Sao slipped out of the dark and found himself wound in a satiny embrace, so light as to be ethereal, dripped in the scent of lavender fields. He curled the shroud tighter around his shoulders.

But now he was awake.

Morning at the Saturn Hotel was gentle. There was no other word for it. The scents, the sights, the sounds. The whispered touch of the covers. Everything bathed in filtered sunlight that flowed through lace curtains. Sao turned onto his back. For waking in a foreign bed in a foreign town, he felt entirely at ease, better rested than he had for days.

Sao had no strife with his bed at home; a sleek yet luxurious queen-size with six down pillows; but was glad to be away from the predicament of his upstairs neighbors. Ordinarily a functional family of three, one or both parents were presently out of town and their infant spent every night screaming for them. Whoever was caring for the baby could never keep them content for long and, even worse, constantly had business at the opposite end of the apartment, and so the pounding of feet from east to west joined the nightly wailing.

Sao could sleep through much. He wasn’t sure he prided himself on such, but it was true. However a sobbing child right overhead was a bit much, even for him.

He was lucky Rai had let him tag along on the Birdsing job. That was a good quality of Rai’s, he was too dignified to beg for company but he did appreciate it, and so he could be relied on not to tease or bicker or question Sao’s interest. And in another stroke of unexpected luck they’d gotten lost, leading to a blissful night in the countryside.

Relatively speaking, of course. Rai hadn’t passed the time cozy under a fragrant comforter. He had come charging through the door after midnight. Whatever the reason, he had calmed quickly, and buried himself a magazine about family fashions. On the cover there was a classic four-person household in matching pumpkin costumes, bulbous vests and green felt caps. Perhaps Sao was mixing up that image with something on the all-night sitcom channel.

Families, infants, cries. Had Rai said he heard someone shouting in the hotel?

Sao lay very still. He heard nothing but the old pipes and the thumping of his own heart. When he’d had enough, he hauled himself upright and admired the room again. Muted floral wallpaper, furniture with curved wooden legs. An old box television, now dark, reflecting him and the room in fisheye. Everything Rai had brought in the previous night had been cleared out, along with Rai himself, it seemed.

Sao was a little guilty; he had been relying on Rai to wake him up. But he should be grateful Rai let him sleep in. Rai had always been perhaps overly respectful of Sao’s sleeping habits.

From the television’s reflection gawked a less-than-deserving creature, grunge faced and wild-haired. Sao got up, made the bed, and headed for the bathroom.

The tiles were cool but he hardly felt them, so warmed he was by nostalgia. He had a weakness for quintessential old world comforts; yellowing sconces shaped like tulips; a mirror set in a gilt wooden wreath; the tub with curled bronze feet. What really perfected the picture was how imminently used and usable it all was - every surface just slightly worn but well cared for, no accumulations of rust or mold. The mirror was polished, the water came from the tap in a strong hot stream.

In the little tubes of soap there was a touch of modernity, along with the disposable toothbrushes and razors. The purple bottles of cleanser were Langgan, a brand that city reviewers had been raving over. Supplying a hotel must have cost a fortune. Perhaps a factory operated nearby in Interstate.

Sifting through his zippered pouch of creams and concealers. Sao inspected his scars. Langgan was a fae-owned company, its formulae were said to have visible de-aging effects. Perhaps Sao was too easily swayed by the bright eyed reviewers, but the most prominent of his scars - an eternally raw patch around his right eye - did feel smoother after he’d washed it with the aloe-and-grapefruit cleanser. Perhaps it even looked smoother.

He covered it all up anyway.

On his way out, Sao couldn't help but admire the brass room key. He liked the weight of it, the tactile clatter when the key turned in the keyhole. A plaything for lockpicks, but safety aside, he believed modern hotels and their scanner cards were missing something like this; the totems that made a room a room.

Once he had stepped out and locked the door, he realized it was likely the last time he’d see that little tableau. A soft pang of melancholy went though him, like he was leaving behind a childhood sanctuary.

Their room was at the end of a long hallway. At the tip of the hallway was a bay window. Its protruding panes looked out on a field with a paved area that may have been for events or outdoor dining in better weather. The lawn was rimmed with evergreen trees, and beyond that, thick dark forest.

The window itself was adorned with a cushioned bench, dust glimmering in the sunlight. It reminded him distinctly of the one at his old school. He and she would curl up, backs against the cool surface of the glass, pillows on laps and feet tucked under them to make space for the book they were going to share, or rather, that she was sharing with him, because it was undoubtedly her book.

She would read the words out loud with immaculate enunciation, and at times stop to point out the flaws and errors in the hero’s actions, always prefacing that yes, she knew that it was probably metaphorical and faerietales were written in a time completely separate from theirs, but… And he looked forward to those little intermissions, because he loved when she challenged the past, defying words that someone else had seen fit to commit to paper. Gilt edged paper bound in leather, no less. It made him feel safe to be around someone with that strength.

He thought of Cherry’s muddied hands fingerprinting the covers, chipping off the gold, cracking the binding until loose pages started seeping out like water through cracks. Carelessness was another method of defiance, he supposed.

His friend, though, she would have–

Enough. Turning his back to the bench, Sao went to meet Rai in the dining room and talk about work, the upcoming drive, or anything else as long as it wasn’t the past.

—

“A fox?”

“Or a raccoon.” Guy, in his billowing apron, pulled out a seat for Sao and fetched him an omelette covered in brown spots.

“Did you catch it in the end?”

“Sorry to say, sir, I didn’t actually hear it,” Guy said. “But the noise ended eventually, right? So no harm done. It’s so cold at night, I can’t blame animals who come looking for shelter. Would you like some more coffee?”

Of course Rai would. He lifted the empty pot and smoothed out the crushed napkin underneath. The pot had been keeping Sao’s placemat warm for him. “Morning, Sao. We were just talking about the noise last night.”

“I’m sorry it kept you awake, sir. Sirs.”

“No sweat. It didn’t,” Rai said. Guy’s apology was hardly surprising - even at his sprightliest, Rai naturally bore a look of complete exhaustion. He slouched, his complexion was colorless, and he possessed the deepest eyebags Sao believed possible on a human face. But with Life Fountain aura, choosing not to sleep was his choice. And Sao could tell, Rai was enjoying his morning. Rai had always had a liking for mushrooms, and the endless coffee refills were sweeter than any dream for him. Sao wondered how many cups he’d had so far.

“I didn’t hear the noise myself,” Sao added. “I slept like a baby. May I have some tea?”

Guy skipped off, swinging the glass coffeepot like one would a basket of flowers.

Sao took a seat. Even the chairs, the size and the weight and thickness of the cushions, took him back to his childhood. The windows of the dining room overlooked another green lawn, sparkling with frost. Enveloped in a dreamy veil of sunlight, Sao was liable to drift off again before breakfast arrived. Luckily he had Rai, the nostalgia buster. There hadn’t been anything resembling Rai in his childhood.

“That kid’s a machine. He was up at six o’ clock, turning on lights and sweeping the lobby. He called for that Mr. Hode they were talking about last night, too - skinny old guy with a truck. He already came by and stuck on the new tires, so we’re good to go, whenever.”

Good, whenever, let’s go. Rai’s brisk manner was just what Sao needed to get his head in order. He watched Rai scrape at the remains of his omelette. “Shall we leave after breakfast?”

“Fine by me. Have some omelette,” Rai said.

The beetle-like objects lodged in the egg gave off an oily glimmer. Sao smiled. “I think I’ll eat the apple.”

“You still have that thing?”

For having been shoved into a pocket and laid on the floor half the night, the apple had held up nicely. Perfectly, in fact. It was with a solemn hand that Sao picked up a knife and split it open.

The aroma coming off the peel was delicate, only faintly floral. He bit into it and marveled. It was a different sort of sweetness to what he’d expected, rich and heady. There was almost a spiciness to the juice, a lingering warmth. Sao devoured three pieces. “I could finish off a crate. I wonder what Guy did with the rest.”

“Ask him.”

“Perhaps another time.” Sao nudged a piece over. He hoped Rai wouldn’t notice it was one of the smaller ones. “Try it.”

Rai took off his gloves, grabbed the piece, and gobbled it down with disappointing quickness. “Hm.”

It wasn’t a murmur of approval or disapproval, but of amusement.

“You’re really gonna miss this place, aren’t you?” Rai said. On his face was the tiniest of smiles.

Sao had forgotten how tactful Rai had become as of late. When they had begun working together, Rai had been a bracing - Sao was reluctant to say outright unsavory - sort of person. Desperate to prove his way was the only way. But the charging bull could be redirected with soft red cloth and sleight of hand before it even knew what happened.

What Rai was now was perceptive. There were times he still went about heavy-handed, but he spent much more time watching. Being Rai’s most frequent companion, Sao was watched an awful lot, though it was different from the days where Rai was scoping him out with the impression he was some underworld go-between. Rai seemed to care now, he was starting to understand more and wanted to show he understood, which was an admirable concept, but it made him much harder to throw off.

