Update: Holy Crap, Really?

So apparently Israel and Iran are having a (tentative, delicate) cease-fire, though I still think Trump is leaping in to take credit for something that would have happened anyway and over which he has very little actual influence. It also sounds like Qatar is doing most of the real work here, but it's hard to tell much of anything for sure. 

Also, our President is fucking delusional

I mean, if you've been paying any attention at all this isn't a surprise; dude can barely string a coherent sentence together. But here in his second term (and for that matter during his re-election campaign -- and I'll never forgive the media for glossing this shit over) he's been showing pretty obvious signs of adult-onset dementia. And unlike Reagan, he's neither contained enough to hide it nor surrounded by halfway-sensible advisors who can keep things running semi-smoothly anyway. He's too public, too much of a TV personality, and the fact that he's coming completely unzipped is just... right out there in public. 

By the time this hit the rest of social media, Iran was firing missiles at Israel again. Dude is literally just hallucinating heroic victories for himself. (I'm really hoping that this is a hoax and he never actually posted any such thing, but as far as I can tell that isn't the case and he's really just this far gone.) 

I.

Am.

So.

Tired. 

Annnd then we bombed Iran

So, to be clear: the U.S. is once again committing war crimes by attacking a sovereign foreign nation -- in this particular case, because Israel decided to commit war crimes by attacking a sovereign foreign nation, but I swear to fucking God this happens every single time we get a Republican president in office and I'm going to really need people to quit electing these assholes. 

And by all accounts it was an amazingly sophisticated tactical operation, which is almost a shame since the strategy behind it appears to be 100% bullshit all the way down. Current reports -- the ones that aren't just idiotically repeating the White House's claims, anyway -- suggest that we probably didn't destroy any fissile material, we don't currently know where Iran's supply of it even is, and we've given them a splendid rationale for actively creating nuclear weapons of their own. No point in non-proliferation if the nations making treaties with you are just going to turn around and attack you anyway. 

Plus, we've got our own secret police -- what else can you call them when they show up in masks and refuse to identity themselves in any way? -- kidnapping and disappearing American citizens, legal visitors to the country, and the "good ones" who are seeking legal citizenship while the President is basically trying to sabotage the State of California by pulling the National Guard away from firefighting and having them sit around with their thumbs up their asses in Los Angeles instead. A president whose chief of staff -- the guy currently vetting security for basically the entire Executive Branch -- apparently hasn't submitted any of the paperwork to get vetted himself and probably isn't at all who he says he is. And that's after the unelected druggy billionaire and his cronies got turned loose to data mine government data -- data that's now almost certainly in the hands of anybody who wants it, because these guys have a worse sense of operational security than my younger son did at age six.

I'm so tired. Angry, but also so tired. And I really don't think I'm exaggerating when I say that's it's going to take the country forty years or more to recover from this assault; with this much damage done, we're going to have to rebuild the federal government from the ground up -- and without the collected institutional knowledge of how it used to work. 

On the bright side... My family's healthy, the boys are happy, we aren't struggling for resources (yet -- the tariff bullshit has a pretty long fuse, and disappearing farmworkers is going to have effects downstream sooner or later) and nobody is currently bombing our suburb. If I didn't give a shit about other people, it'd be pretty easy to pretend everything was fine. 

StV: A Solitary Hound, part two

"...If it's thoroughly documented that it's a ruse, sure." Bloodhound met Mongrel's eyes and kept her expression neutral. "I don't like it, but I could do it. But I don't want anybody back home getting the wrong idea."

"Mongrel could write the order," Hearne said, sitting back in the passenger seat and looking at the ceiling. "I could go to ground here too, so you'd still have a channel."

Mongrel and Huntsman exchanged a look. "That could work," Huntsman said. "Especially if he isn't interested in the asset. He's a good-looking kid; it wouldn't be weird if you took an interest in him."

"It's dangerous," Bloodhound said quietly, and looked around as the other three fell silent. "It's... I don't know what it is about this kid, but I keep getting this... He puts my hackles up. He isn't afraid of us. He's dangerous and he knows it."

Mongrel considered that. "We know he regenerates, and he can shake off a tranquilizer. He's strong, but I don't know how strong. Do we know anything else about him?"

Bloodhound shook her head, then looked around to find the two hunters shaking theirs as well. "There's another thing, too. He said we're being played by a group of-- 'rich bastards,' he said --called the Age of Rebirth."

Mongrel's expression remained impassive, so Bloodhound continued: "Maybe Leadership is okay with that, but if they don't know about it... well, I'm passing it up the chain. Make of it what you will."

Mongrel nodded. "Okay. I'll follow up on that and let you know what they find. Start thinking about what you'd do if you suddenly fled the program; the more convincing you are, the better." 

Bloodhound nodded. 

"And Bloodhound?" added Mongrel. "We know more than we did. Good work." 

StV: A Solitary Hound, part one

"Where'd you go?" asked Mongrel, as Bloodhound climbed back into the truck. 

She scowled but didn't look away. "Wanted to take a look at them, even if we aren't moving on them."

"Risky," Hearne observed, probably to cut in ahead of anything Mongrel or Huntsman might say about it. "If they saw you..." 

Bloodhound shook her head. "I went the other way with it. The boy who's a primary target? He's the same one that confronted me at the school, the one I couldn't see in the dark. I let him catch my scent, and he came over by himself, so I spoke to him."

"That's... interesting," Hearne said thoughtfully. 

Mongrel leaned forward. "What did you learn?" he asked, suddenly intent on Bloodhound's face. 

"He doesn't recognize 'Omar' or 'Greyhound', so if our traitor is there he's not using either of his old names." She shook her head. "That doesn't mean much. He didn't react to my description, but that doesn't mean much either -- even if he didn't smell like he was lying."

"We need a way to lure them all out," said Huntsman. "The primary targets, the ones who were at the theater, and the asset."

"Did he seem suspicious of the asset?" asked Mongrel. 

Bloodhound shook her head. "No."

"...Maybe we can use that. Have her pursue a romantic attachment, and use that as leverage to get the target and his friends -- our other targets -- into our reach."

"We'd have to pull out," Huntsman observed, but he didn't sound like he was arguing. "Maybe leave one or two well-hidden assets in place, but if we withdraw in search of better possibilities and Bloodhound meets with this boy to tell him that we're packing up... it could work."

"We could even leave her here," Mongrel said, glancing at Hearne before turning to meet her eyes again. "How do you feel about pretending to go rogue?" 

Music: Fantasy

The band is apparently DyE, and fair warning: part of the reason I'm posting it is that the video leans hard into body horror. 

Music: Suffocate

Kayzo (with Bad Omens):

The Hobbit, as written by Dr. Seuss

I really like my wizard friend
He came to visit me again
He brought twelve dwarves but that's okay
But do not with my dishes play!

They think I should a burglar be!
I'd rather have a cup of tea.
To Lonely Mountain should I go?
I can't decide. Oh no, oh no

We camped and there discussed our roles
But now we're overrun with trolls! 
Gandalf, damn it, where'd you go? 
They're going to eat us, this I know. 

And now the trolls are arguing
A fight that might salvation bring
The sun's first light has touched the sky
And trolls to stone are turned thereby.

We've now arrived at Rivendell
Where Elrond and the Elves do dwell
Our map has secrets yet unsealed
By Elrond's hand they're now revealed

Oh good! We're Misty Mountains bound
Oh bad! By goblins we are found
I'm best off fleeing underground
And lo! This ring was lying 'round

I tucked the ring inside my vest
A strange thing wants a riddle-fest
It turns into a hard contest
...Escaping with the ring is best

Well, twelve dwarves are now impressed
in Beorn's house we take our rest
So on we into Mirkwood go!
Giant. Fucking. Spiders. No.

And now the wood-elves have a quarrel
Into a dungeon, out in a barrel
Laketown's far more welcoming
But much desiring Smaug-slaying

I find the door, the passage in
I find my courage to begin
The dragon speaks; I answer back
See one small space his armor lacks

He's really mad about this cup
He's going to burn Laketown up
The Thrush will bring the warning whole
The dragon and its armor's hole

But Bard has his black arrow ready
His aim is true, his hand is steady
The arrow flies, the dragon falls
The dwarves reclaim their ancient halls

All should be well! We've won the day...
The men demand the dwarves should pay
For damage done unto their town
Thorin scowls and turns them down

And now a siege? The hell is this?
This Arkenstone they shouldn't miss
The men could take this and be done
A reward for a battle won

But wait! Thorin is much dismayed
He says I have the dwarves betrayed! 
He orders me to go away
As Dain, his cousin, arrives today

Gandalf returns but with a warning
The goblins and the worgs are forming
An army 'gainst both dwarf and man
So I guess we're out of the frying pan

The elves have come as well I see
They all ally as armies three
To set the goblin army back
but air support is what they lack

Oh look! We now have eagles too! 
Wings and talons, much to do!
The battle's turned, the goblins broken
And Thorin's final words are spoken

We part as friends, I take small share
For treasure I have little care
Why not more? Gandalf inquires
But this is plenty in the Shires. 

And now my story's done, dear friend
We have reached the very end
I suppose I might a book begin
Of going There and Back Again

StV: Missed Opportunities

"How did it go?" asked Mongrel, leaning back on the bench seat in the back of the unmarked delivery van. 

Bloodhound shook her head as she pulled the back door down behind her. "Fucking disaster," she told the older man. "I didn't get anywhere near the main building. I was coming in through the woods when I heard voices and slipped up into one of the trees. They caught me anyway."

"They?" asked Hearne, who was sitting at one of the computer consoles and studying a map on the screen. He was Bloodhound's handler, and an experienced hunter in his own right even if he wasn't a Hound. 

