of saying it, but there’s a grumbling in the beginning, like it comes from the back of his throat. Somewhere between a cat’s purr and a deep throat clear. Adaine can tell the influence his Draconic has on his regular speech, now that she’s really heard it. It’s the sound that makes the hair on her arms raise.

“Oh,” is what she says, dumbly.

“Draconic isn’t very pretty,” he offers. He scratches at the back of his neck. A nervous tick, Adaine assumes. “It’s no Elven or Sylvan.”

“No, it’s still—” she fumbles. Why does she suddenly feel so inept? “I like language!” That’s not any better. Think, Adaine! “I know a little Draconic, too. My mother and father used to speak in it when I was growing up, when they didn’t want Aelwyn or I to know what they were talking about. So I picked up on certain things after a while.”

His crystal vibrates on the table, and she’s briefly elated at having a second to gather her thoughts—she’s a goner, if hearing him say her name in Draconic is what gets her going. Her eyes shoot down to see Ivy’s name pop up, and then again, and again as she finally texts him back. Oisin picks it up, reads them, texts something back, and looks to her. “She wants to know how I’m doing, and if she should hitch a ride with Ruben tonight.” His face pales suddenly, and he hastily adds, “Because you have the car. She wants to know if I have the car and if I’m coming back for her.”

She doesn’t understand what the sudden panic is for, but Adaine scrabbles for the keys in her denim jacket, and slides them across the table. He catches them before they slide off the edge. “You said you feel fine, why don’t you go grab her and head home.”

His brows furrow again. “What are you going to do?”

She shrugs, reaching for both their bowls. “I’ll clean and lock up and head home, too.”

“How are you getting home?”

“Mordred is right up the road, I’ll just walk.”

He shakes his head. “Adaine, it’s almost midnight. It might as well be. You’re not walking home at midnight. Hey, let me help—”

“It’ll take like thirty minutes, it’s not a big de—”

Oisin reaches for his bowl at the same time, and their hands touch for a brief moment before she pulls back first. He pulls his bowl closer towards himself, eyes never leaving hers. “Let me at least help you clean up and drive you home.”

Her hands are balled into fists. Her heart races. Stupidly. Traitorously. She can’t look away. There’s got to be a way out of this, an elf who will appear suddenly and ask her about his first born, or what kind of thread she should use when sewing a cloak, or something else that’s laughably asinine. But there’s nothing, and no one. Damn her for getting the oracle job organized and setting boundaries on when working hours are.

“Fine,” she says, “you can drive me home.”

He seems to relax at that, and the two of them get up, bringing their bowls to behind the counter, where Adaine expertly hides them in with the rest of the dishes in the dishwasher, and runs it for Basrar so there will be clean things to use in the morning. She grabs her jacket, they head for the front door, and Adaine puts in the security code again and locks the door behind them.

Oisin heads to the passenger side, and for a second she’s confused—didn’t she give him the key? Wasn’t he driving?—but then he opens the door, and looks at her expectantly.

Her brain short circuits.

Did he just—? No. He didn’t. He couldn’t have. He did not just open the car door for her.

Adaine hesitates at the front of the store, and when she doesn’t move, Oisin grins at her and asks, “Did you forget something inside?”

Stupid, smug look. Stupid, hot dragonborn, opening a car door for her after she literally spent an hour or so thinking of all the reasons why she shouldn’t be attracted to him. Adaine wants to punch him so bad.

She doesn’t, though. Instead, she crosses her arms, and haughtily replies, “What if I did?”

The grin doesn’t leave him, and he leans over the open door, facing her. “I’ll wait right here for you until you come back out.”

“It could take a while.”

“I can wait.”

“You’re supposed to go pick up Ivy, though.”

Oisin shrugs and rolls his eyes. “Ruben can take her home.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, until Adaine rolls her eyes right back at him and walks to the car.

It doesn’t escape her that his tail sweeps low across the road, that the grin is still plastered on his face as she gets in and he shuts the door on her.

Stupid, traitorous heart beating fast. Stupid, sweaty palms. She tries to wipe them on her shorts quickly before he gets in on the drivers side.

When he adjusts the seat and mirrors to his liking, he starts the car, and to her genuine surprise—and slight outrage—it starts perfectly. No bucking, no long turn over. She glares at the dashboard, as if his car had a celestial gem in it that could feel her anger at being taken for a fool earlier.

Oisin turns to her. “Do you want me to drop you off first? Or do you want to come grab Ivy with me, which is sure to be fun.”

Adaine looks over at him. “Is drunk Ivy fun?”

He grins again. “Is sober Ivy?”

***

Drunk Ivy is definitely … something.

The wood elf is crawling into the back seat, Oisin ushering her in and trying to get her to sit up so she can be buckled, but Ivy refuses to do anything but lay down. “Will you—” he grunts, “—get in!”

“I am in, you brute!” Ivy cries. Her eyes are closed and she covers her face with her arms. “Just because you—you’re large now doesn’t mean that you can, cause I can definitely fit in this backseat lying down, I’ve done it hundreds of times before!”

“What does that even mean?” he asks, giving her an exasperated look. “Are you telling me you’ve done stuff in the back seat of my car?!”

Adaine is biting her lip to the point of bleeding to keep herself from laughing at the scene.

“I’ve done stuff! I’ve done snuff! Stuff and snuff rhyme!”

Oisin seems to finally give up and throws up his hands. “You know what? Fall, see if I care, I will laugh from the front seat when you roll onto the floor when I brake check you.”

Ivy laughs as the door shuts and looks up at her. “Adaine! You’re here! I thought you had taken the car and gotten Oisin!”

Adaine nods, smiling. “I did, we came to get you.”

The driver door opens and Oisin sits down, situating himself as Ivy responds, “Oh, that’s so sweet of you, I can’t believe you’d come get me!”

Adaine looks to Oisin as he does the same, starting the car. “Do you see what I mean?”

She nods. “Oh, I definitely do.”

“ Sheeeeeeeeen ,” Ivy calls out, “it’s so quiet in here. It was so loud in there and it’s so quiet in here, can you make it so there’s sound again? Not so loud but soundy?”

He turns the radio on, and turns the volume down so it’s just barely audible above the rumble of the car. “How’s that?”

“I had so much to drink—it’s perfect—I had so much to drink, Adaine, after you left.” Ivy lies on her side and closes her eyes as Oisin begins to drive off.

“I’ll take you home,” he mumbles to her. Adaine nods and looks back at Ivy.

“It was bad!” Adaine stifles a laugh again as one of Ivy’s arms flops over the seat. “I got into it so bad with Talulah, we argued and argued, and she got so loud! And I told her to shut up, and then I took a couple more shots, and—” her eyes shoot open, “Oh, no! What if she doesn’t want to be me anymore? I mean—like be us, or what if we aren’t family after this? Oh, that would suck because she’s the only people I liked!”

Oisin’s hands grip the steering wheel. “We can talk about that tomorrow, Ives.”

“Tomorrow! Tomorrow we have to make sure! I yelled, Oisin—cause she didn’t, and I didn’t, and then she was crying and I was so mad—I haven’t been not once in months! The whole time, and she was like ‘You’re so mad at me!’ and I told her ‘Duh!’”

It’s quiet the rest of the car ride. Adaine thinks Ivy might have actually fallen asleep in the back seat, which isn’t such a terrible thing if she had even more to drink after she had left the party. She tries not to read too much into what she said about her arguing with Tilly. When they finally pull up to Mordred, Oisin goes slow over the gravel driveway to not disturb her. He parks in front of the manor, and Adaine sees the light in her tower is off—Aelwyn is either still out, or asleep now. She doesn’t see any other lights on except for the living room.

He turns off the car, and she goes to unbuckle and grab her bag and sword when Oisin opens his door and gets out. She watches through the windshield as he walks in front, and then comes over to her door.

And opens it.

Oh, this fucking guy.

Adaine glares up at him, but he’s got that shit eating grin on his face again, leaning over the top of the door. “You think you’re so—”

“Oisin!” Ivy yells from the backseat, interrupting her, apparently not asleep. “Did you tell her? About the money? About giving her the money?”

The grin drops from his expression, and his eyes go wide in what looks like panic. It takes Adaine a second to remember that Ivy told them last night that Oisin planned on giving her party a million gold.

“I, uh, no, not yet,” Oisin stumbles.

Ivy makes a sound in the back of her throat. “Well! Get on it! You gotta ask her!”

He rolls his eyes. “I know I have to, Ives—”

“It’s part of the thingy!” Her hand waves gently in the air. “I read! I read the book, that thingy you do, the courti—”

Oisin leans a bit further into the car, suddenly very close to her, voice loud. His face is a deep purple almost immediately. “Yeah, I know! Ivy! Go back to bed! We’ll be home soon and I’ll tell you all about it.” He looks back to her, and gestures with his eyes and a slight swing of the door for her to get out.

Adaine grabs her bag and puts it around her shoulder, stepping out of the car and situating her sword back on her hip. “Goodnight, Ivy,” she says.

“Oh! Night, Adaine! Make sure he asks you! It’s for the—”

Oisin shuts the door a little harder than necessary. He rubs his face with a hand, and then grimaces at her. “Sorry, I’m not trying to just … dump you and go.”

She stands on the front walkway, with her jacket and bag, in the very exposing outfit Aelwyn had picked out—it’s very obvious how that could look. But that’s not what she’s most concerned about.

“What did she mean?” Adaine asks, shifting from one hip to the other. “About asking me about money?”

Oisin fixes his glasses and leans against the door of the car, arms crossing over his chest. She’s got a good view of him now, and she’d be lying if she said that the simple white t-shirt and green shorts weren’t working for him. They’re loose, but also just tight enough that can see where the muscles on his upper arms disappear under the sleeves and can follow them up and around to his shoulder blades, and she’s sure if Oisin were to turn around, she’d find that the shorts fit his waist and thighs at just the right inseam.

She blinks.

Get your mind out of the gutter, Abernant. You sound like Kristen and Tracker.

Oisin doesn’t seem to notice the way she’d just been appraising him, because he’s looking anywhere but at her. She watches as his eyes roam over portions of Mordred Manor behind her. “I know Ivy spilled to most of you last night that I won my ancestors inheritance,” he says.

Her fingers tap against the strap of her bag by her chest, hands tight around it. “She said you were giving most of it away,” she offers.

“Yeah, most of my portion I’m giving away. Back to the town.” His voice seems tight, strained. “To your party.”

They can’t beat around the bush now. Adaine waits a moment to see if he continues, if he asks, or if he’s going to vaguely offer her hundreds of thousands of gold pieces under the guise that if she finds herself needing them, like he had with the diamonds. But Oisin is quiet, and she can’t tell if the tension in his voice has its roots in nerves or … pique.

So she breaks it. “You’re giving us a million gold.”

His gaze snaps back to hers, and Adaine is met with an intensity she hasn’t seen from him yet—not during the party, or the tiff in the cafeteria with their friends, or Fabian's birthday, or in the gym. Even behind his glasses, she can see them dilate, catches the barest hint of movement from behind his lips as his mouth opens ever so slightly, tongue sweeping over the bottom of his canines. Her stomach flips again traitorously, feeling a floating in her chest at being the subject of it. It’s not often she remembers how small she is—Riz is so tiny, and her, Kristen, and Fig are all within a few inches of each other. Fabian is tall but not nearly as tall as Gorgug, and she’s been around the two of them for years, they’ve become comfortable backgrounds for her.

It suddenly registers that Oisin is tall. Oisin is tall and large. Like most dragonborn. She doesn’t think she’d come up more than an inch past his shoulders if they were side by side, maybe if she had the right pair of shoes on. The thought makes her mind hazy, and Adaine thinks she understands what Tilly meant earlier about climbing.

It’s so stupid to feel like this, when he doesn’t even like her.

“Are you going to take it?” he asks, his voice presumptuous, as if he expects her to say no. His brows raise slightly.

The silence between them is deafening as he awaits an answer, as she tries to form a response in her head. But he’s still staring at her, and she feels the hair on her arms stand, goose flesh rising to the occasion, prominent and loud. She feels her mind blank the same way it had last night, when he sent her that message. She feels a shiver run down her spine, holds it in as best she can.

It’s so much money—it would put all of the Bad Kids through university at least twice each. Kristen could finally put money towards the pantheon. She can’t imagine the look Sklonda would have when Riz shows her, or Sandra Lynn’s face when Adaine and Fig tell her that she can cut back on hours at the Ranger Station.

She can give back to the people who have taken care of her. She could help Aelwyn. It would fund whatever quest she’d take to find her mother.

Adaine is just staring, unsure of what to say. It’s his money, she shouldn’t take it. She shouldn’t want it. What happens if she says no? What would he do? What would she do?

She swallows hard. “Yeah, I—I’ll take it.”

If she had looked away, she wouldn’t have caught it, but she’s still watching his eyes and sees as a flash of something comes over him, the slight crinkle in his face as he barely grins. “Good. You guys can split it up whatever way you want, but you killed her, so you deserve a cut.”

It’s pride, she belatedly realizes, or some form of it, raking across his expression. Pride at … what? That she said yes? That she’d taken his offer? Adaine wracks her brain, tries to think back to what she’s learned about dragons, especially when the Bad Kids were dealing with Kalvaxus. She knows they’re prideful, vain, egotistical—but does that extend to dragonborn? She regrets not doing more research when the summer ended, when he left, when she had time and didn’t have to look like an idiot in front of him, floundering.

“I—” she stutters, “uh, thank you.”

His grin extends, and Adaine doesn’t know if she wants to want to hit him or kiss him. Is this what it feels like? A crush? Is it always this violent? Why does everybody in her life make her fucking insane?

Oisin uncrosses his arms, and walks around towards the driver’s side, “No need to thank, it’s part of my apology to you.” He watches her over the top of the car. “For the shitty things I did this past year. You don’t seem to be very much of a words girl, more looking for action.” He shrugs. “So, I’ll earn it.”

Her face is hot. Her mouth drops open.

He smiles at her, and her knees go weak. “Goodnight, Adaine. Thanks for coming to grab me.”

Articulate, Adaine! Fucking say something! “You—You’re welcome. Goodnight, Oisin.”

He opens the door to get in, and she distinctly hears Ivy yelling, “—pretty! So out of your league! ” before the door shuts.

He drives off, and Adaine stands there, watching as his car disappears down the driveway, listens until the sound of tires on gravel is no longer audible.

And panics.

Chapter Text

“What do you mean, be convincing?”

Ivy, Ruben, and Mary Ann are walking ahead, the sound of freshly fallen leaves underfoot as the first real week of fall descends on Elmville. A strong breeze rakes through the Far Haven Woods, taking the scent of dead rats with it.

Kipperlilly hangs back, her tiny, polished footfalls stopping to turn around. Her expression is stoic. It pisses him off. He wishes she would show more respect for where they stand.

For who lies under the rotting tree not a hundred and twenty feet from where they are.

“I mean, Oisin,” and here she takes a few steps back, meeting him, her ponytail gently swinging, “that since you want to play hero and let everyone go to the party, I’m pushing some of the plans up in time a bit.”

He has to look down at her, strain his neck. His body hurts. It’s a deep soreness that sits in the muscles of his neck and shoulders, of his thighs and calves. Of his chest. He remembers that she doesn’t know what that feels like.

When he continues to stare at her, the halfling rolls her eyes. “What I mean, Oisin, is that you’re going to go to that party, and you’re going to play beer pong the entire night. You’re going to take that summoning spell,” she points to the new scroll in his hands, “and put it on the inside of every ping pong ball that you touch. And then you’re going to be fucking convincing when you hide them all over his stupid ship house.”

He glares at her. This party is starting to feel like a punishment, and not a way to keep their cover. “How am I supposed to hide them?”

“I’m going to give it to you extremely plainly, since I don’t want any instructions getting … minced.” She steps up to him, her arms crossed. Kipperlilly has always kept her anger carefully concealed, but it’s easy to spot for Oisin. It always has been. It’s the same anger, she just doesn’t need a rage shard for hers. “You’re going to flirt with her, Oisin. With that pretty elven girl you’re so obsessed with—yes, I know, and we’ll talk about how betraying that is later—but you’re going to flirt with her. And then you’re going to miss. Every. Fucking. Shot. Afterwards. That is how you’ll hide them.”

Kipperlilly turns around, leaving him in silence, walking towards their party. He feels the rage build in him, undeniable and unchecked, static in his mouth, clinging to his teeth. She did not just ask him to—

A twig snaps under her foot, and Kipperlilly turns her head back to look at him, a sinister smile on her face, her eyes entirely black. “Don’t interfere in the plans again, Oisin. Not if you’re not willing to sacrifice.” She bears her teeth—her mouth is full of fangs.

Oisin sits straight up, sweating and startled, gasping for air. His sheets are soaked, the sound of a mourning dove outside his window loud and intrusive. He fumbles through the blanket, looking for his crystal, the sudden bright light blinding him for a moment: Monday, 4:49am. His alarm won’t go off for another hour. He flops back onto his pillows with a groan.

His hand rubs idly at his chest, feeling the empty spot where the shard had been. He hasn’t had a nightmare in months. Let alone a nightmare about a real thing that happened. So, that’s fun. Oisin rubs at his eyes, letting his heart rate slow as he stares at the slowly lightening ceiling. He leans over his bed and tosses open one half of the curtains—another bright day incoming, no rain, which should make the trek into Far Haven Woods easy. 

A long sigh escapes him; he’s not supposed to meet with Principal Agefort until 8:30, but there’s no use trying to sleep again after that. It’s not really enough time to go to the gym, either—not that he’s done that since … before spring break. God. He could sneak in a run and a shower beforehand, though.

Oisin gets out of bed, runs through the motions of getting ready, trying hard not to think about anything in particular while doing so. He goes the entire run around his block twice, three miles of stretched suburbia in Ballaster aching in his legs, watching as the sun rises, not thinking about anything. He goes his entire shower, scaldingly hot and rough with Ivy’s sugar scrub, not thinking about anything. He makes his lunch quietly to not disturb her, packs his field kit, and gets all the way to his car without thinking about anything.

And it’s ruined the minute he gets in the drivers seat.

Because his entire car smells like Adaine.

Like sparkly pear, and freshly conditioned leather, some sort of soft powdery scent, white birch or maybe cypress. Even after not driving it all day yesterday, it still permeates through his seats, is blown about by his vents. He doesn’t want to open his windows for fear of losing it.

That has to sound insane. To be so infatuated with someone that he’d be willing to rot in his car for the rest of time to keep her scent from leaving—it sounds like something straight out of those terrible books Ivy reads. He leans forward and rests his head on the steering wheel.

She was so pretty, driving his car. Wrong elf. Right elf, actually. He thought he would die right there, could only laugh when she stalled and got embarrassed. Her rolling her eyes at him, her dragging the spoon out of her mouth. Her glare when he opened the car door for her, their teasing banter, her crossed arms and haughty attitude. Her blushing face when he said he’ll earn it.

What did you imagine?

And if he’d gone home that night and imagined it again, alone, in the privacy of his room? Quiet as he could be, with lightning behind his teeth, and his eyes rolled back, like some sort of guilty pleasure. The way she bit her lip, the red to her cheeks, the tips of her ears, seeing her in a corset top.

Oisin takes a deep breath, and starts the car, driving towards the Academy.

Ivy had brought him up to speed on a lot of things the Rat Grinders had overlooked, or truly not even seen. Kip had been seeing Aguefort’s guidance counselor Mr. O’Shaughnessy for longer than she had let on. Mordred Manor wasn’t just the Bad Kids’ home base—it was genuinely some of their homes. Fig Faeth’s mother and Mr. O’Shaughnessy were seeing each other. Kristen Applebees and Mr. O’Shaughnessy’s niece were dating and lived there before Tracker left for Fallinel—and then Kristen and Tracker broke up because of, according to Ivy, ‘insane lesbian drama, like real girl lover behavior.’ Adaine’s parents disappeared and she was adopted by Mr. O’Shaughnessy at some point during sophomore year—when the Rat Grinders were a little busy being, y’know, killed by their leader and suffering endless rage.

Some of Adaine’s behavior makes more sense after learning that. He remembers the shrimp jump party, when they had actually gotten to talk for the first time—even through the rage, he had been ecstatic that she had come over first, that draconic pride rearing it’s ugly head, not for the last time—and she had made the comment that her family was ‘really rich’ after she asked about the material component requirements for class, like she hadn’t had to buy them herself before. Or when she got the job at Basrar’s and the ice cream shop immediately became unavailable for his party to hang out at under Kipperlilly’s decree.

And she’s taking the gold.

Oisin wants to scream. He asked her—kind of, Ivy almost blew it, but he knew the risks asking Adaine to come get her with him. In truth, he just wanted to spend time with her outside of … him coming down off a high, but he’s not thinking about that, at least not for a few more days.

But she had said yes.

So it’s a start.

He rolls the window down, feels the early morning air blow through and give him clarity. He’ll have her in his car again, the scent will come back.

Oisin might not have the same confidence as last year, but he’s got a new version of it.

***

Aguefort shuffles the papers around in his hands, peering at different sections. Mr. O'Shaughnessy sits to the side of his desk, leaning back against the chair with one leg crossed over the other with a mug of tea. Oisin is stock still in front of both of them, just like last time. The only difference is that there aren’t six others breathing down his neck.

Mr. O’Shaughnessy says, “I see no reason that it can’t be done, and I’m sure the town would appreciate the extra funds when it comes to … certain infrastructure projects.”

“Oh, I’m sure Gorthalax would love to redo the Bloodrush field, after young Mr. Seacaster’s home was so abruptly tossed into it,” Aguefort says, quickly jotting something on a notepad, and then hands it to Mr. O’Shaughnessy to look at. The guidance counselor reads it, and then pockets the note, and Aguefort leans forward on the desk, one of the KVX Bank statements held out towards Oisin. “And this is the amount you’re depositing in the town coffers?”

“Yes,” Oisin nods, “and that has the correct routing as well. The funds are in the account, but I’m still waiting on the Solesian tax documents to clear.”

Aguefort waves his hand dismissively. “Tax documents, shmax shmocuments.”

Mr. O’Shaughnessy raises his eyebrows. “Uh—”

“The Solesian tax system is a scam!”

“Now, I’m inclined to agree with you, Arthur,” Mr. O’Shaughnessy hastily offers, “on account of how much they take out of my paycheck, however, sometimes a paper trail isn’t always bad, especially for those who need it.”

“I do need it,” Oisin cuts in before Aguefort rebuts, “unfortunately. There has to be careful documentation of what’s been converted into straight gold and deposited into the bank, and where it has gone.” He grimaces. “I guess after Kalvaxus, uh, they like to keep an eye on dragon hoards.”

Mr. O’Shaughnessy leans forward, placing his mug on the desk. “That’s true, I got a buddy down at the bank who does quality control of the gold inventory, makes sure there’s no …” He turns to Aguefort. “Y’know, gold pieces that are actually curses.”

Aguefort rolls his eyes. “I accidentally gave your daughter dragon madness cursed gold from Kalvaxus’ hoard one time, Jawbone.”

The guidance counselor smiles, as if they’ve had this argument before. “That’s one time too many, Arthur.”

They go over all the necessary details: when the funds will be available (Mr. O’Shaughnessy is going to talk to his friend at KVX Bank to see if they can get the process sped up), what it’s going towards, who will have access to the account. It’s decided that Oisin will not need to be an overseer once the gold is legal in Solace, and will transfer over to Aguefort’s lawyers, who will be responsible for distribution, and Oisin is just fine with that. The added weight of making sure everything runs smoothly isn’t necessary when he still has the clean up project to contend with. Aguefort signs the documents, and has them filed away to give to his lawyer.

When Oisin goes to leave the meeting, Mr. O’Shaughnessy follows him out. “Hey, Oisin, I wanted to speak with you for a minute. Maybe we walk and talk to my office?”

“Yeah, sure.” Oisin fixes his bag strap and follows him the small ways down the hallway towards his office. “Is there something specific you wanted from me?”

Mr. O’Shaughnessy puts a hand in his pocket, fishing out his room keys. “Actually, yes, and there’s something I wanted to give to you—aha!” He unlocks the door, and Oisin is greeted with the fresh scent of lemon and lavender as he walks in. Mr. O’Shaughnessy gestures to an empty set of chairs at a corner table. “Sit, sit! Make yourself comfortable.”

