#and scrapped all the figure out the culprit part because I never made it clear enough that there was a culprit to be found

[sleepsucks]

[bookandcranny]

Little Angels

One]

It is dark inside a wolf’s belly, but up here the air is clear and bright. Atop the tower of Paradiso, above the city of mist and gray. The roof is all caved in and shattered, scattering brilliant prisms through the fragmented skylight and across the floor. A man stands alone in the wreckage, inside the skeletal remains of this holy animal. He sifts through the books that were left behind until he finds one with a red cover and no title, but the letters A-D embossed along its spine. He flips to a certain chapter, and begins to read.

It was in another kind of tower that it happened. The Detective entered into the penthouse apartment of the Deeds family, a couple from the upper crust who were in a state of panic over their missing teenage daughter. From that first frantic phone call with the grief-ridden Gloria Deeds, Sacha knew the shape of this case inside out, backwards, and upside down. It was a classic. 

Teenage girl from a wealthy family, sheltered her whole life, the type who could do no wrong in the eyes of her doting, overbearing parents. One night she leaves without warning, to chase some guy or some band or some misplaced sense of adventure. The reasons didn’t matter as much as what they were willing to pay for the reassurance that their precious little angel would be home safe and sound.

There were just a couple of details he hadn’t counted on.

Sacha sat idling on the side of the road, looking down at the photo the Deeds’ had given him. It was a little roughed up at the edges and faded at the crease where he’d folded it. He’d forgotten how fragile these old-fashioned print photographs were. Despite the damage, the face of thirteen year old Renee Deeds still looked up at him with those same gentle brown eyes and private smile. 

The girl in the photo, however accurate it was to real life, had her hair pulled back in a crowd of twin braids that crested over thick dark curls. She wore what Sacha presumed to be church clothes-- tidy blouse and long skirt, an heirloom brooch-- and a pair of crutches braced to her forearms. Her ankles were crossed and tucked limply to one side, away from the camera’s focus.

The girl’s disability put a complication in the narrative he’d been concocting. According to the Deedses, Renee could only go so far on foot without intense pain and she disliked using her chair. It remained in the hall closet, untouched since her disappearance. Mr Deeds worked from home most days so rather than send her off to school, she was homeschooled by a well-vetted private tutor under her father’s occasional supervision. She had few friends, being a reserved child, they said. Sacha thought it probably had more to do with the gilded cage she lived in, lined with bubblewrap and goose down lest she ever bruise her precious knees. But it wasn’t his place to say.

Regardless, this left him with a very limited pool of suspects. And suspects they were indeed, since the Deeds were certain Renee had been kidnapped. Such a good girl would never have just wandered off on her own. 

If that was indeed the case, the culprit had done a remarkable job of covering their tracks. Renee was last seen by her mother who had put her to bed at 9 'o'clock on the dot. The security system had been armed all night and there were no signs of tampering. Besides which, the only way out of the penthouse that didn’t involve a several story drop to a very unhappy ending was through the front lobby and the cameras in and outside it didn’t detect anyone unusual, coming or going. 

The parents’ first move, naturally, was to call the police. The cops questioned the other residents and scanned the security tapes but turned up empty handed and after a few weeks of daily calls the officers on the case all but told Mr and Mrs Deeds that their hands were tied. For once, even money and social standing couldn’t hasten the hand of justice. That was when they had called on private investigator Sacha Ferro to get the job done.

All these facts laid out before him, Sacha found himself no closer to the answer than he had been at the start. The difference between then and now was not information but desperation, the heights of which had brought him here. Orphan’s Hollow.

The last few years had hit this city hard, same as it did all of them. It wasn’t a single sudden thing, but rather a combination of natural disasters, a virulent epidemic, and the consequential economic collapse that left entire districts barren, now inhabited only by clustered communities of the homeless. The handful of city blocks now known as Orphan’s Hollow was one such district, named so because it was, if stories were to be believed, populated entirely by children. Hollowed out department stores and office buildings and, most notably, the abandoned fairgrounds of Fun Town West became a tragic Neverland for runaways and other parentless youth in hiding from the overburdened childcare system.

Recently, there had been an epidemic of another kind in many of the nearby boroughs. Kids were going missing, just like Renee Deeds had, except most families weren’t fortunate enough to be able to hire someone to track them down. From what Sacha could pick up, most of them-- those that were reported-- were girls between the ages of six and sixteen. Other than that, the demographics were all over the map: black, white, rich, poor, healthy, sick. Missing posters spawned and spread like mold across the billboards and telephone poles, while the local government processed statistics with dead eyes and shrugging shoulders.

The unspoken truth seemed to be that if they were anywhere, if they were alive, the missing girls were somewhere in here. But the kids of Orphan’s Hollow were protective of their own and wouldn’t likely allow any cops to sift through their ranks even if they did trust their motives. It became one of those open secrets that everyone knew about but no one wanted to touch. 

On top of that, not every orphan was some scrawny Dickens novel side character; there were rumors of gang activity and even some sort of cult that made the teenagers who ended up in this part of town vicious towards outsiders. Orphan’s Row was a name with more than one meaning, they said, because if you took those kids lightly they’d turn yours into orphans as well. None of that mattered to Sacha though. At this point, he had little left to lose.

There was a gun in the glovebox of the Detective’s hatchback, unloaded, and he hoped it would stay that way. The idea of turning any weapon on a kid, no matter their alleged viciousness, turned his stomach. He would bring it with him to be used, in only the most absolutely dire circumstances, as a threat. Leverage. If it came down to it, he could rationalize that.

As he turned down another vacant street into the ghost town, the weather began to turn as well. It had been drizzling steadily since the evening prior, making the humidity all the more unbearable, but now the rain relented and in its place a clotted mist settled low over the city, like ink diffusing in water. Sacha kept his lights low and foot barely pressing on the gas pedal. Though it was irrational he felt uneasy at the idea of making himself any more noticeable than he was already.

When the car jolted it was like being shaken awake from a dream. At first he thought it was another pothole-- the roads were a wreck after so long untended-- but then there was an audible crunch and a lurch as his front-left tire burst. Without bothering to pull over he got out and found the problem right away. Deep in the tire, lodged between the wheel and its socket, was a doll. Or at least, something that was trying to be a doll.

The body was made out of metal; scraps from perhaps an aluminum can worked together with screws and painted to give it the look of a hoop-skirted dress. Its head was a christmas ornament. He recognized the pink painted cherub cheeks and curling synthetic hair. Some broken edge of the makeshift toy had punctured the tire, and of course Sacha didn’t have a spare on hand, even if he could figure out how to rip the damn thing out of the wheel well. 

He muttered a curse to himself. He’d have to leave it here and keep going on foot. At least there wasn’t anything in the car worth stealing, and he didn’t exactly have to worry about getting a ticket.

A sudden shriek made Sacha jump, hand going blindly to the holster under his shirt.

“My doll!” the child cried again. “You killed Jessika! My dolly!”

Sacha turned around and saw a young girl, barefoot and wearing what looked like an old halloween costume, standing across the street from him like a specter out of the fog. Appropriate, since she was so keen on howling like a banshee.

“Hey, I’m so sorry about your dolly,” he gentled, crossing to meet her. 

The girl seemed to be considering running away from the strange man, as would well be her right, but stood her ground instead as her face grew redder.

“You killed her,” she said again. “She was a person and you killed her.”

Sacha dropped to one knee. “ I’m sorry about your Jessica--” 

“Jessika!”

He chewed the inside of his cheek. “I am sorry, but it was an accident, really. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

She sniffled. “I’m Princess Ladybird,” she said, as though it should have been obvious. She gestured at her costume, a pink sparkly dress studded with plastic gems around the collar. “Who are you? You’re not supposed to be here.”

“My name is Sacha. I’m a private investigator-- a detective,” he corrected, seeing her confused expression. “I’m looking for someone. They’re not in any trouble, I just need to make sure they’re safe. Do you think you could help me, your highness?”

He kept his voice low and comforting. Dealing with kids wasn’t exactly his specialty, but he knew what he was doing well enough.

“No! No!” the girl cried, more agitated than ever. “No grownups allowed! You’ll just hurt them, just like Jessika!”

“I’m not here to hurt anyone,” he insisted, growing frustrated. “And I told you didn’t mean to break your doll. I could buy you a new doll? A nicer doll.”

She shook her head adamantly. “The store dolls aren’t alive. I only play with alive dolls.”

Play along, Sacha. “Okay, where can I get you a new ‘alive’ doll?”

“You can’t make an alive doll, you’re too old,” she huffed. 

Sacha was not going to let himself be offended by a six year old. He wasn’t. “If your dolls are so precious, maybe you shouldn’t leave them in the street!”

“Maybe you should look where you’re going!” With that, she stomped on his foot and ran away. Sacha barely felt it through his shoes, but that was a small consolation. In a blink the princess was gone again.

He sighed. It was no less than he expected, but it still didn’t feel good. With the world they’d been living in, it wasn’t any surprise that the kids here were a bit strange. At least this one had seemed healthy enough, certainly energetic. That meant there was probably someone making sure she was kept fed. 