"A boy and a girl. Might have been some of our targets, actually -- the girl tackled me right out of the tree, and the boy was..." She frowned angrily, but her scent gave her away: for a moment there, Bloodhound had been scared.

"And you didn't gut them?" asked Huntsman, who'd been dozing in the driver's seat until her return. 

"I thought I was going to have to," Bloodhound admitted, "at least for a moment. The girl had claws of her own, and the boy... I couldn't see where he was, in the darkness, and by the time I pinpointed his scent it could have been too late. But no... the boy asked if I was looking for sanctuary, and the girl... she told me if I was looking for somebody, I should show up at the gates in the daytime and ask." 

Mongrel considered that. Bad luck that Bloodhound had been caught, even if the students had turned her loose; it meant that DAAT had overplayed its hand here. Worse luck if those two were among their targets; they'd definitely know if they ran into Bloodhound again. Worst of all, they'd shown restraint; if they were the targets, they were going to be trouble. It was always harder to trap somebody who knew when to stop. 

"So we still have no idea if Greyhound is here," Hearne said. 

Bloodhound grunted something that was almost a growl. "No idea."

"Damn it," said Hearne. "All that wasted potential, and we still don't even know where he disappeared to."

"He's a traitor," Bloodhound growled, and Mongrel nodded his agreement. He hadn't been very keen about bringing another Alpha Hound and her handler in on his hunt, but Bloodhound had been close to Greyhound before he went rogue: rivals, but maybe also friends, after a fashion. He couldn't fault her for wanting in on this; it was the best lead they'd had in two years. 

"We'll get him," Mongrel said. "If not here, somewhere else. Sooner or later he'll make a mistake."

"You know," said Huntsman, "the girl's suggestion isn't bad."

"Who are you calling a girl?" demanded Bloodhound, whipping her head around to look at him. 

"The one who ripped you out of the tree." Hearne was unfazed. "You could show up at the gate and ask about him."

"That--" She hesitated, then nodded thoughtfully. "That might be worth a try." 

Music: Hey Poor

Front 242:

StV: Just In Case You Missed It, part one

"He seems like a good guy," Magehand said, sitting on the edge of the stone railing and kicking his feet. 

Beside him, Nightfox was stretched out along the railing, head resting on her paws, fur black even in the unexpected sunlight that had found this school this afternoon. Her dress was folded up and sitting on a table a few feet away, set aside while she was being a panther. "He is," she said. "I don't... I don't know if it'll ever be anything serious, but he's a good guy."

"You'd like it to be, though," Magehand observed, feigning idleness. 

"I mean... yeah? I'm just not sure whether that's because I like him, or because, well, I'd just like to be part of something serious.  We talked about it a little last night, but... talk about coming from different worlds."

"How do you mean?" asked Magehand, leaning back and then hooking a foot into the carved stone to catch his balance. 

Nightfox hesitated. "Are you sure you want to know? It's... it's a little embarrassing."

Magehand shrugged. "Don't tell me if you aren't comfortable. I mean, I don't actually need to know." 

"No, it's fine," Nightfox said. "You've heard some of the rumors, I'm sure."

"I heard that he and Nightmare tried to kill each other in training." Magehand frowned. "They're teammates now, though. Did that actually happen?"

"Not quite like that," Nightfox said, glancing around. The back porch was mostly empty; most people were at dinner. Haunts was buried in her sketchbook; she might be listening in, but she wouldn't say anything even if she overheard. "They really were just practicing. They're just... both a lot more comfortable with drawing blood than most people."

"Ah," said Magehand. "And people freaked out."

Nightfox lifted her head, studied him for a moment with those piercing green eyes, and then settled back down. "He's not American," she added. 

"I caught the accent." Magehand quirked a grin at her. 

"I think he would have cheerfully slept with me, if that was what I wanted."

"Did you?" asked Magehand, not at all sure if he wanted to know. Maybe he should have changed the subject earlier, but it was too late now.

"Tom," said Nightfox quietly, "when I first transformed into... this... I was still wearing the purity ring my father gave me the year before. I'm only just getting used to the idea that somebody might be... unfazeable enough to be willing to kiss me as I am now. Just... completely different worlds."

"Oh," Magehand said. "Nightfox..." He swallowed and hopped down to the ground, suddenly unable to sit still. "Walk with me?"

She raised her head again, evidently puzzled, then slipped down from the railing. "All right."

They headed off into the woods automatically, following familiar trails that they'd established for themselves. "I don't quite know how to say this," Magehand told her, "but you're selling yourself so short it's ridiculous. You're amazing, and I absolutely guarantee you that Lyceus isn't the only one who'd be willing to kiss you."

"Okay," said Nightfox, sounding dubious. "...Who else?"

"Well... me, for starters," Magehand said. 

"You-- seriously?" Nightfox sounded stunned. 

Magehand nodded. "I didn't think you were interested."

She rose up into the human configuration that she rarely showed to anyone outside their small circle of friends. "I didn't know I could be," she said. "You'd... you wouldn't mind?"

He sighed, thoroughly exasperated. "I guess I should have been more obvious," he said. "No, I wouldn't mind. In fact, I'd be..." Honored. So completely there for it. Enraptured. "...I wish I'd brought it up sooner, before you got entangled with Lyceus."

Nightfox smiled. "He won't mind if I get un-entangled. He's a good guy."

DoT: Aftermath, part five

"The gangs are touchy about their territories," Mother Lardner said idly, after she'd gotten herself settled into the padded booth. 

"Always," Vallista Greycloak agreed. She had no idea how much of Mother Lardner's frail old woman act was genuine, though she suspected the grey-haired woman was far more spry than she let on. It didn't matter too much, either way; Mother Lardner was dangerous for other reasons, and while they Greycloaks might be the stronger of the two gangs, the Beggars could do them a lot of damage if they really put their minds to it. That was part of the reason why Vallista hadn't sent any threats or demands their way; she wanted the people who had killed her father, not a pointless and wasteful gang war. 

"That's why I came up to see you." Mother Lardner turned her head and smiled genially up at the server. "Do you have a hot mulled wine, dearie?"

The server -- a young human woman, unaffiliated, with a professional smile on her face -- considered that for a brief moment. "Well... nothing prepared, but if you don't mind waiting a few minutes we could make it happen."

"That would be lovely," Mother Lardner said. "It eases my joints, you see, and at my age anything that helps is, well, something to be appreciated."

"Hot mulled wine," the young woman repeated, then focused on Vallista and frowned slightly, then swallowed. "And what can I get for you?"

"Cider," Vallista decided. "Whatever you have. And -- a bowl of those crisps you serve with meals."

"Cider and crisps, and hot mulled wine. It'll be a couple of minutes, but I'll get it out." She backed away from the table, turned smartly, and didn't quite run into another server as she headed for the back of the Copper Pot. 

"Territory," Vallista said idly, tapping her fingers on the table. "My father died in yours, in the midst of some kind of business deal with an upper-city merchant. Not one he told me about. Do you know anything about it?"

"I knew he was there," Mother Lardner said softly, leaning forward sympathetically. "My people told me. And then they told me he was dead, so I came to see what I could do."

"...Do?" asked Vallista, momentarily puzzled. 

"He was Anderlin Greycloak, and he died in my territory -- in one of the establishments where we don't touch the clientele. I tried to bring him back, but I don't think I got there fast enough. Then I tried to question his spirit, to learn who killed him, but that didn't work either."

"How did he die?" asked Vallista, half-numb. 

"Stabbed," Mother Lardner told her. "A dagger through the ribs and straight into the heart -- poisoned, too, I'm reasonably sure. A single blow, and if my hunter is to be believed then it took him by surprise. His bodyguard likely died a moment later, then the merchant and his bodyguard. Whatever exchange they were making, everything involved was gone. So was his swordbelt, or I'd see it returned to you. I tried to locate it -- magically -- but it's either hidden or out of range."

Vallista took a long moment to digest that. She'd learned of her father's death from Tavik, who'd been overseeing her father's bodyguard detail -- minimal, for a meeting like this, and apparently completely insufficient in the moment. He'd stood before her in his tattered clothing, explaining something about flying snakes and people bursting into the Overlook and then the unexpected discovery that everyone in the back room was dead. The intruders were gone by then, and somewhere in the chaos he'd apparently been set on fire; it was only later that he'd been healed and cleaned up by a passing bard. 

He'd offered his life as penance. Vallista had pretended to consider, but had of course refused. Tavik might have failed, but he was loyal.  

She shook her head. It was too much to take in all at once. "I'd like to see."

"I'm sure you would, poor dear." Mother Lardner hadn't quite broken character, but she was close. "May an old woman make another suggestion, though? To help keep the peace?"

Vallista tilted her head. "Go on." 

"It's your father," the old woman said simply, and not without some genuine sympathy. "Of course you want to come see. But you're in charge now, up here. Send one of your lieutenants, and... let's say a half-dozen of their people? They can come down, ask questions, look at everything we looked at. As long as they don't stab anybody, you have my word that the Beggars will leave them alone." She paused. "And if they do need to stab somebody, well, let us know and we'll arrange to cover it. When they're done, they can bring your father's body back up, and you can look at it for yourself." 

"That's..." Vallista swallowed. "That's very generous."

"I know a thing or two about losing parents," said Mother Lardner, and this time all pretense had dropped; she was off in her own memories for three full breaths. 

Then she said: "It's a bad business, all else aside. The Overlook brings the Beggars more money than most people realize. We make it look Lower City but keep it safe, the Upper City brats come slumming, Owin overcharges them ridiculously and pays us a decent cut. Everybody benefits. But it all depends on keeping that balance between making them feel like they're really slumming, and keeping them safe enough to come back."

