Chapter 6: A Liminal Tower

‘So,’ Victoria said, on the seventh morning Aix was having breakfast with her. ‘My friend Virginia just had one of her one-bedroom apartments open up, on the upper east side; and before you protest, I do recall you saying you’re on disability, and I would not have offered something you could not afford on the pittance they make you live on.’

‘I’ve… been trying not to think about how you’re a landlady, honestly,’ Aix admitted.

It was a very awkward fact, at least to Aix—they were firmly against the concept of renting, but talking to the tenants of the building while they’d been doing their laundry a few days ago had revealed that overall, Blackwood Keep was considered something of a fixture in the gaybourhood, had been a haven for queer people for decades, and many residents were queer elders with plenty of stories about how the rather snobbish Mr Blackwood (many still called him that; it was, the queens wryly teased, his ‘maiden’ name) nonetheless had quietly made the building extremely safe for the community, right down to physically barring entrance to homophobic relatives, keeping them from emptying flats that had been rented by one of the thousands that had died of AIDS, or keeping rent just about enough to cover the cost of running the building, with documentation given to each tenant outlining what the money did (‘I wish our taxes did that!’). And Aix had gotten the impression, particularly from old Mr Cousins, that the whole building was run like a co-op, and it was only their landlord’s possessive and controlling nature regarding the historical status and look of the building that caused him to not give up ownership.

‘Yeah, um… though it seems like y’all are… kind of weird? In a good way! Like, I was talking to some of the tenants about the history of this place, and I guess rent is just… ridiculously low, and it’s actually… a community? Like an old-fashioned apartment building, where people know each other, and there’s parties sometimes and a garden? There’s almost no turnover? And… honestly, it sounds like a co-op, but I guess the general idea is that Dmitri’s kind of controlling about the Art Nouveau thing.’

Victoria contemplated them for a few minutes over the rim of her coffee cup, which was fine china just like the teacups, but made slightly bigger. The coffeepot was, of course, tall and thin rather than the round, short shape of a teapot.

‘…Dmitri says you reacted, shall we say, interestingly to his casual reveal of his nature, the other day.’

‘His… his naohmygod he’s a real vampire isn’t he?’ Aix muffled a scream of laughter—they, like many others, called landlords ‘landleeches’, and the irony of it being literal in Dmitri’s case was not lost on them.

Victoria sipped her coffee, barely hiding her smile, feeling as usual rather smug about being married to a vampire—as any goth would. ‘So you see,’ she continued, ‘the building needs to be his—grave soil and all that. Not that I’m denying we’re both aristocracy, and all the blood on our money; but the blood part is rather literal, for my beloved. Now, unfortunately, ours are all two-bedroom apartments, or I would invite you to stay in unit C4. I gather that might be too much space for you to be comfortable, though I could be wrong, of course.’

Aix thought about, really thought about, whether a two bedroom would even be something they wanted to maintain. Yes, they’d been raised to think one should have a bedroom for every resident of a house, plus an extra one for guests; but did they really want guests that stayed in their own room but still in Aix’s house? All the years of guest-surfing homelessness and horrendous hosts and housemates, plus being on the street a couple years ago… and then now, their current situation completely cut off from help navigating the benefits the social workers had gotten for them, which made it terrifying abuse rather than relief… and their worsening physical mobility…. Having a second bedroom would be a lot of trouble on top of all that, especially since they couldn’t afford to furnish it. And they weren’t sure about how social the building was, though that was mostly self-consciousness and the past decade of their life being spent in isolation or abuse. Still… they’d lived in Inwood once, and they’d quite adored it.

‘I realise we just met,’ Victoria said seriously, ‘and it’s obvious to me you’ve not got a lot of experience with true kindness, and I’m rich, and you’re right not to trust aristocrats bearing gifts—’

‘I used to be one,’ Aix said, all in a rush, feeling like they were confessing murder. ‘My—my white family, they were old coloniser money, moved—moved west to Minnesota, and then LA. They were. They lived in the Hills. Weren’t smart with money, just had it, so when the recession happened… and—and I never fit in, and I’m—I’m not white enough. For them—and—I—I’ve started to understand that I’m not. I’m not poor like people that grew up poor. I was poor. My mother wasn’t. And she—she seems like middle class now, but she’s not. She’s not at all. And it’s been kind of nice to be able to know some of the rules, hanging out with you and your family.’

Victoria let them talk, knowing how to make herself into a soothing and receptive presence.

‘And your family has been—so nice to me—and—I want to live here again.’ They were crying now, and took their glasses off, setting them aside with the practicality-in-details of one in crisis. ‘I want to live here again, I want this to be true, that—that all of this—that it means maybe I can—I can have a family that understands me—but I’ve—I’ve always coveted other people’s families like—like some kind of—I don’t know, doppelganger—and I just. I’ve learned that’s not how life works. You get the family you get—and if you’re autistic? That’s it!! That’s it, you’re done! Especially if you can’t get married properly.’ Aix sniffled. ‘And I can’t. I can’t and I shouldn’t have in the first place.’ They hid their face in their hands. ‘Why is this happening to me? I’m nobody, I swear I’m nobody….’

Victoria was careful to make her sigh of sympathy utterly silent, so Aix wouldn’t interpret it as exasperated. She’d heard those words before—from Virginia, in fact. Not directly, but in one of the visions that included Virginia, of which there had been a few. And Victoria had seen her Aunt Jessamine’s identical reaction to the in-laws, in Victoria’s dreams that dipped into pasts that were not her own. She didn’t believe in reincarnation, but Aix was very like Aunt Jessamine….