He reminded himself that there was nothing he could do for these kids. Better to focus on what he was here for.

Two]

Sacha walked along the sidewalk without any real sense of where he was going. He occasionally saw clusters of children playing games or jumping in puddles in the street, but most were inside keeping out of the weather. When he looked up he sometimes saw tiny faces peering down at him from high windows or crouched on fire escapes. The ones on the ground didn’t spare him a look except in fleeting disgust. There was a girl reading fortunes for her friends from a dented pack of playing cards who went abruptly silent when he passed by, and Sacha came to realize that they were deliberately ignoring him, hoping to shun him into leaving the way he came. 

When he tried to approach a pair of tweens doing some sort of craft project in a sheltered doorway, they quickly picked up their things and scampered away, leaving only a trail of paint droplets behind them. They didn’t look too terribly hard-off; their clothes were sometimes dirty but they were all in one piece and their eyes were bright and lively. It was sort of amazing, Sacha thought, how they’d really managed to build something of a community here, away from adults. Part of him almost envied them.

“Excuse me,” he tried again with a girl who was a bit older than the last. Her age didn’t make her look any more mature really, only sharper, as if she were growing but growing into the wrong shape. “I’m looking for--”

“Everyone knows what you’re looking for,” the young woman said. “You’re loud enough about it.”

This one wasn’t exactly friendly but at least she hadn’t run away yet. Sacha went to pull out a photo. 

“Put that away, man,” she hissed. “You’re not going to find any girls who look like that here, and the wrong fledgling might just eat you alive for having it.”

“For having a photograph?” He didn’t bother to ask what a “fledgling” was supposed to be. Some sort of weird slang he was too dated to recognize, he guessed.

“For keeping another girl’s face! All you need is a face and a real-name and you can make that person do and say whatever you want.”

“Is this some kind of game you kids play? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“It’s not a game,” she said gravely. “You don’t understand anything. Walking into this world when you don’t know the rules is as good digging your own grave.”

“Help me catch up, then. Level with me,” Sacha pressed. “I can make it worth your while.”

He didn’t have much money on hand, but he had medicine credits set aside for emergencies and that should be worth its bytes in gold in a place like this. Or if not, she could pawn it and buy some earrings or animal crackers or whatever kids liked.

“Save it, I don’t have an account. Legally, most of the kids here don’t even exist. You’ll have to trade for what you want the old fashioned way, outsider.”

Exasperated, Sacha rooted around in his pockets and came up with a protein bar and a keychain that doubled as a bottle opener. The girl didn’t look impressed.

“Okay look, hand over the picture and the rest of it and I’ll tell you where you need to go, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Outsiders don’t survive long here.”

Sacha wasn’t convinced this wasn’t all some intimidation game, but he folded up the photo of Renee and handed it to her anyway. If he really needed the visuals he had pictures on his phone. He’d turned it off shortly after setting out, when the calls and texts from his sister started pouring in, but couldn’t quite bring himself to leave it behind in the car. He could just picture Maria pacing around the house scowling at his number as another message failed to go through. 

I’ll make it up to you, he promised her silently.

“There’s a spot two blocks that way,” She pointed. “Left, left, right, down some steps, and you’ll see a sign for The Love Nest. It’s hard to miss.”

Something about the name said through her lips made him want to recoil. The girl scoffed at his unease.

“Relax, it’s just the name left from the old owners. It belongs to the brood now. It’s a good place, a sacred place.” She sighed, looking up and around as if projecting to an imaginary audience. “Not that someone like you would get any of that, I guess. A lot of fledglings hang around there. If your girl can be found, you’ll find her there. If not, she’s already gone.”

“What do you mean ‘gone’?” he demanded.

“I mean gone.” she held up the photograph, still folded. “Gone like this.”

She tore the square neatly in two and let the halves flutter to the ground.

“I’m not even supposed to tell you this much, so if you missed your window don’t even think about hanging around here trying to dig out more information. You’re pushing your luck as it is.”

What an angry kid, Sacha thought to himself as he departed. He wasn’t too different when he was that age, but outright threatening someone who was only trying to do good seemed a bit extreme, especially when that someone had a good head of height on you as well. Was it the conditions they lived in that made them so temperamental here? Or just adolescent angst? Hopefully he wouldn’t be staying long enough to find out.

And just how was he planning to leave, even if he was successful, he wondered. He’d have to drive them out on three tires. Ruining his car would be well worth it though if it meant ending this.

Angry girl’s directions turned out to be sound and soon enough Sacha found himself at the door of a closed down club that proudly announced itself as “The Love Nest” in faded pink letters above the door. The windows were boarded up but there were still some old posters for the upcoming live entertainment pinned to the plywood. It appeared the place had been at least marginally more legitimate than Sacha had guessed by the name, while it had been in operation.

Pushing through the double doors the Detective found himself in a gloomy ballroom, styled vaguely like a vintage cabaret club or perhaps someone’s romanticized idea of a 1920s speakeasy. There were a few tables-- standing only by virtue of the bolts that held them to the hardwood-- a bar, and a large circular stage in the middle of it all. Sacha toed aside what he’d thought was a trash bag only to hear a grumbled complaint and find another of the hollow’s orphans crawling out of a sleeping bag on the floor.

“What are you doing here?” the kid asked, with such pointed accusation you’d think he’d personally wronged them. They were wearing an oversized “Fun Town” t-shirt and flannel bottoms with a paw print pattern.

Roused by the noise, some other children began emerging from their own napping spots to investigate.

“Are you a cop?” one asked.

“No, I’m more of a detective,” he replied.

“Sounds like a cop to me. And you look like a cop.”

Sacha frowned. “How so?”

“You’re old,” the kid said. “And you have blood on you.”

He looked down at his hands, his clothes. He saw brown khakis, dusty black loafers, pale patterned button-up shirt. No tie; he’d spilled coffee on it on the drive, hands already shaky from the ill-advised extra caffeine. To his embarrassment, he noticed a faint dampness where the weather and his own nerves had painted sweat across his collar, but no blood.

“It’s okay,” said the first child, yawning. “Snowy sees blood on everyone.”

“I don’t see it, I smell it,” challenged Snowy. She took a deep breath through her nose. “And you stink of it. Dirty blood, blood that wasn’t ready to be shed. Have you ever killed anybody, Mr Detective?”

Sacha fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Have you been talking to a girl in a princess dress?”

“You mean Princess Ladybird?”

“Never mind,” he said quickly, as if simply mentioning that ridiculous name might conjure up her horrible wailing. “I’m looking for someone. Two someones actually.”

He considered taking out his phone but, remembering how Angry Girl had reacted to the photo, decided to try a different approach. 

“I was told I might find them here. One is named Renee Deeds and the other is Ana Ferro-Silver, eighteen and fifteen years old. Anything you can tell me about either of them would be a huge help. I’m sort of hoping one will lead me to the other.” He forced a smile. 

Kid in the pajamas frowned. “There’s no one with names like that here. You woke us up over something as dumb as that?”

“I don’t think it’s dumb to want to find two girls who might be in a lot of trouble,” he said tersely. “And why were you asleep anyway? It’s three in the afternoon.”

“Growing makes us tired,” Pajamas shot back. They rolled their shoulders. “And sore.”

“And hungry!” added a third child. “Did you bring us any food?”

“Why would I have any food?”

“I heard the gargoyles say you gave Singing Finch a candy bar.”

“It was a protein bar,” he said before he could think to deny it. “What kind of name is ‘Singing Finch’ anyway?”

“It would’ve been Evening Finch, but she tattled so now she’s Singing Finch,” they explained patiently. “She tattled on us and then she tattled on you to the gargoyles and the kestrels. She can’t help it though. She’s a songbird, it’s what they do.”

“So you don’t have any candy?” the other cut in. Sacha put out his empty hands so she could verify and she bit him.

Pajamas laughed as he pulled away with a curse and a cry. “You are dumb. There aren’t any girls in trouble here. You’re the only one in trouble, but that’s because you’re an outsider and a cop, so you probably deserve it.”

Sacha felt a muscle in his jaw tense. He was beginning to think this had all been a huge waste of time. These kids operated on their own kind of logic, their own language, one which was foreign to him. 

“Please,” he said. “Please. I know a lot of you are without families, but these girls still have people who care for them, who are looking for them. I have to bring them home.”

The children looked at him, and then a few of them looked at each other, huddling together in hushed conference. The one called Snowy, who was sitting on top of the bar, glared at him, tilting her head as if she were trying to read something written on the side of his head in very small print. He caught himself raising a hand to touch his neck and let it drop self-consciously back to his side.

“If you keep going like this, you might die,” she told him innocently. “Did you know that?”

The presence of the gun against his stomach, empty though it was, made his skin tingle. “I considered the possibility,” he said, and it was the honest truth. 

“When you die, will you go to paradise?”

“You’re too young to be thinking this much about blood and death.”