"Yeah." Vallista drew a breath, then decided to forge ahead. "Almost as if somebody is trying to set us against each other."

"Ha!" Mother Lardner snorted, then looked up as the server returned. 

"You're in luck," said the young woman, who was now carefully avoiding meeting either of their eyes. "We got the heater going immediately, and here's your wine." She set the ceramic mug down, its contents steaming. "Your cider... and the crisps."

The server straightened. "Anything else for you?" 

"Not for now, Dearie," said Mother Lardner. "This is delightful."

The girl's grin turned momentarily genuine. "Good to hear it." She looked at Vallista. "Anything else for you?"

Vallista felt herself chuckle unexpectedly. "No, you're doing fine. We'll wave you over if we need anything else."

"As you will," the server said, picking up on that immediately. "I won't bother you unless you do."

"You've noticed that too," Mother Lardner said, once the young woman was gone. "It's mostly passed by us, until now." 

Vallista nodded. "Whereas we seem to be a target, of sorts."

"Huh," said Mother Lardner. "I hadn't looked at it that way."

"I'm having a hard time not looking at it that way."

Mother Lardner sighed. "I suppose technically we're rivals, but... you're new, and you're grieving, and you're stepping up just as thing seem to be changing. That's a lot to take on all at once. So I'm going to give you a piece of advice, one that's served me well over the years: don't assume it's personal."

"Somebody murdered my father," Vallista Greycloak said quietly. "That feels pretty personal."

"Yes," agreed Mother Lardner. "My dear, I'm not saying you shouldn't take it that way. I'm just saying that you shouldn't assume their reasons for doing it were personal. It would cloud your judgement and make them harder to find."

"Ah," said Vallista. "Yes. That makes sense." 

Music: The Bricklayer's Song

As performed by The Corries:

Writing, 2025

I'm taking a break from writing -- as much as I ever do or can, anyway -- while mind and body recover from the horror that was the month of May. (No, I still don't know why May is trying to kill me, but the evidence is incontrovertible.) It probably won't affect the blog much, but my current Horny Superteens project is at a spot where, if I try to go back to it now I won't have the perspective to figure out how to wrap up the current scene -- and that's a surefire recipe for writer's block. Phooey to that, I say!

I'm currently taking a fun little writing class on developing secondary characters, which I'm using to fill in ideas for an upcoming project involving a tween were-squirrel who gets sent into the Haunted Forest to protect his village, but that's low-key and low-stress (and also, as I mentioned, fun -- I get to see what a bunch of other people are working on and what their characters look like). 

So the blog may be seeing a bit more in the way of music, short bits, and dad jokes than usual, or I may be posting more of these "State of Me" bits of navel-gazing, but I'll still be posting. I may even have some more vignettes from the Horny Superteens project, as I build up to diving back in. Dunno; very much just going to play it as it comes. 

Also, as an update to yesterday's post: I... may have been a little optimistic. I took it easy at work, actually got a surprising amount done -- following up on and closing out some tickets, looking at some other issues, and taking care of some last-minute requests -- but man, I slowed down during the afternoon, and after I got back home I crashed. Hard. For about three and a half hours. So apparently I'm at the stage of recuperation where my body is just like, "Okay, buddy, you're going to listen me, and when I say you're going to sleep you're going to sleep. You got that?"

Recovery and Self-Care, 2025

Oh thank the dark and forgotten gods. 

I've been... not feeling well... for the last few days, mainly because I've been pushing way too hard with way too much stress for, I don't know, the last three weeks of May. I spent part of Monday just napping, took most of Tuesday off as an exhaustion/mental health day, and have just generally been feeling like I was right on the edge of making myself really, really sick (and I did have stomach/digestive issues, not to mention a truly horrible headache yesterday that may have been partly dehydration from the digestive issues). I've also been sleeping mostly in five-hour chunks, which isn't ideal. 

So yesterday I worked from home, but... cautiously, with breaks when I felt I needed them -- including napping for a bit of the afternoon and working to make it up in the evening -- and then went to bed with Beautiful Wife (also exhausted) at about 10:30. Didn't even pause to set up the CPAP, just climbed up and burrowed in. 

Finally -- finally -- had all the deeply weird, semi-narrative REM-sleep dreams that I've been missing. Woke up about 5:30, sweaty as anything, and just lay there thinking about random crap, the way I seldom have time to do anymore. Legit feels like I just shook off a fever, though I don't think I've actually been running one. 

The dreams were absolutely wild, too -- a three-part or three-element ceremony involving a circle of monsters (half feline, half canine -- so werewolves and were-panthers, maybe?) who had to move in and out and weave together in particular ways, a human at the center, and... something else that was important, but I can't remember it now. Probably wouldn't do me any good, since I don't seem to know any shapeshifters in real life and couldn't teach them the choreography anyway. Come to that, I don't actually remember what the ritual did, either, but  it was still pretty cool. 

I should put it in a piece of writing, somewhere. 

Next set of dreams started with younger-me and a whole bunch of other people in a fairly large house -- but there were a lot of us, so we were sleeping sort of wherever we could. (My parents showed up in this dream; my brother did not. I don't know if that means anything.) We were pulling together some sort of caravan, and there were a lot of decisions to make about what to bring and what to leave behind. Also, it was raining outside and the house had several significant leaks. 

Then we were actually in the caravan, and we were moving slowly because it was early morning and there were still traces of mist on the ground -- along with a lot of death and destructions -- fires, burned-down or smashed buildings, one truly spectacular corpse that was a badly-burned person(?) on a motorcycly, with the back half sunk into the ground. Looked like a war-zone, or the aftermath of a particularly bloody riot. Apparently the mist came out of the north, and it rises at night and anybody caught out in it dies -- or starts killing each other. 

Then we got to the place we were looking for, which was some kind of... factory? Power generation? Anyway, lots of cool ladders and bridges and big metal equipment. Also a couple of very friendly dogs, which turned out to be unfortunate because the dogs were helping to chase out some monsters that had gotten inside. The monsters were... weird. There was one like a two-legged balloon or egg. It did have a mouth, but it was awkward and not very dangerous, except that when it died it exploded into a small cloud of that death-mist, which did horrible things to the dogs until there was only one dog left. Unlike most of my dreams, I was both young (like, late teens maybe?) and unarmed, so I was avoiding the beasties by climbing ladders, jumping platforms, and like that. There were some other monsters too, at least one that stalked around like some sort of human-sized, featherless hunting bird, but at least those didn't explode into mist when they died. 

Anyway, I woke up before I had a chance to find out why we'd come there or what the workers were doing there, but it was intense and interesting and left me feeling more connected -- to my dreaming or myself, I'm not sure -- and just generally like I'd finally gotten a little bit of my breath back. 

Like I said, thank the dark and forgotten gods for that.  

Challenge: Cover Art

Prompt: Favorite Book Covers and Why

I'm going to have to go with David Mattingly, and particularly the art he did for a bunch of Barbara Hambly's books, notably including the Darwatch series. Why? Well, that's easy: they were on the front of some of my favorite books. Are they a bit dated these days? Well, yes, but they're still fun to look at. 

(This post is part of the Wednesday Weekly Blogging Challenge. You can find links to other writers' answers over at Long and Short Reviews.)   

DoT: Aftermath, part four

"Mother Lardner," Vallista said politely, and offered an abbreviated bow. "You're a bit outside of your usual haunts."

The older woman smiled. "Your lack of threats and demands made it necessary, dearie. I'm grateful, even if it meant walking all the way up here."

Vallista shrugged, and offered a smile. "I had no reason to suspect you of involvement," she said, them gestured towards The Copper Pot. "May I invite you inside for a meal?"

"I make it a rule never to refuse food and drink, my dear," said Mother Lardner. "I've seen too many times when they were far too precious to spare."

"Just so," Vallista said. "Would you prefer for me to enter first?"

Mother Lardner's expression remained serene. "So courteous; an unmistakable tribute to your father's training. I'll be happy to precede you."

That was a deliberate show of trust; Mother Lardner was offering her back. Vallista nodded. "Then please do allow me to treat you -- and treat with you."

Mother Lardner nodded, then turned to Derlina. The half-orc looked surprised, but composed herself immediately. 

"It was a great pleasure meeting you, my dear. I do so appreciate your company, and your willingness to help an old woman along difficult streets."

Derlina didn't quite glance at Vallista. Instead she simply smiled and nodded. "It was a pleasure for me as well. It seems you're well taken-care of now, though, so I'll leave you to your business."

Mother Lardner stretched out a hand, touched the half-elf's forearm. "Bless you, dearie." Given what Mother Lardner was, that blessing might have carried real, magical weight; Vallista couldn't tell. But this was conversation that needed to happen; the head of the Beggars might have set it up that way, but in truth she couldn't argue. Mother Lardner turned back to her, nodded, and then went into the Copper Pot. 

Vallista nodded to Derlina, and offered a brusque "Well handled" before she followed the older woman inside. 

DoT: Aftermath, part three

Mother Lardner was walking beside Derlina, and while there were other Greycloaks on the street they all seemed to be going about ordinary business: strolling down the street, or pausing in a doorway to look at goods, or stopping at one of the local carts. There were more on the rooftops; Vallista was peripherally aware of them and had no doubt that Mother Lardner was too. Still, that was a message in itself: her people were showing admirable restraint around the leader of the gang who controlled the territory where her father's murder had taken place. Their presence and behavior warned their fellows off. 