Oisin takes off his backpack and sets it down next to him as he takes a seat. “What did you want to give me, Mr. O’Shaughnessy?”

The lycanthrope laughs. “Mr. O’Shaughnessy? God, no one ever calls me that anymore. Jawbone will do just fine, kid.”

Mr. O’Shaughne—Jawbone puts his empty mug on his desk and opens up a drawer, pulling out a notepad and what looks like a business card. “Well,” he starts, “I wanted to let you know that I started seeing some of the people in your party, and I never got the chance to talk to you about some of the things that happened on account of you needing to leave for your family.”

Jawbone walks over and takes a seat at the other empty chair. He hands him the business card. Oisin looks at it, and sees it’s a card for a therapist in Bastion City, Dr. Malthead Durroth. He squints at the card: that’s a dragonborn name. He looks back up to Jawbone. “But also,” he continues, “I recognize that I’m maybe not the best person to be having that conversation with you. I met Dr. Malthead at a conference back in the beginning of the year, and he’s a real great man. Dragonborn, just like you—granted he’s a black one, not blue, but I still think he could be of some real help, especially in the areas where I think my expertise lacks.”

Oisin continues to stare at the card, with its little black print. There’s an office location in the city, and a crystal number. “Uh, thanks, Mr. O’Sha—Jawbone. I’ll definitely give him a call.”

Jawbone smiles and leans back in his seat. “Make sure to do it sooner rather than later, I gave him a call on Monday last week when Principal Aguefort told me you were headed back and let him know you’d be in touch.”

Crafty—Oisin gives the counselor credit, using his own reputation to make sure something gets done, it’s ballsy. He smiles back, having been caught. “I will.”

“I talked to your party members right after you left,” Jawbone tells him, “and Ivy seemed really concerned about you, especially about your family affairs. But she mentioned a couple of things that happened over the year, particularly towards the beginning, about what Mr. Cliffbreaker had … put on you.”

Killing Lucy. Nights awake until two or three in the morning working out. Runs at five. Learning to take a hit. Oisin’s stomach drops a bit. “Yeah,” he gets out. “There were … things.”

Jawbone’s face softens. “You don’t have to talk about it with me—I won’t make you do or say anything you don’t want to. But you should know that none of that was your fault, and you did the best you could under the circumstances.”

Going to that shrimp jump party. Pulling Kipperlilly back from the Bad Kids’ Last Stand exam after she killed Buddy. Arguing with her. Changing the summoning ritual. Oisin nods.

“I want you to know that I’m grateful,” Jawbone says and sits forward. “Those girls are my family. Fig is Sandra Lynn’s kid, I have guardianship over Kristen, and well, legally now, Adaine is my adopted daughter.” His voice goes quiet, contemplative. “I don’t know what I’d do if any of them got hurt.”

Oisin nods again. “I know that I did things, a lot of things, that hurt them and put their well being in jeopardy, but I’m trying to apologize. To make things right. Atone. Speaking of which,” he leans down to his backpack and pulls out the separate folder, the documents for the Bad Kids, handing them over to Jawbone. “I’m giving them their cut of my ancestor’s hoard, but since they’re all underage, a guardian will have to sign. I was going to just hand it to them, but since I’m here.”

Jawbone rifles through the folder, and his eyes go wide. “Kiddo, are you sure you have the correct amount listed here?”

He smiles. “It’s correct. It’s to split between the party. Ivy spilled the beans and let them know on Friday before I could officially tell them, but Adaine verbally accepted Saturday night. I just need signatures back from both them and the guardian for the bank to transfer it over.”

Jawbone looks back at up at him. “This is extremely generous of you, that’s not taking away from anything you need, right?”

“No, no, not at all. Rioghnach was, for lack of better decorum, filthy rich. My entire clan is well taken care of, and I threw a bit back into the hoard to accrue again, so there aren’t any worries.” Oisin grabs his backpack and stands, pocketing the business card for the therapist. “I’m going out to the Far Haven Woods today to assess damage and start making a clean up plan for there, otherwise I’d stay longer.”

“Oh, absolutely, absolutely,” Jawbone stands. “The girls didn’t mention the woods in their plans today, I thought they were still working on Loam Farm.”

“They are,” he answers. “I’m starting the woods and Lake Shimmerstone by myself.”

The counselor gives him a concerned look. “Alone? Do you need any help, Kiddo?”

Oisin shakes his head. “I’m all set, Jawbone. I don’t think I’m getting any real work done today, anyway. Just some assessment and making sure the spell I have will work on the area.”

“Well,” and Jawbone gives him a once over, “if you’re sure. I’ll have these filled out and get them back to you in a few days, sound good?”

“Yeah, that’ll be great.”

Jawbone drops the folder on his desk, and walks Oisin to the door. Before he can get his hand on the knob to open it, Jawbone stops him. “Oisin, I also wanted to thank you for getting Adaine home safe on Saturday, after the party.”

Oisin pauses. He doesn’t remember lights being on in the house, but that doesn’t mean Jawbone wasn’t watching, or that Adaine hadn’t told him that Oisin brought her home. He just wonders how much she told him. He plays it safe. “Yeah, of course, it was no issue.”

“I heard you guys got ice cream beforehand.”

There’s nothing innocuous about his statement, but Oisin hears it underneath, a subcurrent of questioning that borders on protective. Not angry, not disappointed, not even surprised—cautious, warning. He feels his hands clam up, his stomach tightens in anticipation. Jawbone is her dad, maybe not her dad dad, but a father figure: if he doesn’t approve, Adaine will never consider him as somebody past what they already are, not enemies, but not friends, either.

Oisin clears his throat, surrendering to the shift in energy. “Uh, yes, sir, we did.”

Jawbone’s eyes look him up and down, appraising—Oisin grits his teeth, berating himself for not dressing better, for just grabbing whatever t-shirt and jeans he could find still left in his drawers after Ivy went through and tossed all his old clothes while he’d been in the Waste. But then Jawbone seems to find something, and he smiles, crossing his arms. “I’ve been a bit of a wild one in my life, so I tend to be okay with whatever it is those kids get up to, but next time, put an elderly wolf’s mind at ease and visit an establishment during business hours, you hear?”

He’s relieved for a moment, that Jawbone isn’t chiding him for having his daughter out at all, just that she was late—and then a half-kidding indignation rises up. Did Adaine … did Adaine lie about why they were out? Did she tell her dad that he took her to Basrar’s after hours? As if she wasn’t the one driving? He makes a mental note to bring it up to her next time he sees her—he’s bound to, afterall, with both their parties being somewhat close now. And then it hits him that Jawbone said next time as if he also expects them to keep doing … whatever it is they are doing. They’re not doing anything, though, because last night wasn’t a date as much as he wanted it to be, because she was making sure he was okay—after he admitted to making out with another girl, and then thinking about her. God, he’s an idiot. 

He has the urge to slam his head against the wall, but Oisin nods instead. “I promise next time will be during business hours.”

Jawbone gives off a chuckle. “And anytime after that, as well. That is, if you plan on making a habit out of it.”

If he plans on making a habit out of it. If he plans on taking Adaine out again. His palms are sweaty again, and Oisin swallows hard. “And anytime after that,” he agrees.

Jawbone holds his hand out, and Oisin returns the gesture, shaking it.

He leaves Jawbone’s office, heads for the back exit of the school that will take him towards the wood, thoughts of Adaine still running in his head. She had told Jawbone about hanging out with him—had possibly lied about who initiated, but in reality, he’s not sure he’s even mad about that. Oisin had asked for discrete, and she had given it, holding to her word so far. But she had told Jawbone they went and got ice cream, which means she told him something, and implied enough that Jawbone assumed they were going to keep doing it.

That he was going to make a habit out of it.

That could only mean one thing, right? That Jawbone was under the assumption that Oisin wanted to date Adaine?

Oisin comes to harsh stop at the edge of the trees, Aguefort behind him.

Or that Adaine implied she wanted to.

Fuck, that’s somehow even more … he’s going insane, he needs to stop thinking about this for a little bit.

He takes a deep breath, and follows the footsteps he knows well by now, despite their disappearance. The late morning fades behind him as he steps under the cover of trees, sun filtering through leaves, underbrush swishing and crunching with each step. The heat of the day has settled in, but under the canopy of the woods it’s easily ten degrees cooler. It takes him some time to find the path again, it’s been a handful of months since he’s last tread through here, but he does, and his mind slips into autopilot, sinking into idiosyncrasies. His thoughts turn towards the nightmare from this morning, of Kipperlilly’s jagged and fanged teeth, the sudden darkening of her eyes. He couldn’t see the forest for all the trees then, but he was starting to make out the endless path they’d be walking if he held her hand. And that was only the beginning.

The business card burns in his pocket, and Oisin tries to keep his pace. He knows he has to call the guy—Jawbone knows he has to, and has made sure he would at this point. He knows he needs therapy, it had been one of the stipulations of this summer clean up assignment for his party, but Oisin is still having trouble coming to terms with it. He doesn’t need someone to tell him he’s fucked up—he already knows that.

Does he really want to rehash the shit that happened? People know, his friends know. Ivy knows. Isn’t that enough? Isn’t it enough that Ivy knows his shit relationship with his father is what ultimately led to his death? That Oisin called him and told him personally he could kill the Bad Kids and avenge Kalvaxus, that he’d be held as a hero by Rioghnach? Isn’t it enough that Mary Ann knows he would run until he was sick? That he’d sit in the weight room at school until Porter told him he could leave, screamed at to get up again, take another hit Hakinvar, they’ll come at you harder than this. Isn’t it enough that Ruben has pages upon pages of Oisin’s thoughts for songs? That he’d given the bard sections of his journal for inspiration? Pieces of his heart so brutally open and vulnerable that he’d recognize them by the chord? Isn’t it enough that he killed Lucy for Kipperlilly? That he’d shoved gem after gem after gem into her chest to no avail? That she’d forgiven him?

The trees part, and the little clearing where the Rat Grinders would meet comes into view. It’s different than he remembers, different than the nightmare. It’s brighter. It’s cleaner. They weren’t the last ones here, the police were. But there’s still a darkness that’s settled in where Lucy and Professor Badgood were. His eyes cast over the upended tree trunks, his claw marks visible in the filtered sunlight. The swept away decayed leaves on the forest floor, the hundreds of worms and spiders and pillbugs forced to find new abodes. The broken branches and the missing footprints and the dead fucking rats that aren’t there anymore and the lingering arcane energy in the ground from him.

Oisin sits down in the grass.

And he looks at it.

The nausea builds in him again, the same feeling when he got home that night, hands bloody and arms scratched and Ivy’s voice soothing in his ear as she helped clean him up. The heaving in the bushes, the dirt under his nails, the vacant staring as he wondered if he had done it wrong. If he had done it wrong, had he killed her? Had he doomed her? Why wasn’t she coming back? She wasn’t waking up—she was supposed to wake up, she was right here a second ago, try again. It’s not working, try again. It’s not working, try again. It’s not working, try again. Try again, try again, try again.

Try again.

Try again.

Try again.

Don’t interfere with the plans again, Oisin. Not if you’re not willing to sacrifice.

Oisin takes in a shaky breath, closes his eyes, and puts his head between his knees. The nausea in his stomach is almost unbearable at this point, and can feel the beginnings of heaving in his throat, chokes it down with gulps of air. His face is hot, his hands are shaky. We’re past that, Hakinvar. It’s done with. It’s over. You just saw her two days ago. You just hugged her. You just laughed with her. Lucy is alive, let her be alive. Stop seeing ghosts.

He lets the rolling in his stomach pass over him until it’s gone, until the feeling in his chest doesn’t ache with a vengeance. He doesn’t know how long he sits there, but the sun is well overhead now, and he hasn’t done anything.

Maybe he does need that therapist.

He needs to distract himself, he needs to think about something. That’s probably not the healthy thing—which would be to call someone, like Ivy, or go back to the school and sit with Jawbone.

Instead, hands reach for his backpack. He pulls out his spell book and opens to the last few pages where he theorized all day yesterday a way to make cleaning this place simpler. Losing himself in work may not be healthy, but it was at least productive, and the whole reason he came out here. Cleaning this place isn’t going to get rid of the memories of what you did, subconsciously, unbidden to the forefront of his mind. Don’t use it as an excuse to prove your worth.

“Shut the fuck up,” he mumbles to himself.

Adaine had made a modified Mold Earth and Mending contraction spell which Ivy said seemed to be working, but took a lot of time, consistent casting, and only did so much at once. Oisin knows that a spell like Move Earth would do more over time, but it wouldn’t separate it, and following Adaine’s thinking of adding Mending to it would be too difficult—he’d have to cast it several times underneath in order for it to work properly, so his mind had immediately gone to Creation, with the thought that if he could backwards engineer it to remove the shards instead of create more, it might be a better fit. It could run in twelve hour intervals, and the space it used would ensure he could get entire sections of the forest done in days as opposed to the months it would take using the cantrip contraction. None of the material components would be consumed, so he could just use the same things over and over and not run out.

He’d written it last night, albeit hastily before he passed out. Oisin reads over the spell again, making sure he’s got the backwards variation correct, comparing it to the forward primary version of the spell, fixing the runic language he’d misspelled last night in his tired state. When he’s satisfied, Oisin stands and grabs the material components he’d need—the iron bladed knife in his kit, a small bag he filled with different soil types, and the pieces of rage shards from beneath his feet. He conjures a Mage Hand, placing his spell book in it’s grip and holding it up for him to cast.

His hands move, tracing the runes in the air, catching where the contraction is, letting it fall over his fingers. Oisin feels the energy, the ground beneath him shaking with the force of Move Earth. “Damir,” he speaks, and his fingers spark, the blue of his magic shifting to purple and red as Creation attempts to sever the ties between the ground and the rage shards.

The ground quakes, a rumble rolling through it as the spell takes hold, but the arcane energy fizzles suddenly, and slowly dims, the earth sinking back into place, as if it had never been moved. The red shards gleam up at him from below, unchanged. 

Oisin grabs his spell book and stares at the runes. What the hell? It’s all draconic, his entire spell book is in it, and he used the draconic variants of the spells—so why didn’t it work? Maybe Creation was enacted too early, the ground not moved enough in order to separate anything. He flips the page, copies over the beginning of the spell, and then adds in the extra runes to make Move Earth longer before contracting with the backwards form of Creation.

He hands his spell book back to the mage hand, grabs a quick swig of water from his kit, and then cracks his knuckles. Trial and error, that’s what today is about. His shoulders roll, the pain in his left duller today thankfully, and he begins casting the spell again.

The rumbling is deeper this time, he can feel it starting low and slow, and the sound of tree roots bending, stone tumbling together as the section of earth in front of him rolls, wave-like and hilly across the expanse of forest in front of him. His hand dips, and he hits the contraction. “Damir,” he repeats, and his magic surges forward, blue to purple to red, and he watches as Creation rips through the ground, rage shards tumbling with it like briar weeds through the Red Waste, collecting and gathering.

His hands drop, the spell finishing on his end, but he watches as it still goes, and Oisin feels a euphoria washing over him, pride and excitement that it’s working. All that stupid fucking studying he did last year, all the work he put in—it was at least worth it, had paid off in the end.

Oisin lets the spell keep going—he can check on it tomorrow morning and make sure it works the way he thinks it will—and grabs his crystal from his backpack. It’s late in the day already, he’d wasted more time than he thought just sitting there, and like clockwork, his stomach growls loudly. He grabs his pack, pulls his uneaten lunch out, and turns to leave the woods, letting the magic work behind him.

He doesn’t look at the spot where he buried Lucy again.

***

“Just call him,” Ivy says, rolling her eyes.

Oisin glares, “Oh my God, please shut up.”

The two of them sit on the couch in the apartment. It’s days later. The spell is working fine, a few tweaks the next day has it working perfectly, and Oisin has a kind of pride in himself he hasn’t felt in a long time. Making the summoning spell, and figuring out how write it on the inside of ping pong balls had been an accomplishment he’d taken pride in, despite the intentions behind it. He had divorced the reason from the rhyme in regards to it—it was skilled work, and it took time and energy and thought, it belonged in the portfolio of what he’d accomplished, what education had done for him, what his practically insatiable need to know and understand and do has done for him. This spell was different though, because there was no need to separate the weal from the woe—the spell is good, and the work is good, and it’s leading towards something he needed anyway.

Right now, though, with his crystal in hand, Oisin feels none of that pride. 

He’s hesitating calling that therapist. He knows exactly why, too, because if Oisin is truly great at anything, it’s intellectualizing his feelings. Making that spell and having it work proves that he’s capable of fixing things on his own, that the things Kipperlilly and Porter and Jace did—things he participated in—doesn’t dictate what he does now. But calling the therapist feels like admitting to himself he can’t fix it, and that’s a wound to his ego he hates.

It’s not bad that he can’t do it alone, Oisin tells himself. His party isn’t any less strong for talking to Jawbone—or a legitimate therapist, in Lucy’s case, too. They would all be supportive. They would all understand. They would all commend him. There’s no shame in the therapy game.

So why can’t he just do it?

Ivy stands from the couch. “Look, I’m exhausted from today, so I’m gonna go shower and get in bed and give you some privacy.” She puts her hands on her hips. “I’m only making you call this therapist. I’m not asking you to talk to her . You can decide when you want to—or don’t want to, that’s perfectly fine. But this guy?” She points to the business card in his hand. “I’m making you do this.”

She walks away then, before Oisin can say something back—she’s right, he doesn’t have it in him to talk to Tilly yet about what happened, and he doesn’t know when he will.

But he can talk about the other things.

Oisin waits until he hears the bathroom door close and the shower kick on before putting the number in and calling.

It rings a few times. It’s too late, he’s not going to answer, Oisin’s going to have to leave a voicemail—

On the other end, a man’s voice greets, “This is Doctor Malthead Durroth.”

Oisin waits a second, listening to see if it’s his answering machine he caught, but when the pause extends far too long, he replies, panicked, “Uh, yes, hi, uh, my name is Oisin Hakinvar, I’m sorry to call you so late.”

“It’s not an issue,” the man says. “How can I help you, Oisin?”

“Yes, um, I wanted to talk to you about possibly setting up—uh,” he stutters. “My guidance counselor gave me your card and recommended you, as a, um, as a therapist?”

There’s a gentle rumble from Dr. Durroth, and it sounds so similar to his own, to his family’s, that something settles in Oisin. “Yes, yes, absolutely. Are you a student in Bastion City?”

“No, I’m from Elmville. I wanted to know if you had any openings, or were taking new clients or … something like that.”

“I do have openings, and I am taking new clients, or something like that. I believe,” there’s a rustling sound on the other end, “that I have a vacant spot in my roster, but it can always be discussed if you’d prefer someone else in the practice or what have you.”

“No, um, my counselor, Jawbone O’Shaughnessy, recommended you because … you’re dragonborn, and specialize in draconic therapy.”

There’s a long pause between them, and Oisin taps his fingers on his knee. “I see,” Dr. Durroth says, “I remember our conversation about you, now, apologies. I just found your name in my book. I know Jawbone and I talked about a few of the things that were possibly plaguing you in regards to some … recent events.”

Oisin nods, and then feels incredibly stupid. “Yeah, there have been some, uh, things that have happened this past year.”

Dr. Durroth makes a soft grunting sound, and then exhales. “I have some time, if you’d like to talk—Hakinvar, you said?”

“Hakinvar is my family name. My first name is Oisin, yes.”

“Is your family from the Waste?”

Oisin stands, and begins pacing around the living room. The sound of Ivy’s shower is still coming from the bathroom. “We are, blue dragon clan.”

“I’ve never been, unfortunately, but I was raised in the Swamps of Ruin, myself. Might I ask what brought you to Elmville?”

“I wanted to study magic,” Oisin tells him plainly. “There’s a school here—a preparatory of sorts, that I had originally applied to, uh, Hudol? But I realized at the last second that I preferred practical magic—not that arcane theory isn’t great, but you can only analyze Bashtai so many times before his words start to lose all flavor. So I joined an adventuring academy instead.”

“You’re at Aguefort, right?”

“Yes.”

“I always enjoyed the people I met from there—real salt of the earth, in my opinion.”

Oisin moves to the sliding glass door that goes out on the balcony, looking out into the backyard, into the copse that extends behind their building. “A lot of those I’ve met there are like that, I enjoy it a lot.”

“Oisin, I’d like to ask you a couple of questions, if that’s alright?”

“Uh, sure.”

The moon is rising, not full, but close to it, and the light illuminates along the tops of the trees. Dr. Durroth says, “I specialize in dragonborn, Oisin, because I am one, of course. It gives me great insight into our race, and some of the fundamental things that go on with us in regards to it. When I was talking with Jawbone O’Shaughnessy about you, he brought up concerns about some of the things that happened to you with your old professor, Porter Cliffbreaker. How has your anger been? Have you noticed any upticks in draconic behavior since, what we can dub as the corruption?”

Oisin turns and leans against the glass panning of the door, feeling the cold seep into his shoulders. It feels good on the still sore one. “I uh, yeah. I have. I’ve noticed that some of the smaller inconveniences seem to set me off more than big things—I can stay a lot calmer when it comes to like, disagreements or whatever that are arguably more important than when the littler things happen. I never really used to be that way. Not a lot of things got to me at all before … the corruption.”

“I see, and Jawbone has informed me of your clan’s brawl—in truth, I had already heard of it before him. It’s not often the clans have a full fledged tournament anymore, so when one does happen, it tends to … rocket through our circles. He mentioned you won, which is quite an accomplishment for someone your age.”

“I did win,” he replies.

Dr. Durroth hums idly. “Are you currently running your clan?”

“No, I didn’t want to stay in the Waste, so I turned leadership over to my cousin. It was her and I at the end, and I felt like she deserved it more than I did. I split most of the hoard up between who was left and kept a bit for myself.”

“Is it all gold in your hoard? Or do you have material possessions in it as well from your family?”

Oisin hesitates. “Um, it’s not—I don’t—” he sighs. “I put a bit into a bank, just for accrual, but most of what I’ve taken I’ve … given away. It’s not part of a hoard.”

“Do you have a hoard, Oisin?”

“… No, I don’t,” he answers. There’s a part of him that doesn’t want to say more—Dr. Durroth as a dragonborn, probably has one, and Oisin’s unsure his reasoning won’t irritate the man. But the other part of him, the one that’s dying to be understood by someone who understands his nature, thinks he might just get it. He takes a deep breath. “I don’t hoard because I don’t … like, the feeling. I don’t like the … possessiveness that comes with hoarding. So I try not to keep flashy things around me. Or stock up on stuff.” His eyes scan the apartment, and almost everything in the living room, every piece of decoration in here has Ivy’s prints all over it. “I’m pretty minimalistic.”

There’s a long pause, and Oisin can’t tell what it’s for. He pulls the crystal away from his ear, making sure the call hasn’t dropped, but no, it’s still going. In the silence, he stands up from the glass and walks towards the kitchen. After another few seconds, Dr. Durroth asks, “You are a wizard, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And you came to Elmville to study magic.”

“Yes,” he repeats.

“And you enjoy the more practical applications of magic, rather than it’s theory?”

Again, “Yes.” He opens the fridge and grabs one of the mango sodas him and Ivy keep on hand for Mary Ann. He feels his crystal buzz in his hand a few times with a text message, but doesn’t look at it yet. It’s probably just Ivy.

“Practical applications of things, especially magic, still requires a vast knowledge of the subject to pull from when applying the arcane. What school are you?”

Oisin squints. “I’m a conjurer. I focus on summons mostly.”

“Summoning requires extensive mental fortitude and knowledge of the arcane adaptabilities. Do you tend to take lots of notes on things?”

Lots of notes? Oisin’s on his third spell book. “You could say that.”

“Oisin, I’m of the belief that you don’t not hoard, it just doesn’t seem to be gold or material possessions. In your chosen area of study, and from what I’ve learned about you between Jawbone and now, I’m more inclined to believe that you far more value things like intellect and knowledge. Jawbone has said you’ve created some extremely powerful spells—that doesn’t come easy. I think what you covet most—we can call it coveting, or desire, instead of hoarding, if that’s more preferable—but I think what you covet most is of the mind. Is the immaterial.”

Oisin puts the soda down on the counter and stares blankly at it. “T-The … immaterial. What do you mean?”