“I’ve seen death.” Her voice was without intonation, no defensiveness or accusation anywhere in her tone. She couldn’t have been any older than ten. “My mom died in front of me. She had a fever, but I stayed cold. That’s why they call me Snowy.” She paused, shrugged one shoulder. “Also because I can eat a whole mouse in one bite, like a snowy owl.”

“Oh,” Sacha said lamely. “I’m- I’m so sorry.”

She gave another shrug. “S’okay, I’m with the brood now and they take care of me just as good as mom would. I’m just saying, you don’t really seem like a guy who’s ready to die for anyone.”

Amongst all the riddles and nonsense, this at least was something he could understand. 

“I promise you, I am.”

Pajamas tugged at his sleeve. “Hey, hey Detective, have you ever been to Fun Town?”

He blinked, reeling from the non sequitur. “Excuse me?”

They pointed at the garish logo on their shirt. “‘Fun Town: It’s the funnest place on earth!’ Maybe your friends are there.”

“You’re not going to tell me I should just turn back now? That I’m dumb and the kids I’m looking for are gone forever?” he couldn’t help but snark.

“Don’t listen to Finch, she’s a liar. Nobody’s gone. Different, but not gone.”

Fun Town was an amusement park franchise with a handful of locations all over North America. Had been, that is. They’d had to shut down all their locations more than ten years ago, due in part to the outbreak at the time as well as some unsettling information about the eccentric late founder that came out after his death. Something about swaying elections and pouring company funds into an illicit genetic engineering project. Another day, another megalomaniac billionaire exposé. It had been big news at the time but now it was just another piece of pop culture trivia.

The Fun Town West fairgrounds were now little more than a fancy animatronics graveyard. The rides-- what of them hadn’t been torn down and picked clean by opportunistic scavengers-- were sparkling rusted monuments. Any sense of childhood wonder that remained had long since been siphoned off and sold. The kids didn’t seem to mind though, for how they’d congregated around the place. Maybe Pajamas had a point. It was a big, bright landmark, impossible to miss, and as good a place to search as any.

Three]

The Detective left Snowy and Pajamas and the other strange flock of The Love Nest behind, feeling a grim sense of determination The puckered bite mark on his hand throbbed; the little creep had managed to break skin! 

As he navigated his way to the outskirts of the district, Sacha mulled over the interactions he’d had so far. Reluctantly he pulled out his phone to take some notes, ignoring the voicemail notifications cluttering the screen.

The kids call themselves “brood”-- some sort of gang name? The younger ones and/or newcomers to their group seem to be called fledglings. Everyone has a nickname; real names and pictures of faces have some sort of negative significance. And what of the “songbirds”, “kestrels”, etc? Songbirds: spread information. Kestrels: Unknown.

He huffed. None of this was bringing him anywhere closer to the truth about the missing girls. None of it was helping him find Ana.

By the time he power-walked to the long neglected fairgrounds, the hazy sky was becoming downright dour. The clouds had turned the color of smoke. Combine that with the stench of burnt plastic wafting from some of the attractions, it made for an unpleasant effect. He felt that a storm was brewing, and hoped that whatever came he’d be able to find shelter before the sky opened up around him.

He’d been here only twice while it was still in operation; once just him and his parents and once with Maria. By the second visit he’d already lost his sense of wonderment when it came to a day at the fair. The weather was hot and the crowds were annoying and all the games were rigged. Yet there was still a part of him that felt deeply sad to see what Fun Town had become. This was the sort of place that should’ve been beautiful forever, even as the children grew up and out of their love for it.

As he wove through the rows of darkened kiosks, the fairgrounds suddenly erupted into light. Sacha startled and shielded his eyes. The tired bulbs cracked and fizzled and when he looked up again the desiccated corpse of Fun Town had been revived in a great pulse of electricity. Against the backdrop of perpetual gloom the friendly colors were all the more headache-inducing, and somewhere a tinny recording of calliope music began to play. It all made Sacha’s skin crawl.

Against his every instinct, he let the music lead him to a shack next to the arcade with a mounted loudspeaker, the door marked with a firm “employees only”. To his surprise, the door was unlocked. Inside, another brood girl in coveralls was fiddling with a fuse box and leaning her hip against a desk with an old CCTV. The security system was so antiquated that it didn’t look like it should turn on at all, yet there upon the pixelated screen Sacha could still make out the shape of himself entering the park on a loop. 

The girl turned around, flipping a frizzy head of hair over her shoulder. Although, it turned out she wasn’t so much a girl as a young woman, pushing against the line between teenage and adulthood. His gut reaction was relief. This might be the closest thing to a rational adult he would find around here. Hopefully she’d be of more help than the others.

Come to think of it, he realized, he’d never considered what happened to the Orphan’s Hollow kids once they grew up. Surely there must be some adults here, somewhere. But then, everyone who’d met him so far had treated him as a foreign invader. Were all adults so unwelcome, as he’d assumed, or was there something about him in particular? 

The most rational assumption was that the homeless kids simply became homeless adults. No need for any additional fanfare. They would graduate from the Hollows and go on to squat in other parts of the city. There was certainly no shortage of slums these days, he thought glumly.

Did any ex-runaways ever try to go home, those that still had them? Did that Renee ever think about home? 

“What ho, outsider!” the teen greeted. Sacha felt himself relax despite himself, so glad to be met with at least one friendly face.

“‘What ho’?” he parroted lamely.

“It’s theatre-speak for ‘wassup’. As in, what the hell are you doing in brood territory?”

She moved quickly. He didn’t notice the knife until it was tucked under his chin, pointed at his throat. 

Sacha’s back hit the wall and he put up his hands in surrender. “Hold on, I’m not looking for a fight.”

“Oh yeah?” she giggled. She wrenched up the front of his shirt. “What’s this then? A prop? If I shoot it, will a little flag come out that says ‘bang’?”

She un-holstered the pistol and pointed it at his forehead.

“That’s not a toy,” he said slowly. “Just a little insurance. Like your knife there, I’m sure. I don’t think either of us wants anybody to get hurt.”

“This?” She tossed it in the air and caught it. “Nah, this is part of the act. Tonight, I’m a knife thrower. I’ve never been a knife thrower before. I hope it goes well.”

Sacha tried to speak, but the girl pressed the cold flat of the blade to his lips.

“The older girls put on shows for the fledglings. Sometimes here in Fun Town, sometimes over in the Nest, or up on the rooftops when the weather is nice. I’d invite you, but I don’t think you’d be welcome.” She adjusted her grip again so that the knife was touching the tip of his nose. “All day there’ve been whispers about some kind of detective guy putting his nose in our business.”

“I don’t care about you brood kids do here.”

“Liar.”

“I swear, I don’t. I’m just trying to find someone. I’m not even a real detective anymore,” he confessed. “I wouldn’t tell anyone what you’re doing here. Even if I did, no one would believe me. I’m nobody.”

The knife thrower gave a big, hearty laugh, and Sacha’s throat tightened with fear. He didn’t consider himself a violent person, but over his career he’d come to blows with enough unruly targets and bitter clients alike that he knew when someone was posturing, and when someone was really out for blood. Normally there was a clear indicator of one kind or another; a tightening of the jaw, a certain nervous tick, a look in their eyes. 

But this girl he couldn’t get a read on at all. He hoped that meant she was still on the fence about the subject.

Struggling to keep his voice level he said, “You don’t have to do this. Something like this will haunt you your whole life, you know, and you’ve got so much life left. You’re still just a kid--”

She reared her hand back and struck at his head with the butt of the pistol. Sacha dodged. It slammed into the fuse box she’d been working on instead and the lights went out. Taking advantage of the darkness, he shoved past her and in a stroke of blind fortune found the door. There was a sound then, like the rush of wind in his ears. Then a sharp flash of pain as a flying knife split the cartilage of one ear.

He stumbled and hit the pavement. When Sacha turned around, hand clutched to his head, he saw the young woman’s silhouette bracketed by two iridescent black wings. Again that sound, ferocious wingbeats stirring the air. All he saw were two but it sounded like hundreds, a massive flock taking off in perfect synchronicity. 

“It’s really frustrating when people don’t take me seriously,” said the winged creature as she approached him. Maybe it was an effect of the many colored lights, but her skin appeared to have a glossy sheen to it, like an oil painting in motion. “But you look like you’re starting to get it now.”

“What the hell are you?” Sacha asked with a mix of horror and feverish reverence.

“What do you think I am?”

The thought came to him unbidden. It was an insane thought, one he didn’t even truly believe in, yet this was an insane situation. “The angel of death.”

That gave her pause. “You’re not right, but you’re not really wrong either I guess. Truth be told, I’m heaven on earth. Maybe I’ll cut you some slack if you worship me”

A wing brushed over his skin, however faintly, and it felt warm and real as the blood cooling on his skin. Not ethereal or dreamlike as he might’ve expected but so real, and all the more hideous for it. He shuddered and said nothing.

The false angel, this predatory animal, took a step back. She spun the pistol around one long finger until it slipped and fell to the ground. She looked at it for a moment, as if surprised.