Talmos was watching from one rooftop; he nodded when he knew he was in her peripheral vision, and disappeared again. That was good; he was the oldest of her father's lieutenants, and a restraining influence on the rest; his skill with a dagger in the dark was legendary. He also had a well-established reputation for having no patience whatsoever with anyone causing unnecessary trouble. 

Diggs was the next one to show himself, but he was following Talmos' lead and disappeared almost immediately. The message was clear: I have my people here and we're ready to help, but Derlina has taken the lead and I won't try to cut in. It was a solid play, within the politics of the gang: showing loyalty and solidarity. Likely Diggs was grinding his teeth at the missed opportunity, but he was using it to the best advantage that he could. 

Vallista Greycloak paused at the corner, judging timing. Mother Lardner and Derlina were talking, casual and relaxed, and if there were any of the Beggars in the area they were keeping an extremely low profile. Likely there weren't; Mother Lardner might have pulled some independent security, but she wouldn't have brought any of her own people if she had any sense at all... and if there was one thing she was known for, it was good sense. The Beggars were, above all other things, practical. 

There. Vallista started out from beside the building, stepping onto the street and angling towards Derlina and Mother Lardner. If everyone kept to the same pace, they'd meet each other just outside The Copper Pot, where Vallista could invite her inside for a meal that would actually be a meeting. The food in The Copper Pot was basic but filling; the beer was decent, and the wines and brandies excellent. They also had a surprisingly tasty tea, a black tea blended with a touch of hemleaf.

Mother Lardner smiled when she caught sight of Vallista, and said something to Derlina that made her chuckle as well. The whole exchange looked cautiously friendly, though Derlina was very obviously keeping an eye on her people even as they walked along in apparent companionship. 

They came to a stop as Vallista reached them, and Derlina offered discreet bow of her head. I brought her here and sent for you, it said. I hope that's good enough. 

Yes, Derlina definitely had potential. Vallista Greycloak filed that away; now was the time to deal with Mother Lardner.

DoT: Aftermath, Part Two

"Boss!" 

 Vallista Greycloak looked up from her desk, where she was going over her father's accounts. They'd been working together for years, as he'd been grooming her to take his place; there was very little here that she wasn't already familiar with. 

She wasn't sure if that made it hurt less, or more. 

She looked coldly at the doorway, dread gathering in her chest. First that idiot furniture-carver, then a month later her father's death, and now, days after... some new disaster? She would be turning thirty-three tomorrow... if she lived that long. "What is it?" she asked, keeping her voice calm by an effort of will. 

"Beggars, boss. Mother Lardner herself, right out in the streets." The boy was human, just entering adulthood, but he wore the colors; he was a full member of the gang.

"How many?" asked Vallista, rising immediately and reaching to buckle on her swordbelt. 

"That's the thing!" The kid looked baffled. "It's just her. Derlina put the word out to hang back, let her walk, and sent me to tell you." 

Vallista narrowed her eyes, and the kid swallowed. Derlina wasn't overstepping, exactly; but she was the newest of the gang's lieutenants. On the other hand, she was solid and loyal, and if she'd been the first one present... She made the right call, Vallista decided. The more established lieutenants and their crews were going to hate that; they were all circling each other like sharks right now, angling to be the one who became her Second. Derlina wasn't nearly experienced enough to compete with them for that, but this was the kind of opportunity they'd all been looking for. 

She found her purse, tossed the messenger a Silver. "Good work," she said. "Take me there."

He nodded immediately, maybe a little too fast. "This way, boss."

"What's the word?" asked Gazin, She was one of the island's few lizard-folk, and sometimes got mistaken for a dragonborn. She had a desk with a custom-built chair in the front office, where she functioned as both secretary and bodyguard. Normally she didn't advertise her skill at combat, preferring that any unwanted visitors be surprised; but these weren't normal times. 

"Have everybody stay put," Vallista said. "Mother Lardner comes alone, I meet her alone. And Derlina already has eyes on her."

"You sure, boss?" asked Gazin. She grinned a toothy grin. "Don't want to lose my meal ticket, here."

Vallista hesitated, then nodded. "I'm sure. The beggars aren't going to hit us, and if they were they sure as the hells wouldn't hit us in broad daylight. Not unless the balance of power has changed beyond any hope of recovery." She turned back to the messenger. "Lead on, Kid."

He nodded and led her out the door.

DoT: Job's done

"Job's done, brother," said the voice, and the man who called himself Daystar straightened at his desk. "Gave your tools a bit of a shock, though."

"That's more easily done than it should be," Daystar grumbled. 

His sister shrugged. "If you want professionals, hire professionals. For amateurs, they weren't doing too badly: they spotted all three of Greycloak's guards and had the ones in the main room distracted. Hells, they might have managed to take him out if I hadn't already. But you're still covered: word will be that Greycloak was hit by a team, not a single assassin, and they took both the bags and Greycloak's sword."

"Ah, now there's a bonus," Daystar allowed himself a small smile. "They might be worth the investment after all."

"Then you'll appreciate this as well," added his sister. "They were dressed as Greycloaks and Panthers."

"Oh?' Daystar was honestly a little surprised. He'd been worried that his pawns were too obvious, not cautious enough, and he might need to sacrifice them earlier than he'd planned. If they were going to actively assist in creating the chaos he wanted, though... well, he might need to keep them on the board longer than expected.  He'd have to question Grot on their performance...

...Was he making a mistake leaving them in the half-orc's hands? No, it was better to keep them away from him, especially now that they seemed to be learning. And Grot was a good coachman and an excellent bodyguard, and best of all he had very few secrets to keep. Even if he lost his mind and told the pawns who he really worked for, they'd done too much damage to too many gangs to turn themselves over now. 

Still, it wouldn't hurt to remind Grot of that... and if they turned on the half-orc, well, that would be his signal to eliminate them.

Challenge: Needs a Sequal

Prompt: Books that need a sequel

I really had to think about this one, but I did come up with an answer.

I don't know that it needs a sequel -- it does fine as a stand-alone -- but I'd love to read a sequel, or even a follow-up Novella, to Martha Wells' fantasy book Wheel of the Infinite. The story features an older woman, the priestess Maskelle, as the protagonist, though the occasional bits from the perspective of the foreign swordsman Rian are are also delightful, and... it's not that I need continuation or closure, it's just that I'd like to revisit those characters again. 

The one that does really need a sequel, though, is Lilith Saintcrow's Coyote Run. It's pure fun: fast-paced, fascist-punching, shape-shifting action. I want more stories about punching fascists!

(This post is part of the Wednesday Weekly Blogging Challenge. You can find links to other writers' answers over at Long and Short Reviews.) 

StV: I Want Them All, part one

"There are five of them, not four," said Huntsman over the headset. 

Mongrel grunted from where he was sitting inside the van. "So either our source lied, or someone joined them at the last minute."

"Another girl. Looks like she knows the others pretty well. Probably last minute, but be careful."

"The team's better-prepared this time," Mongrel replied. "And we're not just pretending to chase someone."

Huntsman didn't answer that. Instead he said, "It's only one of the official targets, though. And they have the informant with them."

"I don't care. I want him and the girl both -- and the informant can spot Anomalies. I want her in the program too, even if she can't pass for human."

"Orders, Mongrel."

He sighed. "Fine. We'll let 'em walk. But if we get a chance to take the girl along with the designated targets, I'm taking it."

DoT: Aftermath, part one

Vallista Greycloak sat in the upper-city shop, sipping at her tea. She had security in the area, some from the gang that was now hers and some freelancers who would be harder to recognize. She watched as Lynna Catseyes approached, two of her obvious security detail with her. One of the Tabaxi leaned and spoke to the half-elf, but she shook her head. 

The two of them peeled off and took seats at a nearby table as Lynna approached the table where Vallista sat. Vallista kept her arms on top of the table, one hand curled around her tea cup and the other palm down: this was a meeting, not a murder.

Lynna pulled back her chair, seated herself, and put her arms atop the table as well. To most appearances, she was a half-elf, but her eyes were feline: green, with vertically-slit pupils. That was what had given her her name. "Vallista," she said. 

"Lynna," Vallista acknowledged. 

"It wasn't one of mine," Catseyes said directly. "Or if it was, I will find them and hand them over to you. None of my people should ever have been involved in something like this."

Vallista waited a moment before she spoke. "I believe you," she said. "My father trusted you. And it doesn't make sense for you to move on our territory, not unless you think you can take over the whole mid-city... and even if you could, why push this way? It makes no sense."

Lynna nodded. "I'm relieved to hear that." She hesitated. "Gareth will be, too. I... I think this is more of what we've seen with the lower-city gangs. Someone is trying to set us against each other."

Vallista nodded back. "Yes. Which is why we're going to attack you."

Catseyes tilted her head. "Draw them out? Get them to show their hand?"

Vallista nodded. "A small band of disgruntled Greycloaks, with nothing more than clubs and knives, in... three days time. I can shake loose some of my troublemakers that way, and it looks like we're really at war even though that's ridiculous."

"All right," Lynna smiled. "I'm game. I'll set a small group of my own troublemakers to patrol for anyone looking to move in on our territory." She grinned. "And I'll let Gareth know, so he doesn't panic too much."

"Thank you. It's still going to create some bad blood," Vallista admitted. "I'm sorry about that."

"Oh, we'll end up being called before the Voice before this is over, but if we keep the fights small I think we can weather it." Lynna  was still smiling. "And it will buy us time to figure out what's actually going on."

"I've got somebody working on that," Vallista admitted. "I haven't heard back yet, but if this isn't all of a piece with the robbery at that furniture-carver, the rumored hit on Telk's place, and the trouble between the Redblades and the Mist Eyes, then I'm a ship's deckhand."

