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Index
honestly just came here to get some advice about Pippin and talk to other clown people,’ Aix said, sitting around the large wooden table in the break room with Suze and Basil (Simon was outside minding the joeys), cupping a mug of tea in his hands. ‘I didn’t mean to get my issues all over you, I’m sorry.’
‘You’re family,’ Basil said.
‘And you got rid of a really scary monster,’ Suze added. ‘You fuckin badass.’
Over the last hour, as the sun had set, Basil had coaxed most of the story of the past 24 hours from Aix, by putting on a face of being an incurable gossip and busybody. He was, but the point was he made show of it because otherwise the boy was not going to open up, out of a very heartbreakingly familiar attitude that One Doesn’t Burden Others With One’s Problems Ever, Particularly The Nasty Traumatic Ones.
Basil made him mint tea for his nerves. And that’s how he drank it. No sugar, no milk, just tea. Mint tea. Lots of mint tea. When it was full dark outside, and Simon had brought the shelter clowns into the large room that had once been the chapel of the ex-church for the night, locking the gate and taking over at the desk, and Suze had just gotten up to go home when she came right back into the break room—and René was with her.
‘Oh,’ said Aix, completely not grasping the gravitas of this event. ‘Hi, René. You got my note?’
‘I did,’ he said. ‘I thought I would enjoy an evening stroll across town to see you, and perhaps take you to dinner.’
‘And Pippin,’ Aix said, and Basil was about to faint with how oblivious the child was.
‘I wonder if you might let Pippin stay here for a little while longer,’ Suze said, ever the cavalry. ‘It’d be good to just look her over, and she was having a lot of fun with everyone.’
‘It’s no trouble, chicken,’ Basil agreed, fluttering a hand. ‘Go.’
‘Oh…’ Aix trailed off, then their eyes widened. ‘Oh.’ He looked up at René. ‘You… you came all the way here. To ask me to dinner. With you. Alone.’
René, unflappable and suave as he was, kept his expression very grave, only smiling a little bit as he bowed his head to Aix in affirmative. Aix picked up their purse, zipped it closed while they got to their feet, and took off their glasses, flipping the niqab back down and putting the glasses back on through the slit. Then, tried not to babble nervously, or turn him down automatically, or… mess this up. Spontaneity wasn’t something they were good at anymore, but it was something they wanted to practise more often.
Now that they knew René had come here intending to go on a date, Aix let himself notice René’s outfit; the man always dressed like a goth’s wet dream—his long black curls were pulled back with a blue ribbon at the nape of his neck, and Aix could see small accent braids here and there, and the kiss curls rather than sideburns (of course—he always had those), his milk-white skin clean-shaven; but with how dark his hair was, and how pale his skin, there was a blue shadow along his jaw, hinting that he was probably an otter, beneath his clothes…. He still wore high collars and cravats, but his shirt was dark blue and his cravat the same, the better to draw attention to the fact that his dark eyes were sloe-dark, not brown. His lips were not painted today—well, not with the usual dark colour. They shone like they were glossed or something, and might have been stained quite subtly, for all Aix knew—really good make up was hard to notice, even if you were good at noticing like Aix was.
His midnight blue (and it really was midnight blue, a single shade above black) suit was a little bit Regency in the shape of the coat, how it nipped in at the waist and flared out again, the buttons on the double-breasted front higher up and closer together than usual, with wider notched lapels than modern suits usually had, sapphires shining in his cufflinks and his trousers tailored to show off his thighs, flaring subtly at the knees and the waistband coming high, covered by a self waistcoat, probably to make him look taller. The heeled and pointed monkstrap shoes helped—Aix knew because they also needed to take care to elongate their legs when they dressed in suits, because their torso was so long and they were so short (well, for mainstream ideals of masculine). It was breathtaking, really, but Aix was so used to Don’t Stare Don’t Stare that he rarely let himself register this sort of thing in person.
René enjoyed Aix finally noticing—Aix seemed to need to turn it on manually, which was not completely unfamiliar to René, but he had not ever wanted anyone such as that, before. He simply had never met any that were terribly interested in sex, or in him. Should he ask more formally? Rituals were important, and he supposed it couldn’t hurt. ‘I would be pleased to have you as my guest for dinner tonight, Aix; will you consent to allow me to take you to Valdemar?’
Aix smiled—being asked directly was really so important, so much better than guessing. ‘Yes,’ he said, managing to look up into René’s eyes for a few breathless moments, ‘yes, please. I would—’ he had to look down again, at their joined hands—when had he taken René’s hand? ‘I would love that, René,’ he said, swallowing the butterflies in his stomach, delighted, before his Responsibility Brain reminded him he wasn’t here alone.