‘The world was very cruel to you, and yet you are still someone who believes in the right thing, in the fact that humans are supposed to take care of one another. You’re simply not alone in that anymore, lamb; you’ve found your people. All your hard work surviving, and trying to be better than you were the day before, that is bearing fruit. The gods can only give you opportunities—whether you are curious enough, brave enough, to decide to take them—that is your choice. And you have made that choice, every hour of every day. You answered my call and let me in, you were connected with an entity that most people hate and fear, and you only saw a fellow person in pain, and you were kind. That is an enormous thing, Aix. And, after all,’ she added, just to cap it off with something to ease the sombre tension, ‘Odysseus was Nobody, too.’

That got a watery laugh. ‘I just… you know, you’re not supposed to believe things that sound too good to be true. But… anything short of being on the street, or being abused, sounds too good to be true, to me. I don’t think my instruments are calibrated right,’ they joked weakly.

‘She wouldn’t if I told her, no; but she also keeps complaining that paying my rent costs too much; buuut, I’m also supposed to have “A Backup Plan”. Whatever that means, I don’t know what that is even supposed to be,’ Aix said angrily. ‘What does she expect me to do, exactly? I can’t hold down a job, I’m too crazy and crippled. What the hell is Plan B supposed to even be, you know?’

‘She’s disappointed in you, and doesn’t approve of your choices. That means you’re doing precisely the right thing,’ Dmitri said, from the doorway to the dining room. He gave a little wave when Aix looked up at him, pushing off the doorway and coming in, leaning down to kiss his wife’s cheek, and gently squeeze her velvet-clad shoulders. ‘Believe me,’ he went on, wryly, ‘I know all about passive-aggressive English mothers, I had one.’

‘I’ll be right there to help you with the lease,’ Victoria promised. ‘And once your rent amount is on a legal document that everyone has signed, it can’t go up on you.’

‘I’m more worried about the social security office. I’ve never been able to report moving to them, because they basically force you to come to an office in-person and if you can’t—hello, Covid?—then fuck you, I guess. I also know they’ll slash my stipend whenever I report any changes, too, and I can barely make ends meet on six hundred a month. I have a friend that’s been paying for my groceries because I can’t feed myself, but I also don’t get to have food stamps because disability should cover it, apparently.’ Aix sounded bitter and angry and they knew it. ‘It’s financial abuse. I hate knowing I’m being abused and not being able to stop it. I just want to be able to pay for myself, not have to keep begging people that don’t care about me!’

‘We care about you,’ Victoria soothed. ‘And not because you’ve been charming. We care because you’re a person and you oughtn’t have to suffer like this.’

‘Noblesse oblige requires the aristocracy to make sure the peasants on their land are well,’ Dmitri agreed.

‘Jeez, tell me how you really feel,’ Aix quipped; they always defaulted to jokes when they were shocked.

‘I’m a vampire, my dear. Would you prefer if I said I want to be sure my prey is healthy before I take a bite?’

‘I think our Aix would prefer harsh truths to pretty lies, my dearest lady-wife,’ Dmitri said, sitting down at the round mahogany table, his posture so perfect it made Aix straighten up a bit in self-consciousness.

‘I do appreciate monsters that don’t deny what they are, yes,’ Aix said, drying their crying-wet face with the soft purple napkin. ‘ “we never burned and tortured and ripped one another apart and called it morality”.’

‘Precisely,’ Dmitri said, his shapely, thin lips in a smile. He had quite a pretty mouth, especially considering he was English. ‘Milady knows a great many people who could facilitate you throwing off the yoke you’re labouring under, and considering you have caught the eye of Cthulhu, I would say your happiness has moved up the entire world’s list of priorities.’

‘And… Doing anything is a risk!’ Aix said, sighing and leaning back, dropping their head over the back of the chair and staring up at the gold foil stars on the ceiling’s wallpaper. ‘Mom took away Plan B, because Plan B, Mother, is Move Back In With Your Parents, and I’m not allowed to do that, because how dare I have messy loud emotions I don’t repress. How dare I have massive crises from trauma, wehhh that’s too scary to look at, stop making me witness human suffering.’

‘I’d express shock and horror, but I know far too much about what the English call “parenting”,’ Victoria sighed. ‘Still… your mother is a heartless bitch, if I may be frank.’

A bleak and mirthless but gratified laugh. ‘She is. But she’s Nice, you know, so it feels rude to criticise her.’

‘Precisely so,’ Dmitri said, in a tone that said he knew exactly what Aix meant.

‘…You know what?’ Aix said, and straightened again, looking Victoria in the eye. ‘Fuck it. Yeah, let’s go see that apartment your friend has.’ They wheeled back from the table—Victoria’s family had insisted they keep the wheelchair, since they found it so perfect for their needs—and went to get their backpack. They had a purse, but they had known better than to bring it to New York City; using public transit meant you needed room for books to read, and emergency snacks, and a coat, and plenty of water. Wearing it the traditional NYC way—in front, not in back—meant it didn’t even press into their bad arm.

Since they were meeting someone, Aix had the energy to take a shower and put some eyeliner on—there was no point wearing other makeup, they wore a niqab outside and with unknown people these days, for safety. A veil was far more comfortable and less claustrophobia-inducing than a medical mask, and worked about as well. It was a holdover from a mild spiritual crisis Aix had gone through a few months ago, that had led to a lot of research and questioning whether they wanted to switch faiths. In the end, they hadn’t; but they’d kept the veil-wearing, because it helped them feel safe—both from illness and from surveillance.

