Witch Hunt

Ow.

I wake to an aching and sore body, pain seeping through my skin before sound and sight. I peel my eyelids apart, staring up at the sunlit ceiling. My ceiling. I look to my right. I'm on my couch. I'm home again.

Which means, Alabastra must have-

I turn onto my other side to see Alabastra Camin sleeping on my bed. And not just her. Faylie Nevis is cradled by the taller woman. The two are practically intertwined, locked in a tight embrace, slumbering peacefully. Intimately. Alabastra unconsciously strokes the top of the faun's head.

Quickly I turn away, feeling my traitorous cheeks light in embarrassment. I have most assuredly witnessed something I shouldn't have. They must have pulled the couch into here and taken the bed for the night.

Together.

Are those two... entangled? Did I miss that? Or, is this just an extension of their camaraderie? They are often touchy-feely, both amongst themselves and Tegan, and are odd sorts with odd behaviors. And perhaps it's not so odd as I think, simply a normal sign of friendship; after all, I'm hardly a good judge of what's "normal".

It takes me perhaps a moment too long to recognize this for the distraction it is. My eyes squeeze closed, and I shake the thoughts loose from my skull.

I refocus, observing my surroundings once more. Tegan's armor is doffed and discarded on the floor beside the bed. The couch has been pulled against the wall flush with the door, creating a gap only inches across from my side table. Perhaps they did so to watch me through the night? My belongings seem otherwise undisturbed. Alabastra looks quite content and relatively uninjured, though it is hard to tell past the faun she is spooning. My own injuries are another story. Every muscle in my body throbs, the side of my neck, my gut, and especially across my sternum. I place a tentative hand over my middle chest and feel a wicked, ragged scar down to the bottom rib.

My hands squeeze the blanket covering me into tight bundles. The evidence is bulletined over my form; I struck again. And thankfully, something, someone, put up a greater fight than any of my previous hunts.

I have three likely candidates as to who.

I drag my bloodstained fingers over my face, pulling at my cheeks in frustration. At least... at least they stopped me. I can only hope they prevented me from hurting anyone in the process.

From the kitchen, the sound and smells of sizzling pork fat begins to fill the air. My stomach growls, and the bloodthirst surges again. I thrash against the rising thoughts. My spine twists and bends, writhing along the current of nauseous intent. My fangs nearly piece the flesh of my bottom lip. I pull into myself, my limbs held tight against me as I ride out the wave.

The sickness passes finally, and I am left once more an empty shell. I am growing to despise mornings, with their torrential floods of untempered disgust; their heralding of new horrors. If the sun never rose, at least I could keep my misdeeds in the dark; dawn heaps piles of guilt, drenched in starving bile. Regardless, the fresh revulsions don't change the equation. There's much to do, and little time to do it. I sit up, and concentrate, retracting my fangs.

They won't diminish.

Again and again I focus on that old trick, learned at such a tender age to hide the signs of evil apparent on me. No matter how hard I imagine my pointed canines shrinking, they won't tamper. My heartrate rises, my chest seizes. I'm getting worse. How long before I slip into madness again? Is the hunger already claiming me once more? They're not safe around me. They never were to begin with. They should kill me now, while I can't fight back, or lock me away, or-

Tegan enters into the room with a lazy stretch. Dressed in simply baggy slacks and a muscle shirt, it is a rare sight of the woman without her armor. She looks at me, and immediately her brows knit in concern. "Oh, shit." She rushes forward to the displaced couch. I back away from her with a jolt. She shouldn't touch me. "Bromley? You're freaking out, what's wrong?"

My breath hitches as I try to speak, and I need a moment to catch myself. I stare down at the floor, and tune out the world. Tegan continues to speak into my left ear, but all I hear is muffled warbling. I just need to collect myself, review the facts. I am still alive. These three are still alive. And despite my torments, I am still in control. So long as it stays that way, there is no reason to panic. Until then, my frantic consternations help no one. I swallow once, and turn back to Tegan. "Ah. Apologies." I push my sliding glasses back to the bridge of my nose. "You were saying?"

