#rosary relay

[myhairfeelsnice]

Am I the asshole for leaving the house when a friend said she’d come over to shoot me for a project but was 3 and a half hours late … and I texted her that I wasn’t waiting anymore and that I had shit to do … sometimes I wish I could just text my therapist and verify quickly that I’m not a terrible and evil person. I also lied I left the house to pick up parcels which I actually did have one to pick up but the point relays are closed and then I lied I was heading to the library but instead I had to go to the church nearby so I could cry because I feel an insane mental buildup of small things that have hurt me and that I am teetering on the edge of a psychotic break and I can’t cry with my housemate at home nor is there anywhere else quiet near me. It’s almost easier to cry in a church because I think of how when I was very little I tried so hard, against my parents super atheist point of view, to believe in a god that would save me from everything that was happening to me at that age and no one saved me except myself ! I remember I would use my mums old rosary beads from when she was a little girl and would pray every day and cry to be helped. Oh well

[sorendeimos]

Forgive Me Father

A little random idea of Severus returning to church after learning of the prophecy and being failed by not only two masters but a third.

The war was well underway when he heard the prophecy. It was hearing it, then relaying it, that made him switch sides. He heard the words spoken in that droning rasp, and something began to shift in his mind. Not fast enough to stop him, no mercy wasn’t that swift, but enough so that when he knelt at the feet of a false god, Severus felt fear and shame trickle down his spine. As realization struck, he knew he had to run, knew he had to save Her, had to save Them. He fled. He ran to their leader, begging for help, for absolution, for mercy for Them if not for himself, and he found false hope. He turned to the light as a spy. He reoriented himself as a man of faith, believing this double life would be penance enough for his sin. He was wrong. ---- ‘I have coveted, I have yearned, I have lied…’ He took a shaky breath, calloused hands gripping tighter to the rosary beads between his clasped palms. ‘I have killed, I have hurt, I have tainted. All in your name, which I thought right and just… I see now how I was wrong.’ The beads in his hands swayed slightly with his trembling, the effects of the curse still electrifying and tensing his muscles down to the bone and licking white-hot pain across his nerves. This was divine retribution, he knew that, so he made no sound of protest. The beads in his hands swayed slightly with his trembling, the effects of the curse still electrifying and tensing his muscles down to the bone and licking white-hot pain across his nerves. This was divine retribution, he knew that, so he made no sound of protest. ‘I beseech you, o Father, show Me the ways in which I may atone My sins and regain a place at your side…’ Severus felt a bead of sweat trail down his spine, leaving a chill to dance along in its wake. His robes were caked in blood and dirt. His face turned up to the window. His cheeks bore tear tracks cutting through dirt and ash. He was a mess, kneeling before the stained-glass that shone down on him in a vicious mockery of hope, of forgiveness. His collar, pristine hours ago now was stained. ‘Please… I’ll do anything… just show Me the path…’ He sat there for what felt like forever and no time at all before a wail brought him out of his thoughts. A cry that was trapped in his skull. ‘Severus you have to take him…’ ‘How can I when I’m the one that caused his cries?’ ‘Because She would want you to.’ He let out a sob, his head dropping again before he lifted his hands, unsure when they’d fallen to his lap and ran them over his face, then stood. ‘He will be safe with Us. You’ll be coming too. We both have sins to answer for, wolf.’ ‘We have much to atone for.’

[orthodoxadventure]

Howdy, hope you are well!

Why Orthodoxy? I don't know very much about Orthodox Christians.

Have a blessed day!

Sorry it took so long to get to your message! And apologies in advance if the following is a bit rambly or unclear. I struggle a lot with being concise.

Largely what put me off of Orthodoxy when I was enquiring into Catholicism, was that at least in Scotland, the Orthodox Churches here primarily conduct their Liturgies in languages other than English. It felt like they were primarily orientated at serving local Romanian or Greek or Russian immigrants, and didn't seek to expand those demographics. Which was fair. But at the same time, this put me at odds with what I felt was the universal (or, Catholic) message of what Christianity was. By and large, this was my own failing to conduct proper research. Don't get me wrong, at the time there was also logistical issues. When I was looking at converting into Christianity in general, I was in London for university. Which is a huge city with a range of Churches that serves various Christian communities. Whereas back at my tiny town in Scotland, there were only Protestant and Catholic Churches. The nearest Orthodox Church just simply wasn't commutable by public transport and I don't drive.

I was (and still am) very new to exploring Orthodox Christianity. A lot of my initial exposure to Orthodox Christians online, were largely negative experiences. Which I strongly don't recommend using as your basis of whether a faith is true or not, but they were my only real exposure to Orthodox Christians and I think their overzealousness perhaps muddied their intentions and the faith they were trying to relay to others.

I'm saying these things, because originally I was brought up in an atheist household. I converted to Catholicism in 2018/2019. I made that choice of Orthodoxy or Catholicism then, and it's something I'm returning to now. My initial exploration of Orthodoxy was admittedly extremely poor on my part. I let anxieties of bothering these people steer me away from really exploring it. And because I was learning about Catholicism, this naturally brought in a lot of misconceptions that some Catholics have about Orthodox Christians and I took these things more or less at face value. I was a very different person then in terms of how I approached educating myself. I was at a very vulnerable point in my life with regards to having extremely poor mental health issues and having no support network. I was desperate for community and a relationship with God. The English speaking Catholic Church nearby was therefore a much less daunting and accessible community for me. It was a lot easier for me to integrate.

I also have a lot of love and respect for the Blessed Virgin Mary, and with regards to Marian Dogmas put forth by the Catholic Church largely just took the position of "Well these are just so obviously true, how can the Orthodox say otherwise?" While never actually being brave enough to actually give much exploration into what the Orthodox positions on the Blessed Virgin Mary actually was. I was very caught up in the anxiety that I would learn the wrong thing, and by doing so offend her and by extension God. Over a period of time, I would learn again and again, through various accidental means that some of my misconceptions about Orthodoxy were simply that - misconceptions.

Something that I hold very closely to my heart was praying the Rosary after an extremely traumatic life event happened (or trying, I was mostly just crying and shaking). And I remember just feeling enveloped in the smell of roses. It was something so deeply warm and comforting. That whenever I smell roses, I always think of that singular event. For a long time I have prayed for her to be like a Mother to me, and to continually bring me back to her Son.

One of my other prayers that I held so dearly to while converting to Catholicism was praying that God would bring me to Him. And that if I ever strayed that He would guide me back. Over time, my exposure to Orthodoxy became something akin to being in a maze. No matter which way I took a path in life, re-treading old ground or exploring new ones, I felt like I was continually being brought back to the topic of the Orthodox Church.

You arouse us so that praising you may bring us joy, because you have made us and drawn us to yourself, and our heart is restless until it rests in you. - St. Augustine

I'm in a city now where there is an English Liturgy offered, and the Romanian Priest that offers the Liturgy in Romanian is also extremely warm and welcoming - even going so far to get a translator for the sermon and conducting various parts of the Liturgy in English. For the Lord's Prayer, people from each community take turns in praying it out loud. Hearing the Lord's prayer in various languages that have come together under one roof to praise God is a lot more universal and welcoming than I initially thought or even knew about.

In some sense, I feel like a lot of the readings I was doing particularly around the Church Fathers and the early Church, pulled me towards Orthodoxy. And I'm in a much better position to be more open to exploring those things, and challenging my own misconceptions that I had about Orthodoxy. It was never a case of me waking up one day and deciding I didn't like the Pope or some other part of the Catholic Church. It was something I loved, and love, dearly. It was heartbreaking to feel the pull towards Orthodoxy, and it still is in a lot of ways. But I have to be understanding and open to the way that God leads me in my life. And this is the way I feel like I'm being led. And I'm in a much better position to explore that now.

Something you might find useful / interesting, if you don't have much exposure to Orthodox Christianity would be the following:

https://www.saintjohnchurch.org/differences-between-orthodox-and-catholic/

https://www.saintjohnchurch.org/teachings-orthodox-church/

Kallistos Ware also has two books: The Orthodox Church, and the Orthodox Way. Both of which are usually recommended to both inquiries and Catechumens.

[firstaidspray]

tell me about reverie! what does she love, what does she hate? what are her pet peeves? what type of company does she like to keep?

REVERIEEEEEE YAYYY YIPEEEE

- Reverie loves her job as a nurse, she loves surgery, it's her calling!! Was being a con artist "faith healer" fun? Of course, but she was doing it bc she had no self worth and was taking it out on others. Anyways besides that!! She loves angels, all things angelic themed, little statuettes, Angelgotchi tamagotchis, all things like that!! As well as crosses and rosaries despite not being religious. She also loves the ocean and mermaid themed things and collecting seashells. And she looooves sparkles!!! Glittering objects must be glued down or they are hers now!!! Her favorite colors are pastels of any kind but mostly blue.

- She hates (white) Christianity and that's part of what drove her into her scam artist ways, see she used to pretend to "talk to angels" and then relay the messages to her customers even though she just made up complete bullshit and/or used simple psychology from her nursing textbooks. This was her job for a while, as an "Angel of Mercy." She quit it to be a nurse once she actually realized some things about herself and became more positive towards her self worth. But she still hates Christianity and this is one thing she truly bonds with House over LMFAOOO. Reverie also hates, rather hypocritical, liars. It's a lot of qualities in herself that she hates in others- do as I say not as I do, or whatever. She also hates doing any kind of nursing that isn't as a surgical assistant- clinicals in the nursing home made her want to end it all. She hates losing patients, obviously.

- Pet peeves are quite a long list. Liars, as I said. People who try to convert others to religions. Unclean people, like WASH YOUR FUCKIN HANDS. Lots of sensory things (she's our autistic aussie angel 🩵). People who treat her like she's stupid. Australian joke stereotypes.

- Reverie will be friends with pretty much anyone unless they give her a reason to be annoyed with them. Like for example she's friends with all of House's team and him as well as Wilson and Cuddy. Chase is obviously the special case bc they get romantically involved. She likes smart, witty people who have a sense of humor, and a majority of the team is this. I have a chart of her relationships with each character but it's long and rambling so I won't add it lol.

[thewahookid]

Marija greets Our Lady!

January 4, 2024

Dear Family of Mary!

My heart keeps returning to the wonderful experience we all had on New Year's Day! On that day , thousands of people joined the visionary Marija on Apparition Hill at 3:00 pm to pray. They were responding to Our Lady's request to meet there to pray for her intentions. Marija had relayed that request to everyone present after her apparition on December 31, 2023. She said that Our Lady requested that all would climb Apparition Hill on January 1, 2024, at 3:00 pm, to pray for three hours for her intentions! This was a big request!

When our team heard this announcement, we immediately asked Marija if Mary TV could stream the prayer time live, on Mary TV! She said, "Yes!" That was all it took! Our wonderful crew immediately organized three cameras, and all the streaming equipment needed to go live from Apparition Hill on Mary TV the next day!

So at 3:00 pm, January 1, 2024, the live-stream of the prayer gathering appeared on our Channel on Marytv.tv! Little did we know what the next three hours would contain! Those who were connected by our live stream joined the thousands of pilgrims and villagers who had gathered on Apparition Hill. It was a sea of people!! A beautiful music ministry had assembled by the statue of Our Lady. And Marija was leading us all in prayer!

We began with the Joyful Mysteries. Between each decade, we would sing with all our hearts to Our Lady! It was glorious! This rhythm would continue with all 4 sets of mysteries of the Rosary. But very soon after we started to pray, it began to rain. The forecast did not show rain, but there was rain, and lots of it!! Umbrellas went up, but no one left! You could see the people firmly resolved to stay in place, and pray with Our Lady for her intentions. It was a beautiful demonstration of trust and commitment to Jesus and Mary that day!

The first hour passed, and no one budged. The rain fell in torrents. But love is stronger than rain! The second hour passed, and everyone was still in place!! Love never gives up! The third hour came, and it was time for Our Lady to appear (5:40 pm). Just before Marija stood up for the apparition, the rain stopped. Our Lady came, and Marija had a lengthy conversation with her, as all on the hill waited in silence and joy, gazing at Marija! It seemed as if time had stopped!

Finally, Marija looked up into the heavens and then closed her eyes. Our Lady had gone back to Heaven. Everyone waited with anticipation to hear what Our Lady had said to us. Here is what Marija relayed to us:

"During the moment of the apparition, Our Lady came joyfully! She prayed over us!. And at the end, she said, 'Thank you for having responded to my call and for praying for my intentions. You will not regret it, neither you, nor your children, nor your children’s children.' And she blessed us all.” (January 1, 2024 Marija)

We all felt the impact of those words. Our Lady thanked us for responding to her call!! She had asked for 3 hours of prayer, and we had responded!! Thousands in Medjugorje, and thousands more all over the world! And our gift of prayer had been accepted! Marija told us that God's blessing would not only fall on us, but on our children and even our grandchildren! This was good news! We have a future!!!

Below is the link to the prayer session with Marija on Apparition Hill on January 2, 2024. It believe something wonderful happened that wet and wonderful afternoon. We will see, won't we!!

Here is the link:

https://marytv.tv/marijas-apparitions/?smid=O7FLA2sDOqn&slid=9D8LTQ8sm0U

I believe Our Lady was showing us that we have a future!! We have hope!! God is faithful!! It reminds me of a message we received several years ago. I leave you with that message. Be encouraged!! Be pumped!!! The future is God's!!!

March 25, 2021 "Dear children! Also, today I am with you to tell you: Little children, he who prays does not fear the future and does not lose hope. You are chosen to carry joy and peace, because you are mine. I have come here with the name 'Queen of Peace' because the devil wants peacelessness and war, he wants to fill your heart with fear of the future - but the future is God's. That is why, be humble and pray, and surrender everything into the hands of the Most High Who created you. Thank you for having responded to my call."