“Huh. It was lighter than I expected,” she said. Then she kicked it aside. “You win this one I guess. I’ll let you go.”

He stared at her, mouth agape, sure it was some trick.

“What? You don’t believe me. I put it in fate’s hand, and for some reason it looks like fate wants to keep you alive a little longer. It’s not how I saw this going, but I can roll with some improv.” She put up her hands. “Don’t bother groveling. I won’t kill you even if you beg. I know guys like you love punishment. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“Here… in Fun Town? Or, are you asking why I’m alive?”

She laughed. She so loved laughing. “Morbid! You’re morbid, man. I mean, why are you here among the brood? At… what do the outsiders call it? The Orphan Hole?” she snickered. “You kind of stick out like a sore thumb.”

“I’m trying to find someone,” Sacha repeated quietly. He’d said the line so many times he felt it was starting to lose its meaning. “And to make up for something I did.”

“Well you should’ve said so in the first place! If you’re looking to atone you need to meet with the broodmother. If you hurry, you might still be able to catch her. Tonight’s going to be kind of a crazy night once it kicks off, but if you plead your case I’m sure she’ll hear you out. 

“I have to keep setting up here. You go on ahead.” She pointed out in the direction he’d come from. “It’s a straight shot to Paradiso. You can tell her the angel of death sent you.”

She spared him one last smirk and then shot up into the air like an arrow loosed from a taut bowstring.

Or a bullet from a gun, even. Sacha considered the discarded pistol for a moment. It seemed so useless now, just a hunk of metal and plastic, just a prop. He walked away without it, pain pulsing dully from his ear. His journey was nearly over.

Time dragged on as he walked, but not enough for him to find the space to contend with what he’d seen. That girl, that creature. She was no angel, that much he was certain of. Angels didn’t attack strangers with a knife, he didn’t think. 

What he wasn’t certain of was… just about everything else. Was he meant to understand that all these girls, these brood, were some kind of bird-beasts taking human shape? Was everyone he’d met an imposter masquerading in the form of a child? Or did they start out as ordinary children and then transform somehow?

He half hated himself for even entertaining such wild ideas, but he had little other choice. “When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth” wasn’t that so? In any case, speculation did him little good at this point. He could only hope that this paradise and “broodmother” the girl had spoken of could give him some answers.

Four]

Just when Sacha was beginning to wonder if the knife throwing angel imposter was fully fucking with him, he found his destination: The Paradiso Hotel, although the damaged neon sign now read only PRDIO. 

The building was tall and narrow, so wedged between its neighbors that it looked like any moment it might be crushed. The brickwork was crumbling as it was. Creeping plant life climbed the sides and snuck in through broken windows. The ominous, weathered shape of gargoyles watched from above, jutting strangely out of high corners. This place must have been in dire straits long before it had been taken over by the brood. At the same time, looking at it Sacha got the impression that it had been something glorious in its heyday. 

There was something almost inviting about the faint glow that came from the topmost windows, filtering pink light through heavy red curtains, and yet Sacha was terrified. His hands trembled on the railing as he climbed the winding stairway. 

The higher he went, the more his surroundings began to change. The carpet beneath his feet grew soft, damp, dipping slightly with his weight, and when he looked down he found it thick with patchy moss. Mushrooms sprouted from the junction where the floor met the wall. Sacha tore his foot from a tangle of roots he’d caught himself in and wondered, when was the last time he’d seen so much wild living plantlife in person? 

Finally he reached the top of the tower and opened the door not onto identical hallways and bland hotel decor, but onto a sprawling private library.

The detective could hardly see the walls for the shelves, lined top to bottom with books upon books upon books. There was a desk against the far wall piled high with precarious stacks of paper. They overflowed and spilled onto the loamy floor, whispering under his every step.

Beyond a towering skylight, storm clouds billowed, but that wasn’t of any concern to the flock of brood congregated in their wake. The scene looked like something rendered from stained glass, at least a dozen girls with wings of all colors stretched out and fluttering idly behind them as they sat around some sort of shrub or young sapling that was, quite impossibly, growing out of the floor. Its tender boughs bore tiny fruit, several perfectly round red orbs plump and shiny with juice.

The room smelled like a greenhouse, like heat and green growth, flowers and fruit. Intrigue drew Sacha nearer and he detected an undercurrent of something metallic as well. He rounded the desk and his stomach plummeted. The tree was not growing out of the floor. It was growing out of a human corpse nested in a bed of soil.

The Detective choked on a gasp and the brood children looked up. Their hands and knees were dark from their work. A flash of gore passed before Sacha’s eyes and he flinched, expecting to be struck down where he stood. When no killing blow came, morbid desire took hold of him and he took a second look. The tree was still there, and the body, but the body was not as he’d thought. It looked dry, mummified, more root than rot. Still staring, one of the brood girls plucked a berry and crushed it between her teeth. The smell intensified, iron and something sweet, heady as any wine.

One of the girl-beasts stood, and she seemed older than the rest somehow, not just in body but in her eyes, gray as the growing storm and so clear that Sacha feared if he looked too long he would fall through them. Her face was smooth and free of wrinkles or worry, but the long hair that fell about her shoulders was white as bone. She wore something like a shawl that hung lazily off her shoulders and down past her knees. Unlike the others, she had no wings.

“So you’re the one all my girls have been making such a fuss about,” she said, and her voice was a choir, her words an indictment.

Sacha felt a strange spike of anger at this creature that looked like a woman and talked like a mystic and was neither. “And you’re the broodmother, whatever that means! Your girls make you out to some kind of god. But you’re not a god, and you’re not their mother. I don’t know what you are and I don’t care. I just want to know why you’re doing this.”

“What am I doing?”

“You’re- you’re taking them!” he stammered furiously. The pieces were coming together, albeit in a hectic jumble. “All the missing girls! You abduct them, or call them to you, or something! It changes them!” He flung his hand out towards the body. “You’re a killer! You're some kind of crazy death cultist and you turn these kids into killers!”

The broodmother quirked her head to the side, not quite smiling. “You talk with a lot of confidence for a man with only half the story.”

“Then explain it to me,” he demanded. “Make it make sense. Because I’ve been running around this madhouse all day and so far, nothing does.”

She hummed to herself, considering. “If you’re so eager for a tale, let’s start with yours.”

One of the other little brood leapt up and wrapped her arms around her waist. “Is it time for a story, Nightingale?”

“Yes, I think so. Do you know which book to get?”

“D for Detective!” she cheered.

“Very good.” 

The girl scampered off and returned with a big book bound in red. Nightingale took it and ran her thumb over the pages, flipping it open with a calm certainty that boiled Sacha’s blood.

“Let’s see… Detective Sacha Ferro. You were born in this very city, had a fairly normal childhood until,” She traced the tip of her finger along the page and Sacha noticed for the first time how it curled, a ghastly hook-like talon. “Oh, that’s right. There was an accident. Your parents… Tragic. Just terrible.”

Astonishingly, she sounded as though she meant it.

“You were in high school at the time. But your sister, Maria, she was still just a kid. You always struggled to relate to her as a brother, with her being so much younger than you, but after that day you had to become like a parent too. You really stepped up, it looks like. That didn’t change the fact that you were still a kid yourself. You made mistakes, and the two of you grew apart.”

Shame curdled in Sacha’s gut. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. The most he was capable of was curling his hands into white-knuckled fists at his sides.

“Get out of my head.”

“I’m not in it. Frankly, I’m not that interested in your editorializing. This is the truth. Now, where was I?

“You’d always dreamed of being a police detective, like the ones on TV,” she continued. “But became disillusioned with the idea once you grew older. So you became a private eye, but that too got old. You were tired of acquiring blackmail material for shady characters and helping angry wives catch their cheating husbands and so on. Meanwhile little Maria had grown up and moved on and the neighborhood you’d lived in all your life was going more and more downhill by the year. You wanted out.

“Then you got a call from a Mrs Gloria Deeds.” Her eyes widened dramatically. “She wanted you to track down her poor missing daughter. The Deedses were wealthy, desperate, and just perfect. You requested an advance payment, a big one, big enough for a down payment on a new life and the gas to get you there. They didn’t even blink as they pulled out the checkbook. It was all so easy.

“You took the Deedses money and you ran away. Forget the kid, chances were she’d turn up on her own in a week or two after getting whatever rebellious phase out of her system. That’s not what happened though, is it? More and more girls started disappearing. Renee wasn’t the first though, or was she? Could she have been the catalyst for all this? You’d never know for certain. The wondering ate you up inside, but not enough to make you turn back.

“You got yourself a new apartment and a regular nine-to-five job. You quit smoking. You adopted a dog. You started letting people in. You even called up Maria begging to be a part of her life again and shockingly, she agreed! You started spending weekends with her and her wife Kara and their sweet little girl Ana. Your mother’s name, wasn’t it? Well, anyway.