Where was St Croix? Aix supposed he was still playing with Pepper. ‘Um, hang on, I have to use the w.c, before we go,’ he said, and darted off to the bathroom again, using the moment to himself to text St Croix.
Aix: René’s here and asked me on a date. :0 When you head home could you take Pippin home too pls?
Saintie: Sure.
Enjoy ur date. 😉
I’m hanging out with Pepper and Pippin’s having lots of fun in here. I think she’d like staying longer.
Oooh, Simon’s talking about watching cartoons! 😍
I’m asking if we can watch Helluva Boss. 😈
Aix felt relieved at that, and took a moment to make extra sure his nails were clean, washed his face, freshened his eyeliner, and completely re-did his hijab so it was nicely arranged again. He was glad he’d chosen the plain black zip hoodie rather than one of his worn oversized fandom ones, because it looked nicer and he wasn’t sure what kind of fancy restaurant René had in mind, but he hoped it wasn’t too fancy, because he wasn’t dressed (and couldn’t dress) for that sort of thing. A very long, full, black skirt and a black hoodie with a black hijab would have to be good enough, because that was what he had on.
He hoped he hadn’t taken too long in here, as he hurried out. ‘Okay hi sorry,’ he said, a little flustered, ‘so um, where are we going?’
‘I have a private table at Valdemar for entertaining mes amours. It is quiet.’ He offered his arm, and Aix took it, and René led them outside after they bade everyone goodbye.
Aix walked with him in silence a while, as usual unable to focus on where they were going because he was with a person and it took all his focus to socialise. ‘It’s not far to walk, is it?’
‘Non, cherie,’ René said, and opened a door in the narrow side street, that had looked like it was locked and uninteresting. It revealed the distinctive wooden panelling of the Underground’s elevator cars, and Aix’s wheelchair from Manhattan was waiting there.
‘Oh!’ Aix made sure it was braked and got settled in it immediately, putting the straps of his purse in the spring-hook on the left armrest, while René shut the door, and pressed the switch that would start the elevator down. The presence of the chair meant that Victoria had arrived; she’d said she would be coming soon, Aix just hadn’t realised how soon.
But he didn’t really want to think of her, at the moment. It was odd to have so many different people that he had to actually pick someone to focus on. ‘Thank you,’ Aix said, ‘for bringing my chair.’
‘De rien,’ came the reply, and René reached out as though to instinctively caress Aix’s face, then paused, going to gently put a hand on his head.
‘Careful, there’s a pin there,’ Aix said.
‘A pin?’ he said, lifting his hand in surprise.
Aix chuckled. ‘A hijab really is just a really big scarf, it needs to be fastened with something. The old ways are the best ways.’
Because of how quiet the train stations were, they could keep talking as the elevator stopped and the door slid open, René waiting for Aix to go first, before following; and René had enough proprioception to not constantly block instinctive paths, or trail awkwardly behind or forward. It was nice, to walk with someone like that. It made Aix completely forget the chair wasn’t part of them, which helped a lot with the whole ‘I’m Still Adjusting To Using This Aid’ thing, and also helped with the general environmental ableism that was so overwhelming when you weren’t used to it. Not that the BUR had much of that, everything was very well-designed, even considering that the station was much busier than Aix had ever seen it—and his wasn’t the only chair, not by a long shot. There were half a dozen, all custom jobs like his, mostly with people that were obviously not at all human, because… Aix was kind of the only human here. Well, Aix thought to himself, was he? He was culturally human, he supposed.
People were staring at him—wait, that wasn’t bad, that wasn’t bad, Aix told himself, trying to calm down, which was hard because his brain helpfully reminded him that the vampires could hear his heartbeat speeding up.
A person with a black beard much fuller than a human’s could get came up to them. There was gold threaded through the braids in the blue-black of their hair, the way silver might be for humans, and a lot of gold jewellery in the form of beads and coils threaded through the braids. Their eyes were hidden behind goggles, so most of what was visible were some impressive eyebrows and a very pretty nose that had a large two-colour gem hanging from a septum ring of gold in it, as well as their long and knotted hands, long and with an extra joint on each digit, each one rosy at the joint and at the tip, a sort of spirally marking on their reddish-pink nose and long pointed (and whisker-tipped) ears. It reminded Aix of one of his favourite types of fae that he’d learned about long ago, but never seen. Of course, they also looked more than a bit like all the depictions Aix had ever seen and read of dwarves, too… but the red spirals, and the joints, that was something different from dwarves…..
‘Master Jargoraad,’ René said, with a polite bow.
