Under a Waning Sun

In the depths of the Outlands, in a small town called Sticks, people only know a life of subjugation. The Blue Suns - a notorious criminal organization - control everything, and their extortion of the people only offers protection from themselves. Growing up here is harsh and unforgiving, and finding a way out feels nigh impossible: most never do.

This story will follow the lives of six people who begin as childhood friends and eventually grow apart. Each takes a different charted path, paving their own way to success, destruction, or the painful in-between.

The sun was still below the horizon and their sleepy corner of the Sticks was just beginning to stir awake, but Silas had already finished all of his chores for the day.

Well, all the chores aside from grazing the goats, that is - but to him that wasn’t really a chore, especially not today. Today he had a mission planned, and the goats - the goats were his accomplices.

The smithy was frigid in the early mornings, before the furnace was coaxed ablaze and the walls were ringing with the echoes of clanging metal. After heaping the last of the glittering coal into the dark belly of the furnace, Silas leaned the shovel against the wall and wiped his sooty palms on his pants. Taking up the oil lamp, he climbed the cold cobblestone steps back up into the shack so he could crouch next to the stove for a minute and scare off the gooseflesh rippling all over his body.

Morgan the blacksmith wasn't awake yet - Silas could hear his ragged snores from the other room as clear as the crackling wood in the stove. He hesitated a moment, then, impatient to be off, decided to go ahead and boil the water himself.

When Morgan shuffled into the kitchen, he gave a surprised huff when he saw two bowls of oatmeal on the table. Silas' greeting was only the slightest of nods in between spoonfuls.

Morgan scooted the other chair closer to the stove. "Couldn't sleep or somethin'?" he asked, reaching for his bowl.

Silas shrugged. It was the partial truth.

"Will you, uh . . ." Morgan lifted his oatmeal slightly, "be makin' a habit of this?"

Silas shook his head. "Just felt like it."

Others in the Sticks saw Morgan as gruff and unapproachable, someone you'd tiptoe on eggshells around. Silas, meanwhile, saw him as home. Not because of any particular warmth between them, or a sense that Silas could unwind and be both halves of himself in Morgan's presence. No, it was a lot simpler than that.

What Silas liked most about Morgan - what made him feel safe - was that the man was flawlessly familiar. His habits, his values . . . they were all perfectly predictable, grounded in logic like the cycles of the moon, and that suited an uprooted orphan like Silas just fine.

After leaving the orphanage, it didn't take him long to learn that Morgan respected hard work above all else. So he stepped in where he was needed, sweeping the smithy and running errands and grazing the goats, and in turn he had everything a little boy like him needed to survive: a goose feather mattress in the corner of the shack, and two warm meals a day.

Once he scraped up the last morsels of oatmeal, Silas quickly scrubbed the bowl in the washbin, grabbed his knapsack, and was out the door before he and the blacksmith exchanged another word.

Morgan owned four goats, and would soon have more: the black-and-white doe was almost as wide as the threshold to their pen. As sunlight seeped over the Sticks, Silas, armed with a slingshot to ward off potential predators, herded them to a quiet little field on the edge of the town. He then found a good tree and climbed it effortlessly, settling comfortably on a branch and dangling his bare feet.

Swinging the knapsack onto his lap, he removed a small knife and a chunk of wood that vaguely captured the essense of a goat: he'd carved four knobbly legs and a little head with ears. He'd envisioned the carving would have long exaggerated horns, but when one broke off he'd opted for carving a female goat, with tiny little nubs on the top of her head instead.

Holding the carving an arms' length away, Silas squeezed one eye shut and compared the imitation to one of his muses down below. As he chipped away on a few final details, little flakes of wood snowed down from the tree.

Not long ago, he'd worked up the courage to take the goats near his first home, the place where he lived before the orphanage, with his aunt and uncle and cousins. He didn't dare get too close in case they saw him, but he was close enough to catch a glimpse of Saoirse running off with a friend, her wild braids caught up in the wind.

Silas was very glad to see she was okay.

The last time he saw her was on his fifth birthday, the moment he first shifted to his wolven form. It was all a frightening blur, but the one image burned into his memory is the sight of his little cousin flung backward in terror, paper party hat askew, screaming for her life.

She'd convinced her siblings to help her throw him a surprise party, and that was how he repaid her.

It was four years later, and he'd never forgiven himself. The idea of leaving her a little gift, even if she wouldn't know who it was from, eased his mind a little bit. So he'd spent the last two weeks coaxing a little creature out of a piece of scrap wood, knowing that if Saoirse was still in his life today, she would love Morgan's goats.

Silas, quite pleased with the carving's final form, jumped down from the tree mid-morning and gathered the little herd. He hummed to the goats and distracted himself by tossing and catching the slingshot stone, but as they made their way closer and closer to Saoirse's home, he became more and more anxious.

When they arrived on Saoirse's street, Silas swapped the slingshot for the carving. His plan was simple: sneak up to Saoirse's window, place the little goat on the windowsill, and run.

Lowering himself to a crouch, Silas crept around the house until he was right under Saoirse's window. As he was putting the carving in the right place, one of the goats chose that exact moment to voice his displeasure of the lawn's grass quality.

Cursing under his breath, Silas tried to hush the bleating goat, but it was too late. He heard the front door swing open, followed by a familiar voice.

"Goats!" Saoirse shouted.

Panicking, Silas pressed his back against the outer wall of the house, trying to blend into the shadows. "No, no, no . . . not good, not good . . ."

Another goat bleated. Saoirse gave her best attempt at bleating back, then noticed Silas pressed up against the house. She blinked, surprised. "Uh. Hi?"

Silas quickly looked down, ashamed to meet her gaze. "Hi," he uttered, just above a whisper, hugging himself and wishing he could melt into the wall and disappear. "Sorry. Those are my goats. Well, uh - they're Morgan's goats. I take care of them."

"They're cute. And loud, kinda." Saorise was still staring at the goats. A particularly round one was staring back. "What are their names?"

Saorise's frank friendliness puzzled him. Wasn't she going to acknowledge who he was? What he was? She was close enough; why couldn't he smell her fear?

He gestured reluctantly at the nearest goat. "This one's Snowball, and the loud one is Stickers. Then there's Josh, and over there we have . . . hold on." He stepped away from the house. "Buttercup!" he hissed. "Away from the fence!"

Buttercup the pregnant goat only blinked at him, and then resumed her gnawing on the rotted wood.

Saoirse laughed. Her dad would be mad if he saw the damage, but the fence was ugly anyway.

"Sorry," Silas mumbled, seizing Buttercup's insubordination as an opportunity to keep his face turned away from his cousin as he tried to push the stubborn goat back towards the grass. "You can pet 'em if you want," he added.

Saoirse grinned. She reached out to pet the goat closest to her, undeterred as it tried to chew her sleeve.

Silas' heart was pounding so loudly he was worried Saoirse would hear it. Had she really not recognized him yet? Had it been long enough? Had he changed that much?