Perhaps it wasn’t fair to say Rai had only begun caring now. He had always defended Sao’s touch aversion and right to conceal his past. Sao was thankful - but thankful meant taking on a kind of debt. There was potential for regret now.

Sao nibbled another piece of his apple. He needed his faculties at the ready to match Rai as he was. “Yes. You know, I’ve enjoyed this trip, detour and all. I’m only sorry I’m not much help in navigating.”

“You not being here wouldn’t have stopped me from getting lost. I triple checked the maps last night in the hotel computer closet. Turns out I took us down some completely wrong road from the beginning.”

It wasn’t so wrong, was it? Sao did not protest. “I should really get a license myself.”

“Even if you had one, I wouldn’t let you drive as long as we’re using my car. It’s not you I don’t trust, but that piece of crap.”

A compliment, when it came from Rai.

Hot drinks were brought in. Guy poured Sao a careful amount of hot water from a porcelain pot. Leaning over the table he spotted the apple core on the otherwise empty plate and said, as if that was what reminded him, “You’ll be going soon, won’t you?”

“Unfortunately,” Rai said. “Duty calls.”

Guy’s smile was subdued. “It’s been fun. We hope to see you again.”

—

Marinell, the Saturn Hotel owner, had been something of a conundrum from the start.

Sao was prepared for cliches at their departure, and had a few of his own ready to deploy in response. Nothing substantial; he simply did not want to give the impression Marinell had driven him off.

Their host was tending to the fire. Rai had to practically chase him to the front desk, where they returned the keys and signed the departure date into the guestbook. After the book was shut, Sao stayed back. Sensing a plan that didn’t require him, Rai went to the car first.

Sao cleared his voice. “I’d just like to thank you again. The room was perfect, and Guy was a saint. Incredibly refreshing to get out of the city.”

Not a word from Marinell. He began shuffling papers, tried to look occupied with checking the ledger. Finding anything to look at but his guest. Ex-guest, Sao supposed.

He tried again. “I wish we could have stayed longer.”

He was left feeling a bit rude. Anxiety was a terrible curse for one who ran a hotel nearly solo, whether the establishment did well or poorly. All of a sudden, Sao wondered how Marinell had even come into this line of work. If only they’d had more time to talk. But perhaps time wasn’t the barrier here.

With a final glance at the head bent behind the counter, Sao said, “I know you may not believe me, but there’s something magical about a place like this, to me. I do hope to drop in again sometime soon. I mean that.”

He left.

The bitter cold that met him on the front steps almost sent him scuttling right back inside to the fire. No snow, though it was plenty cold enough for it, the sight of the stuff would have softened the blow, but no; before him was nothing but damp air and frosty ground. The time for dreaming was over.

He stopped to fasten the buttons of his coat and became aware of a light panting just behind him. A cloud of breath brushed against the side of his face where his large scar was concealed and a voice he hardly recognized whispered, “No good - I didn’t want to say this - it’s better if you don’t come back to Temperance.”

Sao lurched, lost balance and almost took a spill down the icy stairs. Marinell’s large flat hand came closing in, to grab his arm, and Sao dodged again, landing in an awkward stance with one foot on the ground and the other up two stairs.

“Do not touch me,” Sao said.

He expected Marinell to flee indoors, but the man just stared at him, ill-fitted jacket hanging like overgrown moss. “I’m sorry.”

“As am I.” At this, Marinell looked truly sorry. The act had been so sudden, it was like it never happened. The person truly responsible had vanished. Sao smoothed down his coat. “Get some rest, Mr. Marinell.”

—

“So he got weird?”

“Not in the way you might expect.”

“Well, if he wants us to stay away, that’s going to be easy.”

Sao pressed his face to the window and felt the vibrations of the car against his skull. “I’d feel bad saying that, if only for Guy’s sake.”

They rolled on in silence for a while. Rai was watching the road with uncharacteristic caution. If there was one thing that had not changed at all from the time they’d met, it was Rai’s driving habits. Sao wondered if he was really still dreaming. The powder blue light that coated the landscape was also detracting from the realism of the scene. A row of oak trees along Temperance’s main road were valiantly holding their leaves against the coming winter.

“This is gonna sound rough,” Rai said slowly, “but maybe Marinell pulled that stunt with serious intent to keep you away.”

Sao smiled. “Dark undercurrents in a country town? Sounds like one of your movies.”

“Not until someone breaks out the chainsaw. But there does seem to be a lot going on for a place this empty, according to Cherry.” Rai made a sharp turn, but not as violent as one he might make on the city highways. Perhaps the lack of competition cooled his impulses. “Her friend in hospital. That should be easy enough for us to check on, but I was interested in something else she mentioned. Letters.”

“What was that?”

“She claimed her school principal was scared after getting some letter, and it was making him lie about Rose. Everyone was getting these letters, she said. And she was also fixated on how everyone was lying.”

“Blackmail? You’re never off-duty, are you?” Sao tried to recall Cherry’s mission in the dining room. “I was rather distracted by that book of hers.”

“I didn’t get to ask about that. A friend of yours…?”

“A long time ago.” Sao was not ready for another bout with nostalgia, the very same that knocked him out the night before. He’d have dropped off to sleep easily enough without it, but the dreams were different, and the ache of waking much worse. He doubted he’d ever see the book’s old - or new - owner again. He didn’t need to.

Perhaps he should have said it aloud, because when the trees cleared, Sao found they were driving alongside a field, the same field they’d driven by the previous day, but the opposite side.

“A shortcut?” Sao asked.

“Not exactly. I wanted to see this school everyone was talking about. Might be our only chance.”

Myrmilion School was still some distance away, encircled in shrubs and rolling green hills, but there was no missing the towers, topped with battlements that looked like giant’s teeth. As they neared the campus, Sao could see the building consisted of two long extensions joined by a square block which might have contained a large hall or auditorium. The two wings of the school fanned out like clock hands (similar, Sao thought, to the two long halls that made up the Saturn Hotel), with the towers at their respective ends, walls glimmering pearlescent white.

The western face of the school was reflected in an oval-shaped pond at the bottom of the hill.

Rai drove onto the grass and parked on a slope behind the campus. Ahead lay the pond and a square courtyard hugged by the wings of the building, that too paved with the same pearl sheen. The field was not particularly well manicured, with tall stalks and brush coming up to knee level. There was no clear distinction between school and wilderness, the grass simply smoothed out the closer it drew to the school, as if becoming tame of its own accord.

They stepped out and crunched down the frozen hill, toward the shimmering pond. The castle seemed to shrink as they wandered closer, as it lost its untouchable air.

“Looks like your old school?” Rai asked.

“No.” It was true. Sao’s school had been beautiful too, but even in memory it had clearly been a mansion, a place of delicate purposes, a proper institution, drawn in thin lines and clean edges. This was a castle, dense and aged. There was a roughness to its splendor that even pearl paint couldn’t cover.

They’d reached the low wooden fence which surrounded the lake when Sao spotted a group of children in the white courtyard just beyond. Forgoing the conservative playset of slide, seesaw and climbing frame, they were wedged against a wall out of the sun, in the shadow of the wing above. Sao counted four, outfitted in fawn colored coats and white shirts, like Cherry had been.

“Doesn’t look like Cherry’s with them,” Rai noted.

The children were grouped in a tight circle and holding congress over some very serious matter. Secretive, too - and when they saw the strangers, one pointed and they scattered like rabbits. The smallest boy, icy in coloration except for his oil-black hair, regarded the intruders a long blue stare before fleeing, with noticeably less zeal than the others.

Rai watched them go, and leaned an arm against a fence post to study the pond. Sao chose a different fencepost and did the same.

Unlike the shrinking castle, the body of water and its mirror image seemed larger now that they were on top of it. Perhaps it was the darkness, the mottling of the ice. The reflected castle was cloaked in a grey fog that gave the impression it lay far in the distance.

“Looks deep. Think they have any fish?” Rai asked.

The water was frozen. The ice revealed nothing but reflections; it was impossible to see below the surface. Sao’s face stared back at him, slightly grainy around the edges but crystal-clear in its disappointment. “No waves. No ducks or geese. Probably no fish. Did you notice how quiet it is? There don’t seem to be a lot of animals around here.”

“Maybe they’re all in the hotel.”

Sao laughed.

They didn’t get any closer to the courtyard; there wasn’t a need. From the pond, though, Sao saw that the spine of the building had a tunnel cut through the base of it, a wide archway with a teardrop of light shining through from the other side. Then, as if blown through, a wisp of a woman emerged from the shade under the arch. She wore a long gray coat and had a blanket of hair that fell past her waist. The color of her hair was pearl like the walls and the paving, faintly blue-tinted and almost translucent, a film of ice lifted from the pond.

She looked with large, melancholic eyes and waved. By her, the small black-haired boy they had seen earlier was watching too, with half his face hidden in her coat. She said something, and he waved too, reluctantly.

At Sao’s school they had tutors and matrons. This woman did not look like one of those, she was too young. But she didn’t look like a student either.