‘This the new one, then?’ the fae asked, in a surprisingly smooth, low voice, that could be much more clearly heard than one expected, even with all the wonderful acoustic design of the station, there was still the echo generated by the tunnels themselves.
‘That has not been decided as yet,’ René said, but Aix said, immediately after.
‘I just decided, actually. I am the new one.’ And put out their hand. ‘I love that gem in your septum ring, what is that?’
‘Tourmaline. Found it not far from here. Not enough of the bauble kind for the human to take heed, but just enough to make a gift for me. Not meaning to do you a rudeness, but are you a djinn?’
‘What? Oh, well…’ Aix wobbled their hand. ‘I was told the word “djinn” is very similar to the word “fae”, so I’m not certain. I was raised by humans, that’s all I know. The veil is because of the plagues upstairs.’ Because surveillance, social media voyeurism, and biometrics were a plague, in Aix’s opinion—that was why, when it was bright enough, they flipped the other layer of the niqab down over the eye-slit, and went full burqa. It soothed their paranoia like nothing else.
‘Ah,’ the fae said, nodding. ‘Aye, a wimple seems far more practical than those fiddly little scraps of paper I’ve seen about. Well, wanted to get a look at the witch that sent off the Lichcaller. You’ve quite a job—I reckon Milord has been trying to break it all mild-like, but that’s vampires—but you’ve a big mess ahead.’
‘Don’t wory, I’m a proper witch, I don’t mind hard work,’ Aix said, feeling much more comfortable saying it to one of the Folk than he would saying it to a human. ‘I’m just settling in, have to set up a hearth somewhere and all that sort of thing.’
Jargoraad laughed at this, beard curling in a pleased smile. ‘Well, that gives a fellow hope. Herself always put on more airs than a vampire, thought she was better than us. Good to see you’ve got some dirt under your nails.’
‘I’m bluecollar, yep,’ Aix said. ‘I hope I can be a better fit for the community.’
‘Well, what do you do, then? What kind of witch are ye?’
‘I’m a seiðmann, and a kinaidos oracle,’ Aix said immediately, figuring if any community was going to understand without explanation or ‘translating’ to modern ideas, it would be this one. It felt… good, to just use the right words. ‘Mostly I lay the cards and know who to talk to.’
‘Oho! One of Lokke’s witches! Well! That’ll please us knockerfolk, I can tell you true. And an oracle… hm, that’s none of our sort of thing. I reckon you’ll want to stop by the harbour and see the wyrms about that, they’re of that tongue.’
Aix paused, wondering. ‘I was here for a short time in 2009,’ he said. ‘I went and visited them before, though I don’t know if they would remember me.’
‘They mark everything and everybody, and they’d have marked a witch such as you. Where did you stead?’
‘Oh, um, somewhere in Canton, on the end of a row on Clinton street. With… kind of a scary group of humans. We had to leave after six months. The view from our roof was beautiful, though, we could see the Natty Boh sign, which I think is cute. It would have been a beautiful rowhouse with some care in the restoring.’
Jargoraad offered a card of hand-made stock to Aix. ‘You call my kinsman Binqx then, he’s a builder-above-ground. A wonderful timberwright, and he knows bricklayers and suchlike.’
‘Thank you,’ Aix said, tucking the card into their purse, and watching him go, feeling cautiously pleased, and more than a little surprised at how well he’d socialised.
This was the first René had heard Aix speak in detail of where he had lived and when, though he’d mentioned living in Baltimore before; of course, he couldn’t keep track of everyone in the city, but there were only so many ends of so many rows. ‘You could, perhaps, live there again.’
‘Oh, the house is probably ruined now, it was pretty much falling down when I lived there, so if it’s still standing they would have “rennovated” it all to hell before anyone could live in it again. And I don’t remember the number, I’m bad with numbers.’ But even thinking about it was jogging their memory. ‘It was… blue. It was a blue number. That’s not helpful to anyone but me, sorry.’
René was prevented from answering by the train arriving, and Aix instinctively moved quickly, rushing to get into the car, obviously used to the automated, human systems, which this railway wasn’t. The doors were closed by the knocker magics, which were not operating on time but on sensing who was heading for the carriage. But Aix was already inside, and René could tell him in a moment.
‘—need to hurt yourself, honey, the doors won’t close on you, it’s all right.’
René was glad to hear the mellifluous tones of their resident Southern Belle, who was quite stand-out from the crowd in her summer white dress and perfect victory rolled blonde hair. She looked up and her green eyes widened to see René. ‘Oh my goodness, Lord Charbonneau! Why, I haven’t seen you out here in ages!’
‘Miss Leigh-Sinclair,’ René said, with a smile that was more than polite, as he sat down across from her. ‘This is our new witch.’
