Chapter 5

Conventional Introductions

Because the business of getting a tallship moving again required intense focus, nobody quite noticed that Aix was not himself. He noticed that he was too brisk and too focussed on Tasks, not chatting at all, moving almost painfully quickly—but nobody else did, and that made it feel worse. It wasn’t until they were pulling out of the harbour and Aix was in Roseblade’s cabin, stripped off and climbing into the cabinet bed, that it all finally hit him and he started crying, silently, in the dark.

Softly, just next to him, someone moved; Aix froze, hugging his stuffed animal, startled into not crying anymore. For a pregnant pause, neither of them spoke; and then,

‘Boy,’ said Gaz, very softly, ‘why are you crying?’

The ritual words from one of his formative stories were very soothing, and helped him get around his own defences. ‘I’m good in a crisis, but once it’s over I fall apart.’ Aix sniffled, burying his face in his stuffed animal. ‘Can I have a hug?’

Shifting from behind him. ‘I don’t know if you’d like a hug from someone like me.’

Aix turned over and moulded himself against Gaz in the dark, fed up with how everyone danced around the man’s clear self-hatred, but also knowing from personal experience how complex it was to inhabit a body that didn’t feel like you anymore. ‘You don’t need to be like anything to give me a fucking hug in the fucking dark, dumbass.’

That seemed to dislodge something, between them; and Gaz laughed, relaxing and putting an arm around Aix.

‘I’m fucked up too, you know,’ Aix said, muffled, against his woolly chest. ‘I had four surgeries on my face before I was eighteen. I still hate my face.’

‘But you look like a statue.’

Aix let this echo into silence, knowing by now that the vampires could all see in the dark, he just gave Gaz a Look, not needing to know where his face was by sight.

A soft sigh in the dark. ‘I see your point.’

‘Also? You survived. You’re here. Maybe you won’t ever look at your face and see anything but what was wrong. But maybe you will. Either way, nobody else is going to notice. Hell, you’re some people’s type, even if you aren’t your own.’

‘Are you telling me or yourself?’ Gaz said, daring to play with Aix’s shaggy curls.

‘Both,’ Aix said, and snuggled against him again. ‘…Can I call you Beau? Please.’

Gaz was quiet for so long that Aix was worried he’d been heinously awful, but he tried to focus on the fact that Gaz wasn’t tensing up, wasn’t pushing him away, wasn’t going unnaturally still, was still draping an arm around him. After all, Aix told himself, he could absolutely rip my throat out, and he’s not.

‘They never called me that to my face, you know,’ he said quietly. Thoughtfully. Was he… smiling? Aix was pretty sure he heard a smile. ‘Do you refer to me that way?’

‘I do,’ Aix said, biting back an apology or nervous babbling of explanation.

‘It’s certainly more agreeable than my Christian name.’

‘Is that a yes?’ Aix pressed.

‘It is. Was that not clear?’

‘You gotta be very direct with me, I only hear the words you say, not implication. If you mean yes that is the word you need to say.’

‘I’ve seen you understand implication.’

‘I can only memorise specific cases like lines from a script, not the rule in general; and I don’t use it when consent is involved because it isn’t clear.’

‘Ah,’ Beau said. ‘Yes.’ He shifted to sit up, and Aix moved away to let him. ‘Are you going to sleep?’

‘No,’ Aix said, also sitting up. ‘I just got overwhelmed and needed to lay down in the dark for a while.’

‘What was the crisis? If I may ask.’

‘You may ask, and it was a lot of things.’ Aix started ticking them off on his fingers, ‘I got called a slur, dealt with some child abuse—got that resolved, hopefully—and there’s just been too many people around me for too long, and the cops are after me and Pippin, and then on top of that the Seelie court sent an assassin after me and Mr Williams.’ Aix sighed. ‘I know the last two aren’t likely to stop, but I’m looking forward to being able to just have bodyguards that are people I know, at least.’

‘Boston is the safest place for anyone being hunted by any authority,’ Beau said, with confidence.

‘You’ve been there before?’

‘This is not my first trip to America, dear boy, just the first one this century.’ Beau got up, not needing the light to get dressed—and not well-liking the light when he wasn’t, anyway. ‘We took a house in Beacon Hill in 1832, since we, naturally, couldn’t live in Queens.’

‘Of course not, fancy boys like you and Roseblade,’ Aix said, somewhat archly. Beau laughed his very plummy sort of laugh, before saying,

‘Because of the clowns, dear. Try to keep up.’

‘Oh! So you had them then, I see.’ Aix thought. ‘…Wait, did you know the Blackstones? They were Boston Brahmin.’

‘I was not in a state to socialise, as a young vampire. We were in America to see Dr Scarpa.’

‘Ahh okay, gotcha. Say on.’

‘As I say, Boston is ideal if one is being chased, particularly after the Irish and Jews with clowns started being sent from Ellis Island.’

