#it's just a cold & not covid or anything crazy thankfully. i caught it from my boyfriend when he was sick on new year's :/

[winter-hoof]

I've been sick since Friday and I'm beyond ready for it to fuck off already

[betweentheracks]

Heyo! Not to be too nosy here but you mentioned you're in bad health and recovering, and I just wondered what happened? Also how would it impact your career since, from how you've made it all seem thus far, it's a highly active and demanding job?

Hope you take care and get well! You appear quite strong and not like you'd take whatever has happened just lying down, so here's to you!! 🙏💓

No sweat and no worries here, I dont find this particularly invasive. If anything, I'm flattered you care to ask after me lol. 😁

A few weeks back I met a friend I hadn't seen in some time for lunch. This was against my better sense of caution that I've held firmly to throughout the pandemic, but I would feel regretful and dismissive if I didnt agree to see her while I had the chance. I should've listened my gut and stayed safely at work because this "friend" failed to mention she had tested positive (she knew already by the time of our lunch date, she has since admitted) and had figured since she had no symptoms there was no harm in being in public.

FF only a few days later and I was feeling a little unwell but had put it off as an effect of the winter blast that had just hit where I live. I'd spent half a day out in the cold and snow for a photoshoot only the day before and thought it was probably due to that since I'm susceptible to weather influenced head colds and bronchitis. Fortunately, my job mandates a rigid COVID-19 screening twice a week due to our high profile clientele and as an assurance of health and safety for us all. Mine read back with a positive and with the way I had been feeling I was immediately sent home and the company closed its doors while the building was sterilized and our clients notified.

Thankfully I managed not to infect anyone I work with nor my son. Regrettably, I did infect my best friend since we're horrifically incapable of maintaining personal space and have weak shit immune systems. We both agree it is a wonder we made it this far into plague times without it catching us.

So I went and got looked over and sent on my way with my prescription of potent anti-virals and steroids. I was well prepared to abide the quarantine guidelines and had sent my son to my mother's home for the duration so that he was out of the danger zone. It was fine, I was kinda cool and keen on getting a few days to myself to rest up and all that jazz. But it wasn't meant to last and I found trouble in the form of being unable to remain conscious much at all and would pass out constantly. After a few times of this I gave my brother (he's a doctor and vaccinated) a ring and told him that my fatigue was no joke dude and needed him to come give me a better once over than the one I'd gotten before bc I was sure I was not meant to feel this badly. He found me unconscious in the shower that night, my head battered from crashing to the basin.

After ensuring I wasn't concussed and jokes on what a hard head I have to take such a beating and show no signs of registering it beyond bruising (a joke between us due to him having once accidentally put a golf club into my forehead and fracturing my skull but that's a different story) he told me to call him regularly so that he can review how I feel and the progression of my symptoms and left. By the morning I had already had two more instances of sudden fatigue and collapsing in on myself. I had been posting on my main blog here about how I was doing and due to this I caught the concern of @peekbackstage and upon their suggestion to have my O2 levels tested it was revealed that I was having issues with my blood not circulating oxygen as it should and nearing hypoxia.

Here's the rub. I have a heart condition that is already very dangerous and bleak which limits my heart's capability of delivering blood through my body as it should. Cardiomyopathy or, as it seems better known, congestive heart failure. I've had surgery for it and it has been a while since it caused me any real issues as long as I stick to my routine of care and manage my health, but when COVID-19 infiltrated my body it immediately snagged upon this weak heart of mine and sank its fangs in.

Within a day of being admitted to the hospital I had a grand mal seizure due to the constant fluctuations of oxygen in my blood and the way my body was working double time to supplement for it. And only 2 days after that and when my nervous system had finally quieted down, I went into full cardiac arrest with a heart attack at my young age.

My next weeks were spent connected to machines doing more for me than my own body could. I developed pneumonia in my lungs, acute though it was it was still another complication that my wrecked body had to overcome as it made my already ragged breathing even worse. I was steadily shedding muscle tone and definition due to a lack of mobility and the fact that my body felt like a deadweight I could hardly take command of, and generally very weakened. My heart, the horrible thing, was inflamed and trying too hard by beating too fast, too hard.

FF some more and I was doing fairly well and treatments were showing some improvement. My heart was still being an ugly and gnarled beast in my chest and throwing weird spikes on the monitor that raised alarms. The pneumonia was retreating and I had no further seizures. It was the dawning light of my first signs that I was recovering!

It took a while more and so fucking many tests day in and day out for me get cleared for release. I tested negative for COVID-19 and was ashamed that I actually forgot that that was why I was even in the hospital to begin with, given all that happened. I have to undergo physical therapy and counseling; PT for heart happy exercises as well as to manage to my depleted muscles, counseling bc I was rocked mentally from all the almost dying and the depressive haze of being holed up in the hospital and surrounded by people who, like me, came in with COVID-19 but unlike me did not come out of it.

I'm home now. I had to have a pacemaker implanted and must stay vigilant for any showing that my heart is not performing as it should. I still have some severe inflammation and chest restriction in my airways as well as my blood vessels but nothing too daunting. I also have a full battalion of prescriptions, most for my heart, and a nebulizer to ease any breathing issues. The worst is honestly that I still am very weak and have severely limited reserves of energy.

My job is required to make me take 12 weeks of leave for rest and recuperation. This is very upsetting since I had been requested by name to be an assistant stylist at the Grammys this year which is truly a dream (especially with BTS in the mix 😩😩) and also bc I'm just a workaholic by nature and love my job. When I return I am expected to learn how to properly delegate tasks that do not directly require me to handle and slow down the pacing of my projects. My boss terminated a contract with a client that was nearing the scheduled end of our agreement and was also incredibly problematic to help lighten my workload. It's imperative that I reign in my stress levels or my heart will not last until the next surgery I'll need, so I'm gritting my teeth and letting my job be picked apart to reduce my responsibilities.

My post awaits my return but I will not be returning to full activity for a while after, which means no rifling through the racks for hours alongside the archivists in search of the perfect piece. I'll be welcome to meet with my clients and oversee the glam teams, will still be the command tower for final verdicts on which styles to use. But I will not be running around showrooms nor personally handling matters any competent trainee could be tasked with like I've always done. I will no longer be able to fly out anywhere for destination shoots or fashion shows.

If, after my next surgery, things are better and my heart stable to the point that they are hopeful of things will be reevaluated. While it is difficult beyond measure for me to relinquish the reigns of my career and be restricted in what I can do now, I am very thankful to be alive and upright when that wasn't a certainty just a little while ago. This is such a humbling experience to have survived when my stats kept dropping every day. I've been told to expect that I will never make a full 100% recovery and to expect to stall out around the 70%-90% range, with 70% being the most realistic.

My best friend (the one I gave the plague to) will be moving in with me so that I am never on my own if things go tits up and to assist in wrangling a toddler since I am currently without the energy to do so as my child is, sincerely, a crazy gremlin spawn with limitless battery life. Slowly, my life will regain some normalcy 💖

[camilieroart]

Testimony of a French person during the pandemic.

I’m the french person. This testimony is featuring my school’s pressure and a lowering mental state.

I have been quarantined at home since March 2020. I have gone out maximum 20 times, always being really careful. For me and others.

I have a constant source of informations on what is going on in France and the world, and this causes a big flow of anxiety. I spent the entire summer vacation in my house, working on my project and being really productive. I didn’t see anyone, didn’t go anywhere. Just me, my parents and our two cats.

My classmates, however, aren’t as worried nor careful as me, and most importantly not as informed or free to act as they wish. So, they have gone out, and been to beaches and seen people, like the government said. Because yes, as soon as the summer vacation started, the French government declared that the virus was gone and that everyone had to go out and pay for stuffs, and spend money, to “keep the economy rolling”. Of course the Covid was still there.

As the start of the school year was closing in and that people in France had been getting sicker and sicker due to the craziness of the summer holiday, we thought that they would cancel, or at least push back the day. But no.

Around that time, I had also lost my uncle and my grand-mother (not due to the coronavirus), and the pressure of staying home this long, and having constant awful news about outside and how there wasn’t a glimpse of hope was having terrible effect to my mental state.