“Immaterial meaning things that are not physical—in a sense, knowledge can translate to material goods in some cases. Do you tend to keep old notebooks from previous classes? Or textbooks? Even things you haven’t read, or are unsure if you’d ever read.”

His stomach rolls at the thought, immediately seeing the stacks of books at Ruben’s house, the threadbare notebooks from his years at Aguefort shoved into a clear plastic bin under his bed, the handfuls of nonfiction in his bookcase on topics he had found interesting but never delved into. “Fuck,” he whispers. Oisin turns around and slides down the cabinets, sitting on the kitchen floor. “I hoard.”

The way he would get angry at Ivy for borrowing a book—he just thought it was because she always so careless, would leave the spine split open to a page, would dogear things instead of using a bookmark. The first time him and Kipperlilly had honestly fought, when she’d used one his notebooks sophomore year and re-highlighted certain segments in a different color than what he’d used—he’d chalked it up to being picky about his things, about needing systems to stay organized.

“I am more than willing to delve deeper into this for you at some point, to help you understand what exactly it is that you find valuable that might help you better narrow down some of these feelings.”

His mind shifts to Tilly, covered in gold and jewels, her expensive bedsheets, the luxury of her bedroom—that hadn’t done anything for him. That hadn’t excited him the way it should’ve, the way it would’ve other dragonborn. It hadn’t made him want—the bloodspine had done that. He wasn’t possessive about it. Is he weird for that? “Is that why gold … doesn’t do anything for me?”

“It’s most likely the reason, material possessions might not mean much to you unless associated with some form of knowledge or intellect. But Oisin, I want you to know that this isn’t a bad thing. The immaterial might not be common as a hoard, but it certainly happens, and it is normal. I’ve met a handful of other dragonborn that hoard immaterial things, one woman I met valued justice and became a lawyer here in the city. This is not something that will displace you from others.”

Oisin stares at the cabinets in the kitchen that are eye level with him. The paint is chipping on the side of one, exposing the woodgrain underneath. Another’s hinge is missing a screw, and is hanging on by sheer will alone. A small relief is afforded to him, when Dr. Durroth tells him that he’s normal. He doesn’t think his family would think the same, but it’s enough to know right now that there are others who do the same.

“In fact,” Dr. Durroth continues, “I would love to see your library in a decade. It’s bound to be impressive.”

Oisin takes off his glasses, and gives off a snort. “Yeah, I’ve got like three bookcases now, and that’s just these past few years in school.”

“Oisin, I’d like to make an appointment with you to really start talking more about some of the things that have happened this past year, and figure out how best I can help you understand or come to terms with certain events.” 

Ivy pads into the kitchen just then, her hair in a towel and wearing a big t-shirt she’d stolen from him and a pair of sweatpants. She pauses when she sees him sitting on the ground, and tilts her head. He nods at her. “I’ve got a car,” he tells Dr. Durroth. “So traveling to Bastion City won’t be too much of an issue if you only do in person appointments.”

“I’d prefer our first visit to be in person, but after that I’m sure we can set up some sort of video chat or call time that way you’re not required to drive for each session. We can also discuss how often you’d like sessions to be and any other preferences.”

“Yeah, absolutely, I can come next week sometime if you’re available.”

Ivy smiles at him and gives him two thumbs up. Oisin rolls his eyes at her but smiles back.

“I’m looking at my calendar, and it seems like I have an opening next Friday around ten in the morning. Would that work for you?”

“I will make it work,” Oisin replies.

“Wonderful, I will see you then. I look forward to meeting you in person, Oisin.”

“Me, too. Thank you, Dr. Durroth.”

Oisin hangs up and Ivy bounces her way over. “How did it go? You made an appointment! What’s he like? Is he a good fit?” She grabs the soda off the counter and sits down next to him, opening it and taking a sip.

He grabs the soda from her and sticks his tongue out mockingly. “Yeah, I think he’ll be a good fit. He asked me a few questions about myself and … answered some things.” Oisin takes a deep breath. “He thinks I do … hoard. Just not gold. Or material things. He—he thinks I hoard … the immaterial, something that I value. Like intellect or knowledge.”

Ivy’s eyes open wide. “That’s … interesting. Not in a bad way, obviously, but I’ve never heard of that.”

Oisin shrugs. “He said it’s not common, but that it’s not abnormal or anything. He mentioned knowing a couple of dragonborn that do it.” He takes a sip, and then remembers that his crystal had buzzed earlier, and pulls it back out to check.

Ivy hums, “Well, that’s a good thing, then! Might explain why there’s not piles of gold all around the apartment, huh?”

He pulls up his messages, and sees there’s an unknown number that’s messaged him.

And then the nausea kicks in again.

(unknown):  hi. it’s adaine. i got your number from ivy today at the farm
(unknown):  i wanted you to know that misty got back to riz about the perfume
(unknown):  she said it’s clean. there should be no lingering effects, but if you feel any weirdness in the paralysis department to follow up with a physician
(unknown):  i hope you’re feeling better, let us know if we can do anything

Oisin turns to look at Ivy, unsure of what he’s feeling. “You gave Adaine my number at the farm today?”

Ivy is looking at her nails, inspecting her cuticles. “Oh no,” she feigns. “Was I not supposed to?” Her eyes shift to look at him again, and a grin replaces her bored expression. “You can thank me later. But also, big boy, you must have done something right last weekend because she is the one who asked me for it, I didn’t just do it on a whim.”

He looks back to his crystal, staring at the messages.

Adaine texted him.

He quickly adds her number to his contacts and switches back to the thread. His fingers hover over the keyboard before he responds.

(oisin):  hey, thanks for letting me know. i appreciate it.
(oisin):  i feel okay, nothing that didn’t predate it.
(oisin):  will you thank Riz for the discretion for me?

“Look at the two of you,” Ivy singsongs over his shoulder, “texting, ooo, when are you getting a ring~”

Oisin shoves her shoulder a little too hard and she lets out a yell before falling onto the floor, laughing as the towel undoes and her slightly grown out pixie cut tumbles out. He looks back to his crystal and sees the little ellipses of her replying before they disappear.

And then start again.

And then disappear.

He looks back to Ivy. “Am I just supposed to start texting her now? What do I do?”

Ivy stretches out and puts her arms behind her head, getting comfortable on the floor. “Oh, you’re so sad and pathetic, you have no game.”

“Ivy.”

Her hand comes up to wave dismissively at him. “Yes! You just text her now! Put some of that wizarding smartness on the line and show her you’re interested!”

He looks back down and sees she’s typing again, and right below his message to her is:

[deleted message]

His eyes open wide. Did she send something and immediately delete it? Why hadn’t he been looking at his crystal?!

(adaine):  it’s no issue. i think riz just said it was something he was investigating and he couldn’t talk about it
(adaine):  but in any case, you can tell him yourself tomorrow for movie night
(adaine):  ivy told you about movie night, right?

He throws a glare at Ivy. “What the fuck is movie night and why is this the first I’m hearing about it?”

Ivy props herself up on her elbows. “Oh shoot, tomorrow is movie night, isn’t it? The Bad Kids do it once a month, and they’ve given us a standing invitation. I completely forgot, honestly.”

He wants to scream.

(oisin):  she did.
(oisin):  just now.
(oisin):  i’ve debated for years now about just writing stuff directly on her forehead.

(adaine):  are you coming?
(adaine):  i know you weren’t here for the last one but your party (name pending) was

Oisin hesitates, and then thinks better of himself. Adaine is asking if he’s coming.

(oisin):  do you want me to come?

He sees the little ellipses pop up for a second, and then vanish again. His stomach turns, waiting. It’s another moment of staring at his screen—he’s not looking away this time, in case she tries to delete a message again—before Adaine replies:

(adaine):  yes
(adaine):  you should come
(adaine):  kristen found some insane action movie she wants to subject us all to
(adaine):  so if i have to watch it, so do you

He smiles wide and leans his head back against the cabinets for a moment.

Ivy laughs, “Lovesick. Truly, I’m disgusted by you.”

Oisin ignores her.

(oisin):  i think Kristen and i will get along, i like insane action movies.
(oisin):  the worse the plot the better.
(oisin):  i’ll be there.

(adaine):  cool
(adaine):  i’ll see you tomorrow night then
(adaine):  mordred, 7pm

(oisin):  i’ll see you tomorrow night, mordred, 7pm

He looks over to find Ivy staring intently at him. “What?”

She shakes her head, grinning, laying back down on the ground. “Nothing! Nothing! It’s just that it’s so cute and lame and you’re actually talking to the girl you’ve been pining over for three years. I’m extremely proud!”

He grabs the mango soda back from her—when had she grabbed it again?—and takes a sip, pointedly ignoring her words when he hears another vibration.

It’s Ivy’s crystal this time, and she fishes it out of her sweatpants pocket and looks at it above her head. He watches as the grin on her face extends to a fully open mouth, and her eyes shoot open to a comically wide degree. She chuffs, “Biiiiiiiiitch, I just got added to a group chat?”

“What?” he asks incredulously.

Ivy laughs, typing something on her crystal. “Oh, this is so fun, why didn’t you tell me having friends was fun?”

“Who’s in it?!”

She turns her head, still smiling. “It’s me, Fig, Kristen, Lucy, Mazey, Mary Ann, Aelwyn fucking Abernant, and Fig’s girlfriend Ayda Aguefort. ”

Oisin is baffled staring at her, but then the dread sits in. Adaine is not in that chat. “No …”

Ivy’s laughter fills the kitchen, a cackling, witchy sound. “It is so fucking on! We are so back, baby!”

Chapter Text

“I don’t know why we’re all so invested in this,” Aelwyn mumbles, crossing her legs under her, one of the cats purring on her lap.

“This means everything to me,” Fig says.

Kristen agrees, “I’m living vicariously through them, is that bad? I feel like that’s bad.”

Ayda looks to Kristen. “That is bad, you shouldn’t be doing that.”

“That is so harsh of you, I can’t believe you’d tell me that,” Kristen deadpans.

An arcane aura washes through the room, the scent of burning charcoal and down: Ayda’s Comprehend Subtext. “I’m so sorry, Kristen, would you have preferred I lied to you about your terrible dating habits?”

Fig laughs loudly next to her. “What a burn, literally, because my girlfriend is a phoenix, get it?”

“We get it,” Aelwyn rolls her eyes.

“She’s literally always burning.”

“It’s true, I am.”

“Oh my God, we get it, you love your girlf—”

Adaine shuts her eyes tightly, hands gripping the crystal. “Could we all maybe move back like two or three feet and stop breathing down my neck?”

Aelwyn is the only one not practically on top of her at this point—Ayda, too, she guesses, but sitting right behind her is keeping her warm in a way she doesn’t need help with—so Fig and Kristen scoot back from her side, giving her a bit of a berth, which she’s grateful for. She loves them all, really, but five girls on one twin bed leaves little breathing room when she already can feel her chest catching at his texts.

(oisin):  do you want me to come?

What kind of question is that? Was it not implied by her earlier ‘are you coming? your party did’ text that she wanted him there? What did he mean? Adaine’s blood is on fire, her hands jittery and clammy. No one had ever made her hands clammy the way Oisin did—is that a good thing? Should she be sweating this much?

This wasn’t supposed to be like this! She’d just gotten his number from Ivy to let him know about the perfume, that was it—not to personally invite him to movie night, which he already should have known about! Damn Ivy for having the memory of fucking fish—the writing it on her forehead thing would be kind of funny if she didn’t know how they interacted already and suspected he might be telling the truth instead of jesting. But still, she shouldn’t be doing this, he was already supposed to know! It was supposed to be an organic thing that she could feel him out—mentally, not anything else—and decide what the hells is going on between them.

Because that felt like flirting last week. It sounded like flirting. Kristen and Fig had said it was. Adaine’s heart beats fast. God, and she’d told Jawbone about it, and Sandra Lynn.

She tries typing out ‘What do you think?’ and then deletes it because that feels too harsh, and she’s not sure he’d get the correct answer from that, and then rethinks because he’s smart and he should get it. Fuck, now she’s overthinking.

“You’re overthinking it,” Aelwyn reads her mind.

Adaine looks up from her crystal. “I know, I know! What do I do?”

Her sister is petting Branwyn, who is upside down in her lap. Aelwyn gives her a withering look. “I make fun of you a lot, but it’s because I love you. This is a safe space to give a yes or no answer in. Do you want him there tomorrow or not?”

She thinks about it for a moment. In truth, there’s no reason to—Adaine knows the answer. She’s still hesitant, though. Because admitting it means admitting something else to herself, and she doesn’t know if she’s ready to say it out loud, in front of others. Her eyes glance over to Fig, who gives her two thumbs up, and then to Kristen who nods her head enthusiastically. Ayda is still behind her, but Adaine feels a hand settle on her shoulder and squeeze.

It’s not just others, it’s family.

She can admit it to family.

Adaine nods. “Yes,” she whispers.

Aelwyn looks pointedly between her and her crystal. “Then say that. Say ‘Yes. You should come.’ You appreciate directness. It’s only reasonable to assume that someone you are into—and make no mistake, little sister, you are into him—would appreciate it as well.”

Adaine looks down at her phone. She takes a deep breath.

(adaine):  yes
(adaine):  you should come

And then adds:

(adaine):  kristen found some insane action movie she wants to subject us all to
(adaine):  so if i have to watch it, so do you

She stares at the screen. Fig leans over, and then Kristen on the other side.

“Blaming me,” Kristen starts, “that’s a good one. Blaming me is always a weapon in the back pocket, honestly. But also, fuck you, I have carefully curated this movie. It’s a great blend between action and romance, and this one dude drives a car into space—”

The little ellipses pops up at the bottom, and Adaine feels her stomach flip again. Fig gasps, waving her hand at Kristen. “Shut up, he’s texting back!”

(oisin):  i think Kristen and i will get along, i like insane action movies.
(oisin):  the worse the plot the better.
(oisin):  i’ll be there.

Kristen smiles wide. “He likes action movies! See, everything will be fine.”

Ayda leans over her shoulder. “Is that truly all it takes to get on your good side? Should I have told you beforehand all my likes and dislikes? Should I tell them all to you now?”

Adaine looks up at her sister as Fig and Kristen repeat the same sentiment that Ayda is fine, she doesn’t have to do that, that she was always on their good side, to find Aelwyn softly smiling at her. She gives a smile back, and Aelwyn looks once again between her and her crystal. She takes the hand that’s not petting Branwyn and circles her finger in the air, mouthing ‘Keep going.’

She glances back to her screen, and she can’t keep the stupid grin off her face. 

(adaine):  cool
(adaine):  i’ll see you tomorrow night then
(adaine):  mordred, 7pm

He responds back quickly.

(oisin):  i’ll see you tomorrow night, mordred, 7pm

“Okay, well, that settles it, he’s coming over tomorrow with the rest of the Rat Grinders,” Adaine says loudly.

“They really need a new name,” Aelwyn comments.

She falls sideways into Kristen’s lap, and the cleric cards her fingers through her hair. “I don’t understand what this feeling is.”

“Are you anxious?” Ayda asks.

Adaine takes a deep breath in, letting the feeling of Kristen playing with her hair soothe her. She hears Meeka’s soft chatter as another of Aelwyn’s cat hops on the bed and settles between her legs, the low vibrations of purring adding to the gentleness. This feeling is an anxiousness, she supposes, but it’s not impending. Or at least, it doesn’t feel that way. “I mean, I am, but it doesn’t feel like when I get panicky.”

“You like him,” Kristen says plainly. Adaine’s eyes slide upward to glare at her. “Oh, come on, Adaine. You had a thing for him like all year, and then he fucked you over. But the fucking you over bit doesn’t automatically mean your feelings are just gone. Trust me, I know what that’s like.”

“Like you and Tracker?” Fig asks.

Kristen nods. “Yeah, like me and Tracker. I mean, she didn’t really fuck me over, per se, but she did break my heart—but it’s not like those feelings vanished.”

Aelwyn rolls her eyes. “That was extremely apparent when she was here a month or so ago. The two of you were disgusting with your puppy dog eyes. I wanted to vomit.”

“You did vomit,” Ayda chimes in. “I distinctly remember you vomiting. It was Wednesday night the week she was here, around 7:30. We had all just eaten dinner, Kristen and Tracker were on the living room couch ‘eating face,’ as Fig has taught me—”

“Hell yeah, I taught you that.” Fig boasts. She has her crystal in her hand, but nonetheless still manages to hold a fist up and pump the air.

Kristen groans loudly. Adaine doesn’t know if she means the phrase or the act.

“Precisely, as I’ve said.” Ayda smiles at Fig, squeezing her thigh, and then continues, “Kristen and Tracker were on the living room couch eating face, and Aelwyn walked in, and then immediately walked out, and vomited in the hallway plant pot.”

The hand in her hair stutters. “Sandra Lynn blamed me for that plant dying! She thought I didn’t water it! Aelwyn, your upchuck killed it!”

Aelwyn smiles deviously, and raises her hand up in a mocking fashion, her voice pitched high. “Aelwyn, your upchuck killed the plant!”

Adaine snorts as Kristen sputters above her. “This is outrageous!”

“I usually cast Tasha’s Hideous Laughter on her,” Adaine states.

“I can cast it if you need it,” Ayda offers.

Fig throws a scorching look at them all, putting her crystal down. “We were talking about Adaine finally liking someone! Can we get back to that?”

Adaine groans loudly and shuts her eyes, hiding her face on Kristen’s leg. Meeka gives off a soft chatter at her that’s sated by scratching her ears. “Can we not and say we did?”

Fig puts her hands on Adaine’s legs and gives her a quick squeeze. “I mean, I’m just kinda—like not shocked, but definitely impressed that you like anyone in general?”

Branwyn flops onto her side in Aelwyn’s lap, and Adaine’s eyes are drawn to the movement when her sister picks up the cat and gently places her on the bed next to her before stretching her legs out off the edge. “I’m not. Have you met the kid? Adaine and I have the same taste.” Her arms cross behind her head and she leans back, lying flat on the bed with her legs dangling at the knees. Branwyn repositions herself on Aelwyn’s lower stomach. “I knew it the second I saw that shit dragonborn.”

Adaine stiffens in her position. Kristen’s hand pauses, fingers twined with fine blonde hair. In her peripheral, Fig’s mouth drops open dramatically. She can’t see Ayda as they all stare at Aelwyn. 

When the silence persists—Adaine’s mind is racing. What in the hells did her sister mean? She knew? They have the same taste? Does Aelwyn think Oisin is—Aelwyn finally turns her head to them, one brow cocked. “What?”

She holds herself up on her elbows, careful where she places her hands so as to not jostle Meeka so much. “What do you mean we have the same taste?”

Aelwyn’s eyes lock on her and she scowls. “The niceness, Adaine. You said it yourself months ago. There are times when you wish someone was a little bit mean to you. I am the exact same way—a byproduct of our horrid upbringing, I’m sure of it, but still a concept we cling to. You wanted camaraderie in toxicity? Here it is. We both majorly need therapy after our parents, especially considering the person I latched onto was Penelope fucking Everpetal.”

“That’s a bit harsh,” Kristen interjects. “Like, I’ve talked to Lucy a bit about the rest of them and he doesn’t strike me as a Penelope Everpetal type person.”

Her sister scoffs. “I’m not saying he is, I’m saying that Adaine here likes it a little rough around the edges—and it’s apparent enough that Ayda clocked it, and made her a close combat spell that literally killed our father in one punch.”

“Did I miss the memo where you guys decided to aim sniper rifles at me?” She points between all of them. “Like, is today National Call Out Adaine Day or something?”

Aelwyn’s eyes come back to her. There’s a stoicism behind them that Adaine can’t figure out. She feels her stomach sink further in. “You’re violent inside, and that’s fine. I understand it. Father made sure of it with both of us. But you don’t get to feign innocence with me. I know you, and you know me.”

There’s a quiet that settles between them again as they stare each other down. Adaine swallows. She tries hard not to think about what Aelwyn has just said; that’s too much to examine in one sitting—and she doesn’t want to acknowledge that her sister is correct, anyway.

No one has said anything. Aelwyn eventually turns her face back the ceiling and shuts her eyes. “And if there’s another thing I know,” she tacks on, “it’s that if I read the relationship between Kipperlilly and Oisin correctly last year, that dragonborn might very well be the exact same way.”

***

Sandra Lynn’s hands tug at her hair. “Adaine, if you want me to braid it back, you need to sit still.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” she says, and Adaine stills her jittery hands, sitting on them.

It’s quiet as Sandra Lynn starts on the second braid. She had showered and put on her clean pajamas, letting her hair slightly dry before asking Fig’s mom to french braid her hair into two twin tails. They sit in her and Jawbone’s large master bedroom, Adaine backwards on the small chair and Sandra Lynn behind her, working diligently with her strands of hair.

She pulls a little too hard at the scalp and Adaine squeezes her eyes shut.

Sandra Lynn looks down over her shoulder. “Shoot, did I hurt you?”

“No, no, it’s okay. I just haven’t gotten my hair braided in a long time, so I’m not used to it.”

The wood elf stands straight again and continues working, her hands less aggressive now, but still firm. “I haven’t braided anyone's hair in a long time, so I guess I’m not used to it either.” She’s quiet for another moment. “I used to braid Fig’s all the time when she was young. She liked doing the fishtail braids, though, so I watched a lot of tutorials.”

“Fig’s hair is probably really good for that.”

Sandra Lynn chuckles. “It stayed in place really well—she, however, did not.”

Adaine watches her in the big sink vanity mirror: Sandra Lynn is concentrating hard, her tongue slightly sticking out of the side. She sits patiently and waits for the hairstyle to be finished. She had tried doing it herself, but frustration got the better of her, and she had instead stood in front of the mirror and let out a deep, loud groan. Sandra Lynn had peeked her head in and offered help afterward.

Her mom had never done this. Arianwen had never once braided her hair, or really helped her do anything at all, as far as she remembers. Adaine doesn’t even know if she’d done this for Aelwyn. But Sandra Lynn does it. Sandra Lynn braids her hair, and checks on her, and makes sure school is good. They have ice cream, go to the mall, joke about Aelwyn’s fifteen cats and counting. She’s a mom. She’s not Adaine’s mom, but she’s a mom. There were times over the years that she got to to see first hand how Fig and Sandra Lynn’s relationship was tumultuous, and yeah, she affords Fig the grace of having a hard relationship with her mother growing up, especially after coming into her horns—but what she wouldn’t have given to have had half the mother Sandra Lynn is, instead of what she got. Instead of what Aelwyn got. She wonders how different her life would be if Arianwen had been a good mom.

Sandra Lynn finishes braiding, and ties it off at the end, both tails stopping at the base of her skull and leaving the ends out, now that her hair is dry and poofy. Her fingers flounce through some of the tighter sections, pulling and primping until each side is matching. “How’s that feel? Not so tight?”

Adaine twists her head back and forth, leans forward and backward—no pulling. She smiles at Sandra Lynn in the mirror. “It feels good!”

Sandra Lynn’s hands are on her hips, and a big smile comes over her face. “Good! I’m glad you like it! If you ever want me to braid it again, just let me know. I really don’t mind. Keeps my hands nimble. Or I could show you how to do it on yourself.” She brings her hands forward to Adaine’s face, and gently rubs at her hairline, loosening some of the baby hairs that were tangled up. 

Adaine looks up to her. “I’d like that.”

Sandra Lynn stares at her for a moment, and then takes a sudden breath. “Do you want me to curl the ends really quick?”

Hands reach up to play at the loose strands of her hair. “I don’t think there’s enough time, but I should be good. My hair gets really poofy after washing it, which is the best time to braid it because then it stays longer.” She stands up and pushes the chair back to the wall. “Thank you, Sandra Lynn, I really appreciate it.”

She smiles, “Yeah, of course. Anytime, Adaine,” but there’s something hesitant about it.

Adaine stops at the door. “Is there something else?”

Sandra Lynn is watching her, Adaine sees as her eyes roam over her face. Not scrutinizingly—there’s no judgment, like she would’ve expected from her own mother—but there’s something soft, and slightly sad about her. “Yeah, I—” Sandra Lynn takes a deep breath. “I know I’m not your mom, Adaine, so I’m not going to give you any sort of talk or anything like that, but just … be careful, alright?”