‘Jocosa’s Road,’ Aix said, nodding. ‘I remember reading about that in books about the history of clownkeeping.’ He knew who Beau had been fleeing, certainly. ‘…You wanna come to the convention with me? It’s for fantasy and scifi writing stuff. It’s gonna be pretty small this year, but… it’s my first convention, so it’ll be fun regardless.’

‘I have been to a few before,’ Beau said.

‘Really?’ Aix brightened. ‘Which ones? What for?’

‘I read a great deal of what is now called science fiction and fantasy while recovering, and, unfortunately, it became a habit.’

‘Unfortunately? Buddy, like half of the population of my country can’t read more than three words at a time. Never understood why people would be proud of being illiterate,’ he muttered to himself.

Beau reflected on this as he went through the familiar and comforting routine of getting dressed; usually he didn’t consciously choose his words, trusting—as everyone did, surely?—in his own wit to construct the sentence as he went along; but that was not at all how Aix spoke, nor was it how he listened, and that made Beau really contemplate why one riposted with that sort of thought.

Because Aix was right, of course, and Beau was in a position to know better than other immortals, because Beau was more technologically-literate than any vampire he’d ever met—he understood social media, and why wouldn’t he? It was simply The Ton writ large, all the petty dramas and foibles of Society magnified sometimes to deadly and earth-shattering levels, but nevertheless still the same petty dramas and foibles, simply with higher stakes.

It was exhilarating, for a dyed-in-the-wool socialite like Beau. He was good at social media, in a way that even those children who had grown up on it were not. He didn’t sully himself with work; but entertaining, and paying others to make him look good for same, was something he’d always done—it was just that now, that made people give you money all the time, as gifts. He had fame, without breaking the Mummery, and he had money, and that was more than he had ever imagined. He’d been famous for decades now, ever since social media had first taken toddling step into the world, ever since video had first come to the nascent internet. And, for all this, he never had to show his face.

But it meant Beau also knew what Aix meant—literacy had gone pear-shaped, particularly in the past twenty years. Beau still wondered why. ‘Why is that?’ he asked, ‘You’re an American, it seems to be largely an American problem.’

‘Bush administration,’ Aix said immediately. ‘Fucked up the education system. Not that public schools are worth much in America, started as they were to train factory workers and not like, educate anybody. Anti-intellectualism is also a big big problem in America, particularly since the fundamentalists got into politics after nine-eleven.’

‘It seems so cold, referring to something like that with just numbers.’

‘It’s the American Way,’ Aix said, but the satirical smile was diluted with sheer weariness. ‘Anyway, the state of public school is why my mom kept me out of public school. She fucked up a lot; but that’s one of the things she got right.’

Beau had never heard Aix mention his mother before. ‘Isn’t that rather a callous thing to say about one’s mother?’ Particularly for an Italian gentleman, it seemed antithetical.

‘Part of feminism is recognising that women are just as capable of harm and abuse. My mother may have been doing her best, but she still harmed me and I don’t need to overlook or forgive that—particularly considering the depth of evil that was visited upon me as a child.’

The cold and mercenary-feeling loyalty of modern people sometimes startled Beau badly, but there was something in Aix’s words, something in the fact that he and René, despite having several opportunities, were not sleeping together, that the only thing Aix seemed to allow were kisses.

This was not Beau’s area.

He probably shouldn’t ask.

He could probably guess.

He wondered why someone who professed to having difficulty with socialising managed to sound so comfortable with any topic, to the point of throwing everyone else wildly off balance.

‘I’m sorry to bring up bad feelings,’ Beau decided to say.

‘Eh,’ Aix said—a very admirable verbal shrug. ‘I made a new family. A better family. With blackjack, and hookers.’

Beau snorted.

‘See, this is why I like you. You get my jokes,’ Aix commented lightly.

‘The fact that you are capable of making them allusions instead of recitations of shibboleth is refreshing,’ Beau said, pulling on his boots.

‘Ta ra,’ Aix said, at the sound, correctly guessing that Beau was about to leave.

‘Ta ra,’ Beau said, and left the cabin, leaving Aix alone in the peaceful dark, the sound of the sea, the creaking of timbers, and the rocking helping to lull him to sleep.

The first time the crew heard Aix sing, they were rather surprised. Everyone was always surprised when they heard Aix sing, he was never sure why. After that first time, though, there were constant requests. Aix was glad that Roseblade had laminated books of shanty lyrics for him to study, because it had been years since he’d had a repertoire that was memorised—all his memorised songs were no longer in his range, or were by people he’d rather not remember again. He did, however, teach the crew a few new songs—not shanties, but songs that had the same utility.

Pippin loved climbing in the rigging, and it frightened Aix for a while, as did having Gogo off his lead; but as they emerged out of the Sound, and its shelter, a swell tipped the ship and Gogo was immediately caught by one of the crew, without him even looking. Someone caught Aix too, because while his balance was fine, his body was no longer strong enough to follow through. Pippin was in the rigging, and didn’t slip a bit, her joy at being free on a boat to play helping Aix and Gogo calm down.