Victoria wore a more western and funereal veil attached to a hat, but it was still nice to be together with her in covering up; and because Aix wasn’t as practised at long trips in the wheelchair, they left theirs behind.

The first time Aix had gone out into the subway with Victoria, they had been fully prepared to help her fight for accommodation, knowing how ignorant and aggressively ableist people were, and also how exhausting it was to constantly brace oneself for battle; but Victoria quickly made Aix realise the reality that not everyone felt that way. Victoria was quite at ease with ordering Aix around—open this, hold this, put this there—as much as she ordered everyone else—politely of course, but she used her Lady-Mistress Voice, and everyone jumped to obey her. It was terribly impressive, and not a little sexy.

They had settled in on the A train for the relatively long trek down to Times Square, and Victoria had pulled out her crochet, when Aix finally decided to ask.

‘I am,’ she said, not looking up from her work—Aix was watching her hands with fascination, the hook she was using was so tiny, and the purple thread was laceweight. ‘Unless my powers of observation are failing me, you seem to enjoy it—though I have avoided anything sexual when it comes to you, of course, my dear. I simply do tend toward a rather masterful tone.’

‘Yes,’ Aix said, looking at his hands. ‘I don’t mind,’ they added. ‘I do enjoy helping you, and I like being told how people want me to help. If it weren’t for my feet and all….’ Aix sighed. ‘I really like being of service. I like dealing with customers, I like folding clothes, or working a register, or doing laundry, or clearing tables, or doing dishes. I like doing those things, because when I’m behind a desk, when I’m serving, I have power. Everyone comes to me and I get to help, and I get to control the conversation.’

‘You truly understand submission, then, how refreshing,’ Victoria commented.

They rode in silence for a while, the only ‘noise’ the semi-rhythmic movement of Victoria’s hands and the antique silver-and-ivory crochet hook.

Victoria hummed thoughtfully. ‘You should ask him. He obviously comes from a culture with such play.’

As it turned out, Virginia’s building was near the Armory on Park, which made Aix nervous because they had an ex-friend that worked there. It was also far ritzier than Inwood, and had dogs.

However, there were, also, fae. Aix noticed a person with pointed ears and wings immediately, an older man picking up some mail from the front desk. He was wearing a very nice suit, with a mask that matched—both too nice for it to be just because he was rich. It was tailored, and while there was a higher incidence of people wearing high-effort fashion in this town, suits that fit well were something you could only have if you understood how a suit should fit.

Aix realised they was staring. ‘Sorry for staring,’ they said, looking down shyly. ‘I was just admiring your suit, it’s gorgeous.’

‘Don’t apologise for that, my word!’ the old elf chuckled. ‘I’m quite flattered—it’s my own work, you see. Are you one of the Blackstones, then?’ he asked, and Aix realised Victoria had moved—the lobby wasn’t too big, or too full, with very soft carpet and what felt like a wooden floor beneath, which didn’t fit with the architecture, but Aix still felt a little bit adrift, especially here. ‘I’m with Mrs Blackstone, yes,’ they said, cautious of the fact this was, after all, one of the Folk. ‘I’m here to see a one-bedroom that just opened up, she said.’

‘Ah,’ he said, green eyes twinkling. ‘And I imagine she’d want you nearby.’

Aix quirked a brow, which their niqab was specifically adjusted to show. ‘…okay, slick,’ they said, after a moment, ‘I’m tired of subtlety. You’re folk, and clearly you can tell I’ve got some psionic weirdness going on. I prefer having it out in the open.’ They resisted the urge to offer their hand, but did bow their head slightly. ‘You can Call me what you like, of course,’ they said.

To Aix’s surprise, the elf looked somewhat surprised. ‘I can? Is that… customary, here?’

‘I’m from a very different wood, I’m afraid. But there are cousins here? Really? I was told there were not, only humans, and the Dead, and half-wolves—vampires and werewolves, they’re called here. And things which my realm has no name for.’

Aix glanced over at Victoria, and then at the nearest seat (a beautifully-carved tufted-back tête-à-tête upholstered in green leather), then back at the elf. ‘Sit with me, I can’t stand anymore.’ And they went over to the sofa, bracing themself for not being followed; but the elfin tailor followed them happily.

‘Not fond of it myself,’ he said, as he settled down in the other seat, his package on his lap.

‘I can’t believe nobody told you there aren’t Folk here. I don’t know how many there are in the city, but we’ve always had lore about you, mostly the Celts, so most of the words are in Gaelic languages…. Anyway! The point is, I was taught that you never give your name, and that it’s polite to let the Folk give you a Call, and vice-versa. I used to know a troll I called Brita, for example.’

‘He lived by the creek and picked trash out of it,’ Aix said, shrugging. ‘My call with humans is a genus of duck—these,’ Aix said, pulling up the images they always had ready to show people, of both species in the Aix genus.

‘Those are the native species,’ Aix said with a nod. ‘The others are native to far east Asia. There’s a lot of lore about them, actually.’

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘So you’re one of the people called… I’m still learning this, give me a moment… transqueer?’

Aix smiled; it was very endearing when older people tried their best, perhaps moreso than people who got the words right but still treated you like shit. ‘I am trans and trans people are a type of queer person, yes.’

‘Ah. We don’t need the words, where I’m from. It has never been persecuted.’

‘Anti-Miscegenation Laws,’ he said, reciting it like a memorised phrase. ‘My beloveds are half-wolves, you see. They’re not even citizens, in our country of origin.’

‘May we cut in?’ asked a woman’s voice; Aix looked up to see a thin brunette with very blue eyes behind her mask, which was a blue fabric with strawberries on it. Her eyes were smiling. ‘Hi, I’m Virginia Monday-Clovis.’