Adaine feels the tips of her ears heating. National Call Out Adaine Day must be turning into National Call Out Adaine Weekend. But it’s not like she was doing anything! Or planned on doing anything! She hadn’t even told Jawbone or Sandra Lynn about Oisin’s … make out session with Ivy’s cousin—or the being drugged, or the way he looked at her as he was dropping her off, like she was something he could ea—

“I know you kids have been spending time with the Rat Grinders because of this summer project thing,” she continues, as if oblivious to the mental turmoil she’s just subjected Adaine to. “And Jawbone has told me they’re all adjusting well to being normal again, or uncorrupted, whatever you want to call it, but I get … worried. I know that you told us about getting ice cream with their wizard, and I just—Adaine, I want to be extremely clear here that this is not a sex talk.”

“Oh good—”

“That’s not where I’m going with this.”

Adaine inhales deeply, feeling the jittering come back. She should take her meds before everyone gets here. “Okay.”

Sandra Lynn closes the distance between them and takes hold of her hands. “This is a—a heart talk. It’s just—I’ve been there, you know? I-I’ve—I’ve been with the guy who seems … mysterious, and charming. Just don’t miss the forest for the trees, yeah?”

She’s staring at Sandra Lynn, and Adaine suddenly remembers that Fig had told them about Bobby Dawn. Her face is soft and vulnerable, open in a way that if it had been anyone else, Adaine would be uncomfortable. But it’s Sandra Lynn, and a lot of things click into place when she remembers that. “Do you not trust them?”

A grimace. “It’s not that I don’t trust them—they’re kids, not villains. They’re not the Kalvaxus’ of the world, or the Night Yorb’s, or the Porter’s.” She pauses. Adaine knows the name she omits. “But sometimes, people say and do things that … maybe aren’t so great, and warrant keeping an eye out. Look, I’m not saying to raise the pitchforks or anything, but just—” She squeezes her hand, and holds her gaze. “Keep your head on straight.”

Adaine stares at her for a moment, unsure of what to do, before nodding, and whispers, “Okay.”

“That’s not something I really need to tell you though, is it?” Sandra Lynn sighs. “I don’t need to be your mom, and I’m not asking you to think of me like that. But you are a daughter to me, and I want you to be … safe.”

She doesn’t know what to do. It’s quiet between them, and Adaine feels the tears welling up in her eyes, and the tell tale lump in her throat. She leans forward and puts her arms around her. “Thank you,” she says, but it comes out muffled in her shoulders.

Sandra Lynn wraps her in a big hug, arms squeezing her at her shoulders into her chest. “Of course, Adaine.”

They stay like that for a minute, until Adaine’s throat feels like she can talk, and then Sandra Lynn takes her by the shoulders and holds her back to look at her. “You know what would probably drive that boy wild?”

Adaine snorts, and then jokingly rolls her eyes. “What?”

“That perfume Aelwyn got you.”

“The pear one?”

She nods. “Yeah, the pear one. Subtle fruit tones, gets ‘em every time. Take it from a ranger. Put it here, here, and here.” Sandra Lynn moves her hands up both arms, starting at Adaine’s wrists, then the inner crease of her elbows, and stopping at the soft skin right under jaw on either side. “Movement zones, so that every time you move, you give off a little of the scent. And not like a douse, just a quick spritz or two on your wrists and then dab it on those areas.”

Adaine is mildly embarrassed to be having this conversation, but the greater part of her is thankful for having someone be able to tell her these things. Arianwen had never, and she doesn’t know if her mother had ever taught Aelwyn either, or if her sister had just learned from the girls at Hudol. How much had Penelope Everpetal taught Aelwyn that Fig and Kristen didn’t know because none of them were girly in the traditional sense? She smiles, taking the advice, and says, “Okay, I left it up in my room, but I have to grab my pills anyway.”

Sandra Lynn fiddles with the ends of Adaine’s hair, fixing one of the ties. “How are you doing? Are the meds working okay?”

“I’m doing good. I take them as needed, but I sometimes get really tired when I do, so I’ve just tried not to … need them.”

“You can always switch, honey. There’s nothing that states you have to stick with these.” Sandra Lynn gives her a soft look. “We can talk to Jawbone again about getting you a different prescription if this one isn’t working well.”

They’ve all been so supportive of her, and Adaine feels that welling in her throat again at the care Sandra Lynn shows her. Having panic attacks—that is not a character flaw. You are not a coward. She knows she can talk about it. “I think … I think the as needed has become more needed than less needed? I think I want to try a daily.”

Sandra Lynn rubs her shoulders. “We can do that. I’ll tell Jawbone this weekend and we can set up an appointment and get you started on something new.”

“Okay. Thanks, Sandra Lynn.”

Adaine leaves the bathroom and heads for her tower. She thinks about summoning Boggy, but she’s been trying harder to go without him, and while having him around might make seeing Oisin tonight easier, she was able to have a whole conversation with him, and drive his car, and deal with drunk Ivy, and his definite flirting—that had to have been flirting, like yeah, he flirted with her over the year, but this had to be. Even drunk, Ivy had shouted from the car something about her being pretty, and out of his league.

And something specific about him needing to ask her about the money. Like he needed permission to give it to her, or she needed to accept it before having it. Ugh, she really regrets not studying up on dragonborn culture beforehand. There’s probably a section in Compass Points she can rifle through in the next few days, maybe ask Ayda—she could ask Aelwyn, but then Aelwyn would probably make fun of her. Ayda at least would be unbiased about her quest for knowledge, despite knowing Adaine’s crush.

Even more of an ugh that she’s admitted to herself that’s what this is. A crush. That she likes him. The thought makes her nauseous.

She gets to her tower, and grabs her pills off the dresser when she realizes she doesn’t have anything to wash it down with. Adaine debates bringing the bottle downstairs to grab some juice for it, but hesitates. She doesn’t want to leave it out in the open, so she shakes out her dosage and dry swallows, feeling the pills slide down her throat. She makes a disgusted sound and shakes her head before putting the bottle back on her dresser. Her eyes catch the perfume.

It’s a special bottle, Aelwyn had gotten it from Bastion City at a fancy store when her and Ayda had taken their weekend trip there a month or so ago. She had it on the night of Tilly’s party last week, but Adaine chews her lip staring at it now, nervous to use it after everything had happened.

Riz had seen it. Like, seen it seen it. From the closest. After Adaine had stopped being stupefied at that admission, he told her as much as he could. Riz at least had the sense to not video it with his necktie, and she’s grateful there’s no real evidence associated with what happened aside from the perfume bottle he stole and gave to Misty Asharm. But he had told her. Riz was snooping—because that’s what he always does, as a naturally untrusting rogue—and had found himself stuck in Tilly’s room when Oisin and her had gone upstairs. He hid in the closet, resigning himself to the most awkward night imaginable, when things just took a turn for the worse.

Oisin had tried to say something, but was overshadowed by Tilly, affected by the bloodspine, but Riz hadn’t known that until Oisin had finally gotten some sense and confronted her. They argued, Oisin left, Tilly went running after him, and then Riz had snuck out, grabbed the bottle off the bed where the eladrin had left it, and hid it with his stuff to get it looked at.

Adaine had asked him to skip over the make out session, and Riz had been more than grateful to for her. The only thing she asked was if Oisin had said anything during—knowing he had been thinking about someone else—but Riz told her that he had been mostly quiet until the end, just the occasional … sound.

She stares at her perfume now, her nails scratching on the inside of her palm in indecision. Yeah, she had worn it that night, and nothing had happened, and Adaine had immediately looked at the ingredients the second she got inside and knew every one that was listed, but she still hesitates. Would it be too powerful? Would it upset him if it was too potent? He hadn’t seemed to mind when she was in close quarters with him, when they were at Basrar’s, or in his car. She thinks maybe it was because he was coming off a high of some sort, but she had let him drive and he was fine, had seemed fine the rest of the night.

Adaine bites her lip, and then grabs the perfume, putting it on the spots Sandra Lynn had showed her. Not a lot, just a little, enough that she could hardly smell it herself, which means that it will just be something subtle if he’s near her.

God, this is embarrassing.

She grabs the Aguefort Owlbears t-shirt she stole from Fabian back in freshman year and switches out the one she’s wearing now. Big, comfy, oversized t-shirt? Check. The pajama pants Kristen got her for her birthday that say Juicy with an image of a peach underneath? Check. Hair braided? Check. Meds? Check. Perfume? Check. Everything is ready.

Adaine takes a deep breath and leaves her room.

She heads for the kitchen first, grabbing herself a bottle of water and sneaking a chip or two when she hears Gorgug’s voice in the living room. When she makes her way in, Gorgug, Mary Ann, Ruben, and Lucy are talking with Fig and Kristen.

Lucy smiles at her and holds out large pan. “I made brownies! Should I put them in the kitchen?”

Adaine smiles back. “I love brownies! Are they hot still? Cause we could just cut them and put them out if not.”

“They’ve been cooling for a bit, so I think they should be good!”

Kristen takes the pan from her. “We can go cut them and bring them out with the chips and salsa. I swear it’s not in my hat this time.”

Lucy gives her a knowing look. “You said that last month, too.”

“I’m not lying this time!” They laugh as they pass Adaine and head for the kitchen, and Kristen waggles her eyebrows at her. “That’s a juicy peach, Adaine!”

Adaine rolls her eyes, but laughs. “So juicy.”

She hears the telltale signs of the magical whooshing as the door to Compass Points opens and closes upstairs, and Fig throws herself on the couch, spreading out. “I’m reserving two couch spots for me and Ayda! You cannot move me!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Gorgug says and sits on the floor in front of her. “The couch is a little small for me, anyway.”

Mary Ann parks herself so close to him on the floor that she might as well be in his lap. “Is this floor spot taken?”

Gorgug is red when he responds, “No, it is not.”

She feels her meds starting to kick in, but isn’t sure if sitting with everyone is the right move, so she steals the smaller two-seater on the other wall, and gets herself comfortable under one of the knitted blankets, grabbing the stuffed cow that sits on the cushions and cuddling with it.

Fabian, Mazey, and Riz show up a few moments later, and there’s a big to-do between Fabian and Fig over who gets couch space. Ayda comes downstairs and claims her spot with her girlfriend, and Aelwyn a few moments later marches down in her pajamas and hair up in a knotted mess. She grabs a glass of wine and plops herself onto the saucer chair in the corner. Lucy and Kristen sneak into the middle of the couch and push Fabian to the ground with Gorgug, Mary Ann, Riz, and Ruben, and Mazey laughs that the couch is girls only now.

Lucy looks worriedly at her crystal. “Ivy and Oisin aren’t here yet. They were supposed to come, right? Ivy said in the chat she was.”

Ruben throws his head back and looks up at her. “Yeah, Oisin told me this morning we were good to go, cause I have that second car—that he’s just letting me have, by the way.”

“Wow, really?” Kristen asks. “That gold one?”

Ruben nods. “Yeah, isn’t that crazy? He told me to keep it for gigs and stuff, or, and I quote, ‘trade it in, whatever you want.’ Which is objectively crazy!”

“It was his dad’s,” Mary Ann perks up, her Quokki pet game still in front of her face. “I doubt he wants reminders of him.”

Lucy leans forward. “What happened with his dad? No one ever told me.”

The room goes quiet, tense with an awkwardness as everyone is suddenly reminded that Lucy wasn’t there. She hadn’t been at election night, or the fight, just the aftermath of it. Adaine realizes that Oisin, in the week that he’s been back, hasn’t told Lucy about summoning his family. That he hadn’t told her about how the Bad Kids took them out truly one by one while rocketing through the air in Fabian’s house.

Ruben turns around on the floor, and Adaine can see the grimace on his face from where she sits. “Well, Oisin … summoned a lot of dragons. From his family. The night every one fought. The night you were resurrected.”

Lucy squints her eyes. “Like, his cousins? The Hakinvar clan?”

Kristen nods next to her. “Yeah, Ivy told us last Friday, when Oisin took you home from the diner. She said he had long conned his family, especially his dad’s side because they were Kalvaxus supporters. He summoned them and I guess his dad was in the mix. We,” and here Kristen makes a circle with her hand, indicating the Bad Kids, “fought them, because they were trying to fling Fabian’s house out of the sky. And we killed them.”

“We didn’t know his dad was there,” Fig inputs, and Ayda rubs her arm idly. “We knew about his ancestor, and like, kinda assumed the rest would be his family, but like, no names or anything.”

Aelwyn takes a sip of her wine, and adjusts herself. At some point, Hector had hobbled his way downstairs and is now sitting with her. “Honestly? Respect for killing his dad,” and she shoots Adaine a knowing look.

Adaine is vastly uncomfortable. She looks to Fabian, who is staring dead ahead at the wall, unmoving. With a deep inhale, she says, “Ivy said he did something to the summoning spell. She didn’t know what, but that it helped us win. Or rather, he made it so we couldn’t lose.”

Lucy is quiet, her eyes roaming across everyone here. She finally says, slowly, “Does that mean … while he was corrupted, Oisin was actively doing things to … what? Sabotage Mr. Cliffbreaker and … Kipperlilly?”

She hadn’t thought of it that way before, that the Rat Grinders could have been fighting back the whole time, in little ways and big. Did they all fight back whatever way they could? Were her and Oisin’s interactions throughout the year, things she had assumed were tainted with rage and premeditation, actually little kernels of rebellion? The steady voice of his party diffusing a brawl in the cafeteria. The hand on Kipperlilly’s shoulder wrenching her from The Last Stand. His arcane signature left on Lucy instead of Porter’s.

It’s silent between them all as that possibility settles with each of them, unanswered because the only two who remembered their time corrupted weren’t here.

Adaine pulls her crystal out and looks at the time. 7:08. She opens their chat to see his confirmation, Mordred, 7pm. It’s only a few minutes past, and maybe she should’ve specified the movie would be starting at seven, not arrival time, but she chalks that up to her nerves at texting him to begin with. Maybe they got held up. She hesitates over asking where they are.

As she goes to, her eyes catch something moving outside the window, and she looks up to see Ivy’s telltale hair bouncing up the steps of the house, arms full of grocery bags, laughing about something, and Oisin behind her holding bottles of soda, his expression clearly stating at Ivy is probably laughing at him.  

Fabian sees it the same time she does, and he stands up with a groan. “I’ll let them in.”

“Are they here?” Lucy asks, leaning forward around Kristen. She smiles when she sees the last of Oisin’s blue tail leave sight of the window.

Adaine hears Ivy’s laugh from outside as it enters the house, echoing through the foyer. “Yeah, we brought stuff! I didn't know what you guys still had left over from last time, so we have bags of chips—” Fabian enters first, holding two bags, and then Ivy right behind him with another two. “Oh, hello! Sorry we’re late. I come bearing chips, and popcorn, and soda!”

“ I come bearing chips, and popcorn, and soda,” Oisin says, right behind her, three bottles in his arms. “I bought it all.” But she barely hears it when she sees him, the blood rush in her ears loud and invasive. Her chest catches slightly, and takes a subtle deep breath and wrings her hands underneath the blanket.

He looks good, like the blue of his scales is brighter than before. She wonders if it’s because he feels better after the week, whatever effect the perfume had on him that night disappearing with time. He’s got another plain white t-shirt on and a pair of gray sweatpants, and someone needs to sedate her before her she loses it because he looks good in it.

Ivy turns and sticks her tongue out at him. “Yeah, but I picked them out.”

He rolls his eyes. “Another lie, you were indecisive and I threw everything in the cart.”

“That still counts as me picking them out.”

“Sure it does.”

Fig gets up from her seat with Ayda and takes the soda from Oisin, winking at him. “Couch is girls only, don’t steal my spot.” She nods her head towards the kitchen. “I’ll drop these off with you and we can figure out what we need.”

Ivy grins. “I also got cups! I was unsure if you all wanted to use your glassware again after last time.”

Kristen scoffs, loud and dramatic. Lucy’s hand moves to cover her mouth with gentle laughter. “I categorically resent this. I juggled a couple glasses and dropped one and suddenly Le Cirque starring Kristen Applebees is canceled before opening night.”

“You dropped all five,” Aelwyn outs her, taking another sip of her wine. “You dropped all five and the glass shards flew everywhere and ripped the couch.”

Ayda stands up and brushes her pants. “Unfortunately, I believe there to still be glass shards in the couch.”

“Blankets!” Fig yells. “I want to make a blanket fort on the couch! So no glass shards touch us!”

Aelwyn shuffles all of her blankets closer to her body. “You can pry these six blankets from my cold, dead hands, Faeth.”

Fig scrunches her nose and sticks her tongue out. “Blanket hog.”

“Snorer.”

“Cat lady!”

“At least the cats like me.”

“You dress like my mom!”

“Good! Sandra Lynn is hot!”

“Overachiever!”

Aelwyn tilts her head and smirks. “You’re losing your touch, Figueroth. Cutting words not hitting the way it used to?”

“Goddamnit!” Fig yells and stomps out of the living room, Ivy and Fabian laughing behind her.

Oisin stands in the middle of the doorway, his hands slightly raised as if in surrender. Everyone is conversing amongst themselves, waiting for the movie to start, but he continues to stand there, awkwardly, looking around. When she catches his eyes, he smiles gently, and Adaine feels her heart stutter at it. She’s extremely happy she decided to take her meds earlier, otherwise things would be very different right now.

Mary Ann and Gorgug are quietly discussing something on the floor, and Mazey leans down to listen, but Gorgug turns his head to look at Oisin still standing in the doorway. “Hey, Oisin,” Gorgug speaks up, “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Oisin snaps his gaze to Gorgug and Mary Ann. The room tenses almost immediately, everyone’s conversations lulled to a stop. Adaine’s eyes swivel across her friends to Riz, and then to Kristen above him, and Lucy sitting next to her, all three of which look extremely perplexed. She looks to Gorgug, who keeps his eyes trained on Oisin, Mary Ann next to him with wide eyes, as if she wasn’t expecting something, her hands clenched in tight fists in her lap, her Quokki pet forgotten.

Oisin clears his throat, and gives a hesitant chuckle, visibly uncomfortable with everyone suddenly looking at him. “Uh, what for?”

“For cleaving you,” Gorgug says, plainly.

Oisin stares at him a moment, and then nods. “For cleaving me, yeah.” He grimaces, and Adaine sees that pretty, pretty lavender forming under his eyes again. “You don’t need to apologize for that, my guy, that’s not—I should be the one apologizing, honestly.”

Gorgug stands and walks over to him, Mary Ann right on his heels, her Quokki pet left on the floor. “I just wanted you to know that I didn’t like doing it, and I don’t want to do it again.”

She can’t tell if that is … a thinly veiled threat, or Gorgug genuinely telling him. She thinks it could be both.

“No, I get it. I didn’t like doing it either.” There’s a tenseness to Oisin that Adaine hasn’t seen before, not even when they were talking about what happened at the party that night last week. His shoulders are tight, his hands making his way to his pockets, but he keeps eye contact with him. “I’m sorry for making you do it.”

Gorgug nods. “Apology accepted. Do you accept mine?”

Adaine is sitting up now, watching the exchange. Fig, Ivy, and Fabian creep back into the living room, quiet, holding more bowls of snacks and a few cups and a bottle of soda. Ivy leans around, trying to get a good look at her best friend, and Fig and Fabian look at Adaine in question. She shrugs subtly.

“Yeah,” Oisin says. “Yeah, apology accepted. I mean, I really like your ax. Probably would’ve liked it better if it wasn’t in my chest, though.” He gives the half-orc a soft grin. Adaine thinks it may be tenuously teasing, a way to diffuse the situation, rueful in a way. “I’m no barbarian, so it was probably pretty easy.”

“You don’t have to be.”

Mary Ann elbows Gorgug in the side and Adaine sees the face the kobold makes at him. Like Gorgug has said something he shouldn’t have. Oisin looks between the two of them, and shiftily around the room, noticing that everyone is watching this interaction. “I don’t have to be what?”

“A barbarian.”

He laughs, but it feels humorless to her ears, slightly panicked, or trepidatious. “I don’t know what you—” Oisin cuts himself off and looks down, swallowing visibly. She watches as his eyes shift up marginally towards Mary Ann, and he stares at her for a long moment before taking a deep breath and turning back to Gorgug. “Thanks, man.”

Gorgug nods again, and it’s quiet for another second before he asks, “Was he as big a dick to you as he was to me?”

Something shifts between them, the tension leaving a little bit as Gorgug offers … camaraderie in toxicity. Oisin rolls his head back in some sort of bafflement, grinning. “Oh, he was such a dick. Did he yell at you? All he ever did was yell at me.”

“He yelled at me so much!” Gorgug replies, also smiling.

Mary Ann perks up. “He never yelled at me.”

“Lucky,” Oisin comments, at the same time that Gorgug says, “No one could yell at you.”

It finally dawns on her that they’re talking about barbarian class. About Porter. Adaine realizes that Gorgug knows something about Oisin that she doesn’t, information he probably got from Mary Ann about what seems to be Oisin’s connection—or resentment—of Cliffbreaker. Oisin has some sort of interrelation with Porter and the barbarian classes.

She Messages Fig. You used to go to barbarian classes. Was Oisin ever there? Did he multiclass? Fabian hands her a bowl full of popcorn and sits back down in his spot. Ivy puts the cups and soda down on the coffee table.

Fig sits back on the couch next to Ayda, and messages back, Not that I ever saw. But remember that Ivy told us last week that Porter had him on some sort of training regimen over the summer?

Oh yeah, she says back. Was Porter trying to get him to be a barbarian? Even though they had Mary Ann?

Fig shrugs. I don’t know.

“I’m not signing your MCAT, Thistlespring!” She tunes back in as Gorgug attempts to mimic Porter’s voice.

“Put down that spell book, Hakinvar!” Oisin’s is pitched down low, grumbling and mocking. “He was so mad I never went into a real rage, honestly.”

“He was so weird! I wanted to tell him that so bad.”

“So weird, you’re right!” He’s grinning at Gorgug, and Adaine wonders if every time he hangs out with them, he’ll win over more and more of her party. First Fabian with the tattoos, and then Riz taking care of the perfume bottle, and now Gorgug with their shared hatred of their old barbarian professor. “Hey, did you ever hit him?”

“No—I mean, yeah, like during the fight on Fabian’s birthday, but not before then. I didn’t know you could do—” Gorgug’s eyes go wide. “—Did you hit him?”

Oisin’s laugh fills the room, like he’s telling a secret. “I did.”

Fig leans so far forward, she almost falls off the couch. “Wait, you what?”

“Shit,” Aelwyn mumbles, and Adaine detects a hint of impressed in her tone.

Ivy sits on the big couch, taking up the last spot between Lucy and Mazey. “Oh, that was early on, wasn’t it?”

“That was the literal end of sophomore year, yeah,” Oisin says. “There was so much that went into that, but it was basically—this was when I was like, scrawny still, too. But there’s just something about having a rage shard shoved so far into your sternum that it might as well be your ribcage, right?” He laughs. “And it was like, two a.m. in the weight room and I had Tiberia’s final the next morning—and he was just on my case about shit, pushing me and pushing me,” Oisin grins at Gorgug, “and I finally snapped and grabbed the weight and decked him with it right in the jaw.”

“Oh shit!” Fabian shouts and claps Riz on the shoulder.

Mazey’s eyes go wide, and Lucy reaches out and grabs Ruben's hand. Fig is at the edge of her seat, and Ivy smirks and leans back. 

“Yeah, and I don’t really think he saw it coming—honestly, I think that’s the genuine closest I ever got to raging.” Oisin’s laughter dies down. “And then he clocked the shit out of me, and I woke up two days later. Twenty stitches,” and his hand comes up to trace along the left side of his jaw, going back towards his neck. “I failed my final because I couldn’t prove to Tiberia what happened.”

It gets so quiet again that Adaine can hear one of the cats padding around in the kitchen. She doesn’t know how to process everything he’s just said, sitting in sort of a stupefied shock as he trails off. Everyone is looking at him, and Oisin clears his throat, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, so that therapist is gonna have his work cut out for him, I think.”

Lucy tilts her head. “You got a therapist?”

Oisin nods at her. “I have my first appointment with him next week.”

“That’s good!” Ruben says. “I mean, we’ve all been talking to someone, too. It’s been a real help with coming to terms with, y’know, losing my entire junior year.”

Mary Ann looks up at him. “Talking to someone helps me work through the residual anger.”

Ivy crosses her legs. “I’ve gotten over cutting all my hair off and being the world’s biggest bitch.” She pauses, and then smiles. “That’s a lie, I’m not over my hair. I will never be over my hair.”