‘Really! Welcome to Baltimore!’
‘Thanks, it’s nice to be back. It’s changed a lot—for the better,’ Aix added. When he’d lived here last, the city was half-empty and blighted.
‘It surely has! Why, I remember when I moved up here with my Mistress, just after the fire in ’04—that’s nineteen-oh-four, mind.’
‘I figured. I didn’t know there was a big disaster here in ’04. That’s such odd timing, given the huge quake out in Frisco around the same time. And the fires after,’ he added, grimly. ‘I suppose Baltimore might have rebuilt things better and with less slapdash than San Francisco, given y’all weren’t hosting the World’s Fair.’
‘We did,’ René said, intrigued. ‘I have never experienced an earthquake.’
‘Oooh, gives me the shivers just thinking about it! It must feel like the end of the world,’ Miss Leigh-Sinclair said.
‘I don’t even wake up,’ Aix said, shrugging and laughing at their expressions. ‘I bet you don’t think hurricanes are scary,’ he pointed out.
‘Well—no, I suppose not. But you can see those coming.’
‘Why do you think Californians are so chilled out? We know the ground could open up and swallow us whole at any time; nothing else is terribly important. If you’re properly Californian, anyway. I’m third-generation at least, possibly more, I don’t know. My daddy’s people came from Naples to Los Angeles. Anyway, you want a lot of little quakes all the time, that prevents the big scary ones. There’s no guarantee of that kind of thing with the weather. People can affect the weather. That scares me. Well, that and fracking. Fracking can probably screw with tectonics,’ he added, as an afterthought.
‘Oh, fuck fracking,’ said a nearby fae that looked of a kind with Jargoraad. ‘Sorry, Miss Leigh-Sinclair,’ he said, but didn’t sound terribly contrite. ‘Glad there’s a ban on it in the human state of Maryland. You can’t even bedevil the rig, that just makes it worse.’
Aix had forgotten that Maryland was culturally southern, meaning you could just have conversations with random people, rather than it being considered rude. It was nice, because Aix was more inclined toward the southern and rural politeness of ‘Striking Up A Conversation With A Stranger Is A Polite Acknowledgement And Affirmation That They Are A Person And You Respect Them’ than the northern and urban politeness of ‘Everyone Is Overwrought And Rushed, Don’t Take Up More Time And Space Than You Absolutely Have To’. It just reinforced that he wanted to live here, he thought, adding it to the list.
‘Are there enough people down here to organise locally about clean energy?’ Aix asked.
‘We’ve got our own grid,’ the miner said. ‘What the humans do used to not matter.’
‘Well, showing up is half the battle,’ Aix said. ‘Politics is about showing up to local elections and meetings. Maryland’s small, you can probably change a lot.’
‘Most of us are nobody, in the law’s eye; but you were human-reared, weren’t you?’
‘I was, yes. Unfortunately,’ Aix said, with humour. The fae laughed. ‘But still,’ Aix pressed, feeling this was important. ‘I’m sure there’s some sort of way to forge some citizenship. You live here too, and participating in the human coloniser government is an important part of changing things for the better, however unpleasant it may be.’ Aix felt like that was a little bossy, but had also tried very hard not to say anything like, it’s your responsibility even though he felt that was true.
He, also, didn’t expect to be listened to; it was a surprise when the miner made a thoughtful frown.
‘Well,’ he said, stroking his coppery beard. ‘I reckon there’s no use griping about a leak if you won’t try and fix it yourself.’
‘Exactly!’ Aix said, hoping he sounded encouraging and not patronising. ‘And starting local you can see the changes better than if all you focus on is the big picture. It’s more than voting for president and it’s more than voting. Just show up to a local meeting and talk to folks.’
‘So, same as unions, then,’ he said wryly.
‘I mean yeah. Our whole political system is concentric unions, basically!’
The train stopped and the miner got up. ‘Nice meeting you, Witch,’ he said, ‘I think you’re a better one than the Lichcaller already.’
Aix finally realised what that odd word was—Lichcaller, not Witchcaller. They knew what a lich was, sort of; and everyone else had called Ana a Necromancer, so he figured that’s what it must mean. ‘Do… do those sort of fae, the miners, do they only speak Germanic words?’
‘Oh yes, it takes a bit of getting used to,’ Miss Leigh-Sinclair said with a nod, smoothing her skirts, the taffeta rustling. ‘The younger ones, like him, they will use some of the newer words—grid, and electricity, and so on. But it’s quite something to converse with them—it isn’t that you can’t understand, but it’s terribly odd.’
‘That’s cool, though. So a Lichcaller is a necromancer?’