‘Oh, um, hi,’ Aix said, not ever sure how to deal with situations like this. ‘I was just talking with this gentleman about the Folk in this country.’

‘We must continue this conversation later,’ the elf said, getting to his feet and pulling a calling card from a silver case in his inside coat pocket, offering it to Aix. He held up the package. ‘I expect my dearest will not want me to delay getting this to him, so I shall bid you farewell.’

‘Ta ra,’ Aix said, smiling at the old-fashioned manners. They were comforting, and familiar; Aix knew where they stood, what they should say and do, with those manners. Virginia sat down in the third seat of the tête-à-tête.

‘Victoria said you prefer one-on-one conversations, but if you’d like her to be with us that’s okay.’

‘Um, no,’ Aix said, ‘No, I’m good. So, first question… there’s dogs? Do they bark a lot?’

‘No,’ Virginia said, ‘we do have howling, though. It started when everyone was isolating, and everybody here just likes the camaraderie. Happens at eight pm every night. You can join in if you like.’

‘I might, actually,’ Aix said. ‘That gentleman was just saying how he moved here because where he’s from, werewolves aren’t citizens, and there’s anti-miscegenation laws? So apparently there’s some interdimensional stuff going on, because he talked about terms being different and also not knowing there were Folk here.’

‘Ohh, okay. So we can go mask off—metaphorically, I mean. Well, do you need to rest a bit more, or are you ready to tour the apartment and talk about what to expect from living here?’

‘We have seats in the elevator, in the hallways, and the apartment has a little settee type thing. We also have a couple loaner wheelchairs.’

There was clicking of claws on the wood of the floor, and Aix tensed up, unable to help immediately glancing over to see a medium-size brown dog of indeterminate parentage—a very doggy dog, then—that had a little vest on that said ‘Hi I’m Heckin! I’m a therapy dog, please pet me!’. They were panting in a doggy smile, tail wagging slowly.

‘Hey, Heckin,’ Virginia said. ‘Heckin’s our building dog. He sleeps with us but spends the day wandering around doing his job.’

Heckin had not gone over to Virginia; he sat down in front of Aix, patiently. Aix carefully offered a hand, ready to pull it back, and Heckin sniffed it politely, before perking up his ears and waiting, with that canine smile. He seemed like a nice dog, mostly because he wasn’t making sudden loud noises, and Aix leaned down to pet his face thoroughly.

‘I’m not a dog person,’ Aix said. ‘I know that seems weird, when I obviously am not being mean,’ they went on, knowing it was clear they knew how to pet a dog. ‘I just can’t handle how social dogs are, and barking hurts my head. It’s not fair to the dog for me to be around them, really.’

‘I like wolves,’ Aix said immediately. ‘I mean—I’ve never met any of the turns-into-a-human-shape variety, but I like werewolves conceptually, and wolves are critically important to the ecosystem and deserve respect and shouldn’t be pets and I have a rant locked and loaded at all times are you sure you wanna hear it?’

‘I’m sure many people here would,’ Virginia said, getting up. ‘I can’t judge for you whether the dogs will bother you, but you can maybe see for yourself?’

‘I’m certainly curious enough to try it and see,’ Aix said, letting go of Heckin and pushing to their feet, following Virginia to the back of the lobby where there was a brace of elevators. Aix was used to the wide variety of elevators that resided in New York, and even rather liked how many elderly ones were still in use. This one was rather elderly, not made entirely of glass and metal, and had wallpaper rather than mirrors—and there was, indeed, a padded fold-down bench on one side. It was rather cosy, but Aix was more agoraphobic than claustrophobic.

Virginia hit the button for the thirtieth floor, which was as high as the numbers went, and Aix sat down, mostly for the novelty of it.

‘Oh wow, above the noise,’ Aix commented, as the doors closed. ‘How is it still empty?’

‘Most people moving here need more space,’ Virginia said. ‘Or they need things to be shorter,’ she added, as the elevator dinged and opened into a hallway with dark, warm wood floors covered by a green patterned carpet runner. The walls were covered in a green wallpaper with a pattern that looked like a forest, which was helped by the wrought iron and glass of the ceiling.

‘Oh my god,’ Aix said, staring up at the glass ceiling. ‘What… you realise I can’t afford to live here, right?’

‘Why don’t you deserve to live here?’ Virginia asked, walking at an easy pace down the hall. ‘You’re just the same as anybody else. I don’t need the money, I own the building.’

‘I know Victoria, and she vouched for you. Listen,’ Virginia said, waylaying the next protest. ‘I know how it feels to suddenly step into a world where you’re suddenly important, and you matter, when you’ve spent your life invisible and taken for granted, I do. I saved the world once—not this one, but the one most of the people who live here are from, which is like… a whole fairy tale situation. Where all the fairy tales come from.’

‘I’m a bard. I’m a bard and a witch. I know how that world works, better than this one. I know the rules. I’ve studied folklore my entire life. I’m much better-equipped to deal with Märchenland than I am all this…’ Aix gesticulated, ‘…Gothic-slash-Weird Horror nonsense.’

‘You’d be running away,’ Virginia said, and Aix hated that she was sort of right. ‘Listen,’ she said, opening the door to the apartment at the end of the hall, letting them in. ‘You can’t run from this because you think you’re not the right person. You are the right person, even if you don’t feel like you are, you don’t know all the pieces in play. You got chosen for a reason, and you’ll figure it out if you keep at it. I speak from experience,’ she added, with a sardonic smile in her voice.

