After AnimeCon 2: A Favor for a Contract

    The second they had closed the door to Mr. Weschler’s office, Brian was sorely tempted to simply take Christine in hand and bolt—to make a break for it and flee the ninth floor at a dead sprint. At least one of the other meetings here had concluded though, and there were now people walking about. Not wanting to attract any more undue attention, he forced himself to show restraint and walk the halls at a normal pace. Worse yet, the finance workers stared at them anyways. A man in a suit jacket looked up and frowned at their casual attire as they passed, and a woman after him glanced up from her tablet to follow them with her eyes.

    Fuck, fuck, fuck, Brian thought. Fuck.

    Christine’s dad was a Master, and his personal assistant Claire was also a Master. Brian’s own little magical harem group was considered ‘unaffiliated,’ by the Masters, which may not completely be a bad thing. But, Claire had that real strong reaction when Christine mentioned Chad. The guy she’d had to plaster with her mirror magic, apparently. From Brian’s best guess, whatever had been done to Chad had broken one of those inviolable Rules the Masters were so caught up with. Would it have mattered if they stopped and explained that Christine had done what she’d done only in self-defense? He wasn’t sure, and that uncertainty ate at him in enormous bites and chomps.

    From what I understand, all she did was reflect back his own spell or whatever! Brian wrestled the rising panic back down as anger surged up. With her passive ability just being a damn mirror. I’m half tempted to like, IMMEDIATELY turn around and try to explain ourselves? Maybe that would make all the difference. Maybe it’s all just this huge misunderstanding, and things are actually fine. Just—I don’t know. My gut feeling says we can’t go back there, and I think I have to trust my gut on this one.

    Something about the way Claire’s attitude had immediately flipped settled it for him and made him feel sure that they were in trouble, and that Claire’s sudden brusque attitude had been her best way of warning them away without infracting upon the Rules herself. Claire had wanted them out of there, definitely before Mr. Weschler returned from whatever quick errand he’d stepped out for.

    Because, Mr. Weschler WOULD be obligated to enforce the Rules on us, Brian thought. Apparently. Whatever that even means. What’s she even going to tell him? What would WE tell him? Should we have Christine shoot him a quick ‘hey something came up we had to run’ text? Does that even matter in the grand scheme of things? The man knows who we are—our identities, the address for the apartment, Christine’s bank account information and everything. If he knows, the Masters are about to know all of that. Right? So, we’re just—we’re fucked?

    Brian couldn’t help but lengthen his strides as the chasm of rage and terror inside of him yawed wide, until he was all but pulling Christine along after him. He normally wouldn’t be feeling so out of sorts, but this was that chasm in his psyche Christine helped him open up late last night, and now it felt like his skin was crawling. Psychologically he felt more vulnerable but also more reactive, more willing to immediately respond to what was happening.

    They say that going through bullshit builds character, Brian thought. But, this feels even more literal than that. Feels more RAW. Like I’m mentally more present, now that I have this gaping canyon in me unearthed. Like brains evolved wrinkles for more surface area, maybe more… CONFLICTIVE TOPOGRAPHY in my emotional state or dreamscape stuff means the same. Can’t say I’m a fan of how everything just sort of really STRIKES A NERVE now, though. Let alone with worrying how that might be ‘reflecting’ on poor Christine.

    A glance back towards her confirmed the worst—her eyes were wet and tears were streaming down her face, she looked like she was at a loss or in total shock with all of this. The ninth floor hallways here weren’t quite a labyrinth but it was a large building, and as internal tension continued to mount Brian almost took a wrong turn before quickly doubling back and finding the way to the elevators. Even arriving here and hitting the down arrow wasn’t much relief, because some cynical part of himself half-expected to run into Christine’s father immediately upon an elevator arriving for them.

    What would we even fucking say to him? Brian swallowed. ‘Sorry, gotta run? We didn’t realize we’re actually not one hundred percent kosher with your Rules bullshit, please don’t annihilate us? For your daughter’s sake?’ Feel like the whole reason we’re even in trouble in the first place is because some asshole tried to zap your daughter and it got botched up, so it’s making me really fucking pissed that we’re somehow taking blame. Are the Rules a control and compulsion thing, where they all HAVE to follow them to the letter immediately upon hearing something might not be adhering to them? Claire was acting like she really didn’t have a choice with things. 

