empty thrones (ch5)

[lunecat16]

 

Title: empty thrones
Rating: Mature
Major Warnings: Body horror, graphic violence, familial abuse, other warnings included in fic

“Here you are. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.”

“Not at all.”

Wye placed two mugs down on the table, pulled up a chair, and sat down across from Reid. He had sent a text that morning asking to meet up in the lounge room sometime in the early afternoon. It would be his lunch break, and while Reid wasn’t in the mood for more conversations over food, they couldn’t meet in the Belanger circle study. Even if that location was more private, it would make their discussion more of a Belanger circle project to the spirits.

Neither of them wanted that. This was a matter for Reid and Wye alone, so they’d chosen the lounge, at a time when most students would be in their afternoon class.

Reid had sat down at around one, and Wye had arrived within a minute, without Reid needing to send a text or any notification that he was ready to meet.

Typical augur.

The sorrow that burdened Wye’s expression last night was gone, replaced by the man’s usual energy. Rest had probably helped – after Reid explained what he’d encountered in the Abyss, Wye had retired to bed to think on the matter. Reid wished he could have Wye’s fortune. He’d drifted off into an uneasy sleep, woke up an hour earlier than planned, and ended up being moved to tears over the event instead of falling back asleep.

He still felt delicate–like something in him had broken last night, with tears and emotion leaking out the cracks of his shattered Self, and still threatening to seep out at any moment.

“Coffee?” Wye asked, lifting up two mugs.

“I doubt caffeine can affect me any more than alcohol could.”

“No, but it’s good coffee.”

After a moment of consideration, Reid nodded, and Wye passed one mug towards him.

“Now, let’s establish what we already know. During your training you ventured deep into the Abyss and stumbled across an ancient seal of sorts, with a construct connected to it. The construct spouted stories it shouldn’t logically know, such as the events of a Judge contest. Each story had a constant theme – a practitioner child’s efforts are the same as their parent, and their parent claims the role and responsibility the child does. You then enter the Carmine Contest, and after some time, your father vanishes, and you’re… I wouldn’t say tossed out unceremoniously, but it had that feeling to it. Does this line up?”

“Yes, just about.”

Wye shifted in his seat, clasping his hands together. “I’ll infer that the words were some sort of trap. Did you recite the words during the contest, or see any–”

“Sworn to secrecy, Wye,” Reid said, just as a look of frustrated realization fell over Wye’s face.

“I know, and I hate it. Are you sure you can’t weasel out some ‘maybes’, or maybe some subtle gestures if I’m on the right track?”

“And risk being forsworn? In this environment?” Reid scoffed. “Take a day to travel to one of the Judge’s domains and ask yourself, if you’d like. The Exile could surely clarify, since he was there–”

Wye’s eyes went wide with fear at the mention of the new Carmine. “No, no thank you, I get the point.”

Reid lifted his coffee mug, twisting around in his chair to take a large sip. There was still steam coming off it, but the heat didn’t bother him. As Wye had said, it was good coffee – the bitterness perked him up, at least.

“With this story in mind… do you think this thing knew? About the Carmine Contest?” Wye asked.

Reid turned back around. Wye was staring at his mug of steaming-hot coffee, looking mildly concerned.

“It didn’t give that impression. I told it that I was entering into a bloody and savage contest for my father’s sake, and it recited tales of contests. The thing was probably expecting to scare me into turning against my family,” Reid scoffed.

“Well, didn’t you?”

“I– I can’t say.”

Wye remained silent, with an inquisitive expression on his face as he seemed to scrutinize Reid. After a few moments he leaned back in his chair, picking up his own mug and idly blowing on it to cool it down.

“I have some ideas,” he said.

“Ideas?”

“For our culprit – that construct,” Wye clarified, taking a sip of his coffee. “It’s difficult to narrow down candidates. Did you notice any details about the diagram it was circling? Specific symbols, heraldry…”

Reid tried to recall. He could see the general outline of the scene in his head, and could hear the bird’s voice, but the details were fuzzy. Too much pain, too much frustration, too much focus spent on dealing with threats. He shook his head.

“Damn. Well, that leaves us with too many options.”

“Start with the three most supported ones?” Reid suggested. “Three’s a good number.”

“Three’s a good number, but don’t you think it loses some of its ‘oomph’ to the spirits if you overuse it?” Wye smiled. “Four options.”

Reid frowned. Wye, who didn’t see the frown, continued.

“I’m not very familiar with the Abyss, but just to get the idea out of the way… could it have been one of those ‘arms of the Abyss’?”

One of many vague terms for a vague concept. Reid had gotten a surface level education in the matter. There were reports that the realm itself was alive, in a different sense from how a city might have a beating heart in the form of its city spirit. They said the realm acted against them, filling their mind with visions, or sending shadows of loved ones or family to harry them.

Those reports were ridiculous. The Abyss was visceral. Cruel and ruled by forces that pushed people towards damaging situations? Yes. Sending abstract visions and ghosts? He didn’t believe it.

“Doubtful. It knew things that neither I or the Abyss would reasonably know.”

“That rules out the realm with a malevolent intelligence and unknown intent. It doesn’t rule out a ward with intelligence and intent, however,” Wye smirked.

“Ah, a Living Ward. You’re familiar with them?”

“Of course. Blue Heron education, remember?” Wye tapped his temple a couple of times for emphasis.