She looks at me, then to my bed. Alabastra and Faylie have awoken, arms crossed between each other and holding themselves aloft. Then, the two look wide-eyed between themselves, and scramble madly to unravel. "Moodie", Alabastra says, a breathy laugh just under her words, "That is you in there, right?" The two sit up straight, away from one another.

"More or less." I rub my chin, only to brush against that infuriating scratching of stubborn facial hairs burgeoning free. Instinctively I cover my lower face in embarrassment, then feel yet more ashamed for being embarrassed at all. I elect to keep my hands to my sides. "I take it you subdued me last night?"

"That's right." Alabastra stands, arms crossed. Under the bunched up side of her top, I catch the stained whites of a bandage wrapped around her midsection. A twang of guilt strikes me. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Try as I might, I have no recollection of the previous night, same as it ever was. There is nothing but the void. "I was... on the skyway with the three of you." The skyway... "Oh. I never shared what I learned in the detective's office."

"We were gonna ask about that, yeah", Alabastra says. Of course. They spared me last night because of the information still stuck in my head, without which they would be back at square one. Surprisingly shrewd of them. "But, let's not get ahead of ourselves. First - how ya feeling?"

I raise a brow. How am I feeling? What does that matter? Is she play-acting as a nurse now? "In pain, I suppose?" I rub the gash across my chest with my palm, feeling the slight sting with a wince. "Hungry, though, not much to be done about that."

Faylie scrambles to the edge of the bed. "That was so crazy last night! You really don't remember any of it?"

"Not a thing." A thought does occur. "Could you... enlighten me? Perhaps it'll refresh my memory."

Tegan says, "Maybe over breakfast? Uh, hope you don't mind I cooked us somethin', Bromley."

Hardly a concern. Though, I do wonder where she got the bacon from. "Not an issue." We filter out of the room into the kitchen, where a different kind of horror entirely awaits me. My kitchen has been turned upside down by the paladin. Pots and pans everywhere, grease stains, bunched napkins strewn over the countertops, dirty knives used for entirely the wrong purposes. The breakfast she's cooked looks edible, but at the cost of any semblance of sanitation. "What... have you... done..."

Alabastra sidles up to the counter, nonchalantly making herself a plate. "You ain't seen nothin' yet". My eyes widen. What does that mean?! She turns to look at me, flashing a quick, disarming smile. "One thing at a time. Sit down."

I message my temples, pulling out a stool with a small creak. Despite the havoc the paladin has wrought, she has at least brewed a pot of coffee. Small reliefs. I pour myself a cup. "Start from the beginning, then. What happened after I blacked out?"

"We dragged you like six blocks is what happened!", Tegan says as she fills her plate with food. "Oh, and, uh, sorry about the mess. Other people's kitchens are a nightmare to figure out." She shrugs sheepishly as she bites off a mouthful of bacon.

"Like other people's showers! Or thermo-magical energy recapture!", Faylie adds. "Or checkers!" She begins grabbing food directly from the pan, without bothering with plates or cutlery.

Alabastra says through a mouthful of eggs, "Gave us a scare there." She swallows, gives a small nod of approval to Tegan, and turns back to me. "Gotcha pretty close to your digs when you woke up again."

"Did I seem... aware? Conscious?", I ask.

She nods. "There was life behind those eyes, alright." Her head cocks to one side. "Unlife. Same difference."

Tegan cuts in, "You even talked! Kinda."

Faylie scooches her stool closer with a skkrt. "You were really determined. And mean!" I lean in closer to her words, concentrating to ensure I actually catch what she means. "And you kinda seemed like you were having fun?" The implication seizes my still-beating heart.

"You weren't kiddin' about those violent thoughts, huh?", says Alabastra.

A chill crawls up my back. They don't know the half of it.