“Everything was all going so terribly well until just a few days ago. Nearly five years on the dot since you took the Deeds case and Maria calls you in tears, tells you that Ana has gone missing. You drop the phone, your blood running cold. She’s fifteen. Just a year or two and she’d be out of the target demographic. Neither you or your sister has set foot in this city in years. What are the odds she got taken? But you can’t let it go until you know for sure.

“Feeling frantic, you pull up the stuff from the Deeds case for the first time in what feels like an eternity. You do some digging. Renee Deeds was never found, nor were any of the others who vanished after her. The cops are still as apathetic and incompetent as you left them. They’re blaming it all on an epidemic of gang activity stemming from somewhere the locals have started calling ‘Orphan’s Hollow’. It didn’t used to be called that though, did it? Do you remember? How gutted you were when you found out? No way you could tell Maria where you were going. Back home, back to where it all started.”

“Stop.” Sacha found his voice at last, though to what end?

Nightingale looked up at him, feigning shock. “But don’t you want to know how it ends? Whatever does happen to the guilt-ridden detective trying to right a wrong? Hoping against hope that if he can fulfill the promise he broke that all of this will be set to rights, and little Ana will return home with him safe and sound.”

“Please, please, stop.” He covered his ears and felt the cut throb against his fingers.

“You’re not really in any position to be making demands, Detective. You came to me. You followed my song. It doesn’t usually work on grown-ups, you know, but you were always sort of a special case I think. I’m glad I kept an eye on you. This has turned out more interesting than I thought.” 

She crossed the room to stand before him, cupping his hands with her own. “You never really stopped being that kid, did you Sacha? You run and run and just keep him right there, locked away in your chest. Look at me Sacha. Look at me. You need to be a grown-up now. I don’t have her, Sacha. I don’t have Ana.”

Slowly Sacha’s hands dropped to his sides, his eyes wide and wet. “What?”

“That’s right,” the broodmother said cheerily. “Ana isn’t here. In fact, she’s at home with her moms right now. Maria’s been trying to call you for days now. You were too ashamed to pick up, couldn’t tell her how this was all your fault. It’s not actually, by the way. You were a self-serving bastard, but not enough to bring down that kind of karmic wrath.

“Although I’d’ve been happy to have her, Ana already has two loving mothers, and an uncle that… has his moments.” She patted him on the shoulder. “The children who follow my song aren’t like that. They come willingly, and they change because change is what they need. I won’t pretend it’s not a messy process. Sometimes blood needs to be spilled to create a paradise. But ‘be not afraid’, Detective. I would never let my little angels get hurt.”

“I still don’t understand,” he all but wept. “What about Renee Deeds?”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?” Nightingale groaned. “‘What are you? What are you? Where’s the girl? Pow! Blam! I’m a big scary action hero and I’m here to save you or kill you trying!’” 

She shook her head. “You’re not the hero of this story, Detective. The girl you knew as Renee doesn’t exist anymore, but she’s alive, not because of your intervention, or lack thereof. Not even in spite of it. What am I? What is she? And what are we when we’re together? A thing that lives without your permission. You need to understand for it to be true.”

She looked at him then with all the sympathy of a mother comforting a crying child. She handed off the storybook to one of her young attendants, and as she turned around she swept aside the cover of her shawl to reveal her bare back. Her skin was twisted with badly healed scars, the flesh raised in the shape of two jagged cuts curving around the shape of her scapula.

“Here’s another story for you. Once upon a time,” she said. “A ship of men was cast from its course and lost at sea. Just when it seemed all hope was lost, they found themselves on the shores of a mysterious island full of the tallest, greenest trees they’d ever seen. The people there had wings like a bird, and they were so beautiful and kind that the men decided they must be angels, and this was paradise.

“The angels let them stay there a while and lick their wounds, but warned them that they couldn't remain forever. At first they accepted this, but as the time to leave for home grew nearer they became obsessed with the wonders of the island and couldn’t bear to go without taking a piece with them. 

“So enamoured by the beauty of the angels, yet fearing their heavenly wrath, they lured away the smallest one and imprisoned her in the lower decks of the ship. When she realized what had happened, she tried to escape, so they broke her wings until just moving them caused her horrible pain. She did get free in the end, but only once the ship returned to port and by then she was far, far from home and knew not how to find her way back. 

“She knew she wasn’t safe among the wingless people, so she hid herself away until nightfall, singing her song by the light of the moon in hopes that one day someone would return her call. When someone finally did, it wasn’t at all who she expected. It was a young human girl, a daughter of man, who recognized her song of pain and loneliness because these were things she knew well herself. When the angel and the girl finally found each other, the angel bid her to cut her useless wings and drink her blood, and together they escaped on new wings.”

As she spoke, the storm outside grew stronger until the wind rattled the very walls, knocking books loose from their shelves. The brood, with their many colored wings and many sweet voices, began to sing in wordless harmony, a hymn from such unfathomable depths and dizzying heights that Sacha’s legs nearly gave out beneath him. 

“Don’t be sad, my mourning dove. This is a happy story. The Nightingale fell in love with the Swiftlet, the song and the storm, and they carried each other to a place where they could make a new paradise, a garden of their own.”

That was when the ceiling began to cave in. Sacha fell to his knees and covered his head with his hands, blinded by what he was sure was a bolt of lightning. When he looks back on it later, he won’t be so sure.

Again came that sound, the torrent of wind and a hundred wings beating within it. Sacha forced himself to raise his head, squinting against the light, and there he saw dancing in the open air above the wreckage-- for dancing was the only way he could think to describe it-- a girl he once knew. Though they were less than strangers, especially now, he recognized her kind dark eyes, her secretive smile. 

Her hair was loose, a halo of electrified black curls, and her wings a dusky brown with the sharp, precise plumage of a swift. Her legs still didn’t move so freely as the rest of her, but she wasn’t bothered. She didn’t need them.

Nightingale ran and leapt and took her in her arms with a lover’s embrace. Off a ways behind them, their brood took flight as well, swooping and shrieking their delight as if they were a single entity, metamorphosing into something new, something so nearly divine.

Sacha did weep then. His vision blurred with the shape of his grief, then his longing, a child and a man and a hair’s width away from paradise. Eventually the storm subsided, but he didn’t see the angel and her love again after that. He thought perhaps that was for the better.

The sky cleared. The sun came out. Elsewhere, young girls planted gardens and played games and put on shows. The world went on, however changed.

This is where past and present collide. In the aftermath of a mystery, a man named Sacha Ferro picks up a book from in amidst the rubble and holds it up to the light. He flips to D for Detective and begins to read, anxious to find out what happens next.

Epilogue]

“Everyone settle down. Places! Starling, for the last time, ‘Little Red Riding Hood’ doesn’t call for a knife thrower.”

“And why not?” She wiggles the blade in her direction. “This show’s so boring. Everyone already knows how it goes. Let me spice it up a bit.”

Finch rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Just, don’t jump ahead of your cue this time. And stop making up extra lines. You almost blew it last time.”

Starling sticks her tongue out but she has a skip in her step when she returns backstage. On the other side of the curtain, the audience is starting to take their seats. There aren’t enough chairs-- and most of the “chairs” are actually old boxes and things to begin with-- so some of them have to stand. An older brood allows Pajamas to climb up onto her shoulders, reminding her to be mindful of her wings, which are still fairly fresh and tender where they join with her back.

“Greetings, Princess,” says the fortune teller Resplendent, dressed in her good theatre clothes, as she sits down beside her. “Who’s this?”

Princess Ladybird holds up the dented ornament head. “This is Jessika. The doctors managed to save her but she needs an emergency body transplant, stat! I’m going to find her a new one after the show.”

She nods. “Greetings, Lady Jessika. I hope you have a speedy recovery.”

Ladybird holds the doll head up to her ear and hums as if in response to something.

“Can I hear too?”

She obliges, and Resplendent listens. There’s a quiet buzzing from inside the hollow tin skull and it echoes hauntingly in the emptiness.

She whispers, “There’s a bug inside of Jessika’s brain keeping her alive. That’s why she can still talk without a body. If Jessika dies, the bug will get out. Ick!”

The other girl chuckles. “Your name is a kind of bug, you know.”

“No! It’s a bird! Lady-bird!”

She bites back another laugh and points towards the stage. “Shh, the show’s starting.”

Sure enough, the songbird choir starts up, bidding the chattering spectators to quiet down and listen up. A girl comes out on stage wearing a corner of the curtain as a makeshift hood. She says,

“It is dark inside a wolf’s belly.”

[boat-full-of-lotus-pods]

MDZS Chapter 104. “A Hatred for Life” Part 7

It’s all you guys’ fault

Realizing his mistake, Su She pulled in his shirt over his chest to hide it, but the damage had already been done. Everyone in front of him had seen what was on his chest clearly. Over a patch of skin close to where his heart would be littered a dozen or so black, grotesque holes of various sizes.

It was the mark of the Curse of Ten Thousand Holes!

Furthermore, it was definitely not the mark of someone who had been cursed. Had he been the one who was cursed, then judging by the size of the holes, Su She should have already reached the stage where all his internal organs—even his golden core—would be covered by them, making it impossible for him to channel his spiritual energy. Considering Su She could still pull off energy-draining stunts like using a Transportation Talisman, there was only one explanation for his having those marks—he was the one who had cursed another, and was left with the mark as part of the curse’s rebound!

