Witch Hunt

Grennard and The Reds, two terrible twins joined in destitution. Always looking up. Either at that high cliff and its streets laden with history; or the adjacent city center, with its towers scratching at the eyes of the Gods.

Not that there's much of a distinction to the hilltop, or the inner city, between The Reds and Grennard; it's all 'down there'. The outer city. The cliff downs. They aren't entirely without a point. On a map, Park Street is where they split the boroughs in two, for lack of a geographic barrier. But it's impossible to tell on the ground. It's not as if one side of the street is wall-to-wall tenements and the other is a shanty town. The division matters in the averages, but the hard edge of a district map is a convenient fiction.

This close to the colossal sheer cliff face of Augustene Hill, the most geographically interesting neighborhood of Grennard is plain to see. The homes and balconies and piping and tunnels dug and wrothe through the dirt and stone create a vertical cityscape all its own. Streets of ladders and tunnels, buildings half-jutting out the side of the rock wall, dripping brass sewer drains eroding away paths down to the bottom.

"We had a flat on the Cliffside once", says Alabastra. She must have noticed I was staring. "Didn't last."

"How many apartments have you had?"

Faylie shrugs. "A lot. We're always getting kicked out and stuff."

Ruffling her hair, Alabastra says, "I prefer to think of us as street nomads."

"We're six weeks behind on rent", says Tegan.

"Street. Nomads."

That is suitably ridiculous. I'm about to retort as such, when above us, I hear a sickeningly familiar CAW. The horrible little raven flits from some high rooftop, swooping down to meet the rogue's shoulder. Its black feathers beat into my face, and I swipe my hands out as I back away.

"Paella!", coos Alabastra. "You missed all the fun, ya rascal!"

"Like the chance to kick Moodie's ass", Tegan adds. I strike her with a knife-glare.

The raven cocks its head around to me, twitching its neck and wings, and CAWS. "She said she'll getcha next time."

I seethe between clenched teeth, "She said nothing, Alabastra." The raven flutters its wings outward toward me again, scratchy plume scraping across my face. "SHOO!" I wave my arms at it.

The bird takes off once more. Alabastra yells up, "Keep a watch, Pae!" The bird continues to circle above us. This is what this woman has reduced me to; my mortal enemy is a glorified, tar-dyed pigeon. "Love that lil' scamp", she says.

It's not long before we spot it. Just to the right of the shop on the corner of 47th Street, a two-story building with a large brass pipe sticking out the front. A sign ringed in lightbulbs reads 'Tinker Tack Antiques and Oddities - Open Most Days'. The windows are tinted too dark to see through at this distance.

"There it is! Let's go! Let's go, let-" Faylie starts to hop forward.

"Wait", I say. "We should discuss something before we go inside." Faylie stops mid-skip, backing up like a rewound clock. She even accompanies the motion with sound effects.

Alabastra says, "Sure, Moods." She flicks a thumb toward a nearby alley. We gather along an empty stack of milk crates.

Since our conversation with the gangster, I've had a particular inkling in my mind, and was beginning to think I might miss the chance to bring it up. "Alabastra... Are you still sure about... procuring the watch?"

She lets the idea sit for a moment. "Is this because of what Vatrizia said?"

"That is a good point", says Tegan, "She made it seem like this might be dangerous for you, Allie. Well, you know... more dangerous."

Alabastra crosses her arms. "I thought we already figured that. You think anything's different because she tried to spook me with some ominous warning that I basically already knew?"

"It just seems to be an unnecessary risk", I say.

"Risk, yes, but unnecessary? It's our only lead. For the Dawnlord's sake, Moodie, we're doing this for you."

Faylie says, "You guys-"

I narrow my eyes are Alabastra. "I never asked you to throw yourself into a dangerous future confrontation on my behalf." My stomach growls, and I close my eyes to get a handle on it.

Tegan speaks up, "And I'm not just gonna letcha make yourself public enemy number 1 if we don't have to, Allie."

"GUYS!", Faylie yells. We turn to the faun, having stepped a few spaces back, fists on her hips. "Who says it has to be us that goes in."