He learned that there were readings after dinner of Lord of the Rings, and the crew were almost through the Return of the King. The grad student, Bradley, had been the one to start it, and had a grand voice for reading. After they finished, everyone asked if Aix had a book he might read to them.

‘I do,’ Aix said, thoughtfully. ‘Have any of you ever read The Last Unicorn?’ It was one of the most beautiful works of prose ever made, Aix thought; he’d read it while on the street a few years ago, and it had been the only beauty he’d had in his life for a while.

His phone was ringing.

The loud bell startled Aix awake, annoyed and confused, because he usually had his phone turned off. But it was ringing, and without thinking he answered it.

‘Hellowhozis?’ he said muzzily, glad his two bedmates slept like the dead.

A voice with very good diction and a Harvard accent answered. ‘Good morning, this is Jessica Sharpe. To whom am I speaking?’

Aix had a learned distrust of strangers on the phone; but he also had been trained in phone ettiquette, and this person had opened with their information, so they were already acting above board. ‘—— ——,’ he said, always feeling weird giving his full name aloud. It felt… dangerous and Wrong, ‘but please call me Aix.’

‘I need to consult with you in person, Mr Aix.’

Aix felt a cold dread. ‘I’m. On a boat.’

‘You’re on a boat?’

‘Yes,’ Aix said. ‘I—what time is it?’

‘It’s a quarter past ten.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Aix rushed, feeling a sense of urgency that had no real direction. ‘I’m—I’m on a boat. I can’t. Get to shore. Fuck. I’m sorry. Am I in trouble if I can’t get to you today?’

‘No, no,’ Ms Sharpe’s voice softened a bit. ‘I apologise. Can I meet you at your destination?’

‘Uh,’ Aix said. ‘Sure? Boston. Should be there by the 15^th. We could…’ he scrambled to think of some public place that had privacy. ‘The library? Like, in a meeting room?’

‘Does your hotel not have meeting rooms?’

‘Oh uh, I don’t—I don’t know. About that. I’m poor. Hotels are—not a thing I know about much.’ Last time he’d stayed in hotels a lot, he’d been a kid and it was because his mom was a travel agent. ‘Can I put you on speaker? Hang on.’ He put the phone on speaker and set it on the special compartment in the nightstand that wouldn’t let it fall out if the ship rocked—which it was doing quite a bit of, since they were having to sail in more open water now, no longer sheltered by Long Island. He managed to sit up without too much difficulty—Roseblade only had an arm around Aix, and was easy enough to disentangle from. ‘So, you’re the shark friend of Erastos?’

She chuckled. ‘You’re the first person that hasn’t thrown that like an insult.’

‘Sharks are cool though. And I like lawyers.’

‘That’s refreshing.’

‘Lawyers are so nice! I had some lawyers help me change my name and gender marker pro bono! Also I worship the god of lawyers, so I kind of think of you as like, extended family. Has Sean Teague called you yet?’

‘Yes, he’s come in as consultant. We’ll both go over what we’ve got and meet you at the Boston Harbour Hotel. Do you have an ETA?’

‘Uh it’s… I’m on a tallship? Like with sails? So… I know I’ll be there in time for IthalaCon?’

‘Mr Wednesday said you led an interesting life. I take it your clown is with you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Well, call me at this number when you get into the harbour, and we’ll figure it out from there.’

‘Okay,’ Aix said, relieved. ‘Thank you. See you then.’

He sat in the dark at the edge of the bed, and added her to his contacts, then made a note in his small notebook, then went back to sleep. Just before he dropped off, he felt Gogo leap into bed with him, curling up between his legs. At some point, Pippin woke him up by joining them; she was cold, and Aix instinctively pulled her close and curled around her.

The Dreamscape was snowy, and Aix saw Cthulhu sitting on the ground by a snowdrift, and he wasn’t alone. With him was someone else, someone who… seemed to have a harder time with a solid form. It was disorienting to look at, so Aix didn’t.

‘Hi,’ he said, glad he couldn’t feel temperature in dreams. ‘I take it you’re enjoying the concept of snow.’

It’s something we’ve never seen before.

Water does such wonderful things on this planet!

Hearing the stranger’s voice, Aix knew immediately who it was. ‘Oh, hi, Shob—er, can I call you Shob? What’s an acceptable nickname?’ He tried to explain the concept of a nickname, as well as a Call.

Oh yes, I have been practising! I chose a human name already: Mitsubishi. It sounds so pleasing.

There was a pause, and Aix knew it was hard for him to hide his thoughts, especially in the Dreamscape. She paused.

Oh, is it… not a human name for humans? She sounded very disappointed. Aix didn’t blame her.

‘It is and it isn’t,’ Aix said, because he couldn’t recall if it was a surname or not. ‘How about…’ He thought of names that had a similar sound. ‘Michelle? Sachiko? Presha?’

Those are so short.

‘Well, when I get up, Cthulhu can message me and I’ll give you some resources for names, okay? I understand why Mitsubishi seemed like a name for people, though.’