Reid knew of them from both his travels and his schooling. If a ward was left alone for long enough it could gain a motive force, sometimes due to the gathering of ambient spirits around it, and sometimes due to other influences in the area. This was especially likely if the ward was totemic – a grotesque could gain a mind of its own and desires beyond simply guarding its post.

The area and the ward itself influenced the resulting personality. A chamber that held its prisoner in place with one hundred spears would trend towards being cruel and bloodthirsty, while a guardian statue watching over an ancient shrine might be calm and dignified. Regardless of abrasiveness, most were inconvenient but otherwise benign. The exceptions to that rule were enough of a problem to warrant cleansing the motive force as soon as possible, however.

“The circle has an arrangement with one just outside a ghost town. If we send someone to keep it company for the day, it can watch out for and report unusual activity in the area. Usually Alexander asked Milly to handle the visit for us… I should make sure the contract is still valid, now that I think of it. Another thing to add to the list.”

Wye let out an exhausted sigh. It was strange to see him be this open. In Reid’s experience, he preferred to stay in the background of conversations, listening to people talk and offering smaller contributions. He was like that when they were in Kennet. Now it felt like their roles were reversed – Wye was the one talking, and he was the one offering answers or steering the conversation.

“I assume the ward I encountered would be very different from the one you know,” Reid said, bringing Wye’s attention back to the current discussion.

Wye nodded. “Co-opted or corrupted, most likely. It would explain the secret knowledge.”

The living ward could be influenced by its prisoner and taken over, as either a gradual process or sudden change if the prisoner discovered and exploited a weakness in the working. If co-opted in this way the ward couldn’t release its charge, but it could become a loyal servant–or just a hollowed out mouthpiece the imprisoned being spoke through.

It seemed fitting for a being found deep in the Abyss, but Reid wasn’t satisfied with that answer.

“I understand where this is going,” he said, “but how does killing my father accomplish its goals? It didn’t seem to know what family I was from.”

“Shortsighted instinct?” Wye shrugged. “It may not expect you to free it, but it created a fine mess, didn’t it?”

“I’m still not convinced.”

“There’s plenty of holes in the idea. The stories sounded too targeted, and if it was a co-opted living ward, then it probably would have offered some form of dark deal. You also asked about its creator, and it feels odd that it would stay mum on that question. You’d think it would at least say it didn’t know, or wasn’t free to say.”

“It certainly felt suspicious.”

“Most damningly, the diagram’s on metal and the construct is wooden. There’s too great of a disconnect. Perhaps if there was some shared iconography…” Wye trailed off, his brow furrowed in thought.

“You know I don’t remember.”

“I know. No chance of revisiting the diagram?”

Wye’s prodding was starting to get irritating, especially when this felt like maybe the fifth time Reid had to remind him that he couldn’t get more information. That irritation manifested in a clipped tone as he replied. “The Abyss’s landscape never stays the same for long. Even if I did return to the same region, the path would have changed by now.”

“I see,” Wye replied, barely suppressing disappointment in his voice. “We can probably rule out a living ward, but I’ll check my contacts when I have the time. The Wints, for one, might have records of the monsters they’ve cast down into the Abyss.”

“When will you have the time?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Wye sighed, “when the entire region calms down? When I stop being metaphorically hounded from all angles?”

More lamenting. Reid crossed his arms and stared at Wye, making eye contact. His friend was being ridiculous enough that he didn’t think he needed to voice his thoughts. If he couldn’t help, if he was too busy, that was fine. But offering aid while complaining about all the reasons that aid was difficult? Really?

Wye, after a few moments and a quick flash of Sight, seemed to get the point. “Alright, alright, I’ll stop griping. I’m not trying to make helping you seem like another burden. I do want to help, I really do. It’s more that…”

Reid narrowed his eye, waiting for Wye to finish.

“I’m annoyed everything else is getting in the way. It’s as if… have you ever had a project you’re truly passionate about, you have the drive and motivation to work at it, but your obligations keep holding you back, asking for hours of your time? And before you know it, routine duties become nearly intolerable?”

“I can’t say that I have. I was only passionate about my obligations,” Reid said, his gaze dropping to his half-full glass of coffee. “I never looked outside them.”

His voice was trembling. He took a deep breath, collecting himself before his eyes started to water again.

“Ah.” Wye gave him a sympathetic look. “Well, I’ve said how I feel. So I can assure you that gripes aside, I will work on this. I’ll make the time, if I have to.”

“Okay.”

No conditionals, no escape clauses, no hooks. Reid had to wonder if he was actually speaking to Alexander’s successor.

“Okay.” Wye echoed Reid with a cheerful, if slightly strained, tone. “My next thought was an exiled Faerie. That would explain how targeted the construct’s stories were, and the whole idea of an operable wooden toy feels faerie to me. If its creator was meant to be secret for the story they were telling, that would explain the silence.”

“In this scenario, the construct would be the mouthpiece for the faerie?”

“It makes sense. Distant voice with a connection stretching to the diagram? It could be that the imprisoned faerie was only allowed to interact with the outside world through that toy bird, to make the sentence properly dramatic and agonizing. And you callously shot the thing down,” Wye teased.

“Maybe it shouldn’t have gotten imprisoned in the first place,” Reid muttered.

“And, lastly, to break our rule of three, it could be oni-made,” Wye said, looking immensely satisfied with himself.

“You were planning this all along?” Reid asked.