Back in the day, it wasn’t that Wei WuXian hadn’t tried his best to find the caster of the curse so that he could prove his own innocence, but there had just been too many people. Plus, what had happened soon afterwards had been far too severe to be solved by the caster’s true identity, so he had given up. Little had he expected to find out the truth tonight by sheer chance, when he had tried and failed so many years ago.

The gravity of the reveal eluded Jin Ling. It likely eluded Nie HuaiSang as well. Meanwhile, Lan XiChen had already turned to Jin GuangYao and said, “Sect Leader Jin, isn’t this the key to the ambush at the Qiongqi Path?”

Jin GuangYao asked, “What makes you think so?”

Jiang Cheng barked, “Isn’t that obvious? If Jin ZiXun never got the curse, then none of the things afterwards would’ve ever happened! A single ambush to get rid of the two brothers in your generation at once—Jin ZiXuan and Jin ZiXun—clearing all obstacles between you and the position of Sect Leader, the seat of the Chief Cultivator. Su She casted the curse, and he is your subordinate. Do I still need to point out whose will he was executing?!”

Jin GuangYao neither confirmed nor denied it, and focused his full attention on meditating to recover. Fuming, Wei WuXian laughed in anger. Glaring at Su She, he asked, “Have I ever wronged you? I’ve never done anything to you, heck, I barely even know you!”

Jin GuangYao said, “Young Master Wei, shouldn’t you understand this the most? Has ‘not doing anything wrong’ ever been enough to guarantee peace? Never. In this world, everyone is born innocent. No one owes anyone anything in the beginning. But eventually, someone has to take the first shot.”

Jiang Cheng spat, full of spite, “Treacherous low-life!!!”

Yet, Su She smirked and said, “You think too highly of yourself. Who said I cast the curse on Jin ZiXun to frame you? I wasn’t even working for Sect Leader Jin at the time. I simply cursed Jin ZiXun because I wanted to!”

Wei WuXian asked, “You had a grudge against Jin ZiXun?”

Su She replied, “People like him who looks down upon everyone else, I’d gladly kill every one of them I meet!”

Wei WuXian could easily guess that the one person who “looks down upon everyone else”, who Su She hated above all else, was probably none other than Lan WangJi. He couldn’t help but ask, “What exactly has Lan WangJi ever done to you? In what way has he looked down upon everyone else?”

Su She replied, “How has he not? If he hasn’t had the luck to be born into a prominent and prestigious family, then what right would he have to look at other people like that? What gives him the right for everyone to keep saying that I’m copying him?! The entire cultivation world praises him for his moral righteousness—so righteous that the distinguished, exemplary HanGuang-Jun is now tangled up in some dirty, disgusting relation with the nefarious and detested Yiling Patriarch? How ridiculous!”

Wei WuXian was just about to open his mouth to speak when he suddenly realized that the gloomy, fuming expression on Su She’s faced looked familiar. He felt that he had seen it somewhere before.

Abruptly, it came to him, “It was you!”

Caiyi Town, Biling Lake, watertborn abyss, the sword that had fallen into the water. The XuanWu of Slaughter, the Lan disciple that had pushed MianMian into the open—Su She!

Suddenly, Wei WuXian began to laugh.

“I get it now,” He said.

“Get what?” Asked Lan WangJi.

Wei WuXian shook his head.

He understood very clearly what kind of person Jin ZiXun was. He looked down upon people from subsidiary clans all the time, treating them as servants, finding it disgraceful whenever he had to sit at the same banquet as them. As someone who had became a subsidiary clan member of the Lanling Jin Sect, Su She must have gone to the Koi Tower to participate in banquets quite often, and must have encountered Jin ZiXun quite often as well. One of them was narrow-hearted and held grudges over the tiniest things. The other one was arrogant and carried an tyrannical air everywhere he went. It wasn’t hard to imagine something happening between them for Su She to harbour a hatred for Jin ZiXun.

If this was really the case, then, from start to finish, the whole incident of Jin ZiXun being cursed with the Ten Thousand Holes had nothing to do with Wei WuXian. Yet, ultimately, he was the scapegoat.  

Jin ZiXun’s curse was the sole reason behind the ambush at the Qiongqi Path. If this reason never existed, then the Lanling Jin Sect would have had no reason for ambushing him, Wen Ning would have never lost control and turned the ambush into a massacre, Wei WuXian would have never been responsible for the heavy crime of taking Jin ZiXuan’s life, and the series of events afterwards would have never happened.

And he’d only learned just now that the true culprit of the curse probably hadn’t even done it as a trap to lure him in. The true motive had nothing to do with him at all!

—This truth was incredibly difficult to accept.

Wei WuXian was smiling, but his eyes were brimming red. He said, mocking Su She and mocking himself, “To think that it’s all because of someone like you…… All because of some ridiculously pointless reason!”

Jin GuangYao seemed to have figured out what Wei WuXian was thinking. He said, “Young Master Wei, you shouldn’t think about it like that.”

Wei WuXian asked, “Oh? You know what I’m thinking of?”

Jin GuangYao replied, “Of course. It’s not hard to guess. You’re probably thinking of how unfair it is. But really, it’s not unfair at all. Even if Su She hadn’t casted a curse on Jin ZiXun, Mister Wei would still eventually get attacked over something else.”

Smiling, he continued, “Because this is the type of person you are. To put it nicely, you are brave and heroic, fearless and unyielding. To put it not-so-nicely, you offend people left and right everywhere you go. Unless everyone you’ve ever offended somehow manages to go through life peacefully without bumps, the moment something happens to one of them, the moment someone else makes a move against them, you will always be the first person they suspect—you will always be the first target of their revenge. And that is something that you cannot control.”

Wei WuXian actually smiled when he said, “What can I do? I actually think you make a lot of sense.”

Jin GuangYao said, “And even if you didn’t lose control back at the Qiongqi Path, can you really guarantee you would never lose control for the rest of your life? Therefore, people like you are predisposed to have a short life. See, doesn’t that make you feel a lot better to think about it this way instead?”

Jiang Cheng raged, “You’re the one who’d have a short fucking life!”

Ignoring his injuries, he rushed to his feet at once with Sandu in his hand. Immediately, blood gushed out from his gaping wound and Jin Ling hurried to drag his uncle back down. Infuriated but unable to act on it, Jiang Cheng scathed, “You son of a whore! You’d do anything to climb up without principles or shame! You want me to believe that Su She wasn’t executing your plans?! Who are you trying to fool?!”

At the words “son of a whore”, the smile on Jin GuangYao’s face froze.

He turned to Jiang Cheng. After a moment of contemplation, he said calmly, “Sect Leader Jiang, you should calm down. I understand what you’re feeling right now. I get why you are so enraged. Knowing the truth behind your golden core no doubt made you recall everything you’ve done in all those years, and made that proud heart of yours experience some sliver of guilt. Therefore, you are more than eager to find another culprit for Young Master Wei’s slip-ups in his last life—someone who can alleviate all his responsibilities, someone who you can attack without holding back. It’d be like helping Young Master Wei to take revenge in indignation of his suffering, alleviating some of your own guilt.

“If thinking that I’m the one who’d orchestrated everything from start to finish would alleviate your frustration—that I had a hand to play from the Curse of the Ten Thousand Holes to the ambush at the Qiongqi Path—then go ahead, think of it however you like. But you should understand that you also had a role to play in Young Master Wei’s downfall. It wasn’t a small role either. Why did you think so many people were so eager to attack the Yiling Patriarch? Even the ones who never even had anything to do with him? Why was everyone so willing to put him down? Was it really all just for a sense of glory and justice? Of course not. A part of the reason was because of you.”

Jiang Cheng smirked. Knowing that Jin GuangYao was trying to stir things up again, Lan XiChen warned in a low voice, “Sect Leader Jin!”

Ignoring him, Jin GuangYao continued in all smiles without holding back. “……At the time, the Lanling Jin Sect, the Qinghe Nie Sect, and the Gusu Lan Sect were in the lead and had already claimed most of the war’s glories and trophies. The other sects and clans could only pick at the scraps. But you, having just rebuilt the Lotus Pier from scratch, you also had the dangerous, unpredictably powerful Yiling Patriarch, Wei WuXian, at your side. Did you really think that the other sects were happy to see such a young sect leader in such an unique position, with such unfathomable resources under his sleeves? Fortunately for everyone, you didn’t seem to have a terrific relationship with your shi-xiong. Exploiting this weakness, they tried to tear you two apart at every given opportunity. Basically, to them, not letting the Yunmeng Jiang Sect expand in power equates to allowing them to expand. Sect Leader Jiang, if only you had been nicer to your shi-xiong in public, given the impression that your bonds were unbreakably tight, making the others feel that they were no room to exploit between you two, or reacted more generous and lenient towards him after the incident, then things would not have turned out to be the way they did. Ah, speaking of which, you were also one of the leading forces during the siege of the Burial Mound……”

Wei WuXian interrupted, “So it looks like ‘son of a whore’ really is a huge sore spot for Sect Leader Jin, huh? No wonder you killed off ChiFeng-Zun.”