Perhaps it was all a matter of perspective. When he was in primary school, a fellow student just two or three years above felt passable as a grown adult. Someone to hide behind.

The woman was the one who decided no further gesture was needed. With a pencil-thin smile she turned, hair slicing the air. The boy followed her back under the arch. In their wake, they left a trail of questions, an ethereal cold.

Though he couldn’t tell Rai (lest he chase the woman down with his camera) Sao felt like he’d seen a spirit, perhaps not one of the lingering dead, but some manner of soul. A harbinger of winter.

His skin prickled. He was awake now, and ready. And inexplicably happy. Ghost sighted. A fitting end to the trip.

Or it should have been.

The trudge back to the car felt longer than the journey down. Maybe it was the upward slope, maybe the thickening grass. There was an eerie whistling sound too, that grew louder as they approached. Sao didn’t feel any wind. Something was wrong.

The car was sinking into the grass. The sound they’d heard was air escaping from the tires.

Three of the four wheels had holes gouged in them.

And standing triumphantly over her handiwork, with her mudstained book in one hand and pair of scissors in the other, was Cherry.

“Thought you could leave, didn’t you?” she said.

—

“I’m so very sorry, gentlemen.”

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry,” Rai muttered.

The principal turned to Cherry. “And what do you have to say for yourself?”

“I’m sorry,” Cherry said, picking her nail with a page of the Omnibus. Rai had walled off her babbling as he blazed his way into the building, past the set of children sitting in the hall, and up to the room marked A. Muka Myrmilion, Principal.

“I didn’t hurt anyone,” Cherry said. “A car isn’t a person.”

“We’ll speak about this later,” the principal said with remarkable grace.

Cherry left, leaving behind a trail of muddy footprints. The principal gave a small bow. “I’ll call Hode to tow your car and locate some new tires. It’ll all be covered by the town, of course.”

Rai looked even more sorry, and inspected the thick damask carpet that he was refusing to step on. It was a beautiful piece, rich burgundy with flecks of gold, like a sheet of jasper. The office as a whole was an impressive sight; from the blown glass ornaments to the heavy shelves, to the walls themselves, layered like cake, with wooden wainscoting and whitewash facade, and then a layer of exposed beige stones shifting to grey as the wall rose to the ceiling. Through the windows, so tall they cut through all three layers, poured in a copious amount of white sunlight.

Sao, however, could not stop looking at the principal.

This was the eccentric castle-owner, an aging faerie. Principal Muka, adorned in a finely tailored suit coat with a golden watch chain, had the build of a very slim, very small teenager. From a distance, or when his back was turned, he might be mistaken for one of his own students. It was in the joints and extremities that age showed, skin stretched out and tucked back, like loose edges of a sheet. Said skin was luminous, but behind his ears, around his bony wrists and fingers, it fell into tiny ridges, fold upon delicate fold. From his neck hung a dewlap so smooth it resembled a silken cravat.

He moved with grace but a certain strain when extending his limbs; Sao supposed that was another thing that belied his age. On his head was a windblown toupee the color of driftwood.

“Cherry has had difficulties recently. She isn’t a bad child,” the principal said. He spoke in earnest, holding them both in a serious gaze. Sao liked him already. “She’s very clever, actually. It’s hard to keep her stimulated, especially when classes are out. The present students are the few staying over the fall break. It’s five weeks.”

“A long one. How many kids do you usually have?” Rai asked from across the room.

“Twenty or so in total,” There was not a hint of the desperation they’d heard in Guy and Marinell. Two or twenty, Muka would be just as proud.

“It’s good of you to stay here with them,” Sao put in.

“Of course. What else would I be doing at my age? This is my home, and the school is essentially my life, and I have to say, I’m quite happy with it.”

“Makes me wish I appreciated the teachers who did the same for me, back when I was in school.” Sao managed to detach from the gaze, looked over at the grand wooden cabinet behind his desk. “I attended a place called Wishfort. I heard it closed recently.”

“Ah, yes, up north was it? I spoke to one of the released staff who brought books to donate to a fair in Garland. We picked up a fair few, some beautiful old editions. A Miss Hamlet, if I recall?”

Sao smiled, but couldn’t at all recall a tutor by that name. It was strange what details stuck so vividly to him and what was a complete null. He remembered perhaps only three of the tutors by name.

He also doubted beauty or rarity factored much into Cherry’s attachment to the Faerietale Omnibus.

Muka beamed back. Rai was staring a little less politely. They both soon lost interest - as intended.

Rai cleared his throat. “Coincidence, huh? So, Muka, you’ve been living in Temperance long?”

“Just outside Temperance limits, actually.” Muka smiled, exposing his polished dentures. “I came here nearly as soon as I left the Citadel. Or hereabouts. Interstate. I was a tutor to the Myrmilion family, which is how I came into this property. That would have been twenty-three years ago.” His small lilac eyes had an aqueous twinkle in them. “I retired from the Citadel when I was twenty-eight. You must be able to do the math.”

“Must be night and day, compared to the Citadel,” Rai said, bypassing the question of age.

“Yes. But Citadel life never did suit me. It’s my homeland and I have infinite reasons to be thankful, but I needed space. The Citadel is such a small, close place, it was suffocating.” He laughed. “I took on the Myrmilion name by choice. I think the family saw it as a mark of devotion, but really it was for my own satisfaction. I never liked the designation I got from the Citadel. A whole city, limited to six surnames, and the same names used for half the streets and institutions. I was a Feldspar.”

Sao tried to think of something positive to say on behalf of Feldspar fae, but at Muka’s tone, only drew up blanks.

“I can’t say I found it pleasant, but I am grateful for their social support. The pension for my work on the Citadel supports me to this day. The fae don’t skimp. They and the amount bestowed on me by the Myrmilion family fund are what fund this place, rather than tuitions. The school’s really more of a calling than a business.”

Sao eyed a small bottle of handwash on the desk with a familiar purple casing. “That’s a faerie brand, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Ah - you were at the hotel. I import Langgan soaps, and occasionally order for the hotel. I am not entirely without weakness for my fae life; something about their plum blossom scent in particular — terminally nostalgic. I’m getting old.”

“I know that feeling,” Sao said.

“You don’t look a day over twenty-five,” was Rai’s attempt at follow-up.

“Why, thank you.” Muka took a seat behind his desk. His chair was raised, but he still looked tiny against the enormous surface. “I know we fae age poorly after a point but I really do feel good. I think I’d have wound up hospital-bound at thirty like so many others if I had stuck it out, up in the Citadel. Despite what you may have heard, all the talk of vegetarianism and enforced exercise regimens, nothing about life there is healthy. The fae condition itself is not natural. It’s not like human dwarfism; not a coincidence, a genetic accident, a blessing or bacterial organism. Fae were forcibly developed and now forcibly propagated. And what do we get? Armless, faceless, horned and tailed childlike bodies that fall apart too fast.”

He turned his chair to face the window. His voice had turned bitter. But the view seemed to melt the sentiment which had brought it on.

“I was lucky not to be born with any serious condition. I was able to migrate. The fresh air and space here are what I’d always dreamed of. And the children, of course. I think they encourage me to keep up appearances. In a way they make me eager to look old; have me determined to act my age. Or else they’d never listen to me.”

They sat for a moment, absorbing the sun, the dusty but vaguely floral air.

Somewhere in the halls, a child was giggling. Muka swiveled back to the desk. “Well, gentlemen, I cannot thank you enough for your understanding. It’s been a pleasure to meet - perhaps we will again, sometime. I’ll call Tommy to drive you to the hotel.”

But Rai was not done. Having never sat down during the course of their conversation, Rai was now blocking the door. “I think it’s better if we talk in here. I have a few more questions.”

Muka laughed. “I thought I’d said too much already. But if you’re happy to stay, then by all means. Take a seat, Mr. Rai, there are plenty.”

Rai did not. “Cherry’s seriously preoccupied with a girl called Rose. What exactly happened to her?”

“Oh no. It was a terrible accident.” The loose skin of Muka’s face pulled like tissue paper into a wrinkled frown. In a second, he’d aged fifty years. “It was almost a month ago. Rose was playing on one of the towers in the evening. Stargazing, that’s what Cherry said. It was after bedtime - close to midnight. Nobody knew she snuck up there except Cherry. Rose must have leaned a little too far and fell. We found her on the ground with her binoculars, under the North tower - closest to the pond.”

“How long was she there before you found her?”

“Unfortunately it was only Cherry who saw her fall. There was blood. Cherry came running to my office, beside herself. Tommy had left for an evening errand in Garland, so I was the only adult present, and didn’t go out as quickly as I should have. When Tommy returned, she took care of Cherry and the children, who were mostly asleep by then and I went to see… Rose really was in awful shape, but she was conscious, and breathing.”

“You’re sure?”

“Believe me, with the sort of health issues we face, fae first-aid training is solid. Although, it’s no replacement for surgery and her state was beyond basic healing. We needed help. We switched out - Tommy went to see her while I stayed in the school and called the emergency line. Waiting for the ambulance - it must have been two hours or so but it felt like a century. We both went out when it arrived. We tried to move Rose in a way that wouldn’t alarm the other children. The men who came were much stronger than I am. Lifted her like she was lighter than air.”