Wye laughed. “Alexander liked to give his lectures little twists and hidden jokes. I thought I’d try to preserve the tradition.”

Reid made an unamused noise. “So, oni?”

“They work against most practitioners, so having knowledge of practitioner events is only natural. Perhaps it saw an opportunity to try and cause some chaos?”

Reid pondered the idea, facing away to drink more of his coffee. “The bird may not have even been related to the sealed Other, in that case. Plotting to free it?”

“Which is concerning. We only know of a couple active oni in Ontario, but the state the Carmine’s left the region in seems like something they’d love.”

Reid’s mind went to the oni in Kennet who had captured Blackhorne. She had definitely been involved in turning that shithole into a impenetrable den of violent Others, and she wasn’t even one of the greater oni, from what he had seen. If something dangerous enough to be banished to the deep Abyss got out, and oni had their eyes on it, the results might be worse than whatever the Exile was planning.

There was one small comfort, however.

“You’re right, but distances in the Abyss don’t necessarily map to our reality. The oni could be situated in British Columbia, or even the States, as far as we know.”

“That’s true,” Wye acknowledged. “And it could be something else entirely – I wouldn’t draw any conclusions from about half a day’s worth of speculation.”

“Of course.” Reid said. “Still, it’s nice to lay out some possibilities.”

He wasn’t exactly focusing on Wye as he replied, however. Instead, his gaze had wandered to a couple of students who had just wandered into the lounge room. One of them – Easton – was watching him, sneaking in glances towards his direction every other moment, probably when he didn’t think he would notice.

Reid made eye contact with the boy, and Easton flinched as if he’d been jolted, quickly turning away.

He didn’t pay the boy much mind before, but Easton used to follow him around often. He attended the same classes as he did, and occasionally prodded him with questions about his special projects, complete with unsaid offers to help. He was from a lesser family of war mages, so it was only natural that he’d want to ingratiate himself with the Mussers, and it was even more natural that he’d admire them.

The look in Easton’s eyes hadn’t been admiration, when Reid made eye contact. He didn’t have the look of a fan embarrassed his idol had noticed him. He looked distressed, watching him, and even afraid.

He’d be at the funeral, along with the other Songetays.

His improved mood and the at-ease feeling that had returned the longer he and Wye talked, were both rapidly fading away.

How many of his cousins would look at him in the same way? His little cousins, who used to look up at him with awe, with bright eyes and minds that had such little idea of the harsh future that awaited them– what would they think when they saw him?

—-

The sky was too bright, too blue. Scattered clouds dotted the sky, but not enough to obscure the late summer sun. It was warm outside, enough that on a day like this, a family might take one last trip to a lakeside beach before fall rolled in and the temperature dropped.

Only the collection of darker clouds growing on the distant horizon–the suggestion of a storm later in the day–felt appropriate for the occasion.

Reid gazed out at the barren campus grounds from his window. His assigned workshop building seemed to stare back at him, almost mockingly. He hadn’t entered it once since he returned–he didn’t want to stir up even more memories of a time when he’d had a goal and felt fulfilled.

He might have only been living for his family, but he was happier that way.

It hurt to remember.

Shaking himself out of his trance, he closed the curtain and turned around.

It was almost time.

Black suit, black shoes, black tie. Anything else would be disrespectful, though he knew that no amount of respectfulness would matter. His family would find slights against him no matter what he did, and the spirits would agree with them. His face, his words, his lack of words– They would use what they could. At the very least, he would give them as little ammunition as possible.

Using glamour would invite accusations of deceit, and it was an avenue others could use to harm him, so he decided to only wear the bandages. There wasn’t much point in hiding signs of his injuries anyway, when everyone would know what had happened to him.

He packed a couple of outfits he liked into a small suitcase. A small part of him hoped that he would need the clothes because he’d be spending the night somewhere after the funeral, before Wye drove back to the Blue Heron the next morning. He knew that wouldn’t happen, however. The clothes were what he’d wear when staying with his family, before they shipped him off to wherever they deemed appropriate. He secured a few other items in the suitcase as well. Small, futile precautions.

With his preparations complete, he walked out of the room. Something that felt and sounded like glass crunched under his feet. He didn’t bother turning back around.

Staff would take care of the mess he’d made, the night before.

The school grounds were silent as he made his way out to the parking lot. Wye and Raquel were already waiting for him.

“Ready?” Wye asked, unlocking his car. He was wearing a black suit, which was appropriate, but still jarring to see on the man compared to the typical Belanger blue. His tie, at least, added a splash of navy.

Rather than respond, Reid turned around to look at Raquel. She was wearing proper attire as well–a modest and unassuming black dress.

She looked back up at him. Resignation and anxiety were etched into her face. They exchanged unspoken words, and began to walk towards the car.

—-

“Reid.”

He put down the book he was reading and stared at Raquel. It hadn’t been long since his conversation with Wye–the man had recommended he check out a text on standard wards, just to see if any symbols or techniques looked familiar, and had left to get back to work shortly after. Reid had intended to jog his memory with the text, but his cousin seemed intent on getting in the way of that.

“What is it, Raquel?”

“One of the girls from Kennet messaged me. They want to know about some of the items you left behind in the Carmine Contest?”

Raquel stopped speaking and looked down at her phone, brows furrowed, as if checking to make sure she was reading the message correctly. “Did you–”

“They’re allowed to have them. I can’t say much else on the matter,” Reid replied. “Is afternoon class over already?”