Who is Douglas Adams?

Aix smile. ‘He was a very wise man who predicted this very trouble.’ Aix came over to sit next to Cthulhu, ‘You wanna see something cool?’

Cthulhu sparkled with excitement, knowing that heralded something wondrous and unique to Earth, usually. We would.

Aix looked up to the dark sky scattered with stars and the sash of the milky way, and pulled forth the only good memory he had of Minnesota: the Northern Lights. The colours lit up the sky, and he saw them both turn the colours and patterns he knew were surprise—it was similar to some of the shapes you saw a clown’s Mask make.

Cthulhu leaned closer, some of his tendrils wrapping around Aix. With a sense that he was now ‘whispering’, he said, I have met the lawyer, she has a good heart.

Aix was proud of Cthulhu, as always, for grasping idioms so quickly. ‘Thanks. She called while I was sleeping.’ He nestled close, feeling safer already, the memory of one of Earth’s natural wonders dancing above them in the sky. ‘Someday,’ he said, ‘I want to see these again.’

How is this achieved? Shob-Zhiggurath asked, and Aix was starting to see why her offspring were so energetic and boistrous, as she frolicked around in the snowdrifts, rolling onto her back and wiggling.

‘I think it’s something to do with magnetic fields and the angle of the sun through the atmosphere,’ Aix said, shrugging. ‘I don’t much care for the scientific explanation for this stuff.’

It just happens? Cthulhu asked, unable to look away.

‘Yes,’ Aix said, feeling proud of his world, that was so full of beauty; it also helped him not sink too far into despair and fear. ‘It’s grander the nearer you get to the poles.’ He paused, and nestled, hugging Cthulhu. ‘I love you,’ he said. It felt weird, like it always did; but he just treated it like a decision, and that helped. Understanding what the hell ‘love’ really meant, after all the fake stuff he’d suffered, was hard. Decisions and commitments, he understood.

Luckily, Cthulhu was the same way—the way Aix had described ‘love’ to him was very simple: it was the feeling of wanting someone else to thrive, and with every passing year, humans were learning of more and more organisms on their planet that seemed to act in love, helping others than themselves, from trees to fungi to animals. It was really very remarkable. Cthulhu wondered how he and his family had gone so long not noticing it—of course, it helped to have a guide.

‘It’s better in real life,’ Aix said softly. ‘My memory of this isn’t the best.’

Cthulhu squeezed him briefly, a renewal of the embrace humans liked so much—they were such touch-loving creatures! Aix said it had something to do with all that fur. Your memory mixes it with how you felt when you saw it, that makes it better than fact. He reminded Aix. The way humans captured images and information with their technology was very good, but it didn’t capture how the person that had recorded the data had felt, and that made it seem empty and half-there, to Starfolk.

‘How is everyone back home?’ Aix asked, but he was thinking of René, and his failure to uphold his duty as Baltimore’s witch.

There is a space unfilled, a silence that remains no matter what music also dances upon the air.

Aix blinked. ‘Whoa.’ That was the most poetic, creative thing he’d ever heard out of Cthulhu.

I have been studying poetry with Miss Shonda. Am I doing well?

‘You’re… that was beautiful.’ Aix turned and hugged him tight. ‘Do you like poetry?’

I study languages, Aix, Cthulhu reminded him gently. To make art with language requires the greatest expertise in it. I have never encountered art before. Humans make art of everything! He said the last with heaving awe that was equivalent to a human sighing dreamily. Aix had told him humans did, of course—Aix rather emphasised it was what made humans themselves; but it still struck Cthulhu daily as a wonder—and for all that, this was humans with their artistic powers oppressed by tyranny! Aix and his colleagues had shown him what could be, with their lessons.

Hi Big Mommy!

Shob-Zhiggurath chuckled at the sight of the little one. Hi, smallest of my descendants. What do you think I should be named?

Pippin hummed, finger to her inky pout, very thoughtful. Her much more eldritch dream-form was, Aix realised, different in very particular ways. It wasn’t just that her little head-tendrils were more numerous and their number was constantly shifting—she also had more regular tails, and they didn’t have puffs so much as… well, Aix was inclined to call them deedly-pops, just shiny little balls that glowed, a sort of thing you only saw on pokémon.

I have had help guarding our house. Binx and some of René’s dancers. Cthulhu said. There has been talk of hiding the house from the view of humans, but Binx says they need your permission, you have already warded the house and the enchantment can do nothing without your allowing it.

Aix had been explaining magic more and more to Cthulhu, though he wasn’t the only one—Cthulhu asked everyone about everything he didn’t understand, and seemed to be growing less and less shy every day. Aix was glad of that, beneath his fear of being abandoned once he wasn’t needed.

‘Oh, well I do,’ he said, but even as he said it, he realised no he didn’t. He had a huge issue with trusting people, especially with his possessions and safety. ‘I want to,’ he amended, feeling frustrated with his trauma.