As back to school day arrived, we had made the decision to not send me back, although the government had said it was “mandatory”. However, I have worked hard all my life to get a diploma and go to a good college and have a degree, and I wasn’t giving up yet. So, we lied. Well, not really. We said we had to bury my grandmother and it was true. So I didn’t come the first week. The second, I catched a cold, and couldn’t make it due to the coughing. The third, I had a stomach ache...

My mother hates lying. She loathes it. It was incredibly hard for her to do so. But she did because if I went, I would probably kill my other grandma and maybe kill my parents. And have scars for life. And contaminate strangers.

What about my classmates, you ask ? They all went. I was the only one, of my whole class, to not have gone back. And boy, was I glad I did. I kept talking to my friends, and I heard how the teachers didn’t respect the safety distances nor put the masks correctly. I heard how in the cafeteria they were all sitting at the same table, pressed against eachothers without a mask. At that time, I already had heard horrible things and how poorly it was handled.

One week, as she had one of the CPE (head of the supervisors) on the phone, my mom had the first breakdown I have seen her have in years. She started crying and explained everything. She cried, and argumented and I was so shocked to see her like this. The truth was out ! I didn’t go to school because the safety stuffs the government put in place was bullshit.

We expected me to be kicked out in the following minutes. But, they couldn’t. I had been giving back all the homeworks and assignments I could, showing I wasn’t quitting. So, they couldn’t kick me out for being a quitter, and they couldn’t kick me out for trying to keep myself, my family and them safe. So they didn’t. Instead, they tried to push me into resigning.

At that point, it had been 5 months since I had really gotten out for something else than groceries. I hadn’t seen anyone, friends or even acquaintances for months. The school and news had been horribly stressing me out, and I had my first breakdown. Around a day after, we had a call from the school’s nurse. She asked me if I was okay, how I was doing, if I was sick... And that I should really go back to school. It’s senior year after all. I told her I heard they handled it badly. She called nonsense and stupid rumors, telling me lies that I immediatly understood were lies, selling bullshit and trying to force me to come back. I was very polite, made her understand that I would be trying if the situation got better, and hung up. It took us a minute to understand that she was trying to get evidence of me being kept home against my will and called social services. She didn’t call for my health at all. Thankfully, I handled it very well and we never heard back from her.

Not long after that incident, I heard of something that happened in my school that made me mad beyond understanding. Since the interns at the boarding school were forbidden from going out, the school decided to put a movie for them Wednesday afternoon. They said they asked students about what they would like to see but I highly doubt it. So, that Wednesday afternoon, when my classmates, seniors in highschool, with TONS of homework they had been working on where called in the auditorium for “informations” they had no choice but to go. The informations were given, and they were about to leave to resume working when the CPE and the deputy director stopped them.

They said my classmates HAD to see this movie, it was mandatory. Let me insist on the fact that they were around a hundred, all in a closed space, in the middle of a pandemic. Yes ? Great. So, my friends protested, saying that they had to work and didn’t want to stay. The deputy director started cutting them off to keep repeating some bullshit like “we made that for you” “we listenned and gave you this” “we worked hard on this”, like 5th graders. Until they said “I’m your superior and I order you to stay. Now shut up and take a sit”. My friends were astonished but did as asked. Which was incredibly unsafe and even dangerous (closed space, no safety distances...). And that movie that was “for the students” and “they worked hard on” was a goddamn movie about the Shoah. And I SWEAR TO GOD, there was panic attacks in the room, breakdowns, terrible reactions, and they didn’t give two shit about it.

And a day or so before, the nursed called to say I had to go back because it was “safe and everything was ok”. I was boiling.

After that incident, one of my teachers requested a call with me to talk about the class I had been missing. Very aware of the manipulative state of my school at that time, we were really careful, and a bit worried about it. Turned out it was a call of a genuine teacher that actually wanted to talk about the classes I had been missing and the homeworks I had been giving ! Of course he quickly tried to get convince me to come back, but I handled it well, once again. It was the highlight of my day.

At that point it had been 8 months since I had last been really out.

I had severals other breakdowns, mostly due to the ungodly stress I had been under because of school and news. I had been stressed out for 8 months now, and what had to happen, happened.

I had a burn out.

My mental state was so low I couldn’t even do what I love. I couldn’t write, I couldn’t draw. All I could do was watch shows and movies, or stare at the ceiling for hours. This was incredibly frustrating and scary. I couldn’t do my homeworks, and we feared I might get kicked out.

Then a miracle happened. Which is sad it got to that, but it was one. My teacher got quarantined, and started online classes. I had my first class of the year on November 14th. And I was there ! I answered tons of questions, and it kind of shocked everyone in class to realize I existed and was still trying to follow the classes.

It allowed to get better, and keep a very small following of school.

A week ago I have been able to do my Spanish homework. I am slowly getting better, trying to avoid stress and work as much as I can.

What I haven’t been able to talk about but did happen :

-One of my classmates caught the virus and she realized it a week later. The school said it was useless to quarantine her now and let her go back to class. The first thing she did was take off her mask and lean in everyone she was talking to. -I haven’t got any of my art classes since the beginning of the year. My teachers made the class believe they were giving it to me when they didn’t. I am specialized in art. -One of my classmates have been diagnosticated with depression. We’re 17. Several others have depression tendencies. -The school is trying to ignore us by not responding to anything we send, hoping we’ll resign. The pressure is still there. -We learned recently that many other parents and students had done the same thing and the schools have put pressure on them too. Some threatened the family. We hadn’t hear about it until now because schools are covering it up -Schools are covering numbers even inside. Most teachers doesn’t even know if a kid has Covid or not. If the teachers get sick, they are forced to immediatly go back to school.

This has been written the 22 november of 2020, in France.

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[chroniclackofselfpreservation]

Creatures of the Night

Chapter 38 - something keeps trying but i'm not killed yet

Back to the Beginning   < Previous chapter / Next chapter >

AO3

Masterlist

(TW: graphic depictions of violence, blood/gore, panic, minor character death, malnutrition, self-sacrifice mentality)

(The title of the chapter comes from “Psalm 150” by Jericho Brown)

A/N: IMPORTANT INFO! PLEASE READ!

Hey, guys. Sorry for such a long wait for this chapter. Crazy how it took getting COVID for me to finally get my crap together and write this. I’m still not completely satisfied with how it turned out, but I didn’t want to keep you guys waiting.

I’ll be posting a new work to my COTN extras series right after this chapter drops with a bunch of new worldbuilidng stuff (for all you nerds out there, like me). Included is a map of the Witchlands. Due to changes in the city’s layout, I’ve gone back and changed the descriptions of the city in past chapters (specifically, section 3 of “heirlooms from sea funerals”, and section 3 of “make it make sense to make it better”) but nothing plot-altering. So you aren’t confused with this new chapter, basically: there are trains on bridges throughout the city now.

(also also: I won't be making these changes on the past tumblr posts, so if you want to read the updated versions, follow the AO3 link)

Two weeks later...

Roman slipped inside the blessedly cool interior of a tailor’s shop and leaned against the wall, wiping his face. Each day in the Witchlands was as hot as the last, like the dead of summer back in Wakeby, but far more humid. Thankfully, he was in the East Market, an organized, well-to-do grid of sixteen square blocks just south of the Djel Triba where the arcane district’s newest trinkets often made their first stop before the mass market. The source of the cool air was a thin wooden ring set up on a stand in the corner. Roman stepped up to it, sighing as a stream of cold air washed over him. Carved on the inside were four lines of alchemy, equally spaced apart around the ring. Roman couldn’t decipher it, aside from a few letters and numbers he recognized.

“You know, if I wanted my shop to smell like sweat, I’d invite the Wall Guard in here,” a voice said, and Roman turned. A man in all black stood behind him wearing a very stylish black scarf and circular glasses tinted a few shades darker, arms folded across his chest. It was the closest thing Roman had seen to normal sunglasses since arriving in the Witchlands. The tailor looked Roman and his gray uniform up and down, pausing on the gold insignia on his left shoulder.

“Working for Val, huh?”

He shrugged. “Community service, actually.” Roman riffled around in his satchel for a moment. “I’ve got a letter from the Chief Judge to… Rait?” he said, reading the name next to the address.

The tailor cocked an eyebrow. “You got a problem with my name, messenger boy? I’ll have you know it’s a family name going back ten generations.”