“And I have the title of World’s Biggest Bitch, thank you,” Aelwyn says annoyedly. “While this cutsie fest is sweet and all, are we going to start the movie? We are now twenty-three minutes behind schedule.”

Everyone sort of grumbles and agrees, and Gorgug and Mary Ann start moving back to their spots on the floor.

Oisin eyes the room. “I’ll just sit …” he hesitates, and Adaine realizes it at the same time he does.

There’s no open seats on the couch, or on the floor in front of it where the rest of the blankets and some pillows are spread out, and Aelwyn has taken the big comfy saucer chair in the corner of the room. The only open seat is next to her. On the little two person sofa. With her knitted blanket and the stuffed cow.

They make eye contact, and Adaine feels her face heat, her fingers twitching in the blanket. Everyone is looking at them, bouncing between them like a tennis match. There’s a moment when she thinks he’s going to move, when his tail twitches, but she sees in his gaze that he’s getting ready to just sit down where he stands, resigning himself.

Adaine swallows and moves her legs, pulling the blanket back to show that there’s enough space, and offers him a tentative smile. He pauses for another second, looking at the open space and her, before he returns the smile and starts over. For a quick, anxious second, Adaine wonders if the perfume she has on has worn off enough to not be so potent, but then it’s too late because he’s at the loveseat, and he’s sitting down, the cushions shifting under her with his weight. He tries his hardest to keep to one side of the couch, but Adaine is face to face with the reminder that Oisin is big, his tail at least the length of him, and just his musculature system alone is enough to take up more than half the couch. 

Kristen starts the movie, an electro-pop sound coming through the speakers as it starts panning through the cast of actors and directors, and Adaine notices that Oisin is sitting rigid next to her, back straight against the cushions, hands placed gently in front of him. She shifts so she’s sitting crisscrossed and there’s more room for him, and leans over slightly, whispering, “You can get comfortable, you know. I don’t bite.”

Oisin barely turns his head, his eyes glancing at her. She sees the barest hint of a smile on his face. “You don’t?”

Her face goes red almost immediately. Because it’s not in what he says—it’s in how he says it. As if he’s disappointed. She turns to the tv, and tells herself to not look away until the credits roll.

This is going to be a long night.

**

She tries to watch the movie, honestly. At least forty five minutes goes by and the entire popcorn bowl is empty, now sitting on the floor in front of the couch next to the stuffed cow. Her eyes are on the tv, forcing herself to pay attention to the fun action sequence on screen, the car race scene zooming by, but none of it is sticking. She keeps focusing on him, keeps looking towards him, is aware of him breathing next to her. Her whole body is tense.

She keeps catastrophizing. What if wearing perfume was the wrong move? What if that’s why he’s sitting so straight and rigid, if that’s why he hasn’t moved? Her hips are getting sore from being in a crisscross position for so long, but there’s no other space for her to move around without bumping into him.

And then his voice is in her head: Watch the movie, Adaine.

He’s got a smirk on his face, and Adaine feels her face heating at being caught. He’s not even looking at her! She messages back, You watch the movie, Hakinvar.

I am, he replies. That guy is in the tank taking some weird drugs and punching another guy. The movie is good. She goes to respond back, but he continues, Are we last name basis? Should I call you Abernant? Or O’Shaughnessy? I don’t know how O’Shaughnessy would sound in Draconic.

Adaine is fine, she says back quickly. 

He smiles at the tv screen. Then you can use my first name, Adaine.

Adaine shifts her feet underneath her, one of them starting to fall asleep at her ankle. Okay, Oisin, teasingly, she’s getting better at this.

His eyes travel to her, one brow raising. You can get comfortable, you know. I don’t bite.

She stares at him openly, can feel the warmth spreading to her ears. Using her earlier words against her seems to be his forte. It takes her a second to respond. You don’t?

Oisin smiles at that, and his gaze sweeps across her. He turns back to the movie, perhaps a little more smug than before, she catches. I don’t want to take up too much space, she tells him honestly.

Adaine. He rolls his eyes, still watching the movie. Have you seen me?

She snorts, but it’s covered by the sounds of gunfire. Adaine doesn’t understand what’s going on in the movie, but there’s a grappling hook, and someone just threw a shirt out the car window.

He smiles big. Oh, that made you laugh, huh? The fact that I’m sitting extremely straight?

It’s a little funny, you have to admit. You’re sitting so upright and I’m the one afraid to take up space.

Stretch out, get comfortable. I know I’m … The screen flashes white with a bang, and she can see his face a bit clearer in the darkened room. Lavender. Pretty lavender. … Bigger.

Adaine looks at him, lets her eyes wander for a second. She’s always drawn back to his arms, thick and covered in arcane runes. It’s so easy to see the density of them when they’re crossed over his chest the way they are now. His chest and waist are thick, too—not in excess, but built in a way that is … different from others. He’s not elegant the way elves are, or the way Fabian is from dancing, but in his own way. In the same way snakes are. Elegant and graceful, and hiding underneath is a power that could bring grown men to their knees.

I just don’t know how you live with him and don’t want to climb him.

He is bigger. She’s recognized this before, last week, when he dropped her off. That he was tall and large, and she felt a gnawing in the pit of her stomach that recognized something she couldn’t put a name to. It gnaws at her again. She doesn’t put words to it, she can’t, but the feeling is there, in the back of her mind, shrouded in shadows she won’t let disappear, won’t shine a light on. Oisin is big. Not just in his arms, or his waist, or his thighs. Maybe in other areas.

Her face is red. He’s flushed, too. She thinks his has to be for far different reasons than hers. Adaine looks back to his eyes, and that floaty sensation, the lightness in her stomach as if she was on a rollercoaster is back when she realizes that the look he gives her is complacent in nature, arrogant almost.

He smirks, and Adaine knows that she’s been caught. Are you going to keep checking me out? Or are you going to put your legs on me?

Oh, that bastard. She’s fucked either way. Because she had been checking him out, and if she says no and goes back to watching the movie, she’ll be uncomfortable and he’ll have the self-satisfaction of knowing she was one hundred percent looking at him, but if she says yes and puts her legs on him, then her legs will be on him, and he’ll still know she was checking him out—practically leering at him, thinking about his arms and whatever else. It’s a lose-lose situation. But only one option will get the pins and needles out of her feet.

She puts her legs on him, stretching her calves over his thighs, and she watches Oisin shift his hips further down in his seat, leaning back. He puts an arm behind his head, the other on the arm of the couch, his tail between his body and the edge. She flexes her feet to keep them off him, so that her toes don’t settle on his scales. Her socks are knitted, the house cold despite the summer heat outside. Oisin’s fingers tap idly against the arm of the couch, his nails occasionally digging into the fabric and then letting go, the muscles in his upper arm flexing.

Another fifteen or twenty minutes go by. She tries to watch the movie again, to keep her mind off the fact that her legs are on him, but something is bugging her.

Can I ask a question? she Messages.

His eyes slide back over to her. Shoot.

Adaine swallows. I’ve never met a dragonborn with a tail. I thought your species didn’t have them.

That’s not a question, he says.

Her eyes roll. Is it rude of me to ask why you have a tail?

Oisin doesn’t answer right away. His eyes go back to the movie, and so do hers. The characters are at a house now, and there’s another car chase happening with gunfire. She can’t keep the plot straight. There’s something to do with a drug, and a floppy disk, but it doesn’t mean anything to her. Oisin waits another moment, and then he takes a deep breath. Some of my cousins have one, too. A good portion of them don’t. I always assumed it was because my mother’s side tends to … ‘keep it in the family,’ so to speak. My father didn’t have one. He shrugs. Just genetics, I guess. Closer in DNA to my ancestor.

Oh, okay. Adaine bites her bottom lip. Sorry for prying.

Don’t worry about it. Some of my family looks down on it, but it’s not a bad thing to be closer to her. He pauses. Although, I guess she’s dead now. And my dad hated it but he’s dead, too, so that takes care of that.

They go quiet again before she asks, How is Far Haven Woods coming along?

He looks back to her again, a small grin. Not interested in the movie?

Having a hard time following along.

Can’t imagine why, but his tone says otherwise. Adaine bites her lip. It’s going good. Found a quicker way of getting the shards out. Actually, if you have time, do you wanna come take a look? I could use the feedback.

A quicker way? She’ll admit—she’s curious. Yeah, I can come. How about Monday morning? Normally we start at nine. We tried eight but Ivy never wakes up on time.

Ivy doesn’t drag herself from bed until eight thirty at the very earliest, I’m surprised you got nine out of her. Her first period every semester is a study hall so she can sleep in. He pulls a face, scrunched eyes and nose that displaces his glasses. It’s cute. Consequently, so is mine, considering I’m her ride and we live together.

The two of them must really be like family, she thinks. Or Oisin must be extremely lucky, because in her experience, Professor Runestaff’s classes fill quick in the afternoons, more students preferring an end-of-day lecture to an early eight am. Adaine takes the morning sections, there’s always less people, and Tiberia seems to be a little more relaxed with the smaller classes. Well, aside from Adaine, the Oracle. She’s held to something higher. She hates that.

What’s the quicker way? she asks.

Oisin grins at her again, the fringe around his head twitching as if absentmindedly. There’s something in his eyes again, and she recognizes it this time right away. Pride. The pieces click together in her head: he’s done something, something he wants her to see. Just some cool arcane theory shit that I think you’d enjoy, if I’ve clocked you correctly, especially considering I got the idea from you.

Adaine stares at him, sounds of the forgotten movie playing in the background. She’s so glad she took her meds earlier, otherwise everything about this conversation would be different. Instead, she’s blushing. Even on a purely platonic level, it’s actually kind of nice to have someone else to talk to about wizard things outside of Ayda, someone who has clocked her correctly. We’ll meet at Aguefort Monday morning at nine?

How about I come grab you Monday morning at eight and I drive us to Aguefort instead?

That pride is still there, that smarmy bastard. She slants her eyes and gives him a wry look, contemplative, but smiles after a second. Fine.

She watches as his tongue slides across his top canines, like he’s won something. Her stomach flips. Fine, he repeats.

Adaine rips her gaze off him before she gets any redder and turns back to the tv. Out of her peripheral, she notices he lingers on her still.  Watch the movie, Oisin.

Yes, Adaine. But he doesn’t look away for at least another minute.

Her heart beats hard in her chest.

Chapter Text

He’s hoping he doesn’t seem too eager by showing up nearly ten minutes early, but Oisin could hardly sleep last night at the thought of hanging out with Adaine all day. His car pulls up to Mordred, and he parks it strategically so that when he gets out, he can lean against the passenger door, waiting to open it. He grins to himself, thinking of the cute way her nose would wrinkle in her faux indignation. If she really didn’t like it, Oisin thinks he’d have figured that out the hard way last week when he did it, not once, but twice.

He also can’t stop thinking about the movie night. He’d tried so hard to pay attention to the movie, had wanted to impress her party afterward by talking about it with Kristen, but Oisin was a goner the second Adaine’s muscles twitched with the beginnings of movement that would send his mind spiraling over the edge. He doesn’t know what came over him, what possessed him to tell her to pay attention when even he couldn’t, what maddened portion of his mind he was just stupid enough to listen to when he thought she was checking him out, and the utter vindication he felt when he was right. Adaine Abernant, checking him out, sizing him up. The blush that came forward on her cheeks, Adaine’s face had been so red he could feel the heat from across the couch—albeit a very small couch. Oisin feels that was by design, if the devilish look on Ivy, Fig, and Mazey’s face had anything to say about it. Lucy and Kristen looked purposefully distrait, eyes wandering anywhere but towards him, and he could swear Kristen was whistling.

But God, she had been so pretty all flushed like that, and then she put her legs across him, and it was like his brain short circuited. He had to grip the side of the couch just to be able to think.

The entire night had been a lot. Mary Ann had definitely told Gorgug about his late nights in gym, and his obviously less than stellar relationship with Porter. Oisin wonders how much of it the kobold remembers from last year, if the weight training and the throwing up in the gym bathrooms and the strained muscles and the bruises all over him are as ingrained in her mind as they are his own.

His eyes focus back on the house. That’s not something he needs to think about today. He can get there eventually with Dr. Durroth. Today is getting to hang out with Adaine, and show her exactly how knowledgeable he is in the arcane.

It’s the draconic in him, he knows that. Oisin’s mind also hasn’t stopped thinking about having an immaterial hoard, and how that’s colored a lot of his academic pursuits, and how far he would’ve gotten had he actually stayed at Hudol and not transferred. The only thing he knows without a doubt is that he wants Adaine to see how good he is, that all that work last year hadn’t been for nothing. Late nights in the gym, early mornings studying, three spellbooks. He wonders how many Adaine has by now, she’s bound to have pages upon pages. She’s smarter than him.

His fingers fidget on the hot coffee in his hand, hoping it hasn’t cooled down too much before she gets outside—God, he’s an idiot, he should’ve texted her that he had arrived instead of just waiting for the time to pass.

He can’t believe he even has her number.

So many things have happened in the past week.

Oisin puts his own coffee down on the roof of the car, keeping hold of Adaine’s in his hand as he reaches into his pocket with his free one for his crystal. He swipes open her text thread—he’s kept her name as Adaine Abernant, extremely normal, no emojis, no emoticons, no nicknames—and starts typing out I’m outside, when he hears the screen door open and the larger front door shut.

Adaine gives him a quick smile as she closes the screen door, and he pockets his crystal before even having to hit send. “Morning!” Her voice is chipper and bright, prettier than any songbird he’s heard. She’s got what seems to be a staple outfit on: her jeans and a t-shirt, denim jacket, her sword at her side and backpack slung over one shoulder. She’s got a grocery bag in her hands.

When she gets close, Oisin holds the coffee out to her. “Morning,” he responds, returning the smile.

She pauses, adjusting her jacket and sword and switching the bag to the other hand to grab it from him. “You got me a coffee?”

“Black,” he tells her, “but I was unsure if you liked cream or sugar so I got some on the side in case you wanted to add.”

“No, I like black.” Adaine flips the top open and takes a sip. “Kristen is always getting insane cafe drinks and the thought of them makes me nauseous. One time in sophomore year, literally the morning we were leaving for the Nightmare King quest, she had Gilear—ah, the Vice Principal, and Fig’s dad, oh God, and I guess Fabian’s stepdad now too, wow—anyway, she had Gilear get her a cortado, but it was just an iced tea with lemon, no espresso or anything and it was insane, and they were like ‘oh, it’s tea based,’ and I was like, that’s not a thing.”

He shoots a strange look up at the house, joking—maybe. “Damn, and I thought Kip’s eight shot chai latte’s were strange.”

It instantly kills whatever jovial mood was blooming between them, and Oisin wishes he had Ivy’s bow, or Riz’s gun so he could shoot himself in the foot in the silence that follows. Maybe he could stay here, frozen in place, in case Fabian showed up and could run him over with his bike. Adaine’s expression steels, perhaps a little taken aback by him casually bringing up … her. She who shall not be named. Part of him wonders if he’s just never allowed to talk about her again.

Like they did with Lucy.

He tries to backtrack, to get them back to whatever good mood they were in before. “Uh.” So succinct, so normal. Say fucking something, Hakinvar! “So, what’s in the bag?”

She blinks a few times, and he watches as her eyes travel down to the grocery bag in her hand, and then back up at him. “Uh. Breakfast. I made us breakfast.”

Oisin thinks his heart stops. She what? If he had been holding his coffee, he would’ve dropped it. She made them breakfast? “You made us breakfast?”

It’s like it suddenly clicks for her, and Oisin watches as her cheeks color that pink tinge again, spreading to her ears. “Yeah, I uh,” she forcefully holds out the bag to him, “I made breakfast sandwiches.”

He slowly takes the bag from her, a smile creeping on his face. Eyes cast inside the bag, seeing two tinfoil wrapped sandwich sized balls and a handful of napkins. “Damn, Adaine, that’s gonna spoil the eight course lunch I have in the picnic basket in my trunk.”

She blanches. “The what?”

“I’m joking,” he chuckles at her panicked expression, taking out the one with the big O on it in marker, and leaving the one with the A . He shrugs. “It’s not eight courses.”

“Oh, you son of a—” she sticks her tongue out at him and grabs the bag back. “Stop messing around!”

He laughs openly now, feeling the weight of the sandwich in his hand. Oisin slinks one arm behind him, fingers on the door handle, and deftly opens it, stepping out of the way for Adaine to get in. She stares at him grumpily, full of that indignation he remembered so well from last week, before she tosses the grocery bag in and hands him her cup of coffee back, undoing her sword from its hilt on her waist. She kneels on the seat, half in half out as she carefully puts the sword in the backseat of his car, and Oisin tries desperately to not stare at her ass as she bends over.

God, but those jeans look good on her. He looks anyway.

She’s got muscle now, something she didn’t seem to have freshman or sophomore year, and it’s clearly defined in her hips and thighs—powerful, not like a fighter or barbarian, or even a dancer, harkening to the physique of Fabian or Mazey, but rather someone whose build seems to be more martial based. He could see it in her arms too, the other night and last week at Basrar’s, where she’s gotten denser and … more. There’s just more of her, physically and mentally, just expanded. It reminds him that he’s gotten more, too. Stronger, smarter, bigger. There’s something there in the back of his mind, the two of them growing next to each other but not together.

Adaine pulls out of the car, and Oisin schools himself to keep his expression neutral and not like he had just been checking her out while she was bent over in front of him, on her knees, in his car—fuck, think of literally anything else. Ruben’s mountains of socks, the terrible smell in the boy’s locker room, that weird greasy spot in the back of Ivy’s locker that no matter how many times they cleaned it, it always came back.

She stands straight, eyes drifting back to him, and she takes her coffee back. Without missing a beat, Adaine takes a long, slow sip from it, her gaze never leaving his.

Oisin feels his chest tighten under her watch, something in his stomach sinking to where he is so unbelievably glad that he has the door to hide behind. Her stare is so intense, it’s like she’s casted some sort of charm spell on him. He could stand there and watch her nurse a cup of coffee for hours if she kept looking at him through her eyelashes. Damn, give him a single hour and he might actually be on his knees. It roils up in him, catching him off guard; he’s never felt that way before. About someone. About anything. That’s new.

Adaine finally breaks eye contact, and Oisin swallows hard at the retraction, and catches, just as she goes to turn her head, the pink tinge from earlier is now redder, her ears like blood. He wonders what she just saw in him.

When she gets in the car, Oisin shuts the door and walks around the back—strategically, so he can whisper, “What the fuuuuuuuck,” to himself without her seeing. Because that was weird, and new, and he liked it. Whatever that feeling was. Whatever made him want to stand there, bewitched by her drinking a cup of fucking coffee, the way her eyes stared at him …

He gets to his door, gets in the car, and Adaine is already buckled, her backpack sitting between her feet as she opens her breakfast. “Am I allowed to eat in your car?”

“Yeah, absolutely, have you fucking seen this thing?” 

“I’m not here to comment on the nature of your car, despite the issues it gave me last week.”

Oisin takes a sip of his coffee and puts it in the open cupholder next to hers. “Hey, don’t give Edith a hard time. She’s old, and fragile.”

Adaine’s eyes go comically wide. “Edith?” 

He bristles, grabbing his sandwich and starting to unwrap it. “What’s wrong with Edith?”

“No, absolutely not. You did not name your car Edith.”

“Edith is a fine name!”

“It’s an old lady name!”

“She’s an old lady!” It’s mock outrage when he drops the sandwich back onto this lap, his hands waving in front of him as if he’s talking to an audience. He chuckles, “If you have an issue, you can take it up with her.” 

Adaine sits back in the seat, slightly turned toward him, smiling. “Oh, trust me, I’m going to.” 

Oisin rolls his eyes jokingly. “What did you make anyway?” he asks, watching as she goes to take a bite.

Her eyes swing back towards him, and she puts the sandwich down in her lap. “It’s nothing special, it’s a bacon, egg, and cheese, but I also put pepperoni on it, and a sriracha sauce.”

He narrows his eyes, his gaze quickly fleeting between her and the sandwich. There’s no way she just knows he likes spicy things, like it’s just not feasible. “Did Ivy tell you I like sriracha?”

“No.” It’s too quick, though, her eyes wide and shoulders tense as she almost immediately continues, “Why? Did she lie to me?”

That feeling in his stomach comes back, that low sinking, and Oisin finds he has to actively stop himself from practically growling at the admission. His mind reels for a minute. Adaine had asked Ivy for pointers on him—and that sneaky, traitorous wood elf with her girls-only-except-Adaine group chat hadn’t told him. Oh, when he gets home tonight, she’s getting an earful. But Adaine had thought to ask her, someone close to him, about what he liked. He feels a slight pain on the back of his head as he tries to keep his frills from twitching. That pride sits in him again, forefront and aching.

God, he wants to kiss her.

He settles for, “No, she didn’t. I like it. It’s not really spicy for dragonborn, but gives a kick I can still taste so I like using it. Anything with a good amount of capsaicin I can taste better.”

“Good. I put a little extra.” That easy grin is back, and she points at the sandwich. “I also got lactose-free cheese, because I figured you maybe didn’t want to see your breakfast a second time.”

If they were still standing outside the car, he’d be on his knees in front of her, no question. Why is she so kind? And thoughtful? He told her a week ago in a joke—let’s be real, it wasn’t a joke, it was a full on confession—that he had drunk the bad baby milk because she made it cold for him, and she did the same thing with the sandwich, and he was going to eat it! The bad baby milk was disgusting but he drank it anyway because she had deigned to touch it, and he’d eat this sandwich even if it made him sick, not that he thinks it would be bad, in fact it sounded good. But now he could eat it and enjoy it and not ruin the rest of his day with her.

Fuck, he wants to do so much more than kiss her. He wants to make her lose her mind the way she has him.

Strained, “Thanks, that’s … incredibly kind of you.”

Adaine smiles again, none the wiser. “Don’t thank me until you’ve tried it, it could be bad.”

I’d eat it anyway. Oisin unwraps the tinfoil sandwich and is met with something just as greasy and delicious looking as he had been hoping for. When he takes a bite, his hand grips the steering wheel to physically halt him from closing his eyes and letting out a groan—it doesn’t work. “God, I love Elmville, you can’t get anything this fucking good in the Waste. That’s amazing, Adaine.”

He takes another bite, trying so hard to not seem feral at the thought that she must actually be magic to make something that tastes this good. His eyes slide to her only to find her flush back, that sweet red to her cheeks and ears has taken over her face and spread to her neck, disappearing under her shirt. That low feeling in his stomach won’t go away and in his depravity, he wonders just how far down her blush travels.

There’s a pathetic sort of sigh that comes from her, long and drawn out. “Honestly, I’m a little disappointed, that’s not the reaction I wanted.”

His mind jumbles, confused. Mumbled around another bite, “Hmm?”

There’s a devilish look to her as a slow and steady grins spreads across her flushed face. Something lights in her eyes, something wolfish, almost … venery. It stirs his stomach again. They’ll never leave her driveway if she keeps looking at him like that. She takes a deep inhale. “I thought I spit in that one.”

Oisin quickly chokes on whatever is left in his mouth, his hand coming up to cover half his face to not be unseemly, but that’s so stupid when he puts it into perspective. She’s joking, she has to be. Adaine Abernant would not spit in his food. But there’s still that wickedness to her grin as he coughs around the sriracha sliding down his throat that he can’t tell if it’s pranking or malicious, and it’s only when she breaks the careful mask and holds her hands up to her mouth to laugh loudly at his misfortune does he conclude that no, Adaine wouldn’t do that, she’s just being funny. He’s glad for that, he doesn’t know what he’d do if she had.

That’s a lie.

He’d eat it still.

Every last bite.

His mind juxtaposes a scolding, God, Oisin, calm down. You’re gonna start growling at her, with a more … draconic viewpoint of, You’re disappointed she’s joking, aren’t you? And it hits him so hard that it’s very nearly impossible to ignore that feeling when it settles in his stomach, low and dangerous and unwittingly wanting—until it becomes too much and suddenly he is aware of the wanting.

Because that’s what it is, that desire he’s been running from his entire life. It’s craving, or coveting, or whatever the fuck he and Dr. Durroth want to call it, it’s the hoarding. It’s the obsessive, and the possessive: the thing he’s never wanted to feel and he’s sitting in his car, with Adaine Abernant, eating a fucking breakfast sandwich and joking, and it feels like a bucket of cold water has just been dumped on him.