A self-admonishing smile that quickly dissipated.

“Unfortunately, one of the students did see and hear her being moved, it scared him quite a bit.”

“What time was this?”

“It was past midnight. One or two, I suppose, it took a while for the ambulance to come out here. When Rose was gon– on her way to hospital, I left a message with her parents. After that…”

“What did her parents say?”

“We couldn’t get them to answer the phone. I left a voicemail letting them know she was taken to hospital in Garland. Several voicemails. Just yesterday I tried calling again and...” Muka shook his head.

“Was that normal for her parents?”

“I hate to admit that I never met them. Rose was sent here alone, with a letter. Her parents sign her grades and wire her tuition, on the dot, every term, and I’ve spoken to her mother on the phone - a cold woman - but they’ve never visited. Rose was only here for less than a year. Cherry’s parents were similar. Perhaps Rose saw that kinship they had - Cherry used to be very upset that her parents did not come, until she had Rose by her side.” Muka rubbed his forehead, smoothing out the creases. “When the children are troubled, you want to bring it up with the parents. But in many cases, the parents are the trouble.”

Sao nodded, perhaps too effusively. Rai was giving him a look.

Muka continued. “Rose could be a little chilly, but she was mature, and Cherry admired her greatly. You may already be able to tell, it’s not easy to curry Cherry’s favor. The other children staying over break are all part of a close-knit group of boys. It’s very hard for Cherry right now, she misses her friend.”

Sao thought of Cherry’s accusations the night she had confronted them at the hotel dinner table. Is he your friend?

What had Rai tossed back in response, again? It wasn’t a simple yes or no. Sao couldn’t recall more than that. He’d been so fixated on the book.

“So, Rose is in Garland. Not dead as far as you know.”

“God!” Muka caught himself from slipping under the desk. “I hope not! Did something happen to her at the hospital? Is that why you’re here? What happened? I should have gone with her in the ambulance, or got one of the men’s names, I knew I should–”

“We don’t know anything yet, I’m just wondering,” Rai said. “Cherry made it sound very serious.”

Muka realigned himself; he had too, for Cherry’s sake if not his own. “I’d be more worried if she didn’t. I readily admit she needs better support, and I will not blame her for her acting out in the wake of such a terrible trauma.”

“Of course. She was really worked up.”

The results of which were seven slashed tyres.

“We’ll do a wellness check and let you know how Rose is doing.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it, though…” Muka hesitated. “I wondered, from her parents’ secrecy and Rose’s own, from the lack of communication after the accident…”

“That they might be some important family,” Rai finished. “Or have a reason to hide - and some coverup might be happening.”

“Yes, you exactly. You sound like you’ve seen such things before,”

“Actually, it’s Cherry who thinks there’s a coverup going on.”

“Perhaps Rose told her more about her family than I was able to learn.”

Once again there was silence as they contemplated Cherry.

“It’ll be lunch soon. You’re welcome to join us, though offerings are slim. Perhaps you’d rather return to the hotel and wait for your car. Tommy can take you.” Though his tone was kind, Muka then hopped off the chair as if he’d finally had enough and intended to kick them out.

Rai remained where he was, toeing the fringe of the rug. “One more thing. Totally different point. What’s all this we’ve heard about scary letters?”

“Excuse me?”

“Another ‘job’ Cherry brought to us. She says everyone’s been getting letters, and that you were having some trouble with yours. Something along those lines.”

“You’ve taken all she’s said quite seriously. No wonder she doesn’t want you to leave.”

Rai’s frown turned into a glower. Accentuated by his dark eyebags, his look was liable to burn a hole in the carpet.

“It’s true, there’s this sort of poison pen campaign going around the town. Letters intended to be threatening, or scandalous, I’m not quite sure to what end. For the feeling of power, I suppose. Who’s seeing whom in the evenings, who owes money, who gambles or has an addiction to whips and leather. I suppose I was a initially shocked when I got one, though it didn’t come to much.”

“Any idea who sent them?”

“Well the sorts of secrets dished out, the idea altogether: it all speaks of someone quite childish. Not a child, mind you,” he quickly added, “but… a teen perhaps. Or a highly immature adult.”

Sao exhaled sharply, and thought he heard Rai do the same. The only teen they’d met was Guy.

“The secrets themselves, well, they’re no clue. Everybody knows everyone in Temperance. I’m sure each person knew at least half the information in the letters before a single page was printed.”

“Printed…” Rai finally shifted from the door. “Do you still have yours?”

“It’s hard not to be interested in scandal, isn’t it?” Muka gave a wry smile. “Well, I suppose I brought this on myself. I did say mine came to nothing.”

He moved to a carved walnut bureau in the corner of the room, opened the drop-front panel and pulled out one of at least a dozen inner drawers. He presented them an unmarked envelope, the top sliced open with a folded sheet poking out.

“It turned up in my mail slot one morning, back in the summer. The slots are in the entrance hall. The postman comes by once in a while, and sometimes we get invitations and leaflets from town, or out of town. Someone could have asked a child to drop it in - it really could have been anyone.”

Despite that ominous proclamation, Muka wasn’t worried at all. He unfolded the letter with a boyish chuckle.

The paper had two lines printed in large, generic font.

Mr Principal is bald and deformed.

There are HORNS under his ridiculous wig.

When they looked back at him, he had removed his toupee. Atop his shaved head, there were two nodules of flesh an inch or two in length, twisted and slightly pointed at the ends like pinched clay.

When he tilted his head back up and caught their expressions, he laughed.

“The fae government encourages us to romanticize such ‘deformities’. The curses we incurred as a result of our Founders’ experiment. So many are born with them these days, it’s made a matter of national pride. Wings, tails, antennae - I’ll admit some are endearing, but rarely are any practical. I had some stalks on my head removed.” He shrugged. “I’m flattered, really, that someone noticed.”

—

Muka excused himself for a few minutes to phone Mr. Hode about picking up Rai’s car.

Sao would have happily listened where he sat, but Rai was reaching for the screen door handle. “In the hallway,” he mouthed.

On the other side, visible through the clouded glass, a low shadow twitched. Rai slid the door open and nailed the eavesdropper in place with a paralyzing stare.

It was the tiny dark-haired boy from the playground, who had hung behind his fleeing friends, and later the wintry woman. Although the noise of the door had caught him by surprise, he did not run this time either, and stared back at Rai with polished blue eyes.

“You were talking about Rose in there,” he said, slowly and clearly as if adults were always getting him wrong. “You know, I was the only one who saw her go.”

“I’m sorry, where?” Rai asked.

Rai had not met the boy’s expectations. He narrowed his eyes, then shook his head. “You just heard. When she went into the ambulance to the hospital, of course.”

“Oh. Were you scared?”

“Excuse me?” The boy’s lip quivered. “No. I just said I saw, and I… I mean, I didn’t see it all. I just saw the flashing lights… and the big square car with doors in the back. And the big men carry a white and red thing in.”

Rai pawned this one off on Sao. Sao gave what he hoped was a comforting smile and said, “Of course, it had to be at least a little frightening, someone you see every day being taken somewhere, even if you don’t know what happened.”

“Not knowing is actually more scary. I heard you don’t know what happened to her either, though.”

“We’re here to learn more. Did you know Rose very well?”

“No. We didn’t talk very much. She was really only friends with…” The boy’s face tightened at the thought of this friend. “But I still worry about her. You know?”

“I do. What’s your name?” Sao asked.

The boy scanned him head to toe. Though he barely came up to Sao’s chest, he had the air of a judge up on a pedestal. Deeming him worthy, the boy said, “I’m Lumi. I’m twelve. I’m one of the oldest kids here, so you can ask me anything.”

“Thank you, Lumi. I’m Sao. This is Rai.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” There was a pause. Sao seemed to be fast falling below Lumi’s high expectations. “Are you only here to find out what happened about Rose? Or are you interested in faeries?”

“We wound up learning a bit of both. We’re really here because we got lost - and you might say we’re currently stranded. But it’s been a wonderful opportunity to meet a faerie schoolrunner.”

“And one as old as Mr Muka,” Rai said.

“Oh, right.” Lumi folded his arms over his neatly buttoned chest. “Sometimes I forget he’s not just a human. So you didn’t actually come to see Myrmilion School in the first place. Were you going to Temperance, or Garland?”

“We had work in Birdsing,” Rai said.

“Is that place still around? I went to a parade there one, I can’t remember why, and never went back after that.”

“The last parade was years ago,” Rai said. “You must have been…”

“Little. Littler.” Lumi loosed a pleasant little peal of laughter. “I know, I’m short. But I would have been very little, then. No wonder I barely remember.”

Thunder in the halls drowned him out.

“What are you laughing about?” Down the hall came Rose’s unspeakable friend, eyes and eczema flaring, the book of faerietales braced like a hand cannon. She’d managed to clean it since the meeting on the hilltop, Sao noticed.