    To his relief, when the next lift arrived it was empty, and he hurried to pull Christine in after him and then into his arms, cradling her head against him even as he frantically tapped the button for garage level. And then the one with the close doors symbol. They needed answers, and Actress was the only one he thought might have a better idea of what was going on. First, they maybe needed to vacate the apartment right away, too. No one was home there right now, with Kelly still at her job and Emily off at the Rivera residence. Did they have time to rush back and grab clothes and things or prepare some kind of bug out bag, so that they could vanish?

    He really didn’t feel ready for all of this.

    Or, are Masters going to be arriving on fucking broomsticks, or teleporting in on bursts of evil smoke, or—or however it is magic people travel? Brian clenched his jaw. I don’t even have a clue. Do I just let my imagination run wild with what they might be capable of? Feel so impossibly out of my depth with all of this. Can we just—

    A muffled sob snapped him out of his thoughts, and he realized Christine’s tears had already soaked through the front of his shirt.

    “Hey, hey,” Brian said. “We’re gonna be okay. We’ll be okay.”

    “I—I don’t want my dad to be a Master!” Christine let out in a wail. “I-I don’t want him to have anything to do w-with, with Masters a-and MAGIC RAPISTS an-and all of that stupid fucking bullshit! I HATE IT!”

    “...I’m sorry,” Brian muttered, squeezing her tight.

    All he could do was hold her against him as he glared at the floor numbers on the digital display ticking down with their descent.

    The completely distraught Christine ugly cried against him and smacked out her pure frustration against him with a fist without seeming to realize who she was hitting. There was a childish sort of vulnerability to this sudden tantrum of hers that took him aback—made him realize that these sudden revelations about her dad eroded even more of what little unstable foundation she was trying to balance her remaining sanity upon.

    “I don’t want him to be ONE OF THEM,” Christine cried. “I-I don’t want, I don’t want this, I hate this, I HATE THIS I HATE THIS!!”

    “I know,” Brian said. “I know. I’m sorry. But, maybe—I don’t know. From the way things seemed, maybe they’re the not so bad kind of Masters? Not as bad as the other ones. Or like, they’re less the mind-control and sex slave types, and more just… like they’re into money? Maybe there’s all sorts of different types of Masters. More neutral ones. They didn’t seem so bad.”

    “How could I trust that?!” Christine cried. “How can I even trust anything, knowing that they’re, th-they’re—”

    “Maybe there’s even a bit of a silver lining?” Brian said. “It was kinda like she implied that uh, that her and your dad had some sort of spell on you. Said that it was maybe ‘stifling your growth.’ Remember? So, maybe your whole thing with turning into Chloe actually had to do with that?”

    “Silver lining?!” Christine sputtered out an incredulous laugh. “I—Brian. Brian, no. I’m—I’m not even going to allow myself to, to indulge in th-that sort of. Excuses. That sort of line of thinking. I’m responsible for what I turned into. No matter what. No matter, no matter who my dad and Claire are. Or what they did. It was on me. Okay? It has to be.”

    “Okay, okay,” Brian stroked his fingers through the pale silver of her hair. “Sorry. Just, uh. Just thinking out loud. Kind of in shock myself. Terrified? Trying to consider all the, the factors that might have—”

    “That is that, an-and this is this,” Christine adamantly refused, shaking her head. “I’m responsible for what I did. Period. Don’t ever fucking make excuses for me, Brian. Don’t EVER make excuses for me, after everything I did to you. Just. Don’t.”

     “I’m not, I just—” Brian sighed. “I love you. You were to blame for a lot of what happened, sure, okay. You had your own agency, and you were your own person. I share in some of the blame no matter what though, because I—I went along with it. Enabled you. But, I don’t think anything about what happened with all that was all as simple as to where we can uh, just point fingers at one person. If your dad and them somehow—”

    “You… love me?” Christine tore herself away from him so that she could stare up at him in disbelief and horror. “Me?”

    “Yeah?” Brian stared at her in confusion.

    Did you think I’d have saved you back then if I didn’t? Stuck with you? Decided to kiss you down in that grave in the first place? Like, yeah there were a lot of deep mixed feelings about it all because of how the trajectory of our relationship… careened into that specific sort of insane tragic unbelievable catastrophe. Sure. But—

    “Don’t, just don’t!” Christine blurted out, her expression crumpling again back into sobs. “Don’t love me! A-are you fucking stupid? H-how could you ever—how could anyone ever—ever—”

    “Okay, sh-sh-sh-shhh,” Brian assured her. “I love you. Shut the fuck up and deal with it.”