In Jesus, Mary and Joseph!

Cathy Nolan

(c) Mary TV 2024

Mary TV. Inc. | www.marytv.tv

[koko-mochi]

Sister Kokora's Peace

My shoulders ache as I plunge the armful of linen into the washbasin again, scrubbing the seams and creases to remove any lingering dirt. Prioress Martella is strict about the care of our habits: no dirt, no wrinkles, painstakingly washed once per week or whenever they became dirty. Usually, it is the "whenever they became dirty" option, especially for those sisters--like myself--who tend to the abbey's gardens. I tilt my head, working out the stiffness in my neck as I scrub the linen on the washboard.

"Sister Kokora," a voice calls out behind me, "there you are. Your size makes you easy to overlook, it would seem." Sister Kirye jogs towards me, plopping herself down on one of the stools in front of the stone washbasin. A chubby, cheerful miqo'te, formerly of the T tribe, Kirye purses her lips as she watches me work.

"Sister," I nod to her, continuing my scrubbing. The sun is high overhead, glittering through the boughs of the tall trees. The Abbey of Saint Allene of the Summer Fields was built deep within the Black Shroud, isolated by virtue of it's lack of proximity to major forest paths, and granted the protection of the Elementals. Protection that has, worryingly, waned since the Seventh Umbral Calamity.

Kirye sticks a finger inside her wimple to let some air inside, stuttering as she continues. "P-Prioress Martella s-sent me for you," she says. "She noticed you were absent from morning prayers, I think."

I sigh. "She can wait until I'm done cleaning my habit." I scrub harder, to emphasize my point.

"She said she wants to see you now."

"And I said it can wait," I shrug, "Seriously, Sister Kirye, you don't need to let her walk all over you like you do."

She is quiet for a few minutes as I work. Out of the corner of my eye I see her fidgeting with her rosary. "Sister Kokora?" she says quietly, even fearfully, "Did you hear about the Hearer who came to see Prioress Martella the other day?"

"What? No? Is that the rumor that has everyone in a fit?" I scoff. Rumors are an inevitable part of monastic life, but not a part I am particularly fond of.

"Apparently Sister Farron overheard something about another Calamity," she continues, hushed, "she said she heard the Hearer say something about 'Final Days,' whatever that means."

I chew on my lip. The rumor sounds completely outlandish, but then again, the Fane did send a Hearer to speak with the Prioress. That certainly counts for something. "Well," I start, choosing my words carefully, "I'm sure that if it's something that important, Prioress Martella will relay the message to us herself." I begin wringing out the linen, checking for any lingering stains, before hanging it on a clothesline in the dappled sunlight.

She sighs, slumping her shoulders. "You're no fun," she grumbles.

"I didn't enter the convent because I thought it would be fun, Sister."

"Right," she mutters, "Self-sacrifice, honoring the Saint, and all that." She quirks an eyebrow, remembering something as I finish hanging my laundry on the clothesline and hop down from the stepladder to face her. "So why were you absent from morning prayers today?"

My demeanor shifts, and I speak quietly. "I encountered a monster while out foraging for mushrooms this morning," I say, "Something I had never seen before. It may have crawled forth from some Amdapor ruins. With the Elementals' protection so weak in recent years..." I trail off. "Needless to say, I had to hide out of sight and let this monster pass, so I was delayed."

"By the Twelve! An Amdapori monster?" Her eyes go wide. "Koko, I'm so glad you're okay."

I wave a hand dismissively in response to the use of my nickname. "I'm fine, and I found some morels while I was foraging. Sister Constance will be able to make a real treat for our dinner tonight."

I swear I can see Kirye salivating. "Morels!" she claps her hands, delighted.

I can't help but smile. I love seeing Kirye happy. I roll my shoulders. "Now that I have given you something to look forward to, I suppose it's time to see what punishment Prioress Martella has in store for me." I exhale, then I put a hand over my heart. "Twelve's blessings be with you, Sister Kirye."

She grins. "And also with you, Sister Kokora."

[andwiththyspirit]

Pray the Rosary with the Anglican Shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham

The above link will take you to the LiveStream page for the Shrine.

Time Difference: 6 pm BST at the Shrine is anywhere from 9 in the morning to noon in most of the Americas, so the videos of their Shrine Prayers are very useful for us.

Text: Scroll down near the bottom quarter of the page and take a moment to download the Shrine Prayers Order of Service for Easter to Pentecost PDF file. The Shrine's Use has slightly different wording to familiar liturgical texts.

Nota Bene: While the Anglican Shrine uses Pope John Paul II's suggested option of the Luminous Mysteries on Thursdays, the Fátima Prayer (from a Marian vision in the early 20th century) is not used in the praying of the Rosary there.

For the month of May: If you would like to include the special intention for the day at the Marian Shrine of the day along with Pope Francis' Rosary Marathon, please see the pinned post at the top of this tumblr oratory's main page

[noxtivagus]

it's nearly 4:30 n i still can't sleep

[acatholicjourney]

Please pray for me

I have been in a state of mortal sin. Planned to wake up early, go to church, and confess, but I did not. I had time to make it to a later service, but simply chose not to go

I don’t know why I’m becoming more apathetic, but I don’t like it. I used to never miss a service, go to confession more than once a week, say a rosary and divine mercy chaplet every day. I’ve been neglecting all that

My name is David, please keep me in your prayers

Of course! I will pray for you.

I know how you feel. Sometimes it’s hard to get out of our mortal sins. We feel like we messed up, and God won’t forgive us for it. Then everything feels like you’re just “going through the motions” of going to Mass, praying, etc. So you start to feel like what’s the point. These are all lies of the Evil One. God will forgive you. God loves you. Even if you don’t feel connected to Him right now. I know all of this all too well as I have struggled A LOT with this the last few weeks. But something my confessor told me was that sometimes God allows us to hit our rock bottom to show us we are relaying too much on ourselves, and not enough on Him. Praying you get to confession soon, David.

[apenitentialprayer]

The “prayer marathon” that Pope Francis will kick off on May 1 will stretch around the globe during the Marian month of May.

The intention for the daily Rosary, to be led by a different shrine each day, is the end of the pandemic. Specific intentions related to the pandemic will also be included. The Rosary will be broadcast each evening at 6 pm Rome time (12 EST). [...] +++ Rosary Marathon Calendar: May 1: Saint Peter’s (Vatican): Prayer for wounded humanity led by the Pope. May 1: Our Lady of Walsingham (England): Prayer for the deceased. May 2: Jesus the Savior and Mother Mary Sanctuary (Nigeria): Prayer for those who could not say goodbye to their loved ones. May 3: Czestochowa Shrine (Poland): Prayer for the sick. May 4: Basilica of the Annunciation (Holy Land): Prayer for pregnant women. May 5: Sanctuary of Our Lady of the Rosary (South Korea): Prayer for children and adolescents. May 6: Our Lady of Aparecida (Brazil): Prayer for young people. May 7: National Shrine of Our Lady of Peace and Good Voyage, also known as the Antipolo Cathedral (Philippines): Prayer for families. May 8: Our Lady of Luján (Argentina): Prayer for people involved in communication. May 9: Our Lady of Loreto (Italy): Prayer for the elderly. May 10: Our Lady of Knock (Ireland): Prayer for people with disabilities. May 11: Notre-Dame de Banneux (Belgium): Prayer for the poor and people in economic difficulty. May 12: Notre-Dame d’Afrique (Algeria): Prayer for lonely people who have lost hope. May 13: Shrine of the Blessed Virgin of the Holy Rosary (Portugal): Prayer for prisoners. May 14: Our Lady of Health (India): Prayer for scientists and medical research institutes. May 15: Mary Queen of Peace (Bosnia and Herzegovina): Prayer for migrants. May 16: St. Mary’s Cathedral (Sydney, Australia): Prayer for victims of violence and trafficking. May 17: Basilica of the Immaculate Conception (Washington, D.C., United States): Prayer for those responsible for international organizations. May 18: Notre-Dame de Lourdes (Paris, France): Prayer for nurses and doctors. May 19: Shrine of the House of the Virgin (Meryem Ana, Turkey): Prayer for people at war and peace in the world. May 20: Our Lady of Charity of Cobre (Cuba): Prayer for pharmacists and health personnel. May 21: Our Lady of Nagasaki (Japan): Prayer for social workers. May 22: Our Lady of Montserrat (Spain): Prayer for volunteers. May 23: Our Lady of the Cape (Canada): Prayer for law enforcement, military and firefighters. May 24: To be determined: Prayer for those who guarantee essential services May 25: Ta’Pinu National Shrine (Malta): Prayer for teachers, students, and educators. May 26: Shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe (Mexico): Prayer for workers and entrepreneurs. May 27: Mother of God Pochaevskaya (Urkraine): Prayer for unemployed people. May 28: Shrine of Our Lady of Altötting (Germany): Prayer for bishops, priests and deacons. May 29: Our Lady of Lebanon (Lebanon) Prayer for consecrated persons. May 30: Virgin of the Holy Rosary of Pompei (Italy): Prayer for the Church. May 31: Vatican Gardens (Vatican): Prayer for the end of the pandemic and the return to work.

[tarhalindur]

Rebellion’s Biggest Outstanding Question

(Big fat PMMM+Rebellion spoilers under the cut, natch:)

Homura, at the end of Rebellion, believes that she is rebelling against Madoka’s will.  But is she actually doing so?  Or is she acting in accordance with it?

Let me explain.

I’ll start with the point I’m sold on either way (and have commented on at least twice before, including my explanation of Madoka’s other big mistake): Rebellion is directly downstream of Madoka making a single mistake immediately after her ascension in episode 12, a moment when she could not afford to make any mistake at all.  Much like Madoka’s other big mistake in episode 10, this one is not obvious on the surface and only becomes clear when looking at the events through a symbolic lens.

Specifically, a Buddhist symbolic lens.

I’ll leave the full explanation there to this post, which lays out the Buddhist influence on base PMMM’s themes and imagery and on Madokami’s ascension better than I could.  (Although its author is missing a few points.  First, the shot of Madoka expanding to galaxy size is DIRECTLY out of ego death symbolism.  Which makes sense, because there’s enough accounts to suggest that regardless of whether or not it has any deeper meaning beyond brain chemistry the people who’ve had it are describing a single class of subjective experience, and “one’s consciousness expanding to the size of the galaxy” seems to be a common feature of it - I’ve read at least one account of that kind of experience from, of all people, a random Protestant minister who claims to have had such an experience on a vision trip to the Amazon and only later realized that there was precedent for that kind of experience in Buddhist traditions, and he mentions that exact expansion as part of what he went through.  Second, the flower on Madoka’s bow is a rose, not a willow... which makes sense, because “Guanyin/Kannon and the Virgin Mary are two aspects of the same goddess” has been a theory in certain parts for at least a century, and the rose has a traditional association with the latter goddess - there’s a reason they call it the rosary, after all.  (I’ve seen speculation out of a few polytheist/less orthodox Christian circles I keep tabs on that Pistis Sophia is yet another aspect of the same goddess, too...)  Third, note all the mandala symbolism floating around - most obviously Walpurgisnacht’s appearance and Kyubey’s exposition in episode 11.)

And that influence is important here, because part of the process of the escape from samsara is the breaking of all karmic ties to the world.

Except... Madoka does not do this.  She leaves one karmic tie behind.

This one, to be precise:

Now, in theory it’s possible that the tainted miracle of Homura remembering Madoka has another root.  But I have my doubts, and the biggest piece of evidence there is the OST: the track that plays when Homura meets Junko in the finale and offers to give up the ribbons is named Taenia Memoriae, aka “the ribbon of memories”.  HMM,

(That Junko scene is in this regards the single most enigmatic scene of the main series finale to me.  My instinct is that it’s drawing off of Christian mythos again, either canonical or Gnostic, but I can’t quite place what piece; I kind of want to compare it specifically to the Denial of Peter.)

Now, there’s two other pieces here that are worth noting.

1) While Homulilly is described as the Nutcracker Witch in Rebellion, Homulilly’s name and Witch card are first revealed in the PSP game, and there she goes by a rather different epithet: Witch of the Mortal World, nature is karma.  Which is rather on the nose (the Mortal World [shigan] being another term for samsara), but then that’s probably by design - main series PMMM is not subtle at all when it wants to make a point.  And it is this epithet, not the Nutcracker Witch, that the Doppel versions of Homulilly in MagiReco draw off of, which suggests the staff considered it important.  (There’s a second distinction in the latter, because Moemura’s version of the Doppel implies that Homulilly’s nature was originally slightly different again - Witch of the Mortal World, nature is closed circuits - but I think for our purposes here this is a difference without true distinction, much like the Witch of the Near Shore pun for swimsuit!Moemura’s version of Homulilly.)  And there’s echoes of this even in Rebellion: the Clara Dolls are of course referred to as the Children of the Mortal World, plus of course the obvious “Homulilly’s Rebellion barrier as the Mortal World” take.  (Which, hmm.  Hello second-order symbolism - Homura failing to “break out of the egg” as failure to escape the cycle of samsara.)

2) The red ribbons of course suggest a very specific form of karmic tie - the Red String of Fate.  And you can be very, very sure that the staff intended that, too.  To drag a certain piece of key animation back out from storage:

While it’s hard to tell at this size, it sure looks to my eyes like the two ends are specifically tied around the girls’ pinkies.  You know, exactly where the proverbial Red String is said to be tied.

Or, to put it another way: AI YO.

Everything in Rebellion is downstream of this.