“We’re laughing because we’re having a good talk, Cherry.”

“You’re probably lying and misleading them. You always tried to make this about you. Stop messing with the investigation!”

“I’m telling them what I know.” Lumi’s voice was level, but he had shuffled back. Rai now stood as a barrier between them.

Cherry scowled so hard that Lumi had to avert his eyes. “Did you tell them about the sunset and the binoculars?” she spat. “See, I know more than you though I was locked in my room.”

“You weren’t locked in, you were sleeping. And you didn’t see them take Rose away, I did. You didn’t see what she looked like at the very end. You’re acting like you know more than I do about that -” Lumi braved eye contact once again. “And that makes you a liar, I don’t know what else to say.”

“What did she look like, then? How messed up was she? Bloody and folded in half with her head on backwards? Is that what you were laughing about?”

Lumi stumbled back another few steps as Cherry thrust her book into Sao’s chest, knocking the air out of him. Ribs screaming, he hurried to catch it before it tumbled to the floor. And now she was pushing up her sleeves, licking her lips. Sao almost laughed. How a schoolgirl with a ruffled collar could have the same air as a delinquent wrapping hands for a brawl.

It wasn’t just airs.

Rai caught her around the waist as she made a feline lunge, the force lifting her off her feet, and even restrained she caught a handful of Lumi’s sleeve. She yanked. A small white button popped and bounced across the floor. Lumi squeaked as she whipped him one way and then the other, his neatly parted hair coming undone. Up and down. In a daze, Sao realized she was trying to slam him against the wall, the floor, Rai, anything she should.

“Cherry! Get a grip!” Rai bleated, struggling to keep a grip himself.

“Cherry, this is unnecessary,” Sao said. He inched closer, holding the book up as if it would do anything.

“Cherry! Lumi!” A woman had appeared at the end of the hall. The first thing he saw was her long glassy hair, fanning out around her willowy frame like water from a fountain. “Please, please calm down, I can’t take this after all that’s happened…”

The shaking stopped. Rai lost his balance, nearly dropping Cherry, who pulled Lumi with her, and all three collapsed against the wall like they’d been thrown.

The principal’s doors flew open. “Oh no, no, no. I’m so sorry, gentlemen.”

“No, I am,” Rai said. But he did not loosen his grip until Cherry had loosened hers on Lumi, who limped his way to the woman’s side. She did not reach out to him. Her arms were wrapped herself, seemingly to hold herself together, hands hidden in the sleeves of her ash-coloured coat. Her quivering was amplified by the watery rippling of her hair.

An act, for the benefit of the children, Sao supposed.

Cherry stood up, her face aflame.

“Cherry,” Muka said, “Please wait in your room until lunch. We have yet to discuss the matter of you taking the scissors.”

Sao thought it odd the scissors were taking precedence.

“I heard you before.” She dusted herself off, another dramatic contrivance, glared at everyone in turn, and gave a final huff in Sao’s direction. “I just wanted to make sure you guys were doing your job.”

He realized she wanted the book, and held it out. “Please take care, Cherry.”

She ripped it back. Her certainly felt the ripping. He pulled his stinging hand back to find a line of red welling up along the length of his thumb. Instinctively he pressed it to his mouth. “Just a papercut,” he assured, through the taste of iron.

Cherry gaped as if she were the one cut.

“Here, let me look. I’ll get you a bandage,” Muka said. Sao gave him a look that likely matched Cherry’s and moved his hand to his chest.

“No touching. He has a condition,” Rai interrupted. “Hey, you’re getting blood on your shirt.”

Sao lowered his hand again and got blood on his pants.

“I’m sorry. Very sorry,” Muka said, bringing his hand up to adjust his wig as if that was what he had intended to do all along. “I didn’t know. Important to know. Hode’s coming. Ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks. I guess we’ll go wait at the hotel,” Rai said.

“That’s a fine plan. You must try the mushrooms if you’re there–”

“Sir,” said the watery woman. Her body, her hair and voice, had ceased shaking, but now she appeared to be breaking into greyish blue hives. “I can take care of them. You and Lumi and Cherry should have lunch.”

Muka caught his breath and nodded. “Thank you very much, Miss Tommy. I enjoyed meeting you, gentlemen. Again, I apologize. Everything will be covered, the car, your meals, you name it. Marinell or Hode ask questions, direct them to me. You’ll be on your way in no time, I promise.”

A faerie’s promise. Sao smiled at that, as they parted ways.

Only Lumi was reluctant to say goodbye. When Sao turned the corner, he was still watching them from the other end of the sunlit hall, his shirt and hair in goblin-like disarray.

—

The woman’s name was Thomi, and she spelled it out for them on the way downstairs. She spoke curtly, and Sao couldn’t quite tell if it was due to nerves, or impatience with her bumbling guests. She did reveal she was staff of the school, and Sao had to commend her for being able to tame Lumi and Cherry in nearly an instant.

She took them on a long trip to the infirmary, a high room with pleasantly stuffed cabinets with two small beds. A bottle of disinfectant and a box of bandages were located. “Shall I?” she asked.

Again, he couldn’t quite read her. The whole medical stopover seemed excessive in the first place. He stalled so long that she opened the bottle and began to wet a cotton pad with the bright orange fluid.

“He has a condition,” Rai said. “He doesn’t like being touched.”

“Oh, shall I let you…?”

She held the pad out to Rai, who dithered before shaking his head, a little wildly.

“He can do it himself.” To Sao, “Wake up. You’re getting blood on your sleeve. Man, did Cherry line that book with razor blades?”

“Thank you,” Sao said to Thomi, as she set the supplies down and joined Rai against the wall. They looked like two students waiting to be let out of detention.

“You might wanna rinse the shirt with cold water so the blood doesn’t sink in,” Rai commented.

Sao didn’t like the idea of walking around in the current weather with a soaked sleeve. “I have plenty more like this one. I can live a few hours with a stain. You know me, I’ll sleep it off.”

Thomi made an unreadable noise that may have been a giggle or a cough.

He couldn’t see much of her face, cloaked as it was by her platinum hair. Her being much shorter than he or Rai (though she was marginally taller than Muka) meant that they were mostly seeing the top of her head. Yet Sao felt that if she showed her full face he might still see nothing, just the wall behind her; she had a translucency about her, she blended with the sunlight. But despite her shaking and sheer looks, and the pleading whine she put on for the children, there was nothing frail about her. Glass, but shatterproof. Maybe plastic.

He held out his bandaged finger for approval. She pulled one side of the hair back and he was inspected by a pair of very large, watery brown eyes. The hives he had seen around her cheeks were still there - only they weren’t hives at all. Face powder, caked on. Her entire lower face was patched with poorly applied makeup, shadows and creases drawn in where there clearly weren’t any to begin with. It was amateurish to the point it had to be intentional.

“Let’s get you back to the hotel,” she said, and let the curtains fall back in place.

They exited the school from the main foyer which let them out under the archway. What had looked like a cramped, gloomy crossing, like the old forest tunnel, was in fact a looming vacuum. Though there was no wind, it seemed several degrees colder, and though they were outdoors the space was silent as the inside of a darkened temple. Beyond the shade of the arch was a world of blazing white.

Sao squinted. To their right was the square courtyard-playground which faced the pond; to the left a traffic circle decorated with flowers and a fountain, the surrounding paved space marked for parking.

They walked left.

When they came out from under the arch, Sao caught the sounds of children cackling. They must have been under the window to the dining hall.

“You like her, just admit you like her,” an unfamiliar voice jeered.

“Shut up, Cal.” That was Lumi.

“Then why do you always go up to her for attention?”

“She snuck up on me. I was just going to talk to Muka-”

“Oh? That’s perfect, she likes you back! No - no take backs - you said it yourself–”

Rai, who Sao already knew not to be fond of children nor particularly romantic, could not have looked less amused.

A truck that must have been Hode’s was hauling away Rai’s car. The poor thing had been in bad shape from the day Sao first laid eyes on it, but now, sagging like a piece of crusted cardboard from a tow hook, he was unsure they’d see it back in one piece.

The sight triggered something in Rai, too. He tore after the truck, returning with the Birdsing box slightly crushed against his chest.

With a nervous half-smile, Thomi led them to her car, a monstrous eight-seater. She strained to fill the driver's seat; she had to sit ramrod straight to see over the dashboard.

They pulled onto the dirt road behind Hode. Immediately Miss Thomi proceeded to glance to and from the box sitting next to Rai in the first row of back seats.

To Sao’s terror, each time she removed her gaze from the road, the car swerved.

“Police station leftovers from Birdsing,” Rai said after they’d bounced out of the rain gutter for the third time. “Mostly junk - umbrellas and toys. The station is closing. Last guy there didn’t want to throw all the leftover lost-and-found in the trash, so Central had us pick it up.”

“Closing?” Thomi asked, flatly. A studied flatness, Sao thought. “We had ours close a long time ago. It’s sad to think about sometimes, but there was just no need for it. Mr. Hode was a constable.”