It’s the draconic that he’s been running from, what he feels with her, what he wants with her. He’s been running from it and to it this entire time.

Oh, God, he really can’t wait to start therapy.

He picks up his sandwich again, gets it halfway to his mouth before he says, truly without thinking, “Next time, I’ll just open my mouth.”

It instantly quiets the car, her laughter dying sharply. He goes so still, like a statue, unbreathing as the panic sets in. He can’t look at her. He can’t look at her. Why the fuck did he say that? Why would he fucking say that? Oisin swallows hard, his hands shaking and lowering his sandwich back to his lap, his stomach flipping erratically like he might throw up. He puts both hands on the steering wheel and shuts his eyes tight.

It’s so quiet. He doesn’t even hear Adaine breathing. He can feel his frills twitching, unable to stop them in his embarrassment. Finally, she says, “So … how fast do you want to move past that?”

Immediately, “Mach speed. Mach fucking speed, Adaine. I want there to be visible dust and tire marks.”

“Noted.” He hears her moving next to him, the distinct sound of tinfoil wrapping and rustling of the grocery bag in her seat.

Oisin opens his eyes, but keeps them very trained on his own area, careful not to look at her. He can’t make out what the tone she used was, if it was angry or resigned or upset or disappointed—he can’t fucking tell. He watches, as if through an out of body experience, as he wraps the rest of the sandwich back up and tucks it in the little console tray behind his cupholders and gear shift. He starts his car.

Ankarna, if this is punishment for what I did—valid. I respect it.

**

The path is easy to find again, he’s trekked it a few times last week to check on the spell and it’s progress and cleared some of the loose underbrush in his visits. He parked in Aguefort’s lot like normal, and Oisin led Adaine around the building to the path he knows very well. They didn’t talk the entire rest of the car ride—granted, which was only around ten minutes or so, but it was still awkward, and there was a brief moment where he’d wished someone or something would just smite him where he was, save him from himself and the idiot he is. No such luck, though. They both ate in silence in the parking lot before she awkwardly sort of stood up and fanned her arm out towards the woods, gesturing for him to go first. She wouldn’t meet his eyes. God, yeah, he’s an idiot.

Now, as he holds a branch out of her way, Oisin doesn’t know what he’s feeling.

He invited her. He wanted her to see his magic, and yeah, give him pointers hopefully, but he wanted Adaine to see just what he was capable of. Figuring out how to write a spell on the inside of an object had been cool, the summoning ritual election night had been cool, and his modifications to it even cooler—weaving in Blight to the spell had automatically reduced his family’s chances of staying alive—but that wasn’t tangible. This … this is. He could see the shatter separate, he could feel the earth rumble beneath him, the woods even look greener than before. It’s important to him. The work is important to him. It arguably feels more important now.

Oisin doesn’t know how to convey that to Adaine, how to make her see that this means something. His thoughts conjure images of Lucy’s tear swollen eyes outside Krom’s last week, that first night home. He never wants to see her cry again, not because of him, not now that she’s back, and if he has to use every part of himself to make it right, then he will. Hours spent hunched over tomes and days spent casting in the backyard. She has to know the struggle. Last year was hard on all of them, if Adaine getting a job meant anything. She has to know what cleaning Far Haven Woods means to him. He has to put some faith in her that she understands him, and his party, enough to get that.

He knows these woods, so it means nothing for him to step a little bigger to avoid the ditch he knows is coming, expert in his footing, but Adaine doesn’t, and when he gets a few feet ahead, he hears the distinct sound of a branch snapping and her voice as she yells out, “Shit!”

Oisin whips around, too late to stop it as Adaine’s hands hit the forest floor and slide on the detritus, landing on her elbows and knees. Her sword skitters awkwardly out to the side, bending at the leather holster around her waist. He rushes back, hands down to grip her upper arms and help her up. “God, are you okay? Did you hit anything?”

“I’m fin—” Adaine goes to stand, but the blade of her sword is caught on an exposed tree root and her hips jerk hard back down, landing back on her knees. She forcefully pulls her arms back from him with a frustrated groan, and Oisin holds his hands up in surrender as she huffs and settles back on her ankles. “I can do it, I just got—stuck, on the stupid tree, and my foot sank in a burrow hole or something.”

His eyes drift down to her arms, the palms of her hands, her knees. Dirt stained and scratched. “You landed hard, do your wrists feel okay?”

She takes a deep inhale, eyes quickly closing tight before opening again, and she rolls her wrists in a circle a few times. “I don’t feel anything wrong with them, I think I just sorta …” She glances at the dirt around her, “… Slid. Shit. God, I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot, Adaine,” he says, and Oisin crouches down to start at the root that’s ensnared her sword, trying to pull at the edge a little. “I knew it was there and I just sort of autopiloted and stepped right over. I should’ve warned you. That’s my fault.”

“Oh, so you thought if I fell, you could save me, like some sort of damsel.”

His gaze shoots back up to her, blanching, panicked. No, no, she couldn’t think that. That isn’t what happened! “No, I didn’t—”

Adaine nods, and then reaches down at her holster to unclip her sword. “Yeah, yeah, that’s exactly it, huh? Thought, ‘Oh, she’ll be helpless, I can swoop in and take care of her.’ Clever, Hakinvar, clever.”

It seems they’re back to last names. Oisin feels his heart sink. He shakes his head forcefully, backing up slightly still in his crouched position. First he makes an ass out of himself in the car, and now this? “Adaine, no, I swear I wasn’t trying to do anything of the sort. I really wasn’t.”

She slides her sword from it’s holster, and once it’s free from her, it’s much easier to maneuver it from it where it’s caught on the root. Adaine grasps the hilt, and in a quick movement, buries the blade in the ground in front of her. She watches him from over the handle. They stare at each other another moment, before her stoic expression slips into one of barely contained … amusement, and Oisin makes out the tension in her jaw as she bites the inside of her bottom lip, holding herself from … laughing? Is she trying not to laugh?

Oh, that conniving— “You dirty, dirty liar, Abernant.” She’s playing him. Again.

Adaine’s eyes brighten as she lets the smile out, biting her bottom lip as she chuckles. “You’re too easy, Oisin.”

First names again. She’s going to give him whiplash. He rolls his eyes, standing from his crouch. “You’ve been hanging out with Ivy too much.”

“Guilty as charged.” She holds a hand out to him, and Oisin stares at her a moment before extending his, and helping her up as she uses her impaled sword as leverage. It strikes him for a second that he’s holding her hand, which is insane because she literally had her legs across him the other night, but Adaine soon lets go and dusts her knees off of the dirt and mulch. He has the urge to crack his knuckles. “I kinda like her though, she reminds me of my sister.”

“Oh, yeah, cause that’s what I need,” he mumbles. “It was bad enough with just Ivy, now I’ve got her, your sister, and you.”

“Oh no, how terrible it must be to have three girls that are funny hanging around you.” Adaine shakes one foot free of some lingering dirt and smiles up at him, her hands landing on her hips. “What an inconvenient and miserable life you must lead.”

Oisin reaches down and hefts her sword, unsheathing it from the ground and handing it back out. Adaine takes it at the hilt, their hands brushing again, and he feels the base of his tail twitch with the touch. Calm down. “Someone’s got to, who if not me?”

She fixes it to her side again, holstering it and adjusting the leather attachment. “The hero of Spyre, I’m honored.”

“Hero,” he scoffs, “sure.” 

Oisin turns and treks further into the woods, Adaine right behind him.

He doesn’t feel like a hero, after everything he did junior year. He doesn’t feel like a hero, after killing half his family. He doesn’t feel like a hero, after ogling Adaine for three years, and again this morning, and again just now. She’s joking anyway, her tone may not have been sarcastic but it was obviously meant in a satirical manner. She doesn’t actually think of him as a hero. How could she? He’s probably the villain in her eyes.

So then why is she hanging out with him?

Oisin gets to the tiny fork in the path, oblivious to anyone but probably the Rat Gri—they have got to come up with a new name—his party. The left goes towards that clearing, where Lucy had … where he killed her. He has to start thinking it. The right goes towards the river, a little further downhill, not so terrace-y. He had started down there last week, afraid of what would happen should any of the shatter stars get into the river and drain into Lake Shimmerstone. It’s where he goes now, headed to the right, Adaine still behind him. He leaves Lucy’s old resting place pristine after his initial spell testing. He aims to keep it that way from now on. If Adaine notices, she doesn’t say anything.

The trek takes a few more minutes but they eventually hit the small section he’d cleared Friday morning before leaving it for the weekend to finish. The river is quiet this morning, still early but late enough that the only wildlife that remains is the birds singing in the trees above. The sun is bright, and when he looks down at the ground, there are no red shards in the dirt catching its glint. In fact, most of it seems clear, the area closer to the water. He puts his backpack down on a broken log and rummages through it for his spellbook.

“Okay, so,” he starts, “this is the area I’ve been concentrating on the last fe—”

“I don’t see anything in the soil,” Adaine interrupts.

Oisin pulls his spellbook out and turns to her, watching as Adaine takes slow, small steps around the clearing, eyes down, inspecting. Her brows are pulled into a furrow, her hands behind her back until she hits a spot that makes her lean down, fingers threading through the organic layer and rubbing it against her palm. He smiles, knowing that his spell is working if she can’t see or feel anything. When he had gotten here last Wednesday afternoon, the ground was riddled with little red shards, but even just two days of the transmutation spell had significantly changed the landscape.

“Good,” he says, and walks the short distance to her. “That’s what I wanted. I started down here because I was worried about late summer storms maybe washing some of the shards into the river, and once it’s there I’d be so fucked for trying to clean it, we’d have to dam up the lake at the tributary down by Clearbrook Bridge before it got into the Marigold.”

Adaine nods and look around. “That’s smart, we’re coming into the rainy season soon. Shit, I hadn’t thought of that.”

There’s something to her voice that sets Oisin on edge, something familiar in the way she berates herself. He shakes his head. “No, I think it’s a good thing you guys got Loam Farm done, and Thistlespring Tree, you were thinking more agricultural, which is exactly what they needed for fall planting.”

“Yeah, but the river could’ve been devastating, especially unchecked. None of us knew when you’d be coming home, I shouldn’t have relied on—I should’ve split us up.” Her eyes are trained on the water, watching the easy eastward flow, the sound of river cobble on river cobble. It should be peaceful, but Oisin hears what she hears: how fast it’s moving. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it.”

“I don’t know, Adaine,” he responds, pulling his gaze from the water to her, “but I am here, and I am doing the work to keep it from happening.”

She takes another moment to keep watching the river, but eventually her eyes shift to the trees surrounding them, not looking at him. “Yeah. How have you been doing this? You said you wanted pointers?”

“Anything you’re willing to give me,” he tells her, and then immediately regrets how it sounded. Don’t be so desperate. He turns back to his backpack instead of addressing the underlying hunger in his voice, and grabs out the material components he keeps in it now. “Wanna see?”

“A demonstration?” Adaine crosses her arms over her chest and finally looks at him, a playful grin forming. “Yeah, show me this cool arcane theory shit, since you’ve clocked me so well.”

He’s such a goner. Alone in the woods with her? Why did he think that would be a good idea? He wants to hear the flirtatious tones in her words, wants so badly for him to not be making it up. His hands fidget with the components, the dagger feeling sweaty in his palm. “Uh,” he fumbles, swallowing hard, “yeah, we have to go upstream a little bit, since this area is clear. I’m trying to move farther away from the river each time.”

She turns her head in the direction he mentions, and then back to him. “Lead the way,” and fans her arm out to the side.

Oisin takes her up the slight incline, following the river until he reaches a where section he can see the red shards taking hold by the tree roots. Some of this is going to be tricky, he thinks as he spies a few dying pines in the new area. None of the trees have come down in the forest yet, but Move Earth might be a little too chaotic. It’s not supposed to alter plantlife, but things that are dying? Or already unstable? He’s not sure what will happen.

But that’s also why Adaine is here, to help give pointers. He’s nervous about showing her, but the good outweighs the bad. She’d help him if she sees an issue. Two wizards are better than one after all, but maybe they should get a botanist or druid out here to look at some of the trees and help assess if they’re dying naturally or not.

“Alright,” he says, “here goes,” and Oisin begins his routine. His mage hand appears, his spellbook settling open to the pages he needs and propped within it’s grasp. He keeps the iron knife and the bag of soil in one hand, and casts with the other. He’s done this a few times, and most of the movement comes naturally to him now, feeling the arcane current of his magic as it sweeps down his arms, three of his intact tattoos along his left arm lighting with the extra energy to keep concentration, holding it for him, storing it.

It feels good to cast, the way magic shifts over him has always left him a little breathless, but especially with the higher level spells, and Oisin has upped these at least twice to cast further, longer. The rumbling in the ground begins again, low and deep and slow as the familiar feeling of tree roots shuddering with movement courses under his feet. He can hear the grinding of stone this close to the river, old bedrock shifting against each other under the weight of hundreds of years of dirt. His casting has only gotten better the last few times he’s done it, and when the earth begins it’s gentle rolling, waving out from where he and Adaine stand, he dips his hand right on cue, and hits the contraction. “Damir.”

He feels the arcane energies crackle at his hands, shifting colors again, the blue of his magic that matches his scales deepening to a violet, amending itself once again to Creation, or rather, Eradication, as he’s been calling it. It rips through the ground like each time before, tiny red shards of rage crystals tumbling into each other, milling together until there’s nothing left, their arcane properties repurposed back into the ether.

Oisin lets his shoulders drop, his arm still bright at his tattoos, and shuffles the material components around in his hands and takes his spellbook from the mage hand before dismissing it. When he turns to look at Adaine, he can’t decipher what her expression is.

She’s staring at the space where his spell is now taking effect, her eyes wide and brows set, but not betraying thought. He feels his fingers twitch against the spine of his spellbook, waiting for her to say something, do something, anything. He’s just shown her one of the coolest arcane things he’s probably ever done—rework a spell backwards and then place it in an entirely different one, from a different school of magic, and none of his components were consumed. It hits him that this is something he could publish, could have his name known for.

And she’s just standing there.

“Ah,” he offers, taking a deep breath, “demonstration over?”

Quickly, on the heels of his words, Adaine asks, “What was that?” He can see her eyes darting, following the ripple of the ground, trained on the shatter stars. “Is it collecting or destroying it? I don’t recognize the incantation. Where did you learn that?”

Something in her tone sits harshly in his stomach, but he tries to ignore it in favor of hoping it’s just some strange form of shock. He tries to answer her questions in order. “Well, it’s two different spells that I overlaid together. It only works in a minimum thirty foot area at once, but it lasts for twelve hours so I can get around a hundred and twenty foot square section done with one spell cast, and if I upcast it? I can get even more. It is both collecting and destroying.” He adjusts the components in his hand, feeling them start to sweat with her questioning, but decides to just drop them to the ground by his feet, keeping his spell book in hand. “Jace kinda taught me how to do it.”

Her head snaps to look at him, and Oisin can finally see her eyes. “Professor Stardiamond?” Steeled, calculating, frigid. It’s not a glare, per se, but it bites all the same.

Oisin’s mind reels. This isn’t the reaction he had been expecting from her. Cool indifference at worst, but this? It feels … accusatory. “Yeah, he taught me a few things last year.”

“Stardiamond was a sorcerer, not a wizard,” a scoff. “What was he teaching you?”

His eyes narrow slightly. What is her deal? “Being a wizard isn’t common amongst dragons, Adaine. All of the magic users in my family are sorcerers. I should’ve been one, too.”

“But you’re not.”

It’s like a slap in the face. “No,” he replies, curt, hard. His arms cross. “I’m not. He was hoping I’d have some latent awakening, but I didn’t. So the draconic sorcerer line ends with me, unfortunately.”

They stare at each other for a moment, whatever strange outrage she had mixing with his sudden insecurity sitting in the air between them. He can feel his frills twitch, and a quick, sharp pain on the right of his head as it pulls wrong. He tilts his head subtly to release the tension before righting it, his eyes never leaving her.

It’s something he’s already contended with years ago, his mother’s draconic sorcery line ending at him. His sister has a chance, Aisling having the gift, as long as she stayed within the family, and sometimes it can skip generations, but he’d also have to stay within the family, partner wise, and after last year, he doubts any of them would be willing. Not that they were before, when he never showed any magical prowess as a fledgling.

Whatever Adaine sees in him as they stare each other down, it softens her expression a bit, and the chill that had formed in the warm summer morning air begins to dissipate. She holds her hand out. “Can I see the spell?”

Oisin takes that as an apology, the best he’ll get at this moment, for her earlier harshness, and hands her the book. “It’s the last couple of pages,” he tells her.

There’s a moment, as she takes it from him, when he wonders how she’ll treat it. Wizards don’t often share spellbooks, he’s come to realize—he learned that the hard way freshman year from an upperclassmen that wanted to ‘show him the ropes’ of wizarding—and even the thought of her hands on his has him tense. It shouldn’t be indecent, the act of looking at someone else’s spellbook, but in his mind there’s something venereal about it—about her doing it. He knows how he’d treat hers: claws in, soft hands, gentle with the paper, with the spine. It feels like an intimate act.

So when she opens it and thumbs through the pages with an indifferent, dispassionate air, Oisin feels like a bucket of cold water has been tossed on him.

He shouldn’t have expected anything else—Adaine isn’t him. She doesn’t have that harsh draconic lens that colors everything she does, a filter through which she’s forced to interact with the world. Maybe it’s just all wizards that are like this, secretive and untrusting with their spells, treating others spell books as if it’s a bomb to diffuse and not a look into how someone else functions. Maybe wizards don’t treat it like someone is standing naked in front them, and all they can offer is an ‘okay.’ It’s not a rejection, but it isn’t an eagerness either. Oisin grits his jaw and looks up to the tree tops.

He can hear the pages being turned, quicker than someone would if they were reading, and then Adaine’s voice, “I can’t understand any of this.”

He looks down, and she’s got his spellbook laid open in both her hands, holding it between them. There’s a stoicism to her that feels … on par, after he watched her a moment ago. It hurts, but it’s expected now. “Draconic is my native, I write all of my spells in it.” He takes gentle hands and sifts through the pages, landing on the ones he had been using for his spell. “I’ve been calling it Ordah Gethrisja, but I don’t think there’s a direct translation for it in common. Something like ground gone, but that doesn’t have the same connotations.”

She stares at the pages a little bit longer, and then curses under her breath. One hand slips out from under the book and rests on her sword. “Heni-lamb,” she whispers, and Oisin recognizes the elvish incantation. Comprehend Languages.

Adaine pours over the book while the spell is active, taking the required time as it translates in her head. He watches as her brows furrow, squinting when she reaches the contraction. Her fingers flit forward a few pages, hitting the end of his book, and then back a few, looking at other spells. He feels distinctly like he’s being judged. “How come some of your spells are written double sided and others aren’t?”

“When I get close to the end of the book, I just try to fit everything in.” He shrugs. “In hindsight, I should’ve just started another. I did that with my other spellbooks, too.”

She blinks and looks up at him. “Spellbooks?”

The way she says it, it’s like what he just told her doesn’t make any sense. Like she wants clarification. Oisin looks at her quizzically. “Yeah, this is my third.”

Adaine looks at him a moment longer, and he can see as her expression dims, going from confused to … fuck, he can’t tell, she’s being so unreadable right now. She’s deadpanned him, her eyes traveling back to the pages. Is she mad that he has three spellbooks? Should he have more? Less?

“The beginning of this looks like Mold Earth, or Move Earth, but I don’t know this other section,” she finally says.

This feels like it should be bigger. It should be, if he’s honest with himself. For fuck’s sake, he wrote a spell backwards, and it worked. But nothing she’s said to him in the last few minutes has given him the impression she’s going to be dazzled by this. His chest aches. He wonders if maybe bringing her out here was a mistake. He tries to be optimistic anyway. “It’s Creation. ”

She shakes her head. “This doesn’t look like Creation. ”

“I wrote it backwards.” His fingers trace the runes on the page, from bottom to top, showing her where it is. “To gain the opposite effect.”

Adaine follows his hand, and then casts her gaze out to the woods, watching as the spell works in real time. “You wrote it … backwards?”

He nods.

“And it works.”

He feels … awkward, standing here. “Yeah, and then I contracted it with Move Earth in the same way you did the Mold Earth/Mending cantrips. I got the idea from you.”

She hasn’t looked away from the trees. “You wrote Creation … backwards. You wrote it backwards. To gain the opposite effect. So it’s destroying the rage shards, instead of creating it. And it works.” She shakes her head, and then finally does turn back towards him. Her eyes are squinted, brows set low, the way her teeth are slightly bared … it’s almost animalistic, her snarl. It’s off-putting enough that he feels the frills on his arm raise in anticipation. “Did Jace teach you that?”

The hostility in her voice, the sneer as she says the sorcerer professor’s name, has Oisin on edge immediately. A pit in his stomach lurches, a tickling in his chest that warns him to prepare for the worst as the energy suddenly and intensely shifts. “I don’t understand—what is your deal, Adaine?”

“My deal? ” she says, and slams his spellbook closed with both hands. It’s visceral, his reaction, a flinch from him at the sound in the otherwise quiet woods. His stomach lurches at how rough she is with it, and it takes everything in him to not reach out and snatch it back. “My deal is that you shouldn’t be able to do this kind of magic.”

“This kind of magic,” he repeats. “What, you mean basic arcane theory? That’s shit they taught us sophomore year, Adaine.”

“Not reversing high level spells! Unless I missed a class.”

“The underlying principles are right there. Alustriel’s Mind and Matter covers antithetical energies—”

Adaine groans loudly and throws her head back. “That’s not what I mean! You shouldn’t have access to this kind of magic!”

It’s whiplash, honestly. The rollercoaster has stopped too quick. The rug is pulled from under him. The magic trick backfired. He’s standing in front of a crowd naked. It just keeps getting worse. Because he knows what Adaine means, and it settles in him heavy, dread.

And anger.

She doesn’t have to explain any further because he gets it. Jace taught him magic. Oisin now has access to spells and theory beyond what a normal Aguefort junior should have. He used those spells and theory against them—the Bad Kids. Adaine. They killed him, and he came back, and he still has access to those spells and theory.

She doesn’t know what he did to get here.

“I’ve been back one fucking week,” and even he hears the way his voice has gone cold, “and already I’ve made Lucy cry, I’ve been drugged at a party, and now I’m standing here, letting you insult my intelligence. Or I guess my lack thereof.”

Her head snaps back up to him. “Well, maybe you should go back to the Waste.”

Oisin stares at her. He feels his eye twitch. “Maybe I will.” He bends down, grabs the material components he had put on the forest floor, and turns back down the way they came, towards his backpack.

“Good!” she shouts behind him.

“Fine!” he yells back.

He gets to his backpack, shoves the dirt and knife back in, when he hears her footsteps in the crunch of the underbrush behind him. “And when you go, you can take back whatever fucking pity you have for my party.”

Oisin rolls his eyes and turns to find her a few feet away. “What are you fucking talking about?”

“Ivy told us all about it.” Condescending now, sharp like a knife. “How you did something to the summoning spell election night, something that made it so ‘we couldn’t lose.’ Well, guess what, Hakinvar? We wouldn’t have lost anyway. We’ve taken down our fair share of dragons.”

He thought she had already hurt him. Rough with his spellbook. Rough with his heart. Rough with his thoughts. But this … this feels worse than dying the first time. This feels worse than the rage shard. This feels worse than Porter beating the shit out of him, than Jace berating him for never being good enough, than Gorgug’s axe to his chest.

He nearly goes blind with it.

Before he can even register it, Oisin in directly in front of her, and it briefly hits him just how much taller than her he is. He bulked out a lot last year, but it’s extremely noticeable now as he towers over her. He practically has to look down to keep eye contact with her this close. “You absolutely cannot be that fucking stupid to make light of killing half of my family, Abernant. Family that I gave you a leg up on. That I ensured would fall whether or not you’ve taken down your fair share of dragons. It wasn’t pity, it was help, help I will be sure to not extend again if this is how it’s received. To my face.”