    It was one of those clear cut times like back with Chloe, whenever he realized he had said the exact wrong thing to set her off somehow, so Brian simply pulled her back in close against his body to comfort her. This wasn’t something they had time to argue or rationalize through or even to have a romantic bonding moment about right now—they needed to get the fuck out of here. He watched with a grim stare as the elevator’s digital readout slowly ticked its countdown from 2 to 1, and then from 1 to B1.

    The doors finally opened, and he steered Christine out of the elevator and oriented them towards their car. The parking garage sublevel was dark and still in an eerie, unsettling way and he felt his eyes darting around all of the different parked vehicles for signs of anyone else.

    “You have your phone, right?” Brian asked. “I, uh. Fuck. I have the number for Emily’s house memorized, yeah, but her mom wouldn’t be home. Not for hours yet, she’d still be at Truliet teaching classes. Can you look up the number for Truliet, see if we can get put through to her right away? Truliet High School. Theatre department. See if—”

    “Y-yeah,” Christine straightened up with a sniffle. “No, I. I actually have her cell number, already. On my phone. Mrs. Rivera, or Actress. Her and Kelly were messaging each other about, uh. When we picked you up from her and Nurse. After the hospital stuff. My—I left my phone in your car.”

    “Okay,” Brian heaved a sigh of relief. “Sorry, I—I’m not trying to uh. Treat this with me and you as if it’s not important. Just, not right now. Okay?”

    It didn’t feel right to brush her off like this when this moment between them should have been some sort of big important personal milestone, but at the same time Brian wasn’t about to linger around the area here and have that put her in actual danger.

    “Yeah, yeah,” Christine nodded. “Definitely.”

    They broke into a trot to immediately close the rest of the distance to his car, Brian unlocked it in a hurry for them, and then it was a scramble to get inside and buckle up so that he could reverse out of the parking spot right away. Christine was trembling and tears were running down her face, but she clutched at her phone with both hands and navigated through the menus with purpose to get to the messages and open up a call with Mrs. Rivera. The parking garage outside their windows wheeled about them as Brian backed out of the space and then turned towards the exit ramp.

    “H-hi uh, it’s Christine and Brian and we have an emergency,” Christine blurted into her phone the moment the call went through. “Ch-Chloe, my middle name actually, I also go by Christine. Can we—”

    “Hold while I secure this line,” Mrs. Rivera’s responded on speaker phone.

    “Oh, o-okay,” Christine stammered. “Okay.”

    The silence inside the car was stifling as they pulled up to the exit lane of the gate house, and both of them froze as the guard from before leaned over in his seat to see who it was and then thumbed a button to raise the gate for them. The car pulled forward with a slight jerk, and then they were away from the building and cruising down the street and Brian let himself begin to relax in his seat a bit. Now he just had to keep an eye out for the street signs so he could find his turn—from the way Christine’s phone screen blanked out with whatever secure stuff was going on, he didn’t think they were going to be pulling up GPS for the return home.

    “What’s going on?” The voice of Mrs. Rivera—no, Actress returned.

    “We uh, we met with Christine’s dad—uhh, Chloe’s dad, him and his secretary, and it turns out… they’re Masters,” Brian summed up their predicament. “When his secretary lady realized we’re the ones who took out Chad back there at the hospital, she warned us that we needed to leave ASAP, before they had to enforce the Rules. It’s like they would have had to if she didn’t have this loophole that kept her from having to right away, because she’s pregnant.”

    “Chloe’s father is a Master?” Actress asked with a hint of amusement in her voice. “Hmm. How much do you know about the Rules?”

    “Almost nothing,” Brian admitted. “Which is why we’re so—”

    “You may be in less trouble than you think?” Actress assured him. “Chloe would count as part of her father’s house probably, and a Master fucking around with other Master’s family? Definitely a no-no, by their Rules. Far as I know. So, if she lobotomizes the guy in self defense, there’s not really much of a case they can make against her. Right? Though… she should have had a sort of spell identifier on her, which would let the guy know to keep his grubby hands off. Magic mark of some kind? Hmm. She probably had one, but then it might’ve gotten messed up somehow when she got tangled in with your group. Or even with her starting to veer over into blood magic, there. Who knows?”