At the mention of Nie MingJue, Lan XiChen’s expression changed. Even Jin GuangYao’s smile froze. Jin GuangYao stood up.

He was done recovering. Testing his left hand and seeing that his fingers responded to him without fail, he immediately ordered, “Let’s get going.”

Su She replied, “Yes!”

Two monks seized Lan XiChen, one by each side. Just as the temple’s door was about to open, Jin GuangYao suddenly said, “I almost forgot.”

Turning to Lan XiChen, he said, “Counting the passage of time, the seal on ZeWu-Jun’s cultivation is about to wear off.”

Lan XiChen’s cultivation was significantly higher than Jin GuangYao’s. To seal his cultivation completely, Jin GuangYao must reseal it once every other hour, otherwise Lan XiChen would break free of his constraints. Walking up to Lan XiChen, he said, “Apologies.”

Just as he was about to reach out his hand, a blur of white suddenly landed in front of him with a heavy thud. Alarmed, Jin GuangYao stepped away to avoid it. Upon closer look, it was a pale human body!

A wholly naked, female body laid on the floor, face down. Limbs and torso twisting, it seemed to want to crawl towards Jin GuangYao. Su She thrusted his sword. The woman gave a high pitched scream and fire erupted all around her. Getting to her feet, she continued to stagger towards Jin GuangYao, hand reaching out. Even as her face and body became reduced into dark crisps by the seething flames, the pure, intense hatred within her eyes was still plain as day. With a single strike of his sword, Su She scattered what remained of her image. Jin GuangYao only retreated a few steps backwards before bumping into something else. Turning, what laid at his feet were two entwined bodies. One of them reached out and clutched Jin GuangYao’s ankle. Just then, a whistle sounded behind them. Su She cursed with a savage expression, “Wei WuXian!”

Before anyone noticed, someone had already painted talismans all over the Guanyin statue in the temple with wild strokes made of blood.

The focal point of the array formation inside the Guanyin Temple’s grounds was precisely within this very temple. While no one was paying attention, Wei WuXian had breached the focal point of the array. Whatever had been sealed by the array was being unleashed!

Suddenly, Jin Ling screamed, “What’s going on?!”

Jiang Cheng was swatting him all over his body non-stop. Apparently, his clothes had caught on fire all on their own. Jin Ling was actually the better one. A few monks were already engulfed in flames and were screaming and rolling all over the floor. Su She and Jin GuangYao knew that they had to erase the blood marks painted by Wei WuXian on the Guanyin statue, yet they were hindered left and right by those fallen monks and those naked evil spirits that continued to appear everywhere all over the floor. Under Wei WuXian’s command, those naked men and women didn’t attack Jiang Cheng, Jin Ling and the others who were with them, yet Jin Ling still clutched Suihua in front of him as he asked, “What are these things? I’ve never seen such……”

Such shamelessly exposed and wanton evil spirits!

Rage danced in Jin GuangYao’s eyes. With a swap of his palm, sparks of fire erupted as he finally reached the Guanyin statue. Just as he was about to erase Wei WuXian’s talisman strokes, suddenly, something cold pressed up against his waist.

“Don’t move,” Lan XiChen’s low voice came from behind him.

Jin GuangYao tried for a counter attack but Lan XiChen’s palm struck his back first. Jin GuangYao said, “ZeWu-Jun……Your cultivation has returned.”

Before Lan XiChen could even reply, Su She’s sword, Nanping, had already stabbed at Wei WuXian. Another sword came just in time to block the attack, a long sword engulfed in a similar tint of spiritual energy, but with a light that shone purer and stronger.

Bichen!

As the two swords collided, Nanping was cut in two!

Su She’s palm[1] instantly ruptured and blood spilled everywhere, even all the joints in his arm were making cracking noises. Dropping his sword hild to the ground, Su She clutched his right arm with his left, face ashen. Lan WangJi held Bichen in one hand and Wei WuXian’s waist in another, pulling him behind himself. Wei WuXian actually didn’t need his protection, but, enjoying the attention, happily went along with it and leaned against Lan WangJi’s body.

Everything had changed within the span of a few seconds. In the blink of an eye, the table had turned. All those other cultivators from the Lanling Jin Sect had only just processed what had happened, yet Su She was already bleeding in the right arm with the wounds over his chest reopened, and Bichen’s sharp blade was already leveled against Jin GuangYao’s throat.

Seeing their leader at sword point, none of them dared to make another move.

Lan XiChen was just about to speak when, suddenly, everyone’s expression turned uncomfortable within the Guanyin Temple unanimously. Lan XiChen instead said, “Young Master Wei, can……can you make these retreat first?”

Not only were the evil spirits naked, offending everyone’s sense of decency, they were also making extremely uncomfortable moaning noises. Just the sounds alone made it quite obvious what those bodies were doing. No one had ever seen such lewd, obscene evil spirits before. Lan XiChen was facing the other way. Jiang Cheng’s face was ashen. Jin Ling’s face was cycling between red and white. Wei WuXian turned to look at Lan WangJi. Remembering how enraged Lan WangJi had been at seeing the Spring Palace Arts[2] even as a teen, Wei WuXian realized how unruly it was to force him to see these things and explained, “Originally, I simply planned to unleash whatever evil that had been sealed within this temple to buy us some time. How was I to know that I’d unleashed these……”

Meanwhile, like Lan XiChen, Lan WangJi had looked away after a mere glance and spoke as he stared elsewhere. “A fire.”

Wei WuXian instantly started nodding seriously and replied, “Yes. These resentful spirits had all been burned to death. It seems like this place suffered a huge fire before. Many were killed. And later, to cover it from public eyes and also to seal away all these evil spirits that were born from the incident, Sect Leader Jin rebuilt a Guanyin temple over it.”

Lan XiChen asked, “Sect Leader Jin, did you have anything to do with the fire?”

Jiang Cheng commented in a harsh voice. “Look at how much those spirits hate him. How could it not have anything to do with him?!”

-

Footnotes:

[1]: Palm: 虎口 is actually the place/acupuncture point over the patch of muscle between the thumb and forefinger. Having it ruptured after receiving a blow from an extremely powerful opponent is apparently a common effect in 武侠 WuXia, the genre of martial arts fiction.

[2]: Spring Palace Arts: 春宫图, ancient Chinese drawings that centers on sex, aka the genre name for the erotica book from their younger years.

[blackjack-15]

Staying Tuned for a Soap Opera — Thoughts on: Stay Tuned for Danger (STFD)

Previous Metas: SCK/SCK2

Hello and welcome to a Nancy Drew meta series! 30 metas, 30 Nancy Drew Games that I’m comfortable with doing meta about. Hot takes, cold takes, and just Takes will abound, but one thing’s for sure: they’ll all be longer than I mean them to be.

Each meta will have different distinct sections: an Introduction, an exploration of the Title, an explanation of the Mystery, a run-through of the Suspects. Then, I’ll tackle some of my favorite and least favorite things about the game, and finish it off with ideas on how to improve it.

If any game requires an extra section or two, they’ll be listed in the paragraph above, along with links to previous metas.

These metas are not spoiler free, though I’ll list any games/media that they might spoil here: STFD, FIN, RAN.

The Intro:

Stay Tuned for Danger is another short game, though it owes its runtime more to the limitations of 1999 than anything else. Full of wacky, overwrought characters and hilariously over-the-top threats, puzzles, and ‘incidents’, STFD isn’t a smart game, but it’s a mildly fun one, and definitely improves as the second in a series.

STFD relies heavily on constantly rising action, meaning that things never calm down — the game escalates and escalates until it’s over, which encourages the player to finish the whole thing in as few parts as possible to get the full effect.

It does have its problems — way too many things to click on that are pointless, an obvious villain, frustrating and out-of-place puzzles, and the clunkiest interface known to man, but it saves itself from the scrap heap by embracing, rather than avoiding, its own campiness.

The Title:

Funnily enough, this title is actually straight-up ace. It’s a snappy take on soap opera clichés, and is the only game to have a four-letter abbreviation, lest we take Nancy into the world of sexually transmitted diseases.

Er…considering how Rick looks, make that further into the world of sexually transmitted diseases.

Plus, this game puts a heavy emphasis on the continually rising action of its events, so the “stay tuned” part works really, really well. A+ work here.

The Mystery:

Fresh off of the success of finding a killer in Miami, Aunt Eloise once again hears of trouble and sends Nancy Drew barking after it. This time, it’s off to New York to investigate some death threats that a soap opera star is being sent.

Hold the presses, I know.

With everyone working as hard as they can to be unhelpful, it’s up to Nancy to massively invade everyone’s privacy and discover who’s writing the threats (and making the bombs, and dropping the lights, and…) before Rick Arlen actually gets seriously hurt or killed.