He hears a sharp snap of energy between them, something that makes the frills on his arms stand straight out, and Oisin quickly looks down in the small space he’s afforded between them, to where Adaine’s hand glows bright with the beginnings of a spell, balled into a fist at her side. He looks back at her, and sees her eyes set, steely and rigid. “What, it’s not enough to insult my intelligence and imply you would’ve done just fine killing my family on your own, you’re gonna cast magic at me, too?”

Oisin thinks he stops breathing when she says, “You have electricity in your mouth, I can see it jumping around your teeth.”

It’s another rug, another slap, another bucket of water over his head. It isn’t until she says it that he feels it behind his teeth, dancing over his tongue, crackling down his throat. It’s a sock to the stomach when he realizes he’s angry.

No. Not angry.

He feels rage.

Oisin takes a few steps back, turns around from Adaine to face the river, watches its slow, easy pace and tries to swallow the electricity building in his mouth. It scorches his tongue, the taste of static in his mouth, scratching and clawing as it’s dragged down his throat. His teeth feel wrong, saliva building, and he opens his mouth to deeply inhale in an attempt to get himself under control. His heart is racing, his chest is hollow and empty and aching, he can barely get the air into his lungs for how pressing it feels.

He’s not mad. This goes beyond mad. He felt like this a few months ago, all the time, the kind of anger that destroys your insides, sets your bones different, makes you nauseous. He didn’t think he could still feel like this, with the rage shard gone. He doesn’t want to feel like this. His eyes are twitching, his tail swaying fiercely behind him, the only good thing that does is keep Adaine away from him.

God, Adaine.

He just got so angry at her that he almost let his breath weapon go in front of her.

And she was nervous enough to get ready to cast magic at him.

He wants to run. He has his car, he should just leave, text Ivy to come grab Adaine. Apologize to his friends, let them keep the money, and just go. He did it at the party, he can do it again. He can do it for good.

He remembers Lucy’s swollen eyes and tear stained face.

He can’t leave.

He swallows hard. “I promised Lucy I’d clean the woods so she doesn’t have to, and I intend to keep that promise,” Oisin says, and he can feel the strain in his voice, the abrasive hoarseness as he tastes nothing but ozone. “So I’m not leaving. But I think you should go. Walk, run, dimension door, take the car for all I fucking care, the keys are in my bag. But you should leave.”

It’s quiet behind him. He doesn’t hear any movement. When another moment passes, still silent, he calls out, tired, “Just go, Abernant.”

He hears her then, the rustle of leaves and underbrush as she moves away from him, off to his right. A pause, and then she keeps going, back up through the trail they used to come in, without a single word.

Oisin stays there for another few minutes, watching the river as it meanders it’s way toward the lake, and breathes in. Eventually, when the burning in his chest and the nausea subside—and he thinks he’s given Adaine enough time to get out of the woods—Oisin turns around and walks towards his backpack. He’s got the mana left, and a few tattoos are still open and unscarred for him to use for concentration to get another section of forest going before he goes home to stand in the shower for a few hours and attempt to erase what just happened.

His backpack feels light, though, and when he checks in it, he has the material components still in there from before, but his car keys are missing.

And so is his spellbook.

Chapter Text

She wants to throw his spellbook against the wall.

She wants to rip it in half at the spine and burn it in the fireplace downstairs, run it over with the Hangman, drown it in the lake, bury it in the backyard cemetery.

She wants to read every word in it.

She wants to slip into the ether of the universe and disintegrate.

Adaine sits cross legged on her bed, her hands gently flipping through the pages of Oisin’s spellbook.

His third spellbook.

What a fucking idiot she is.

It’s beautifully written, now that she can read it, now that she’s calmed down enough to read it, and can really concentrate on what it says. His handwriting is excellent; flowing script that seems to never disconnect between runes. It’s involved, heavily detailed notes in the margins and underlined sections, headers that are clear and concise, spell names and schools associated and material components listed. There are mistakes, sure, but even those look pretty: crossed out spell structure and boxed paragraphs with hatch marks so thick sections might as well be redacted. There’s even doodles in the corners, spider webs and peonies and incredibly careful renditions of certain components. It’s easy to see the care and love and craft that has gone into it.

And it’s his third.

Are the previous two like this? As detailed and organized and decorated? God, even the leather of the binding is well conditioned. He takes pride in it, she realizes belatedly. The look on Oisin’s face as she slammed it, he had physically flinched, and it hadn’t moved her in the moment, but hours later it haunts her memory.

How hurt he had looked. Sounded. Been.

She really fucked up.

She feels like shit for bringing up that he’s not a sorcerer. Adaine didn’t know anything about his clan line, or that the draconic sorcerer line ended with him. She had always been a wizard. She can’t imagine what that must feel like for him. She doesn’t want to think about what her own family would have been like if she didn’t have magic like them.

Adaine tries reading the specific spell, to switch her mind to something different. It’s clever, the very least she can admit. She couldn’t think about it in the moment, but now as she reads it thoroughly, it’s brilliant. She had tried coming up with something better in the beginning of the summer, and she’d made the cantrip contraction spell as a work around. It was frustrating to cast over and over again, though, and Adaine knew that something like this—Ordah Gethrisja, as Oisin calls it—would be a game changer. They could potentially have the entire town done before the summer ended if they had both of them casting it, instead of just him. Loam Farm would’ve taken a few days instead of the several weeks they’ve sunk into it, and Thistlespring Tree would’ve only needed maybe one or two castings.

She can see exactly where his mind went as he mended the spells together, can tell where he erased and rewrote runes, sections where Oisin originally contracted and then added onto. It’s smart as hell, amazing, and original, and it worked, and Adaine wants to scream into her pillow and rip all her hair out.

The pages are thick between her fingers, thicker than hers are in her own spellbook, and she wonders if it’s because he has a heavy hand when it comes to writing. His calligraphy is stunning, but she can see the sections where his rest hits harder on the pages on certain runes, the top left corner of a square, the second hatch mark in a contested line. Adaine leafs through a few of the other spells, and she can see ones that she learned last year as well, in Tiberia’s class: Scatter, Cloudkill, Whirlwind. There’s a lot more conjuration spells though, and quite a few different summoning spells—some of which look like he’s translated them into rituals instead of spending mana to cast them. There are spells above her mastery—spells sorcerers can do. Demiplane, Dominate Monster, Blade of Disaster. Can he actually cast those? Those take extreme skill, is he capable of that? Did Jace just give him spells to learn?

Adaine’s eyes squint. If most of these spells are what Oisin learned last year, it only makes sense that he devises a new spellbook each school year.

Is the summoning spell he used in here?

She starts from the beginning, paging through each spell. She takes her time, reading through a few of them to make sure she isn’t missing anything, when she finds a page that has been folded over—no, not folded, added on to, and then taped at the edges and flipped into the book. She opens it out, like some sort of pop up, then opens another taped on page, and Adaine is met with a very messy, very hard to read contraction spell. Just like the shard elimination one—Ordah Gethrisja—only this is hasty. There’s nothing delicate about the way he wrote it, the runes don’t connect the same way his other spells do, there’s ugly scratch marks and ink blots, it almost looks like he tore through one of the taped on pages. She looks on the back of it and finds more tape striking across the middle, holding it together.

Adaine doesn’t know what the base spell is. She’s never seen anything like this before. There’s a section she recognizes as maybe Arcane Gate but modified, letting it go hundreds of thousands of feet instead of the regular five hundred. It’s not Gate—at least, she doesn’t think it is. If she’s remembering correctly, Gate only does portals to different planes of existence, and if Oisin was summoning his family, he’d only need to get them from the Red Waste. She reads down a little bit farther, trying to understand more, and she hits the first contraction but half of it is scratched out and rewritten, and an arrow points down a paragraph to another section.

This is … a wreck, at the very least, compared to his other work. The page inside the book—the page that belongs there, not the two taped-on pages folded in—seems less hasty, less disjointed than the additions. The parts that are legible, that is. It’s as if it was the first installment and the contraction came later in thought, and Oisin crossed out and added, drawing arrows to sections that fit better somewhere else. It’s like a draft and not a finished product—but this is the finished version, as far as she’s aware. Was this added later? 

Her eyes scan the room quickly, seeing a scrap piece of paper on her nightstand. Adaine grabs it and digs a pencil out of the little drawer and begins trying to decipher the smaller contracted spell under whatever this bigger, modified Arcane Gate first draft spell ridiculousness is. She gets a little more than halfway through the runes when she recognizes it.

Blight.

Definitely upcasted, at least three times judging by the uplifts in specified mana—maybe more but she’d need to finish writing it out to see. The amount of necrotic energy this would do to each individual coming through the gate … 

Family that I gave you a leg up on. That I ensured would fall whether or not you’ve taken down your fair share of dragons.

Adaine sits back and lays the open spellbook on her bed, staring at it wide eyed. Her fingers tap on her knee as she processes this new information.

“Okay, so, he … what?” she whispers, “Made this weird Arcane Gate spell—or got it from Jace—and then … wrote Blight into it?” She rubs her hands on her eyes, dropping the pencil with a groan. “When did he do this? Was this always the plan? Did he decide at the last minute?”

She reaches over for her crystal, plugged in and charging on her nightstand, and opens up his text thread. His confirmation that they were still on for eight that morning stares at her in the face. What is she even doing? What would she say? She has the distinct feeling that a ‘Hey, I know we got in a fight and I stole your spellbook and your car, but how long into your rage shard corruption did you decide to nuke your family with massive amounts of necrotic damage? Was that before or after you offered me diamonds?’ isn’t going to go over well. So she puts her crystal back on the nightstand.

She remembers how mad she had been while in the woods with him. It was like one thing piling on top of the other. His comment in the car—she is not thinking about that, not right now—and then she tripped and looked so stupid in front of him, and had gotten frustrated when he’d tried to help her. Him bringing up the shards getting into the river, and Adaine doesn’t know how she missed that, how she didn’t think about it.

And then he performed a feat of magic that was as insane as it was cool. He wrote a spell backwards and then shoved into an entirely different school of magic. He upcasted it. He used her cantrip contraction as inspiration. He wrote Creation backwards, she can’t get over that it worked. It actually worked. The thought is certifiable. Could all spells be written backwards to achieve the opposite effect? Would that even work?

But it’s also not that the spell is backwards, either. It’s something entirely new. Like yeah, she could read it the correct way and figure out it’s Creation, but it’s not like he just reversed the order of runes, it’s more than that. It’s different runes that specify more than just the opposite. There’s one section here that details the gathering, and another one further down that implies death—the destruction of the shards. It’s wildly theoretical, and she never in a million years would have guessed it would work.

She told him he didn’t deserve to do that kind of magic.

Adaine closes the spell book and falls back against her bed, her head hitting the pillows, and lets Comprehend Languages go.

Why did she tell him that? It’s one thing to think it, it’s another thing to tell him. She knows she’s being mean, but there’s a part of her that still feels like it’s true. He shouldn’t have access to that kind of magic. Jace taught him extra, gave him special training or whatever, while she struggled last year to make ends meet, to get the components for the singular wizarding class she had. She busted her ass serving strudel—albeit, for a short amount of time—but then she had spent all of her free time at Basrar’s, swirling cones and making sundaes, and dealing with every insane elf that thought they were entitled to her time while studying and investigating. Adaine wouldn’t tell any of her party—especially not Fig or Kristen—that halfway through the year was really, really hard for her, and she was afraid she’d drop all the plates she was juggling and force them into the Last Stand, but she had made it.

And then Kristen was almost expelled and they were forced into the Last Stand anyway.

It was just so much, and she had felt so overwhelmed, but they had done it. She came out of it on the other side, and there was a brief time right after the election night fight and Fabian’s birthday, and the whole Ankarna thing, where she felt almost unstoppable. Like everything really was going to be okay. They had all survived. After all the stupid things her and her friends have done over the years, everything finally seemed okay.

But all the Rat Grinders came back. Ivy and Oisin remembered, if not everything, then ninety-nine percent of it. He still had all the things Jace taught him. She didn’t realize it until standing in those woods, watching him work, unable to read his spellbook—his third spellbook, when she’s only got one—and listening to him tell her what it meant.

It felt so unfair.

She feels stupid, and played again.

He didn’t do anything this time, though. Oisin is just living. She played herself, lulled herself into a sense of security that life would be easy now that they’ve done the hard things. Having a crush isn’t supposed to be this hard.

Adaine heaves a big sigh and sits back up, grabbing his spellbook and putting it on the nightstand next to her bed. She switches from her sweatpants into a pair of sleep shorts, the oversized Aguefort Owlbears shirt she wore the other night slipping comfortably over her frame, and puts on a pair of soft socks before pulling back her covers and getting in bed. Aelwyn said she’d be out late tonight, and not to wait up, so Adaine leans over and flicks the lamp off.

Sleep doesn’t come easy.

Her mind wanders.

Next time, I’ll just open my mouth.

Adaine shoves her face into the pillow, feels her cheeks get hot. Why would he say that? He had looked so embarrassed, he was that pretty shade of lavender again. Her heart starts beating fast again, remembering it. What was he insinuating? That she should—no, that can’t be right, she can’t even think it. She shouldn’t think it. She’s mad at him! Why is her stomach still doing flips if she’s mad at him! If she hates him!

But what if he did … mean it that way? If he wanted her to. Has Oisin kissed enough girls—or guys, she doesn’t know what his tastes are—to know that he … wants that? She knows he’s at least kissed Talulah Foxfoot, and she does not want to think about that kiss right now, she’d done enough of that, thank you. It was supposed to be a lighthearted joke to even out the tension from bringing up Kipperlilly, she didn’t think he’d say something like that. Her stomach rolls thinking about it. It was so tense, she couldn’t take her eyes off him, but he wouldn’t look at her.

Adaine bites her lip. There were so many things that happened today. Like she keeps picturing his face from over the hilt of her sword as she teased him, concerned and panicky, like he had done something wrong. It was sweet, and his eyes were so gold in the early morning light. Or the way his glasses slipped just a fraction of an inch down his face as he watched her take a sip from the coffee he brought her.

She rolls over and stares at his spellbook, eyes adjusting quick to the dark. The way he casts magic is so different from her—well, not literally, but also yeah, kind of literally. His somatic gestures were so easy, focused, unhitched despite the multiple contractions she’s now seen in the spell. It felt so flowy and free, like his hands were naturally supposed to do movement like that. Not that she stutters on her own magic, but for just making that spell? He casted like he’d done it hundreds of times before, a kind of confidence in the way he moved.

She remembers when Oisin told her about his and Tilly’s conversation, after the whole … makeout fiasco. How she had found him confident. Adaine doesn’t think it’s the same kind of confidence she sees, but it’s damn well close. How he handles himself, at least magically? She didn’t get to see his skill when they all fought Porter—Oisin hadn’t stood a chance once the Bad Kids decided to gang up on him—but she has seen some of it since. He fought his family for the inheritance, and won. He casted beautifully in the woods.

The way his voice sounded when he got right up in her face … if she hadn’t been so angry, Adaine thinks her knees would have buckled. That’s so stupid of her though, to find his anger … attractive. And when her eyes had drifted towards his mouth (stupidly, unabashedly) and seen the electricity crackling at his sharp teeth? She has one word for how it made her feel.

Hot.

Physically warm.

Ugh, what does it say about her that she was extremely bothered by the thought of getting rough with him? Alone in the woods, fighting a dragonborn, one who is built like a house and towers over her, who is smart, and probably (based on somatic observation) good with his hands—

God, she’s turning into some crazed, horny teenager! Adaine turns over again, laying flat on her back, staring at the bottom of the bunk above her. Her thoughts turn back to Tilly, and that night, against her better judgment. She remembers in the moment feeling just as hot as she does now, her legs pressing together under the table. He said Tilly had moved a certain way that made him … aware. What had she done? The eladrin’s hair had been hastily thrown up, and her lip gloss was gone. From what she learned about that night from Riz—which at the time was blessedly little, but now irritates her as she thinks more about it—and based on Tilly’s … eagerness beforehand, had she been … on top of him? Maybe Tilly had grinded on him.

Her hands fidget under the covers, and she picks at the skin around her nails to give herself something to do. Who had he been thinking of? When kissing Tilly? She shouldn’t be wondering, but it’s been bothering her since he mentioned it. Oisin wouldn’t look at her, and he had flushed that pretty deep purple, it had practically gone all the way down his neck.

I can’t be having this conversation with you.

Her fingers stop fidgeting.

Is there something wrong with having it with me?

Aside from the fact that there’s a very high probability that you hate me?

Adaine sits straight up in bed.

He offered her diamonds. He ‘clocked her’ as someone who would enjoy arcane theory. He kept opening the door for her. A very drunk Ivy had said something about ‘being out of his league.’ He needed to ask her about giving her gold. He told her to stretch out on him at movie night. He wanted her to spit in his mouth.

There’s no way.

Had he been thinking about … her?

***

Adaine keeps his spellbook for the rest of the week.

She sent pictures of the spell pages to Ivy to give to Oisin—she doesn’t dare text him, and he doesn’t text her—early the next morning, so he could keep doing work out in the woods. She drives everyone in his car, in extremely awkward silence, to Loam Farm and hands Ivy the keys. Ivy just sort of looks at her sadly for the rest of the day, and Adaine doesn’t have the heart to talk to her about it.

He doesn’t show up at Mordred for his spellbook.

She spends most of her free time translating it to common, which is proving difficult because a good portion of the draconic language just doesn’t translate well. She can get some of it into elvish, but spells in two different lexicons are impossible to work with, and Adaine doesn’t think she can cast something like that. It takes her almost the entire week using Comprehend Languages just to get to a decent enough place that she can use it to rewrite the contraction entirely in common using the original spell documents, and even then it needs fine tuning.

That’s not a bad thing, though. Concentrating on the translations doesn’t give her mind time to think about the fact that Oisin might’ve been imagining making out with her instead of Tilly the night of the solstice party. Nope, she doesn’t have time to think about that—or even entertain the thought. Because eventually, even though he hadn’t come around yet, Oisin is going to want his spellbook back, and she’d rather slip it in Ivy’s backpack then face him right now. 

The boys take a break on Friday, claiming ‘Bardy Boys Day’ is now an annual holiday. Gorgug, Fabian, Riz, and Ruben—they’ve graciously added him into the group after Ruben pulled a Fig and thought Fabian was addressing only the bards, and Gorgug just asked “Am I a Bardy Boy?” and everyone agreed—all leave for the day. No one says where they’re going. Adaine and Fig stay close to home, despite also being Bardy Boys, but everyone else also decides to take the day off, since half of them are gone anyway, and they’ve been going the entire summer so far.

Which is fine, because it gives her the perfect opportunity to go test out her translated spell at Loam Farm in the morning without anyone to watch if she fails. Fabian leaves the Hangman with her—she double and triple checks that Fabian really meant to do that, and didn’t want to take his motorcycle, but Fabian insists they’re all taking the train in to Bastion City, and not to worry. Fig and Ayda make it disgustingly clear that they’re spending the day together, and Kristen says she had plans to get a few things underway for the new pantheon. Aelwyn waves her off over breakfast, claiming she has to bring all her cats in for vaccinations today, and that she’s left Rawlins in charge of the Compass Points Library while she’s away. She hasn’t heard anything from Mazey, Mary Ann, or Lucy, either.

Ivy doesn’t text her—in fact, Ivy hasn’t said a word to her since Adaine handed her Oisin’s car keys back on Tuesday.

That’s fine, too. She didn’t expect the wood elf to pick her side, anyway. Oisin is her best friend—practically family, they’ve both implied as much. There’s no way she hasn’t heard his side of what happened in Far Haven Woods and immediately took it.

She stuffs her jeans into her boots, grabs her backpack that has her lunch and his spellbook—just in case, she’s covering her bases—and heads out front to see Fabian’s bike waiting on the curb.

“Good morning, Hangman,” Adaine greets, grabbing the helmet hanging on the handlebars.

There’s a rumble as the Hangman gently revs his engine. “Ah, Mistress Adaine, what deeds do we get up to today?”

She swings her leg over the side of the seat and fastens the helmet on, adjusting her sword and settling in. “We’re going back to Loam Farm, I want to try out a couple of things while no one is around.”

The Hangman steadies itself and rolls soft over the gravel of their driveway. “No wild trips today? No daring escapades into the dangerous unknown where I have to use my mad skills to save us both from certain doom?!”

Adaine giggles, “Not today, Hangman. Just the farm. Maybe we can drive through the Dragonbucks, and I’ll get you a pup cup.”

She feels the shift from gravel to asphalt underneath her, and the bike growls before peeling off down the road. “A pup cup! Yes! Sire will be so jealous!”

Adaine grips the handlebars and throws her head back, smiling in the breeze that hits her. It whips her ponytail, her jacket catching the air and flowing out. She gets why Fabian loves driving the motorcycle. There’s something extremely freeing about it, especially since she doesn’t actually have to drive it. They bank a corner and drift, and Adaine laughs when they right back again. The back end of Far Haven Woods is to her right, but she doesn’t look over into the trees. It’s late enough in the morning that he could be there—not that she’d see him through the branches and thicket based on where they were on Monday, or that he’d even catch it’s her driving by when she’s going this fast, but it’s the principle of it, to not look. A guilt settles in her stomach, the same weight as his spellbook. She’ll return it, right after today. As soon as she makes sure her translated version works.

There’s something in that, though. In stealing his spellbook. Sneaking into Basrar’s after hours. Driving as fast as she is. Her fight with Oisin. Her want to fight Oisin.

The niceness, Adaine. You said it yourself months ago. There are times when you wish someone was a little bit mean to you. I’m saying that Adaine here likes it a little rough around the edges.

Adaine shuts her eyes and feels the wind on her face, letting the Hangman take the lead. Maybe the Bad Kids have had a bigger influence on her than she thought. Not that it’s a bad thing, she’s really come out of her shell, and she feels way more comfortable doing things now for herself—and others, it doesn’t feel like she has to impress her friends to survive, like the only reason they like her is because she’s useful. They like her because of her. They’re friends because they are. They’re family because they love each other.

But Kristen has no impulse control, and Fig has a hard time committing; Fabian still struggles with letting people see his softer side, Gorgug shoves a lot of his emotions down, and Riz will put the world on his back before he lets someone carry him over the finish line. They’re all dysfunctional.

Adaine just … has a lot of pent up anger.

She knows this about herself. That touch of the rage shard in the Synod Mall scared the shit out of her, but those feelings were always there, they just got louder. Oisin … there’s something about him that makes her feel that way again—like everything is just loud. He makes her stomach flip, and her heart hurt, and she wants nothing more than to kiss him just so she can bite his lips clean off, really sink her teeth in.

She kind of wishes he had done it, had used his breath weapon. The static she could feel on her arms, the little flicks of light behind his teeth, she thinks it would’ve felt good, in a way, to get it out. Like maybe they just need to get it out.

It only takes a little bit longer to get to Loam Farm. What should normally be a two hour trip is only around an hour and a half as the Hangman drives fast through the countryside, plots of plowed land and cultivated fields with wheat and corn passing by until the big red barn house comes into view. She putters up the long access road to the field they’ve been working on this past week.

The Hangman grumbles, “Sire never drove me this far up. I have small chunks of gravel stuck in my tires now.”

Adaine flips the kickstand down and pats the bike on the top of its skull head. “When we get home today, I will personally mage hand out all of the little pebble bits.”

“And a pup cup!”

She laughs and unclips the helmet, leaving it on the seat behind her. “I could never forget!”

The field is still empty, crabgrass and weeds and leftover seeds of old crops starting to grow on the sections closer towards the edges. The Bad Kids have worked their way inward, making sure the edges of the field that were closest to the roads and the sewer systems and other plots of lands were clear, so there’d be no decontamination. It’s nice to see that the bits they have cleared are growing again. Her eyes cast up to the house, where Gorgug’s been fixing the structural damage. The Loams are dead though, and she doesn’t know who will move in afterward. The for sale sign stuck in the front yard has been there for months.

She takes a deep breath and looks back at the yard. “Just start it, Adaine. See if it works.”

She finds the edge of were her and her friends were working yesterday, and Adaine swings the backpack off her shoulder, reaching a hand in for the tape measure before she puts it on the ground and maneuvers the edge of the tape under it, using her bag as a weight to keep it from swinging back at her. She walks as far as a hundred and twenty feet and takes her sword out to draw a line in the ground, and does it again, and again, until she’s finally back at her backpack, and a square is mapped out on the ground. It’s a huge area, and it hits her again that if this spell really works, she could finish Loam Farm in a few days, maybe all of next week and it’d be done.