Patting Buttercup's rump impatiently, he tried to usher the goats out onto the street so they could be on their way. "Was nice meeting you," he said, his face still turned away.

"Yeah, you too," Saorise said, looking away from the goat. She gave it one last pet. "Wait, uh. What's your name?"

Silas stopped, mind racing. He considered throwing out a lie, but came up with nothing. "Silas," he finally mumbled, then kept walking, praying the goats would all follow him and he wouldn't have to double back and see - surely - the stunned shock on her face.

Saoirse frowned. She watched him go, not saying anything until he was almost out of earshot. "Hey Silas!" she called out. "Aren't ya gonna ask me for MY name?"

Stupefied, Silas slowly turned around. The girl was watching him, hand on her hip in earnest sassiness. He blinked. It had been a genuine question.

He walked back a few paces. "Yours?" he called back.

"Saoirse!"

"Saoirse." He couldn't help but smile slightly. There were so many memories, so many feelings of love and joy, wrapped up in that name and in that face.

Saoirse’s parents were fighting again.

She was not surprised.

This wasn’t the first time she’d been woken up like this - to yelling, to her brother shaking her by the shoulder, telling her to get up and to keep her groaning to a minimum.

Their parents had been arguing a lot lately. Saoirse wasn’t exactly sure why, but she wasn’t stupid. Money was tight right now, and people argued more when there wasn't enough to go around. But Riley didn’t like Saoirse seeing them argue, and her brother always found some excuse to get Saoirse out of the house.

Not that she minded. Saoirse didn’t like seeing her parents fight. It was loud and confusing and it always made her want to cry.

Saoirse rubbed at her eyes. It was too early for crying. It was too early, period. The sun wasn’t even out yet.

She groaned and got out of bed, half-ignoring her brother telling her to be quiet. The yelling was getting louder and it was impossible to ignore. She tried tuning it out anyways, grabbing her coat and shoes as she silently made her way out of the room.

Riley followed. He stopped to whisper something to their sisters, Ciara and Máire, who stood in the hallway.

Saoirse couldn’t make out what they were saying. Not that it mattered, her mother screaming now - something about Saoirse, about her father, her real father, who’s name Saoirse didn’t recognize or even care to remember.

The house went quiet. The only thing Saoirse could hear was the sound of her dad crying, a muffled sort of sobbing that shook the house more than any shouting ever could.

Saoirse sniffled. She wanted to cry but she wouldn’t let herself. Not here, with her brother and sisters looking at her like she was a stranger in their house. Her parents would hear. Saoirse didn’t want to stick around and have them look at her like that too.

She left through the back door. Her mother left through the front.

Saoirse hid in the dried up shrubs that lined the back of the house. She watched the sun rise higher and higher up into the sky.

No-one was coming to look for her. Saoirse stood up and wiped the tears and snot off her face. She looked back at the house and saw that the blinds were all drawn shut.

She turned around and started to walk.

--

Saoirse heard the goats before she saw them. She rubbed at her face and followed the sound. Maybe Silas would be in a better mood than she was.

He usually was when they hung out, even when he was too anxious to do much more than keep the goats in check. Saoirse didn’t know why he put up with her. She was glad that he did.

Saoirse was close enough that they could see each-other now. She waved and walked over. One of the goats trotted out to meet her. Saoirse smiled.

“Hey Silas,” she said. “s’it okay if I pet your goats?”

She knew they weren’t his goats, technically. It didn’t matter. Silas was the one who took care of them. He was the one the goats listened to.

"You know it is," he said, softly.

Saoirse patted the goat, Snowball, on the head, and narrowly avoided the goat eating her sleeve. She didn't say anything for a minute. Just focused on Snowball and the feeling of his fur.

Silas shifted uncomfortably, keeping his eyes on the ground. "You doing alright?"

"My parents were fighting again," Saoirse said. "It was...." She shook her head. "I'll tell you about it later."

Fiddling with his slingshot, Silas nodded his head toward the road, in his wordless way of asking if she wanted to get going.

Saoirse nodded and followed. They walked in an awkward but not uncomfortable silence. Saoirse could hear the others down the road even if she couldn't see them yet - Ivy and Caelan and Ramona. She couldn't tell if Ossie was there yet. He was probably still stuck watching his siblings.

"No, it's my turn!" Ramona whined.

"You've already been the seeker five times," Caelan said.

"It's not my fault you're bad at hiding!" Ramona said, sticking out her tongue at Caelan.

"Okay, okay," Ivy said pacifyingly. "Caelan, you stick out like a lone cactus in a desert, and Ramona, you've been the seeker so often no one can hide from you anymore. But there's only so much we can do with three players."

"I do not," Caelan huffed.

Ramona grumbled something mocking under her breath.

Saoirse walked over. "Hey Ivy, hey Ramona." She grinned and waved. "Hey, lone cactus in a desert. What's up?"

Caelan sneered at her with a chuff.

Ivy perked up, turning around with a beaming look. "Oh, hey, you're just in time if you want to join us for another round of hide and seek! Then maybe someone else can be the seeker for a change."

"I get to hide again!" Ramona said, raising her fists with a cheer.

Smiling, Saoirse looked at Silas, who was engaging in his own game of hide and seek behind the goats, and then back at the others. “Sounds fun!”

"Does our local lone cactus want to search this time?" Ivy suggested, turning to Caelan, although she looked like she already knew the answer.

Saoirse, naturally, didn't wait for said cactus to answer. "Good luck," she said, as confident as only a short child who could fit into very tiny hiding places could be.

Caelan folded his arms, but looked determined to prove himself. Ramona quickly ran to hide.

Silas looked alarmed as Saoirse dashed off to look for a hiding place. He looked at the goats, then back at her, then back at the goats.

"The goats will be okay for a little bit," Ivy assured him. "C'mon, Silas!"

"I shouldn't," he mumbled, eyeing the particularly troublesome Buttercup. "I can help look, though?"

Ivy nodded, satisfied with this compromise. "Sounds good!"

And Saoirse was off in search of a hiding place. She found a spot in an alley between a row of houses, in a small space between a stack of crates and a wall. Weeds covered the ground up to her knees -- she crawled through and crouched down, resolving to check for ticks later. She kept an ear out for the others as they ran off to search for their own hiding places, and then for Caelan as he began to search.

Saoirse's mind began to wander. She wished that it wouldn't. This morning's events weren't really something she ever really wanted to think about. Least of all now, when she was with her friends. She frowned and shook her head to try and clear her head. It didn't work. Her eyes began to water.

She heard approaching footsteps. Caelan? Saoirse didn't poke her head out to look. If it was him (or maybe even Silas) she didn't want to lose the game and be found. And if it wasn't them... Well, it would be awkward for someone to find her here.

Saoirse figured she should keep hiding. She knew that she'd be found sooner or later, that the game would end and she'd have to head home. The thought left a sour taste in her mouth.

The footsteps drew closer. Saoirse held her breath.

Caelan's head poked around the corner. "Found you!"