Unsure how to respond, Roman held out the letter. Rait plucked it from his hand and, unsheathing a pair of ornate metal scissors, sliced the envelope open. Roman waited politely, as was his duty, in case the recipient wished to send an immediate reply.

“These are all the same,” Rait muttered as he slipped a folded piece of parchment from the envelope. “Thanks, Rait, for designing me world-class outfits, even though I refuse to wear anything but that scaly suit of…” he trailed off. His face drained of both humor and blood as he scanned the letter’s contents. Roman’s interest piqued. Indeed, most of the mail he delivered for the Chief Judge consisted of complimentary thank-you notes to government officials or business owners. Only the truly sycophantic took time to send anything back.

Rait took a steadying breath, his expression carefully neutral. His quick glance at Roman’s hand, however, betrayed at least part of what he’d read.

It was about Roman.

Valerie had agreed that adding gloves to his uniform would keep him from getting mobbed in the streets by curious—or in some cases, pious—witches, though the ones he wore now were fingerless. Roman still wasn’t completely sure what his position as the Last Heir entailed, and Valerie only answered him with vaguery. Some thought he was destined to overthrow the Djel Triba and become a monarch. Some revered the old Witch Queen herself as a lower deity or handmaiden of Kaia, and considered him a sort of demigod. Roman tried to avoid these witches as much as possible. They tended to get weepy and try to grab his hands or arms. One man even started singing in the middle of the street. Thankfully, Roman had dashed off before too many people took notice.

Regardless, it seemed gloves would only hide his identity a short while longer. Rumors were spreading.

“Right. Well, um,” Rait said, pocketing the letter and composing himself. “I won’t be needing to send a physical reply, if you wouldn’t mind telling her my answer is yes.”

“Of course. Kaia cas de,” he said, giving a slight bow alongside the traditional farewell Valerie had taught him before he’d started his job. Kaia with you, it translated.

“O de,” Rait replied automatically, lost in thought.

Roman turned to leave.

“Hey,” Rait called, and Roman stopped with the door half open. The tailor fished around in his pocket, then tossed him two silver shils. Roman caught them and tried not to gape.

“I… I’m not supposed to get paid,” he said. “It’s kind of the point of community service.”

“Just get yourself something to eat, kid, witchgods,” Rait snapped, looking supremely uncomfortable at being openly kind. “You look like you’ll blow over in a stiff breeze. And don’t mention this to Val. She’ll never let me hear the end of it… because it goes against your sentence. Obviously.”

“Right,” Roman said slowly. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Rait muttered and disappeared into the back of the store.

Roman stepped out onto the street, a little stunned, pocketing his new wealth. He had seen little aside from gold shils, the lowest currency, since Valerie had sent Virgil and him clothes shopping when they’d first arrived. Roman looked down at himself. Sure, he’d lost some weight since being here, but he wasn’t sickly… right? It was probably from running all over the Capital six hours a day. Nevermind that the only meal he got was at the end of the night at Goldfire. Valerie hadn’t said anything about it, and Roman wasn’t about to. She was a busy person. He doubted she was deliberately leaving him destitute. Besides, he was getting by just fine.

Unfortunately, being “just fine” rarely kept his stomach from growling. On any other day, Roman would have snagged himself some nonperishable food to keep a stash of. Today, however, the small fortune would have to go to clearing a debt that had been looming over him ever since he’d taken it out to buy that muhlte—another gamble he’d had to take to make ends meet with no income coming from his messenger work, and the reason Virgil had insisted on taking up a job of his own as a clerk for that same clothing shop they’d visited on their first day in the Witchlands. He was just thankful he was a quick learner. Amaryllis taught him to play well enough to serve as nightly entertainment for Bodbyn’s patrons and earn himself dinner each night, as well as continued boarding once their two-week window from Valerie’s favor ran out.

Roman kept a hand in his pocket, fingers tight around the two silver shils, and glanced at his satchel. He had a handful of letters left to deliver. Thumbing through them, Roman found their destinations were around the south end of the West Market—a sprawling market district nestled inside the ruins of walls from when the Witch Queen had still been around, and the Capital had been a much smaller kingdom. If Roman hurried, he could finish his deliveries and run an errand of his own before reporting back to Valerie.

Content with his plan, Roman buckled his satchel closed and jogged to the nearest boarding station.

* * * * * * * * * *

The trains were, oddly, made of pale stone, rather than the hulking metal locomotives Roman was used to. Here, people called them railcars. There weren’t any seats either. Bars lined the ceiling—and the walls for those too short to reach—as handholds while the machine moved. There was a gap in the handles, forming a kind of aisle between people so passengers could exit more freely at stops, but otherwise, they all crowded together.

Roman stood near the exit alongside three other similarly gray-uniformed messengers in their designated seating area, one arm above his head as he gripped the support. Thankfully, messengers were exempt from rail fees, which meant there was one less thing he had to worry about paying for. The patches on their shoulders indicated which judge or noble family they ran for, though Roman was still having trouble memorizing them all. He glanced at the messenger to his right, who was about his age. The gold insignia on her left shoulder depicted an open book with a pen and a chisel crossed above it. She noticed him looking and gave an awkward smile.

“Sorry,” Roman said. “I’m still trying to learn all the crests. That’s Oberon, right?”

“Oh! Yeah, it is,” she replied, brightening. “Who’re you running for?”

For a moment, Roman considered lying. Too much of any kind of attention was precarious, for him especially. Unfortunately, the patch on his shoulder would reveal the truth no matter what. “The Chief Judge,” he admitted.

The messenger’s eyes widened. “Really? I thought—well, no offense, but I’ve heard she only lets the most powerful witches run for her because of all that classified information… and you’re so young!”

Roman fought a blush. “It’s really not that big of a deal. Just thank-you notes and—”

“You never know, Maize” one messenger from behind said, leaning forward between them, “he could be a warlock. I hear they’re allowed de-aging spells.”

“Whatever, Fentril,” Maize said, rolling her eyes. “I’m pretty sure those spells are illegal, even for warlocks.”

“You guys all know each other?” Roman asked, glancing behind him. There were six other messengers on the train. All eyed him with curiosity.

Fentril snorted. “Do you know how many runners there are in the Capital? Hundreds.”

“More like thousands, Fen,” one of the runners from behind them corrected.

“We know most runners from our own patronage,” Maize explained. “Maybe a few here and there that we see on the same routes,” she said, glaring pointedly at Fentril. “How long have you been running? I haven’t seen you around before.”

“I’ve seen him,” a different runner from the back piped up before Roman could respond. He turned. It was a tall woman, taller than him, with thick braided hair done up in a top knot. She leaned on the side of the car, almost sitting against it. Roman was sure if she stood, she’d have to hunch over. He was surprised he hadn’t noticed her before. The crest on her shoulder depicted two hands grasping overlaying a star of Kaia. The crest of Alecto, that daunting, all-white witch from the trial.

“Runs the noble neighborhoods and both markets. Pretty easy to recognize, wearing those strange gloves all the time,” she said, eyeing him. Roman’s chest seized, and it took everything in him not to hide his hands and make his secret even more obvious.

“Hey, a witch’s entitled their secrets, Hava,” Fen said, then stage whispered to Roman, “Don’t let her freak you out, kid.”

Roman cocked an eyebrow at the nickname, given Fen didn’t look that much older than him, but didn’t argue the point. Blessedly, before they could ask more questions about his gloves, the train arrived at his stop. He waved a tentative goodbye to his new acquaintances, muttering a quick, “Kaia cas des.”

“O de,” Maize and Fen said. A handful of runners exited the railcar alongside him, including Hava, who had to duck through the doorway. Standing to her full height, the woman looked at least seven feet tall, towering above the crowd. The boarding station was a fully roofed building encasing a section of the railway, arching up over the passing trains and letting down to the ground through an enormous spiral staircase inside the leg of the railbridge’s arch. There were alchemy-based elevators within the core pillar of the massive stairway, but those were reserved for emergencies.

Hava gave him a sort of salute—touching the side of her fist to her lips—and bounded down the stairs, out of sight. Roman had run up and down so many boarding stations in only the first two weeks of him being here, he couldn’t imagine how many the other runners had. He broke out into a jog, spacing his stride so three paces landed on each of the wide steps, careful not to trip. Runners like him kept to the inside of the stairway, making tighter turns, but traveling less distance overall. The crowd of ascending and descending witches recognized their uniforms and knew to keep out of the way.