Adaine stands at one of the corners, looking out. She pulls her spellbook out of its holster, and stares at it for a second. Oisin had conjured a mage hand to hold his book, his spell components in one hand and used his other for somatics. Would it be stupid to do the same? Would it be cheating? Or copying? She’s already stolen his spellbook, what’s another added to the list?

She takes a deep breath and conjures her own, the ghostly blue see-through hand appearing with its palm open, ready to hold, and places her book in its grasp, fingers flitting through the pages until she lands on the translated spell. She unclips the Sword of Sight from her waist and sticks it in the ground at her feet, left hand on the hilt to keep a connection to the earth. She gives a shake of her right hand, flexing the wrist before straightening her shoulders and widening her stance. She’s practiced the somatics a few times in her room, getting the gestures down so she doesn’t stumble and ruin the ground. The contractions slipped her up at first, feeling the halt in her movements as a stutter and not like switching between spells.

Oisin made it look easy. Or he found it easy. Whichever it is. Adaine wants to scream. He got the idea from her—from her cantrip contraction, and it hadn’t slipped her up as bad this has been. And if there’s one thing her parents did right by her—both her and Aelwyn—it’s that they are good casters. Great, even. Angwyn made sure of that, rapping her wrists from a young age to keep steady, forcibly moving Aelwyn’s elbows into correct position. Arianwen taught them proper enunciation. A spell is only as clean as it’s vocals. Clear. Concise. Emphatic. Do not slur. Pronounce your R’s, hit your T’s, there is a difference between M and N. If you cannot speak, you cannot cast. She knows what she’s doing. Hudol was good for that, at least.

How did he learn? Was his family nicer than hers? His father maybe not, but what about his mother? His cousins? Surely the sorcerers in his clan taught him proper poise and orals, or he wouldn’t be as good as he is. She wishes she remembers him from freshman year, that history of glyphs class Thursday mornings. Not that there was really any casting involved during the semester, but the final practical exam she remembers getting an A on the Glyph of Warding section, which involved somatics, but she can’t remember what he got as a grade. Freshman year had just been so chaotic—just like every year since. Maybe that’s just the Aguefort way.

It’s tiring.

Adaine shakes herself back to the task in front of her. She’s stalling at this point, and that won’t help anyone if she can’t get this right, and she needs to get this right. The summer is coming to an end and they’re barely half done cleaning the town. Once senior year starts? They’re never going to get the time to finish.

Not that it’s even their job, the Bad Kids. Kristen had convinced them all, and yeah, she liked the Rat Grinders now, but this was still a favor for them so they wouldn’t get expelled. So Lucy wouldn’t have to find a new party going into her last year of school. What would happen when they finished? Lucy missed all of junior year, and Ruben and Mary Ann hardly remember anything that happened, would their grades still count? Would Oisin and Ivy be pushed to senior year, and the other’s be held back?

Would they have to take the Last Stand?

She takes another deep breath and bites her lip, rolling her shoulder quickly before starting to cast. Move Earth starts, easing from her hands like it normally would, and she bridges through the beginning of the spell without any offset. The ground begins to rumble beneath her, like it did in the Far Haven Woods, but there’s no grinding sound, no twisting of tree roots. The soil is soft here, plowed and tilled each year on a schedule that lends to the levelness of the land. It feels like scooping a spoon through packed flour, smooth and thick.

The somatics are different with the translation, her hands don’t follow the same pattern his did in the woods. She can’t copy him in this aspect, but she remembers the way his fingers folded under when he hit the contraction, the way he dipped, and she tries to mimic it, the softness of it, the steadiness of it. Her hand follows his in her mind, and she hits it at the correct time, “Rist-leyla.”

The wave comes over her, she can feel it swinging down her arm and into her hand where it grips her sword, its tip shoved in the ground. It radiates out from her position. There’s a ripple in the first layer of dirt, maybe only a few inches deep, that begins rolling through the area, and Adaine watches as tiny shards, micro flakes of glass and gem and arcane rage begin tumbling across the ground, conglomerating into tumble weeds of rage shards, grinding until they’re simply … gone. Repurposed back into the mana of the world.

She finishes the spell, taking a step back from her spot and watches. A few minutes go by. Nothing bad happens. Another few minutes. Still nothing bad. The spell works as intended.

The spell works as intended.

A grin splits across her face. “Holy shit, it works. Oh my god, it works!” The waves of soil move along the false lines she’s made, gathering and eliminating the rage shards. She reaches forward and unsheathes her sword from the ground, its purpose served. She can hold concentration on the spell for the rest of the day.

She sits on the ground where she put her backpack and reaches in, grabbing out her water bottle and her spellbook, marking on the loose hand drawn map she keeps in the back where she’s done the spell, adding the corners of the new square footage done. When she finishes with that, Adaine grabs the apple from her lunch and her crystal and leans back on the ground, head propped on her bag, one leg crossed over the other, and scrolls through her social media.

Sprak is currently live streaming from the cockpit of a plane he’s flying, and she watches it for a few minutes before the technical jargon starts jumbling in her brain. She gives a thumbs up reaction and clicks off the live. The Seven Maidens have a post from a week or so ago celebrating the solstice in the Baronies, and she double taps to like it when she gets a notification that Fabian has posted a story.

“Wonder what they’re doing,” she mumbles, and open his story, taking a bite of the apple.

And promptly chokes on it.

The caption says ‘#Bardy Boys take Bastion City’ and it’s a group shot of them all in front of the Bastion City train station. Fabian’s got his letterman jacket on, and he’s popping the collar on it. Riz is on Gorgug’s shoulders, pulling on the half-orc’s hair as if controlling him, and Gorgug’s arms are out in front of him, almost zombie like. Ruben is standing on his tippy toes, his face bright and grinning as he gives the peace sign with both hands.

Oisin is standing next to him. His arm is on top of Ruben’s head, leaning on him, an easy smile gracing his features.

What the hell is he doing there?! Since when is Oisin a Bardy Boy? Since when was he going to Bastion City with them?  

The story says posted two hours ago, and Adaine looks in the corner of her screen to check the time. Eleven thirty. Which means this was posted around nine thirty, or ten. She takes her thumb off the photo to let the autoscroll continue, and it switches to the next story in Fabian’s lineup. This one says twenty minutes ago. They’re at a table, some sort of wooden picnic one with the trees and grass of probably a park behind them, and it’s Fabian sniping a heated conversation between Gorgug and Ruben. In one corner, he’s written, ‘showdown between a bard and a famous drummer. i put money on drummer, oisin said bard, the ball abstained’ and in the other is his hand coming out from behind the camera with a couple of crumpled up dollars in it. She can’t see Oisin’s face because he’s turned around, but his hand is reaching back over his shoulder to grab the money.

Adaine sits up, her apple forgotten, dropping into the dirt next to her.

They’re like … hanging out. Actually. They’re all in the city, just … doing stuff. Oisin wasn’t even at Far Haven Woods this morning. No one said he was going.

She closes the story and the app and stares at her crystal for a moment. She doesn’t know what to do with this information. Her fingers pick at the skin around her nails. There’s nothing she can think of besides the fact that he’s hanging out with her friends. A week after their fight. She’s here struggling to get Loam Farm clean, taking the time to do his project, translate his spell into something she can work with by herself and clean the town, and he’s off … in the city, getting lunch. Messing around with the boys.

God, she feels so stupid again. What is this feeling?! Why does it keep rearing its ugly head? It’s not like she’s inadequate! Adaine is a good spellcaster—she’s the Elven Orac—Oracle to All, for fuck’s sake! The Bad Kids brought Kalvaxus down, the Bad Kids brought not one, but two goddesses back, the Bad Kids beat Kalina at her own game in the Nightmare Forest, the Bad Kids defeated the Night Yorb! She killed her father! She got the Court of Stars to pay her for prophecies! She is better than good. She is great. Just because one dragonborn hastily wrote a shit ton of necrotic damage into a spell that probably wasn’t his and ‘guaranteed they’d win’ doesn’t mean shit! They still swept the floor with the Rat Grinders, and Porter, and Jace.

So why does she feel … not good enough? Like everything she’s doing isn’t good enough. The cantrip contraction wasn’t good enough, so Oisin wrote a new one. She has one spellbook and he has three. He was born into a family of sorcerers and made his way as a wizard, and she failed the Hudol upper school entrance exam.

Is he better than her?

Adaine feels her heart racing. How long has it been going? It’s pounding in her chest, deep and harsh. Her lungs are suddenly so tight, and getting a deep breath feels like climbing a mountain for just a gulp, but it isn’t as sudden as she thinks it is, the lightheadedness kicking in. Has she had a hard time breathing for a few moments now? Her eyes shut. She puts her crystal down on the ground in front of her and covers her face with both hands, trying to regulate herself before it goes any further. She doesn't want to lose concentration on the spell. The symptoms are easy to recognize now, after years of living with it. Sometimes she can catch herself quick enough, avert the worst of it. She crosses her legs under her and leans on her knees.

She tries paying attention to her surroundings, the way Jawbone taught her. The birds singing in the trees closer to the house, a song that repeats over and over, a mourning dove calling for someone else. A gentle breeze that carries the rustling of wheat stalks from the next field over, a slight manure smell but also fresh cut grass and something maybe rootbeer-ish. Birch? She doesn’t remember seeing birch trees around, but she’s also not great at identifying trees unless she’s really looking at them. There’s a slight redness behind her eyes, the sun shining bright on her hands as they cover her face. Strands of her hair are caught in between her fingers, running between her eyelashes, falling over her shoulders. There’s a truck that drives by, rattling on the road behind her, and a rooster immediately after calls loud, and then another one at a different farm a bit further away, and then cows mooing in a syncopated rhythm at the new disturbance. She takes slow breaths, shallow at first, a few more moments of tightness that seems to give way as she names the things in her head.

Adaine lifts her head from her hands, blinking in the bright light of day. She rummages in her backpack for her pills—the as-needed anxiety meds since she hasn’t switched over yet to a daily—and takes her dosage, knocking it back with a few gulps of her water. She lays back down, using her backpack as a pillow again, and shuts her eyes. The rumbling of the ground feels good on her back, and the sun is warm on her face. She lets it wash over her until the beating of her heart doesn’t feel like it’s trying to rip her chest open, until the incessant need to tear the skin from her nails disappears, and she can breath better, easier. The lightheadedness passes.

She doesn’t know how long she lies there; eventually she checks her crystal and realizes only a half hour has gone by. She grabs another sip of water, and opens the text thread with Oisin.

Nothing has changed over the week. The last texts between them are still the confirmations about Monday morning. He hasn’t texted her about his spellbook, or the fight, or to tell her that he was going to Bastion City with the boys. Her fingers tap the back of her crystal. Adaine wants to text him, let him know the spell worked for her and she’ll give his spellbook back. Maybe they can meet up and talk about what happened. She wants to ask him about the summoning spell. She wants to know why he did it. Her fingers hover over the keyboard, debating on what to say, or to say anything at all, when she sees the little ellipses pop up at the bottom of her screen.

He’s texting her.

Adaine shoots up again, too fast this time, and everything goes a little dark for a moment as she squints her eyes hard and then blinks a few times, trying to clear the spots as she stares at the screen. The ellipses pause, and then pick back up again, and she waits with baited breath and stomach flipping as she watches the little animatic, the three dots bouncing up and down until it finally stops.

Her eyes don’t leave her crystal. A minute goes by, and another, and another. Nothing comes in. No text from him. No more indications that he’s typing something. Adaine puts her crystal down on the ground again and groans loudly. Of course he isn’t going to text her. Why would he? She wants to know what he was going to say.

Maybe she should give him his spellbook back in person, then at least he’d have to say something. Ugh, but what would she say?!

Adaine grabs her backpack again and pulls out his spellbook. In her crystal, she makes a new album in her photo app and labels it Oisin’s Spellbook #3 before flipping through each page and snapping pictures of the ones she doesn’t have, which is at least half of the spells in it. Is it stealing? Maybe. Would he give them to her if she asked? Also maybe. But that would require them to be on speaking terms, and if he isn’t going to send whatever text he was typing out, then they’re not on speaking terms yet.

When she finishes, Adaine stands and cleans her pants off of the dirt and packs her bag again. She clips the Sword of Sight to her jeans and walks back to the Hangman.

“Adaine! Have we completed our tasks for the day?”

She nods and gets herself situated again, connecting her crystal to the stereo. Lucy had sent everyone Ruben’s EP, and she decides to loop it, something to take her mind off of Oisin and his spellbook and this stupid farm. “We’re good here, Hangman. Let’s get back to Elmville.”

“For a pup cup!”

***

“Hey, Hangman,” she starts, leaning on the handlebars in the parking lot of Dragonbucks. 

The city center is bustling this afternoon, people coming and going from stores as they get ready for weekend summer parties, or go to the bank. Her iced lavender latte drips condensation on her hands, Ruben’s EP playing again over the stereo. Her favorite so far has been the one about a couple breaking up at a Halloween party, with him singing over and over, ‘I know you better, I know you better now’ at the end of the song. It feels so upbeat, like a winter to spring transition, but the lyrics are … kinda sad. Some of the songs seem to be so sad—she wonders where Ruben gets his inspiration from. “Do you know where Ivy and Oisin live? Has Fabian ever gone by there?”

The Hangman’s eyes shift up to look at her, whipped cream still on it’s face from the pup cup. She giggles a bit at the sight. “Yes! Master Seacaster has grabbed Mazey from their apartment before.”

“Do you think you could take me there? I have to drop something off for them.” Better to do it now while he isn’t home.

The engine revs. “Yes! You have given me a pup cup, so we can go wherever!”

Adaine smiles and adjusts herself as they take off. The Hangman swings downtown, leaving the city center and over the southern swing bridge. Seacaster Manor flies by on her left, and they wait at the tracks as a train crosses, the railroad sounds bright and loud in the summer afternoon. Strongtower Luxury Apartments stands tall across the road, and she thinks about all the times she’s been at Riz’s home or office, and Oisin was just down the road. They hang a left and go past the station once the train passes, and then make their way through a few of the backroads and suburban streets until the Hangman putters up to a large house towards the end of the street.

Ballaster is fancy, not nearly as fancy as her old neighborhood over on Clearbrook Ave, but still. The houses are big and well made, shades of white and cream with ivy trellises and fenced in front yards, mailboxes that look like they belong in travel pamphlets. They’re so close to Hudol—she wonders why Oisin never went there, or why Ivy didn’t, especially if her family does.

Their house seems to be a double family, with two doors in the middle, splitting it in half. Oisin’s beat up car is still parked in the street, which means Ivy must be home. If she’s quick enough, maybe no one will notice. Adaine kickstands the Hangman, and grabs for her backpack, pulling his spellbook out. She had thought about waiting until Monday, slipping it into Ivy’s bag when they all go out again, but that’s too far, and she feels bad that Oisin has gone without it this long because she decided to be petty. She thought about texting him to meet up tonight so she could give it back and maybe apologize, but the ride home made her chicken, and Adaine resigned herself to leaving it on their stoop for him to find tonight.

Her hands hesitate as she pulls it out, staring at the leather. She should still apologize. She feels bad. Adaine rummages through her pack again, and pulls out a loose leaf that she tears in half and a pen. She bites her lip as her hand hovers over the paper before writing, ‘The spell works good. Sorry I kept it so long.’  She slips it into the front page of his spellbook.

Close enough.

She shoves the pen and scrap paper back in her backpack and turns around. For a second, she wonders which door is theirs, but there’s an Aguefort banner hanging on an arrow notched into the left one, and it seems pretty obvious which one is Ivy and Oisin’s. She goes to place the spellbook down on their door mat—under the cover, so no weather affects it—and she’s bent halfway down when the door opens.

Adaine’s eyes slide up to find Ivy standing in the doorway, half leaning on the jamb, in a pair of running shorts and a large t-shirt. It’s quiet between them for a minute—Adaine can’t think of anything to say other than, “Uh,” because she’s been caught. Which is exactly what she didn’t want. Damn it, she thought she was being quiet!

Ivy’s eyes hold hers for a second longer before sliding back behind her, and Adaine hears the engine of the Hangman, revving in the background. Fuck.

The wood elf looks back at her and heaves a sigh, her shoulders thrown into it. “Do you want me to just take it inside? I can give it to him tonight.”

“Uh,” she says again. She shouldn’t feel this flustered. Ivy and her were friendly enough—it’s not them who got in a fight.

“Or you could come in,” Ivy offers. “I just got back from seeing my cousin and could use someone to bitch to.”

Adaine stands up slowly, Oisin’s spellbook still in her hands, gripped tight. “Tilly?” she asks.

The other nods, her eyes rolling. “The fucking legend herself.” Ivy moves from the doorway, leaving it open as she walks back into the apartment. “Shut the door behind you, Abernant. And leave your shoes on the mat. This is a shoe-free household, I just mopped the floors this morning.”

She stands at the door for a moment more, staring in, unsure of what to do. This … wasn’t the plan. Her eyes slide back to the Hangman, and she calls inside, “Yeah, just a second, let me get my stuff,” before turning around and quickly running back over to the motorcycle. She tells the Hangman to relax, grabs her coffee and backpack, and heads back to the apartment.

Adaine shuts the door behind her, leaves her shoes on the mat as told. She puts her backpack and sword right next to Ivy’s bow and quiver since they’re a bit dirty from the farm, and turns to walk down the hallway. The inside of the apartment is nice, the front hallway is a bit small, but she can see that it leads into a big living room, with a nice sized kitchen off to her left, and stairs leading up to her right. There’s a lot of … things, in it. The living room has a huge sectional couch—one of those cloud-style sofas that she can imagine sinking into and never being able to get out of. There’s hundreds of pillows on it, a whole mountain really, and she can count like four or five different blankets from just glancing. The coffee table is dark wood, and there’s a huge TV mounted on the wall just opposite, and a set of matching curtains that covers what looks like sliding glass doors out to some sort of porch or balcony. There’s a breakfast bar that separates the living room and kitchen that has a couple stools on one side, and more counter space then even her parents had in their home, with a small table up against a set of bay windows.

It’s cute, and there’s little decorations and lamps and candles and Aguefort gear hanging from the walls.

This is where he lives.

Ivy is in the kitchen, leaning against one of the counters with a smoothie of some sort in her hands. “So I went and fucking saw her today, right?”

Adaine nods, finding a spot in the corner to stand awkwardly with her latte. She gently places Oisin’s spellbook on the counter.

“After I mopped the floors like an insane person because I was anxious and Oisin left early to catch the train so I couldn’t scream at him while he made breakfast.” Ivy lifts herself to sit on the counter, her voice exasperated. “And we talked, because Oisin told me on Monday that he wasn’t really mad anymore, and I shouldn’t lose the only family I can still stand to be around and breathe the same air.”

What stuns her isn’t that Oisin isn’t mad. She knew he wasn’t mad about the bloodspine incident, but it was the … after she remembers him telling her about. Tilly’s comment that he got mad about. No. What stuns her is that Ivy says Oisin said it on Monday. Like the day they were out in Far Haven Woods Monday. Monday Monday.

Ivy seems to either not notice Adaine’s eyes go wide, or doesn’t care, because she continues, “So we went out for smoothies—that’s what this is.” She shakes the cup at her. “And like, yeah, I know, it’s been a couple of hours. Why do I still have it? Because it sucks. I hate this smoothie, it tastes like someone put carrots instead of spark berries in it, but I paid a lot of money for it from that stupidly expensive smoothie and tea and yogurt bowl place that just opened in the mall, so I have to drink it. And of course, Tilly’s was perfect, because she always gets her stuff perfect no matter what, and I didn’t have the heart to tell that gangly genasi behind the counter that mine was wrong because he looked like he might pee himself if I so much as breathed in his directi—”

“—Ive. Ivy,” Adaine interrupts, one hand coming up to pause her. “Just throw it away, girl.”

“Oh, thank fuck, ” Ivy takes the top off and leans over to the sink, emptying out the now very liquidy smoothie into it, before placing the cup back onto the counter. “It was so bad, Adaine. I would’ve finished it, I swear, but Hells, it would’ve taken me the rest of my life.”

Adaine takes a sip from her latte. She needs to know more. “What did you and Tilly talk about?”

Ivy leans back, her shoulders just high enough to hit the cabinets and uses it as a rest. “Well, we talked about how she needs to be more careful, because yeah, she’s family, legitimately, but so is Oisin, and I’d kill for him. I told her I didn’t like how she wasn’t smart that night, or any of the days leading up to that stupid party, because her pulling that forced me to choose, and very obviously I chose Oisin—the kid who took me in after I got emancipated. And like, what a stupid thing because I was always going to choose him and his well-being. He’s like my fucking brother.”

She doesn’t know how Tilly would’ve taken that. Not that she knows the eladrin well, but from what she saw that night? Talulah Foxfoot didn’t seem like much else besides herself was a priority. “What did she say?”

“She apologized!” Ivy yells. “She fucking apologized! For doing it, for not being smart enough, for everything that happened between them that night. I mean like, she was sorry that night, too, but this was like …” Her hands wave in the air, grasping at something that isn’t there. “This was different. This felt, like, sincere. She was genuinely apologetic, and she wanted me to give the okay for her to talk to him. Like I’m his fucking keeper!”

“Talk to him?” Her stomach swirls. “What, like she wanted your blessing?”

Ivy bangs her head against the cabinet, and something inside rattles. “That’s exactly it. She wanted to make sure that we were okay before she tried to talk to him or apologize to him or whatever, because I’m important to her.”

Adaine nods again, and gestures one hand out. “That’s good, though, right? Like, you guys are okay, and everything is fine between you now?”

“Yeah, I totally forgave her. She’s family, and I love her. I just—” she runs her fingers through her hair, slightly longer now since the end of the school year. “I couldn’t help but start thinking about the fight Oisin said you guys had in the woods on Monday.”

Her stomach sinks now, a sudden nausea creeping its way in, her latte sitting harshly. Adaine feels her fingers dampen against the cup, the condensation making it worse. Hot hands, cold cup, sweaty grip. On Ivy’s newly cleaned floors. The lightbulb dings as she stares at her, because she suddenly understands where the ranger was leading her. Because of course Ivy was leading her. Ivy doesn’t just hunt. She lures. The conversation was never supposed to be about her mending relationship with Tilly. 

The conversation was about why Adaine hadn’t apologized after a week.

Tilly could apologize.

She swallows hard. “What did he tell you happened?”

Ivy crosses her arms, and gives her a hard look. The charade is over, and both of them know it. Was Ivy inviting her in only for this conversation? “That you were borrowing his spellbook, and the car. That there were a couple of really nasty things tossed between you two, and he didn’t think you’d ever get along, in the end. It wasn’t anger or anything, just sort of resigned. Like he had come to some sort of conclusion. I mean, hey, it’s taken him three years, but sometimes closure only hits us in the face when it wants to.”

She feels it rising in her throat, making it hard to speak. Closure? “What do you mean?”

Ivy slides off the counter and walks up to Adaine, leaving only a few feet between them. “I mean, Adaine, that Monday night, Oisin’s wake up call hit him like a brick wall, and he told me that he wanted to talk to Tilly.” She gives her a soft smile. Almost like pity. Adaine’s going to hurl. It reminds her of when Aelwyn would look at her like that. They really are so similar. “So I gave her his number today, and told her not to hurt him again, because I don’t think he could take it—let alone deserves it.”

She’s quiet. Ivy’s quiet, too. There’s hardly any background noise in the apartment. No dishwasher or TV going, no music playing, no windows open to hear the birds. Her meds have worn off by now, it’s hours later, and there’s nothing to distract her from the roaring in her head as she hears all of her blood rushing. The silence is practically deafening in this moment, and the look on Ivy’s face … Adaine feels pathetic. It’s not like pity. It is pity.

Pity that Adaine hadn’t apologized. Pity that Oisin made a choice—a choice that has her stomach rolling violently. She has this strange feeling that she isn’t herself anymore, like time paused and parts of her were taken apart and put back together wrong, and time is going again, and she’s wrong. Her arms feel wrong, and her legs feel wrong, and her hair is touching her shoulders in a way that’s too much. It’s too much in here.

She’s gonna throw up.

Adaine swiftly turns and heads for the front door.

She grabs her stuff. Puts on her shoes.

She walks outside.

She gets on the Hangman.

Everything after is a blur.