But all this is prologue.  Now that we have established the mistake, we can address the actual outstanding question: Did Madoka intend to make that mistake?  People have noted the applicability of Junko’s comments about intentionally making a big mistake when backed into a corner to Homura’s actions in Rebellion; do they also apply to the action Madoka took that led to that?

I am not sure.  Both cases are consistent, and I’d put about even odds either way.  But it’s the affirmative case I want to lay out here, to show that it does in fact exist:

- Let’s start with the one point someone else might bring up that I don’t really weight: Madoka’s final conversation with Homura in the flower bed.  This one, I think, can mostly be discarded.  We have word from both Kyubey and Sayaka that Madoka does not have her memories here; I can’t see both of them lying here.  (Also remember that Kyubey seems to have restriction that is sometimes said to apply to demons, at least under certain circumstances: he cannot directly tell a lie.  This is of course a very different thing from having to tell the truth, as episode 9 alone is enough to attest, but in this specific case it’s a boost to his credibility.)  If there’s an actual argument here, it’s a second-order one; it is possible, especially given her divine abilities, that Madokami was running a Xanatos Gambit and counting on her amnesiac projection to unwittingly relay her true feelings.  (In which case I would have to grab a certain infamous line from another well-known anime: “Just as planned”.)

- That one shot of Madokami’s gloved, scarred arm reaching down through the window to touch Homura.  Operative word scarred.  (And honestly, looking at one of the subs for that scene again Madoka’s comments there look potentially consistent with her actually supporting of or at least accepting Homura becoming a demon...)

- Mata Ashita, specifically the lyrics thereof.  With the perspective of the full series, Madoka’s character song is fairly clearly from the perspective of Madokami, and it’s suggestive that she is not entirely happy with the results of her wish and ascension.

- The fact that Rebellion happened at all.  There’s a complaint that I’ve seen regarding the mechanics of the Incubators’ plot in Rebellion: logically, by the wording of Madoka’s final wish the Incubators’ plan to use the Isolation Field to block the Law of Cycles should not work, since part of Madoka’s wish was to rewrite any rule or law that would prevent her from destroying Witches with her own hands, including the one the Incubators set up with their Isolation Field - doubly so if you take Madokami’s statement can see every world that ever existed or could ever exist and apply it to the Sealed Reality the experiment generates.  Except... there is one way that argument fails, regardless of anything else: namely, if Madoka saw what the Incubators were doing and intentionally allowed their experiment to proceed.  And at this point there is precedent for her doing something very similar; AIUI in her Magical Girl Story in MagiReco Madokami does something very similar wrt the MagiReco timeline, deliberately declining to destroy it despite its continued existence conflicting with the Law of Cycles.

(- Magia.  This point of argument I’m not convinced of either, but let’s lay it out.  (Honestly, even if I’m right I’m not sure how much of this was consciously intended, but creations can have a life of their own - especially creations where fucking natural disasters delay them so that they’re released on the most appropriate day possible!)  There’s two pieces to this, one I’m more sure of than the other:

1) The visuals.  Here’s the spot where I feel most solid about interpreting Magia: the ED visuals are clearly a reference to Madokami’s ascension.  (The show loves hiding that sort of foreshadowing in plain sight, why would you be surprised?)  Note the second half particularly, both Madoka’s hair lengthening and the starfield she’s running past.  (I think the order of the four other girls in the first half is probably how long they held out without Witching out.)  That leaves two issues, one more obvious to Western audiences and one less so.  First, that enigmatic and ominous shot of Madoka in fetal position (appropriate - her request in 10 and then her wish in 12 can be rephrased as “don’t let me grow up”) in the eye of Mephisto.  Second, there’s a point I’ve seen raised in analyses of Connect: in Japanese cinematography, motion from right to left indicates a correct course (unlike its Western equivalent, where the opposite applies)... and for the entirety of Magia Madoka is moving left-to-right.

2) The lyrics.  This is the part I’m less sold on, but once again let’s lay out the affirmative.  My line here derives from a hunch: Connect is famously from Homura’s perspective despite appearing to be from Madoka’s, perhaps the inverse is also true?  I’m still not sure there, but especially if you’re considering the TV version it can work... provided the lyrics are specifically from Madokami’s perspective again.  Grabbing the wiki version of the translation: “The light of love lit within your eyes will transcend time” sure fits better if we’re talking about Homura rather than about Madoka, likewise “with this power that can break even darkness” sure sounds like a better fit for Madokami to me.  And in that case the most interesting stanza is the second: “Swallow down your hesitation.  What is it that you wish for?  With the direction of this greedy admiration, will there be a short-lived tomorrow?”  The former two lines  are quite consistent with Homura’s decision in Rebellion (and I note the visual of Homura biting down on her Soul Gem to break it!), and “tomorrow” is consistently a reference to the possibility of Homura and Madoka meeting again in other PMMM songs (Mata Ashita again, Colorful, Connect full version) - which is realized courtesy of a greedy admiration, no less.  So.  Magia’s full version might count, too - there’s lines there that are harder to square from a Madokami perspective (”if I can move forward without hesitation then it’s fine if my heart gets broken” especially), but “Someday, for the sake of someone else, you too will wish for great power; on the night love captures your heart, unknown words will be born” fits Homura’s fall better than Madoka’s wish, I think.)

- If Madoka’s mistake in 12 is intentional then it more closely mirrors her (unintentional) mistake in 10: she’s implicitly asking Homura to once again do something she can’t and stop her from/alleviate the effects of her making a mistake.

- At a Doylist level, if they go for a proper happy end (either in Walpurgis no Kaiten or in a hypothetical sequel to the same) I’m not sure there’s any way they can get there without using this interpretation.  (In general, the two outcomes that make the most sense to me are “Akuhomu becomes the core of Walpurgisnacht, cue ending scene with Moemura making her wish” (the Logic Error ending, consistent with the Eternal Return of the Self; cue MagiReco as the way out) or an ending based on the answer to this question being yes - the easy version being a movie of everyone except Homura fighting to let Madoka rejoin the Law of Cycles only for her to surprise everyone with some sort of ending based on “actually, I was counting on her to do this from the start”.)

[yeats-infection]

@sqvalors tagged me in a lil writing meme... if you’d like to participate please do and tag me! 

ao3 name: fluorescentgrey but i also post some things as drglass (dr. glass is the second song on the fluorescent grey EP by deerhunter, so if i make another pseud it will be likenew, then washoff, etc.) 

fandoms: about two thirds of my fics are harry potter or star wars but there are a lot of random little goodies. currently i have shifted into the terror (2018) mode. 

number of fics: 59 right now... i will throw a party when i get to 69... 

fic i spent the most time on: this is funny because some of these technically took me like six months or more of working on them extremely intermittently... namely, bone machine. the series in the garden has taken me the most time generally... and in that, minuet did take me several months of working really hard while i had a schedule / commute that was not conducive to having a creative practice... 

fic i spent the least amount of time on: hilariously, literally my most popular fic by ninety miles, the witcher PWP that i wrote out of spite in two or three hours. 

longest fic: the source codes series... particularly heelstone which is 102k. i wrote these two stories in a single summer like a crazy person and i hate talking about them because i find them WAY too gooey. honestly, that’s why they are so long. it’s all the gooeyness!!!!!! 

shortest fic: yes, the answer is the witcher porn again (this silly thing is going to be the answer for many other questions in this little meme but i’m just going to stop talking about it while i’m ahead). the west end is just about 50 words longer and is much better and is a much better and more interesting story. 

most hits: we’re just going to pretend it’s sex and dying in high society, which has the second most hits. this is certainly due to the fact that @wolfstarwarehouse hypes this story a lot for which i am endlessly grateful! 

most kudos: recovery position has the second most kudos so let’s go with that one! i have been very touched by the response to this story, though i do personally like the sequel beachcoma a little more... i understand why not everyone wants to read it because it is a little more bittersweet. but it also comes from my soul. 

most comment threads: the two stories in the source codes series are leading here, because i only posted two chapters at a time so that i would get maximal validation, lol. 

most bookmarks: in order to talk about a story i haven’t talked about yet, the rosary has the fourth-most. i think this fic is truly my r/s swan song... i said everything i wanted to say and did everything i wanted to do. it’s a really good mystery/noir story that i didn’t think i could pull off until i did! and i love the OCs in it who have sort of manifested these secret headcanons for me that i may expostulate upon someday. thank you to @piovascosimo for the inspiration to write it. 

total word count: 1,000,478. lol! 

favorite fic i wrote: cannot possibly choose but probably the top five in order of date posted are: desperado, a handful of dust, doom town, beachcoma, jump into the fire

fic i’d rewrite / expand on: i already said all of source codes because it’s way too gooey, i also could make hard time killing floor blues a lot tighter, and a memoir of the flesh deserves a way better ending because i was rushing to make the yuletide deadline...

share a bit of a WIP: i was trying for a while to write a band of brothers AU where they are vietnam vets who start growing cannabis... based on the steve earle song “copperhead road.” this could have been SO good but the plot was too huge and unwieldy so i gave up. my roommate is obsessed with this idea and keeps asking me how it’s going so i may yet finish. but there’s a bit below the cut.

The knock at the door in the night was a sharp shock, bright as lightning, that sent them both back to Khe Sanh and before. Nix ducked. Dick went behind the doorframe. They kept low into the kitchen, where Nix took his old officer’s pistol out from where he kept it hidden behind the fridge. Then they went to the door, keeping to the edges of the hallways.

On the porch was Liebgott. He could have made his own way in likely right onto the couch without either of them noticing, so it was something that he had knocked on the goddamn door. It was particularly something given that none of the boys from Easy should have known about the grow operation, or even about Dick’s farm, being as Dick’s address on file at the V.A. was a post office box in town and Nix’s was still in Jersey. These considerations were nil to somebody who had spent the better part of five years in the bush of Vietnam. He took a last draw from his cigarette and put it out against the rubber sole of his boot, then he put the butt in his pocket. As far as Nix knew, he hadn’t said a word since January 1970.  

“Joe,” said Dick diplomatically. He put his hand out and Liebgott took it. Then he took Nix’s. He had handsome dark eyes, but they were full of a wall. You could tell he saw you, but it was like nothing followed the necessary channels to the brain to spur emotional response. It had been like this even while he was still talking, and after a while you got used to it.

“You comin' in,” said Nix, knowing he probably would even if he wasn’t invited.

Inside, they all three sat at the kitchen table in silence nobody was about to break. Finally Dick got up and went to the drawer where they kept the rollies and their share of the product. He passed a sheaf of papers and a film canister full of bud to Liebgott across the table. Nix understood as well as Dick apparently did that there would be no getting anything over on this kid, who had eyes in the back and sides of his head. He’d probably had a nice tour of the property before coming inside. “You hungry, son,” Dick said.

Liebgott shook his head. He extracted one of the buds from the canister and inspected it. They did look mighty good if Nix said so himself. They looked artful in Liebgott’s hand. There were black scabs across his knuckles and a dark rime of filth under those fingernails which still existed. He seemed satisfied enough with what he saw to take a paper out of the sheaf and start shredding the flower into it.

“Captain Nixon calls it Easy Diesel,” said Dick, like he was trying to pretend it wasn’t the funniest thing in the world.

Liebgott looked up and a smile flashed across his face like the savage golden light of a flare falling over the far hills. His smile was sort of brutal, like the edge of a knife in a barfight, or like a seething animal. Luckily it went away as quickly as it had come. He rolled the joint with a quick grace and lit the business end with his old silver Zippo Nixon hadn’t seen since the war. There was a skull engraved on one side and on the other it read IF YOU ARE RECOVERING MY BODY, FUCK YOU.

“I don’t know how you found us, Joe,” Dick said thoughtfully. “You don’t have to… tell us. But we ain’t exactly keen to have just anybody here.” He paused and looked quickly to Nix, who tried to make it abundantly clear by means of eyebrows that he wasn’t sure they ought to go down this road, wherever it was leading. Dick ignored him. Liebgott was watching them, fully understanding their attempted clandestine exchange. “We ain’t exactly keen to have the DEA here,” Dick said at last.

The cherry at the end of the joint atomized with a crackling hiss. Liebgott looked between Dick and Nix with extreme seriousness sullied only by his exhaling a dignified white cloud out his nose. Then he nodded, once, curtly, demonstrating he understood his orders as they had been relayed.

Nix flashed Dick what he thought was a what have you done type look. But Dick looked totally unbothered. He should have gone into this business years ago for how violently unflappable he was. He said to Liebgott, “I’ll get some blankets and you can make up the couch.”

Liebgott shook his head to say no need. He got up, careful not to scrape the chair against the floor, shook each of their hands again, and in less than a minute’s time he was back out the door with nothing more than what he’d come in with except the joint.

Nix and Dick, on the porch, listening to the crickets, watched him disappear into the darkness.

“Are we hallucinating,” said Nix eventually.

“I sure as hell hope not,” Dick replied. “We’ve got to ship all that product or we’ll starve.”

-

In the morning Nix was in the field, inspecting the plants. Liebgott was standing there at his quarter for god knew how long before he cleared his throat and Nix jumped about six feet in the air. There was a smirk shifting across Liebgott’s face that he would have been better about hiding when Nix had been his commanding officer. He looked like he hadn't slept. Back over there he had looked like that a lot, but it had been different, because of all the uppers they were taking. He cocked his head back over toward the long driveway and then he was off across the dew-wet grass which had already soaked through the hems of his canvas pants and his destroyed shoes.

Nix followed, like a duckling behind a hen. Liebgott still walked as though there were eyes in all sides of his head quickly processing information as he moved. Nix doubted you ever lost that kind of skill, even if in the real world it made you look like a mental patient. He caught up so they could walk side by side through the dew-wet grass. “What did you think,” he asked Liebgott.