“Temperance seems a safe place even without,” Sao said.

“Yes.” A period of contemplation, and a graciously straightforward tract of road. Hode took a turn down one of the driveways.

“You two are police, then?”

“Not an officer. I mostly do paperwork.” Rai paused, as if time was needed to assess what Sao was. “He’s a friend who wanted to get out of the city for a while.”

“A long trip to make. You must be good friends,” Thomi said, with the same tone Sao had used to say Temperance was a safe place.

“I guess so,” Rai said. “Are you a teacher at the school?”

“An assistant.”

Rai’s mouth twitched.

“I know, I’m not very good at it. I only joined last year after graduating. Muka’s a friend of the family. He’s practically family, actually.”

“The children we met today seemed to respect you quite a bit,” Sao said. “So did the principal.”

In the rearview mirror he saw her smile. “I hope so.”

“It’s good to see variant folks in charge. You rarely get that even in the city,” Rai said.

“Variant. Oh, that word. You mean faerie, in this case?”

“In this case, yeah.”

“No need to be technical. You can just call us faeries.”

“But I meant faeries or griffins or satyrs or…” Rai frowned. “When you say ‘us’ - you’re a faerie too?”

“I’m half one, actually.” She sat up straight. Still her chin was barely higher than the steering column. “But I was basically raised by my fae side. I never see my human relatives.”

“Sorry.” Rai leaned forward. “I get it, though. I’m half-Life Fountain. I don’t see my non-variant relatives either.”

“I see. I’m sorry to hear that.” But Thomi was not impressed at all by Rai’s attempt to relate. If anything, the mention of Life Fountains turned her to stone. Sao was only relieved that her driving was steady after that and they did not get lost on their way back to the Saturn Hotel.

—

Practically falling down the stairs to the lounge, Rai landed in a boneless pile on the couch nearest to the fireplace. “What a nightmare.”

Sao took the second-closest seat. “Hode finished very quickly this morning, no? We shouldn’t be here much longer, though we’d better steer clear of Cherry.”

“Cherry’s the most normal thing about this place.” Rai dropped the Birdsing box to the carpet and kicked it aside. “I can handle a weird little vandal who’s also a conspiracy theorist. But an anti-faerie faerie, and the ice queen - man, I need a coffee. Where’s Guy and his sweaty manager?” Rai stopped to recover by the crackling of the fire. “I’ll hover over him for the next couple hours so he won’t find a chance to bother you again.”

Sao was feeling sorrier for Marinell already. “There’s no need. I think he understood his mistake.”

Rai went quiet and Sao wondered if he’d missed some sort of joke. Or, more likely, Rai really did need his coffee.

“Did you ever meet a faerie before today?” Rai asked.

“Not many. Here and there at social spots. There was a fellow student in one of my training classes. And one worked in the archive room, but she left less than a month after I joined.” Sao stretched his legs out carefully.

“Was it for health reasons?”

“I didn’t think to ask.”

“Do you know much about faeries?”

Crackling fire or not, it was difficult to get comfortable with such talk. “They’re just people. Humans, I mean.” Sao said. “Magically enhanced people, result of an experiment on their Citadel, back when it was shut off from Central.”

“Wealthy magicians from the 1800s trying for eternal youth. What they ended up with was a city of folks who look young their whole lives, but start falling apart around age twenty. Muka was right. The faerie experiment, and their continued - what would you even call it - production of them, is inhumane. He was right about most of them being extremely patriotic too. He couldn’t say what he told us in fae company… but whatever Muka’s done to distance himself, he’s cracked the code. Lived a healthy fifty years. That’s like double their usual life expectancy plus some. And he’s filthy rich.” Rai sighed. “Like a human. This whole place is a trip.”

“Was there something unusual about the way Thomi reacted to your use of ‘variant’?”

“Not exactly.” Rai stared up. Not to the heavens but the old wrought iron chandelier dripping with cobwebs. “I’m guilty of going ‘Life Fountain this, human that,’ too, instead of saying ‘unvaried’ for non-variant. I guess the fact that I’m aware of the term makes me at least a little oversensitive. But the way he - and Thomi - and Lumi, now that I think about it - talked about how inhuman faeries were. How human Muka was to not be like them - I don’t know. It didn’t sit well with me.”

“That’s right. The training courses we take would deem that somewhat offensive.”

“Whatever.” Rai sat up. “Sorry for that.”

Sao wanted to say that after the last forty-eight hours, he was rather sick of being apologized to without followup, but most of the sorrys hadn’t come from Rai. It would not be fair to take it out on him. Suddenly, Sao could not wait to leave Temperance.

“I’m not someone who should be lecturing about anything. Life Fountains are pretty lucky, as far as people or non-people go.” Rai folded his hands over his knees, reflected flames dancing in his dark-rimmed eyes. “Offensive, huh. The actual words aren’t the thing. But the way they said it felt more defensive than anything else.”

—

The sky was darkening when they finally left the lounge. Guy met them with outspread arms in the dining area, the glass doors a full palette display of the Temperance sunset; strawberry red sinking into swampy green night.

“You’re back!” he cried.

“We never managed to leave,” Rai said. “Have you heard from Hode about my car?”

“Hode will be back in the morning. He had to drive out to a friend's place to source some new tires. He’ll be staying the night there.”

“Excuse me?” Rai and Sao said in unison.

“You must be hungry. I didn’t see you take lunch,” Guy said with far too much enthusiasm in the wrong direction.

“We don’t have money for dinner or another night here, Guy,” Rai said, his tone strangled. “Could you drive us to Garland or something? Somewhere with a bank. I’ll pay you what we owe you and we can meet up with Hode there in the morning.”

“Oh, that’s a really good idea, but Garland’s over an hour away, so going there and back would be like three or four hours and I can’t do that today. I only go there once a week, really. And Hode’s probably not even near Garland so it would be more trouble for him. Most of his friends live further out; not sure which one he’s seeing. He knows guys from all around.”

“Well, he used to be a cop,” Rai muttered.

“Who told you that? You’re like locals already,” Guy laughed. “Well, I’m sure you’ll figure something out. Do you want some soup as a starter? You might as well sit down. Why don’t you try the bar tonight?”

He ignored their flabbergasted faces and pulled out two chairs.

“Maybe we’ll just start with some water,” Sao said quietly. He sat.

“Are you sure you don’t want coffee? Tea? It’s funny how you go for opposites. Not that tea and coffee are exactly opposite, but-”

“Are you hearing me?” Rai said.

“I am. May I take your order? Unfortunately we’re still out of steak and pork.”

They were rescued by Marinell, of all people, who came in beet-faced and shoddily-coated, but slightly more solid than he had been when they had last seen him. “Guy,” he said, almost forcefully, “Did you tell them?”

“I thought I’d let it be a surprise at the end.”

“Tell us what?” Sao asked. Marinell avoided looking at him.

“You’re free to stay as long as you like, and eat what you wish. It’s compensation for the accident at the school. Everything, including the repair of your car, will be paid for by the mayor.”

Guy squeezed his face into a pout. “It seemed patronizing to say all that. People don’t like being talked to as if they’re poor.”

“I understand, Guy, but it's more important to be transparent than polite sometimes. Look how confused they are. Gentlemen, please, have some dinner. You can have your old room too, keys are still at the desk. Now, excuse me.”

Marinell had managed to strengthen his presence for the first time since they’d spoken. And just as quickly, he was gone.

“Well, I guess I’ll have a pot of coffee, since it’s on the mayor’s dime,” Rai said.

Guy was reeling from Marinell’s sudden show of spine. But given an assignment, he quickly recovered. “Of course, of course. Make the most of it. And tea for you, sir?”

Sao accepted. He and Rai sat in mildly stunned silence until the tray came rattling out.

Fortified by caffeine, or unnerved by Guy’s attentiveness, Rai asked, “So, Guy, did you used to go to Myrmilion School?”

“I was never a student there, if that’s what you mean. Too old… and I was never good at sitting still in front of a book or desk. I visit there a lot, though, and sometimes I cook them lunch or dinner. I can’t leave Marinell on his own, but maybe eventually I’ll go work there, when the hotel’s doing better. Miss Thomi’s a fine lady, we get along nicely. Did you meet her?”

His syntax tangled the teen with elderly butler. A bit of a smitten schoolboy in the mix too. “Yeah, she drove us back here,” was all Rai had to say about Thomi. “Did you hear anything about what happened to that kid called Rose?”

“Cherry’s friend? She had an accident or something and had to be taken out of school. Private stuff, I don’t stick my nose in. All I really know is that Cherry’s gone haywire since Rose left. But you saw proof of that yourself.”

“No kidding.” Rai moved on quickly. “We also met the principal.”

“Muka is a big man in this town. He’s probably why the mayor is comping your stay.”

Sao couldn’t help but cut in. “Muka’s not the mayor, then?”

“What? No, no. Everyone knows Muka, I’m close with him myself. If he was mayor, I would know.” Guy snickered at the notion. “But nobody knows who the mayor is. Actually, Temperance doesn’t have a mayor, like a politician or elected official. But someone’s paying everyone. And that’s the person we call the mayor.”