In all his time here, he only seen other messengers stop running when they were on a train or at someone’s doorstep. Roman wasn’t about to look lazy in comparison. Besides, he quite enjoyed the running—now that he’d started acclimating, of course. The first few days, he’d nearly vomited.

By the time he reached the exit at the bottom, Hava and the other runners were long gone. Compared to the East Market, the West Market was a bubbling stewpot of taverns, merchants, shops, and the occasional street performer. The crowded streets made random, illogical turns, and most witches he asked for directions simply said he’d get used to it eventually, and gave him landmarks to look for instead of street names. Checking the last few addresses once more, Roman had a general idea of where to find their recipients.

Eyeing the setting sun, Roman ran down the street.

* * * * * * * * * *

The sun had long since dipped below the city walls, the sunset giving way to twilight. Roman strode through the still-crowded West Market, enjoying the cooler air. Nightlife in the West Market lasted well into the night, and the streets would likely be full for the next three or four hours. He’d finished his deliveries at last, wending his way along the ancient stone wall bordering the south end of the market. Normally, Roman’s assignments never took him this close to the noke slums—where the badge on his shoulder was more a target than mere identification—but it was a risk Roman would have to take.

My shift’s over. I’ll be heading back to Goldfire soon, Virgil said suddenly within his mind. Roman nearly jumped out of his skin, garnering a few odd looks from passersby.

Jeez, Virge, he thought back, slowing his breathing. Scare me half to death, why don’t you.

Sorry. I keep forgetting you aren’t used to it.

It’s fine. If you see Bodbyn, tell her I’m running late.

A hint of trepidation shot through their connection. Did something happen?

No, Roman assured him. I ran into some extra shils and thought I’d clear my ledger sooner than later.

Alright. Just be careful.

Always.

Their connection faded, though not completely. If he focused, Roman could sense Virgil’s emotions. Speaking through the bond had taken Roman a good few days to get the hang of, and it still wasn’t as natural for him as it was for Virgil.

Amaryllis spent most of her time at Goldfire. After one day cooped up in their room, she’d ventured out while the two of them were gone and somehow made friends with Bodbyn, the owner. Though unexpected, the friendship certainly helped smooth things over with them not technically paying for the room and all.

Roman passed a shop selling pigment pipes as contracted brownies scampered down the street, activating the alchemical streetlights as they went. Through the store’s front window, Roman could see clouds of multicolored vapor swirling near the ceiling. A patron exited and Roman could smell sharp spices and cinnamon as the man exhaled a deep purple mist through his nose. Roman held his breath as he passed. He wasn’t sure if someone could absorb the effects secondhand, but he wasn’t keen on finding out.

Turning a corner, Roman moved away from the well-lit streets and into the shadows. Climbing a set of questionable wooden stairs on the side of a rundown tavern, he approached a lone door on the second floor and knocked.

Nothing.

Roman knocked again, cursing his luck. Had he gone all this way for nothing? Trying the handle, he found it unlocked and slowly opened the door. It stopped after a few inches, as if blocked by something. Roman pushed harder, hearing something heavy scraping against the floor as the door gradually opened wider. He peeked his head in to see an enormous iron hammer hurtling at his face. Roman lurched backward, saving his skull by a hair’s breadth.

“Oh, it’s just you,” a cheerful voice said from inside. Roman put a hand to his chest, trying to calm himself, as two slender hands appeared from behind the door and pried the long-handled hammer out of the hole it had smashed in the wall.

Linda poked her head out and grinned at him. “Come on in, Roman.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Logan puffed as he ran down the sandy beach, watching the morning sky lighten out of the corner of his eye. His shoulders and back ached from hauling water down to camp—an early morning exercise Mikhail had integrated into his training—though the pain wasn’t as debilitating as it had been during the first few days. It wasn’t getting easier, per se, but rather Logan was simply growing used to the physical discomfort.

Mikhail jogged next to him, not even slightly out of breath. Both the water hauling and the running were methods, according to Mikhail, of increasing Logan’s stamina and endurance. Logan didn’t know the exact distance they ran around the island��s perimeter, but it was easily upwards of ten miles. They ran barefoot, as the homemade sandals weren’t robust enough to handle such treatment. It wasn’t much of an issue, though. They simply had to skirt around the rocky portions near Eudora’s cave.

Logan’s breath had steadily grown harder, and he began wheezing as they approached the driftwood log that marked the halfway point. Mikhail put a hand on his shoulder and slowed to a stop, holding out the canteen before he could complain.

“It’s not about speed, Logan.”

He fixed Mikhail with a look, taking the canteen from him. “Says the man who could run this three times over in under an hour.”

“We both know I’m no mere man,” he chuckled.

Logan took a swallow of water and handed the jug back, fighting to calm his breathing so they could start again. Running got ten times more miserable once the sun rose and began heating the sand. Despite his fatigue, he noticed Mikhail’s eyes glaze over a bit, a reaction that had been imperceptible to Logan at first. He was speaking with the abomination.

Mikhail blinked, eyes refocusing. “Once you can run the entire way without stopping, we’ll move on, I think,” he said. “Hopefully, by then, we could spar a few rounds before you’re tired out. Have you thought over what I asked yesterday?”

“Yes. Though, I’d like your honest opinion as someone far more experienced in this field.”

“Alright.”

“Assuming the battery theory works,” he began, “I’m fairly confident in predicting our escape from the island occurring within the next month or two. Of course, this is a best-case scenario, but I’d rather be ready sooner than caught under-prepared.”

Mikhail gave a nod, though his expression hardened. None of them enjoyed bringing up the escape, as if they still didn’t quite believe him. Patton was the one exception.

“I figure any martial discipline will take a significant amount of time to become proficient in, let alone master, and due to my lack of magical abilities, I believe it would be more practical for me to learn the use of some kind of long distance weapon, magical or otherwise.”

“I agree,” Mikhail said. “A bow, then?”

“Exactly.”

“I do have experience with archery,” he admitted, rubbing his beard. “You’re planning to use this weapon against the dragon witch, though. Arrows won’t do much to someone like that. What’s stopping her from forcing the bow away from you?”

Logan grinned. “I thought of that. When Jorryn located iron deposits for the batteries, we didn’t have Eudora extract all of it, right? There could be enough to forge a bow.”

“An iron bow? Doesn’t sound very practical. It would be extremely heavy, not to mention you’d need a bowstring that could handle that much tension.”

“That’s where alchemy comes in. I need iron for its antimagic properties, not its hardness or weight. I’ll have to ask Killian about the specifics, but assuming we could counteract the weight and rigidity of the iron, it could work.”

“And the arrows? They could easily be diverted with magic.”

“Same principle as the bow, hypothetically,” Logan shrugged. “We’ll know more once we make them and can run tests.”

Mikhail eyed him. “You really thought this out, huh?”

“We’re already building the forge to cast the battery casings,” he said. “And Killian was a blacksmith before becoming a carpenter, so he should be able to help us. It…” Logan noticed the sun peeking over the watery horizon. “I spoke too much,” he said, shifting on his feet. “We should probably get going.”

“No, let’s head back to camp. We can cut through the middle. I want to hear more of this idea of yours, te’kundi,” Mikhail said, smiling.

“What?”

“It’s witchtongue. A title we give to those smarter than ourselves.”

Logan flushed, following him into the trees. “I really don’t think—”

“Take the compliment, te’kundi,” Mikhail chuckled, slapping him on the back. “We’ve got work to do.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Linda held the two silver shils between her fingers, lifting them up and admiring them like a jeweler, letting out a low whistle. She leaned precariously in a chair, feet propped up on her desk. Her infamous iron hammer lay across her desk. Its thick square head tapered down to a wickedly sharp point at the other end, the handle about the length of Roman’s arm. Iron weapons were expensive and Roman rarely saw one outside of the iron-spear-wielding Court Guard, but they were some of the most effective weapons against witches. For a non-magical witch like Linda, it was the main reason she kept her more powerful clients under her thumb.

“Well, you were right. That’ll just about do it for your loan,” she said with a sigh, tossing the coins up and catching them in a fist. Linda eyed him with a grin. “Sure you don’t want to borrow some more?”