Raquel tensed up, looking even more uncomfortable. “Fernanda recommended that I skip the Emotions lecture. The other class is about Theology and Apocrypha.”

“And you aren’t attending?”

“It’s a college-level discussion about Innocent religion and theorized connections to ancient practice. I wouldn’t understand it, and it doesn’t feel relevant to my practice.”

“Raquel, in two days our family will almost certainly ask what you’ve done here and what you’ve learned. That class is useful,” he said, the words almost coming out as a hiss. He couldn’t believe what she was saying. Anything could be relevant, if one put their mind to it.

“You aren’t attending the class either,” Raquel said, her voice firm.

“I have other matters to attend to, and I doubt the Blue Heron is relevant to their concerns for me. In your case, it could be the difference between being barred from returning here or not.”

He watched her expression shift from indignant to almost frightened, her eyes widening with realization. For once, he’d gotten across to her. He didn’t feel particularly pleased about it, however.

“Couldn’t they also say that attending class in times like these is disrespectful? That I should be properly mourning?” She asked.

“Too weak of an argument,” he scoffed. “If any of them try, tell them I recommended that course of action, which I do. I can put up a far better defense if they continue to complain.”

“I know how to argue my own case,” Raquel huffed, though she seemed unable to hide a hint of surprise at his offer. “But that’s– we’re getting away from the original point. The Kennet girls. They want to know about the items you left behind, and any conditions or costs associated with using them.”

“They have access to the Atheneum, don’t they?” he asked, injecting a bit of pointed frustration and exhaustion into his voice. “Basic diagnostic practices should be outlined in their catalog.”

More accurately, there were probably descriptions or mentions of diagnostic practices, and anything more would require dealings with specific families, but he didn’t particularly care. He just wanted those nightmarish girls to stop bothering Raquel so he’d never have to hear about Kennet again.

“Yes, but diagnostics won’t capture the details.”

“That’s what trial and error is for.” Reid said, narrowing his eye in annoyance. “How did they get a hold of your contact information, anyway?”

Raquel paused, looking almost a little guilty before speaking. “They approached me while you were training in the Abyss. They tried to make a diplomatic appeal.”

“Is this their only message?”

“...no,” she said, after another, longer pause.

Just as he feared. He let out the slightest of frustrated sighs. “Don’t you have better peers to speak to? What about Kennedy and Knox?”

At the mention of the other girls’ names, Raquel broke her gaze and looked down. She shifted her posture, frowning as she looked both ways down the hall, checking for the presence of others.

Did she actually think those girls would hear her, or whoever or whatever she was worried about? None of the students in the senior hall, even those that traded in social currencies and information like Eloise, or even Nicolette, would care either.

However, he supposed their conversation was beginning to trend towards more private topics.

“Come. Let’s take this elsewhere,” he said, standing up and opening the door to his room. He waited for Raquel to get inside, and then closed the door behind him. Even if none of the information she shared was important, and it likely wouldn’t be, the change of setting was a good precaution.

She took a moment to glance over his room, and then settled into one of the armchairs. She stayed with her hands clasped over her lap for a few moments, frowning, and then reached over to turn the nearby lamp on, looking satisfied when the small, warm light illuminated the room.

Was it really that dark? He hadn’t noticed, but he had spent the past few days confined to the room, often with the curtains fully closed like they were now. He’d gotten used to it. It was oppressive, but hadn’t that mostly been his own perception–seeing the room as it always had been?

“Well?” He asked, focusing his attention back on Raquel. He remained standing, just outside the light’s glow.

“When uncle became headmaster I couldn’t spend time with them,” she started. “The fight over the school already strained things between us. There were a lot of resentments, more than I could have thought. And then we left for a few days with uncle, so by the time I returned… I don’t know where to start, or how.”

He frowned. So it was simple petty drama after all. “And you would rather hide and speak to the likes of the Kennet practitioners?”

“They’re not–” Raquel raised her voice, but stopped, collecting herself before continuing. “Avery is nice. She’s moving to Thunder Bay, so she’ll be somewhere civilized.”

He couldn’t even remember which girl that was. The cat? “But she’s not your friend?”

Raquel shook her head. “No. I don’t know if Kassidy or Yadira are my friends either.”

He wanted to tell her that this was stupid. She was working herself up over nothing, and if anything this was a perfect excuse to drop them for allies that mattered, who she could bring up as important connections she’d fostered. But she seemed invested, and he couldn’t help but wonder if that investment was because they were hers.

His mind went to Wye, who’d sat by him even when he was a sobbing mess. Who was helping him now, even when he had nothing to offer him.

Maybe Raquel could keep those girls, though the fact that they were staying away from her was baffling.

“If they aren’t, it’s their loss,” he replied. “They should be grateful someone of your caliber is paying them any mind.”

Raquel gave him a confused look, waiting for elaboration.

He rolled his eye. “Regardless of your standing within the family, you’re still of the Mussers.”

“That’s not a guarantee, is it?”

Her tone of voice changed in an instant – she sounded serious and direct now, even pointed. It caught him off-guard, though he held back from showing any surprise.

“There’s another reason you’re not attending class, beyond weak justifications and tensions with your peers,” he remarked, not bothering to make it a question.

“I try to focus on other things, but my mind always comes back to it,” Raquel replied, her voice small. “I’ve walked through what to say and who I want to appease. I’ve memorized the proper etiquette, and I’ve practiced greetings and responses. I have a nice dress.”