Liebgott passed Nix the universal sign of furrowed brow that meant please clarify.

Nix gestured with pinched fingers to his own mouth as though Liebgott were also deaf. “The grass.”

He shaped his hand into an a-ok sign.

“You get any sleep?”

He nodded an infinitesimal nod, like the answer was a secret just for Nix to know.

“Well if you think it could be better just tell me how.”

Nix had had a high school friend whose sister was deaf from scarlet fever and whom he had watched on occasion communicate with her by means of sign language. Early on, back over there, he had sent off to command for a book, but by the time it came he understood it wasn’t that Liebgott couldn’t speak, he just didn’t want to. It was something like how people’s hair supposedly turned white if they witnessed some evil thing, or how people became ascetics in the name of god. If you were really fucked up on drugs or fear or otherwise, or if the natural magical thinking from childhood hadn’t been fully beaten out of you, you might have seen it as the sacrifice he had given to the forest for letting him out without a scratch so many goddamn times. It had been a bit of a trial to explain this to Spiers, who was practical almost to a fault, sometimes.

Liebgott showed another a-ok sign. Then he did a thumbs up which Nix knew meant it was good.

All in all it was smart. If he was still talking, Nix might have asked him, what have you been up to? You been sleeping on the street? You been to the V.A.? What did they tell you? And the answer would’ve been nothing good. Instead they just walked in the cool grass together in the sunshine and the morning was beautiful, and the air was sweet. It was all lovely until Liebgott had to physically stop him, laughing, somehow silently but also hysterically, from stepping right onto the razor-thin tripwire stretched invisibly across the dark gravel.

In the kitchen, Dick was doing the numbers. He took his glasses off when Nix came in and put the coffee on. “He learned a thing or two from Charlie,” Nix said, leaning against the counters.

“Who, Joe?”

“Our driveway is thoroughly ratfucked.”

“Hmm,” said Dick. He put the glasses back on and turned back to the accounting book. He was going to do this whole thing as above board as was humanly possible. The vivid daylight came through the window and struck the lens of his unstylish Ray-Bans and threw a kind of prism of color upon the white paper and the chicken-scratch sums. Nix felt like maybe this was something you would paint if you had the necessary implements and artistic ability. “Maybe we should see if we can get any more help.”

-

He was mildly ashamed to say it, but the doc had always kind of creeped Nix out. He imagined a hypothetical conversation with Dick, who he knew loved the kid, almost like a son: Listen, don’t get me wrong, he’s a good kid, I owe him my life, yadda yadda. But either he’s dropped the brown acid one too many times or the voodoo exorcism went FUBAR.

The doc had arrived on the farm on the heels of Sunshine and Rainbows, aka Mr. Bright Eyed and Bushy Tailed, aka one Edward “Babe” Heffron. Nix had written Babe in South Philly, being as he was a connoisseur of bud and once upon a time had been famed among their company for smoking anything anyone put in his hand, often to his own detriment. The operation was getting big enough that Nix needed another pair of hands, other than Liebgott, of course, who was still fortifying the long driveway whilst giving away his cover by playing Led Zeppelin IV as loudly as was possible. It was a tough calculation, because Babe was a genius of pot, but he couldn’t keep a damn secret, and lo and behold he had dragged along with him a dark shadow in the human form of Eugene Roe. They came up the driveway in a big old Ford pickup that rattled its rust off in the potholes. Liebgott had dismantled the traps specially for their arrival when they had called from Williamsport to say they were an hour out.

“I figured we could use a medical professional to lend some credibility to the operation,” said Babe thoughtfully, sparking a joint on the porch over sweating jam jars of iced tea.

Roe snorted or something but it wasn’t really a normal person’s self-effacing laugh. Winters clapped his back. Nixon knew Roe had dropped out of medical school after two years but there was no need to say anything. Everyone knew that. Now he was working construction and Babe claimed to be working as a mechanic in a garage, but this seemed suspect given the state of the car they had driven up in.

“Well we sure as hell are glad you boys are here,” said Dick magnanimously.

Babe exhaled an opaque cloud that rivaled Nix’s own father’s ability with a stogie. “Can we see the bush?”

They went out all together to the field and ducked between the rows of corn. Babe knelt in the soil. It was damp with dew and quiet in here. It would have been almost like over there except it smelled good. “What’s the cross,” Babe said, inspecting the plants.

“It’s an indica blend…”

“Well, I can tell that,” he said.

“So you’re an expert on the plant now too?”

“I’ve just smoked an awful lot of joints in my life, Captain Nixon.”

Roe snorted again. When they all looked to him he said, “You said in the letter there was some kind of altruistic reason for all this.”

“It’s medicine, Gene,” Babe said gently, but also like they had had this conversation thirty thousand times. Nix filed away for later the intimation that Roe had read the letter he’d sent Babe at home in South Philadelphia.

“I guess you don’t remember the psychic break you had at the Do Lung Bridge.”

Babe waved this remark off, even though Nix remembered it too. It threw a chill down his back, like a water balloon had hit him at the base of his neck. “That was laced,” Babe said.

“With what!”

“I don’t know! Something bad!” Babe turned to Dick and Nix. “Gene’s teetotal,” he said, like this was a big old point of contention.

So that counted out the bad acid. Maybe he was just like this. Maybe he had had those big sad bug eyes as a child or an infant or a fetus in the womb. “Good on you, Doc,” Nix said.

“I ain’t trying it,” Roe said, folding his arms over his narrow chest, “no matter what it does.”

The doc was a tough cookie. Babe had claimed, over there, about as high as the Byrds song, that the doc came from a long line of the kind of folks described in Dr. John’s “Gris-Gris Gumbo Ya Ya” and that, as such, he could heal wounds with his mind. When it didn’t work, as on the night when Jackson died, or the night when Hoobler died, or in the forest when Muck and Penkala died, or the night when Liebgott stopped speaking, he went to sit for a while on the edge of camp until Dick went over and made him eat something. Nix watched them in a state of confused envy, and then he went to write the letters to the families, so that Dick wouldn’t have to.

At dusk, after they ate a light dinner of corn on the cob and rice and beans, he took the boys up into the hayloft with an armful of blankets. “Sorry this is the best we got,” he said. He had said that about a hundred god damn times since they got here.

Roe looked like he wanted to say, you’ve got to stop apologizing for everything. Instead he said, “Where does Lieb sleep.”

Babe perked up. “Joe’s here?”

“You didn’t see him in the driveway?”

Nix sighed. “He’s gonna want to know what he did wrong that you saw him,” he said.

“Does he still — ”

Nix shook his head. “Not a peep.”

In a couple days time, he couldn’t take it anymore, and he was hot and tired and stoned, up to his elbows in earth in the field, showing Babe how to replant the hatchlings he’d grown from seed. “You guys room together or what?”

“Me and Gene?” Babe’s eyes were red in the corners from smoking and from the sun. “What about you and Dick?”

Dick, who had the radio on inside turned up as loud as it would go, so that they would hear it in the field, playing Crosby Stills and Nash doing “Suite: Judy Blue Eyes.” “What about me and Dick?” said Nix.

Babe was a smart kid. He realized this was going nowhere. With muddy hands he popped one of the seedlings out of its little pot and cradled it into the ground. “Well, I think he thinks he’s looking after me, but in actuality, I am looking after him.”

[nelllraiser]

taking out the trash — selfie

— just your typical run of the mill work going late sort of situation —

     A deep breath in through the nostrils, followed quickly by a readying exhale that left Penelope able to feel the trickle of the warm air flow over her brightly painted lips as she prepared for the task at hand. They were a part of the disguise tonight. Or rather, her costume. She wasn’t a performer like her oldest sister, but she knew well enough how to pretend to be something other than herself for the sake of bringing in another monster. After all, many of her operations relied on the fact that she not be found out. Of course...that particular part didn’t always go to plan. More often than not, improvision was the method she employed in a series of rapid decisions and pure dumb luck when things went sideways. But she had yet to fail. At least, not in any sort of way that left her with a much needed sense of self preservation.

     Tonight’s quarry was particularly tricky, as Eretichy were known for their heightened senses when it came to the supernatural. Penelope had done her best to mask the spellcaster readings that she gave off with some precautionary magic. Soon enough she’d find out one way or another whether or not they had worked, as she wasn’t even entirely certain the vampire species could be fooled by such a thing. Hopefully they’d just assume that she was ignorant of their identity in return, and play into her little game. 

     Opening the door to the dance club, all of her senses were hit at once. The heat of the bodies writhing within, the smell of the alcohol laden partiers, the bright lights flashing over the dance floor. This was where her target loved to prowl, gathering up unwitting patrons to drain them of their blood. But this one didn’t stop there, according to what Nell had found from her snooping around town. Nearly all of the people the Ereich had gone after hadn’t been heard from since, and it took no stretch of the imagination to assume the worst of someone who was created into a monster specifically for being horrible in their past life. 

     Finally, she spotted him in the crowd. Perhaps it wasn’t particularly smart to waltz right up to him, the sleekness of her skin tight dress whispering over her skin as she made sure he got an eyeful. Dressing the part included making herself look as similar to those he’d taken from the nightclub thus far, a string of young girls who’d been out for a night of fun. “Dance with me!” she commanded with as promising of a smile she could muster. It seemed that so far, things were going well enough as their bodies moved together to the beat of the music. It wasn’t long before he spoke into her ear, offering her what she hoped was her in to get him alone. “Why don’t we get out of here?” he asked, though it was more of a forceful suggestion than a question as he gripped her arm and began to steer her towards the exit. A light laugh came from her, though it wasn’t all the sunshines and rainbows of a girl being cajoled into a night of supposed fun. It was laced with a thrill of anticipation and excitement, adrenaline spiking as she sensed her hunt coming to a close. “I was wondering when you’d finally get around to asking me.” It was meant to be a flirtatious tease, and it carried them out the front doors and into his car. Ideally, she would have done this during the day, but it seemed this particular Ereich only hunted in the evening. 

     She waited until they were just outside his house, and then Nell decided she was tired of waiting, impatience and excitement getting the better of her as they sat parked in his driveway. A large, iron cross was waiting in her hand to be slapped against the side of his face, to try and weaken him right off the bat. But all of the sudden...her hand stopped moving, and his hand had caught her wrist inches from his skin. A sneer came over his previously pretty features. “Did you really think I couldn’t smell your little spellcaster stench from across the club?” Shock was brief for Penelope, instinct and reflex driving her to retaliate quickly. Well, shit. Already this plan was going a bit pear-shaped, but fighting for her life was half the fun...wasn’t it? “I. Don’t...Smell!” Each word was punctuated by a little grunt of effort and an attempt to break free of his hold. 

     The cramped quarters of the car only added another level of difficulty to the scuffle, though it didn’t take all that long for Penelope to gain the upper hand, her chest heaving with the effort. A headbutt sealed the deal, though it broke the skin of her forehead, ruby blood trickling down her brow. “Eat shit, bastard!” Perhaps her trash talk needed some work in the heat of the moment. Swiping some of the blood from her newest wound, she uttered a quick spell, using the very life trickling from her veins to bind the Ereich in rosaries, pinning his arms to his sides. For good measure, she summoned a bit of trash and poured it over him. “Now who’s smelly? I hope you like to fight, because you’re going to be doing a lot of it where you’re going.” With that she whipped out her phone. “Yeah, I’ve got him,” she relayed back to her boss at the Ring. “He might need a bath when we get there, though.” And with that she clocked him over the head with the iron cross for good measure, and perhaps just to make her feel the smallest bit better.

[ladyseaheart1668]

Endless Summer Book 4 : Daughter of Vaanu (Chapter 43)

Description: There is no rest for the good.

Um...yeah. Hope nobody hates me at the end of this chapter. At least it came out faster than the last one, right? :-P

Tagging: @endlesshero1122 @mysteli @whatmcsaid @xo-endlessmayhem-xo @feartheendlesssummer @tigerbryn11

Chapter 43: First Blood

Tahira

The day my life changed, I was late for work. I missed my train and did my makeup on the bench while I waited for the next one. This Thursday morning, I'm late again. And I'm pretty sure that under the circumstances, Grayson will let it slide. In fact, I know he will since he explicitly told me to take the day off. But frankly, I think I'd rather be at work than alone in his apartment, especially when he has to be at work.

I didn't get much sleep Tuesday night after the fire. Unable to safely be treated for any potential smoke or chemical inhalation at the hospital while we were still in disguise, especially with Michelle still on her honeymoon, Dax insisted on dragging us into the lab at Prescott Industries and running tests. Marci had cleared me of any damage long before I even arrived, but Dax wanted to be safe rather than sorry, and Grayson agreed with him, so I relented. Eva took care of checking on the kids, and claimed dog-sitting privileges for herself.

Then came yesterday. That was the real headache, and the real reason I barely slept last night, which is the reason I'm running so late this morning, and nearly took Grayson's advice to spend the day in bed. But here I am, on a bench at the train station, gazing into a compact mirror in my left hand while carefully brushing my eyelids with dark purple eyeshadow.

I hear the soft sound of unhurried footsteps on the platform and feel my heart start to beat faster. It's after ten in the morning, on an open-air train platform, on a weekday, and the next train is due in fifteen minutes. All of these facts should put my mind at ease about who might be coming toward me, but I guess I'm still on edge. I try to ignore it, but then the footsteps stop a little too close to me. I let my gaze slide away from the compact to find Caleb standing over me, arms folded, glowering. I scowl back.

“Can I help you with something?”

“If what happened to those kids is what your help is worth, I don't want anything to do with it.”

I feel myself slumping. I sigh, unable to look him in the eye. “...How did you find out about that?”