Lynna nodded thoughtfully. "Yes... Yes, that does seem likely. Upstairs will see it too, I bet."

Vallista hesitated, then said, "One more thing... would you be willing to surrender Gareth to the Greycloaks? Not as a prisoner. I'm thinking that when we 'reconcile' we'll need a marriage to seal the peace."

"Oh?" Lynna grinned. "Oh. Oh, that's brilliant. I'd been wondering how you two were going to manage..." She laughed, an unexpected peal of sound that perked the ears of the two Tabaxi guards. "Yes, absolutely. You have my blessing. I'll... let Gareth know as soon as it's safe for him to know."

"Thank you," said Vallista. "Deeply. Thank you."

"Your father and I spent a lot of time trying to show each other up -- from swordfights to pinching each other's noses with little crimes in each other's territories, to striving to run our gangs better than the other one could. Neither of us would ever break ranks with our gang, or even admit that we might be more than enemies and rivals. So believe me when I say I think he'd be proud of how you're handling this." She leaned in. "And when the time comes, somebody is going to burn for your father's death."

Vallista nodded. "They damned sure are."

StV: A Friendly Sparring Session, Part Four

Nightfall was utterly unfamiliar with guantlet swords, but she took to using a pair of them like a duck to water; Jade, who'd been impressed already, found herself wondering how her own team was going to keep up. That was a thought for later, though. 

The smaller girl was a gymnast, but she was also a dancer and had been studying martial arts since she'd first arrived at the school a year ago. A few basic instructions on how to make use of those blades, and she was handy enough to make Jade glad of her armor. Her balance was perfect, her stance and stepping impeccable, and she had sweep-and-stab down to an art within minutes. She still had trouble getting around Jade's shield, but the gauntlet swords covered her forearms and gave her some additional protection -- enough to block Jade's blade when it got past her own. 

Jade was still the better fighter -- more reach, more practice, and the ability to use sword and shield simultaneously -- but she could already see that she was going to have to push herself in training to keep up. She was also painfully aware that Nightfall could do things that she simply couldn't: blind her, for example. The shield wouldn't be much help if Nightfall took them fully into the dark. At that point, she'd be relying entirely on her armor. 

Nightfall caught an overhead strike between crossed blades, then stepped back. "Hold."

Jade backed off and lowered her blade. 

"Okay," said Nightfall. "My turn to try to help you. When we were trying to capture your brick, you knocked down Tempest and very nearly took her out of the fight. Can you try that again, or something like it?"

Jade frowned, but the expression was puzzled rather than irritated. "All right." She stepped back, and shook out her hands, letting sword and shield dissolve back into her. She kept her armor, though. Then she let her power spill out of her again, not unlike a gauntlet sword, but longer -- and flexible.

"Begin," called Ms. Brigham from the control room, and Jade lashed out with a long whip of green-white energy, which Nightfall brushed aside with her shadowy blades. "Yes, that!" she said, moving in as Jade retreated, lashing at her again and again as Nightfall parried and advanced. "It's good -- it's great! -- but you're using it like a tool. Grab me with it."

Jade hesitated and almost let the whip dissolve. Then she brought it around for another lash, and at the last moment pulled it short and had it reach out to wrap around Nightfall's legs.

Nightfall let her gauntlet blades evaporate as she toppled over. "There you go," she said. "Okay, now I have another question -- for me, too. Our powers are pretty similar in some ways. You can pull these shapes out of your body, right? Can you let go of them?"

"No," Jade admitted. "They're pretty well rooted in me."

Nightfall nodded. "...But they can be flexible, and you can control how they move if you think about it."

"...I guess I can," Jade admitted. This was new to her, though Lyceus had pointed it out as well. 

Nightfall grinned. "Can you make wings?"

StV: A Friendly Sparring Session, part three

Jade caught Nightfall's blade on her shield and stepped in past it, pulling her blow at the last minute. "Hold," she said, and then stepped back, thinking hard. "Can you create more than one item at a time?"

"Like a shield?" asked Nightfall. She frowned slightly, and more darkness spilled out of her, forming an oval buckler across the back of her left arm. It held for maybe two heartbeats before the sword suddenly wavered and vanished. "Maybe, with a lot more practice." 

Jade was still thinking. Are you really supposed to be coaching the competition? asked a traitorous voice in the back of her mind, but she ignored it. Same school, same team, She reminded herself. Competition was one thing, but when it really came down to it they were all on the same side. "Okay, so that blurring effect of yours really does make it hard to keep track of your movements and your exact position. Problem is, against an experienced fighter it's only so much help. The moment I make contact with your blade I have a pretty good idea of where you are."

"Oh," said Nightfall, looking momentarily frustrated. 

Jade continued: "That'll change as you get better with a blade, but right now I'd feel better if you had some defense. If you let go of the blurring, can you form a weapon and a shield?"

"Worth a try," said Nightfall, and let the blurring, smoky darkness around her fade away. She was still holding the general aura of darkness that kept the room dim so she could use these other abilities, though; Jade was thoroughly impressed. This time she manage to hold a sword and shield, each dull black, for a full three breaths before the shield shimmered and became a second sword. "Damn it," she said, looking over at Jade. "All right, a lot more practice."

Jade shook her head. "Don't sell yourself short. This is amazing growth. I had no idea you could do any of this."

"Neither did I," admitted Nightfall, then abruptly closed her mouth. 

"Okay," said Jade slowly, "so what led to the breakthrough?"

"Promise you won't be angry?"

"I can't promise that until I know what happened," Jade pointed out. "I promise I'll try to be reasonable about it, though."

"Yeah. Okay. Um... I asked Lyceus to help me. The faculty has been treating my ability like it's an area effect, so that's what I've been using it for. I told Lyceus about something I'd done with it a long time ago, and he said maybe it was more like sorcery, and had me try some things."

That son of a-- Jade sighed to herself. Lyceus hadn't been doing anything that she wasn't doing right now, and Jade had always had a low tolerance for hypocrisy, especially her own. No, she'd need to talk to Lyceus -- Harbinger -- but mostly to tell him it was all right to help out fellow students on other teams. She shook aside the momentary distraction. "Okay. For the moment, you can't hold a sword in one hand and a shield in the other." She paused, realizing that both swords were still in evidence. "...But you can apparently hold two identical swords. Huh. Okay, I'm going to share a suggestion that Mr. Hendrickson shared with me when I was still trying to figure out how best to use my power." She looked up at the control room. "Ms. Brigham? Can you pull up an image of a gauntlet sword, and project it on the wall down here?"

Villain: Evil Gecko

Name: Amara Marilyn Thompson
Alias: Evil Gecko
Age: 23
Appearance: 5'4" tall, with light brown hair and soft brown eyes, a slightly square face, and a broad-shouldered, muscular build.
Job: Thief

Amara grew up in a thoroughly middle-class family, graduated high school, went to college... and graduated into a recession. With no jobs and no prospects, she turned her powers -- strength, durability, quick-healing, extraordinary dexterity, and the ability to cling to any solid surface -- to robbing the bankers and insurance executives and other CEOs who (she felt) had collapsed they system for their own profits. She has a particular hatred for venture capitalists, and will cheerfully attempt to rob them of anything they might actually value. 

Recently, she's been working with a fixer named Spider, who has a particular talent for noticing opportunities and pulling together jobs, and has teamed up with Antaeus and the Witch of the Mists to pull off several recent heists, with some notable success. While she still considers herself a private contractor, she isn't blind to the fact that they pulled of some scores as a team that she wouldn't have managed on her own -- or to the fact that they're all relying on Spider to move the goods afterwards, and get them fair cuts of the profits. 

Amara isn't entirely non-violent, but she prefers the sort of jobs where she's in and out before anyone even notices. She's learned to pick locks, disable security systems, and infiltrate areas that she can't break into outright. She'll retreat to avoid combat, and counsel her team to do the same; better to leave the job incomplete than get hurt, or hurt anyone else. If pressed, she'll point out that it's not just squeamishness on her part; injured guards -- let alone civilians -- attract the sort of attention that no sensible enhanced criminal should want.

Student: Shunt [Team Phoenix]

Name: Charles Daniel Frazier
Nickname: Shunt
Age: 17
Appearance: 5'8" and skinny with muddy brown eyes, lanky brown hair, pale skin with a bit of acne.
Notable Skills: Computer operations, some programming,
Quirks: Savior of the Human Race, retired; suddenly learning how to navigate social interactions; awkward, but not shy; used to being considered weird; talks casually about all sorts of esoterica.

Shunt came to Saint Vincent's insisting that he was the destined savior of the human race. His powers were all over the place and seemed to be only semi-voluntary: objects would move themselves around, hang in the air, open and close,  and generally just arrange themselves for his convenience. His relationships with his would-be peers suffered from the fact that he expected people to accept his assertions, and that he never slept. 

Then the invasion came and he turned it aside with the help of his roommate, and his powers changed in the space of an hour. He found a way to carry them back to the school from halfway across the world, then climbed into bed and collapsed. 

Now he's trying to adjust to sleeping on a regular schedule, dreaming of the invaders that he redirected to Jupiter's moons, and coming to terms with his powers being something that requires a lot more of his direct attention and focus. He's reaching out to the less human-seeming Anomalies at the school, and one of his former roommates has recommended him as a possible new member for Team Phoenix. For all that he looks normal, Charles still identifies with the ones who are outsiders even at this school.

Music: Wings of Steel

The band is Collide: 

Reflections Upon The Occasion Of A Thursday Morning In May

I have said, for many years, that while I do not hate the holidays, I hate the holiday season: that long stretch of October, November, December, and early January where the light grows dim, the traffic grows absurd, and tempers grow short. That is all well and good, but it occurred to me a couple of years ago that in many ways this profound dislike was misplaced. Yes, the holiday season can be stressful, as can the holidays themselves. And yet...