“You sound like you’ve prepared.”

He doubted she had prepared sufficiently, but this was more effort than he’d been expecting.

She shook her head. “I’ve done all of that, and I still can’t believe in an outcome that isn’t the family sending me to live with someone far away, and– and everything else changing.”

“It’s likely. Father was more hands-off with you than I would have liked, sometimes.”

She stared at him.

“What?”

“You’re being critical of him. It’s strange.”

He frowned beneath his bandages. It was strange. She was right, and he didn’t want to dwell on the matter any longer than he had to.

When it was clear she wouldn’t get a response from him, she spoke up again. “Is there a chance? A chance something could be better?”

Raquel looked up at him, almost pleading, just like she had when she’d been looking to him for answers when he first woke up in this room. It was pathetic. Unbecoming of a Musser, let alone a practitioner.

He could have imagined a brighter future for her. She could have dedicated herself to working hard, building connections, and appealing to the right sorts of families. She could have found a man who she liked, who was kind to her in turn and of suitable standing for the family, and they could have gotten married. She’d be free that way–free to befriend all the shabby Kennedies and Kennet girls she wished, and to gain a life of her own.

Now?

She was Billie Musser’s daughter, and she was going down the same path as her mother. The family had been somewhat optimistic, or at least assured that she wouldn’t be an inconvenience because she was directly under his father’s wing. To remark on her lack of progress would have been a remark against his father.

Now his father was dead. They were free to make the comparisons he made, and perhaps a few more purely on the basis of her heritage. Bloodlines had meaning in this world, and carried patterns repeated time and time again across generations. Why wouldn’t they assume she would end up just like her mother?

There would be no opportunities for Raquel. One of the lesser houses would make room for her, based on whoever was deemed most fit to handle her particular lack of decorum and skewed priorities. When the time came for the family to reach out to others in order to gain resources or powerful allies on their side, she would be used as a bargaining chip and nothing more. He suspected she had always been a bargaining chip. He hadn’t wanted her to be– she could have been successful, especially with the advice he gave her. Yet she kept ignoring him, pursuing the wrong goals and failing to live up to the family’s standards.

He used to be frustrated at Raquel. He still was, but much of that frustration was directed elsewhere– at his family, and at himself.

“There’s a slim chance you could impart enough of a good impression to stay within House Musser. They’d watch you closely, and if you aren’t married off during the family restructuring, they’d have enough time to see your failings and attempt to correct them.”

“That’s your idea of better?” Raquel asked, eyes wide.

“It’s much more likely that you’re sent to a lesser household, and married off to whichever convenient ally the family needs,” Reid continued, his voice tinged with an edge of bitterness. “Perhaps a lowly thief, or an alchemist who sees you as a test subject just as much as a wife?”

“You’re– you’re trying to scare me. That’s the Abyss talking, isn’t it?”

She was wrong. He didn’t need the Abyss’s help to conjure up the right words to terrify her.

“No, Raquel. I’m being realistic. The family doesn’t want individuals. It wants people who can obey. When we walk into that funeral, you know what they’ll see?”

Raquel didn’t reply.

“They will see Billie Musser’s daughter, and the Abyss-tainted remains of Abraham Musser’s son. Every action, every word of yours, can and will be taken as a sign of how much you’re like your mother, which means you’re a problem to be dealt with. The fact that I’ve spent time around you, that you wanted to stay behind with me, is another mark against you.”

“How much of that is about you, rather than me?” Raquel asked.

“Not nearly enough. If anything, your fate is kind compared to what might await me. Do you think I’ll be allowed to marry, Raquel? I’ll be seen as trash to be disposed of, to be thrown onto some far-flung battlefield and out of everyone’s sights, because the mere idea of the heir of the Musser family becoming this–” he gestured to the whole of him, not only his face, “–is unacceptable.”

The silence after was punctuated by his uneven, wheezing breaths. He felt his heart beating faster in his chest. Panic. Fear. Something close to it.

“I don’t– I don’t want that,” Raquel said.

It was his turn to stare her down, and allow her to elaborate. He fixed his gaze on his cousin, who sat in the warm, meager light of the lamp, while she gazed out into the darkness, meeting his eye.

“You have a plan, don’t you?”

He didn’t reply.

“Reid? Please tell me there’s a plan.”

—

Wye’s car turned off the highway and began to head down a smaller road. The estate was far from any city, enough to be outside the range of any Lordship, but not far enough to be rural. Not exactly. They were in a wealthy neighborhood, with small mansions and large yards spread along the road, interspersed with gates or driveways leading up to larger properties. They’d have to go a little farther beyond to get to their destination.

In contrast to the trip in Hadley’s car the other day, this car ride was much quieter. It was slower and smoother, a combination of Wye’s much more responsible driving and the atmosphere in the vehicle. The longer distance to get to his estate left him more time alone with his thoughts, to introspect and strategize.

He felt as if he’d done none of that. His thoughts were elsewhere, lacking focus, winding down dark trails towards dark conclusions.

The car headed down what initially looked like a road with a dead end, and then hung a sharp turn around a corner mostly obscured by trees. A little bit of road maintenance and some small rituals the staff kept up filtered out most Innocents who didn’t have good cause to visit them. The road continued onward, winding through the woods until a large set of ornate gates appeared off to the side.