“Not at the moment. I’ll be sure to call on you again should the need arise,” he said with a bow and flourish.

Linda’s grin split, showing her teeth, and she sat up. “That uniform’s taught you manners, I see. Shame to see you go. You’re one of my best behaved clients,” she pouted, glancing around her office. It was a wreck—like someone had tried to rob her. Or kill her. The heavy object blocking the door had been a chest made of dark wood with brass fittings. Framed maps lay shattered on the floor, drawers hung at odd angles from dressers as if someone had yanked them open, and Roman was pretty sure that was blood spatter in the corner, though Linda didn’t look injured.

“Thank you, Linda. Kaia cas de,” he said sincerely, ready to put as much distance between him and this woman as possible. She was nice, yes. But something in that smile told him if he didn’t part ways with her now, he never would.

Linda’s face softened, but before she could so much as utter a reply, the door slammed open and three people rushed into the room. Roman whirled, only to get tackled to the floor by a short, burly man. Linda leaped atop her desk, swinging her iron hammer at one of the two, cracking the woman in the head with the flat end. The other hesitated.

A fist met Roman’s face. He saw stars as the man pinned him to the floor with surprising efficiency, clamping a grimy hand over his mouth.

“You just be nice and compliant,” he sneered. “Don’t try anything, and we might let you live.”

“You killed her!” the man left standing screamed, kneeling by the one Linda had struck. He was leaner than his companion, with a purplish birthmark across his face. He reached out to the bleeding, unconscious woman with trembling, hesitant hands.

“You’re both trying to kill me, Dossen,” Linda said, rolling her eyes. “It’s basic self defence. Now, I’d thank you to leave and tell whoever sent you to come themselves next time.”

Roman’s mind raced, trying to orient himself. The right side of his face throbbed, and the man’s fingernails dug into his cheek, keeping him from opening his mouth. They don’t know if I’m non-magical or not, he figured in the back of his mind. He’s keeping me from using witchtongue. Not that he would have used it, anyway. He’d only started learning more witchtongue from Amaryllis a week ago. Roman didn’t trust himself not to overdo it again if things got ugly.

“You know that isn’t how Kildev works,” Dossen sneered, retreating from his friend’s limp form and unsheathing two curved knives.

Linda’s flippancy wavered. “Kildev? Since when do you work for him?”

Dossen shrugged. “Since he pays more.”

Roman? Virgil’s voice filled his mind. What’s wrong? Where are you?

Linda’s. The man squeezed Roman’s arms to his sides with his legs. Roman’s breath picked up through his nose even as he fought for calm. He couldn’t afford to make a scene here. He just had to wait it out and hope, for their sakes, they didn’t attack him.

Roman felt scales. He shivered, cringing.

“Vero Kaia,” swore the one holding him down. “He’s one of the Chief’s runners.”

Dossen backed toward where Roman lay pinned, not taking his eyes off Linda or her hammer. “Looks like I’ve got a hostage, and a pricey one at that.” He pointed one of the knives at Roman.

“Leave him out of this.”

“Drop the hammer.”

Roman, I’m coming. I’m coming. Hold on.

Linda charged, and Dossen yelped, clearly expecting her to have hesitated with his new leverage. Against a hammer, his close-range knives were practically useless unless he threw them. And he did. Linda barely dodged the one soaring at her face, though it scored a nasty gash from her cheek to her ear.

The other sank hilt deep into Roman’s thigh. One last-ditch effort to pull the hostage card.

Roman!

The sudden pain tore through any semblance of control he had. Roman’s ears began to ring. The man atop him gasped and yanked his hand back, like he’d touched a hot stovetop. Roman surged upward, toppling the man backward. He pressed a hand against the man’s chest. Through the haze of pain, every defensive spell Amaryllis had taught him since they’d arrived fled his mind, and he growled the first thing he could think of.

“Baesta.”

A deafening crack split the air as the wooden floor beneath them buckled inward. Roman lurched forward, his hand slipping through the gaping hole in the man’s chest. He was dead instantly. Blood ran from his nose and eyes, like he’d imploded from the inside. Dossen was nowhere to be seen. Linda stood with her hammer held limply at her side.

“Mother of magic,” she breathed, staring at the horrendous sight. Roman pulled back, hand covered in gore. His glove was gone. Torn apart. What was the word for healing again? He couldn’t think straight. He was too tired and hungry.

Something shot through his connection to Virgil. A sudden, far away surge of power. Roman, what’s going on? Please, talk to me. I’m almost there.

Roman was somehow numb and barely holding it together at the same time. He couldn’t meet Linda’s eye as he extracted himself from the bloody corpse. “Isumani,” he whispered. Heal everything. Just make it all normal again.

Magic burst out of him, filling the room. The floor creaked and shuddered beneath them as it knit itself back together. Blood flowed back into the man’s body, the hole Roman had punched through him slowly healing. His own leg sewed itself shut, the knife clattering to the floor.

And it didn’t stop there.

The room began righting itself, shattered glass coming back together, frames rehanging themselves. Linda gave a surprised gasp as the gash on her face closed without leaving a trace.

The woman Linda had bashed in the head shuddered and stumbled to her feet, wound still healing. She took one look around the room and fled. Linda did nothing to stop her, staring in astonishment at the scene unfolding before her.

The man beneath Roman gasped back to life. He scrambled away, shoving Roman away. The stranger was too shocked to scream, but his eyes were full of fear. Roman let him leave, squeezing his eyes shut against the fresh memories of what he’d done. All the healing magic in the world couldn’t fix the lingering feeling of blood on his hands. The fear in their eyes.

I’m supposed to be their savior, he thought numbly.

“Roman. You can stop now,” Linda said, sounding like she was trying very hard to remain calm. Confused, he cracked his blurry eyes open to see leafy branches sprouting from the floorboards and poking through the paint on the walls. Healing magic still flowed through him like an open faucet. Strange golden light dappled the room, flickering across Linda’s face as she stared at him.

He looked down at his hands and yelped in surprise. Amber splotches of light moved across his skin like air bubbles underwater. Roman’s pulse thundered in his ears as he tried to brush the light off of him, but it just felt like his skin. The moving patches were warm and sent tingles up his fingers when he touched them. Was this some kind of magic sickness? The idea sent a stab of panic through him. He couldn’t handle one more thing to worry about. Running for Valerie, and performing for Bodbyn, and learning from Amaryllis, and keeping his identity secret, and saving all his friends, and defeating Ursula.

He was so tired.

A monstrous thud shook the roof, and Linda swore. The building creaked under a mysterious weight that moved down toward the door. Of course, Roman thought half-hysterically, grabbing his head. One more magical beast I’ve got to defeat.

An enormous feline head poked through the doorway—now nothing more than an archway of curved branches. Roman, Virgil asked, blinking amber eyes the size of dinner plates at him. Are you hurt?

Roman couldn’t form a coherent reply—vocal or mental. The branches grew thicker and longer, a multi-armed helix of trees reformed from planks of wood, a crown of greenery blossoming high above them. It all sprouted from where Roman knelt. The trees responded to his thoughts, and at that moment, there wasn’t anything Roman wanted more than for Virgil to be close to him. The opening widened, and Virgil padded past a dumbfounded Linda. Leaves sprouted from the handle of her hammer.

It’s okay, Roman. I’m here. You’re safe now. Virgil curled up around him. Roman clung to his fur, trembling.

“What’s happening to me?” he breathed, looking at the strange light taking over his body.

Your core’s showing. It’s totally normal, Roman. All witches have them. I’m in my core form right now, and I’m not too scary, right? he replied, a thunderous purr rumbling through him. Take some deep breaths for me, yeah? Everything’s going to be all right.

Roman took a shaky breath, burying his face in Virgil’s fur. He could feel Virgil’s underlying fear and worry, kept carefully in control so it didn’t freak Roman out more. It was nice, however, not having to be the mentally strong one this time.

“I can’t do it,” he whimpered.

Can’t do what?

“Everything.”

You’re right—and you shouldn’t have to. I keep forgetting that none of this is normal for you. I’m sorry. We’ll talk to Valerie and figure something else out, okay? Trust me.

Roman, finally, relaxed. The lights across his skin faded away, and the trees around them stopped growing. His stomach growled petulantly, and Virgil’s ears perked up.