“Never you fucking mind how I found out about it. Doesn't even matter that I know about it. The point is that those kids are in foster care. Separated. And you let it happen.”

“I didn't let anything happen, Caleb!” I snap. “I wasn't even there! All I know is that the story somehow came out at the hospital, and one of the staff called social services. ...Once the priest recovers, he'll be able to appeal to get them back. Meanwhile, Dylan and RJ are still together, as are Ysabel and her brothers.”

“That's exactly what they didn't want, and you know it! And how long will it take before they're all back together where they belong?! Most likely scenario, they won't all be back together until Dylan turns eighteen!”

“What do you expect me to do?!” I snarl, getting sharply to my feet.

“Be fucking hero, maybe?” he growls back.

“By what, kidnapping five kids? Because that's sure to keep me in a place where I can do my job effectively!” I lower my voice as I step close to him, drawing myself to my full height. I'm already at least half a head taller than he is, and he knows what I'm physically capable of. I see him shrink slightly, but he doesn't quite back down. “For your information, my people are in pretty hot water with the DA for not turning you over to rot in a Prescott-designed cell for the rest of your life. You want me to risk the situation deteriorating further?”

“You don't need the DA.”

“Actually, I do. Not all of us are content to be anarchists and vigilantes. And if people like us and the police are too busy fighting each other, civilians are going to suffer.” I blow out a frustrated breath through gritted teeth, taking a step back. “...Why do you care so much about these kids anyway?”

His scowl deepens. “Why don't you care more?”

“I care more than I am letting on to you. And I'm probably letting on more than you're willing to see. Caring is what I do. Nobody's surprised when I care. But you've got a reputation that doesn't run toward caring. What about these kids has you so invested?”

He scowls, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You know fuck-all about my life, Tahira. ...We all start out as kids, don't we? Naked, bloody, screaming babies shitting ourselves because we don't know better. We all start off so damn innocent, just looking for someone to protect us and love us. But we don't all get lucky like that, do we.”

I don't really have a reply to that. He's right. What he's saying is correct. And while it doesn't exactly give me a complete answer, it feels like a lead in the right direction. Like Caleb taking a single brick out of his wall and giving me a narrow but significant look at what's underneath. Overhead, the announcement comes over the PA that the next train will be arriving shortly. Caleb turns his side toward me as I glance down the track at the approaching lights.

“...You're lucky, Tahira. You got a mom who loves you. Raised you. Stuck around. Didn't run off. Didn't get taken from you.”

“You're right. I am lucky.” The train glides into the station, sending back a rush of air that lifts my hair off my shoulders. The noise as it screeches to a halt would have swallowed anything else I said, so I wait until it has settled before I send another glance at Caleb. “...My birth parents died when I was a baby. I'm actually adopted.”

As the train doors hiss open, Caleb remains silent. I gather my things and climb on board, not waiting for a reply.

* * *

As expected, Grayson chides me for coming into work today. About halfway through the day, I realize I probably should have listened to him. Can't focus on anything, and it isn't hard to get his permission to leave work early so that I can visit Father Le in the hospital. I stop to buy flowers on the way, a bouquet of calla lilies and pink carnations in a pale blue vase. I get to the hospital and step into a room that looks like it's being converted to a florist shop. Father Le is propped up in bed, his rosary beads in hand, his lips moving languidly as he prays under his breath.

“Father Le?”

He pauses, turning his head to smile at me. “Tahira. Come in. Are those flowers for me?”

“Yeah.” I manage to find a space for them on the windowsill and set them down carefully. “Seems like I'm not the only one who had that idea, though.”

“My parishoners have been very generous. Come sit down.”

I do as he says, taking a chair beside his bed. “I hope I'm not interrupting your prayers.”

“There will be plenty of time to pray when visiting hours are over. ...I understand I have you to thank for saving my life.”

I smile a little. “Yeah, well, don't go spreading that around in here unless I come in costume.”

“Of course. You know your secret is safe with me.”

“...Do you remember anything about the attack?”

“What little I can remember, I have relayed to the police.”

“Right. I shouldn't press you. ...How are you feeling?”

He sighs, closing his eyes. “The doctors tell me I should make a full recovery.”

“You don't sound very happy about that.”

“I'm happy that I'll have my health back. ...But I have been informed that the children were placed in foster care.”

I can't help wincing. “...Yeah. But surely once your recovered you can get them back? Like, I know it wouldn't be easy, but you could apply to be their legal guardian, couldn't you? Now that they're in foster care, I'd think that would be your next move, wouldn't it?” When he hesitates, I can't resist reaching out to grasp his hand. “I mean, you'll try, won't you? For their sake?”

The priest sighs. His free hand comes over to pat mine. “Of course I will try, Tahira. ...But I fear I am unlikely to succeed. ...It has occurred to me that I may have been acting outside the law when I took those kids in. I don't know for sure what charges they could bring against me, but I didn't actually have legal custody over them. And since they already ran away from their first foster homes...”

I swallow against a rising lump in my throat. “...What if I put in a good word for you with the DA? ...Not that I'm exactly in her good books at the moment...”

Concern flashes across his face. Somehow, I know it's concern for me and not himself, and that somehow makes it worse. “Why is that?”

I close my eyes to clear the film of tears that's gathered over them, but only end up letting a couple salty drops leak out. “...I decided to put my trust in someone she thinks needs to be locked up.”

“...Do you agree with her that this person needs to be locked up?”

“I...I don't know. I've been giving him the benefit of the doubt, and so far he's come through, but...what if she's right? What if he's playing me, and he goes back to how he was before?”

“Life is never without hope, Tahira.”

I can't help snorting just a little. “I don't know how helpful that is, Father.”

“My apologies. Try this then: you cannot know the future. You cannot know if a person will change, but every person has the ability to change. Your forgiveness of any past wrongs he did is a gift you give, not because he deserves it, but because you want to give it out of the goodness of your heart. Your trust, on the other hand, is not a gift. It is a privilege that you have every right to make him earn. If his past crimes have earned him a prison sentence, he deserves to serve that sentence. But something has stopped you from handing him over to the police.”

“Yeah. Something has.”

“...Can you name what that something is?”

“Honestly...I have a feeling I can.”

“...Do you feel that you can tell me?”

I am quiet for a long moment. “...No, Father. I don't think I can. Because it's not anything that I think I could make you understand without revealing way more than I should about people whose secrets I have no right to reveal.”

“I don't need to understand entirely. But perhaps telling me what you can will bring you some clarity.”

“...I think he has a part to play in a bigger picture. He's...a part of what I'm a part of. I have to think beyond just laws and authorities. What happened to me that night...the thing that made me what I am...it's got a reach beyond anything I could have fathomed that night. I've learned so much about it since then, and...I need this person, Father. I need him on my side, within my reach. Because he's a part of this.”

“It sounds to me like you've made up your mind.”

“...Maybe I have.” I sigh, standing up. “I should leave you to rest. I have...things I need to take care of.”

“Of course. Thank you for visiting me. I hope I will see you again.”

“Hey, you can count on it. Promise.”

I offer the priest my brightest smile, but I leave the hospital feeling melancholy and exhausted. I feel heavy and too full and hollowed out and empty all at the same time. I just want to go back to Grayson's apartment and have him there with me. I want us to curl up in bed together and shut out the rest of the world. Maybe I should call him and ask him to come home. I'm sure he would. We could spend the evening together, just the two of us, order something to eat, watch a romantic movie, slip naked into the hot tub...

My phone buzzes in the hip pocket of my jeans. I tug it free and see Grayson's name on the screen. I answer, feeling myself smile as I put the phone to my ear.

“Hey, handsome. I was just thinking about you.”

“...Tahira...” Immediately, my heart sinks. Something's wrong. I can hear it in the way he says my name.

“...What is it? What's the matter?”

“Well...Dax has apparently been monitoring police radio frequencies or something...” He sighs. “I didn't know he was doing that. Did you?”

“Well...no. Not specifically. I'm not sure he should be.”

“Neither am I. But, that isn't the point. The point is that he picked up some chatter, and...it seems Dylan and his family have gone missing.”

My heart drops into my belly with a sickening splash. “Missing? Wh-what kind of missing? When were they last seen?”

“Dylan apparently went to pick up the others and walk them home from school, but they never made it back to their foster homes. Later, the police got a tip from a concerned citizen that he had seen five kids get into a black van. He wasn't sure there was anything to actually worry about since the kids got in without hesitating, but...he described the driver as a white male with shaggy brown hair smoking a cigarette.”

It's all I can do not to sink to my knees on the pavement right there. “...Caleb,” I whisper. “Oh god, Caleb, what have you done...?”

Jake

A few weeks ago, Alodia and I hired a photographer to do a little photoshoot for us at the beach house. Something sappy and romantic to commemorate the impending birth of our first child. It was a pretty fun day, even though obviously Alodia proved far more photogenic than me. I mean, I could hardly object to spending most of the time watching my wife posing and being her gorgeous self.

Honestly, in the chaos and emotional rollercoaster that followed in the weeks after, with the wedding and then the disappointment and worry that followed her last OB appointment, I had kinda forgotten about the photos altogether. Until Friday morning, the day I'm supposed to leave to pick up Sean and Michelle from the island.

The other half of the bed is cool when I wake up, but I can smell something mouth-watering downstairs. I inhale deeply through my nose. Yup. Definitely bacon. And coffee. Clearly, Mike or Diego must be up too, since Alodia hasn't touched a cup of coffee since she got pregnant, and I don't think Varyyn has ever liked the stuff. There's something else in the air, too. Something sweet.

I get up and throw on a shirt and a pair of pants, running a hand through my hair before making my way downstairs. In the kitchen, I find the coffee pot three-quarters full and still warm. There's also  pitcher of orange juice and a couple of chafing dishes on the counter beside a stack of three plates. I lift the lids on the chafing dishes to find plenty of bacon and pancakes. I sniff at the pancakes, and get a noseful of apple and cinnamon. And that's when I notice the rusty-brown cinnamon and sugar blend in a small bowl beside the dish.

I hear voices from the den. I can't quite make out works, but it's definitely Alodia and Diego. I pour myself a cup of coffee and wander into the den. Diego is lounging on the chaise portion of the sectional with the TV remote in hand. Alodia lies with her head in his lap, a plate of pancakes and bacon balanced on her swollen belly. She's using an upside down laundry basket on the floor beside her hip as a makeshift table for a glass of orange juice and a jar of peanut butter with a knife sticking out of it.

On the screen is an image of her on the balcony overlooking the beach. Her shoulders are bare, her modesty preserved by a white sheet wrapped around her body. One hand holds the sheet closed at her chest while the other cradles her baby bump and she gazes at the sky with a peaceful, contented expression.

“I like that one,” Diego remarks. Alodia wrinkles her nose a little.

“Hmmm...it's not bad, but that one little strand of hair is kinda driving me crazy. It looks like it's going into my mouth and I keep wanting to just brush it off.” She reaches lazily towards the screen, flicking her index finger as if she can will the offending hair off her photographed face.

“I think you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen,” I declare. I make my way to the sofa and set my coffee down on her laundry basket table before sitting down and drawing her feet onto my lap. She smiles at me.

“In the picture, or right now?”

“Yes.”

“Good answer. You are rewarded with bacon.” She takes a piece off her plate and holds it toward me. I lean over to take a bite, and look back at the screen as I chew.

“Are these the finished product?”

“Not quite. They're the initial edits of the ones Nora thought were the best. Found them in my email this morning. She wants us to go through and pick our favorites.”

“Of course, if your wife has her way, there won't be any,” Diego complains. “She's found something to object to in every single picture she's in.”

“Not every one!”

“Oh, right, I forgot. You like the one where you're in silhouette and we can't see your pretty face.”

“Just go to the next one.”

I sip my coffee as we go through about a dozen more pictures, and it's made clear that Alodia's going to be pickier about these pictures than I am. There are some she does like. Most of the ones of us together meet her approval, as do a series of very sexy shots with her nude and posed so that nothing actually shows. Though, unfortunately, my favorite in that series doesn't seem to impress her.

“I've got a simper,” she declares flatly.

“A what?”

Diego rolls his eyes. “She means because her lips are parted. Just because your lips are parted doesn't mean it's a simper, Allie. That's not a simper.”

“It is the simperiest simper that ever was a simper!” she insists, grabbing the jar of peanut butter and dunking a chunk of bacon into the brown goo. “It looks like I'm trying to make you believe that I'm moaning all sexily. Look, I'm even trying to give bedroom eyes.”

“Yeah, I'm not seeing the problem here,” I quip.

“You see, Allie? It's a sexy expression that does just what you want it to.”

“I don't like it.”

“Yeah, well, you're drunk on peanut butter. Maybe look at it again when you're sober.”

She sticks her tongue out at him, and looks down at me. “Did you get some breakfast?”

“Just the coffee so far. But since you mention it, I am getting hungry.”

“You should eat. We made plenty so you and Mike could get a good meal in you before you fly today.”

I feel a frown crease my forehead. “...You're still okay with me going? I know it's still a few weeks 'til showtime, but...”

“But nothing. You'll be easy to contact, and you're flying to the Caribbean, not Asia.”

“I'll be back tomorrow,” I promise.

“Yes, you will. And we'll be at the airport to pick you up. Now come here and kiss me.”

* * *

After breakfast, Mike, Alodia, Diego, and I pile into the car and Diego drives us to the airport. I'm glad Alodia comes along, even though the trip takes longer than it would otherwise thanks to our unborn child elbowing her in the bladder every twenty minutes. That combined with California traffic means that it takes about an hour and a half to actually reach the airport. But it isn't as if we're flying commercial after all.