    “So… if she hadn’t gotten tangled up with us, she might have been fine?” Brian asked with a sinking feeling. “Then—”

    “Who is her father?” Actress ignored his question. “Do you know his Master name?

    “He’s, um,” Christine cleared her throat. “Bryan Weschler. H-he works in finance in uh, Winneport. He—”

    “Bryan and Claire?” Actress asked. “In Winneport? Oh, wow. Small world. They used to do our laundry, so to speak. Hah…”

     “They… what?” Christine froze. “Laundry?”

    “Yeah, they’re good people,” Actress said. “Well, okay not good, but they’re pretty alright? Anyone on the not so normal side of things in this part of the country who needs money laundered basically goes through them, Masters or not. And I mean, Winneport’s not that far from Seneca, they’re local to the area. We made sure we were familiar with all of the nearby names of note.

    “They’re part of, ah… shit. The Suits? I think they actually call themselves something super bland and officious and boring, but us? We always called their faction the Suits. Middle circle, I think, uhh, they’re like lawful evil, strictly business types? Government’s absolutely lousy with them. I’ve definitely met Bryan and Claire in person before, though. Maybe… ten years ago?”

    “Okay, yeah, that’s good,” Brian said, trying to give Christine a supportive look without taking his eyes off the road for too long. “So—they’re not too bad? Less on the mind control and sex slave side of things? As Masters go?”

    “Yeah, sex slaves maybe not so much, but mind control?” Actress laughed. “That’s their bread and butter, it’s what they’re known for. Mind wipes, mind control, memory manipulation, false memories, fake identities, brainwashing, sleeper agents… they’re super into all that spook shit. The Suits in general I mean, maybe not Bryan and Claire specifically. Or, who knows? Maybe they get into that too, if someone’s fucking with their numbers, or their bottom line. I remember those two were always pretty no nonsense, very professional. But—then again, I was there to do business.”

    “Claire was… very concerned once she realized we were responsible for Chad, though,” Christine admitted. “She said—well, it was basically like we needed to get out right away and maybe go on the run. So that she didn’t have to enforce the Rules. So uh, I don’t think I’m protected or under protection or in the clear or anything for what happened with Chad? We’re just leaving the parking level now.”

    “Hmm, that’s weird,” Actress hummed. “Let me think.”

    “So, do—” Christine hesitated. “Do all of the Masters have secret code names, and my dad and Claire are still just going by ‘Bryan and Claire?’”

    “Oh, yeah,” Actress answered. “They’re not really code names per se, but sometimes people use a different name to differentiate their uh, ‘public’ and ‘private’ lives, and sometimes they don’t. I made a name for myself as Actress, obviously. Real impolite to call someone by their real name when you’re up to meeting them in that other context. It’s more than like just stepping on toes, they could take it as you threatening them. Introduce yourself to others on that side however you like, but be careful with what you use? ‘Cause it’ll stick.”

    “Then, I think I might already be… Misandry,” Christine said with a grimace. “Because Emily really wanted to use code names.”

    “Oooh, no but that’s a cool one!” Actress exclaimed. “I really like that. Misandry. Hah. Wait, what is Emily going by? ‘Trouble?’ ‘Brat?’ Actually, you know what? Don’t you dare let her pick her own name, because she’ll pick something so—”

    “Mischief,” Christine reported with a wince.

    There was silence through the phone line for a long moment.

    “Fuck, okay that’s really just too fitting,” Actress sighed. “That’s actually not even bad. Damnit. And, you’re both ‘M’ names—do you have ‘M’s for your whole group?”

    “Not yet, I don’t think?” Christine let out a weak laugh.

    “No, Kelly was uhh, Foresight, or Insight or something?” Brian chuckled. “We’ll have to see what Emily wrote up on the white board. I don’t think they gave me anything. Referred to me as the package, like I was the drugs in a drug deal…”

    “That’s cute!” Actress praised. “Well sadly, I don’t think you can just be ‘Brian,’ ‘cause there’s obviously already a ‘Bryan’ in the area. You’re not gonna want randos getting confused and showing up at your doorstep with a pickup truck bed full of cash, expecting you to sort it out into accounts for them. So, think it over. Okay? Okay.