Saoirse stuck out her tongue. "You got lucky," she said.

"Sure," Caelan said, smirking. He waved for Saoirse to follow. "Come on, we still need to find Ramona."

"Y'mean you still need to find her," Saoirse said. She crawled out of her hiding spot to follow him anyway. "I don't help cactuses."

"First of all, it's cacti. And--"

Meanwhile, Silas had already beat them to it. Saoirse didn't know how he did it - it usually took longer to find her. Ramona was really good at hiding.

Saoirse caught sight of Ossie in the distance. She stood on her toes and waved at him. He waved back. It looked like he wanted to come over, but Saoirse could see his siblings around him--one in his arms, two running around his legs. He wouldn't be able to hang out for a little while. Saoirse could see that he was smiling at her, but he quickly got distracted by one of his siblings and had to turn away, running after them until they were all out of sight.

--
Eventually, the sun started to set. Saoirse waved goodbye to her friends and started the trek home, walking alongside Silas until they had to go their seperate ways.

"Hey," she said, as she turned towards her house. "Thanks for the goat carving. It's really cool."

Silas gave a small smile. "I'm glad you like it."

"See you tomorrow." Saoirse said. She could see her house down the dirt path. Her smile faded. "Yeah, um. See you." She left without waiting to hear Silas' response. Saoirse knew that if she didn't she'd lose her nerve.

The door creaked as Saoirse stepped inside. She didn't see anyone, and she didn't smell dinner, so she went to the room she shared with her sisters. Ciara and Máire were already there.

"Hey," Saoirse said. She felt like she was about to hurl. "Where is everyone?"

Her sisters wouldn't look at her. Saoirse ducked her head. She took off her coat and her shoes and started to put everything away. She didn't want them to see her cry.

She grabbed the goat figurine and turned it over in her hands. Silas didn't always look at her either, but it was different here. At least Saoirse knew he would listen when she was ready to talk.

"Dad wants to talk to you." Máire said, after several minutes had passed. She seemed reluctant to speak. "He's out back."

"So is Riley," Ciara added. "It's important."

Duh, Saoirse thought. Of course it was important. But she mumbled out a 'thank you' and got her shoes on again, then went towards the back without another word. She hesitated by the door. Her brother was saying something.

"--she coming back?"

"I don't know. Your mother has some things to sort out."

"What about-"

Saoirse held the goat figurine tighter. She could see Silas and the rest of her friends tomorrow. She could pet the goats. They'd hang out and play hide and seek and they'd actually treat her like normal.

Saoirse put the figurine in her pocket and opened the door. That was tomorrow. She just had to get through tonight.

Ivy was Ramona's best friend. The reason Ramona knew this was because Ivy would never say it: she would always show it. Momma always said that words didn't mean anything, and doing something was all that mattered. Whenever Ivy needed someone to burn things with, she'd always find Ramona. And Ivy loved fire. So she loved Ramona, and Ramona loved her.

Except when she was a know-it-all.

"You can't just go up to Hoss and set his hair on fire from behind," Ivy insisted, with a wild motion of her arms. "You need a plan first!"

"Who's gonna know?" Ramona retorted, throwing her hands up. "His hair is already orange!"

"He's going to know, the moment you walk up to him with a match, looking like this." Ivy put on an exaggerated, manic grin, walking up to Ramona in a very suspicious manner and pretending to hold a lit match.

"Well maybe if you distract him," Ramona said, leaning in. "I can sneak up on him, like this!" She crouched down and pulled her arms in, showing Ivy her sneaking position with her match in hand and a devilish smile. She waggled her eyebrows.

"Maybe go barefoot," Ivy suggested. "You'll be quieter. There's no way he'll notice you then."

Ramona looked down at her dirty shoes. The ground was all wet from yesterday's rain, and her soles were caked with mud. She pouted in thought and put her hands on her hips.

"He's just too good at noticing things," she muttered. "He never lets me get away with anything. He's such a stiff. A poop-head. A dork-face." She tapped the match to her chin in thought. "Maybe I can do it while momma's watching Ron... then momma won't see."

It was better to set fire to her big brother when her baby brother was not in his care. Just in case there was more fire than there should be, you know? She couldn't have Ron bursting into flames. He was only five! She'd have to wait until he was at least ten.

"Or maybe when he's sleeping." Ivy grinned. "Wait, does he even ever sleep? He seems like he's always off doing... big boy crime or whatever, but he's got to sleep sometime."

Ramona's eyes lit up with inspiration. "Yes! You're a genius!"

She reached over and shook Ivy's shoulders with vigor, sending Ivy's wavy red mess of hair bouncing back and forth. Ivy grinned wider, taking a little joking bow. Ramona let out a manic giggle and raised her hands to the sky in victory.

"See? This is why I need you! You're the brains!" she said, tapping the side of her head. "I shall strike come sleep time, and then my brother will finally be bald."

Ivy cackled with laughter. "He'll be like an egg!"

"He's gonna look so stupid," Ramona grinned, already imagining Hoss's big, pale, square head all hairless and shiny. He really would look like an egg. A big, mean, egg.

"This is perfect," Ramona said, dancing her fingertips together. "But for now we must continue our experiments to see what else can be set ablaze!"

Ramone pointed her match down the alley, around the corner where Saoirse and Silas were sitting with Silas's goats. The midday sun was starting to dry up the center of the road, but puddles were still everywhere. Silas was staring into one while Saoirse patted a goat's head.

Were goats flammable?

"Adonis got some new stuff today, but he said it's not supposed to be burnt." Ivy pouted briefly, but it didn't last long before she brightened up. "What if we burned his trash instead? He won't miss it!"

Ramona kept her head peeked around the corner, pouting her lips as she stared at Saoirse. Her hair was always so messy. She didn't know how to do her braids right, like Ramona did. She'd been at it for weeks and her hair was still falling out of them, and they were the same age! Ramona figured it out years ago.

"We've already burned trash before," she murmured in mild disappointment.

They had to come up with something better.

"Yeah, you're right." Ivy sighed. "We should upgrade. Maybe a tree! Or at least a bush."

Trees. Hm. Silas was good at climbing trees! Maybe they could get him to grab them a big branch. The only problem with that, though, was it meant talking to Saoirse. Ugh. When were she and Silas friends anyway? Silas was such a loner. He usually just stayed with his goats. Speaking of, Saoirse was usually at home, too. She kept seeing her around more which was annoying.

"A tree is a good idea," Ramona said, tapping the wall beside her.

"It'd be cool if Silas could see if Morgan has anything cool and flammable on hand-- I bet he does. But every time I ask, he says no!" Ivy shook her head incredulously. "What's that about? I swear, he never wants to join in on anything. You so much as suggest anything fun and he looks like he's having an allergic reaction."

"One day I'm gonna make him join," Ramona said with a determined nod. "I'm gonna get him to have real fun one of these days."

Ivy snorted, grinning. "Bet you won't."

Ramona turned back to her with a scoff, smiling mischievously. "Oh yeah? I will! Just you watch!"