The plane is fueled and waiting for us. It's just up to me and Mike to carry out the final checks and get her in the air. Mike gets our things on board—just a small bag each for a couple days away—and I give my wife a lingering goodbye kiss outside the plane.

“I expect this looks very romantic,” she chuckles. “A handsome pilot kissing his pregnant wife outside the plane before he takes off, against a California background.”

“Minus the plane, I'm pretty sure there were some similar pictures from our photoshoot,” I reply. I try to grin, but it isn't coming out quite right. “...I don't like leaving you. Not just because you're pregnant, either. I just...don't like leaving you.”

“I know.” She doesn't need to say anything more than that. She knows why. “I love you, Jake. To the stars and back.”

“No land, no sea, no one can keep us apart. I love you, Alodia.” I drop slowly to one knee in front of her, cradling her belly in my hands, and plant a slow kiss in the center of the swell, just above her navel. “I love you, River. Don't get too eager to come out, okay? Your daddy wants to be here to meet you.”

I gently rest my cheek against her belly and feel a few soft pats from tiny limbs. Alodia winces.

“I think she's a daddy's girl already. Feels like she's trying to get out so you can hold her.”

“No, River, I said not yet!” I scold mildly. “Not until Sunday at least. Give me time to get home and some sleep.”

“I hope she'll wait a little longer than that.”

“Hey, Grandpa!” I get to my feet, turning to see Mike waving at me from the plane. “The sooner we fly, the sooner we can get back, and it's a long way to Santo Domingo!”

I sigh. “Unfortunately, he's right.” I give my wife one last long kiss. “I love you, Princess.”

“I love you, Top Gun. Go on. I think I need to hit the bathroom again anyway.”

We finally manage to untangle from each other's arms and go our separate ways. I join Mike in the cockpit and set about doing my final checks. It's a few minutes before I happen to glance over and notice something grim and distracted in his expression that sends a brief shiver of unease down the back of my neck.

“Hey...you okay?”

“I...got a text from Rebecca.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You getting texts from my sister now? How long has this been going on? Do I have to lecture her about cradle-robbing?”

Mike rolls his eyes. “She's had my number since we sent Lundgren to prison so we could keep tabs on your dysfunctional ass. And how many years are there between you and Alodia again?”

“Ouch. Okay, what's she got to say?”

“Check your phone. She sent it to you, too.”

I'm about to ask what, but realize it would be faster just to pull out my phone and check myself. Sure enough, there's a text from Rebecca to both me and Mike.

Rebecca: Got word this morning, thought you guys should know. Rex Lundgren was stabbed in a prison fight this morning. He's dead.

For a long moment, I can't think of what to say. My first instinct is relief. Even elation. But I can't hold onto that. It's not that I feel any remorse that he's gone. But I haven't forgotten how the same information played out with Rourke.

“...You think it's real?” I ask softly. I know he knows I don't mean whether it's official or if Rebecca believes it. He shrugs.

“I want it to be real.”

“...Lundgren was only in with Rourke on the island out of necessity. He was planning to turn on him in the end...do you really think they'd be working together now?”

“I don't know. I don't know if Rourke could pull the same trick he pulled with Lundgren that he pulled with himself to fake his death. Or...the trick we think he pulled. I can't imagine Lundgren going along with that.”

“Maybe not. Besides, it's not like a prison fight isn't a likely way for him to go, right? He was such a goddamn bully, I'm sure soon as he got in, he started clawing his way to the top of the inmate heap.”

Mike looks over at me. “...You don't have to come. There's enough time to get another pilot to cover for you.”

“...I ain't keen on sending a stranger to the island.”

“I would still be there. I'd keep whoever it was away from the village.”

I do consider the offer, silently weighing the pros and cons. A big part of me thinks I really should stay here. Stay here with Alodia. But I know it would be so much safer not to let strangers on the island. Besides, Alodia has Varyyn and Diego with her, and Rebecca not too far off. I trust them to have her back. I don't really like the idea of Mike making the journey with no one but a stranger watching his. I sigh and reluctantly shake my head.

“I think we're making ourselves jittery. Come on. Let's not leave Sean and Michelle stranded. They got a flight to Tokyo to catch.”

Tahira

My team spends Friday searching for the children, trying to turn up any leads we can, but we're not having much luck. I've tried to reach Caleb using the number he's been calling me from, but it goes straight to a generic voicemail, and the police haven't been able to track its signal either.

“People who don't want to be found have ways of staying hidden,” Eva muses when I express frustration at our lack of progress. “Caleb's been evading the law since way before I even started stealing. And we all know this isn't the first time those kids have run away from foster care.”

She's right, of course, but it doesn't help. They're treating the situation as a kidnapping on account of Caleb's involvement, which doesn't bode well for him. The kids would be considered runaways otherwise, especially given their history. The most comfort I can give myself is to tell myself that they wouldn't have gone far with Eva still looking after their dog. But that even that doesn't help a whole lot, because I don't actually know if it's true.

I can't make sense of how cut up I am about the whole wretched situation. I want to shut myself in my apartment and keep the world at bay, and I haven't wanted to do that since Mom told me I came through the Prism Gate as a baby. Those kids are orphans because of a battle I was part of, but I can live with that. I didn't start that battle, and I did what I could to stop it. But this...what's happening right now...it feels like failure. And failure cuts like a knife.

Jake

It's a little after 7pm local time when we land in Santo Domingo, seven hours later. We'll spend the night in a hotel and then set off for the island tomorrow morning. I call Alodia as soon as we land to check in and reassure myself that everything's all right. I also tell her the news about Lundgren. She takes it...carefully, is probably the most accurate way to describe it. Mostly wants to know how I'm feeling about it. I confess my concerns, and she admits to sharing them. We end up spending about an hour just going on about nothing in particular, just listening to each other speak, reassuring ourselves that we're all right. During that time, Mike and I are able to get to the hotel, check in, order food, and have it arrive. At that point, Alodia admits that she should be getting ready to go to a dance class. Recitals are coming up in May and the costumes are starting to come in. We exchange 'I love you's and reluctant good-byes, and then we hang up. I eat my dinner, watch a little TV, then decide to hit the hotel's gym in an attempt to burn off some nervous energy. I exhaust myself on the treadmill, spend too long in the shower, and finally crawl into bed.

Sleep doesn't come easy. When I do sleep, I have a distressing dream that my sister is dying of some rare disease and she's only got a day left to live, and it happens to be the same day that I'm meeting the half-sister I never knew I had who's the result of an affair my dad had that he never told anyone about, and it all sucks because I'm devastated that Rebecca's never gonna meet her niece, and I'm not sure I like this new half-sister because she's kinda snobby. I wake up sweating, and it takes me a few minutes to convince myself that Rebecca isn't actually dying. And that I shouldn't actually call her right now because it's about 8am here and three hours earlier in California, and if she's not on duty, she's probably asleep. That's when I realize that Mike's bed is empty and I can hear retching from the bathroom, where there's a sliver of light under the door.

“...Mike?” Concerned, I push back the covers and flip on the light, wincing at the sudden brightness. I make my way to the bathroom and tap on the door with my knuckle. “You okay in there, buddy?”

“You want an honest answer?” he croaks back. I open the door and find Mike slumped over the toilet, sweat shining on his ashen skin and soaking through his undershirt. Another spasm goes through him and he chokes something up into the bowl.

“Jesus!” I grab a washcloth from the rack and run it under the tap, wring it out, and press it to the back of his neck.

“Thanks,” he mumbles. “That's...nice.”

“Just months ago, I was up with Alodia doing this every morning.” I frown. “But what's going on with you? Did you go get drunk after I fell asleep? Pretty sure you're not pregnant.”

“You're lucky I'm not up for punching you right now,” he scoffs, wincing. “I'm not sure what this is. Something I ate, or some kind of stomach virus. Didn't drink anything last night. Just woke up and I had to hurl.”

I gently ease him upright and put a hand to his forehead. It's clammy with sweat, but it doesn't feel warm. “Don't think you have a fever. Maybe that fish last night was off.”

“Maybe.” He wipes at his forehead. “...Think I'm empty now. ...What time is it?”

“Getting on a quarter after 8.”

He groans. “So no time to sleep it off before we hit the water. Never mind.” He starts to struggle to his feet and I move to brace him.

“You sure you should be getting on a boat if your stomach's off?”

“I'll be fine. If I puke again, I puke again. But I'm sure I'll feel better after I've had a shower.”

“Well...we'll see. I'm gonna go get us packed. You holler if you need me.”

He snorts. “Yeah, like I'm gonna call you to help me shower.”

“I'm serious, Mike. You know I saw worse than your skinny naked ass in the Navy. And if you pass out in the shower and crack your head on the tap, I ain't gonna worry about your dignity. I'll call an ambulance and leave everything on display for the paramedics.”

Mike gestures ruefully at the skeletal bionic legs and feet that descend from his flesh-and-blood thighs. Cutting edge prosthetics that attach permanently and use some kind of advanced robotics to communicate with the nerves that still exist in his thighs. Alodia has speculated that the Endless' right hand was of a similar design.

“Great as these are in general, they don't lend themselves well to showering without a seat most of the time. I won't be in any great danger of slipping.”

“You better not.” I leave him to it, returning to the room to gather our belongings. I don't hear any alarming thumps, but ten minutes later, I realize I can hear him retching again. I knock on the door again.

“Cover up, kid! I'm coming in!” I don't wait for an answer before I push the door open. The shower is still running, but Mike has a towel wrapped loosely around his waist, preserving his modesty.

“Wanted some water to rinse my mouth with. ...It didn't sit well.”

I shake my head. “Well, that settles it. You're gonna stay here and sleep this off while I pick up Sean and Michelle.”

“You can't go out there alone.”

“It's fine. It's just about a three-hour sail there, and then I'll have Sean and Michelle on the way back. I'll have plenty of food, water, gas, and life vests, and if anything goes really wrong, I can call the coast guard. You won't be any use puking your guts up under the Caribbean sun when you can't even keep water down. You know that.”

He sighs. “I guess dehydration in the middle of the ocean wouldn't be very helpful.”

“Damn straight. Stay in here with the air conditioning on and get some rest.”

“Yes, Grandpa.”

“I trust you're gonna know when to panic?”

He rolls his eyes as he gets to his feet, but he does offer a weak smile. “Yes, Grandpa. Now if you're gonna go without me, go. I'm gonna go back to sleep.”

Alodia

Diego drives me to the dance studio on Saturday morning. I'm capable of driving myself, but try telling that to a houseful of loving, overprotective men who saw me dissolve into stardust five years ago not to coddle me when in my last month of pregnancy. I don't begrudge them a little fussing, and letting them chauffer me around inconveniences them more than me most of the time. At least this morning, Diego isn't just dragging himself out of the house to be my driver.

“I've got a few meetings with students on campus,” he explains as we get into the car. “Midterms are coming up, so naturally everyone's starting to get nervous.”

“Midterms for you, recitals for me...remember when we used to experience these things from the other side?”

“I definitely don't miss midterms from the other side.”

“...I kinda miss recitals,” I admit.

He smiles at me as he pulls on his seatbelt. “I have a break around noon. Wanna get lunch?”

“As long as it's somewhere nostalgic. What was that place we used to go when we cut class in high school?”

“Waterfall Cafe. I haven't been there since the last time we went together. I don't even know if it's still open.” A quick check on my phone assures us that it is. “Then that's where we'll eat. I'll pick you up around 12:30?”

“It's a bestie date.”

* * *

I remember costume-fitting days being something close to magical when I was a student. The first time we pulled the costumes on, they were a work-in-progress, straight out of their bags. We endured several minutes of teachers and assistants pinching and safety-pinning fabric, noting where it needed to be let out or taken in. The elastic shoulder straps came attached only at the front of the costume, and they too were pulled snug and secured at the back with safety pins. As soon as we were allowed, we scooted away to do our barre exercises in our glittering tutus. We may have been full of safety pins, without headpieces or stage makeup, but we were getting our first glimpses of how we would appear on stage just a month or two down the line. And in the final weeks before the recital, the costumes would come back complete. As a child, I had no concept of the amount of work that teachers and volunteer parents had put into altering the costumes to make them fit just right, and putting needle and thread to countless elastic shoulder straps. They might as well have been completed by Santa Claus and his elves picking up some extra work in the off-season. All I knew was that after the second fitting, the costume was mine forever.

Of course, now that I'm a teacher myself...

“Hold still a second, Ji-hu,” I say for what feels like the fiftieth time as I try to get a safety pin into the side of his black-and-yellow striped tunic. “Can you hold your arms out to the side for me? Atta boy.”

“Bzzzzzz! I'm a bee!” Ji-hu yells, although his announcement is pretty much lost in the din of a dozen other similar announcements from his classmates who are already decked out in black and yellow stripes. At last, I get him pinned and give him permission to go running out onto the dance floor with his friends. I wipe at my sweaty forehead and rise to my feet, wincing a little.

“Are you all right?” I turn to smile at Olivia, the woman in charge of costumes for the entire studio.

“I'm fine. Knees are just protesting a little. All this extra weight is getting to be hard on the joints.”

“If you need to rest, you can go ahead. You've kinda got the perfect excuse, you know.”

I shake my head. “I'll rest while Vikki's getting them warmed up.” But I can't resist putting my hands to my lower back and stretching backwards slightly. “So, who thought it was a good idea to move the five-year-olds to the early slot on Saturdays, and who thought it was a good idea to give them the Honeybees dance? Not the same person, I hope.”

“Hey, you had your chance to veto the Honeybee idea at the meeting five months ago. Just be grateful you don't have Ivan's class set. His five-year-olds are rainbows, and for some reason, he thought it would be a good idea to let them dance with flags.”