Luckily, wanting to is enough, Cthulhu said, one of his face tendrils softly caressing Aix’s face in affection. Aix had learned this was like a little kiss. I will let them know.

Big Sky Party! Pippin was explaining to her allmother, her hands thrown up. Big Sky Dance! So cold babies bees amemr springtime bees! Bees why flowor colours!

Aix had never heard Pippin tell a story. That was a story. Hearing someone other than a human being tell a story gave Aix a shivery feeling in his chest, a fluttery, sparkly, magic feeling, one he hadn’t felt in a long time about anything.

A crocus pushed from under the snow, a crocus that looked like it had been drawn on reality with a crayon. Pippin did sparkly fingers around it.

Ta da! See bees a flowor he come firs. He come say ‘Hi fren! No be sad! Sun he bees comin! See I be here to tell you!’

Clowns had a mythos, clowns could tell stories. Aix was struggling with the conflict—it seemed that after having Aix’s help in asserting her people’s right to not be people, Pippin was just showing him, more and more, than they were. But—Aix was stern with himself—but they had a right to self-determination, even if that self-determination was a decision to continue hiding the depth of their intelligence. They had always been this way and gotten along fine, Aix reminded himself. They chose, as the legends often wryly posited about them and other creatures, not to speak, so they didn’t have to work. The humans that lived with clowns had always sort of known anyway, didn’t they? It was just that nobody talked about it openly, because you just didn’t.

I do not know if it helps, Cthulhu said quietly. But there are animals that wish to be seen as people. Elephants particularly. But there are many others who do not wish the bother, after I explained it to them. The wild animals have memories of their relationship with the Piscataway, the Susquehannock, and the other people indigenous to Turtle Island. They prefer what their ancestors had with them.

‘That… makes a disturbing amount of sense,’ Aix sighed. He wasn’t, he thought to himself again, qualified for this. He wasn’t indigenous, he felt like it was unfair that he ended up with the first contact. It should have been someone else, someone b—

You are not worse than others, as much as you are not better either. You simply were the one that was there, and there’s nothing to be done about it.

Aix smiled, leaning against Cthulhu. It was something he’d said, something he’d asked to be told if he needed it. ‘I’m going to tell Sokeenun about you, and Mr Williams has already started catching himself up on Indigenous issues. The crew already have him fully on board about Celtic indigenous issues, and the conversations I hear around the ship every day are pretty amazing. I’m saying this to remind myself it’s not entirely on me and it’s unfair for me to think it is.’

Your responsibility is far different than mine, yes. It is my responsibility to introduce my people to the appropriate humans, and not yours. Cthulhu nuzzled Aix—a very comprehensive affair, when you had tendrils all over your face. Don’t worry. I have already been speaking with the indigenous people where I am.

‘Oh! You didn’t mention.’

A great deal has been going on.

‘True enough,’ Aix said, laughing. ‘Are you still coming to IthalaCon?’

Yes.

The Great Eastern Seaboard Trunk Line was packed with excited daywalkers, and even a handful of dhampir—more common in America—all of them chatting excitedly. As the train made its way up the coast, few people got off, and there was a much more congenial atmosphere than on human transit, songs sung and stories told, games played and, as more people got on, news exchanged.

‘My word, what the hell is going on?’ was asked more than once, and answered eagerly, most of the time the asker deciding to come along.

IthalaCon was inundated with attendees, volunteers, and donations that year, more than a few local chapters of unions contributing, as well as donations in honour of someone named Aix. Ellen, one of the people in charge of running the convention, wondered about that; but there wasn’t really time to wonder, there was barely time to eat. Still…

‘Sokeenun,’ Ellen said, when that lady arrived at the hotel. ‘You bought someone named Aix a ticket?’

‘I did, he’s on his way. It his first convention.’

‘Thank you! He has a lot of friends!’ Ellen gushed. ‘We got thousands of dollars of donations, and about forty volunteers, from his friends—or people connected to him in some way, I guess. And about two dozen new vendors!’

Sokeenun gave that some thought. Aix frequently had said, in their most recent conversations in the past six months, that he had lots of news but it was something he had to tell her in person. ‘He’s been busy,’ she decided to say. ‘He’s a friendly guy.’

As the con set up, the new volunteers and guests arrived all at once—all at once, as though they had all been on the same flight. And they were all exceedingly strange—which was a boon, to a convention. They were all on the fantasy side of things—many, many pointed ears were in attendance—and Sokeenun was very aware, as Ellen likely may not be, that none of it was makeup. And to a one, all were masked as per the guidelines the con had put out.

Many were also not white, which was a chronic difficulty at IthalaCon, which tried very hard but still suffered from an overabundance of whiteness. Sokeenun felt a bit more comfortable, seeing all the darker skintones, hearing languages other than English—snatches of Haitian or Creole from the group of excited black people nearest her, even. One waved to her, and she waved back, and the lady came over, her own locs piled and wound on top of her head where Sokeenun’s were simply hanging down her back, almost to the floor.