"Do you know what she's talking about?" I look to the other two.

She continues, "Did you forget?" She flicks a wrist, producing a card between her index and middle fingers. "I have magic? I can just disguise us! That way it won't be Alabastra that steals it.. it'll be, I dunno, Sara Stealsalot!"

Alabastra huhs. "The ol' seeming scam. Good call, Glowbug. Though, no reason to pin this on poor Sara." A seeming spell... I had no idea Faylie was so accomplished as a mage. Was she this competent the entire time I've known her, and hid it? Or is this a recent development? Another point of conversation I'll remember to ask her later.

"Impressive", I say, "But we should still discuss what we're actually doing here, today."

"I'm thinkin' we just scope it out. Make sure we've got the right place, and figure out how we get it out. Hells, maybe it's on sale, and we can just buy the damn thing", Alabastra says. Faylie looks a little sad at the implication that there may not be a heist after all.

I doubt it will be the easy, but there's always a chance my fortunes could turn around. Or maybe that's just the fishing lure of hope, waiting to snatch me up. "If we're just performing reconnaissance, do we still need the disguises?"

"Oh yeah. If we do still have to swipe it, better we were never here at all. 'Case they start asking questions."

Faylie perks up again, tapping once on the side of her tarot card. "Alright! Any requests on your super cool illusory disguise?"

Alabastra thinks for a moment. "Let's go... draconide this time. Brawny bombshell."

"Anything as long as I'm still in armor. I hate when I have to explain the clanging", says Tegan.

The faun stares me down with that impish smile. I roll my eyes. "I genuinely could not care less." I assume she'll stick me with something expectedly ridiculous as comeuppance, but I don't mind. I just have to endure a short shopping trip as some absurd frog creature or lumbering ogre or whatever.

She giggles. "Suit yourself." Faylie flips the card over in her fingers, revealing the Moon once more. Lines of white shape the contours of the card, carving magic from reality in shapes wrought in destiny's images. The more I see of it, the more impressed I am with Faylie's magic, the unique mastery she holds. "NOVUS PERSONA", she speaks in perfect powered ancient Lupine. This time, the crescent moon tilts on its side, like a shading blanket, before once more flashing silver.

For a brief instant, my vision is blinding white, and I have to take a second to adjust. As I do, Faylie says, "Ta-Da!" I see the outline of her form waving jazz hands, as next to her, she's conjured a large mirror on the opposite alley wall.

Standing in a line, I see a draconide woman with light blue scales and a frill down her back, pretty, buff, and donning a sleeveless top; a blond human man in a golden breastplate, with a goatee and blue eyes with distinguished features; a bookish young woman with long, straight black hair; and a short beastfolk woman with floppy bunny ears sticking out of the top of her head staring back at the four of us. I turn to Faylie, obviously having made herself the bunny, to ask why she put me in the armor-

The man doesn't turn his head in the mirror.

The bookish woman follows my movements. I startle backwards in shock, and she does as well. She - I - the disguise wears a white blouse and a long gray skirt, and straight bangs rest just above her round spectacles. Counterintuitively to being stealthy, she actually looks somewhat similar to me. Like a distant cousin, if I had one. Vexingly, a blush starts to form across my, er, her - the face. I sputter in the bunny - in Faylie's direction. "What - why is... what is this?!"

She shrugs. "You said you didn't care." Faylie rocks back and forth, smiling wide.

"That isn't - this is not what I thought you meant!"

"It's just a disguise, remember?"

Just a disguise. I feel around at the edges of the illusion, my hands meeting with the familiar form underneath. With the knowledge of the illusion, if I concentrate hard enough, I can see the faint, ghostly outline of my own hands jutting past the daintier disguise's; the places where the disguise curves past my own form becoming slightly translucent. I'm still me underneath. Part of me thinks such a thought should have calmed me down. Instead I start to feel that familiar, floating feeling. Drifting away from my own body. I feel in a malaise, sinking, like I'm looking into a window through my own mind. And a shot of pain strikes my starving stomach.