It's possible, that as of recent, some vile thing has hitched a ride in my unguarded soul, driving my hunger like a jockey on a race horse. A possession, an enchantment, forcing me to malice. It's a terrifying prospect; the monsters and mages of this world capable of such a thing are not entities easily trifled with or toppled. Yet, with every fiber of my being, I wish that was what was happening to me. Because... however bleak my future prospects would be if such a thing were the case, the truth of the matter is far, far worse.

That this thing has always been inside me. It feels true. It must be true. It seems obvious now, placed in the wider context of my condition. Something has rung the dinner bell, woken up the buried monster with an insatiable hunger. I want to deny it, to pretend that I might simply find some wicked puppet master, excise the demon from my soul, and be cured. But I already know the truth; I can't be cured. I am not the hand stirring the pot; I am the whisps of a person, the reverberations off the walls of the screaming thing within. So long as I am driven by bloodthirst, that will never change. I am not simply cursed. I am cosmically doomed. Evil by nature. A monster.

Alabastra's face grows deathly serious. "Moodie? " I'm pulled from my thoughts, looking to her, hopefully not too pitifully. She continues, "We don't... we don't have to keep goin', if this is hard to hear."

"N-no." I curse myself for stumbling, shaking my head. It is important that this information is in the open. "Tell me more."

She sighs. "Alright." Alabastra pulls her own coffee mug close with both hands, sipping loudly, and sets it down - were this any other circumstance, I'd tell her to use a damned coaster. "You were different. Physically. Even more pale, features gaunt. There's no other way to say it; you looked like a vampire." I'm only barely surprised to hear that.

Faylie says, "And you were using this scary shadow magic! You never told me you were a mage!"

I raise a brow. "You... must be mistaken. I've never a cast a spell in my life." Although I had some aptitude for learning spellcraft basics in my youth, I never walked that path. Utilizing magic requires a certain amount of ambition, a drive to change the world around you. The mental aspects, the understanding of the pull of arcana, the weaving of spell glyphs, those came easily, but I could never quite wrap my head around the more emotional aspects; that spark of purpose that propels mages to fashion impossible workings.

And I've certainly never utilized shadow magic of all things.

"Seems like this other you has some tricks up your sleeve", Alabastra says.

Hmming to the side, Faylie puts a finger to one cheek. "We should come up with a name for the other you." I shrink inside myself. That sounds like a terrible idea. I'd prefer to keep it a nebulous abstraction; naming it could call it further into shape. "Maybe... Roodie! Because they're Moodie, but mean!"

Ignoring her comment, I say, "Is that... even possible? That some part of me has access to magic that... this version of me doesn't?"

"Or... maybe Broo-die? Because you were scary? No... if anything, you're Broodie..."

Tegan says, "I mean, like; who says you don't? The magic, I mean."

"Maybe you just gotta dig deep", Alabastra concurs. The idea feels... repulsive, in many ways. I'm not sure I want to touch whatever twisted magics that other version of me wields. I've never been a superstitious or religious person; the typical dogmas about the evils of necromancy and shadow spells and blood magic have always sounded like pearl-clutching to me. There are just as many kind-hearted casters of dark sorceries as there are power hungry wielders of light; it's all relative.

But it's different for me. If I slip into the habits of this other... who's to say they won't rear their head more often? That their thoughts, their dark desires, won't continue to affect my own? Better we keep those worlds as separate as possible.

Faylie gasps suddenly. "Foodie! Because you're hungry!"

I stare blankly at her. "It doesn't have to rhyme, you know."

She scoffs. "Of course it does; how else will we remember it's still you?"

It is pointless, arguing with her. Alabastra slides next to her... partner...? "We'll workshop it, Firefly." She rubs the faun's doe-like ears between her fingers.

I dart my eyes away, and clear my throat. "And, you didn't have too much difficulty, subduing me?"

The three give varying levels of noncommittal winces, dragged words, shaky hand motions, before their leader responds, "There were some... complications... but, nothing we couldn't handle. Stuck ya with that potion, and you went out like a light."