Have you eaten, yet?

Roman shook his head, exhausted. He just wanted to sleep.

Roman, you need to eat something. Can you climb onto my back?

He swallowed back a sigh and clambered up onto Virgil’s back, grabbing loose fists of his thick fur to keep himself from falling off. Virgil stood and padded to the exit.

“Sorry about all of this,” he said as they passed Linda.

Having recovered from her initial shock, she just laughed. “Are you kidding? This’ll be great for my new business!” she said, gesturing to the massive tree around her. “Now I just have to figure out what that business will be…”

“Right,” Roman chuckled weakly, feeling scraped hollow. “Good luck, Linda.”

She gave him a nod, already surveying the interior, muttering to herself. Roman turned his attention to the street below and his heart sank.

A crowd had formed around the tree. People pointed up at them, most shouting in excitement and wonder, though a thick-armed tavern keep standing atop a root as thick as his own torso looked particularly upset about the impromptu redesign of his shop. What made him the most nervous were the undeniable mutterings of “heir of prophecy” he could hear even from this distance.

You going to be okay?

Roman took a deep breath. “I certainly hope so.”

The climb down wasn’t easy, and Roman had to cling to Virgil’s back to keep from falling as they scrambled down the trunk. People backed away, clearing a spot for Virgil to drop the rest of the way to the ground, landing nimbly without jostling Roman too much.

He craned his head back and marveled at his towering creation. “At least it’s pretty,” he muttered. The experience sure hadn’t been.

A deep growl from Virgil snapped his attention back to the crowd, who had inched closer, curious.

“Stay back,” he warned, voice gravely and inhuman—similar to Dorian’s. Roman hadn’t heard him speak like this since their fiasco in the basement with Remus. It was comforting and unsettling at the same time. Thankfully, the crowd didn’t push their luck, remaining where they were.

“Is it true?” a voice from the sea of faces called. “You’re the Last Heir of prophecy?”

“He’s too young,” another retorted.

Roman swallowed, his throat dry. “Um…”

“No, no, look at his hand!”

“The Star of Kaia!”

“I want to know who’s paying for damages,” the tavern keeper said, arms folded.

“Quiet!” Virgil said, fur bristling. Everyone’s eyes went wide, mouths shutting. “The Heir has arrived, and he is very tired. So help me, if any of you disturb him, you’ll be taking your questions up with Kaia herself in the afterworld. Am I understood?”

Most either nodded or looked away, terrified. Resigned as he was, Roman couldn’t help but feel for them. They were just curious. He doubted they meant any harm.

“I’m sorry,” he said, raising his voice so hopefully they could all hear him, “for any damage I’ve caused.”

“Sorry won’t fix my ruined business!” the tavern keeper shouted. Several witches shot him dirty looks. One even elbowed him and muttered something. “What?” he said, rounding on them. “I’m just supposed to grovel at his feet cause he ruined my livelihood in a flashy way?”

Roman was so tired he wasn’t sure if he would start laughing or burst into tears. He didn’t know what to do. He was this supernatural hero who could grow mystical trees without a second thought, but couldn’t for the life of him fix what he’d screwed up.

Virgil let out a low, warning noise, and the man paled.

“Oh, stop your whining, Galphin!” Linda shouted down from the tree hollow, brandishing her leafy hammer. “Cut out a new door, or something. This witch just made your tavern the hotspot of the Capital and you’re crying like a Brownie over tarnished silver. Get over yourself.”

Galphin spluttered, face flushing red. A few in the crowd let out soft laughter. “You’ve got no right—”

“In fact!” Linda said, that same grin spreading across her face. “I’m the reason Golden Boy was even here to begin with, so looks like you owe me for the renovation.”

“Owe you? This is ridiculous. I let you run your shady little business above my tavern, noke!”

Linda laughed. “Oh, please, don’t you know the best way to get what you want is to let the other person think they’re making the deal? Now, there’s going to be a steady interest on the property tax I’m issuing, so I suggest you get to work before I call the Guard for substantial debts taken without intent to pay.” She shot Roman a look and winked.

Roman nodded his thanks, patting Virgil on the shoulder. The familiar started away from the tree, the crowd silently parting around them. He noticed a few cheeks wet with tears, and Roman desperately hoped no one broke out into some kind of religious preaching. Thankfully, they all kept a respectful distance. Roman did his best to sit up straight, despite wanting to pass out, and even managed a weak smile.

An adolescent, perhaps fourteen, reached a tentative hand out, brushing Virgil’s leg with their fingertips as they passed. Virgil looked down at them, and they instantly retracted their hand.

Be nice, Roman admonished, scratching his fingers through the fur between Virgil’s shoulders.

I am being nice, he said, tail flicking. We can be a parade attraction some other time, though.

Agreed.

It was a long walk from Linda’s place to Valerie’s estate. Nearly across the entire city. Roman couldn’t guess the distance, but figured at the pace they were going, it’d be at least an hour before they arrived. Thankfully, it was late enough now that the streets were somewhat empty. Roman couldn’t imagine having to make this trek in the middle of a bustling market. While the crowd that had formed around the tree incident had indeed remained respectful and quiet, Virgil’s threats hadn’t kept them from trailing behind as they made their way through the city.

The ride wasn’t very comfortable either, despite the softness of Virgil’s fur. Felines weren’t exactly meant to ferry around passengers, no matter their size. The bumps of Virgil’s spine pressed uncomfortably against him, and despite the fact that he’d removed his messenger’s jacket and bundled it up into a makeshift cushion, Roman was sure he’d be regretting it in the morning with bruises in unsavory places.

Still, he silently enjoyed the distance it put between him and the people, and despite the aches, the gentle swaying motion as Virgil walked lulled him into a kind of half-awake daze.

You should try sleeping, Ro. It’ll be a while before we arrive, Virgil said, glancing over his shoulder at him.

Yeah, he said absently, but made no move to lay down. This form isn’t… hard for you to keep up, is it?

Witchgods, Roman, just let me take care of you, he laughed, exasperated. After a moment, however, he conceded, explaining, I could stay like this as long as I wanted. It’s the transformation itself that takes magical energy.

Right, Roman said. How’s it going with Amaryllis and your talisman? They worked on Virgil using his powers without the talisman while Roman was busy playing muhlte for patrons at Goldfire, so Roman rarely saw the training himself.

She says I’m making progress, he admitted after a pause.

Roman’s head bobbed as he struggled to stay awake. That’s good… I’m proud of you…

Virgil said nothing, plodding along at a steady, hypnotic pace. Roman slumped forward, which distributed his weight and relieved some of the pain from sitting up on Virgil’s back.

He let out a tired sigh, and, at last, let his mind slip into unconsciousness.

* * * * * * * * * *

Most of the crowd had dispersed when Virgil reached the edge of the West Market, the last few stragglers only trailing behind for a few minutes more as he followed the rail lines through the arcane district—the most direct path back to Valerie’s estate. The Djel Triba came into view, and Virgil felt a measure of relief. He’d kept his worries in check as well as he could manage, not wanting to wake Roman up. But walking alone through a potentially hostile city at night, despite his current size, was paranoia-inducing. The scuttle of various city-dwelling fae in the shadows kept him on edge.

We’ll be fine, Virgil, Amaryllis assured him for what felt like the hundredth time since they’d picked her up from Goldfire.

We don’t know how Valerie will react, he said. Some of the judges wanted to throw him in prison. What if what just happened convinces her they were right?

Something’s got to change, Virgil. Roman has to master these powers in three months, and we’ve only covered the basics of witchtongue in the past two weeks. I’m sure Valerie will understand.

What if she doesn’t?

What if she does? she countered. Virgil sighed, dropping the issue. Roman snored softly against his fur, completely asleep. He had to be careful not to shift his weight too much, or he’d risk Roman sliding off his back.

Passing the Djel Triba itself, they made their way down a long cobble drive that split off every half mile or so, sectioning off the different judge’s estates. Valerie’s was in the back, a stately building of skilled stone masonry with tall, well-lit windows. Not nearly as big as Virgil had anticipated.

The two guards stationed at the front door looked at each other, confused.

“You’re… the Heir’s familiar. Right?” one of them asked.

Virgil turned a bit, revealing the sleeping Roman. He didn’t like speaking aloud in this form unless he had to. Reminded him too much of Dorian.