Aix looked around the apartment as she spoke—the building wasn’t as much a feast for the eyes as Victoria’s, because it wasn’t Art Nouveau; however, it was still beautiful, just simpler… and then Aix found the kitchen, and screamed, flapping excitedly and bouncing up and down. ‘Ohmigod bonanza midmod oh my god!!! Oh my god oh my god what kind of fucking Snow White nonsense ahhhhh this is so good!’

The kitchen cabinets were dark wood, with brass handles, and the signature brown appliances of the sixties and seventies blending into them. The counters were wood also, and looked new, as did the ‘Chequy cork floor ohmigod!!’ Aix said, and started opening corner cabinets and drawers. ‘This is so good.’

‘I’m glad you like it; I was about to apologise because it hadn’t been touched since about the time this place was built.’

‘No it’s so good!! Oh my god. I love bonanza midmod—I don’t know what everyone else calls it, but there were two branches of midmod—atomic futurism stuff, which is the sputnik lights and the pastels and smooth and chrome everything—and then there’s bonanza midmod, which is all the dark wood and panelling and cottagey-western vibes. And everyone hates it but I. Love it. It’s so cosy! Fuck this minimalism bullshit for real. Oh my god this is real brick…’ Aix said, as they reached across to feel the backsplash.

‘The flooring is new; we were testing out the waterproofing for the cork. The counters are too, because our maintenance crew are really into craftsmanship and find laminate and particleboard offensive.’

Aix laughed, hopping up on the upholstered saddle stool at the snack bar. ‘Wow, this thing! I love it, so comfy!’

‘Yeah, that’s something Michaela came up with. She’s a big lady, but she likes to sit up high. So she builds her own bar stools.’

Aix looked around at the kitchen as a whole, and Virginia could tell they were calculating, and stayed quiet, thinking.

‘That’s one of the reasons Victoria thinks you’d be happier here,’ Virginia said, coming to sit beside them. ‘We have a lot of people with sensitive hearing, so the building has to be very quiet. Luckily, the maintenance guys are some of those people. We have central air, but they insisted on installing radiators; apparently they’re the most efficient.’

‘Huh. Don’t those make noise? I don’t mind that noise…’ In fact, Aix had made up a rather erotic reason behind the pipes banging in the walls, to keep themself from startling awake at it, and it had worked a little too well—now when they heard a pipe-bang inside a wall, they got aroused. They had never told anyone this, however, and weren’t about to tell a stranger.

‘I know, right?’ Virginia laughed, and turned on the stool to point at one of the shining and brand-new-looking radiators, the one in the dining room. It shone in the light from the bare window, the sun reflecting off the green finish. ‘And they’re not bad-looking once they’re clean and work right.’

‘I love them, actually,’ Aix said. ‘I just thought they were messy and loud and inefficient and allergenic.’

‘That means something is wrong—radiant heat is more efficient and hypoallergenic than even more modern forced-air. …You would not believe how much I’ve had to learn about this, running this building,’ Virginia added, realising what she sounded like. ‘Sorry, this sounds boring, doesn’t it?’

‘It sounds amazing. I’m always so interested in that stuff. I almost went to school for interior design, though honestly I’m more into just… everything. Everything from public transit to plumbing to decorating. Just… the concept of home. Everything that makes a home what it is. Everything that changes the details of people’s lives. Fabric, appliances, cosmetics, food—all the bits of history that people forget. Everything has a story. That fabric of your mask, the style of your hair, the cabinets in this kitchen—everything has a story to tell us. I can’t imagine going through life not seeing those stories.’

‘…Okay, wow. You need to live here. Do you know how many people would love talking to you? I get hundreds of questions from everybody, every day, that I can hardly answer.’ Virginia paused. ‘You know, I think that’s a good idea. How about this: you stay here, you act as a guide to this world—just tell the stories of everyday objects to all the new people.’

‘I want to be part of a union and have a monthly salary determined by the median cost of living in this area, adjusted every year. And I want full health coverage, including dental, mental, optic, and palliative.’ Aix folded their arms. ‘My daddy was a union man, I know what I’m worth.’ Aix paused. ‘I don’t know what union that falls under.’

‘Probably AGVA, if you’re a bard, or UFT if it falls under teaching,’ Virginia said. ‘Hext can hook you up with the former, he’s been an MC at the Coney Island Freakshow for years. But look at the rest of this apartment first.’

Aix let out a breath they hadn’t realised they’d been holding, and pushed off the stool, walking around and testing light switches, getting out their phone charger and testing every single outlet, showing that they’d lived in a lot of apartments before. From how they pulled the sofa out of the wall and carefully tipped it over to shine their flashlight on the underside, they had suffered from a bedbug infestation before.

‘We have magical pest control,’ Virginia said. ‘The only thing is that its dragonets in the walls. They’re tenants though, not pests.’

Virginia laughed, and was about to answer when her phone rang. ‘Hold that thought,’ she said apologetically, ‘this is my personal number, so it’s an emergency.’

Aix used the opportunity to go check out the bedroom and bathroom. The bedroom was just the right size for a twin bed, with a very level, well-sealed wooden floor and another radiator by the window, which was halfway up the wall like the rest of the mid-century style side-closing windows (the windows could open!), making room beneath for furniture—or, in this case, a radiator beneath one window, and nothing beneath the window on the other wall. A corner unit, how ritzy, Aix thought. The walls and ceiling were plain and white—Aix wondered if you were allowed to paint, as they went into the bathroom, expecting the worst and—they squealed.