Ivy suddenly peeked over Ramona's shoulder, around the corner of the wall they were lurking behind. From the way her expression lit up even further, Ramona knew she'd spotted Silas and Saoirse.

"Not if I can first," Ivy said, and before Ramona knew it, she was sprinting down the alley with a giddy laugh. "Hey! Saoirse! Silas! Wanna burn stuff with us?"

No! This wasn't fair! Ivy's legs were so much longer than hers! Ramona fought to race her and catch up, but Ivy's strides were twice the length of Ramona's, and the distance wasn't great. Ramona came stumbling into Ivy's back and rolled to the side to keep from knocking her over, and instead bumped into one of the goats.

It let out a surprised bleat, and Ramona laughed.

"Watch it," Silas warned, motioning for Ramona to leave the goats alone. With a giggle, Ramona waved him off and patted the goat's rump.

"What are we burning?" Saoirse asked, getting to her feet with a light in her eyes.

"I think we should burn branches," Ramona said matter-of-factly. "We can get them in the trees."

"If you want to burn things, you should be finding dry branches, not fresh ones. Fresh ones are going to smoke up really bad."

Ramona whipped around to face Caelan, the real know-it-all, who'd been summoned by her not-quite-rightness against her will. She faced him with her hands on her hips and frowned at him.

What was he even wearing? He always looked like he was trying to play dress-up like he was an adult when he was just a kid. There was no reason to try to look nice when nobody looked nice. Even his hair was perfect. Pah! At least he didn't know how to do braids.

"Oh no," Ivy said with fake disappointment, although the beaming look lingering on her face indicated she was happy for the extra company. "Dry branches. We're never gonna find any of those in a desert."

Caelan shrugged. "Well, if you don't get it, I guess I can't help you." He surveyed the rest of the group. "Are you all about to join Ivy's arsonist gang?"

"Please do," Ivy said eagerly. "We're always looking for new members."

"I'll join," Saoirse said. Silas made no move to concur.

Ramona leaned into Ivy, lowering her voice to a whisper so Caelan couldn't hear to ask: "What's an arsonist?"

"People who set stuff on fire," Saoirse said, somehow overhearing. It was awful and embarrassing. Ramona shot a glare at her frizzy head.

"On purpose," Ivy added. "It's cooler when you do it on purpose. Otherwise, you're just some schmuck who can't be trusted with a match."

"And we can be responsible with matches!" Ramona added, raising her finger in agreement.

Caelan raised an eyebrow at her and said, "Hmm." Saoirse stuck out her tongue at Caelan. Well, at least Ramona could give her that.

"Oh, come on," Ivy said. "It's only irresponsible if you light things on fire that you're not planning to light on fire! Otherwise, all you're doing is making a plan and sticking to it."

"Making a plan is smart," Saoirse agreed. "But when you say it that way it sounds boring."

"Right," Ivy agreed. "So this is what we do-- we plan to light something in particular, so that it's responsible. But! We leave things open for how it burns. Is it gonna produce sparks? Crackle slowly into nothing? Explode all at once? Now that's the fun part."

Ramona let out a loud giggle at the description, and made explosion noises with her mouth, wiggling her fingers as she threw out her hands.

Caelan sighed and rolled his eyes.

"I don't think we'll find a lot of dry branches since everything's still wet," Saoirse said as she scratched under a goat's chin and glanced back at Silas. "We should wait 'til tomorrow if it's sunnier."

Silas glanced at the clouds and shrugged.

Ramona let out a long sigh and rolled her head far back as she dramatically leaned and flopped her arms. Wait? Longer? This was getting too complicated with too many people. Saoirse was just ruining it!

"My other idea was to set Hoss's hair on fire," Ramona said. "I was going to wait until tonight but we could do it now if one of you can watch my baby brother."

"Burn your brother's hair?" Saoirse said with a laugh. "That's dumb. Why not burn something like his backpack instead?"

"It is not!" Ramona spat back. "His backpack is--"

She waggled her finger, trying to find a comeback only to realize she didn't even know if Hoss had a backpack.

"It's not fire-colored, probably," Ivy offered. "Unlike his hair."

"Yeah! What she said!" Ramona said.

"Well maybe we should set your hair on fire since it's also fire-colored," Saoirse said with a grin, poking at Ramona's braid. Mouth agape, Ramona gasped in offense and ripped her braids away.

"No! That's not how it works!" Ramona said.

"Hair smells awful when it's burned," said Caelan.

Ramona scrunched her nose up at him.

"Wait, how you do know? Have you tried it?" Ivy asked curiously, eyes lighting up with interest. Adonis always called that her "science look".

Caelan sniffed. "Of course not. I read it in a book."

Ramona pointed back at Caelan with her thumb, looking to Ivy with a scoff. "'He read it in a book,'" she quoted mockingly. "Bo-ring!"

"Well, I feel like we have to test it out now," Ivy said thoughtfully. "In case the book was wrong. Adonis says that theory is nothing without experiment."

"Adonis sure knows a lot," Saoirse said with her hand on one hip. Ramona couldn't tell if that was supposed to be a compliment or not. She narrowed her eyes at Saoirse.

"He does!" Ivy said proudly, clearly interpreting it as one. "He's very smart."

"Probably not as smart as Caelan with all his reading," Saoirse said, glancing at him with a wry grin.

"He's a genius compared to you," retorted Caelan, crossing his arms.

"At least he's not annoying about it!" Saoirse said.

Behind her, Silas ducked his head behind one of the goats. Ramona peeked over at him, but he just ducked more.

"Me? Annoying?" The beginning of an outraged expression grew at the corners of Caelan's eyes and mouth.

"Are you really that stupid you don't even notice?" Saoirse scoffed.

Before Caelan could say something else snooty, though, Ossie poked his head out of his house across the street and waved, coming over with hurried steps.

He was always in a hurry after his parents got home, probably because he could finally leave or whatever. Ossie's wavy hair bounced around as the mud splatted under his big feet on the way over.

"Hey, guys!" Ossie smiled brightly.

"Ossie!" Ivy perked up, standing on her tippy-toes so she could wave as he approached. "Just in time! There's been a disagreement in the arsonist gang."

Ramona glanced at Caelan and Saoirse, who were staring each other down for a few seconds before Saoirse turned up her nose and looked away, sitting down beside Silas with a huff. Caelan glared at her for another second before letting out a huff of air and uncrossing his arms.

"Arsonist gang?" Ossie asked hesitantly. He scratched the back of his head, looking nervous like he'd just gotten in trouble for something.

Dragons above, they hadn't even done anything yet! All because nobody could agree on what to burn and Saoirse and Caelan were both annoying.

"Yeah!" Ivy said brightly. "An arsonist is a person who lights stuff on fire, on purpose. Also known as someone who knows how to have fun."

"Ossie knows what an arsonist is," Saoirse muttered.

Ossie's broad smile tensed a little, and he started playing with the hem of his shirt, suddenly looking extremely interested in his hands. "What's the disagreement?" he asked, glancing back up at Ivy.