I sigh in relief. Confirmation, at least and at last, that my efforts have achieved something. Assuming the monster remains susceptible, all that's needed is a steady supply of the elixir to keep it contained. I look down at my hands, still coated in blood. My right shakes, ever-so-slightly.

"And... did I..." Hurt anyone? I'm too much of a coward to even say it aloud.

"Nothin' permanent. We made sure you didn't." Alabastra holds a grin, not snarky or rakish like her usual expressions, but soft, confident in a more subtle way, comforting. Part of me almost hates it more. But mostly I am relieved. She kept her promise. I sigh, a weight I didn't know I had been carrying lifted. She tilts her head to the side. "If anything, you got it the worst, injury-wise."

Again I feel the gash across my chest. Tegan says, "I, uh, maybe kinda had to... smite you?" The paladin stands with one hand on her neck, guilty and shy. My eyes narrow at her, and she winces in pain. What a ridiculous creature.

"...That's fair", I deadpan.

Her face falls in confusion, and a small laugh of disbelief escapes her. "Wait, what? You don't care?"

Of course I don't. She is a paladin, her job is to destroy monsters and undead. I expect her to do so again, and with lethal results, should the monster resurface. Telling her that seems unwise, however; it may have the counterintuitive effect of making her second-guess such actions.

Instead I motion to the scar, the charred skin and ruby gash visible beneath my shirt from the light. "I'm mostly concerned that this hasn't been healed yet."

"Well... we didn't wanna heal you up too much in case it woke you up early", the half-elf says. A practical measure. The enigma of these three continues to astound me; how they can be so chaotic, but also efficient and pragmatic when called for. To me, it seems like the whiplash would cause total dysfunction, yet they act in absolute harmony.

I nod. "Well, I'll see to fixing that, then." I stand, and shuffle toward the stairs.

Alabastra slides in front of me, arms outheld. "Wait, wait, wait! You might wanna prep yourself mentally before you head down there."

My eyes roll, and I push past her. How bad could it be?

* * *

I'm ruined.

My apothecary has been turned into a warzone. Every potted herb has been piled into a haphazard mish-mash of greenery, shards of ceramic and metal wires sticking out to create the sad mass of a destroyed garden. There are scars of burn damage over the floor, walls, and ceiling, the lights are destroyed, a table is splintered in half. Chunks of wood are chipped out of the counter, and my window is shattered.

The largest piece of my smithereened shopfront is a shard of glass reading 's Ap'.

I don't know how long I spend, standing at the bottom of the stairs, wide-eyed, my own breathing the only sound I can hear. Nearly the entirety of my adult life spent tending this shop, and in one night, even it has been brought to ruin. Like everything I touch, turned to dust.

"-oodie. MOODIE!" Something shakes me from the side, yelling into my ear. I turn to see Alabastra, resolute. "It's not the end of the world."

My upper lip curls, and for a moment I want to shove her away. It's easy for her to say, but everything I had was put into this store. I tended those flowers every morning. I waxed these floors. I was here when they first installed those lights. I helped paint that window. I replaced this counter, moved through that door more times than I can count, fell down these stairs on my first day here. I brewed and bartered and read and watered and bled and mourned and promised here. Every drop of time and money I had was put back into this space. It was never mine by rights, but I cared for it like it was.

And now it's gone. No, worse than gone; demolished. The evidence of its destruction clear as daylight. A cruel reminder; the pages of my life's story crumpled and discarded and left for me to find. And it's all my fault.

It takes me a moment to remember how to breathe.

My boiled over gaze has not left Alabastra. Hurt crosses her face, and she balls a fist at her side. "I... I didn't mean it like that." Alabastra takes a moment to herself, looking like she's trying to find whatever speech she had planned in her head. Her airy tone indicates she's instead elected to wing it. "Look, when this is over, we're gonna help you rebuild all of this, okay? Every plant, every tile, every last square inch, all of it. We'll board up the window today, and, when we can... we'll fix it. Together." Before this week, I'd have never called Alabastra earnest of all things. With a tender hand placed on my shoulder, and encouraging smile, I don't know how I never saw her that way before.