It was pink. The toilet, the sink, the walk-in shower—they were all a beautiful, delicate pink, the shower door even had a swan etched into it. The mirror cabinet had some water spots, and the brass had a well-worn patina; but Aix flipped on the lights and they all still worked, and there was an outlet.¹ Even the radiator was pink, and there was a towel warmer built into it, which Aix had never seen before in person.

The solitude gave them time to remember to check on little details—the shower was original, the head was small but thankfully not mounted uncomfortably short, and there were enough towel rods. The bedroom had a closet—a proper one that wasn’t a walk-in, and drawers beneath, with cabinets above—a good amount of space for storing things they didn’t want to see, like boxes. The insides didn’t have many stains, nothing worryingly suggestive of bugs.

And then they looked up from inspecting the window frames at the view out the windows, and was struck silent for long moments.

It faced Central Park from one window, the other looking up Lexington Avenue, and it was… it was. Aix was struck by the thought that they had never thought they’d see this kind of view. This kind of view was for rich people, the kind of rich they would never be, because they weren’t good at numbers, or being mean to others, or charming and beautiful.

Once the shock wore off, Virginia’s words started sinking in a bit more. She understood what it was like… she’d saved the world… the job offer… wait, if she had a royal patron, did that mean this building was some kind of Embassy, or something? Or was it more of a fairy tale Ellis Island? Or a Men in Black situation? Aix chewed on their lip and thought on it, really thought about it… eventually, they sat down, leaning against the wall and thinking, wishing the window was actually tall enough to look out of from floor-height.

There was a tapping on the door frame, and Aix looked up to see Virginia. She waved.

‘I run a restaurant, something’s always on fire, literally or otherwise,’ Virginia said, with a shrug. ‘How ‘bout you? You okay? I know this is probably really overwhelming.’

‘I’m autistic, so… yeah, change is really bad, especially when it’s good. I know how to deal with bad change, but good things?’

‘Must be fake, right?’ Virginia said, joining Aix on the floor—slowly, with Mom Noises. ‘Ooooof, I’m getting too old for this…’ she muttered, ‘But, I like you. I know landlords are a shitty institution, and believe me, I’ve read the horror stories from the pandemic. We suspended rent. It’s still suspended, because the pandemic isn’t actually over. King Whitney has ordered a quarantine of the Grimmwelt—that’s us—and the border is closed until it’s over—really over.’

‘They were in the baby stages of understanding vaccination; and they take plagues a lot more seriously over there.’

‘Good for them. I was isolated before now, I just stayed that way. It honestly was pretty easy until everyone started pretending it was over and stopped with the online college, online everything stuff. Then nobody was willing to do it, which left handicapped folks in the lurch. Because fuck, we can’t change our entire lives to be safer, that’s soooo much worrrrk we wanna pretend everything is noorrrrmaaaal wehhhhhh. God, I hate them.’

‘You’re in the right city for it,’ Virginia chuckled. ‘You a drag queen? You talk like one.’

Aix was surprised into a shriek of laughter. ‘Oh my god, no. No. I mean yes, but also no. I can’t do this on stage, I blank out. It only works one-on-one like this. I’ve always wanted to be a drag queen, but as mentioned—autistic. Traumatised. Massive stage fright and social anxiety. So—love to, but can’t.’

‘Not alone, anyway,’ Virginia said, bumping shoulders. ‘You’d be surprised what happens when you suddenly get a bunch of people encouraging you, helping you out, showing you stuff… I’m just saying, no reason to give up pursuing who you are just because it’s hard and you can’t do it by yourself. Sometimes we just need a little help. Victoria introduce you to the drag queens yet?’

‘Nah, Tristan moved out of there a few months ago. Lives down in Staten Island now, butling for some vampires. He’s part of the House of Sinnamon.’

‘God how do all of you know such cool people. Oh my god. A drag queen house, like a House, capital H. Amazing.’

‘Pinky Focks works for the man you were talking to, she’s his apprentice. I… wouldn’t meet her first, she’s a bit of a bitch, and not the same way that Speranza Sinnamon is.’

‘Ah,’ Aix said, nodding. ‘I’m half of each. Prefer the Italian, but you know how white people are. Er…’ they realised Virginia was probably not mixed like they were.

‘Don’t worry, I do,’ she said, chuckling. ‘If you’re Italian they’ll love you right away. And I know you’ve got a lot on your plate right now, I’m only saying—you’ve got people. You’ve been adopted into a really big network of queers, weirdos, and witches. And nobody wants you to compromise who you are.’

‘I don’t even know what m—’ Aix paused, sighed. ‘That’s a lie. I know who I am, I’m just afraid of being killed about it, or filmed and mocked, or hit, or locked up. I’m crippled, I can’t run or fight, and I never will be able to—learning that, understanding that truth? How…’ Aix leaned back, looking up and blinking, trying to fight tears. ‘How do you go outside knowing the whole country you live in wants you dead, just for breathing? And not just from one direction—I’m crippled, I’m trans, I’m intersex, I’m autistic, I’m poor, I’ve got a uterus and it’s infertile, I’m not Christian—’ Listing it all was making the tears spill over, and Aix took their glasses off, reaching under their niqab and wiping their eyes on their arm because they were afraid to touch their face with their hands. They felt Virginia’s hand on their back.

‘How am I supposed to live my truth when it’s a huge target and I’m all alone and everyone can so easily tell where I live and how to hurt me?’

‘You said you lived in a small town, and had lived in a small town for… what, the past ten years?’