‘Are you Sokeenun?’ she asked.

‘I am,’ she said, evenly, not sure what was going on yet.

‘I’m Dionne, I don’t know Aix directly but we found out about the con from him, long story—anyway, my daughter is hiding over there somewhere, but she’s very excited to read your new book, she asked me to come tell you because she’s too shy.’

‘Understandable,’ Sokeenun said, still a little bewildered but pleased nonetheless.

A small group of black kids came up to her next—two little and one teen holding their hands. One was an eight-year-old who introduced himself as Harper, and had drawn a picture that was startlingly true to description.

‘Hi I’m Harper this is for you I drew it! I haven’t read the book yet, don’t worry,’ he assured her, talking with all the speed of excitement. ‘Mr Joe is Mr Aix’s boyfriend, he told us what your dragons look like, he’s very good at describing. I wanted to be the first to do fanart! I have a ferret at home, I used him as a model.’

‘That is very good,’ Sokeenun said, genuinely impressed, and experienced in making sure children were encouraged to follow their passions when they were in her presence. ‘Do any of you know if Aix is here yet?’

‘No,’ said Harper.

‘Mr Joe told us Aix is coming on a pirate ship!’ said the other eight year old, who was wearing a shirt with Robofizz on it under her yet-empty lanyard with characteres from the same show.

‘We haven’t actually met Aix yet,’ the teen said. ‘But some people have, and we know his boyfriends. Mr Charbonneau donates a lot of money to the library, and Mr Joe comes to read every weekend. I’m Keisha, this is my sister Schemia.’

‘Nice to meet you all.’

There was a bit of kerfuffle as a small group arrived in through the main doors; they were all extremely tall, head and shoulders above most of the crowd, and all of them had their long hair dyed bright colours, and were wearing the sort of deeply flattering, colourful outfit that screamed queer.

‘Oh! Oh that’s Aix’s coven!’ Keisha said. ‘They just moved from Europe, they’re all opera singers!’

He has a coven now? Sokeenun wondered, getting a bit overwhelmed by all the noise—the hotel was very echoy because of having tile and open, high ceilings; it couldn’t be helped, but glad there were nice people to talk to while she waited in the long line to check in.

‘Hi, Miss!’ Harper said cheerfully to the only woman in the coven, who had claret red hair, as she moved into line behind them. ‘I saw you at dance practise!’

‘Ah, young signor Harper, I remember,’ she said, smiling at them all. Seeing Sokeenun’s shirt (black, with ‘#LANDBACK’ repeated in multiple colours down the front), she canted her head. ‘Would you happen to know Signora Sokeenun?’

‘I would happen to be her,’ Sokeenun said. ‘Keisha says you’re Aix’s new coven?’

‘Yes, we are recently converted. I am Eveline Starlight, and—’

‘You’re named Starlight?’ Schemia said, gasping. ‘That is so cool! Sorry! Sorry for interrupting. I got excited. Go on.’

Eveline laughed a pretty laugh behind one long hand. ‘Shall we make introductions?’

Because of the height of the five castrati—and they were very frank and open about that fact, though all of them specified that Eveline was a lady now—one of their party had sort of blended into the crowd until introduced—Theo, a white German man with a mischievous smile and a fine suit and rather long walking-stick.

‘Oh, I know what that is,’ Schemia said. ‘Mr Carmine has one. It’s a baton from olden times. Are you a composer?’

‘I am,’ Theo said, surprised. He was about to ask another question, but there was an excited cry from a child that had just emerged from the crowd.

‘Darling!!’ a twelve-year-old dressed to the nines and wearing an actual fur coat came up to them, and Schemia hugged her excitedly and kissed her cheeks in the continental style. ‘It’s so good to see you again! Introduce me to your friends.’

Schemia giggled, but from her reactions this behaviour was completely normal for this little girl. ‘This is Dulcinea, she’s my friend from Calfornia. Dulcinea this is my cousin Harper, and this is Ms Sokeenun she just wrote a book about dragons and this is Mr Theo he’s a composer like your Dad. And this is Eveline Starlight—thatisherrealname—and Phrixus, and Aloysius, and Vincenzo, and Felice. They’re all opera singers!’

There was recognition in Dulcinea’s eyes, as she looked up at them in wonder. ‘Opera singers?’ she said.

‘Your father is a composer?’ Theo asked. ‘What is his name?’

‘Oh, yes, Papa is a composer for film and television,’ Dulcinea said, suitably distracted. ‘But over the quarantine he has gotten so much time to really work with musicians.’

‘Is that real fur?’ Harper asked. Dulcinea fluffed the collar.

‘Yes! I simply live for furs, I worship furs.’