In truth, part of me held onto a deep cynicism, a poisoned thought, that Alabastra never meant a word of anything she said about helping people. That she never truly cared about anything, and used whatever easy excuse was available to breeze her way to riches and gratification. She is an incredible liar, it is true, but there is no reconciling my worst judgements of her character with the woman I see before me. For better or worse, when she says she will help me, rebuild and cure myself both, she means it. Damn her, despite myself, I can't not believe that.

But I still can't figure out why. "You know you don't have to." It's my fault after all, I let the implication hang in the air.

"I know." She thumps once in the spot on my arm she's been holding me. "C'mon, better get started."

* * *

Thankfully, there is a hardware store not far from my shop. Tegan offers to haul back the plywood needed to keep the intruders and rats out.

In the meantime, it's imperative that we brew up more Subduant, my tentative name for the concoction that's serviced in keeping the beast at bay, as well as a healing concentrate to fix this injury. The others insist we do the latter first, despite my objections. Alabastra and I sort through the piled herbs on the floor, the dirt and greenery mixing like the bed of an indoor jungle. Faylie regales me with the tale of how she utilized my own plants to subdue me. I'd be insulted by it, were it not an admittedly clever play. She seems pleased enough with herself, and rushes back and forth up and down the stairs as we pick the flowers we need and ferry them off to her.

As Faylie runs off with a bushel of waterbloom, Alabastra turns to me, whispering toward my ear, "Psst. Your fangs are showin'."

My shoulders bristle. "I know..."

"Huh. Tryin' out somethin' new?"

"No. They... they won't retract." My eyes scan the floor.

Alabastra maneuvers in front of me, demanding my attention. I look up to her cocksure smile. "Well, either way, it's a good look. They're cute."

I, they're-

Huh???

I turn away so she can't see my face. Gods damn her, and her endless teasing. Teasing. That's all she's doing. Getting under my skin, ribbing me. Exhaling, I return to my search through the herb pile. The suggestion is obscene. My fangs, the very things that mark me as a monster... cute? Cute? A childish word, for puppies and amateurish drawings and boisterous creatures like Faylie, and the furthest possible word anyone would use to describe something relating to me. The idea of it is ridiculous.

Which is obviously why she said it. She's poking fun, again. Just when I thought we'd come to an understanding, too. I roll my eyes. If I'm honest with myself, I'm not even really annoyed at Alabastra. I'm frustrated that after all this time, her little comments still work. Maybe that's why she's never stopped; I'm predictable.

She's still staring at me, smug as ever. I huff, and say, "You'll break your face if you keep that smile up."

"Then you'll just have to put it back together." She stops, snapping her fingers in remembrance. "Oh! That reminds me!" Alabastra slings her pack off one shoulders, digging through and pulling free a flask of the pink and bubbly brew we'd made together yesterday. She pops the cork, and to my abject horror, downs the entire bottle in one swig.

"You're... You're supposed to drink that over the course of a week."

Alabastra considers me, the empty bottle, me again, and shrugs. "Worked for me so far."

As if I needed more chaos, Faylie returns from the office. "The water's boiling, Moodie!", she shouts. "I added some salt so it would taste better."

I stare at her, attempting to convey pure murder with a frown. "Faylie. This is not cooking, it is alchemy. Ingredient mixture is a precise venture, and additives can ruin the batch. You're making a magical elixir that heals wounds, not pasta water."

"So... you don't want it to taste good?"

The Faewilds are a capricious realm of whimsy, running off of intractable but enigmatic rules, ancient bargains, and delights in mischief. So if some archfae or hag or wild elf witch somewhere sent Faylie Nevis to our world specifically to torment me, I wouldn't even be surprised. I plant my head in my palms and say, muffled, "Throw it out and start again."

I hear the clinking of glass. Alabastra holds a healing potion, bought from me just days ago. "You're sure you don't just want one of these?"

We'd just had this conversation five minutes ago, and already she's bringing it back up. "As I told you, no, you paid me for that potion. I'm the cause of my own injuries, I'll fix them."