    “So. Now that I think about your situation—it may be that the Suits already have their official stance on this, either that or they are involved. They’re usually the ones who get stuck with running around cleaning up messes, and what happened with Chad would count. Chloe, you had said that back then there was another Master with him at the time? That he had a partner? The one who made the whole hospital ward smell like an ashtray?”

    “Y-yes, he shot a death ray at me, but it bounced back and disintegrated his arm,” Christine confirmed. “I-I’d forgotten about the smell. And—he was dressed in a suit. Um. Not that that necessarily means I’m just assuming he’s part of the Suits, just—”

    “No no, he probably is,” Actress sighed. “They really don’t break the mold too much. All that power, and they wind up going conformist! Hah. Brown hair? Black hair? Do you remember?”

    “I…” Christine thought back. “I think he had darkish hair? Maybe? I’m sorry, it was all so—”

    “Probably Man in Black,” Actress guessed. “We’ve had a run in with him before. He’s like the CIA spook archetype, real asshole. The agent programs in The Matrice movie are based off of stories about him. He’s a lot older than he looks, was a government advisor as far back as the 1920s, at least. He’s really an asshole if Claire thinks he won’t even let it go, even knowing that you’re Bryan’s daughter. Or, maybe this is personal for him, somehow? Or it is for somebody important, maybe the bozo who got offed is some bigshot’s prodigal son? I dunno, can’t even begin to guess.”

    “So wait, the Suits are after us, and like right away we meet up with family… and they just happen to be part of the Suits?” Brian asked, incredulous. “Hell, I’m uh, I’m not usually one for conspiracy theories, but…”

    “It is a pretty funny coincidence!” Actress said. “I can’t really say what might be going on with them. We were never really tapped into all of the Masters circle politics, and whatever I knew back then certainly isn’t up to date by now.”

    “But, you do know the Rules?” Brian asked. “Because us not knowing what the hell anything—”

    “Nope!” Actress laughed. “I don’t, technically. Just the broad strokes. Teacher knew them in detail at one point, but Flower had a way of making her… forget. Knowing all the Rules in their entirety is uh, binding. The simple act of knowing them all makes you bound to them, to some certain extent. You can get out of that by making yourself forget them—unless you’re a Master. They’re definitely not allowed to do that. Part of their code, or creed, or whatever. Once you swear in or do their little creepy little ceremony, the Rules are a part of you.”

    “Okay, but… so even then the Masters know about you, and they don’t bother you?” Brian asked. “I would have thought if you’re really powerful or a threat they wouldn’t have let you be. So, is it like we don’t have to be Masters or sign up? By their Rules? We’re allowed to be off and do our own thing, and they won’t bother us? Sorry, I just—damn, I have so many questions. About everything.”

    “Wellll—hah, they knew me as being part of Jack’s group,” Actress said with an embarrassed laugh. “Jack wasn’t a Master, but he was on the same level as a bigshot, like on par with their inner circle old monsters? I don’t think I could tangle with one of the old Masters personally and come out alive, but I could give them a real bad fucking day. Like, guarantee it would be the worst of their lives and haunt them forever, and they mostly know that and steer clear.

    “Let alone what Teacher or Nurse would do in retaliation! I mean we don’t exactly meet up for daily brunches, but we are still close as family. Hell, my stuff’s mostly smoke and mirrors, but if gloves really come off? Teacher and Nurse both have stuff that can go real scorched earth. In case you ever need to rapidly depopulate a large area, or teach geiger counters how to sing. Abuse biology or physics at their level, and you get into some genuinely terrifying shit. Too many Masters fucked around and found out. Now they know better, and they leave us alone. We won’t be bound by their Rules, but we do respect their Rules enough now that they stay out of our business.”

    “Uhhh—” Brian let out a nervous laugh. “And, they’ve done this before? Depopulated areas? Where, Chernobyl?! Hiroshima? Does this sort of thing just—”

    “Other places,” Actress said. “Not here, certainly. When I say other places, I mean like, capital letters—Other Places. Which you probably won’t have to worry about, for a while. But, yeah, the ‘real world’ that you know, it is very carefully preserved the way it is by people like the Masters, and that’s why they remain such a necessary evil. Even though so many of them are just plain straight up ‘bad guys.’ Rarely gets stopped by the good guys or like, heroes coming to selflessly save the day. The bad guys mostly do that.”

    “Does that kind of thing happen… often?” Brian asked, not sure if she was joking or not.