"Hey, Moodie. Look at me!" I search around to see the draconide... Alabastra, kneeling down to place a hand on my shoulder. "Just breathe, okay?"

I nod, and try to get a handle on my choppy breathing. I'm still detached, but I try to pool together what wits I have to continue on. Just a shopping trip. It's just a shopping trip.

Alabastra says, "You can drop the disguise if you're not okay, Moods." Once she says it, the potential becomes obvious in my mind. Like a bundle of magic suspended over a pit, at any time I can... let it go. Dissipate the illusion with a thought.

"Though if you do, I won't be able to cast another one", Faylie says. "This kinda takes a lot out of me. Sorry." She's dropped her puckish tone, and she one arm with the other, looking down at the floor forlorn. For added effect, one of her disguised rabbit ears even folds in on itself in shame.

"You can just wait here, Moodie. No judgement."

I look back at the girl in the mirror illusion. If I ignore the illusory effect, and imagine myself instead as a puppet master... I jerk one string up, and she waves an arm. I squeeze and lax her facial muscles. Somehow, something about this is helps. She... I take a deep breathe. "No, no. I'll... I'll be alright."

"You sure?" She looks down at me with folded brows.

My moment of panic is over. And I certainly refuse to let these three go in there without me, to not pull my own weight. I want them to trust that I can handle these setbacks. That some ridiculous disguise isn't enough to deter me. It's hardly even so bad, now that I'm used to it. I nod. "I'm sure."

"Alright." She looks to the others. "Codenames?"

Faylie brightens. "Ooh, ooh! I'm Polli Rostockia! I was born in the great hillside village of Mercyclimb. My parents were a poor cobbler and a rich noble with a forbidden love! I like hiking, animals, my favorite color is green, and I have super-secret mind control powers!"

Alabastra flexes a scaled arm. "Then, call me Scillia Stonesap. Local adventurer, here to buy up your stock of magic items."

The faun continues to ramble, "I'm on a quest to avenge the murder of my noble mother by the evil Contessa, but I've been sidetracked by the thieves' guild hiring me as an assassin! Now I have to contend with the dark nature of my quest and the lightness of my provincial upbringing, and my mentor the druid Calimar-"

"I'll, uh, I'll just be Phil", says Tegan.

Faylie finally finishes her convoluted cover story, replete with contradiction, and if she were anyone else I'd think she'd forget half of it.

Alabastra turns to me. "And, since it's not your real name anyways, Moodie can just keep bein'-"

It tumbles right out of my mouth. "Marlowe."

And then they're all staring at me, and I feel the world crash down again. Why, why, WHY would I say that?! Idiot! I didn't even have time to consider stopping myself, as if some haunting phantasm possessed me, forced me to dredge out that name of all things... What is wrong with me!?

Even through her draconic disguise, Alabastra's wry smile shines through, so wide it's almost delirious.

"Unless, I- I mean, I didn't mean to-" I sputter. "Actually, Moodie is fine. Or, not fine but-"

"No, no, you're right, we should have as much separation as possible." She leans in close. "I think Marlowe's perfect."

Incomprehensible moron. Now you've done it. You'll never hear the end of this one. My ears burn, and the disguise does nothing to hide the blush forming on my traitorous cheeks. I fold up my arms and shrug my shoulders in some attempt to hide, only looking childish for it. "Fine. Whatever, let's go."

Alabastra says, "Alright. Polli, Phil... Marlowe." My breath is pulled from my lungs. "Let's go find the time."

* * *

The interior of Tinker Tack Antiques and Oddities is like another world. A wood paneled emporium broken up by gears jutting out of the walls, run through with metal tubes lined with glowing and pulsing blue inscriptions. The shop smells of cedar, oil, and the light sweet aroma of iron. The carpeted walkways, cordoned by velvet rope, and padded display shelves covered in locked glass cases would be more at home in an upper city museum than here; it's as if an entire hilltop bookstore picked itself up like the hut of Baba Yaga and set itself down again in the slums. That, or some crafty imitator conjured a very convincing simulacra of wealth.