The two guards stiffened.

“Is he injured?” the other asked, stepping forward.

No. Let us in, Virgil snapped in both of their minds. The two of them jumped, startled.

Amaryllis floated ahead of Virgil, shooting him a chastising look that he met with defiance. “He’s perfectly fine,” she amended. “Just asleep. However, we have some pressing matters to discuss with the Chief Judge, if you would be so kind as to escort us.”

These guards, thankfully, didn’t look at Amaryllis like she was the undead scum of the earth. One nodded to the other and led them inside. The doorway wasn’t quite big enough for Virgil, but he was agile enough to slink through without displacing his sleeping witch. They were handed off to one of the house staff, who bowed silently to them and guided them down the hall. The servant was a short woman—or, at least, she looked short from Virgil’s perspective. She kept shooting glances at Roman’s limp form. He followed her line of sight and found she was interested in the gold mark on Roman’s hand hanging over Virgil’s side.

So was everyone, it seemed.

Virgil kicked himself for not realizing how overtaxed Roman was getting earlier. They shared a mental link, for Witch Queen’s sake. He still wasn’t sure what exactly had happened at Linda’s. The echo of Roman’s pain he’d felt still haunted him. Whatever had occurred, Roman had erased with healing magic. Maybe once he was awake, Virgil could pry the story out of him.

They stopped outside another large pair of doors. The servant pressed a hand against a small panel in the wall inscribed with lines of alchemy, and it sunk inward about an inch. The massive doors swung open of their own accord, revealing a spacious, but noticeably empty, sitting room. The servant strode inside and squatted near a fireplace on the left side of the room. Muttering a soft, “Merint,” a fire burst to life from her fingertips.

She stood, facing them. “The Chief Judge is in her personal quarters at the moment. Please wait here while I inform her of your presence,” the woman said with another deep bow to both Virgil and Amaryllis before exiting.

Virgil ducked through the doorway, once again careful to keep Roman balanced across his back. Amaryllis trailed throughout the room, looking at the artwork on the walls. A row of tall windows lined the back wall, revealing a lush garden lit by amber lanterns. Virgil positioned himself between the sitting area and window, giving him a good view of the entire room—doors included. He slowly lowered onto his stomach, resting, but ready to get up and run if he had to.

Amaryllis looked over. “You know, he’d probably be more comfortable on one of the couches.”

He’s fine where he is.

She conceded with a shrug. Truth was, Virgil wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his anxiety in check if he didn’t have the comforting weight of his witch on his back, his soft puffs of breath across his fur, or the occasional shifting that reminded Virgil he was still alive and well.

His ears swiveled, picking up steady, clinking footsteps growing closer to the sitting room’s open doors. Valerie appeared in the doorway soon after, in her typical suit of scaled armor. Her smile disappeared when she saw Roman unconscious, and she stepped into the room.

“What happened?”

He’s just asleep.

She relaxed a bit, folding her arms. “While I’m glad to hear that, Virgil, it doesn’t answer my question.”

Virgil vacillated on how much to tell her. He still didn’t trust the woman, though he liked her more than the other judges. There was another incident. Similar to what happened with the Captain of the Guard when we arrived.

Valerie paled. “Is anyone injured?”

I don’t think so. I wasn’t with him when it happened, but if anything, he healed things a bit too much.

“What do you mean?”

I mean you’ve got a giant tree growing in the south end of the West Market, now.

“Oh, it’s gorgeous,” Amaryllis said. “I could see it from Goldfire.”

Valerie began pacing around the room. “As long as no one was injured… Wait, why weren’t you with him? Aren’t you two inseparable?”

Virgil’s tail whipped back and forth. That’s why we’re here. You realize you left us destitute, right?

She stopped, staring at him. “What? Did you not contact Bodbyn? She should have—”

She fulfilled her favor to you and let us use a room, but food was never a part of the deal. Virgil tensed, fighting to keep his anger in check in case he woke Roman. It wasn’t working very well. Roman wasn’t making any money from running for you, so he took out a loan to buy an instrument so he could work for one meal a day. I had to get a separate job just to help pay off his loan. That’s why I wasn’t with him.

“One meal a—why didn’t he tell me?” Valerie said, running a stressed hand through her hair. “I saw him every morning! I thought… I had no idea…”

He didn’t want to impose, Virgil sneered. And now, because he’s been so busy running all over the city for you, he’s wasted two weeks where he could have been learning to control his powers instead. You have no idea what’s at stake here.

Amaryllis came between them, holding out her hands. “That’s enough, Virgil. Valerie is aware of the situation now.” She turned to the Chief Judge. “We’ve come to rework the agreement. Roman needs time to study and practice using his powers, otherwise incidents are going to keep happening.”

“I agree. I’ll speak with the other judges. Hopefully, this won’t turn into another trial.” Valerie bowed her head in Virgil’s direction. “Regardless, I apologize for my ignorance, joka iskaia. It will not happen again.”

He nodded back to her, blinking slowly.

“I will have my staff prepare quarters for you immediately. You are welcome to the meals as they are served during the day—” she glanced at Roman—“but you may help yourself to our kitchen tonight, though the cook has retired for the evening. Myla, the woman who showed you here, will take you to your rooms once they are ready. Ask her for anything you may need.”

“Thank you,” Amaryllis said. “I’m sure Roman will thank you once he’s awake.”

Valerie shook her head. “He doesn’t need to. I’m simply doing what I should have from the beginning. Goodnight.” And with that, she departed.

Amaryllis turned to Virgil with a smile. “That went well!”

Yes, Virgil admitted. He may not trust Valerie yet, but this might have been the first step in the right direction they’d taken since arriving.

[lovemesomesurveys]

1 - What’s the biggest argument you’ve ever had with a family member? Did things ever go back to how they were beforehand? Thankfully, I’ve never had anything that serious happen.

2 - Have you ever experienced some kind of natural disaster? No, actually. 

3 - If you have pets, do you feed them human food or do they just get regular pet food? If they do get human food, what’s their favourite thing to have? She gets her dog food for her meals, but now and then we give her some safe-for-dogs fruits and veggies cause she loves ‘em. Her favorite is lettuce lol I think she likes the crunch. 

4 - Have you ever been in a physical fight? Who won? Nope.

5 - What were you lighting the last time you used a lighter or matches? I don’t mess with lighters or matches. Or fire. I’m a scardy cat.

6 - What’s the weather currently doing where you are? Currently, it’s 61 degrees F.

7 - The last time you got up from your seat, what did you go and do? I got up a bit ago to throw my food away from earlier.

8 - Name five things you’ve done so far today: Called my doctor, read, ate, checked my social medias, and currently I’m doing surveys.

9 - What’s the mode of transport that you take or use the most? Car.

10 - When was the last time you got caught in a rain or snow storm? Were you dressed for it or did you end up getting soaked? A few years ago my mom, aunt, a friend, and I went to this outdoor food festival and the weather decided to have a surprise downpour out of nowhere and we got absolutely soaked. It wasn’t supposed to rain that day, so the festival wasn’t prepared at all. All the various food carts and whatnot had to quickly try and pack up and yeah it was crazy. 

11 - Did your favourite Disney film come out before or after you were born? Two of them came out quite a bit before I was born and the other I was about 5 when it came out.

12 - Are you a fan of musicals? Some, yeah.

13 - What the last thing you spent money on apart from necessities? I just bought a couple Christmas face masks earlier.

14 - Are there any sequels to things that you prefer to the original? Hmm. I don’t think so. There are many sequels that I like, but I don’t think there’s any I like better than the original. 

15 - How often do you lose the remote control? I haven’t had that issue in a long time. It’s always just on my bed where it should be.

16 - When was the last time you had problems with your internet connection? It’s been awhile.

17 - What games do you play on your phone, if any at all? I haven’t played any in quite awhile, but I like murder mystery/hidden object games and word games.

18 - Aside from family, who was the last person you spent time with? How do you know that person? I haven’t spent time with anyone outside of family in years to be honest.

19 - Are you currently warm, cold or just right? I’m just right cause I’m currently wearing a sweatshirt and have a blanket wrapped around me with the fan on and it’s absolutely perfect. Even though it’s finally been cold here I still leave my fans on. It’s just the perfect condition for me.