"But YOU made - Oh, for fuck's sake." Alabastra marches behind the counter, and pops open my cash register with a ding. I rush over in a panic as she pulls a 5 dollar note from the pile and stuffs it into her coat pocket. She plants the potion bottle down on the counter, and says, "There. Refunded. Now drink your damn potion."

Impossible woman. Fine. Without another word, I drink the healing elixir. For the first time since I woke this morning, the pain raking through every muscle diminishes. My fingertips feel less numb, and the open gash on my chest finally knits itself back together. Mostly, anyways. I feel a prominent scar left behind by the laceration.

"Was that so hard?", she says.

"Agonizing." The violent urges of my starving alter ego imagine ripping her apart for that comment. Or perhaps she's simply that insufferable.

The bell to the door rings as Tegan returns, carrying a long bundle of plywood under one arm. She admittedly looks a little ridiculous, coming through the door despite the massive hole in the wall where the window used to be, but I appreciate the consideration. She looks between us, somewhat out of breath. "Did I miss anything?"

* * *

We spend the next while boarding up the shattered storefront. More specifically, Tegan and Alabastra do, while I work on the Subduant with an incessant Faylie at my side.

Alabastra administered via injection last night. A risky endeavor, considering her lack of experience with healing tinctures... at least she knew to filter out the damn residue. Yet after admonishing her for her recklessness, I had to admit that her reasoning was sound. Unlikely that this monstrous half would willing quaff my elixir. Should another attack occur, the others should be ready to do so again. I fill several flasks with the gray-blue liquid, as well as a handful of syringes to hand out to the women. It never hurts to be prepared.

And speaking of prepared, I have some packing to do. I change into more urban-explorer ready garb, a coat for the fall winds, a flat cap for the same, and a pair of leather gloves. If my previous building-climbing experience has taught me anything, it's that brickwork is almost as ravenous for blood as I am. Quickly as I can, I also shave this damnable stubble, before digging through my belongings.

I find Father's old military satchel to fill with the essentials, and a little more. As I walk out of the bedroom, Faylie stares at me from down the hallway. "Need some help?"

A terrible idea, yet a low stakes one, at least. "Fine. As long as you don't break anything."

She smiles deviously. "Never, ever."

I lead her down into the basement to gather what I need. As much of the common base ingredients as I can comfortably carry, a few of the more exotic choices that might brew useful, if niche, draughts, and the tools needed to create such concoctions on-the-go. A makeshift portable alchemy kit. If these three insist on dragging me around, I will not be caught feeling as useless as I had been yesterday.

Faylie fumbles with the tools I asked her to gather. The pestle slips out of the mortar, banging against the ground with a procession of twangs. "At least it didn't break? Ha-ha?"

"Just... set all of that down."

She drops the rest of the equipment on the counter, only barely careful enough to not wreak further havoc. I pack the equipment methodically into the bag, as organized as possible without having a kit specially made for this. Which is actually a fantastically practical idea, should the need arise.

Of course, I don't plan on the need arising. This little adventure, especially with these three, is still just a one-time excursion. Bag packed, I march back up the stairs, swiping the pestle off the floor as we go.

The window is fully boarded up now, Tegan and Alabastra conversing as they hammer in the last piece of plywood. My shop now looks like a condemned building, about to be forgotten. I'm still uneasy, seeing it this state of disarray. Like the piece of me that was left with this place was ripped out of the floorboards.

But I'll fix it. I'll...

No. We. She promised.

Alabastra turns to look at us. "Well, you've kept us waitin' long enough, Moods. Let's talk plans, ladies-and-more."

"Right. Could we see those files, Alli-Alabastra." Instantly I cringe at myself for the slip-up.

She doesn't seem to notice. Or care. Or she's elected to spring my blunder back on me at a more opportune time. Likely the third. "Sure thing, Moodie." She pulls the files from inside her coat, splaying them across the counter. I confirm the numbers and dates once more, skimming the dossiers to cross-examine Alabastra's explanations.