I have a decent idea as to which.

Across the shelves sit old artifacts of bygone ages; heroic era paintings and Brekalian vases, furniture reminiscent of the old empires of Ruem; heraldic shields and wicker boxes; jewelry displays and ivory carved game sets and metal cookware under a garland of eucalyptus. Every inch is utilized in cluttered displays. There are stranger offerings, too. Small clockwork trinkets, wind-up toys, and ticking contraptions. Glowing stones and ancient staves, a rack of cloaks, and even an animated metal hummingbird, flitting through the shop. For how small the shop looked from the outside, it almost seems to stretch on further within. Not by magic; by precise management of space.

Sitting at a desk several feet from the entrance, a halfling woman looks up from her books. Her crinkled red hair stretches out wider than her shoulders, wrinkles have begun to set into her face, and she wears cheerful green overalls over a turtleneck sweater. "Oh, hello, dears! Welcome to Tinker Tack. I'm Carol Gimbleshanks, can I help you with anything?" Her voice is sickly sweet.

"Hiya Carol, I'm Scillia", Alabastra says with a faux draconic grumble, "We're lookin' to browse, but if we need anything, we'll give you a shout!"

"Sure thing, dearies." She returns to her book, but seems to keep one eye on us. There's a certain presence about her... like her cheerful demeanor feels just a tad too perfect. Forced. Then again, I know the feeling. That could just be the retail job.

We move further into the shop, voiced muffled by the ticking and whirring within, and the street bustle without. Alabastra whispers, "Don't forget who owns this place, huh? Can't trust anyone." Even with her candy-sweet demeanor, fake sugar and joyless smiles, I find it hard to believe the old shopkeeper finds herself in the ranks of a hardened criminal mob. But I suppose I'm not the living lie detector. "Phillip, Marlowe, look upstairs. Polli n' I will stick down here." Another shiver runs down my spine when she says that name. What a distraction; I should have just let her call me Moodie. A thought I never dreamed I'd consider.

"Sure thing", Tegan says, grabbing me by the arm, and pulling me from my thoughts. Right. I follow her upstairs, ignoring as best as I can the bizarre feeling of her hand squeezing my wrist too tight, larger than the illusion her gauntlet wraps around.

We pass by several large cuckoo clocks hung up along the staircase wall, and ascend to the second floor. It looks much the same as the first, a medley of sundries and knickknacks in halls separated by walls of furniture and shelving.

Tegan groans. "I thought this would be easier; freakin' needle in a haystack..."

I cross my arms. "And I thought I was supposed to be the pessimist."

She laughs. "It's kinda hard to take you seriously as the pessimist when you're smiling like that."

What? I'm not smiling, why would I be smiling? "Stop fooling around." We start to inspect the shelves for our mystery watch. A few times I do find a few watches amidst the clutter, but they end up being of the wrong material, or actually working when we're looking for one that doesn't.

Amidst our rifling, Tegan says, "You are, uh, doin' okay, right? With the whole..." She waves an arm in my general direction. "I know it can be tough. The, like, gender thing."

Gods above, I am not talking about this. It's barely enough to have removed myself from the equation and fully committed to this disguise, opening up a conversation would be the worst way to disrupt that. Instead, I turn back to her. "Well, what about you? Being disguised as a man isn't causing any strange effects?"

"Eh, I'm good. Basically all the same, anyways." Oh. She doesn't mind. That's... fine. Now that I'm looking, her disguise isn't that different from her default form, anyways. Same basic build, not much change about the face. Swap the blond for brown, shave the goatee, and re-darken the eyes, and Tegan would practically just be wearing a different suit of armor. "Anyways, you find this thing, yet?"

"No, and we're practically wasting our time searching in the same place like this. Let's split up."

"Yes, ma'am." Thank the gods, she turns before she can see my eyes go wide as saucer plates. I take a second to collect myself. Just a disguise. Just a disguise. It is just. A. Disguise.