20 - Do you prefer showers or baths? When was the last time you had either? I only take showers. I haven’t had a bath since I was a kid. 

21 - Do you spend a lot of money on your appearance? No.

22 - When was the last time you spent more than £100 on something? Was it a necessity like a bill, or a treat for yourself? I’ve started my Christmas shopping. 

23 - Would you rather swim in the sea, a lake or a pool? I don’t swim.

24 - Have you ever had a zoo keeper experience or anything where you’ve been able to go behind the scenes and look after/feed the animals? No. I got to feed a giraffe a couple times, though. It was something anyone visiting the zoo could do for a fee. Aww, being that close to one was awesome.

25 - Would you ever want the responsibility of being a politician or a similar position of power? Noooooo.

26 - How many times a week do you go to the grocery store? I personally haven’t been since March when the pandemic started. My mom does our major grocery shopping trips twice a month and makes a few smaller trips in between for things as needed.

27 - When was the last time you got a takeaway coffee or drink? This morning.

28 - Do you quote films or TV shows as you’re watching them? Sometimes, but I don’t sit there quoting the whole thing even though I could with some TV shows and movies cause that’d be super annoying. I might just quote the iconic lines now and then.

29 - What’s something your parents do that really annoys you? Sometimes they can be naggy, but it’s totally out of a place of love and concern and I know that. They just worry about me and want the best. I just get frustrated sometimes.

30 - If you had to quarantine for two weeks tomorrow due to testing positive to COVID, would you be able to survive on the things you had in your house? I might be able to. 

[thecoroutfitters]

Written by Pat Henry on The Prepper Journal.

With much of the U.S. finding itself in increasing lockdowns due to the Coronavirus and COVID-19, and many countries in a complete lockdown, we thought this article from 2014 would be worth re-publishing. We’re still seeing a lot of people who are ignoring basic self-distancing protocols and espousing a “government can’t tell me what to do.” I agree that government overreach has the real potential for getting bad, but voluntarily choosing to stay home or isolate is a much different scenario than the government imposing martial law. The first is OK, the second abhorrent. With food availability possibly becoming an issue, what we don’t want is the government to be another obstacle in our wish to survive. Be safe. Wash your hands. — Pat

The news has been almost completely focused on Ebola for the last couple of weeks and information outlets are pouring out details by the minute. This type of event is what the 24-Hour news cycle was created for and pundits on every side are breathlessly announcing news, interviewing witnesses and experts and showing hour after hour of footage of hospitals, people in yellow gowns, nitrile gloves and face-masks. It is enough to make a sane person crazy and it is a sober reminder to preppers everywhere that precautions for events like this are valid, prudent and perhaps in some of our cases, just in the nick of time.

Well, the Prepper Journal audience is full of sane people. I believe that most people who call themselves preppers are focused on taking simple logical steps to ensure the safety of their closest loved ones. It makes sense to pay attention to the news and shore up any supply needs that you might have. I believe it is very wise to keep an eye on the events in Dallas and elsewhere in the world in the event that this virus does grow outside of the limited scope that we have seen so far in the US at least.

When it is all said and done, this “outbreak” which isn’t really an outbreak at all here thankfully could end up disappearing from the news just as quickly as it came. Of course, it could also grow more serious. We aren’t clear exactly how Ebola is transmitted although very smart people are saying that it is hard to catch. So far, I am inclined to believe them only for the primary reason that we only have 3 cases at this time. Should that change I will be prepared to act and I am not going to relax simply because experts tell me not to be alarmed. I am not alarmed, but I am watching events closely as I am sure the rest of you are as well.

Self-Quarantine to reduce exposure risk

If Ebola does start to become a larger problem; if we begin to see a spike in cases, one possible option for limiting your exposure could be as simple as staying home.  Self-Quarantine is the practice of taking yourself out of the world so to speak to avoid contact with others completely. This is pretty much bugging in by definition. The NBC News crew that returned from reporting on Ebola had their cameraman test positive for Ebola so they agreed to Self Quarantine themselves to eliminate exposure to the public for the recommended incubation period of up to 21 days. In the case of Dr. Nancy Snyderman, this proved too long and soon they were caught out at a local restaurant which led to a huge public outcry and a weak apology from the doctor.

I won’t argue that staying in quarantine for up to 21 days would be very difficult, especially if you were alone, but if things do turn worse we might all be better off staying indoors. If Ebola cases increase substantially, we might not have a choice if Executive Order 13295 is put into action. 13295 allows for the “apprehension, detention, or conditional release of individuals to prevent the introduction, transmission, or spread of suspected communicable diseases.” Would you rather stay in your home and ride out the Ebola event or wherever the government wants to stick you? If you were faced with voluntary or involuntary quarantine to protect your family from Ebola, what would you need to consider?

Corona virus illustration

Infrastructure for Self Quarantine

Not surprisingly, the CDC website has a lot of information about quarantine mostly from the viewpoint of the SARS epidemic back in 2003, but I believe the concepts and topics are still just as relevant if your goal is to reduce or eliminate possible exposure to infected individuals. Major infrastructure considerations for self-quarantine are:

Communication Options – Telephone, cell phones, Ham Radio to keep in touch with others outside of your home. Shortwave radio is another good option assuming the regular lines of communication are down.

Electricity – In a grid up scenario this should be fine, but if the grid goes down, do you have enough electricity for up to 21 days of isolation?

Heat Source – Winter is approaching so a plan to keep warm is important. I have Kerosene Heaters and plenty of stored fuel but I would personally need to augment my supply for very cold conditions. Right now, cold isn’t a factor, but 21 days without power in January would be tougher.

Potable Water – A core element of any prepper supply list is to have water on hand. Enough water for one gallon per person per day. If you have a family of 4 and are forced into quarantine from Ebola for 21 days that would be 84 gallons of water at a minimum.

Waste and Sanitation – As long as the utilities are functioning this shouldn’t be a problem, but if the crisis explodes (no pun intended) you may not have city water to fill the toilets so alternate accommodations would need to be made. Grid down sanitation options are one possibility but would require you to go outside if the water and sewer lines were out of commission.

Food – Do you have enough food to last for 21 days for your entire family? Again, with society still functioning I guess you could have neighbors bring food over but you wouldn’t want to be going to the grocery store.

Entertainment – 21 days in your home is a long time. 21 days cooped up with your family is an eternity in the most easy going and loving homes. You should have a plan to counter boredom if you want to preserve your sanity along with your health.

Accommodations for Self Quarantine

If you are limiting your exposure as a family unit and by that I mean if everyone in your family is together in this then you can go on living (with certain exceptions) as you were although you wouldn’t be going outside. Would you stop your mail or risk exposure by touching something that another individual had contacted?

I am sure that it depends somewhat on the nature of any potential Ebola outbreak. It could be that the current convention that you must come in contact with bodily fluids from infected people in order to contract the disease holds. If that were the case, you could probably safely move about your yard, but quarantine does mean your trips to the malls, movie theaters, school events, plays, sporting events, hospital visits to sick friends would all be out of the question.

Could you work from home? – In today’s environment there are many of us who could work from home full time. As long as I had internet, power and a cell phone I could work anywhere in the world. Online meetings will probably be more common if travel is restricted during any outbreak. Actually, that would be fine with me too as the last place I would want to be during any kind of disease outbreak is at an airport or any place away from home really.

Could your children do schoolwork at home? – This would be tough for some but I imagine that a lot of schools would have to offer concessions in the case of quarantine. Certainly if the government locked everything down schools would either forgive homework or lean on online systems that are largely in place already. We still have one child that is home-schooled so she wouldn’t get out of anything, but another already gets her assignments online so staying out wouldn’t be a huge burden.

How would you pay your bills? – As long as we have money in the accounts, almost all of our bills except my weekly tithe are done electronically. If that goes down we have bigger problems.

Provided you had running water, power and a job that would allow you to stay home you should only need food to survive outside of climatic extremes. Take all of that away though and your self-imposed quarantine could still save your life, but it would be much harder. Again this assumes that Ebola will always and only be passed from bodily fluids. In this case self-quarantine to reduce exposure should be doable for most people with even basic preparations. Let’s hope we don’t see anything worse.

The post What is Your Self-Quarantine Plan? appeared first on The Prepper Journal.

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