From these two files alone, it would seem Nathaniel had yet to make a connection between the druid boy and the half-devil, their strange and worsening conditions coinciding with when we know this began. I look up at the three. "I read another file of Nathaniel's. His latest case, before his disappearance, I think. It didn't seem like it had anything to do with our investigation at first, but... he thought otherwise."

"His client asked him to find a powerful magic item; an old pocketwatch made of brass, with a missing hour hand. After locating it, he refused to steal it for the client, refunded the payout, and, on a whim, asked the client for information about these cases." I tap the files twice. "And others like them. The client was elusive, and stormed off. Nathaniel was planning on attaching the entire case file as evidence for his next-latest job, #412."

Alabastra chews her bottom lip. "And, he never said who our mystery client was? A description, anything?"

I shake my head. "Just that he was, 'creepy'."

Tegan folds her arms. "It doesn't... seem connected.  What would some cruddy watch have to do with all this?"

"Not sure", Alabastra says. "But if Nathaniel had an itch, then so do I. My nose is twitching."

Faylie hops up on top of the counter. "Then this... Creepy Guy is why Nathaniel went missing?"

"I'd put money on it. If this guy had any hand in our little conspiracy, he'd wanna snatch up Nathaniel for asking too many questions."

"I know I'm the one who brought this information forward", I say, "But... this sounds like a lot of 'ifs'. I mean, if that's true, why not just kill the detective?"

Alabastra shrugs. "Who says he didn't?" The room goes quiet for a moment. "Not a happy thought, I know. But, even if he's still kickin'... it's impossible to say why. I mean, why do any of this? From where we're sittin', we only know one thing for certain about Creepy Guy."

My eyes narrow. "He wanted this watch."

"Bingo." Alabastra shoots me a finger gun. "And if he's involved with whoever's responsible for all this... Then whatever he wants, we want first."

Faylie's eyes light up, and she lets in a long wind up of a gasp. "Does this mean what I think it means?!"

"That's right, Glowbug." Alabastra grips the edges of the counter. "We've got a score to plan."

"YESSSSSS!" Faylie lays back across the counter, kicking her feet in excitement.

This is just like Alabastra, to see everything in terms of potential heists. "Hold on. Hold on!", I say. "Even if I were to remotely agree to take part in this, which I am very much not, how does this help us? Say we... steal this thing, what next?"

Alabastra seems to juggle the idea back and forth. "Look, I know it's not much of a lead. But it's all we've got. Maybe when we get this doodad, we'll be able to tell why they wanted it. Maybe it's the key to their plans... or the key to stoppin' em. Or maybe it's just some collector's item this guy wanted, and swiping it will get his attention. He could come right to us."

Faylie continues to laugh maniacally next to us. I cross my arms, raising my voice above her worrying display. "Maybes. Ifs. Alabastra, do ever have any actual, concrete idea of what you're doing?"

Her pause tells me everything I need to know. "If it doesn't work out, then we're right back here. No sweat, it's on me." She sticks out a hand to shake. "But if you'll indulge me... we could be onto something big."

She's already made up her mind. No talking her out of it. "Fine, fine." I swat her arm away. "You've already made me guilty of several crimes. Why not?" Faylie shoots up, finally ceasing her laughter. She smiles and pumps her fist, reaching out for a high-five. I stand still.

Alabastra says, "I've got a good feelin', Moods. I promise this won't be for nothin'."

Tegan looks over at me, having been mostly lost in thought up to this point. "Did Natey even say where this trinket was?"

"Nowhere specific. In some... antique shop." The three look closely at me, hanging on my words. "He mentioned its location was why he called the case off. It was controlled by some group I've never heard of. The... Iron Syndicate?"

Dread passes over the women in a wave. Faylie and Tegan look to one another in fear, but for Alabastra the tide rolls out again, baring the shards of crystal anger underneath. "Damn."

"More friends of yours?"

"Worse", she says. "Family."