The car turned, only needing to stop for a moment before the gates started opening. Reid’s gaze focused on the security camera looking down from one of the pillars.

They knew he was here now. He wasn’t sure how they’d react, or whether they expected him to show up at all.

Wye gave him a passing, troubled glance, and continued along the driveway to the Musser estate.

—

“You aren’t going?” Reid asked Raymond, barely holding back from raising his voice.

Raymond leaned forward, hands clasped on his desk. “I have classes to teach, and maintenance to perform on some of the Gold Garden infrastructure. There’s simply too much on my plate.”

The multiple servers in Raymond’s office hummed, just loud enough for the background noise to start to irritate him. Why couldn’t the man have rows of bookshelves and decoration like any self-respecting practitioner, instead of featureless boxes for ‘data storage’?

Reid bristled, shifting in his seat. Raymond had a chair tall enough for his frame, and it was admittedly comfortable. All the comfort in the world couldn’t make him feel better, however. He had been hoping for a quick, demesne-supported transportation to the funeral with Raymond. Those hopes were now dashed to pieces.

“You were friends with my father, weren’t you?” Reid asked.

“We were friends. We went our separate ways after founding the school, but I’ve known him for a long time,” Raymond replied, sounding almost automated.

“Then why not visit the event momentarily, pay your respects, and then return? I don’t understand, your demesne is connected to the Digital Aether–”

“It takes time to establish that connection, Reid. I need to track down the IP address of the device I’d like to reach out to, and access– well, in simplified terms, I would need to effectively download an instance of my demesne entrance on one of their computers. That requires bandwidth I can’t spare right now.”

Reid stayed silent, glaring at the man. What little defense he could muster for the funeral required that he arrive early. If there was even a sliver of a chance for him and Raquel, it required him to have time– enough time to counter any disagreeable narratives, and gain control over the conversation. The gossip out of earshot, or even in earshot, would continue no matter what. But if he arrived early, maybe the opposition would be less of a raging torrent.

If Raymond refused to help him, however, then he’d have to do away with that idea.

It was the only one he’d had. Hours spent in his room, agonizing over dossiers of his family and their allies, losing his mind to tangents on just how utterly, indubitably fucked he and Raquel were, and this was all he’d come up with.

And now it was all for nothing.

“I don’t believe it’s as difficult as you say,” Reid said, his voice firm. “You said I could contact you if I needed help.”

“I know, Reid. You have to understand my position. Showing support for the Musser family is an action some might see as too political–”

“Just admit you don’t want to go!” Reid shouted, standing up from his seat. “Give me an answer I can respect!”

He could see the faint tension in Raymond as the man remained quiet, shutting down in the face of the angry outburst. He could see a flicker of fear in his eyes. He wanted to bring it out further – to say the right words, to make the right angry gestures, to make that fear bloom. Anything, to communicate just a fraction of the pressure and terror he was feeling right now, even just to make the man budge.

“Do you just want to pretend Raquel and I will be fine? Is that it?” Reid hissed, placing his hands on Raymond’s desk.

Raymond tensed up. He felt satisfied, seeing that. The Abyss-touched parts of him were even more satisfied.

It wasn’t good, feeding those parts and those urges, but at this point? Fuck it.

“Reid. Step away from–”

Raymond stopped speaking, looking past Reid, and Reid turned his head to stare with him.

Wye was standing at the doorway, holding a folder stuffed with papers. He glanced between the two of them, looking concerned.

“Is this a bad time?” he asked.

Raymond sighed. “Come in, Wye.”

Reid took a couple steps away from Raymond’s desk, standing off to the side to let Wye through. The man stepped forward and placed the folder on the desk, and then turned to Reid.

“I couldn’t help but overhear some of the talk from before,” Wye said. “Don’t you still have a car?”

He ‘couldn’t help but overhear’? Reid doubted that. Wye wasn’t the sort of person to carelessly eavesdrop. What was his angle?

“I do, but driving to the Musser estate myself has its own complications.”

He’d thought about the idea extensively. He’d seriously evaluated himself, but he’d found that there wasn’t much Self to evaluate. Just feelings, impulses, and pain. There was the lack of depth perception, but that wasn’t the worst issue.

He could see himself, distracted by a flare-up of pain, missing a turn and crashing into another vehicle, or deciding to keep going with that missed turn, driving as far away as he could. He could see himself staring at a cliff off the side of the road, or the water under a bridge, and being tempted – for an easy way out, an escape from the constant agony, and from his family.

He didn’t trust himself to drive. Not yet. Not for this occasion.

“Right. Good on you to admit that.” Wye said. He drummed his fingers on one of Raymond’s shelves, looking as if he was contemplating something.

“Wye, were you going to attend?” Raymond asked in a pointed tone of voice.

“There’s a family attending who I have business with, so it’s between checking up on them, or a typical work day where I can enjoy a nice cup of tea from the comfort of the office. Seeing as Reid and Raquel need transportation, however… Reid, we’d arrive a little later due to the distance. Is that fine with you?”

Reid could see the faint approval from Raymond, and he could hear the tinge of exasperation in Wye’s tone. Wye was helping him again. Was this Wye’s plan? To conveniently overhear the conversation, to step in to help, and further put him in his debt? Or was he genuinely being pressured into this by Raymond, and just didn’t want to look bad by turning him down?

Even with this monumental effort on Wye’s part, it still wasn’t enough for what he needed.