We split off to opposite sides of the outlet. I find a globe of Vaunder awash in monstrous illustrations, the broken head of some battlemage's staff, a questionably indecent statuette of a Republic-age hero, but no sign of our quarried pocketwatch. I can't help but conjure a thousand reasons why. We may be in the wrong place, or maybe our mystery foes have already seized it for themselves. Perhaps this whole thing was a plant to begin with, a false lead set up by the detective. Or maybe someone else happened to buy it.

I grimace, only to feel my fangs poke sharply into my bottom lip. They pierce a tiny hole, a single droplet of my own blood dribbles onto my tongue, and instantly I double over with thirst. We should speed this along. I stand, finding Tegan looking lost and wandering. "Anything?", she asks.

I shake my head. "We should find the others."

We head back downstairs, to find... Alabastra and Faylie trying on scarves. Faylie giggles and claps as Alabastra drapes a purple boa around her neck. I stop, and stare deadpanned at the two, clearing my throat loud enough to get their attention.

Alabastra turns to me, striking a pose. "Level with me Marlowe, am I pulling this off?"

"You look absolutely garish", I say.

"Uh-huh."

"Flamboyant."

"Sure thing."

"Cheap and tasteless."

"Go on..."

"Which might normally suit you, except that bit of kitsch is so tawdry, it's likely staining your coat. And you're procrastinating."

She smiles. "You say the sweetest things, Kitten."

My words fall flat into a ditch. Tegan starts to say something beside me, but I only hear a droning sound. Kitten. Kitten?! That word has lodged itself in my skull with the force of an axe blow. Replaying over and over like a scratched record. Kitten...?! I can't get it out of my head. What is she doing to me? This disguise must be affecting my mind, somehow...

"Hey, Marlowe!" I look up to see Tegan getting my attention. I hmm? in response. "Still with us?"

Straightening myself out, I say, "Yes." To Alabastra, "Te- Phil and I didn't find anything. Did you at least look before you started featherbedding?"

Alabastra says, "We peeled the whole place; nothin' but dust." She puts a finger to her chin. "If it isn't upstairs, either..."

"Should we ask the clerk?"

She grumbles. "Was hoping to not have to... But, sure. Just be careful what you say." As if I needed the reminder.

We approach the shopkeeper, Carol, once more. She startles slightly as we crowd around the desk. "Oh, goodness, I didn't see you return! Anything I can assist you with, dears?"

Alabastra puts one hand on the desk, and leans forward. "We were wondering if you had anything of the... magic variety?"

The halfling laughs. "Oh, I like to think everything in here has a little bit of magic in it!" I can't help but audibly groan at that. Carol looks sour in my direction. "Hmmph... If you're looking for our enchanted items, we keep those in the basement. Follow me." She grabs a key from under the desk, stands to her full 4' height, and begins marching toward a side door.

Behind her back, I shoot a look to Alabastra, trying to convey 'Is she trustworthy' with just my face and a head jerk. Alabastra winces, and trembles her hand in a so-so manner. Great.

Carol unlocks and opens the basement door, leading into an underground section of the shop that looks yet more the same as the rest. The lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling are the sole bastions against darkness in this space, un-flanked by the sunlit windows of the upper floors, leaving the whole space feeling cold and dim. But more rows of interesting looking items line walls and bookshelves, and sit proudly locked away in display cases.

But my attention is instead drawn to the hunched automaton of brass and crystal stagnant in the middle of the cellar. The magic construct resembles the rough outline of a humanoid, with wide shoulders tapering into a thin midsection, and a plate masque for a face forever cast in a stare. Its hunched and compacted form still stands just above Alabastra's height, its spindly limbs end in sharp, daggered metal claws, and its legs bend the wrong direction. An upper city Clockwatch, stripped of its lawful regalia and death-dealing arsenal, lying dormant in the basement of an antique store. No wonder the door was locked.

"Don't mind the machine - it's harmless", says Carol. Alabastra tenses. "Feel free to look around!"

I search the floor first. Not for watches or items or other signs of our foes. For blood stains. The basement seems as well decorated and free of signs of violence as the upstairs... but we're not the only ones with access to illusions.