October is not actively trying to kill me. Neither is November, nor December. No, for the past twenty years or more, that honor goes to May. May is the month that wears me down, grinds all my projects to a halt -- sometimes beyond any hope of recovery -- and leaves me in a post-traumatic recovery phase when it finally deigns to depart. May is the month of endings, when everything comes apart. May is the month when everything tries to happen at once.

I'm finding that while it's less so this year, with the new job and some of the old job's responsibilities no longer mine to carry (but, I'm told, left under the supervision of some of the least capable management in the Metroplex and possibly anywhere on the planet) May is still doing its bloody-minded best to kill us. A work conference for me that naturally overlaps with our attempts to get Secondborn through the final few weeks of school (and an emergency room visit), Firstborn packed up and out of his dorm room (he's home now), and Beautiful Woman into some sort of new job; a camping trip that doesn't quite overlap with any of that, but comes right on its heels and right before we'll be attending graduation ceremonies (and also requires a great deal of last-minute re-shuffling); and the gods know what else I might be forgetting. 

Some days the only way forward is to keep cutting and hope that your opponent falls first. So, my dear readers, keep both hands on the hilt and press forward with everything you've got. The gods willing, May will fall before we do.

Challenge: Books to movies/TV

Prompt: Books I Love That Became Films or TV shows

The obvious go-to for me here is Murderbot, which will be available for viewing any day now. That said, and while I haven't managed to watch any of it, I was delighted to see the Wheel of Time books become a TV show -- and one that apparently doesn't suck. 

What I'd really like to see, though, is two other series. So, y'know, if anybody's listening out there who happens to make TV shows, I would love to see: 

• The Books of the Raksura -- a long-lost consort finds his way back to the matriarchal society of dragon-ish shapechangers that gave birth to him and has to adjust to suddenly having a home with them -- a home that comes with conflicts, privileges, and social expectations that he is entirely unprepared to deal with. 
• Banon and Claire -- high sorcery and inventive genius in the industrial revolution of an alternate London, with just the most amazing worldbuilding -- which would be so fun to put on screen. Plus, Lilith Saintcrow really deserves a chance to write the next trilogy in this series. Seriously, put the first three in a TV series and I guarantee that she'll write the next three. 

Make these shows, I am begging you.

(This post is part of the Wednesday Weekly Blogging Challenge. You can find links to other writers' answers over at Long and Short Reviews.)

DoT: New Plan

The man who called himself Daystar looked up at the knock on his door. It was well after business hours, but he was still in his office. There was other business to be done, after all. 

"Enter," he called, then reached for the trigger under his desk. 

The woman who entered was half-elven, lithe and lean, and looked like nothing more than another clerk. She closed the door gently behind her, then smiled. "You needed a favor, Brother?"

Daystar scowled. "I have a job for you, Sister," he corrected gently. "One that pays very well."

Her eyes narrowed for a brief moment. "Something related to your project?"

Reluctantly, he nodded. "I have some tools in place, but I no longer trust them to do everything I need."

"Then you do need a favor, Brother," the woman said, "even if the opportunity pays."

Daystar swallowed down a burst of anger. It wasn't that his sister was wrong, it was just that she wasn't supposed to notice that. "Very well. Yes, I will owe you for this."

"All right. I'm listening."

"There's an exchange happening at the Overlook soon."

"Beggars territory," his sister observed. 

He nodded. "Anderlin Greycloak is meeting with an upper-city merchant in three days, for a discreet purchase. My tools will see to the items involved, but I need you to ensure that neither Greycloak or the merchant survives the meeting."

"Quite a kick to the anthill," the woman observed. "And the targets are prominent. Double my usual rate, and you'll still owe me at least a minor favor."

Daystar could live with that. "Done," he said. 

DoT: Busted

"Damn it." Inara Tillock let the spell drop immediately, but given the way the woman had suddenly looked up, the dwarf had clearly been aware of it. It only remained to be seen whether or not she would say anything to her cousin Dan, and whether or not he would believe her. 

She'd been very proud of the arrangement she'd made: a pair of identical pictures, painted by the same artist, on canvas cut from the same sheet and using the same pigments. The painting she'd gifted to her cousin was nothing more than a seascape, a picture of a storm-tossed ship fighting its way on. All the enchantments had been laid on its twin, which sat in her office.

The arrangement was meant to minimize the chance of discovery; it was foul luck indeed that she'd happened to trigger it when someone happened to be actively detecting magic. What were the odds? They had to be minuscule. Dan certainly hadn't noticed, but given that he was usually making deals -- or, on one memorable occasion, one of his clerks -- he was generally pretty distracted when she looked in. 

She'd have to be careful when looking in on him next. If he did become aware of the painting, he might remove it -- or destroy it. He might also decide to stage a scene or two, to throw her off track. On the other hand, she had to consider the possibility that the dwarf simply wouldn't mention it; she might not want to admit that she was using Detect Magic during their meeting, after all, and even if she didn't mind that she might not have figured out what was going on. This might only have been a near-miss. 

It didn't matter too much either way. She already had all the blackmail material she could ever need; if her cousin stepped out of line, she could bring him right back in. Keeping tabs on his deals was satisfying, but ultimately unnecessary. Being caught at it would be nothing more than a minor embarrassment; it wasn't like she used the same trick for every merchant she cared to spy on, after all.

With a small sigh, Inara Tillock went back to work.

StV: A Friendly Sparring Session, part two

"Okay, whenever you're ready." Ms. Brigham's voice rang out over the speakers; she was watching from the control booth that overlooked the testing chamber. 

Emily Hubbard -- Jade, while she was using her powers -- squared off against Cat Montoya, who went by Nightfall. 

It didn't look like an entirely fair match: while each was athletic in her own way, Jade stood at six-foot-two, towering over Nightfall's five feet of height. Nightfall didn't seem bothered, even as Jade let creamy green energies spill forth to form a longsword in her hands and then wrap her in armor. Nightfall settled her weight and extended her hands as well, then said: "Huh. That's interesting. It was working last night." She looked around the brightly-lit room, then glanced at the clock on the wall. "I might need to make it a little dim in here." 

"Go ahead," said Jade. "As long as I can still see..."

The lights seemed to dim, and shadows gathered in the corners. Nightfall nodded to herself as a smoky black tendril extended from her hands and solidified into a matching broadsword. She looked at Jade's armor for a long moment, then more of the smoky darkness flowed out to surround her body. It wasn't solid the way Jade's armor was, but it covered her outline and made her harder to see.

"Okay, first test!" Nightfall called, and slapped the side of her blade against Jade's. 

Jade's blade pulsed with a burst of green light, then settled; the blades were pressing against each other, each solid to the other. Nightfall called, "Contact! And no unexpected reactions!"

"Speak for yourself!" Jade called back, raising her voice for Ms. Brigham's benefit. "I think you surprised my power."

"Oh," said Nightfall. "That's... that can happen?"

"Apparently so," said Jade. "Testing defenses?"

Nightfall nodded, and Jade raised her blade out of the way as Nightfall slapped her in the side with the flat of her shadow-blade. It struck her armor and stopped. "Okay, good," said Nightfall. "So I can't hurt you while we're practicing."

Jade nodded. "I felt the impact, but no damage."

"Okay," said Nightfall, and drew a breath. "Now try me-- gently."

Jade slapped her lightly on the side, and Nightfall grunted, then stopped and held up a hand. "Okay, so apparently I can't manage armor yet."

"No, but that blurring effect is distracting as hell," Jade acknowledged. 

"Well... good. Okay, you ready to try some light sparring? Very light, I just joined the class a couple of months ago."

Jade considered that. "Let's start with a couple of drills before we try sparring, then."

StV: A Friendly Sparring Session, part one

"Emily?" Catarina Montoya set her books down on the opposite side of the table, glancing around the library to make sure nobody else was close enough to easily listen in. With the variety of powers at the school, there was no guarantee of complete privacy... but this was pretty close, and the combination of looking like a casual meeting and basic courtesy on the part of most other students meant their odds were pretty good. 

Emily Hubbard looked up, nodded, and then smiled. "Cat," she said warmly. "I wasn't expecting a visit from our conquerors."

Cat smiled uncomfortably. "It was just one match," she said, "and it's not like you didn't hit back."

"You still pretty well flattened us," Em said, though she didn't seem bothered by it -- or at least, she didn't seem hostile about it. 

"Thanks, I guess?" Cat looked for a way to change the subject gracefully, then blurted out: "I need a favor."

"Sure," Emily replied immediately. "What sort of favor?"

"I want to try sparring against your power with my darkness."

Emily frowned. "If I can't see, I won't be able to pull my swings. I could injure you badly if I managed to make contact."

"This won't be in the dark," Cat reassured her quickly. "I've been working on some new tricks, and you'll be the first -- or maybe the second -- to see them."

"All right," said Em. "I'm in."

Music: The Misfit's Swing

Diabulus in Musica:

StV: Accelerated Transformation

Ms. Campbell was frowning. "Have you been doing anything different lately, Abby? Working out more? Pushing yourself?"

"No, not really." Abigail Johnson was puzzled. "Why?"

"You're changing faster, I think. It's hard to say for sure, but I think we should move your next appointment up. Can you come by in two weeks?"

"Sure," said Abby. "I, um, I have been learning sorcery. From Sophia."

"You've been what?" asked Ms. Campbell. 

"Learning sorcery," Abby told her. "Apparently I have a talent for it."