    “Hmm,” Actress paused. “No, not often, but it definitely does happen. I guess I’ll say it happens more often than it should? Because, it should never happen. So, when it does, it gets stopped with extreme prejudice.”

    “Did you guys, uh, your group do that kind of thing?” Brian couldn’t help but ask.

    There was a long moment of silence instead of an answer, long enough for Brian to glance at the phone Christine was holding up and then share a concerned look with her.

    “We did,” Actress finally said. “Yeah, I guess we did that a lot. That’s all over with, though.”

    “Sorry,” Brian apologized. “If all that’s not something you’re comfortable with—”

    “Nah,” Actress sighed. “It’s all in the past, now. Just a lot there I don’t want to think about anymore. I was the evil twin, remember? Jack was always trying so hard to do what’s right, and we loved him to pieces for that, but at the same time living with the consequences of all of it isn’t fucking easy. Anyways. Enough about me! If you guys really think you’re in trouble, I’ll pull some strings and have Bryan and Claire taken care of.”

    “Taken care of?” Christine voiced her discomfort. “If, if that means killing—”

    “They’re big name Suits entrenched in finance, trust me they’ll be fine,” Actress assured her with a chuckle. “I can trade around some favors and hire some other Suit to make them forget all about you. For a while, at least. Regular sort of contract thing, happens with those types all the time. The Rules keep them from escalating things to lethal with each other. But, someone stumbles across something that’s not supposed to be known? Finds some embarrassing information, or discovers something ‘politically inconvenient.’ Suits are at the center of all of that circle infighting and information security and espionage kinda shit in the first place, so a quick and dirty ‘those two ought to forget today’ should barely raise eyebrows.”

    “That’s… honestly a huge relief,” Brian felt tension begin to bleed out of his shoulders. “Thank you—really, thank you.”

    “Hah, well don’t thank me yet!” Actress said. “Last time was on the house, but this one’s not gonna be free, I’m afraid. Since Masters contracts involve either trading big or capital with a downright comical amount of zeroes, and I’m not exactly flush right now—well, not that flush—I’ll have to ask Teacher to sell some patents to advanced concepts or something. Which means she’ll have me slaving away conjuring up who knows what at her convenience, for a while. You guys will owe me a big favor for sometime in the future, and I will be calling that in.”

    “That’s fine,” Brian said. “Completely fine. Thank you again.”

    “Or hmm, I might even throw you under the bus and just have you guys trade the favor with Teacher directly?” Actress mused. “Could see her have Kelly locked into probability experiments for months, or using Chloe like some kinda… vacuum flask, but for magic? As for Emily—Teacher’s always up to some kind of nonsense and needs guinea pigs! I’ll have to hope she has something cruel and unusual in the works.”

    “Uhhh—” Brian faltered.

    “Anyways, yeah, I’ll let you know. I’m already on my other phone with her about setting up that Masters contract… and actually also still in the middle of supervising my fourth period class, right now. At Truliet. Magic or not, splitting my attention three ways is a huge headache, so—if you lot aren’t in any immediate danger, I’m gonna letcha go.”

    “Oh, yeah sorry,” Brian said. “Thanks. Talk to you later?”

    “Come over for dinner some night soon,” Actress insisted. “With all of the girls. I want to meet everyone! Emily’s been so evasive about everything to do with her being in a relationship now, hah. So, we should be able to really embarrass her! Well, alright I’ll see you when I see you, but don’t be a stranger Brian! You neither, Chloe. Byyye!”

* * *

    “Pumpkin?” Mr. Weschler asked, scanning the penthouse office in confusion immediately upon returning. “Don’t tell me they left already?”

    “They really had to run,” Claire said with a bitter smile, leaning forward with one hand on her tummy.

    The compulsion to blurt out the truth about everything was like a relentless hammer throbbing against the insides of her skull, because the Rules had been broken, and nothing was being done about them. Any infraction felt like a violation of the principles that made up her very being, and attempting to bend the Rules almost had her immediately vomiting. As she felt her husband’s concerned eyes fall upon her, she actually felt another surge of sick rising up because she had to tell him immediately had to DO SOMETHING about this had to—

    “Pumpkin, here, here,” Mr. Weschler rushed over to kneel by her side, fishing out the waste can from beside the sofa. “Did they say something to you? If Christy upset you or—”

    Claire felt her throat contract as she fought to force the absolute need to rat out the Rule breakers into some form of truth that he might misunderstand. She clamped a hand over her mouth and swallowed bile, pushing away the offered waste basket. Morning sickness was something she could deal with, and though there were any number of ways to magic away discomfort, magic wasn’t always good for the baby.