“Muka must know this mysterious benefactor, though,” Sao said.

“That makes sense.” Guy shrugged. “It’s adult stuff. Like the weird letters. Only the adults are getting those. I’m not in a rush to stick my nose into their business - I’ll probably be forced into it anyway, when I grow up.”

Rai may have been planning to question Guy on precisely the subject of the letters, but something in the boy’s mournful proclamation put an end to his questioning.

Sao quietly stirred cream into his tea.

Though in no rush to grow up, Guy knew he had a job to do. “Lemme go get you some menus. Be right back!”

—

They did not see more of Marinell over dinner. When their dishes (mushroom soup, a very good mushroom cheese casserole, and a sesame sauced salad) had been cleared away, Guy announced that both Room 218 and the Business Center were ready. Keys were handed over, and Guy skipped off to whatever task was next on his list. For a town of so few, the boy had no shortage of work.

Sao retired to the lounge, and Rai retired to the cubicle with what may have been the only functional computer in all of Interstate. With a selection of uninvolving magazines in his lap, Sao submerged himself in the corduroy cushions and watched the curling flames in the hearth. The windows to its left and right were filled with inky blackness. He felt the ambience could have been improved by some thick drapes.

His reflection in the glass stared back, disoriented and disheveled, like he’d been shaken. Not much worth seeing there. Sao flipped open Fall Fashions for the Whole Family. There were a number of pages with themed photoshoot ideas. Pumpkins, cable knit, rainbows and ribbons. A section titled Try This Out contained instructions on how to create some rather hair-raising tie dye using acrylic paint and a bathtub. Use the colors of autumn, said the writer, but the results looked an awful lot like dried bloodstains. He wondered which ensemble Rai had found so fascinating the previous night; probably the gory tie-dye.

The last thing he remembered reading before dozing off was an advice column on how to keep babies still for the camera.

—

When he woke, or thought he did, he had to assume not much time had passed. The fire was still going, hot and strong.

The cut on his thumb throbbed. Blood had stiffened his cuff. If he had known they were staying another night, he would have taken Rai’s advice; washed it out and dried off by the fire.

On the other hand, he reasoned, he had even greater relief to look forward to when he got back to his flat and scrubbed off two days’ worth of grime. Stretching, he turned toward the steps leading up to the lobby, where he could make out the glow of the glass door to the Business Center. He found he wasn’t the only one interested.

Just around the corner at the top of the staircase, a small head with wheat-colored hair was poking out, facing the Center. Sao watched as a small person, in light blue pajamas, tiptoed closer to the door, with quiet but exaggerated motions, and then a cartoonish turn of the head left and right. The pantomime stopped when they locked eyes with Sao.

The infiltrator pivoted on slippery feet, and dashed toward the staircase that led to the basement.

Their pattering footsteps receded into the depths of the hotel. Sao blinked once, turned back to the fire, and got three more blinks in before he drifted off again.

He woke again to a piercing scream.

Then came the bang of the glass door that Rai threw open (and to Sao’s great relief did not shatter when he did). “Did you hear that?”

“I did, yes.” Sao joined him at the entryway to the lounge. “I saw someone go downstairs a short while ago. It could have been...”

“How long?”

Sao couldn’t say and Rai didn’t wait.

They descended the staircase and found themselves in a room as large as the lobby, with unadorned walls and cement flooring. It was part cleaning supply storage, part pantry, but for the most part a wine cellar. The towering wooden racks were wildly overstocked; bottles lying edge-to-edge and some places stacked in precarious angles to accommodate the excess. Sao’s heart ached faintly at the sight. So Marinell and Guy weren’t drinkers, but they had evidently been saving a while for anyone who might enjoy it.

It was hard to admire the space for long. There was a thrumming from behind the walls that drowned the whole space with vibrations. The bottles; glass pressed against shivering glass; emitted a shrill, caustic ringing in response. Sao winced. Cupping his ears he took a few steps back up the stairs.

Oblivious to the noise (or just made of stronger stuff) Rai crept past the shelves and, in close imitation of the one who’d tried to spy on him, came up to the doorway leading to an unlit hall and angled his head around the corner.

For a while he watched, head in the cutoff of shadow, unmoving.

“Anybody?” Sao whispered, though it was unlikely Rai could hear him.

A few seconds later, Rai pulled his head back with a grimaced as a Guy slouched in from the darkness, followed by Marinell with the small straw-haired boy’s hand in his.

—

“My son,” Marinell explained. “Who should not be running about the halls at night, I assure you…”

“Flor, you gotta listen to your dad,” Guy said through a yawn. Apparently he had been sleeping in his work clothes, though he’d switched his day shoes out for a pair of velvet slippers the color of moss. “We actually have guests tonight and we want them to have a good night’s rest.”

They had assembled in the dining room. In yet another set of uncurtained windows, their reflections appeared to be floating above an abyss. The light from the kitchen at the far end was enough for them to see each other, perhaps out of habit, Guy had lit some candles.

“Why don’t I get you all some hot chocolate?” Guy said, clicking his lighter shut.

The child looked to his father.

“You can go back down, if you were busy, Guy,” Marinell said. “Thank you for helping me find him… I thought he was going to…” He shook his head.

“But I was awake anyway. Can’t sleep with the washing machines rolling.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey - I’m really not mad for the noise. We have guests to clean up after for once.” Guy beamed at said guests, and the deprived little boy. “Remember, Flor. They’re our guests, so treat them like your very best friends - behave - and listen to your dad.” He treated Marinell to a drowsy grin and sauntered off.

Once Guy had gone, Marinell added rather limply, “You know there should be no playing in the basement. There are heavy boxes and glass things, and some of the lights don’t come on, it’s dangerous.”

The child, Flor, hadn’t said a thing to his father and didn’t look like he planned to. With Guy and the offer of hot chocolate gone, he was only interested in fiddling with the end of a tablecloth.

“Come on, let’s go to your room.”

Silently, the boy began stroking the tablecloth against his cheek.

“Look, we’ll leave you do it,” Sao said, adjusting his coat and buttons, to look as if he had places to be.

Clearly Marinell was the one who wanted to run from the room. “No, I mean, you’re free to go, but let me just say I am so sorry if he frightened you with his yelling. Guy thought he heard someone in the basement and caught him, but you see Florien doesn’t like being touched.”

“Oh,” was all Sao could say.

“He has a sensitivity.” Marinell collapsed into a seat. “It’s not anything overly severe, but he was surprised when he ran into Guy, so he shouted... That’s all. He also prefers a particular scent to his clothes. That’s why he’s here tonight instead of the Myrmilion dormitory. Laundry night.”

Sao thought of their room on the second floor, the lavender bed sheets and towels. And quickly tried to reverse the dangerous notion of it being their room as if they intended to be there any longer than they absolutely had to. “The scents you use here are quite pleasant, I don’t blame him.” He smiled at the boy who only held his gaze for a half a second.

Rai was, apparently, a much more engrossing sight, with his elbow propped on the table beside the Birdsong box. “Not too severe, huh?” One glove was drawn off and Florien’s eyes widened, faded blues suddenly gleaming. “Guy said we should be friends, so let’s introduce ourselves. My name is Rai. He’s Sao. He’s my friend too.”

“I also have something of a sensory condition,” Sao said, so Rai wouldn’t have to, and realized how often he had relied on Rai to cover for him. He could take responsibility for himself in front of a child, at the very least. “It’s a little like yours. I don’t much like shaking hands myself.”

Remembering the morning’s events no doubt, Marinell seemed to be trying to retract his head into his spine, but Florien was up on his feet. Rai held out his hand - and Florien grabbed it eagerly with both of his, leaning in so close that he nearly headbutted Rai in the jaw.

“I’ve never seen that before,” Marinell said.

“I’m good with kids,” Rai said smugly.

Sao smiled. He thought of the smiling quartet in bloody tie-dye, the photographer’s tips on how to get babies to look at the camera.

“Are you alright?” Marinell asked, suddenly. When Sao flinched, so did he. “I — uh - your sleeve - stained - did you cut yourself?”

“He didn’t cut himself, Cherry cut ‘em,” Florian said without taking his eyes off Rai’s hand.

“It was an accident,” Sao said.

“You should clean it. Change the bandage. I’ll get you something.” Marinell stood up so quickly the chair almost fell backward. “Be right back.”

Beside them, Florien was now starting to take interest in the box and trying not to pay attention to Sao or his father. That was the visible intent - he was showing them his back, creating a little wall with his arms that only Rai was allowed in.

Children. Sao weighed his options and stood. “I’ll come with you. I’d like to try washing this off.”

—

Sao held his hand and the browning edge of his sleeve under the tap. Thanks to Thomi’s ointment the cut had closed nicely, but his shirt was going to need a deep clean. He rolled his coat sleeve back down over the damp cuff and took in the cozy tiled room, with its leaf-patterned towels and low wood cupboards and chipped marble counters. Almost too homey to be the kitchen to a hotel.