“Oh, god! You can barely trust the advanced classes with props!” I laugh ruefully and sigh, steeling myself for the next one. “Megan, sweetheart? Come here and let me pin your straps!”

Jake

There appears to have been some sort of confusion at the docks regarding the yacht I'm supposed to be sailing to La Huerta. It gets cleared up in the end, and I am finally supplied with the Rourke International vessel I was supposed to have in the first place, but I lose an hour and a half in the confusion. I radio Seraxa to let Sean and Michelle know I've been delayed, and set off from Santo Domingo in a foul mood. I don't arrive at the island until after two in the afternoon, but the journey itself is unremarkable, and the sail calms me down. Sean and Michelle are all ready and waiting for me when I hit the dock, their suitcases already packed and piled up on the platform.

“Ahoy, lovebirds!” I call. “We're running a little behind, so if you guys wanna drag your stuff aboard while I give 'er a little more gas, that would be really helpful.”

Michelle frowns a little. “Is Mike not with you?”

“Oh, geez, did I forget to mention? Mike stayed back at the hotel. He was puking his guts up this morning, didn't think a boat was gonna be the best place for him.”

“You were probably right,” Michelle assures me. “Do you know what the cause is? Did he eat something off?”

“Not exactly sure. He didn't have a fever, at least not as of this morning. But he couldn't even keep water down.”

She frowns. “Well, that'll be concerning if it's still going on tomorrow, but it sounds like it could be as simple as a stomach virus. I'll give him a once over when we get back to Santo Domingo if you guys have time. When's your flight back to California?”

“Nine tonight. Though, worst case scenario, we miss it and call Aleister or Estela for a chartered flight.”

“But let's try not to make that necessary,” Sean remarks, gathering up a couple bags. “I'll take these down below.”

Tahira

I give myself permission to wallow a little on Saturday. I keep my phone on so I can be reached if there's trouble, and I at least shower and get dressed. But I otherwise stay curled up on the sofa in my apartment with hot drinks and finger foods, trying to read or watch TV.

Unfortunately, I can't really concentrate on my book and there isn't much that appeals to me on TV. There appears to be a marathon of superhero movies on my favorite channel, and that's obviously out right now. I try to watch stand-up comedy, but that doesn't get much more than a half-hearted chuckle out of me. I actually spend the longest amount of time on a documentary about the American Civil War, but I have to turn it off when it finally registers that the endless quotes from soldiers' letters are just making me feel worse.

Maybe staying in isn't actually the best idea. Although it takes some effort, I manage to stuff my supersuit into a messenger bag, put on my coat and gloves, and drag myself out of the apartment. I don't know where I'm actually planning to go. Maybe Grayson's apartment? The Grand? Maybe I'll just go for an aimless walk.

I'm about a block from my apartment when my phone starts to vibrate in my pocket. It takes a surprising amount of willpower to make myself answer it. Particularly when I pull it out and see that it isn't a number I recognize. Before I became Dragonness, my policy was usually to let unfamiliar numbers go to voicemail, figuring that if it were important, they'd leave a message. But since we officially formed an alliance with the police, Dax has all our calls routed through some kind of service center that scrambles our numbers or something so they can't be traced back to our civilian phones, and in the process, that sometimes scrambles the caller's number too. I summon my energy, and thumb the green button.

“...Hello?”

“...Tahira?” The voice makes my heart wedge in my throat. I know this voice.

“...Caleb?!”

“Hey...”

“Don't 'hey' me! Where the hell are you?! Where have you been?! What have you done?! Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in?!”

“Uh...are you alone right now? Because I can hear traffic.”

“It so happens that I am out taking a walk, not that it's any of your business. Answer my questions!”

“I will, I will. But not over the phone. ...I need you to meet me where we were both held captive. Come alone. And come as you, not Dragonness.”

I am quiet for a moment as I find a quiet corner to slip into. “Why should I come alone?” I whisper. “Why shouldn't I bring anyone with me?”

“Because I'm asking you not to,” he answers softly. Softly enough that I can hear a note of quiet desperation in him. “Please.”

“...Just tell me this, Caleb: are the children with you?”

“Yeah. They're here. They're safe. Tahira...I'm counting on you to be a hero right now.”

This feels like a bad idea. A very bad idea. But I already know what I'm going to do. “...Hang tight. I'm on my way.”

Diego

“I'll see you Monday, Danielle. Good luck with your other midterms.”

“Thank you, Mr. Soto. See you Monday!”

Danielle gathers up her things and heads out, leaving me alone in the lecture hall where I am holding my classes this semester. Sitting in a rolling desk chair at the computer, I lean back, stretching my arms over my head and giving a good yawn. That was my last meeting of the morning, and it went quicker than I expected. Now it's about time I get ready to meet Allie for lunch. As it stands, I'm probably going to be early to meet her, so I take my time getting myself packed up.

“Diego Soto?”

I look up to see an unfamiliar young man standing in the doorway. He looks about the right age to be a student—and he's dressed like one, too—but I can't say that I've seen him anywhere around campus.

“That's me. Can I help you?”

“I'm Gabe. Gabe Madigan. I'm just visiting this weekend, but I'm gonna be transferring here next semester. They told me you'll be teaching your course again next semester?”

“That's right. I'm here the rest of the school year. You interested in taking it?”

He grins. “Well, yeah. I wanna be a screenwriter, and I'd be pretty insane not to take the opportunity to learn from a best-selling author on storytelling in film.”

“I'm always happy to have another film enthusiast in the class, no matter who they are.”

“Actually, I...” He gestures a little sheepishly at the backpack secured on his shoulders, “I have my copy of your book with me. Could you possibly sign it for me?”

“I'm sure I can spare the time for that.”

I head over to the desk to take out a pen while he takes his bag off to search for the book.

“You know, I was still in high school when all that stuff in the Caribbean went down. You know, the whole thing with Rourke International...”

I pause for a moment before pulling out a chair sitting down. I hold my hand out for the book. “I certainly haven't forgotten.”

Gabe hands me the book. “Is that a sensitive subject? Sorry. I just remember how close my family followed the story. My older brother was a Hartfeld student at the time. He'd entered the Rourke contest. He was pretty pissed off he didn't win. But once the story broke that you guys had gone missing, he actually felt pretty lucky.”

I can't help shifting awkwardly in my seat as I flip the book open to the front cover. “I won't lie. It was a...harrowing experience.”

I put my pen to the inside cover page and scrawl a quick note: “To Gabe: I look forward to seeing you in class next semester. Keep writing! – Diego Ortiz Soto.”

I see Gabe gazing at the array of personal items I have decorated my desk with: the two action figures Vaanu gave me on the island, a group picture of the Catalysts and friends this past New Years' Eve, one of me and Varyyn at our Vegas wedding, and the picture of me and Allie on the first day of third grade—one of the pictures that first heralded her return. Gabe points to that one, his finger hovering over Allie's eight-year-old face.

“Who's that?”

“Believe it or not, that's Alodia Chandler. The student who went missing on that trip and didn't come back for five years. And that kid she's with is me.”

“She's the one you dedicated your book to. So you knew her before the trip?”

“She's been my best friend since we were in diapers.”

“...That must have been hard, losing her like that.”

“It was. It was the hardest thing I've ever gone through. ...For five years, almost everything I did, I did in her name. For the longest time, the only way I could let myself be happy was by reminding myself that she would want me to be happy. So for a long time, any ounce of happiness I could feel was a dedication to her memory...” I trail off, suddenly embarassed at having gotten so personal with a stranger. I close the book and hand it back to him. “But she's home now. And actually, I'm supposed to meet her for lunch soon, so I should get going.” I pull open the desk drawer to retrieve my wallet and keys.

“Alodia Chandler and her Catalysts...”

Every hair on my body suddenly stands on end. My heart starts to thump with alarm and my stomach goes cold.

“...Gabe, where did you hear tha--”

Before I can finish, I am pulled back hard against his body. His forearm presses against my adam's apple, and a damp cloth obscures my mouth and nose. I struggle, but he caught me by surprise, and I'm being held at a distinct disadvantage.

` “You know the problem with you lot—the Catalysts, I mean—is that you're all so...insecure. There's no challenge in exploiting your weaknesses, because you all wear them on your sleeves.”

I reach for my desk drawer. My keys are sitting just there. If I can get them, maybe I can jab them into something soft and sensitive on his body. But he sees where I'm reaching and drags me off the chair with a sharp tug. I feel the ground tilting beneath me as the room starts to swim before my eyes.

“Don't get me wrong, you've all shown marked improvement since she came into your lives. But you were still entirely too responsive to flattery. It makes you vulnerable, being so desperate for praise.”

My vision is starting to narrow, filling with static at the edges. The voice in my ear is becoming distant, overpowered by the rush of my blood against my eardrums.

“Don't worry,” he sings as I start to fade. “You will see her again. As long as she behaves...”

Alodia

My twelve-year-old class is not as out of control about costume-fitting as the four-year-olds, but no one is immune to the excitement of that first look at performance-wear. And as Graceful Willows, their shimmery green costumes are decorated with soft frond fringes that awaken their playful sides. Wrangling them and getting costumes pinned still takes time, and I start to realize about 12:15 that I might not be ready when Diego gets here. About 12:30, as I'm helping the students out of their costumes and carefully putting them back in their bags, I check my phone. No messages from Diego yet, but he's probably on his way. I tap out a text: Hey, things are running just a little overtime here, but I should be out soon.

Fifteen minutes later, I'm still clearing things up and I check my phone again. No new messages, but I don't think anything of it, I just send another text. Just come inside if I'm not waiting for you when you get here. Just getting costumes sorted.

Ten minutes later, we finally finish up. Diego hasn't come in, so I put on my jacket and head outside to the parking lot to look for him. At this hour, between classes, the parking lot is nearly empty. It doesn't take me long to see that Diego isn't here. But Divya Gupta is, sitting cross-legged on a bench, hunched over a book that sits open on her lap.

“Hey, Divya, can I wait with you?”

Divya looks up and smiles. “Sure. My mom's coming to get me, but she's running late. Says traffic is really bad.”

A sense of relief floods through me. If traffic is bad, that's most likely the reason Diego's late. He's also scrupulous about not texting and driving.

“I'm guessing my friend is stuck in the same traffic,” I remark ruefully.

“Is your friend picking you up?”

“Yeah. We're going to go to lunch together.”

“What about your husband?”

“He's away until this evening.”

Divya turns her face toward me, propping her cheek up in her hand. “How long until you have the baby?”

“Oh, not more than a few more weeks.”

“Is it gonna hurt?”

“It will probably hurt some,” I answer honestly. “But there are a lot of ways to ease the pain. One of the advantages to living nowadays.”

“...It's a girl, right? Your baby?”

“That's right. We're going to name her River Skye.”

“That's a pretty name. My grandma says she can't understand why anyone wants to know if the baby is a boy or a girl before it's born. She says it spoils the surprise.”

I chuckle. “My husband's father says it's like opening your Christmas presents before Christmas.”

Divya laughs, then turns her eyes back to the parking lot. “Oh, I think your friend might be here.”

I look up to see a figure crossing the parking lot—and immediately I feel my veins turn to ice. The figure coming toward me is not Diego. She is not a friend. But I know her. I haven't seen her in years. She looks different now, her long dark braid replaced with a stylishly layered cut, and a combination of skintight jeans and a leather jacket taking the place of her high-tech military uniform. But I know her. Familiarity is a deep, bubbling dread in my gut. She smiles.

“Hey, Alodia,” Fiddler purrs.

“...Jeanine.” I'm surprised that my voice doesn't quiver. I speak to her with measured calm. “I wasn't expecting you. I thought Diego was picking me up.”

“He's going to meet us,” she says simply. “We should get going. Don't want to keep him waiting.”

“Not until Divya's mom gets here. I can't leave her waiting by herself.”

“It's okay, Miss Alodia. I'll be all right.”

“No, Divya,” I reply firmly. “I'm your teacher, and until your mom gets here, I'm responsible for you.”

“Oh, it's no skin off my nose,” Fiddler assures her cheerfully, though I'm pretty sure that's bullshit.

We lapse into a tense silence as I draw in a slow, calming breath. I don't know what Fiddler wants. But she's here and Diego isn't, and that's enough to let me know that something is very wrong in this situation. I search for Varyyn's presence in my mind. If I can find a memory close to the surface of his mind, I can slip into it and speak to him directly, the way I did so many years ago at the Vaanti tribunal.

I can feel right away that he is distressed. Even panicked. The most prominent memories are extremely recent and disjointed, but what I can pick up on puts together an increasingly alarming picture:

A phone call. Diego is...sick? Injured? A frantic rush to the hospital. But Diego isn't there. No one can tell him where his love is.

I find a place to plant my psychic projection, in the lobby of the hospital that Varyyn left in tears only moments ago. But in this moment, he is arguing with the receptionist, his fear and distress rising with every word.

“Varyyn!”

He turns to face me. The receptionist, as well as the rest of the hospital lobby's faceless population, continue with what they were doing, going through their motions like recycled animation.

“Alodia! I cannot find Diego! They told me he collapsed at the school, that he was taken to a hospital...”

“I'm pretty sure whoever told you that was lying. Fiddler is alive, and she's here with me.” I hold out my hand to him. “Keep your mind linked with mine, and don't forget anything that is said, do you understand?”

Varyyn, reading between the lines, nods and grasps my hand, his panic quickly replaced with grim determination. With our minds linked, I return to my own consciousness.

“Bye, Miss Alodia!” Divya calls as she trots over to her mother's car.

“Good-bye, Divya,” I manage to call back. “I'll see you next class.” The car pulls away from the curb, and I am left alone with Fiddler.