“I wanted to arrive early,” he admitted, surprised by how small his voice sounded.

Wye looked over at Raymond, who only shook his head. “I’ll look over my schedule again, but it isn’t likely, Reid. Wye can help you get to the estate.”

Raymond gave Wye a slightly urging look, as a hint of resignation crept into Wye’s expression.

So he was being roped into this after all. That was a relief, compared to Wye going out of his way to do this of his own will with unknown intentions, but now he was just upset Raymond was forcing him to do this.

“I can wake up a couple hours earlier, but we do still need to drive there,” Wye said. “Sorry.”

“It’s– you’re fine, Wye. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Reid said, his voice hollow. He began to walk out of the room, not bothering to address Raymond as he left.

As he stepped out the door, he stayed just next to the entrance, out of Raymond’s sight. It would be foolish to hide from an augur, so Reid didn’t even try, though he had a sense that Wye probably had no interest in seeing if he eavesdropped or not.

“So. Reid?”

“... Wye.”

“Come on, Raymond. I have shit to do tomorrow.”

“And I’ve had three separate attacks on the Gold Garden in the past day. Not from the usual sources, and with complex methodology. I think they know I’m gainsaid. I’ve already made arrangements with my apprentices, Wye. This isn’t the sort of thing I can back out of.”

“Almost makes me wish I had duties with world-spanning importance I could use to get out of uncomfortable situations.”

“Wye.”

“Alright, I’ll stop. I don’t need augury to see that nothing good’s waiting for those kids, though.”

“Then you’ll be better at aiding them than I ever could. So, the reports?”

“... Yeah, the reports. Two paths for readings, as you requested. The first column is for the school facing outwards. Success, increased standing, wealth. The second is the school facing inwards: spiritual health, wellbeing of students, durability as an institution.”

“I see. Looking at the guest teachers, you’ve marked Graubard as green outwards, red inwards, which means–”

“Reid?”

He turned his head to see the nurse homunculus, her large eyes narrowed with suspicion. The Librarian animus was standing a short distance behind her.

“It’s nearing the time for your final check-up,” she said.

“May as well get it over with,” Reid muttered. He broke away from the wall next to Raymond’s office, leading the nurse to his room.

The Other exchanged some words with the librarian, and followed suit. With the grim expression on her face, it felt as if this wasn’t just a mere check-up, but rather–

A funeral rite of his own, of sorts. Preparing the body before it was sent off.

—

The forest surrounding the driveway ended. Reid looked out the window at the acres of lush pasture surrounding his father’s estate. A small herd of horses were visible in the distance, grazing close to one of the large trees left in the pasture, providing shade.

He could spot his father’s favorite among them – a large stallion with a rich, dark coat that didn’t quite correspond to any extant breed. He was a destrier, whose bloodline traced back to the War of the Roses, and was one of many breeds that only survived under the watch of practitioners and other entities. Historic beasts like him could be tapped at the right moments, adding weight and momentum to certain actions.

Right now, Edric’s Spry Lance stood a short distance from the others, looking out at the car. It was difficult to tell from this distance, but it was almost like the horse knew.

Knew that his rider was gone.

The car continued on, past the horses and towards the estate. The mansion loomed on the horizon, and the sky above it looked grey. The storm forecasted for today didn’t seem too far off, now. It had the effect of making the off-white coloring of the estate look darker, with greater shadows cast over its surface, and greater depth to the arches and columns. Most of the ground floor windows were lit, casting their yellow light out like a somber gaze.

The driveway ended in a circular courtyard with a fountain in the center, surrounded by a low hedge. Reid couldn’t remember the last time the estate had been this crowded – cars filled up the circular courtyard, and trailed down the driveway in a long, snaking line.

Then again, it wasn’t as if he’d lived here. Not really. His earliest years were perhaps the longest time he’d spent at the estate, before the boarding schools, and before being sent out into the world.

It was always a place he could return to, however. Relations with other families could change, schools could shut down… but the Musser estate had always been there.

It was home.

Once, when visiting his father in Ontario, they had taken a walk through the estate together. His father told him of the changes and updates he made, and the plans he had to further refurbish one of the mansion’s wings. He closed his eye, and for a moment, he could see himself back in that scene. His father didn’t smile much during that tour, but he could feel the faint approval in the man’s gaze as Reid correctly identified some of his architectural inspiration.

He took a ragged breath, collecting himself. He hadn’t expected that memory to hit so deeply. He hadn’t expected it to hurt.

Fuck. It took all of that suffering in the Abyss, and a contest that forced immeasurable personal growth out of its contestants, just to realize the kind of person his father really was– and he still couldn’t help but feel sad his father wasn’t there anymore.

It made him hate the cars gathered here, and the crowds of guests that would be inside the mansion. He wanted to look on the estate uninterrupted, maybe take a walk around the back – just a quiet contemplation with his memories. He wasn’t sure if it would help, but it felt like something that could quiet some of the turmoil in his heart.

But that wasn’t a privilege afforded to him today, and would likely never be afforded. Today, his family would declare to the world how great a man his father was, and how sorely he would be missed, and the world would gather to listen. The parasites would cry their crocodile tears and sing his father’s praises, and the family would take note of each one, as if collecting tithes for church. No one was truly here to grieve.