Ivy pointed at Caelan and Saoirse. "I've forgotten at this point, but it's with the two of them!"

"She's just mad that I'm smarter than her," said Caelan spitefully. "As usual."

At that, Saoirse jumped to her feet in an explosive squeal, and Silas grabbed her just before she could leap at Caelan. Held partially aloft, Saoirse stretched out her fingers like claws and scraped at the air in fury, kicking her legs while Silas held her waist with wide-eyed worry.

"I'm gonna beat your eyes out!" Saoirse screeched.

Caelan flinched when she launched herself at him, but he quickly recovered and smirked at the sight of her cycling her arms and legs in the air. "I'd like to see you try. That's not even a real saying."

"Oh, I've--!"

It was unclear if Silas let go of Saoirse on purpose or it Saoirse managed to wriggle out of his grasp, but somehow, she slipped free and began to run after Caelan.

Caelan sprinted around the tree nearby and wove through the goats, yelling, "Somebody stop her!"

Ramona stuck out her foot just enough as Saoirse was running past and clipped Saoirse's toes. It was just enough to send Saoirse flying face-down into the mud.

Well, almost.

Silas's reflexes were too fast. Ramona didn't know how he managed it, but he caught Saoirse's arm and pulled her to her feet before she went splat. Ramona frowned but looked away as Saoirse looked herself over and then pointed at Caelan accusingly.

"You're not worth it, anyway!" she spat, turning to stomp the other direction. "Come on, Silas, let's go."

Looking lost for words as he always was, Silas grabbed his knapsack and ushered the goats on after her.

"Wait!" Ivy called after them. "Don't you want to burn stuff?"

Saoirse stopped and looked back at Ivy with a pout. Her eyes drifted to Ossie, who was probably going to tell on them if they burned anything too important.

"Maybe tomorrow," she said. "I have to go make mud pies."

Ivy looked genuinely disappointed, and she wilted a little, but it didn't take long for her to put on a smile and wave goodbye. "See you then!"

Caelan began to walk away with a dismissive wave. "I'm going to go. Have fun burning things."

"Oh, we will," Ivy promised.

"Yeah!" Ramona said triumphantly, though she wasn't sure if she was angry at Caelan, since he did get a rise out of Saoirse. That was always funny.

Ossie, for his part, fidgeted a little more with his shirt, his smile dampened as he watched the others walk away. "Um..." he said softly, "I don't know if burning something is the best idea. Not right now anyway. It's kinda hard to see a fire in the daylight anyway."

"Aw, you don't think I have good ideas?" Ivy teased, poking him in the shoulder with a playful but warm grin.

Ossie looked away. "No, I'm not saying that," he said quickly. "You have lots of good ideas. I just don't think that one works right now."

Satisfied, Ivy tapped her lips thoughtfully. Ramona knew she was going to back down-- she usually did for Ossie. "I know, then," she declared. "We should go see Adonis!"

Ramona threw her hands up in the air.

"Yes!" she shouted. Finally, something to do that she liked!

But then it all got ruined.

"Ramona!" Hoss shouted across the street.

She looked three houses down, seeing her tall, egg-headed brother on the porch with a hand cupped by his mouth. He looked even more like an egg in the sunlight as it shone on his pale skin. Like an egg that was on fire.

Well, not yet.

She sneakily tucked her match under the waistband of her skirt and stomped her foot on the ground in protest.

"No!" she said. "It's not dinnertime!"

"Mom said so!" Hoss shouted.

"No, she didn't!" Ramona shouted back, stomping again. "You're just saying that because you want to be mean and-- and boring! And you're a schmuck!"

It felt good to use that word now that she'd learned it from Ivy. That'd teach him. Hoss, however, was not fazed as she'd hoped.

"You want to test that?" he shouted back. "Let me go get her."

Oh. Oh no. That meant she really was in trouble. Ramona shot Ivy and Ossie a wide-eyed smile.

"I have to go," she said regretfully, before dashing off so she didn't get whooped by Momma.

Leaving Ossie and Ivy in the mud, since there was no dust today, Ramona flew up onto her porch with a leap and skid through the door Hoss left open. She had expected to have at least three feet of sliding room, but her whole body smacked into the pantalooned legs of a very tall man standing in their house. Caught off guard, she yelped and fell back, stiff as a dead rat, and her butt hit the wood floor.

The man in front of her hadn't fallen over from her unintended attack, but he'd turned around to look down at her as she lay supine, like a squished bug.

He was tall. Too tall. And he looked too much like a big version of her brother.

The man's mouth turned into a big smile, and he let out a laugh that made Ramona feel uneasy, not that she knew why. She frowned as she got to her feet and fixed her skirt, kicking off her muddy shoes by the door.

The red-headed man squatted down to her level and tilted his head.

"Hey there, little lady," he said.

"Simon, leave her alone," Momma said from the kitchen around the corner.

Ramona narrowed her eyes at this "Simon," and folded her arms as she looked him over. Who was this strange man and what was he doing?

"Oh, come on," Simon said, looking over his shoulder, but still blocking the narrow hall with his big body. "I can't say hello to my daughter?"

Ramona's frown deepened in confusion.

"Who are you?" she demanded with her arms crossed tighter. "And what are you doing in my house?"

Simon laughed again. "Your house," he echoed. "Come on, sweetie. You don't recognize your dad?"

Ramona stared at him.

Her what?

"Liar! I don't have a dad!" she said. "Momma said he's gone!"

Simon glanced over his shoulder with a waning grin, and he got to his feet again, finally leaving enough space for Ramona to slip past his legs. Ramona squeezed through quickly, pushing into their little sitting room that was now far too crowded with two big people inside. She hid under the kitchen table, swinging behind one of the wooden legs.

Hoss had been waiting there for her, in a chair, and it was the only time she was happy he was close by. He stood up slowly to face this "Simon," and Ramona didn't like how much their faces mirrored each other.

Hoss looked back at Momma, who was at the stove in the kitchen. Ramona could smell the start of the fire in the coals. It would always make the house so hot.

"You shouldn't be here, Simon," Hoss said, folding his arms.

Ramona wished that Hoss was bigger than he was. For a fourteen-year-old, he was already up at Simon's chest, but he wasn't nearly big enough to fight him off if he needed to, even if he was strong. Simon rolled his eyes and glanced at the kitchen before looking down at Hoss's neck.

The Blue Suns tattoo Hoss had just gotten was still healing. The blue ink was dark against the side of his pale neck, and it almost looked like a bruise if it weren't for the square center and the single ray.

Hoss was only a 1. So his "sun" didn't look much like a sun.

"When did you get this?" Simon asked.

"I think you're smart enough to figure that out," Hoss said.

"Hoss, honey," Momma said, this time in her serious voice.

Hoss turned to look at her with an anger in his eyes that Ramona had never seen.

"Go to your brother," Momma commanded. And with a sneer, Hoss hung his head down and went into the other room -- the only other room in the house -- where Ron had probably been napping.