Ms. Campbell looked thoughtful. "When you say 'sorcery', do you mean..."

"Like this," Abby told her, and went through the words-and-gesture that Sophia had first taught her. Ms. Campbell flinched back as the gust of wind touched her face and ruffled her tightly-curled hair. 

She stopped, took a deep breath, and held up a hand. "I know we call what Sophia does 'sorcery', but that's just a way of saying that her power as an Anomaly allows her to--"

Abby shook her head. "Her power as an Anomaly is just a sensitivity to certain kinds of energy. Learning to shape and use those energies... that's sorcery."

"Huh. You sound very certain of that." 

Abby shrugged. "That's how it feels to me, too. And that's how Sophia explained it. Lyceus, too, now that I think about it."

Ms. Campbell blinked several times in rapid succession. Then she paced away, stopped at the door, and paced back to the cot where Abby was sitting. "And you started learning this when?"

"...Three weeks ago."

"Abigail..." Ms. Campbell sighed. "I suggest you put a pause on your studies. Whatever you may be learning, it seems it's also accelerating your transformation into... well, whatever you're transforming into."

Abby considered that for a long moment. Then she said, "No." 

"No?"

"I'm transforming anyway. It's not a matter of if, it's a matter of when. I can't avoid it, so there's no reason not to lean in if that will let me learn sorcery."

Ms. Campbell's face went through about four different expressions in less than a minute. Finally it went completely smooth, and then she nodded. "All right. Next checkup's in two weeks. Let's see where this is going."

StV: Amulets

"There you are," said Cedric, as Sophia stepped out onto the front porch of the school. He'd been sitting at one of the wrought-iron tables with Abby, who was working on her Algebra and occasionally asking him questions about it. 

Neither of them had meant to become friends with the younger girl. In fact, they'd both been a bit suspicious of her motives when she'd wound up going out to see Casablanca with them as a semi-accidental date for Sophia's brother. But then Abby had turned out to have an impressive knack for sorcery, and Sophia was the only one at the school -- possible in the whole country -- who could teach her. 

Sophia sat down beside him, shifting her chair with a metallic scrape so that she was close enough to lean over and kiss his cheek. "Sorry," she said. "It took longer that I expected."

"What did?" asked Cedric, grinning. He couldn't even pretend to be irritated -- he was still entirely too thrilled that she was going out with him. 

"These," said Sophia, and laid a bundle of cloth on the table. She unfolded it carefully to display four pieces of silver jewelry, each set with a stone. "I had to shape the silver myself, then set the matrix for the container, and then hold it in place while I stabilized the whole thing. It wasn't the hardest thing I've ever done, but I'm out of practice and it took some work."

Cedric narrowed his eyes. "Like your amulet?" he asked, making the connection immediately. 

Sophia grinned and nodded immediately. "Exactly. Abby, the two with the moonstones are for you. Each one of them can hold a single spell, keeping it charged and ready until you use it."

Abby looked puzzled. "So I could save an extra energy blast?"

"You could," Sophia affirmed, "but if we keep practicing you'll be able to do those by reflex whenever you need. As you study more and expand your vocabulary, you'll find yourself using some spells very regularly, but you'll still be able to pull together other spells if you need them. This lets you pull them together in advance, so you don't have to think them through in an emergency."

"Oh," said Abby. "Oh. So, if I don't focus on combat spells -- I still don't really want to be on one of the Teams, remember? -- I could learn to, say, do illusions or healing or repairs but still keep one good attack and one good escape ready in the jewelry?" 

"Exactly," Sophia repeated. "When I go out with the Team, I have my go-to spells and we all know what to expect from them. But if I think I might need something else, I can prepare it in advance and keep it in my amulet. It gives me some extra flexibility and the ability to prepare for particular situations."

Abby nodded. "Thank you," she said. "That's... this is... Thank you."

Sophia smiled. "You're very welcome. We can start looking at how to fix a spell in there next week; it's not too different from just casting it normally. Eventually, I can show you how to make your own, but... one thing at a time, okay?"

Abby nodded eagerly, pulling the moonstone amulet over her head and slipping the ring onto one finger, then another until she found a good fit. 

"What about the other two?" asked Cedric.

"Bloodstone," Sophia said evenly. "They're for my brother. Kind of an apology, but also just... trying to help."

"Ah," said Cedric. Then, "Y'know what? Good. You're brother's a good guy. He thinks he's a bad guy, but... he's a good guy."

Villain: Lord Mechanus

Name: Anton Barton Rosemeade
Alias: Lord Mechanus
Age: 66
Appearance: 5'6" with gray eyes and neatly-trimmed silver hair and beard, nicely dressed or wearing powered armor,
Job: Inventor, Corporate Espionage

Anton was the inventor of one of the very first suits of powered armor, and spent a lot of his early career figuring out how to steal money and materials for improvements to his designs. He tangled with police and a number of would-be heroes, and developed a reputation as a villain with a code of honor: he refused to kill under any circumstances. He held to his code even when it saw his suit wrecked and himself sent to jail by a cop who happened to be an anomaly as well; court records suggest that it also contributed to his relatively light sentencing. 

While serving his time, Anton began to reconsider the direction of his chosen career, a line of thinking which was strongly reinforced when, shortly after his release, he was approached by no less than three major manufacturers with offers to license and produce his designs. While he ultimately decided to keep his designs to himself, he also prepared a counter-offer: he would use his technological and criminal prowess to acquire things on behalf of these corporations. After two months of preparation and a week-long demonstration for the first of his clients, he entered the lucrative world of corporate espionage. 

Officially, he works as a consultant and has put his criminal past behind him. Behind the scenes, he uses a combination of social engineering, high-tech devices, and software hacks to steal information from million-dollar corporations for other corporations to take advantage of. He is not averse to keeping information that he deems relevant for himself -- research, designs, and blueprints are a particular interest. This more subtle approach has kept him off the radar of law enforcement, and provided him with a more-than-comfortable lifestyle. His mechanical designs are much smaller and far subtler these days, but he keeps a redesigned power suit behind a false wall in his garage, just in case he ever needs it.

Villain: Antaeus

Name: Franklin Donald Williamson
Alias: Antaeus
Age: 26
Appearance: 6' tall, with frizzy black hair, brown eyes, and dark brown skin. He frequently goes barefoot.
Job: Thief

Much like his namesake, Frank Williamson cannot be defeated as long as he remains touching the ground. Bullets bounce off him; an armored SWAT bus once did as well. Falls don't hurt him as long as he lands on dirt or stone. Even more impressively, he can move through dirt and stone as if it were water, and does not suffocate no matter how long he stays sunken in it. (Concrete is composed of enough stone elements that he can travel through that as well.) 

After hiding his powers through high school and having some bad experiences working early jobs in the service industry, Franklin decided that trying to make a living by honest work in a rigged system was a mug's game. He gave two weeks notice, bought a bandana to use as a mask, and took to robbery instead. Banks and bankers are his favorite targets, but he's also done some commission work robbing auction houses, art galleries, and a few private clubs. 

In the process, he's made some anomalous criminal connections: a fixer called Spider, the Witch of Mists, and a nimble cat-burglar who calls herself Evil Gecko.

Challenge: Books to Discover

Prompt: Books I want youth to discover

Um. Good Lord. So, so many books. Where to even start? 

All right, let me just pick a couple of authors. 

Barbara Hambly: 

• Darwath series. Portal fantasy; H.P. Lovecraft meets J.R.R. Tolkien. Some elements are a little bit dated, but generally not problematic, and it pulls off some moments that I swear to God only a History major with a martial arts background writing fantasy could have produced. 
• Stranger at the Wedding. A spinoff from her Windrose Chronicles, this is the standalone story of a young mage trying to save her sister from a death curse. 
• James Asher Novels. Vampires in Victorian-ish London recruit a former-spy-turned-college-professor to find out who's killing them. The series proceeds from there. 

Martha Wells:
Look, I know Murderbot gets all the attention and I have no problem with that, but her backlist is equally amazing:

• The Ile-Rein books. Beginning with a sort of Three Musketeers but with magic (The Element of Fire) to a gaslight London murder mystery (Death of the Necromancer) to a trilogy of London Being Bombed in WWII (Fall of Ile-Rein, starting with The Wizard Hunters) and featuring portal fantasy elements. The Death of the Necromancer is particularly amazing, but the whole series is good.
• City of Bones.  A pair of hunters for relics of the ancient world are recruited by psychically-empowered Lictors to help solve an ancient mystery that should never have been investigated. Standalone. 
• The Books of the Raksura. Sword and Sorcery, except informed by the Nature Channel rather than the History Channel. Come watch a lost Consort find his place among a matriarchal society of dragon-like shapeshifters. 

(This post is part of the Wednesday Weekly Blogging Challenge. You can find links to other writers' answers over at Long and Short Reviews.)

Villain: Storm Giant

Name: Mark Thomas Smith
Alias: Storm Giant
Age: 33
Appearance: Ordinarily 6'3" with the thick, heavy build of a boxer; light brown hair in a buzz cut, broken nose, brown eyes, light skin; dresses in anything from sweatpants and a tank top to full suits.
Job: freelance muscle for hire

Mark Smith was working as an apprentice electrician when he accidentally grounded himself to a live wire. The current involved should have been enough to kill him; instead, it triggered his anomalous powers. He found himself larger, stronger, and far more durable... and shortly after that, he discovered that he was charged with electricity, which he could use for ranged attacks. 

He did eventually get his license, and makes a decent living working as a licensed electrician. However, the money available working off the books as an "enhanced" bodyguard or leg-breaker eventually proved too tempting -- especially since he could look like an ordinary man right up until the time came to charge up his powers. He took up the name Storm Giant, and hunted around online until he found a specialized boutique that would provide clothing that could change size along with the person wearing it. 