Harper giggled, knowing that was a line from a movie. ‘Can I touch it? Is it mink? I’ve never touched mink before…’

Sokeenun was experienced with little kids crafting entire personas that were essentially them doing drag as adults rather than a different gender, but someone basing theirs on silver screen Hollywood was a little new. Whoever her father was, he was decent enough to not let her wear lipstick yet, even if she was allowed a fur coat and small heels. She didn’t have long to wonder, as a man about in his sixties with light brown skin and bright silver hair pulled back in a queue came up, a girl with albinism balanced on one hip, hiding her face in him. He was clearly a goth of the ornate and baroque sort, and he did indeed have a long walking stick identical to Theo’s.

They sort of sized each other up with a glance, but he bowed to the kids first. ‘Ms Keisha, Ms Schemia,’ he said in a voice so low it was almost hard to hear over the cacophony in the lobby—which Sokeenun noticed was already softer, though there weren’t less people.

‘Hi, Mr Carmine,’ Keisha said. ‘We’re making all kinds of new friends here.’ This time she did the introducing, and conversation turned to music, the younger children catching up the adults on everything, as children were wont.

All save for the one Mr Carmine was holding; she was clearly overwhelmed and shut down, but she also had little earmuffs on, and when Carmine shifted, Sokeenun saw she was asleep. As the line moved, the lobby quieted further, as people dispersed up to rooms and some of the first panels of the convention. Sokeenun was just explaining the finer points of steampunk’s problem with assuming Native characters must be in the west only when she got a message from Aix finally.

Metasepia: Hi we’re almost here! How’s check-in?

Samariform: There’s a lot of your community here. Meeting lots of folks.

Metasepia: There’s what? What do you mean? o_O;;

Sokeenun paused, looking up. ‘Hey, does Aix know you’re here?’

‘Yes,’ Phrixus said immediately.

‘He does not like surprises,’ Felice agreed. ‘So we told him.’

‘I have not met him, I brought my children here because of Schemia and Keisha being our friends, recently moved away,’ Carmine said.

‘We came because Mr Joe told us about it,’ Schemia said, Harper nodding.

‘Sorry to eavesdrop,’ said one of the pointed-eared people from the group in front of them; they were covered in glitter and upswept makeup—if it was makeup—and wearing an elaborate web of earrings. ‘I just overhead you talking of our witch. Is he here? I so wish to meet him.’

Sokeenun was aware that word was likely to spread and that Aix, despite being friendly, was in fact autistic, and did get overwhelmed.

Metasepia: I just got here and holy shit there’s a lot of people here and they all know me. What in gods name.

Samariform: Yeah there’s a lot of them! Ellen says somehow you doubled attendance, donations, even volunteers. People like you in your new town huh? ❤

There was the sound of squeaky shoes and jingling bells, and a tiny clown that Sokeenun had only seen photos of emerged, wearing a rainbow dress and striped tights.

‘Tata So!!!’ she squeaked, pelting toward Sokeenun and hugging her leg.

‘Oho, you’re way cuter in person,’ Sokeenun said.

This was about the time the little girl Carmine was holding woke up and engaged. She took off one of her earmuffs and her father put her down.

‘Hi Fermata!’ Schemia said, because she knew her friend couldn’t see well and it was important to talk first.

‘Schemia? Hi Schemia! Hi Miss Keisha!’ Fermata hugged her friend. ‘Hi joey!’ she said. ‘Hi joey lady.’

‘Hi there,’ Sokeenun said, ‘This is Pippin.’

‘Hi!’ Pippin said, squeaking over to Fermata, who was wearing a shirt with a clown on it, and colourful clothes that Pippin knew meant a Dottie human. ‘En?’ she asked, spreading her arms for a hug, making her Flash nice and bright on her wrist fluffs so Fermata could see. Young Master Ban had taught her about no colours meaning seeing was hard. Because of learning all about Maritime Law, she made her left one red and her right one green.

Fermata hugged her, and Pippin hugged back. It had been a while since she’d been able to hug someone more her size. ‘I love joeys they’re my favourite,’ she told Pippin, who beeped delightedly, before leaping and climbing up Felice, who giggled but seemed used to such things, holding still. Pippin stood on his shoulders, her tail high, and her hands balancing her on his head. She beeped.

‘She is Lighthousing,’ Theo observed. ‘Aix must be close.’

This did not cause the utter chaos Sokeenun expected; people seemed to know not to crowd him.

‘Auntie!’ he said, spotting her. ‘Coven!’ he said cheerfully to the coven. ‘New friends!’ he said to the strangers.

‘Hello I like your clown,’ Fermata said all at once, like she had to rush it in order to be brave enough to say it at all. Aix understood that feeling.

‘I like her too,’ Aix said, as everyone introduced themselves around him, and little conversations broke off. ‘I’m Aix, what are you called?’

‘Fermata.’

‘That’s a cool name! This is Gogo, he’s my cat friend. Do you wanna pet him?’

Aix was surprised but pleased that all the kids gravitated toward him, even though the two teens made him a little nervous. He learned the teen boy was Fermata’s brother, Nocturne, and he met Kesiha, Harper, and Schemia. When he shifted in his chair, revealing a little more of his hoodie, Schemia lit up and said,

‘Oh! You like Helluva Boss too!’