But Hoss slammed the door. So. Ron wouldn't be napping anymore.

That was going to be annoying when Ron got fussy later.

"I just need a place to stay," Simon said, walking past the table.

Ramona ducked down lower so she had an angle to peek out. She could see the side of Simon's face, but Momma turned away with her head hanging low.

"For how long?" Momma asked quietly.

"Not sure," Simon answered. "I just need somewhere I can hide away a bit."

Momma was quiet for some time, and Ramona could feel the space between them filling like a bowl of water. The room felt heavier, and it wasn't just because the wood-burning stove was heating up.

"Who did you anger this time?" Momma asked.

Simon reached out and set his hand on Momma's chin, turning her face up to look at his. Momma's bangs obscured her face too much to make out her expression, but Ramona wasn't looking at hers: she was looking at Simon's.

He seemed... gentle.

"You'll be fine," Simon said, dropping his voice to a whisper. Ramona strained to hear and watched his lips to make out what he said next: "Just don't mention anything to your son."

Simon stared at Momma for a few seconds before he leaned in to her face, but Momma pulled away.

"Whatever it is," she said quietly. "I want no part of it, and you will be gone by the end of the week."

"Anything for you, Dolly," Simon said with a tone that seemed too sweet.

Momma shot him a glare before her eyes dropped to the kitchen table, and she made eye contact with Ramona. Simon's eyes followed, too. Uncomfortably seen, Ramona stared back at both of them, a bit too frozen to speak.

"How about you go see your friend Ivy?" Momma said.

"But Hoss said you wanted me here," Ramona offered quietly.

"Hoss did what he was asked, and now I'm asking you to go see Ivy and Adonis," she said, shooting another pointed look at Simon, who raised his brows and lifted his palms up in front of him.

Unsure, but not wanting a whooping, Ramona bolted out from under the table, grabbing her shoes as she sprinted out the door as fast as possible.

Whoever that Simon was, it wasn't her dad. How did she know this? She already had a dad: and that was Adonis. He was everyone's dad, and he was just as much hers as everybody else's.

The kitchen counter had once again been transformed into Adonis's workspace. Next to a pot of melting wax on the stove, a set of seals and molds lay over a pile of envelopes, waiting to be used and mailed off. Small jars of pounce powder and dark ink had been pulled down from their spice rack. Wires for watermarks and scrapers were spread out over the tile surface. And most importantly, the treasure of Adonis's collection-- a heavy bound book, filled with the handwriting copies of almost everyone in Nye with even a sliver of importance, which had been gathered over the years to be more easily replicated-- sat with its pages open, a quill pen tucked in the center crease.

It was one of Ivy's favorite things to see coming home, because it usually meant there was something to learn that day.

When she and Ossie barged in the door, Adonis looked up from where he was leaning over a spread of recently-pressed paper, a mug of black tea in hand. His gaze immediately lit up, and his face split into a smile as he hurried over to give them both a warm hug.

"Back so early?" he asked, pulling away with an amused expression.

"The plans fell through," Ivy sighed dramatically. "No fires today."

"Don't be discouraged. I'm sure you'll find something fun next time." Adonis turned to Ossie, smile still bright. "How's the family, son?"

Ossie's smile dimmed a little, before he stood up a little taller and said, "They're alright, sir."

Adonis's expression sombered just barely-- so slightly that Ivy almost didn't notice it at all-- and she wondered why that was. She was about to poke at it before Adonis rested a hand on Ossie's shoulder.

"I better do this before I forget," he said with a quiet chuckle, fishing something out of one of his pockets. "This is for you. An old friend of mine made it."

Ivy peered at the item he revealed. It was a small but elegant figurine, carved out of some kind of russet wood-- cedar, maybe, or even cherry. The wood had been sculpted into the shape of a lute, detailed to the point of even having little ridges on the instrument's bridge for strings.

"Aw," Ivy cooed. "It's so cute!"

Ossie's breath caught in his throat. "It's for me?" he asked softly, then glanced at Adonis again as if checking to make sure he heard it right.

Adonis nodded, holding it out. "Yours and yours alone," he confirmed. "I thought it might be your style."

Ossie started to blink rapidly, then pulled the neckline of his shirt up to his face. He seemed like he was trying not to cry, but he sniffled from behind his shirt before he pulled it down again, and where his eyes had been, there were small wet spots on his shirt. He reached a hand out hesitantly and took it. "Thank you," he murmured, wiping his eyes off again against his sleeve, eyes trained on the small piece of carved wood.

"You're most welcome," Adonis assured him, with that same faint sadness in his eyes. Ivy didn't understand what both of them were acting like this for-- did this really mean that much to Ossie? Well, now that thought made her sad. That wouldn't do. She had to cheer the two of them up somehow.

"Where are you going to put it?" Ivy asked eagerly. "On a shelf? A nightstand? Wear it around on your head like a hat?"

Ossie glanced at her then glanced away again, sniffling one more time before he cleared his throat and shook his head. "I'm gonna keep it with me," he said quietly. He looked up at Adonis. "Thank you, sir."

Adonis smiled again, patting Ossie's shoulder one more time before he pulled his hand back and waved in the direction of the kitchen. "I was just about to age some paper. Do you kids want to see how it works?"

"Ooh, yes," Ivy said excitedly, turning to Ossie with a bright expression. "I don't think you've explained it to Ossie yet-- c'mon, Ossie, don't you want to hear about that?"

Ossie nodded, closing his fist around the tiny lute and putting it in his pocket. "Yeah, that sounds really interesting."

Ivy didn't wait any longer, gently tugging him by the elbow towards the counter-- although there was hardly any distance between them and it, since the small but cozy room they were in served as a kitchen, dining room, and living room all at once. Adonis chuckled again, following behind to return to where he'd been working.

"A lot of mail, especially if it's going across the continent, takes a long time to get where it's going," he explained, lifting up a piece of paper. "Usually, that's long enough that the paper starts to look older over the course of that travel. Maybe it's mostly white when you send it, but the person you send it to sees it as yellowed or tanned. So, if you're going to replace one piece of mail with another, you usually want to make the new mail look old enough that it could believably be the original letter."

"When do you need to replace mail?" Ossie asked curiously, coming out of his shell a little as he leaned over the counter to look at the paper Adonis was holding.

"That's a good question." Adonis hummed thoughtfully. "There's no singular reason you would need to. But for example, sometimes a letter contains harmful information, because one person is trying to tell someone else to do something bad by writing to them. In that case, if you get that mail and replace it with a letter that says to do something else, but it looks like it's from the original sender, you can prevent that bad thing from happening."

"And that's why you make it look like it was written in their handwriting," Ivy added.

"Yes, and other similar touches," Adonis agreed. He reached for a paintbrush, dipping it in the tea and lifting it up. "This is where the tea comes in. The right kind-- usually a weaker concentration of black tea-- can stain the paper into the same color it gets once it's aged for a while. All you need to do is brush it on and leave it to dry." He offered the brush to Ossie, pushing a piece of paper his way. "Would you like to give it a try?"