Nothing out of the ordinary strikes me. Alabastra seems to agree, and passes from the bottom step onto the carpet-covered concrete floor. For just a brief moment, my mind conjures a black thought of the machine surging to life and cutting her to ribbons. Disgust follows in suit. But the basement remains a center of calm.

And as I step into the cellar, finally, I spot it. Backlit by light bouncing off the brick of the basement wall, a wood and metal display case with gold hinges and a shining intricate lock holds within it a small metal arch with a hook underside its apex. Hanging from the hook, a brass pocket watch of intricate make, a long spool of corresponding chain, and under the glass surface of the timepiece, a single hand, stuck in fixed position at 12.

I breathe a sigh of relief. We found it. Hopefully that means the hard part is over.

As I cross to the other side of the room, I notice something strange after all. Unlike the rest of the shop, and even the other half of the basement, there is an absolute lack of dust around the display case.

I may have only even noticed due to my vigilance for signs of blood spill. I reach out to brush my hand against a side table just to confirm, and rap my knuckles against physical matter. There is no illusion here; it's just... clean. Unnaturally so.

Underneath the display case, a small metal placard entitles the artifact: The Timekeeper. Such an august title for a broken curio. The others gather behind me, eyeing the watch as well.

Faylie says a touch too loud, "Here it is!"

Alabastra mumbles, "But no price tag..."

We need more information. I turn to the proprietor and say, "Can we take a look at this?"

She harbors a contemptuous, befuddled look in my direction, like she drank sour milk when she expected coffee. It's like a piercing wound in my chest for a moment. What is...

Oh. My voice. I hadn't spoken to her up to this point. I turn away, abashed. Dammit. Have I blown our cover? That would explain why that look she gave me, carrying pure disgust and scrutiny, struck such a sudden chord. I'd better just keep my mouth shut from here on.

My back still to her, she says, "Sure thing..." Carol steps to join us, and slips a key from her ring into the lock. However, instead of turning the tumblers, the entrance glows with blue arcana. The glow lights a twirling path through the etches of the golden padlock, as it begins to shake with power. Carol says no words of power and draws no glyphs; this is not a spell of her own casting, but the invoking of another's. The padlock breaks apart into a dozen floating pieces, drifting in defied gravity. It reforms itself mid-air, relieved of its security duty, and drops unceremoniously onto the table below. Carol stows the keyring back on her person. "Just a little added precaution."

She pulls open the display case door, exposing the watch to the room's air. Alabastra says, "Why all the security?"

"This is a very special item. The Timekeeper is the crown jewel of our collection." Carol reaches into the case, and gingerly pulls the watch from its display hook. Holding it in her hands as gentle as a baby bird, she shows the face to us, likely expecting us to coo and awe. "We received this piece some years ago; it may not look it, but it holds immense arcane potential." She loops the watch chain between her fingers, and lets the timepiece dangle from it, its brass surface glinting under the flickering light bulbs

At the back of my mind, a thought rings so loud it cannot be ignored. An impulse as strong as my insatiable thirsts, but without the experience of warding against it. A single, simple thought: reach out. Touch it. Before I even realize why I'm doing it... I have to know...

My fingers graze along the brass edges, and it is like the shallowest plunge into a vast ocean. In a moment between moments, my mind is pulled between the gears, thrumming in time like a heartbeat, made for just one moment to listen and see.

And it shows me.

Time is an invention of the mortal mind, to contextualize the shifting world. Past and future are fictions. There is only ever now.

Except here. Here, time is not the inexorable march of despotic ageing atoms. Here, time flows like a vast river squeezed through a needlepoint. Forwards and back. Backwards and fro. Every history is bulwarked along the never-ticking hand, every future draped through its works. Wound-up records, spinning, and slotting, and floating. Memories like lilies pulled through its rush-roar current. Possibility like a skipping stone dragged under the riverbed. And all of it, all of it, funneled and blockaded, stopped along the metal, worked by mortal hands to encage the great tyrant.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

In this briefest of instants, I see it as it is. This is not some broken clock; it's a dam. And that rushing feeling within, it is pure, unadulterated potential. Junk-peddler or no, this woman is underselling this item; this is not a crown jewel, it's a miracle.