‘I do!’ Aix said, hesitantly. ‘…Not to be terminally uncool, but… do your folks know it’s an adult cartoon?’

‘Yeah. Mom watches them first and we do a lesson on what’s in it,’ Keisha said.

‘Oh wow, that’s super cool.’

Fermata’s father touched her shoulder gently, and she looked up. ‘Tesoro, suppertime.’

Aix was warmed by the Italian endearment as much as how gentle he was with his child. Fermata went over to her big brother and put her arms up, and he picked her up.

‘See you later, Fermata!’ Schemia said, and Fermata waved goodbye to everyone.

‘Ciao ciao!’ she said, and giggled.

‘Ciao bellinina!’ Aix called, and Eveline and the others blew kisses.

‘Where are the pirates?’ Schemia asked Aix, who chuckled.

‘Well I’m one,’ he said, ‘but they’re staying at a different hotel, this one’s too full for a whole pirate crew. They’re gonna come to the con, though, they just need dinner first.’

‘Are you hungry, tesoro?’ Eveline fussed.

‘A bit,’ Aix said. ‘I’ll have dinner later, promise. Auntie, when’s your panel?’

‘Pretty much as soon as I get out of this line,’ Sokeenun said. To be fair to the hotel and the convention’s registration table, the lines were moving quickly. Aix caught sight of some knockerfolk at the registration table and instantly had the answer to why the queue was moving so fast.

‘Binx!’ he called, as they got to the table. ‘How the fuck are ya, man?’

‘Better for seeing you,’ Binx said, handing Aix his badge. There was a brief pause as he handed badges to everyone else one by one, and in only a few more minutes they were all able to get to the hotel’s desk and check in. Phrixus asked for a connected suite, and upgraded Auntie so she and Aix could share a room connected to theirs. Because all the castrati needed king beds, owing to all of them being so tall, they ended up in the royal suite.

‘I hope we’re on the same floor as Fermata,’ Schemia said, after Keisha finished checking them in.

‘We’re in the same room,’ Keisha said, and Schemia couldn’t contain her happy squeal of joy, jumping up and down. ‘C’mon, we gotta eat too,’ Keisha said, looking back at the little party. ‘See you guys. What’s your panel, ma’am?’ she asked Sokeenun.

‘The dystopia one at seven-thirty tonight.’

‘Okay, we’ll be there!’

After they got an elevator to themselves, Pippin and Gogo safely gathered up with them, Aix took a breath.

‘I found Roger Williams and he’s in the other hotel and wants to meet you.’

Sokeenun was not the kind of person who screamed, or was terribly expressive in the same verbal way that Italians were. She swung her gaze to look at Aix, directly, and said, carefully. ‘What.’

‘I have been waiting SO LONG to tell you! Well okay maybe like a couple weeks? He showed up out of nowhere on New Year’s Eve…’ He relayed the whole story on the ride up to the topmost floor and the fancy suites of the hotel. This was the first time anyone else was hearing the tale too, so they were appreciatively quiet.

It was nice to have a big set of three connected rooms and lots of friends to hang out with, and people who were so used to service that they weren’t at all afraid to ask for bellhops or luggage trollies or call room service and order dinner. Pippin and Felice didn’t even let Aix put his stuff away, they unpacked for him, working as a seamless unit. It let Aix sit on the bed and sip water while he waited for his cheeseburger with everything on the side, Gogo flopped over on the bed and snoozing. Pippin offered to help Auntie too, coming over to her suitcase with an inquisitive beep.

‘No, babben, it’s okay. You help Aix.’

Pippin hopped up on the bed and flopped down onto her back so hard she kicked up her feet, and then heaved a big sigh. Aix giggled.

‘Me too,’ he said, with feeling. ‘Travelling is A Lot.’

‘A lot,’ Pippin agreed, rolling over to pet Gogo, who rolled over so she could reach his tummy.

‘I gotta shower,’ Sokeenun said, grateful that Felice made himself scarce after that, with a silent little wave to them as he went through the door to the other rooms. ‘You think room service is gonna be here before I have to go?’

‘Probably, it’s just me, so…’

Sokeenun paused after locking the door between suites. ‘Yeah, did they eat beforehand?’

‘Probably. Didn’t you say Boston was full of skinheads?’ Aix said, without thinking about it.

‘Yeah, but… what does that…’ she paused. ‘Aix…’

‘They’re vampires. So is René, and Roseblade, and a lot of my new friends. Though most of the people downstairs were fae and probably wereanimals. I’ve uh… there’s a lot going on. I met Cthulhu last year, and that sort of kicked all this off… but you need to shower! We can talk after.’

Room service showed up right as Sokeenun was finishing getting dressed and was sitting on her bed tightening her locs, and Aix caught her up while they ate. He made sure Gogo liked where his travel box was, changed, packed his wheelchair bag, and they all went downstairs together, leaving Gogo behind to have a much-needed rest.

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