Ossie smiled. "Okay," he said, nervously taking the brush as he looked at the paper and tilted his head. He hesitated, then painted a large mark across the page, before looking back up to Adonis for reassurance.

"Yes, that's perfect," Adonis promised. "If anything goes wrong, don't worry. There's plenty of ways to fix that."

"Like what?" Ivy asked, as Ossie, encouraged, painted another sweeping stroke.

"After this, I'll temper the paper with some vinegar," Adonis said. "Vinegar is what's known as a weak acid, and it can slightly weaken and stain the paper in other ways. There's stronger acids out there, but we wouldn't want to use those, or else the paper might fall apart. That's called disintegrating."

"Ooh," Ivy said, imagining that now. Would it catch fire as it fell apart? No, probably not, or he would've mentioned that to make it more exciting. She imagined it turning into a tea-colored pile of goo instead.

"Lemon juice is another weak acid, called citric acid, so it would also do the trick," Adonis explained. "That's why your mouth stings a little when you eat a lemon, and it tastes sour-- it's the acid."

Ivy looked to Ossie with a grin. "Wait, is that why Old Lady Martha looks so sour-faced all the time? Citric acid?"

Ossie's smile broadened. "Maybe when all her teeth fell out, she replaced them with lemon," he suggested.

Ivy laughed. "Bad choice, if you ask me!"

Adonis chuckled quietly, like this was something he felt he shouldn't be laughing at, but he couldn't help it. "Believe it or not, there's acid in a lot of different things. There's some in this tea. Milk, too. Even your skin is slightly acidic."

Ivy stared at her hand, holding it out in front of her face. "Wait, really? Can it disintegrate paper?"

Now she was wondering if her hand would taste sour. She resolved to test that theory out later on her own, where she wouldn't get weird looks.

"No, thankfully," Adonis said with a smile. "That'd be a problem, since we wouldn't be able to hold it, then." He peered over at the paper Ossie was still diligently working on. "Nice work, Ossie."

Ossie glanced away shyly, but said, "Thank you," as he dipped the brush back into the tea and painted one more line, effectively covering the whole page.

A thump came against the front door, and then a chaotic wobble of the handle before it opened, and Ramona came stumbling in sloppily, holding her muddy shoes. Her feet were caked with mud.

For a split second, she looked like she was going to throw her shoes across the room. Instead, she dropped them by the door and plopped down in the doorway. She began to pick at her toes.

"Ramona!" Ivy called eagerly, then frowned. "Wait, weren't you supposed to be at dinner?"

Ossie glanced up at her and tilted his head. "Are you alright?"

"Pah!" Ramona said, flicking a chunk of mud out the door. "My brother is a liar. What else is new?"

"Did he convince you that swallowing an apple seed will make a tree grow in your stomach again?" Ivy asked knowingly.

Ramona rolled her eyes at the remembrance. She threw her head back with an "ugh."

"I wish," she said. "No. There's just some weird man in my house."

Adonis's expression immediately shifted to concern. There it was. The Dad Look was back.

"A weird man?" Adonis asked gently. "Do you know what he's doing there?"

"He said he needed a place to stay," Ramona muttered, scraping at the soles of her feet. "And that he was my dad. But that's not true because I don't have a dad."

Ivy frowned. "Weird thing for someone who's not your dad to say," she agreed.

"Oh," Ossie said, nodding seriously. "That's what my step-dad did. Maybe he's your step-dad."

"Momma kept calling him 'Simon,'" Ramona said. "Not dad."

For some weird reason, Adonis tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling like he was trying to see straight through it. Ivy squinted at him.

"He did look a lot like Hoss, though," Ramona said with a frowning pout. She rubbed her feet to scrape off the last of the mud that she could, and then stood up. "I didn't like it."

"But there's like, so many people around here with red hair that look just like Hoss," Ivy pointed out. "Does that even mean anything?"

Ramona closed the door and hummed. "I think a lot of people just have red hair."

She pointed at Ossie's head. "Even you have red hair," she said. "Sort of."

A beat.

"Almost. You're trying, I guess," she said.

"I like it," Ivy added helpfully.

"Mabel has redder hair than me," Ossie said, referring to one of his sisters.

"See? Everyone has red hair," Ramona said like he'd proved her point. But she faltered when she looked over at Adonis and his dark curls.

Ivy looked his way too, about to make some joke, but she stopped short when she saw the look on his face. He'd stopped staring into the ceiling, but he didn't seem so... lighthearted anymore. More serious. What was that about? She didn't think it was the hair comment. His hair was nice, even though it wasn't red.

"How's Hoss taking it?" Adonis asked, a little softer. It didn't sound like it was the only question he had.

Ramona shrugged. "I don't know. He's angry like he always is. Momma sent him to our room."

Before Adonis could say anything else, the door swung open, revealing Juni with a bag slung over her shoulder. She stopped in the doorway, staring down at the dirty ground.

"What's with all the mud?" she commented.

She looked up before anyone answered, locking eyes with Ramona, and then she grinned.

"Well, I really should've known," Juni teased, throwing the bag aside and holding her arms out. "Come and get it."

Ramona threw herself at Juni, catching air. With an exaggerated grunt, Juni lifted her up, spinning her around with a smile before setting her down again. Juni was strong-- the muscles around her shoulder blades stood out with the movement. Ivy wanted to be that kind of strong, too. Then maybe she'd be able to hug Ramona like that as well.

"Dragons above, you're getting big," Juni said, before turning to see Ivy, Ossie and Adonis. "Oh, hey, more company!"

Ivy giggled as Juni rushed over to give her a hug and a greeting of "What's up, firefly?" Ossie exchanged the secret handshake with her that he was still trying to learn-- Juni went a little too fast for him. Last, but not least, Juni offered Adonis the usual playful salute. Adonis smiled, but failed to return the gesture this time. Weird.

"Well, what's going on here?" Juni asked, hands on her hips and smiling.

"Ramona has a fake dad visiting," Ivy said.

Juni looked to Ramona, raising an eyebrow. "A what?"

"His name is Simon and he looks like this," Ramona said, before squishing her lips and raising her eyebrows with her fingers.

Juni was oddly silent for a moment. Ivy stared at her, suspicious.

"Huh," Juni said. "He sounds funny."

"Not really," Ramona said. "He's just..." she kicked at the ground, then flopped her arms at her sides. "I don't want to talk about it anymore."

Juni and Adonis exchanged a look, while Ivy frowned questioningly at Ossie. She couldn't remember the last time Ramona had said that about something-- maybe she never had-- so it felt serious. There was a part of her that wanted to press further after hearing that, ironically, a spark of curiosity that had been fanned to glow brighter out of resistance to the idea that she didn't get to learn something. But that wasn't right to Ramona. Ivy quashed the urge to ask questions, nodding in delayed acceptance as she looked back to Ramona.