In the coming days, maybe one of his uncles would go through that quiet contemplation he desperately wanted. They’d remain quiet and respectful, without a single tear shed, and be able to process his father’s death however they wanted. That would be admirable and noble of them, a sign of how much they truly loved his father.

How would they react to him doing the same thing? Would they say he was sulking and skulking around the estate? Would he even be allowed to walk around, or would he be confined to his room, away from Innocent staff? His family was creative– they would find ways to twist actions they praised others for into something improper. He’d done plenty of that twisting on his own, before.

Wye parked the car at the end of the line. Reid stepped out, feeling more as if he was going through automated motions than willing actions. The mental static in the back of his mind was a roar as he began to walk towards the mansion.

—

You could always leave.

The thought came in the midst of him sweeping his arm across one of his shelves, sending its contents crashing down. Statuettes, a case of decorative pens, texts, and more clattered on the ground.

You know what will happen if you go.

He followed the sweeping gesture with another, for the shelf below. One of his trophies, a golden sphere made on concentric rings lined with platinum, was too heavy to simply sweep off, so he wrapped his fingers around its base, pulled the thing off the shelf, and threw it across the room as hard as he could.

The trophy fell to the ground, leaving a small dent in the wall.

He wasn’t satisfied with that.

You know your family. You know that funeral’s a trap.

He walked over to the trophy, and began to kick at it with his boot, stomping on it until, at some point, one of the rings broke, a section cracking in two.

His foot hurt.

But you have to go, don’t you?

He didn’t have a choice. The thought of Raquel going back there alone, without someone to support her or cushion her from the worst outcomes, was unacceptable. Nothing good was waiting for her there as well, but–

Could they leave? Was that even an option? Leaving was running away and hiding until the family chased after them, and there wasn’t a guarantee either of them would be alive at the end of that path. Between the devil he knew in returning to the family and facing consequences, and the devil he didn’t know in running away, the answer was obvious.

Besides, running away wasn’t–

It wasn’t him. It wasn’t what a Musser– what Reid would do.

Who is Reid?

He yanked the mirror off his dresser and slammed it over the back of his chair, breaking the glass. He’d had enough of mirrors. He tossed it aside, and it skidded to a stop face-up, reflecting a distorted, jagged visage back at him.

He was walking to his doom and bringing Raquel along with him. The inevitable future drew closer by the second. He couldn’t change that fate, but he could change something smaller.

His room had been bothering him since he’d woken up. He could hardly stand to look at anything in it anymore.

So he went, letting out an angry scream as he pulled at the partially empty bookshelf, and tipped the whole thing over. He could feel the muscles in his arms throb with a tearing pain, maybe from straining themselves when moving the heavy piece of furniture, but it was fine. He was Abyss-hardened, and he didn’t have that stupid nurse to worry about anymore. He could deal with it.

He let out wheezing, panting breaths as he looked around the room. The floor was partially covered in books and decorations he’d scattered everywhere. The magical items, no matter how delicate they looked, were still intact– most couldn’t be ruined through mundane means, and those that could were encased and secure.

One of them caught his eye. A sealed jar harvested from a dead practitioner’s demesne run amok. It was a power source, good enough to fuel a couple of larger workings. There were others. A ring with a gem that contained concentrated Abyssal essence, said to be from the eye of the Abyss itself. An iron needle taken from a wraith king.

If everything was going to go to shit, why not? Why not go out with a bang, if things got truly dire?

He reached down and picked up the ring, letting out a breathy chuckle as he gazed into the darkness swirling in its gem.

…And that chuckle, and the unhinged, forced lifted mood that came with it, fell just as quickly as it came. These paltry power sources couldn’t do anything against his family.

It wouldn’t hurt to bring something just in case, however.

Just a bit of false security, where he had none before.

—

Reid stood at the door to the estate. He adjusted his blazer, checking to make sure it hadn’t gotten rumpled during the car ride.

He’d calmed down some since yesterday. The power sources were still in his suitcase in Wye’s car, but mostly for his own protection, or the unlikely scenario of someone being disruptive during the funeral. Acting quickly and using practice to protect a guest could win him and Raquel some favor.

Not that any of that favor would matter. It wasn’t as if anything he or Raquel did could improve their fates– it was just a matter of making sure they didn’t fall into any worse arrangements.

A servant opened the door before Reid even had to knock. The huge wooden edifice slowly swung open, and Reid could see the foyer clearly. Tapestries lined the walls, depicting his family’s achievements. Two sets of stairs led up to the second floor, complete with a balcony. The floor, marble, contained a vague, incomplete heraldic diagram in its center.

A few people were in the foyer. They stared at Reid, wide-eyed, as if they had seen a ghost. One woman whispered something to a man who looked like her husband. He didn’t recognize either of them.

Into the lion’s den, he thought, taking his first step into the mansion.

The beginning of the end.

Comments

[sunlit_skycat]

Well, the funeral is going to be interesting. Hopefully things go well for Reid, Raquel, and Wye here.

I like that you have Reid's judgemental commentary coming through by the fact that he can't even tell Lucy, Verona, and Avery apart, and just thinks of them as those nightmare Kennet girls. Fits in nicely with how he doesn't use Nina's name or the name of any Others in internal narration.

[lunecat16]

biased perspectives are very fun to write

[mdfification]

Interesting how much Reid still cares about his family and feels in their power. I suppose just saying "I reject being an extension of the Musser family" doesn't undo your entire childhood, eh?

[lunecat16]

who wouldve thought!