    “I’m fine,” Claire said through gritted teeth. “Just a li—just a disagreement.”

    She could not phrase breaking the Rules as a ‘little’ disagreement after all, and it felt like her mind threatened to pull apart at the seams even attempting to say that. Claire frowned and squeezed her eyes shut and willed herself to work out a justification, any justification for not acting on her oaths.

    I’m pregnant and there are allowances for that. Whoever killed Chadwick is tangled up in vampires and some dangerous mystery group. Someone much more qualified from resource enforcement is already working on the case, and what I know isn’t technically that useful for the investiga—

    A flash of pain ripped through her at trying to think that, as if the very neurons attempting to convey such treasonous thoughts were ripping apart from each other and shredding her mind.

    Okay fine, while knowing their exact identities WOULD be useful, I’m not TECHNICALLY mandated to immediately intervene in someone else’s work for it, Claire tried to imagine. Not when they could pose a threat to me and my unborn child. If they could off Chadwick, they certainly could hurt my hubby too, and him and I need to prioritize our work in operations here. Blurting everything out right here and sending my hubby off to collect HIS OWN FUCKING DAUGHTER’S HEAD would be sub-optimal for everyone. It would endanger current operations. It could endanger me by association, and I’m pregnant, and there are allowances for that. I’M PREGNANT, AND THERE ARE ALLOWANCES FOR THAT.

    Not much seemed to be working, and only the stipulation that made allowances for her health during her pregnancy seemed to keep blood vessels from bursting in her brain—because, surely that would be bad for the baby. The Rules were still absolute however, and allowances or not Claire didn’t think she could hold on for much longer. She’d hoped she could keep silent on this for hours at least, but now she realized that she might only be able to hold out for minutes. The pain of feeling her identity pulled apart from within really wasn’t something she could bear.

    “What did she say to—” Mr. Weschler started to ask.

    “I don’t want to get into it right now,” Claire cut him off. “Sorry. I just. My head, it’s. My head is fucking pounding, right now. I just want to lay down for a moment.”

    “Of course, yeah—anything,” Mr. Weschler said, helping her adjust to slowly relax down across the length of the small sofa. “I’m sorry, Pumpkin. I didn’t think you two would get into it. She always liked you! If—”

    “Mr. Weschler,” Claire grumbled. “Please. Each time you call me a pumpkin! I feel like I’m turning a little bit more into a pumpkin. Just look at me now. Can you just—turn down the lights for a bit? And the curtains. Please. I need to rest for a moment, I’m sorry.”

    “You got it,” Mr. Weschler promised, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on her forehead. “You take the rest of the day off, I’ll take care of everything. I’m sorry about Christy. She’s been, you know. Going through things. She—”

    “Please, just—give me a moment,” Claire begged in exasperation, grimacing with pain. “I need some quiet. Please?”

    “Right, sorry, sorry.”

    This is… this is the best I can do for you, Christine. I’m sorry I can’t protect you, but at the very least I can make sure your own father won’t have to be the one bloodying his hands. With a little bit of suffering on my part, and a whole lot of luck... he won’t even find out what happened to you for a little while. Fly away, fly far, far away if you can. I don’t know how or why or what was going on when you did what you did, but. You can’t escape the Rules—only delay the inevitable.

* * *

    “Hey, urgent job popped up in Winneport,” Judas said, glancing from his phone to the interstate past his steering wheel and then back again. “Good payout, too...”

    “I… don’t know where that is,” Red Herring admitted. “Where? Winnelport?”

    As improbable as it sounded, it really did seem as though she had never ridden in a motor vehicle before, and the girl—or whatever it is she was—was endlessly fascinated with the plastic contraption of the passenger side AC vents of his SUV. The vent slats opened and closed as she twiddled with them, and they also rotated on a swivel to point in different directions, allowing her to lean in close and examine the changes in air direction. She had been surreptitiously eyeballing the air freshener he had dangling from the rear view mirror as well, and Judas had already made up his mind to smack her hand away if she reached for it.