And for all the feelings my briefest brush has flooded me with, I almost don't notice the most important of all; a lack of feeling. Of one particular feeling. For the first time since my ordeal started, my hungers are gone. Not just sated, but evaporated, like the need itself for sustenance is lifted from me, like my body could continue forever without another drop of blood.

I can't help but choke up. It's a cure. I can be free of the monster inside of me, of the curse that has haunted like a poltergeist over my back for years, bid me to violence, held me enthralled to impossible desire. Just like that, it can all be over...

The shopkeeper slaps my wrist. "Hey! No touching!"

I pull my hand away. Right. We don't have it yet. I look to Alabastra, and find a wide-eyed glance meet my own. I don't have the words to describe the weight of this, and I couldn't share them now if I did. Instead, I bob my head up and down, and hope that will suffice.

Alabastra turns to the clerk. "How much?"

Carol looks aghast. "How...? This item is not for sale! And if it were, I'm quite certain you couldn't afford it! It is a collector's piece, not for your hands." There's something in the way she said your that strikes me as particularly vindictive, but I'm too awestruck by my graze with immense power to dissect, or even care.

Part of me considers just... grabbing it. Taking it and running, while the chance is still here. Before it goes back under lock and key, sealed by whatever magic is at work here. But... no. We have to be smart about this. After all, our mystery adversaries sent a third party after this for a reason; this Syndicate will ensure a price is paid for their prize, one way or another.

Alabastra bites her bottom lip, then sighs. "Fine, fine. I think we've seen enough." She reaches out to shake Carol's hand. "Thanks, Carol. We'll take our leave."

"But what about-", Faylie begins.

Tegan picks her up by the waist, and hoists the shorter woman over her shoulder. "Let's go, Polli."

One by one, under the faun's protestations, I follow the women up the stairs to exit Tinker Tack Antiques, feeling eyes on my back with every step. And still, all I can think about is the watch. The Timekeeper. A temporal remedy.

Who knew, that in all of my cursed existence, all I needed was the blessing of a little time.

* * *

Once we're suitably far from the shop, Alabastra corrals us into a small-scale city park, a triangle slice of trees and grass sandwiched between two diagonal roads, enclosed by iron fences.

Alabastra's draconic illusion shimmers away to reveal the half-elf underneath once more. She plants herself down on the stone bench we've gathered around, one arm slung over the back. "Well... that went smooth."

Tegan says, "I know Allie's the one with the lie detector but, did anyone else get some pretty bad reads from that lady?" She shakes her disguise off like a dog shaking out water.

"She didn't seem to like the four of us much, that's for certain", I say. "Any particular insights, Alabastra?"

The rogue waves her buttressed hand. "Pfft. You kiddin'? Her name's not even Carol." She shrugs. "Even if we hadn't been told she was Syndicate, I still mighta picked up on it. She's bad news."

"I dunno...", Faylie begins, "She seemed like a nice old lady..."

"Never trust the nice ones, Glowbug. But I'm not interested in her." Alabastra rests her head in her hand, and looks to me. "You touched that thing. You alright?"

Alright? I'm better than alright... I'm in the clouds. "Yes... Gods, that watch, it's... it was beautiful." They all lean in closer. "If anything, the shopkeeper was underselling what it could do. It-it takes the very essence of time, and, and wrings it through, twists it, like, like a weaver spooling thread through a lathe." I don't realize I'm shaking as I'm talking until Tegan puts a hand on my shoulder.

Alabastra darts her eyes side-to-side. "Okay... You wanna run that by me again?"

I roll my eyes. "Imagine... imagine time as we know it, we put it in a straight line, correct? Past, Present, Future, only one way, back to back to back. But that's not what time really is, it's, it's an illusion, there's only really now, now, and now again. But the watch, it makes time more real. Gives it shape like, like a mold form. And then it confines it. It takes a metaphysical concept only understandable by the Gods, and it lets you spin it up with a watch dial! It's incredible..."