‘Um, hang on…’ Aix was glad she was giving them a puzzle, and counted. The problem was, their memory blanked out several years, including the year they’d moved out of New York City and to a tiny town in the ass of nowhere, Minnesota. And then there was being homeless for a year in a tiny beach town, which felt like a small town because being embroiled in the System, while homeless, was basically a small company town… and then the desert town they lived in now, which was definitely a small town. They couldn’t go anywhere, because there was no public transit and they couldn’t drive….

‘Yeah, eight years of being trapped in a small town, in a tiny apartment, all alone. Eight years since I was here, in a city where I didn’t need a car to have freedom, where if it hadn’t been for my ex-husband fucking up every relationship I had with every…’ Aix shut their eyes, drawing their knees up and resting their forehead on it. ‘And now I’m here again, and I have a new network of friends, and he’s gone. Thanks,’ Aix said, straightening, carefully starting to get up. ‘I’m gonna go splash my face.’ They had soap in their bag for just this type of occasion…

Virginia watched them go, and thought on what Victoria had told her—not just in the lobby, but after and before she’d actually met Aix. Virginia hadn’t had this kind of perspective on a Chosen One before. She didn’t like to believe in Chosen Ones, it was something she made effort to research and debunk—but the truth remained that usually, being a Chosen One was the same as being a Murder Victim—those who Chose were usually people that had known the One. In Virginia’s case, for example, it had only seemed random. While it looked completely random for Aix at this moment, Virginia’s experience said there was something else going on, some connection nobody knew Aix had to all of this.

She got to her feet. She had to be careful; this kid was cagey, possibly cagier than she’d ever been, even when she’d been their age. Victoria said what she’d Seen was shattered—not just broken, but shattered into little bits and having to glue themself back together and not knowing what anything was supposed to look like. Virginia knew a little bit about that, but not everything—she’d always had Dad, after all.

Aix needed to meet Tristan’s circle, none of whom lived in this building—Tristian herself lived in Staten Island, and all the other queens lived either upstate in Sleepy Hollow or New Rochelle, or all the way out at the end of the F train, in Jamaica. Other than them, though, Virginia didn’t really think anyone else would be suited to a kid like this, especially right now….

Virginia realised something was wrong, and got up, going to knock on the bathroom door. ‘Aix? You okay?’

The bad feeling got worse. Victoria had said Aix was prone to trances now, and couldn’t control them or even realise they were happening, yet. Virginia opened the door a crack, and it immediately bumped something on the floor.

Flashes of everything that could be dangerously, lethally wrong flashed in Virginia’s worst imagination. Carefully, she pushed open the door enough to slide into the room through the gap, and saw Aix on the floor, and thankfully no blood, but given they had some kind of disability that made their body unstable, Virginia wasn’t sure what kind of damage a fall would do. She pulled out her phone and called Victoria first.

‘Victoria they fell, in the bathroom. There’s no blood, what—what conditions did they have?’

‘Some kind of marfanoid syndrome, so their joints and soft tissues are unstable. Don’t pull or drag them, lifts should be done carefully. Do not call 911, they have trauma. I’m sending Devanté up, she just came in. I’ll get the word out and get a nurse to you soon.’

‘Can I push them a little or not? They’re blocking the door,’ Virginia said, Victoria’s calm tones helping her stay calm and clear-headed.

‘Gently, yes. Put something soft under their head first, and mind the small joints like the feet most, those are the weakest.’

Virginia slipped the phone back into her jeans pocket and took off her cardigan, folding it up in a desultory manner and gently lifting Aix’s head to slip it beneath. She was afraid her hand would come away bloody, and was relieved when it didn’t.

Virginia sighed; Les was worrying overmuch about the fact that a food critic was rumoured to be coming to the restaurant. There’s nothing my being there would do, Les. You can handle this, just do your best and that is good enough. 💙 Virginia messaged, and muted her phone, turning to gently move Aix so that the door could open, trying to push them away from it as gently as possible, glad the apartment had been deep-cleaned and the floor was pretty spotless. She got the door open and arranged Aix’s clothes so that they were more covered up, and just… waited. She checked the kid’s pulse, and that was all she could really do.

There was a knock on the apartment door, and she was glad for something to do, though hesitant to just leave Aix there. But there wasn’t anything else to be done, and Virginia had been a mother long enough to be practical. She went to the door, and the tall black half-wolf was waiting, holding a rolled up yoga mat and one of the emergency wool blankets. Warren, Virginia’s husband, was with him, looking worried.

‘Hey Devanté, Warren; they’re in the bathroom, they went in to splash their face after crying and then I guess they just passed out. No blood though.’

‘Okay, get the yoga mat set up on the bedroom floor,’ Devanté said. ‘We’ll handle moving them.’

Warren and Devanté were then carefully stepping into the bathroom, unfolding the blanket and going about the business of easing it under Aix’s body so they could use it to lift them, carefully moving Aix onto the yoga mat Virginia had unrolled on the floor.

‘Lady Blackstone said this is a new Seer?’ Warren said, his tail fretfully low and switching back and forth. He held a deep awe for Victoria, being that Seers were actually a great deal more important, in Eglenor.

‘I’m glad you’re here, actually,’ Virginia said to Devanté. ‘Just before this happened they made it clear they really need to find a drag mother, and other femme gays.’

Aix suddenly grabbed the nearest thing they could get their hand around—which happened to mean they were holding tightly to Warren’s wrist. It wasn’t a strong grip, despite the evidence they were squeezing as hard as they were able.

‘Oh okay, so we’re chanting,’ Devanté said, ‘Anybody speak cosmic tentacle god?’