Through a lot of snooping, after-hours sneaking, and clunky interrogations, Nancy manages to “figure out” the culprit when he presents himself at the end despite 90% of clues pointing to him, has to solve a puzzle in the nick of time, and treats the audience to a hilarious-looking “capture” of the culprit.

The Suspects:

Mattie Jensen is the one renting Aunt Eloise’s apartment, and the person Nancy first encounters. Not only is she the (co-) star of the show, but she’s also the only one who stuck with her original agent, Dwayne Powers. 

Her mother is too involved in her life, she moves like a plasticine doll, and is a Horrible judge of character, employing Dwayne Powers and having dated Rick Arlen, but Mattie seems genuinely concerned for Rick’s life, asking Nancy to help by snooping around, and offering her aid to the amateur detective.

Mattie’s not short on motive, having been dumped by Rick and having her career endangered by his anticipated contract-breaking in order to get into films and out of soaps, but she’s not really a “suspect” once you’re 1/3 of the way through the game.

This is one of Her Interactive’s favorite tropes — a suspect cleared early on so that Nancy can have a helper — and it shows up for the first time here. In this case, Mattie helps Nancy go undercover as a budding young actress in order to help her investigate more fully.

Rick Arlen is the other co-star of the soap opera (“Light of Our Love”), playing the male main lead. Tired of the small soap opera notoriety he has right now, Rick longs for the big screen, leading him to try to break his contract with Bill Pappas and leave the show.

Rick is a blowhard egomaniac who’s willing to flirt with any woman he sees — even the young amateur detective Nancy Drew — but that’s pretty much all the depth that he has. He dates a lot, but he’s too shallow to keep any relationship for long, either dumping them (Mattie) or being dumped (Lillian).

There might be a moment or two where you think he might be behind his threatening notes to give him an unimpeachable reason to leave…but then you remember that this is Rick Arlen, and he has No Shame, and doesn’t see anything wrong with breaking his contract.

He does send the first few notes, signing them with an anagram of his name (which somehow Her thought was brilliant enough to use twice in one game), but that’s it as far as his involvement goes — he’s not a man with a death wish; he’s an egomaniac. Pure and simple.

The only other thing about him in the game is that he ditched Dwayne for a better agent, which is treated as, like, the Height of Disloyalty. However, knowing that Dwayne is balls-to-the-wall nuts, not a great agent, and hates Rick for dating Mattie….I’d switch to a new agent as well. Sure, it’s not super kind, but it’s not at all an immoralmove to make, and it’s the best thing he could do if he wants an actual enduring career in showbiz.

Dwayne Powersis Mattie’s agent, Rick’s ex-agent, and all around bleeding psychopath with delusions of grandeur. He’s also one of the most obvious villains in the whole series (tying with…well, RAN), blames Rick for his failing business (when the truth is that he’s just not very good at it and has stopped trying at this point), and casts his Cool Alter-Ego Owen W. Spayder as his crimesona.

Dwayne isn’t diagnosably medically insane like the culprit in FIN, but he’s crazy all the same, from his Loud Speeches about hating Rick, to his skulking around the set in a hat and beard, to his ridiculous bombs and light-droppings, etc. etc.

He’s upset that he couldn’t make it as an actor himself, and resigned himself to helping others with their natural talents. Not only does he let this turn him into an attempted murderer, but he also gives this Huge Speech at the end…which lets us see, yeah, he wouldn’t have made it as an actor (and as if RAN needed to reinforce that point, it does anyway).

Dwayne is interesting in that he’s the only suspect to escape twice and the only villain to be the villain in two games, but…quite frankly, he’s not interesting enough to deserve those distinguishing characteristics. Dwayne isn’t enough to carry one game, let alone two, and it shows.

Lillian Weiss is the snappish, cold director of “Light of Our Love”, who is suspicious of everyone and has the clout of being one of the only characters who can fire Nancy without it resulting in a second chance.

She also happens to be the smartest and most likable character in the game (except for Bill Pappas, of course), willing to accept when she’s been wrong and call Nancy to come back in, who figures out who’s pulling these “pranks” around the set, and poured a pitcher of water on Rick’s head while dumping him. 

She also sent him poisoned chocolates which, knowing the guy, I fully condone. She gets to live out Rick’s dream by going to Hollywood, so that’s nice and karmic as well.

Lillian isn’t ever really nice to you, nor does she lose her snappiness, but she is a good guy, and she’s allowed to be smart and capable without being warm and fuzzy, and I personally think that makes her more multi-faceted than most early ND characters were allowed to be.

Millie Strathorn is the elderly owner and founder of WWB and prop master for “Light of Our Love”. She’s also not quite sane, mixing fantasy and reality at any given moment.

Her “motivation” is that she hates Rick and tries to keep submitting scripts to write him out of the show, and this show apparently doesn’t have a Writer (we’ve got a producer, director, and two stars + talent agent, but no writer?), but her scripts keep being rejected anyway. 

Probably because, once again, she mixes fantasy and reality, and definitely wrote a scene where Rick Arlen and “Rory Danner” face off and mud-wrestle, stabbing each other in the face.

Either that or a ménage àtrois between Rick, Rory, and Yuri (Rory’s “evil twin” in the show”. Which would be Very Tricky to shoot with 1999 technology.

Anyway, Millie makes you solve a few middling riddles and then pretty much effs off for the rest of the game, making her a crazy memorable (not to mention straight-up crazy) character despite her lack of screen time (and overall pointlessness).

William Pappas is the never-seen yet always entertaining producer of “Light of Our Love”, who is super pissed about Rick trying to break his contract is “Light of Our Love” and says that he’ll kill Rick before he let him walk out on him. This threat, of course, is just Bill venting, and after Nancy defuses the bomb in Rick’s dressing room, Bill is more than happy to help her out.

As a suspect, Bill sucks, wholly and completely — to the point where he’s just not a suspect. As a character, however, he is a Delight and a Treasure, bursting with pointless personality. I aspire to be Bill Pappas.

Ralph Guardino is the twice-seen security guard at WWB who gives you access to the building, then promptly effs off until he appears to arrest Dwayne at the end. And yes, his name is just “Guard” with “-ino” added at the end. I guess Her used up all their imagination on weird and wonderful pictures to photoshop their characters into.

Ralph, like Bill, isn’t really a suspect at all; he exists because the story needed a job done, so they created a character to do it. He’s also Bill’s cousin, so there’s some added “meaning” that’s actually pointless as well. There’s nothing offensive about Ralph, per se, but there’s nothing good about him either. He’s just kind of…there.

The Favorites:

The general soapy tone of this game makes it fun, and Dwayne’s villain reveal/speech is only matched in its dramatic campiness by…well, his speech in RAN.

Bill Pappas is my Hero and I wish he’d gotten more screen time (though I love that we never see him), and Nancy’s delivery of “Prop Master of DEATH” alone is worth the price of admission.

The Un-Favorites:

First off, the fact that they forgot to put in the desk key really bothers me. I know that the only stuff in there are fake fan letters to Rick from Mattie, encouraging him to stay (which doesn’t point to guilt at all, and so is pretty pointless), but like…it’s locked. It must be important.

I know Her Interactive wanted to advertise their 100+ “close up shots”, but it drags the game down to look at everything — especially since hidden in those 100+ are 5-10 that are Super Tiny and that you have to click on, even if they don’t tell you anything new, or you’ll get stuck and be unable to progress.

Nancy’s inability to see Dwayne as the villain even when it’s patently obvious is a pretty serious knock against this game. Neither Bill nor Ralph are considered actual suspects, Mattie is cleared early on, Lillian is too snappish with you (too obvious, to Her Interactive’s way of thinking) to be it, and Millie is too old to do the physical stuff (and, with her wanting Rick’s character killed off, is also too obvious) and so as early as 1/3 into the game you’re left with Dwayne and Rick. As Rick needs himself to live so he can go on to Star in Movies, you’re just left with Dwayne, who all the clues point to anyway.

The Fix:

Fixing STFD would require totally re-coding it to fix sound and playability issues on newer computers, updating the graphics, fixing characters so that they don’t look like blow-up dolls…all those Quality of Life improvements are super important and vital to a fix.

But fixing it would also require some re-writing. I realize that Millie is in the game as a nod to the original writer of Nancy Drew, and it’s…well, definitely an homage, if not a good homage, but taking her out would go a long way to streamlining the game.

There are simply too many culprits for Her Interactive’s general ability to write multiple fleshed-out characters who are all plausible suspects (especially with Nik being gone), and so the result is that the incidents, character traits, and character appearances are spread too thin for anything but blatant caricature. Millie is simply the easiest character to remove, along with Bill Pappas and Ralph (who only appears twice anyway).

You could fold Millie into Lillian without too much trouble, get rid of Bill (though it breaks my heart to say it), have Ralph’s name appear early but have him only appear at the end to arrest Dwayne, and it would lighten the load that the story breaks under considerably. I don’t think this would make it an A+ story, but it would at least be less cluttered, and STFD is cluttered enough without needing extra help.