‘Yes,’ René said.
‘I don’t really know a lot about that. Dmitri apparently talks to the dead, so it’s that kind of -mancy?’
‘It can be,’ René said. ‘But Heeren raised and controlled them.’
‘Oh, good evening, Milord, Miss Leigh-Sinclair,’ said a very pale, elegantly-dressed transwoman just getting on the train. Her voice had a slight Scottish brogue to the vowels, and she was very pink, with very white hair, and Aix would have thought her to have albinism except for her very black eyes. She had a strong nose indeed, very aquiline, and very sharp, pointed nails that seemed naturally dark greyish-black. Aix wondered what she was, but of course that wasn’t polite to ask.
‘Ma’am,’ Miss Leigh-Sinclair said, with a friendly smile of her cherry-red lips.
‘Miss Glass,’ René said. ‘This is our new Witch. Aix, this is Miss Glass, she is our resident swan maiden.’
‘Hi,’ Aix said, awed by how pretty she was, and that she was a swan; but feeling as though commenting as such would be seen as patronising. ‘I like your earrings.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ she said, smiling, but then frowned, in confusion, holding to one of the poles for balance as the train started moving again. ‘Our new witch?’ she repeated.
‘Ana is dead,’ René explained, and her brows raised in surprise and understanding, looking from René to regard Aix with a lot different of an expression.
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘Well, I thank you for that, then. She was a pall over this town. That’s why you’re out and about again,’ she said to René, pleasure replacing the worry from before at the sight of him. ‘I might move back into town, if that’s true. Where are you going? To Mr Gold’s office?’
‘Non, not tonight.’
‘Mr Gold’s office?’ Aix asked, the name sparking his curiosity.
‘A property lawyer and realtor,’ Miss Glass explained. ‘He’s a rarewere, like me. A lion. There’s a lot of rareweres in Baltimore.’
‘Cool!’ Aix said. ‘I definitely want to see him, but um, René’s taking me on a da-ate.’ Aix lilted it with a bit of campy excitement in hopes that would make him feel less self-conscious about it. ‘We’re going to—where was it? Valdemar’s?’
‘Oooh, I just love Valdemar!’ Miss Leigh-Sinclair said. ‘Mr Honeycutt will be quite pleased—ah, this is me, I’m off. Lovely to meet you, Ms Aix!’
‘Bye,’ Aix said cheerfully, reflecting it was so nice to not feel dysphoric when people called him ‘she’. He had made a lot of effort to stop caring about pronouns and things, and wanted to keep it that way. It meant nobody could hurt him with them anymore. They were only words for how he was dressed and what role he had, anyway. ‘Mr Honeycutt? So “Valdemar” isn’t the owner’s name?’
‘It is a reference to Poe,’ René said, pleased to watch Aix so immediately and easily converse with everyone again. He really did sparkle when he was alone, just as he’d mentioned in conversation the first night he’d met René. ‘The Case of M. Valdemar.’
‘Oh, I haven’t read that one,’ Aix said. ‘Poe’s my very favourite poet, but it’s been a while since I’ve been able to read anything so dark as his short stories.’
‘Mr Honeycutt is a boar,’ Miss Glass said, and nearly explained the spelling before Aix lit up and asked, eagerly,
‘Does that mean Valdemar serves truffles?’
René chuckled. ‘I take it you are fond of them?’
‘Oh my god I love mushrooms! Truffles are so good I mean I’ve only ever had truffle oil but hnnnnhit’ssogood,’ he said, voice scraping low in his chest in an enthusiastic throaty laugh.
‘They have a lovely mushroom soup with truffles,’ René said. ‘And crab with truffle butter, of course.’
‘I don’t know if I can have crab,’ Aix said thoughtfully—and a little apologetically, because he knew it was the local meat of choice. ‘My mom almost died of lobster once, so I am understandably a little nervous about sea-bugs. I have tried shrimp and nothing happened, but also I… don’t really like it? I’d rather have fish with inside-bones, if I’m having fish.’
‘There is also beef in a truffle cream sauce.’
‘Ooooh, oh my god that sounds amazing! I’m so hungry, augh,’ Aix said, laughing at himself. He never noticed he was hungry or that food was fun until he was really talking about the fancy stuff. Feast-food was something he could get excited about. ‘I hope I can find something without alliums.’
‘He is very accomodating,’ René assured Aix, touching his forearm gently, rings catching the light. ‘He is a chef à la française, and loves a challenge. You will be taken care of.’
Miss Glass pulled her book (Russian Information Warfare) out of her messenger bag and quietly left them to their conversation, smiling to herself. It had been so long since René had been happy….
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