Warren was petting Aix’s veiled head gingerly with his free hand, always a very tactile person, and he was making worried little whimpers. Devanté got up, dusting off his hands and going to open the front door of the apartment. ‘So, we’re chanting,’ he said, in greeting. Virginia heard Victoria’s voice answer.

‘For now,’ Victoria said, her voice getting closer, ‘watch out for glowing orange eyes and nosebleeds. Hey,’ she said, as she wheeled into the bedroom, Devanté and a half-pard in black scrubs following. ‘Cavalry’s here, darlings.’

‘Now get out,’ said the Pard, with all of a cat’s casual transgression of manners, one of his ears flicking in annoyance as he knelt down and started carefully prising Aix’s hand off of Warren’s wrist.

‘Bitch,’ Devanté said, almost affectionately; but he glanced at Aix, and then Virginia. ‘This kid got an ethnicity?’

Devanté was already texting Lorenzo. ‘Wanted to know which of the girls to contact.’

‘Zozo,’ several people chorused, and Devanté was nodding, turning to leave.

Virginia patted Warren’s shoulder. ‘You go ahead, babe. Go see Leslie at the restaurant, she’s freaking out about the food critic.’

Bless him, Virginia thought, he had already designated Aix a new pup. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I will. Go.’

‘Come on, Zorgele!’ Devanté called from the front doorway, using Warren’s pack nickname. ‘Make the child some food, ‘f you’re so worried about them.’

Warren brightened, and practically leapt across the apartment to the hallway. ‘Yes! Yes, I should do that. They need some meat on their little bones…’

Virginia could still hear him talking through what to make as the door to the apartment closed. She looked back at Aix, and the Pard—who lived a few floors down with a whole group of other Pards and half-Pards in a loose and complicated tangle. Still, this healer was named Felix, Virginia remembered, and once you got used to how Pards were, he was rather an upright sort. Just business-like in a crisis, which was what you wanted in a healer.

‘They’re fine,’ Felix was saying to Victoria. ‘No blood, nothing broken; they must know how to fall down safely.’

‘The last time they were upright when this happened, Squidgy caught them immediately. Oh, you won’t find anything in there,’ Victoria said, as Felix started looking through Aix’s phone for emergency health information.

‘Buddy, you gotta stop doing this when I’m not asleep,’ Aix said, when they found themself in the temple again. ‘I might hurt myself, and then I wouldn’t be able to come find you.’

‘Aren’t you supposed to be learning to speak with your mouth words?’ Aix asked, folding their arms wryly. When this garnered a bit of an abashed feeling, Aix leaned forward. ‘C’maaan, you’ve got a sexy voice, big sir.’ Aix straightened. ‘Let’s try a greeting.’ Aix waved with one hand. ‘Hello!’

Gratitude, relief at Aix seeming to understand what it was to learn a new way of communicating entirely, not simply a new language. Aix smiled.

‘Good! Now, let’s learn two important concepts: Yes and no.’ Aix concentrated on the concepts, and there was a gentle sense that Aix was working too hard, that such things were known, but only the combinations of sounds and the nuances of culture were unknown.

Aix stopped trying quite so hard. ‘Oh! Well, how about you ask me what concepts you need words for, then.’ They straightened up proudly and put a hand on their chest. ‘I happen to be the sort of person in my society that specialises in words. I guess the most useful phrase you should learn to speak is, “What is the word for…” and then you can fill the end in with the concept in telepathy. Okay? Oh, “okay” is sort of an all-purpose mild agreement. It means “do you understand” in this usage.’

Aix laughed in delight. ‘And it is the right response if you do understand! Well done! Listen, I’d love to stay and do English Basics with you, but you kind of cut in while I was standing up and in a room that was really dangerous to fall down in. I need you to not bring me to see you like this unless I’m asleep. Do… should I explain sleep?’

Aix took a deep breath, and closed their eyes, and recalled everything they knew about sleep, from the average amount humans spent asleep, to the scientific fact that it was a low-scale coma, to the fact that the brain gave off different electrical patterns, to personal details like the fact that Aix usually had an orgasm before going to sleep, if that helped Big Guy (Aix refused to refer to him as Cthulhu just yet) hone in on what signals to watch out for.

‘It’s rude to use someone’s True Name,’ Aix said, and because this was the Mindscape, or the Dreamspace, their eyes flashed and their form glitched and shifted as they gathered their magic, and brought forward their other role in society—that of a Witch. Shadows and shrieking and blood and the ancient power humans wielded that they had whole-made out of Story and Words. Aix paused only once, like the water receding before a tsunami, to say,

before letting loose the flood, which manifested like a wave of glittering magic, full of shapes of history and myth, gods and monsters, everything that wasn’t science, everything that was Truth but not Fact, everything that Aix believed made humans human.

Stories, thousands of stories, stories upon stories, the power inherent in words themselves, the power of names, the very soul of humanity itself was in stories; in songs first and then poems, then prose, but all in Stories. From dance to colour to the electrical spectacle of television and the internet, everything humans did that showed their souls was in stories—telling them, buying them, selling them, keeping them, burning them, spreading them, building on them, erasing and remaking them, over and over, for thousands of years, for thousands of cultures, no matter what other differences there were—and there were a lot—there was one common thread in all of it…

If you are a dreamer, come in!
If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar,
A hope-er, a prayer, a magic bean buyer,
If you’re a pretender, come sit by my fire
For we have some flax-golden tales to spin
Come in! Come in!

① Their current apartment, which was just as old, did not have a usable outlet in the bathroom; the only one was on the light fixture above the mirror, which had only two prongs and—critically—did not even work.

Chapter 6

A Liminal Tower

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