At age 33, he is content to have most of his income tied to his regular job, and supplement it with the occasional special assignment. For those, he wears a special "ninja hood" of the same material as his clothes, and keeps a powerful, compact battery in his pocket to trigger his powers if another source of electricity isn't handy. He has never tested the full limits of his power; the more electricity he draws, the larger, stronger, and tougher he grows. If there's a limit to that, he hasn't found it yet -- but he's also aware that the bigger the giant, the more of a target it represents.

StV: Fellow Catholics

"Hey, Cat," said Maria, sitting down across from her teammate and opening her laptop. 

Cat was reading Small Unit Tactics, which might have been part of her studies or just something she'd decided to look into. With everything that was going on, Maria was a little jealous that she hadn't thought of it first. She didn't look irritated at the interruption though, smiling as she said, "Maria." 

"You're Catholic, aren't you?"

Cat made a yes-and-no gesture. "My parents are. I'm not very observant, myself." She eyed Maria suspiciously. "Why?"

"Um," said Maria. "I could use some advice." 

"Wow. You have definitely come to the wrong place," Cat told her, but she was smiling slightly as she said it. "All right, Catholic Advice. Approach and be enlightened, Novice Maria. I bring the wisdom of the nuns teaching at St. Peter's primary school, but without the rulers."

Maria chuckled and settled back, strangely relaxed. Catarina Montoya -- Nightfall when they were out in the field -- was... maybe not a close friend, but somebody Maria trusted. If anybody would know where she was coming from, it was Cat. "So, if I found myself irresistibly attracted to somebody -- a boy -- to the point where just being around him was a temptation to sin, what would  the Church expect of me? I'm supposed to avoid temptation, right?"

Cat blew out a breath. "All right. You and I both know that the Church teaches that celibacy is the ideal. If you can't remain celibate, you're supposed to get married because sex isn't a sin if it takes place within the bonds of matrimony."

"Yeah," said Maria. "That's the problem. I'm seventeen; I'm not getting married yet. I've been trying to stay away from the guy, and ignore him when I can't, but... Damn it, I'd like to at least be friends with him, and avoiding him because I really like him just seems... backwards." 

Cat shrugged. "Yeah. Because the Church is very clear about what it expects, but what it expects isn't realistic. 'Be celibate, or get married before having sex' just isn't how people work. And I'd be a hypocrite to support it."

There was a momentary pause as Maria processed that. "You...?"

"Yeah," Cat told her. "I wanted to see what it was like, saw an opportunity, and took it."

"So what was it like?"

"Honestly? It was good. There was a lot of fumbling around, but we took our time and listened to each other, and it... well, it went pretty well. But you don't have to jump in like that. There are all kinds of intermediate stages, remember."

Maria half-shook her head. "I'll have to think about that. Thank you."

"Sure," said Cat, and went back to her reading. 

Music: In The Mood

 Ray Stevens:

Running to Stay Still

This week has been, inexplicably but relentlessly, busy. Secondborn is trying to catch up last semester's Physics plus some late assignments in English -- and today he's having his STAAR test for Algebra, so that's going to keep him occupied -- and I've been trying to stay on him so this gets done and he doesn't wind up in summer school. Work has been -- for no good reason that I can see -- just one thing after another. Nothing particularly catastrophic or unpleasant, there's just a lot going on right now. 

And, obviously, I've tapered off on the writing. Too much else going on; not enough energy left over; body needs sleep and lots of it. 

I'm still working on the Horny Superteens project, which -- while absolutely 100% pulp -- is doing a lot to preserve my sanity; the snippets of things here are me thinking through what's happening behind the scenes, so I guess those would count as bonus content. I'm hoping to jump back into it as soon as my system resets, but apparently this week is for catching up on the real world and Getting Some Sleep. 

Sleep is good. I like sleep. Sleep with long, weird dreams (that would be last night) is so damned refreshing that waking up from it always feels like a bit of a revelation. 

 

Music: Probably Will

Concrete Blonde:

The Climbing Gym

We have, once again, visited the climbing gym. I have, once again, climbed. I am reminded, yet again, of how very much out of shape I let myself become. I have no real idea of just how sore I'm going to be when this post goes up, but my best guess is groan.

The good news is that I am, slowly, getting back into better shape. The bad news is I'm definitely not there yet. And the other good news is that everybody had a really good time, and we were there for about three hours. So, y'know, plenty of opportunity to wear myself out and remind my body of what kinds of things it used to do.  

And it's really not a bad way to exercise, either. Like, it's not impacting the joints; it's working both strength and cardio -- and balance too, for that matter. Even limiting myself to the faces with the auto-belays, there are plenty of different things to try. Plus, y'know, I like being way up in the air. Especially if I can just let go and know I'll get back down safely.

The Great Tree Battle

So, we have this one trash tree in the back yard, which has been extending over the back corner of the fence, and apparently it's intruded far enough to the alley that the trash truck has been hitting it. They got tired of that and started leaving nasty little notes on our trash cans, so tonight Secondborn and I broke out the saw, the clippers, and the step-ladder (from a previous marriage) and we *trimmed* that bad boy. It was an epic battle: tying the stepladder off to the tree so it couldn't tilt backwards, roping the limbs and pulling them aside so they wouldn't fall on the person doing the cutting, clipping things above my head....

The tree -- and the bush tangled up with it, which we also trimmed back -- fought back, launching clouds of pollen into our hair and faces, having new branches spring out to slap us as the cut branches were pulled out of the way, and generally being recalcitrant in all the ways that plantlife can. Jester the squirrel came skittering down from the treetop at one point when neither of us was on the ladder, but he, at least, was too traumatized to offer battle. With a panicked cry of, "My tree! My tree! What are you doing to my tree!" he slipped past us and vanished into the bushes. 

I've never seen such an expression of existential confusion on the face of a rodent before.

Secondborn did amazing work, using the main branch of the tree to stabilize himself while sawing away at the outer branches, explaining his plan for what he was going to if something went wrong, hauling massive branches away once they hit the ground. He had a great time, and got paid for it too; now he's in the bathtub. He says he's glad he was working Core today, instead of doing Arm Day.

I myself had to shampoo my hair twice to get all the Tree Crud out of it, and my shoulders are letting me know that I'm definitely going to feel this in the morning. 

...But by all the gods, it's done.

A Chance Encounter

"Hi," said a cheery voice. "You're the new girl, aren't you?"

Julie Hendrix looked up to see a talking panther sitting on a tree-limb ahead. She gasped and startled back, but the beast didn't move. "Hi," it said again, more slowly, then drew itself up until it was a panther-shaped girl instead. 

"What--" Julie suddenly remembered her manners. "I'm sorry. You startled me."

The beast-girl nodded. "I've been practicing."

"To startle me?"

"No, to startle... people in general. Sorry. People around here tend to be pretty laid-back."

"Yes, well, I'm still getting used to the weirdness." Julie softened her tone. "Did you want something?"

The beast-girl nodded and dropped lightly to the ground. "So, some of us will be having a fire out here on Saturday night. I thought you might like to join us."

"Oh," said Julie, taken aback. "That's... very kind of you. I-- I'll think about it?"

"No pressure," said the girl immediately. "I just thought maybe you could use some more friends."

"...I probably could," Julie admitted. That was the mission, after all. "All right, I'll come join you. Where will it be?"

"Goblin will probably find you, but if they don't just... follow the smell of smoke. You'll see the firelight before too long. I'm Nightfox, by the way. "

"Pebbles," Julie replied.

Metamorphoses and Magic, Part Four

"What should I start with?" asked Abby. "Fire?"

Sophia shook her head. "Fire's unpredictable. Let's start with something simple and safe: air. I'm going to teach you a set of very simple words and gestures. Don't worry about what they mean -- not yet, anyway. The important part right now is for you to fill them with some of your own energy, and then release them into that space you sensed earlier." 

"Um," said Abby. "What's it do?" 

"Just a little puff of wind," Sophia told her. "Enough for me to feel it, though if you succeed we'll feel it in the magic itself."

"Okay," said Abby, relaxing slightly. "Okay, I can do that."

Sophia spoke the phrase and Abby did her best to echo it; it took several tries before she had it down. Then they went through the gestures, and  getting the timing to do them together. 

To Sophia's apparent surprise, a tiny gust of wind appeared on Abby's first try. She shook her head, grinning. "Lyceus was right. You're a prodigy. It takes most apprentice mages weeks to manage even that much -- to make that connection and push it out."

Abby felt herself grinning too. "It helps that I got to feel you and Lyceus doing it," she said. 

"It does," Sophia agreed.  "It helped me, too. But that kind of sensitivity... again, most apprentices will spend weeks -- if not months -- on basic workings like this before they even begin to develop some sensitivity to what they're doing."

"Huh," said Abby. "So my power isn't just changing me, it also makes me sensitive to magic."

"Changing you?" asked Sophia.

"Yeah." Abby looked away. "That's why I was in such a hurry to, um, be with your brother."

Sophia put a hand over her eyes. "I should not know this."

"While I'm still human, or human-looking, I mean. My power's changing me, transforming me into something else. It's slow, unless I get hurt. Then I heal fast, but instead of normal scars my flesh is different."

"Well, that's, um..." Sophia hesitated.

"Terrifying," Abby supplied. "I don't talk about it much. Cat knows, and I have a monthly checkup with Ms. Campbell, but... it would be really nice if it had an upside to it, like letting me do magic."

"Well," said Sophia, "I think we can safely say that it does that."