“He won more?” I asked.
“He won more decisively,” Rose murmured. “A more targeted, devastating strike. But then again, he’s the guy with the big guns, the power, the soldiers…”
I shook my head a little. What the hell were we supposed to do now?
“It’s not a kid’s television show,” Andy told me, “Where the antagonist makes the Machiavellian plan and then abandons that plan completely the first time it fails. People fail, they revise, they adjust parameters, they you achieve victory through persistence and hard work.”
I turned to stare at the house.
“It was nice meeting you,” Andy said. “I hope I don’t have to kill you.”
Our sanctuary is sealed off, I thought. We might not be around long enough to give you the chance.
“Hey,” I said. “Do me a favor, Andy?”
“Maybe.”
I pulled off the rain boots, then stood on the sidewalk with two socks on each foot. “Take those boots back to their owner?”
“Will do.”
I could hear him walking away.
“Rose?” I asked.
“What is it?”
“Do me a favor, and call the lawyers? Like you did before?”
“I’d say that’s only for emergencies, but I think this counts.”
“Yeah.”
I barely even heard her reciting the names.
I didn’t turn my head as a man came to stand behind my left shoulder.
“What can we do for you, Mr. Thorburn?”
“Can you undo this?”
“I think you know the answer,” he said. He wasn’t one of the ones I’d met before.
“Is it a price I’m willing to pay?” I asked.
“Most likely not, given Ms. Lewis’ notes.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Anything else?”
“What about safe passage to Toronto?” I asked. “There’s no reason to stay here.”
“That can be arranged for a very small cost,” he said.
“Putting me in contact with the local Lord, so I don’t step on toes? I’ll need some things, as well.”
“Clothes and supplies. Yes. Shall we negotiate?”
“I think we have to,” I said.
3.x (Histories)
“Back straight. And for the love of god, stop sweating.”
“I’m sorry, Auntie,” Sandra murmured.
Her aunt stalked around her, fingers prodding, adjusting. Raising the chin a fraction, moving the shoulders back. When Sandra allowed her chin to drop again, the second adjustment was made using fingernails, in the soft flesh just behind the jawline. She barely flinched, but she could sense her familiar bristling.
Sandra had a view of her auntie as the woman took a step back to look Sandra over. They were all dressed elaborately in forest green, their outfit appropriate for a dinner party more than a formal dance or cocktail party. Her auntie’s age had been obfuscated by a touch of glamour, so she might appear to be a woman in her late twenties. Carefully masked. Long term use and overuse with glamour led to complications. As in all things.
Sandra herself didn’t have the benefit of any glamour. She remained stock still as her aunt stepped close and adjusted her neckline. Redistributing flesh at the top of the corset as if she were fluffing a pillow, until she was satisfied with the presentation.
It’s the eighties, and I’m wearing a corset. There’s something wrong with this picture.
Nevermind the fact that her aunt was adjusting her assets as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
Her aunt met her eyes.
“Don’t look so angry, Sandra,” the woman said. She adjusted a strand of Sandra’s hair, tucking it behind Sandra’s ear.
“I’m not.”
“You look angry. Missy, tell me, what expression does your cousin have on her face? Tell the truth.”
It’s not like we have a choice.
Missy stepped away from the door to take a look. Missy wasn’t nearly as made up as her mother or Sandra were, but that was intentional. A very non-magical effect and tactic at play.
Missy took her time studying Sandra. When Sandra shifted her weight in impatience, the movement prompted another half-dozen small corrections from her auntie.
“Now, Missy.”
“You look pissed, baby sister,” Missy said.
“Language. We are guests,” the rebuke was sharp.
Missy looked suitably chastised. Then again, she’d always been the best actress in the family. Everyone found freedom where they could, and Missy had found hers in doing one thing while pretending to do another.
“I’m not angry,” Sandra said, as diplomatically as she could. “This is the expression my face naturally settles into.”
“My sister should have corrected that,” her aunt said. “No reason you can’t teach yourself to hold a different expression. I hope this won’t be a problem.”