    “It’s the other way from where we’re headed, but… yeah, damn,” Judas scowled. “Real good payout. And, it’s right fucking there—ten, fifteen minutes away. We’re probably the closest ones here. Think we can make a quick detour.”

    “I… thought we were headed towards ‘Seneca?’” Red Herring sat up in her seat and turned to give Judas her full attention. “That seemed like the right direction to go in?”

    “Well, yeah but—” Judas sighed as he began to make a U-turn. “Listen, it’s not even just about a good payout. And that is a damn good payout. I could uh, well I could take a side job or two, to help float my reputation back up a little bit. And, I mean—look, it’s right fucking there. Not even really all that out of the way, or anything. Not that we even know for sure where we’re going.”

    “Seneca felt right, though?” Red Herring said, fidgeting with the scrap of cloth she had wrapped the torn side of her face with. “And, I don’t need money, I don’t think? But, I can see if going that other way helps. Yeah.”

    “Have at,” Judas said as the vehicle finished its turn and began to race instead towards Winneport, because he had already made up his mind. “Be my guest, kid.”

    “It’s—uhhhhhhhh??!” Red Herring twisted her face in confusion, holding up empty hands. “Huhhh—huh. That’s so weird.”

    “What’s weird.”

    “Turning around for Winnelport, it—”

    “Winneport.”

    “Y-yeah, uhhh, turning around for Winneport actually shortens the path to our goal!” Red Herring exclaimed. “By like, a lot. A lot a lot. Like, maychance they’re actually already in Winneport, and that’s where we need to go, and we’re already almost there? But then… at the same time, it increases the length of the path to our goal. By like, even more of a lot. Dozens of dozens of times of a lot. But it’s both?? It’s both of those things, really really strongly. Isn’t that… weird?”

    “Whelp, nah,” Judas shrugged. “That’s clairvoyance for you. Anything could mean anything, s’why I don’t put a lot of stock into all that whoodoo shit, sorry. Leave that for the specialists. Dabblers? You all just wind up getting mired in a big sea of false positives and who-even-knows-what. Interpretation.”

    “I’m… I’m kind of in-between?” Red Herring thought about it. “Because of reasons. In between a dabbler and specialist? But not really one or the other. But also I am kinda really good at it, though. This one time, I—”

    “Listen,” Judas reasoned. “Getting both results probably means that yeah, while maybe we’re technically going out of our way from our goal, I bet the payout turns out to be useful in some way. Simplifies our overall trip in the long run, you know? A erm, large infusion of capital can tend to do that. Hell, with anything.”

    “Is… that how that works?” Red Herring tilted her head. “I thought that money just—”

    “Fuck if I know,” Judas admitted. “Clairvoyance is still all mostly bullshit to me. My last partner? He was stupidly superstitious about all kinds of random crap, and it sure as fuck didn’t help him any in the end. No, if that crazy vampire bitch wasn’t lying, it might have actually been what did him in? Since she said they had a straight-up full precog. Fucking bloodsuckers. Just, keep your eyes open for opportunities in Winneport, who knows? Or uh, your eye, I guess. Are you still bleeding?”

    “N-no I think it mostly stopped!” Red Herring reported, adjusting the cloth covering that part of her face. “I’m sure it’s getting much better, now. At least… I think so. But, thank you so much for asking!”

    “Yeah uh, sure,” Judas muttered. “I’d uh, I’d offer to help fix you up there so you’re not making a mess, but according to my spatial sense you have no consistent anatomy, and are probably actually some kind of vivid hallucination.”

    “Oh no, I’m real!” Red Herring let out a nervous laugh. “Just. I’m uh, I’m a very private person. Actually. So, yeah.” 

    “Sure, whatever,” Judas said. “How old are you, again? Nineteen?”

    “No one really knows!” Red Herring admitted, throwing her hands up. “No one knows for sure. It is a mystery to everyone. Uhhh a mystery, wrapped in a riddle, inside of a—”

    “Yeah, so—when we get there, why don’t you let me do all the talking,” Judas suggested, giving her another look. “Whatever your story is, it’s none of my business, I figure, and we can try to keep it that way. You can be the strong silent type. You definitely scare the shit outta me. So you just… stand there and look cool. Mysterious. Whatever it was you’re going for.”

    “Okay, cool, cool,” Red Herring agreed with a decisive nod. “I can definitely look cool. I’m actually really good at that.”

    “Yeah. Great.”

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