“He’s been a lot better since we came out to Temperance,” Marinell said. “We have a big family but Flor never got along with them. They were never nice, him being the way he was.”

Sao blinked. The place was homey but he hadn’t expected to be so quickly immersed in family affairs. Marinell turned away quickly, upsetting the stools of the kitchen island.

“That had to have been hard for both of you.”

“I’ll never forget. My parents tried to make him babysit his younger cousins at a wedding, and when he walked off they forced him to stay in a room with them, and when he got upset, they’d say he was a menace. But then they’d make him do it again, as if punishing them all… they trapped him. And then there were the home therapies… We had to leave. None of them know we’re here.”

“That’s terrible. I’m not especially close with my own family.” Sao paused. “For similar reasons, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. You’re doing what’s best for him,” Sao inspected the cut on his thumb since Marinell seemed to be petrifying under his stare. Gratefully, Marinell slid the first aid kit across the counter. Comically far, reaching forward like he was chained to the fridge on the opposite side of the room.

Sao had been right when he told Rai that the man had learned his lesson.

“Sometimes I think about calling my mother or sister… but it isn’t worth it, the money doesn’t matter. We spent a fortune on pills and professionals when all it took for him to get better was leaving. Look, he took immediately to your friend Rai - he’s not antisocial. This tells you how horrible things were for him before. And he loves it at that school of his. He made his first friends there. And Muka is extremely understanding. He’s been very helpful to the hotel too.” Marinell’s voice dropped. “A generous donor too. I owe him.”

Checking over his mummified finger, Sao said, “Are you quite sure he’s not the mayor?”

“The m-” Marinell coughed. “No, I don’t think so. The mayor’s provisions are even higher. And, well, Guy says he’s not and Guy would know. He seems to know everything. He talks to everyone on his deliveries, definitely not antisocial, that one. Not that we have much going on compared to the city, I’m sure…”

“He claimed not to know who the mayor is, though.”

“He may be lying.”

The air grew stifling. “What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know. He just seems to know so much. I suspect he may be– never mind.”

“He knows…” Sao paused. “Have you heard much about the anonymous letters floating around? Muka called them poison pens - he showed us his. A bit of gossip.”

Marinell went a few shades redder.

“Sorry,” Sao said, but he wasn’t sure if he was. Come to think of it, how sorry had any of these people been with their copious apologies throughout the day?

“I didn’t mean to avoid answering. I did get a few letters. But…” Marinell shook his head. “You’ve more or less heard why I’m here, the troubles Flor and I have had. You can guess what the letters said.”

“I’d rather not, it seems like a painful matter for you.” And yet, his mind was churning. The difference in severity between Muka and Marinell’s reactions was striking. But perhaps it was down to their dispositions rather than the content of the letters.

“You’re very patient, I’m grateful. I know I’m not well suited for this work…” Desperate to prove himself, Marinell began rifling through the cups and one of the drawers. “I guess I’ll make Flor some hot chocolate after all… do you want any?”

“No thanks. And your service is excellent. As is your co-manager. But it’s not concerns over hospitality that brought on this morning’s message, was it?”

“Message?”

Marinell wasn’t fumbling out of this one. “When you said we shouldn’t come back.”

Marinell squeezed the tin of chocolate powder to his chest like a protective idol. He held his prayer position for a while then motioned Sao over to the corner. Away from the window. “I’m sorry I scared you. I was awake all night worrying so I wasn’t myself this morning. I was dying to say something, before… no, I have to put things right.”

Sao suddenly wondered if it was too late to back out.

“The unofficial mayor nobody’s ever met, and the letters. We’ve come to rely on the mayor, his donations and his connections. The hotel wouldn’t last without him. And the letters, they start off harmless enough. But…” He began measuring out the cocoa powder. “The trouble comes when they mix. You start to see the control they have. My first letter was about someone knowing I had run away from my family with Florien and… how I acquired the money I used to invest in this place. It was a significant sum. It wasn’t supposed to be mine.”

Something more significant than Muka’s wig, then. “It’s alright,” Sao said. “You did it for Florien.”

“Of course. But in the last few weeks, I got more notes. One threatened to have the mayor drop all aid for the hotel. That would be awful, but the last one, it came a day before you arrived, it directly referenced Florien. Said that someone would– would – ” The threat seemed to defy words.

“Did all this just come out of the blue?” Sao cursed himself; questions had Marinell on the retreat. “The letters we’ve heard of so far were airing of secrets, but it sounds like they were trying to extort something from you.”

“They– maybe. But, forget it. I can’t put you in any more danger. That’s why I thought it better for you to leave. Though, I’m not upset to see you again. Both of you.”

Marinell stepped away to portion out the milk. “I’m sure Rai can help,” Sao said quietly. “If you need it.”

“That’s the problem. I only need to be here. So does Florien. And we will, they know I’ll do anything. I just… don’t enjoy being threatened about it.” Milk measured and simmering on the stove, Marinell had nowhere else to look to so he finally faced Sao. “I shouldn’t be entitled. I should have expected difficulties…”

“I don’t know what’s been asked of you. But as far as making a life for your son, you shouldn’t be ashamed.” Sao said. “So what I gather is, the letter-writer and ‘mayor’ may be related.”

Marinell didn’t answer. Sao supposed his lack of support was a letdown.

The aroma of chocolate began to fill the kitchen. The atmosphere was downright dreamy, except for the information that now bogged down his mind. Or rather, the lack of information, the awareness of that void, a tunnel of cold air funneling away warmth. He suddenly wanted a mug of chocolate too, to hold rather than taste.

With a cup in each hand, Marinell led him to the long carpeted hallway. Once the kitchen was no longer in sight he spoke again, in tone lower than before.

“I’m sorry to lay my worries on you. I think I just needed someone to talk to. I can handle myself.”

Sao thought it would be wrong, in this moment, to dispute it.

“But if you’re really willing to help… I will be fine, but I have wondered what happened to the man named Lamort. He lived in the house at the end of the block. Tall and blue. Empty. ”

Sao made a mental note of the name and place. In his mind’s eye he linked it with a snapshot of the houses Birdsing - bright pointed structures in a wilderness of grass, empty windows giving unguarded views of huge dusty halls.

“I heard that he was driven off by the letters he received. He just left town one day, leaving behind his family.”

“How terrible.”

“This was back when I thought the letters weren’t serious. I also suspected for a time that Lamort was the mayor himself; he was secretive, and well off. But it was a careless sort of theory, I didn’t put real thought in until he vanished. It was about a year ago. Summer, I think - one morning Guy mentioned the man hadn’t been home to take his deliveries for an entire week. Muka was the one who told me that he’d left due to the letters.”

Muka himself hadn’t given the letters any such credit when Rai had spoken to him. “Did that seem likely? For his character?”

“I don’t know. I never met him, or even saw more than a shape in a window. He was a hermit. I’m not sure of the family he left behind either, I only heard rumors from Guy. I never put enough time into knowing my neighbors. I just thought of him, after my letters became… menacing.”

The light of the dining room was in sight. Some thrilling chatter was happening at the table. Marinell had one last thing to say while it was just the two of them.

“Your sleeve’s all bloody. Would you like me to wash it?”

“No. I don’t have a spare shirt.”

“You can borrow…”

“I can’t make you do that.” Sao smiled, in place of an apology. He’d had more than enough of ‘sorrys’ for the evening, from his mouth and anyone else’s. “Besides, we’ll be out of here tomorrow.”

Marinell smiled back, sadly, his face purple in the gloom. Another apology.

—

“No, you see Rose hated Cherry,” Florien was saying, with the eloquence of a stage-trained actor. “Whenever Cherry said something really stupid, Rose would clam up and just smile and Cherry thought she was on her side. It was so obvious.”

“Is that it,” Rai said.

Hot chocolate was served. Marinell and Sao joined Rai in rapt attention.

Florien leveled his tone and restrained his dancing hands just a bit at the sight of his father. Or perhaps it was Sao, the unwanted stranger. But Rai had wound him up too much to recede into silence now.

“Cherry didn’t care about being hated. Muka and Miss Thomi act like she’s just now become like this, because they’re happy to have an excuse. But she was crazy even before she met Rose.”

“Hm,” Rai grunted.

“She liked it if there was someone who listened to her, even if the person was being fake about it.”

The candle had melted, the flame sinking into an iridescent pool of wax at the bottom of the cup.

“I think Cherry actually likes liars. Because she’s so bad at it. Lying, that is. She likes people who do what she can’t, so she likes liars and smart guys and pretty girls. Well, maybe not everyone like that. She can’t hide that she’s really, really mad at Lumi. That is something that changed after Rose left.”

“Flor…” Marinel murmured, and for the moment it seemed that his warning was heard. Florien paused for a slurp of hot chocolate.

“What makes you say that?” Rai prompted.

Chocolate stained, the little mouth went on. “She really didn’t like that only he was awake to see Rose taken away, while she was sleeping. She tries not to sleep much now. We hear her crying at night to stay up.”