“So. Are you going to come quietly?”

“Where is Diego?” I hiss.

“Safe. For now. Whether he stays that way depends entirely on you.” She grasps my upper arm, and gives me a subtle but firm tug. “Come with me.”

I go where she's leading me. I'm walking straight into danger, but I don't have any choice. She has Diego. I can't leave him, and in my current condition, I can't fight her. I have to place my trust in Varyyn.

“If you harm a single hair on his head, you're a dead woman, Jeanine. That's a promise.”

“Listen, sweetie. I would love to cut your throat right here. Take out Wolf's skinny blonde hussy and his grubby little brat in one go. But someone's got a lot of stake your crotchfruit, and I've got a good take coming to me if I bring you and it in whole and healthy. But if I can't kill you right now, you'd better believe I'll take a lot of pleasure in breaking you by hurting your little gay puppy in front of you. Now, I don't have to do that if you don't give me trouble. But ask yourself this: how loosely do you think I'll define 'trouble' if it gives me an excuse to watch you suffer?”

I don't have to fake the way my breath quickens at her implications, even if the submission in the way I lower my eyes is a complete lie.

“...I won't make trouble.”

“Good girl.”

She's led me around the back of the building, to a driveway that is rarely used, except by savvy local drivers who know it can be used to illegally avoid a long traffic light about a block away. There is an ambulance parked dead center of the driveway, blocking potential traffic from both ends.

“Now, from here on out, I can't allow you to have any contact with your blue freak friend. Don't worry. This won't hurt your precious cargo. But it is gonna hurt like hell.”

Before I can respond, the palm of her free hand slaps against the back of my neck. Searing pain floods my senses, and then I drop into darkness.

Caleb

Okay, so I may have gotten in a little over my head when I helped the kids run away from their foster homes. I'm not exactly equipped to take care of them, and I don't really know where to send them. The clocktower isn't safe anymore. I doubt this place is going to be safe for long, either. Plus, I'm not exactly thrilled about hiding out in the same place Silas Prescott held me captive. But at least for now, the kids are out of the cold. The first night, I went digging through a few charity basements and came up with enough blankets to keep them comfortable, and I got enough money to feed them for a little while, but it won't last indefinitely. I just gotta hope Tahira will have some kind of plan. I just gotta trust her.

The silence is awkward as the six of us sit on the floor, stuffing our faces with McDermott's. Ysabel and the younger boys got kiddie meals, with the prize inside being action figures from some popular cartoon. I kinda gotta wonder how long it'll be before they start making action figures of Dragonness and her team.

“I miss Zelda!” RJ announces.

“She's safe. Minuet's taking care of her.”

“Yeah, I know, but I still miss her.”

“I don't like it here,” Alex whimpers. “It's cold and scary.”

“Hey, look. It's not gonna be for long. Our friend Tahira is coming. Remember her? She'll know how to help.”

“How do you know?”

“Because, she's really smart and she's Grayson Prescott's girlfriend. Grayson Prescott basically owns this city.”

“It's his dad who owns the city, not Grayson,” Dylan mutters.

“His dad's in jail,” Ysa points out.

“Well, he's not actually in jail,” I correct her. “He's under house arrest.”

“What's that mean?”

“It's like being in jail, except he just has to stay in his house.”

She wrinkles her nose with obvious distaste. “That doesn't really sound like a punishment.”

“Maybe not, but it still means that Grayson's in charge now, so he can help us.”

RJ frowns. “If Grayson's the one who's gonna help us, why did you call his girlfriend?”

“...Eat your fucking chicken nuggets.”

“Don't swear at my brother!” Dylan snaps. I sigh, rubbing my hands over my face. Where the flying fuck is Tahira? Finally, my burner phone buzzes in my pocket, and when I pull it out, I see Tahira's number flashing across the screen. I answer.

“Tahira? Where are you?”

“Caleb...hall...the...hall we escaped from...Hurry...”

Okay...that doesn't sound good at all. Alarm bells are going off in my head like there's a fucking air raid. I quit the call.

“You kids wait here. I'll be right back.”

I take off for the corridor at a run. I'm not sure what I was expecting to find there, but I was right about it not being good. The hall is pretty dimly lit, but I can still make out the figure that is unmistakeably Tahira slumped on the floor against the wall, and the smell of blood is sickeningly strong.

“Shit, shit, shit!” I rush to drop to my knees at her side. “Tahira, where are you hurt? Lemme see...”

Her eyes flutter and she nods weakly downward. Her hands are pressed to the lower right side of her abdomen, where I can see blood pooling between her fingers.

“Think...I'm gonna need you...to be the hero...this time...”

Jake

I mostly leave Sean and Michelle alone. They're still on their honeymoon, and I didn't come here to be the third wheel. I grab myself a beer from the minifridge belowdecks and head back to the bridge to keep an eye on our progress. It's about an hour into our sail that my phone starts to ring. The sound makes my pulse spike, and when I see that it's Varyyn calling, that only makes me more anxious. My first thought is naturally of my pregnant wife, and the possibilty that she's gone into labor while I'm miles away in the middle of the Caribbean Sea. I snatch up my phone.

“Varyyn? What is it? Is it Alodia? Is she in labor?”

“...No...” Varyyn's voice is quivering. “I'm afraid it's worse than that, Jake. ...She and Diego have been abducted. By Fiddler.”

All the blood rushes out of my head. I actually feel myself fall to my knees as my vision tunnels.

“...No...no, God, please. Please, no...”

“Alodia linked her mind with mine just before she was taken, but then...Fiddler did something, and now I cannot reach her.”

I taste bile at the back of my throat. I can't breathe. This can't be happening. “Wh-what does that mean?!” I choke out. “Is she dead?! Did Fiddler kill her?!”

“No. I don't think so. I can almost feel her presence still, but...it's as if there has been a wall put up between our minds. I cannot speak to her, I cannot see where she is.”

“Fuck...Okay.” I shake my head hard, trying to clear it. I can't help Alodia by panicking. “Okay, Varyyn, listen. I need you to call my sister. She'll know where to start. I'm gonna make sure Mike and I got a plane on the tarmac soon as I get back to Santo Domingo 'cause no way am I waiting around for a commercial flight.”

“Yes. Yes, of course. I will call Rebecca.”

I don't wait for him to say goodbye before I hang up the phone and climb unsteadily to my feet. Jesus, where the hell did my sealegs go? I still feel dizzy and breathless, and my stomach is threatening to rebel, but I force all that to the back of my mind. How I feel doesn't matter right now. Alodia is all that matters.

“Sean!” I call as I stumble toward the staircase that leads to the lower deck. “Michelle! We got a problem--”

I feel myself stumble and I stagger against the side just as my phone starts to ring again. Mike this time. I answer.

“Mike, we have a problem...” My tongue is starting to feel heavy. It shouldn't be feeling heavy. I've only had one beer.

“Jake!” Mike's voice comes through the speaker as a harsh whisper. “G.Q.! Bingo! Find another port!”

“Mike, Jeanine's alive. She has my wife.”

“Just promise me! Don't come back to Santo Domingo, Jake! Promise—ungh!”

“Mike?!” Only the distant sounds of something shuffling answer me. “Mike, buddy, say something!”

There's another moment of silence. Then another voice comes through the speaker. “Hello, Wolf.”

My blood goes cold in my veins. “...Lundgren...?”

“Surprised? You should know I'm not gonna die while you and Mouse are alive. How ya feeling, anyway? Dizzy? Hazy?”

I grasp the side of the boat, struggling to pull myself up, but my legs seems to be made of rubber. My vision is blurring, the horizon doubling before my eyes.

“Wha...what's...?” I feel the phone slip from my grasp as I slump back to the deck, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. Michelle...Sean...where are they...? Alodia's in trouble...Diego...Mike...I have to...

There's a figure approaching. An unfamiliar figure in an Arachnid uniform. The last thing I am aware of is a man's tenor voice: “We're just about done here, Commander. The wolf's going under. Sit tight. You'll have your prize soon.”

[andwiththyspirit]

Pray the Rosary with the Anglican Shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham

The above link will take you to the LiveStream page for the Shrine.

Time Difference: 6 pm BST at the Shrine is anywhere from 9 in the morning to noon in most of the Americas, so the videos of their Shrine Prayers are very useful for us.

Text: Scroll down near the bottom quarter of the page and take a moment to download the Shrine Prayers Order of Service for Easter to Pentecost PDF file. The Shrine's Use has slightly different wording to familiar liturgical texts.

Nota Bene: While the Anglican Shrine uses Pope John Paul II's suggested option of the Luminous Mysteries on Thursdays, the Fátima Prayer (from a Marian vision in the early 20th century) is not used in the praying of the Rosary there.

For the month of May: If you would like to include the special intention for the day at the Marian Shrine of the day along with Pope Francis' Rosary Marathon, please see the pinned post at the top of this tumblr oratory's main page.

[insanguinity-blog]

Don We Now Our Gay Apparel

Like many who do not have families, my partner Francis and I have a network of friends and associates – a “chosen family” if you will – with which we are occasionally obligated to engage. I prefer to do this sparingly (family relations work best when they are sparing) but I unfailingly acknowledge the necessity of the network’s existence, and our need to maintain it. It is not an easy thing to be in this world without familial support. None of us should be without love. 

 My own contributions to the maintenance of this network take the form of letters and occasional visits, but I have not much gone in for ritual. This was to come to an abrupt end this year when Francis breezed in to announce, apropos of nothing, that we would be leaving on the 18th for “Family Christmas”. He had made a plan to assemble members of the family in New York City, had arranged that we would go to Midnight Mass at Saint Patrick’s, and was insistent that he would drive there via several other locations and up the scenic route through the mountains. He was also insistent that I would come. 

Far be it from me to deny the spiritual significance that ritual electively invested with meaning does have, but it must be said that there is really nothing about December 25th of any true significance. It is not even canonically Jesus’ birthday and instead was celebrated as such in order to co-opt the Pagan Winter Solstice for political reasons. If Francis wanted to go visiting, I told him, why not just do it on his own schedule? The traffic, the accommodation, all of it, was sure to be pure hell. I did not particularly want to go, and I did not think he would enjoy it either. If we really were to visit family for a religious holiday, we’d be better to do it as part of giving up joy for Lent. 

 Francis did not find this funny and did not appreciate jokes about Mass. I said I was sure Jesus would have plenty of party guests, and that living as we do we are probably damned anyway, as I’m sure many of this paper’s regular readers do still earnestly believe, but he did not find this funny either. In fact, he told me to shut up and called me a Christmas Grinch. We were seeing family – and Jesus – for Christmas and that was that. 

 I know when I am beaten. Francis does not, I think, enjoy family so much as navigate to some internal sense of order and propriety that appears very much to make sense to him even if it cannot be easily translated to the world at large. And I do love him, and he would not be dissuaded, and thus it was, that with a triumphant spirit (his) and a weary heart (mine), we departed for New York by way of Louisiana (don’t ask). 

Our nights spent with my boyfriend’s ex-boyfriend and his girlfriend (I did tell you not to ask) were eventful, but mild and warm in weather, meaning it had not occurred to either of us that any non-Freeway route via Appalachia would require snow tires. Ours did, and despite Francis’ careful planning, on the evening of the 24th, we found ourselves two days behind schedule, and still in Virginia. We had found a place we could replace the tires, but it would not be open tonight. New York was six hours away, and we were not going to make it to Mass even on clear roads. It was at this point that I begged Francis to pull over. The holiday season had defeated us both, and we discussed our next move. 

Francis is Catholic, but it is not the style of Catholicism you or I might remember from Sunday school, in that he holds that god probably loves you and generally speaking will reward you for good behavior. I’m never entirely sure how sincerely he believes this (or perhaps how desperately he believes this) but it is what he usually says and as such I had not expected him to be as agitated about Midnight Mass as he was. He took it symbolically. We could not be with family and we could not go to Mass, and this must, he thought, say something of his value and fate in the universe. By the time we found a passable motel, he had combined mania and exhaustion into a Frankenstein’s monster of a mood, and I told him to lie down. He did so with a washcloth over his eyes and sighed dramatically while I phoned New York to tell everyone that we would be late.

Nobody minded. Everyone was content to remain in place until we could arrive. The date of Christmas was not, after all, significant, as one friend reminded me, before painstakingly explaining the pagan significance of Winter Solstice and its relationship to the Roman festival of the Birth of the Unconquered Sun while I politely pretended he had never done this before. What mattered is that we would see each other. I relayed all of this to Francis and he was soothed, but still distressed about Mass. 

It is an odd thing to love someone. It’s odder still to love someone so much you walk the streets of a dead little Virginia town hoping against all hope that there will be a Catholic church that will let you attend Mass and will not notice that you are, for lack of a less pejorative term, Big City Homos. We did not find one, but once Francis pulled it up on his phone, we were able to locate one within drivable-without-snow-tires distance. We drove there as hastily as the roads allowed, arrived in time, sang along, praised Jesus and drank his blood as Catholics are wont to do, and headed back to the motel to sleep. 

I didn’t hold his hand at Mass, of course – I’m certainly not stupid enough to do that in Virginia any more than I am in Alabama, and besides, I needed my hands for the rosary – but looking across at him in the candlelight during the service was quite enough for me. I’d made him happy, anyone could see that, and it made me happy to have done that, no matter the small concessions I’d had to make. Perhaps he was right after all: we need not consider ourselves exempt from normalcy or wholly damned provided we may have access to these rituals, and through them, family. It is hard to be in this world without family, after all. And, I thought of saying but did not: being in a church you’d prefer not to be, out of love and an attendant sense of obligation, what more authentic experience of Family Christmas could one have? (2011: Press-Register; Mobile, AL)