Faylie says, "I'm super not used to you talking this much..."

I ignore her. Before any of them can object again, I continue, "And, that's not even the best part... Alabastra, when I touched it, my hungers were gone!"

That gets Alabastra's attention. She focuses on me, knitting her fingers together. "Wait, so, you're saying it's..."

Too drunk on long-tossed aside hope to care that a delirious smile crosses my face, I nod like a maniac. "It's a solution. A cure."

Alabastra leans back, hand over mouth. "Huh." She tilts, struck with a thought from above. "Is that why Creepy Guy wanted it? Why this connects back to our little problem...? They knew it was a spanner in their works?"

"It must be. Alabastra, you... you were right." It's time I conceded, admitted defeat; this woman is saving my life. Even if I never asked for it... even if I don't deserve it. She's capable of it. And she's going to follow through. I've spent so long thinking I was damned... and, well, perhaps I still am. But after seeing, seeing what that watch could do... I could be convinced that damned and doomed are not the same thing.

Faylie rockets into my side, arms wrapped tight against my form. Instantly I stand stock still. I... why is she hugging me?! "Marlowe! I'm so happy for you! We're gonna get you fixed up with freaky time magic, and then we're gonna fix your house, and then we're gonna go for walks in the sun, and then we're gonna get you a bunch of foods that don't have blood in them!" I know she knows that I've had regular foods before...

I'm about to correct her on what we'll be doing together, when from above, a CAW interrupts my train of thoughts, as it ever has. My least favorite corvid flies onto the park bench next to Alabastra, flitting and twitching. "Nice of you to join us, Pae", says Alabastra.

Paella looks at me with one eye, cocking its head. Then it lets out a strange croaking sound, like a creaky water pump. I roll my eyes. "What's it saying now, then, Alabastra? 'If only we could cure your personality?'"

"No... but, that's a good one." She looks quizzical at the raven. "I think she prefers you this way."

"... Prefers me what way?"

They all share a grin to each other. Alabastra chuckles, and Tegan says, "You mean, you don't know?"

I look between them. What? It's not like I'm-

I'm still wearing the disguise. I am, in fact, the only one. Even Faylie changed back at some point when I wasn't looking. Gods, this day doesn't end. I concentrate, pulling at the thread of magic that the faun weaved through my mind, and drop the illusion. It doesn't shimmer or shatter like the others, it... peels away, slowly, like fruit shed of its outer skin, the magic flittering into sunlight as it goes. I shake my hands, and readjust my collar. I've embarrassed myself enough today.

The others are looking at me, teasing turning to curiosity, into something else. Pity. My gorge rises at that. Of all things... Faylie unravels herself from my frozen form.

The raven squawks once more, it's thin beak pointed in my direction. It flies off again, to get lost in some other part of the city. Good.

Alabastra begins, "Y'know, you..." The words die in her mouth. She looks away, and lets out a sigh, amidst concerted effort and clearly rambling thought. "Never mind." On any other day, I'd likely be annoyed... but I am still riding the high of the revelations from the timepiece. This time, I'll let the matter rest.

My stomach growls. Speaking of time. I look up at the sun, trying to determine how long I have left, and think aloud, "If my blackout tonight is scheduled for a similar time, I have... maybe less than an hour."

"Hmm. That might not be enough time to getcha home, Moods. And dragging your sleepin' body around might get us some looks."

Dammit. We've spent so much time walking all over the city today, I'd lost track of time again. Surely there's some solution...

Faylie says, "Wait... we're only like ten minutes from our place!" Surely there's some... other solution. She starts pumping her fists in excitement, chanting, "Sleep-o-ver! Sleep-o-ver!"

My arms cross. "You are joking, right?"

Alabastra stands, dusting off her longcoat. "Why not? We gotta brainstorm a plan for tomorrow, anyways. There's a couch you can crash on, and we can watch over you." I sour at watch over me. As if I'm some stray mongrel.

But, I suppose I can't argue with the logic. "... Fine."

She smiles triumphantly. "C'mon, we're not far."