"Sounds fine to me," Juni said. "But hey, he bothers you in any way and you don't like it, just let me know about it." She raised her eyebrows and flexed her arms meaningfully.

"Hah!" Ramona scoffed, pounding her chest with her fist. "Nobody bothers me!"

"That's what I thought," Juni said proudly.

Adonis smiled again, looking around at the four of them before glancing down at the counter. "Well, I was going to work for a bit longer, but with us all gathered here, it seems too good a time to go to waste. Who's feeling hungry?"

"Me!" Ivy declared. "I'll help clear up!"

"Me! Me! Me!" Ramona cheered.

Ossie nodded, watching Adonis' every move with a shy smile on his face.

"Let's wait no longer, then." Adonis's smile warmed further as he swept up the mug of tea and unstained papers, draping the drying sheet over the edge. "Dinner, coming right up."



Once Ossie and Ramona were gone, the small house had fallen quiet again. Adonis was in the kitchen with the dishes he'd gone to the well to wash, putting them back by the light of a wavering candle. From the other side of the room, Ivy watched the flame attentively, entranced by the orange glow it painted the walls with. The fire seemed so tame. Looking at it now, it was easy to forget it was the same thing that could turn a dead, withered pile of wood into a blinding blaze of violent light and heat.

She was just about to tear her gaze away and slip off to her room-- the one she was lucky to only have to share with Juni-- when she felt an urgent tap on her shoulder from behind. Ivy turned around.

"I think they're outside again," Juni said eagerly. "Want to go check them out?"

Ivy perked up-- she was tired, but whatever sleepiness hanging over her had been lifted just enough. She couldn't miss this. "Yeah!"

Juni grinned. "Come on, then," she said, moving to the door and holding it open for her. Ivy darted through, waving at Adonis as she did, and he paused in the middle of wiping down a plate to smile and wave back.

Ivy hopped over the cracks that splintered across the dry earth, sending small beetles and ants running as she looped around the back of their house. The vines grew thicker on this side, sneaking up the walls and curling into the sun-scorched roof tiles. The plant that was her namesake was there, too, its leaves still holding green through the summer. Even at dusk, the air felt heavy with warmth, like the sky hadn't caught up to the sun's absence yet. Without much regard for the dirty ground, she sat down, shifting with excited restlessness as Juni joined her.

"Look," Juni said, pointing toward the horizon, where the sky was darkening into a gray-blue.

Ivy squinted, and sure enough, she could make out what Juni had called her here for. A swarm of fireflies was dancing over a pile of rocks farther out, like tiny stars had landed in the desert just to give it a show. Ivy couldn't help but let out a delighted gasp.

"They're so cool," she breathed.

Juni grinned, lowering her arm. As she did, Ivy caught a glimpse of the symbol she wore on her shoulder-- the first of two points of a blue sun tattoo, peeking out from under the short sleeve of her shirt. Adonis had one of those too, and it was even in the same spot, although his tattoo had four rays. Ivy had told him once that she wanted one of those just like them, and he'd patted her on the head and said she could make that choice for herself one day, although she'd have to think about it for a while first. Ivy knew she'd thought about it plenty already, though, and she knew she wanted this. She wanted to be a Blue Sun, because both Adonis and Juni did, and they were both so cool. Maybe the Blue Suns would let her set things on fire for them-- that would be a dream come true.

"You remember how they make their light, right?" Juni asked. "From Adonis?"

"Bi-o-lum-i-ne-scence," Ivy sounded out, puffing up her chest. It was one of the longest, coolest words she knew, and she was very proud of it. Even Caelan had had to ask her what that one meant, which made it all the better to use.

"Attagirl." Juni bumped her shoulder lightly with her fist. "It's a shame humans can't do that. Luckily, we've got some pretty cool alternative for making light."

Ivy's eyes widened when Juni reached into a pocket and held up a familiar item-- a pack of matches-- that she then dropped into her lap. Awed, Ivy picked it up. She'd seen plenty of matches, of course, but she'd never had a pack all to herself. She looked back up at Juni with delight.

"Are these for me?" she breathed.

"You bet." Juni winked. "Not the easiest to come by, but those should last you a while. It says to keep these out of reach of children, but I trust you-- just stay out of trouble."

"I will," Ivy promised, clutching the box like she'd just been handed a bag of gold.

She had the fleeting thought to ask how Juni had gotten them. She'd have either had to save up a bit or go to the trouble of stealing them, and Ivy wondered about the effort that had gone into this. But whatever the details, she knew one thing-- her sister had done this special for her, out of love. And that was all that mattered.

Ivy threw her arms around Juni, grinning wide. Her grip tightened around the matches.

"Love you, Juni," she whispered.

"I love you too." Juni's smile was clear in her voice as she hugged Ivy back, patting her around the shoulders. "Let's get you to bed, firefly. Save the fun for next morning."

Caelan woke before the sunrise, as he did every morning. He slipped out from the covers and placed his feet on the floor, rubbing his eyes as he looked through the dim space before him for the small flicker of the candle on the table and his mother who was sure to be near it.

She was sewing something, probably fixing other people's socks and shirts as she often did. For a moment, he remained still on the edge of his bed and watched her, her dark curls shadowing her face as she leaned down close to the light to see.

"Don't your eyes hurt?" he said. "You're always sewing in the dark."

Mother glanced up and met his eyes. Of course, she was used to his unconventional morning greetings across the gloom of their hut. "Mending other people's clothes helps put food on the table," she said, then turned back to her sewing. "It's a--"

"--cruel existence here in Sticks," said Caelan in unison. It was something she said all the time.

His mother flashed a pretty smile, though it didn't reach her gleaming eyes. "An endless cycle of working yourself to the bone to survive, but then what life is it if all you become in the end is just a bag of bones?" She snipped the thread and placed the newly mended clothing into a neat pile. "All done. You can have a slice of the bread for breakfast. I'm going to return these to their owners and see what else I can do today to earn some money . . . or have some fun and get someone to give it to me."

She stood and picked up the pile of clothing. "You're a resourceful child, Caelan," she murmured. "Make the most of your day so you can get out of here before it's too late. Or, at least, get yourself that extra meal I know you've been having most days. I don't know where you go to get it, but just don't get in trouble."

"You know I won't." Caelan pushed himself out of the bed and straightened the blankets. "See you later."

He heard the door creak open and then shut. When he turned around again, she was gone.

Caelan padded over to the table and opened the window beside it. Weak light streamed in, and he stared out into the gray scenery, watching his mother walk farther away. Then he let out a short breath and squared his shoulders. He turned back to the table and blew out the candle.



Early morning was a good time to do things without others noticing. It was a good time for not being noticed by annoying or nosy people (like Saoirse) and cooler than when the sun came out, but Cassia Lowe always wanted to play when the sun was high in the sky. At least there was a shady tree in her family's courtyard.

Caelan had to make do with it, as they had a business deal. It was the only way he could get his hands on as many books as he wanted from a rich family's personal library and all of the knowledge no one else like him could have.

He had managed to slip by all of the other kids without them spotting him and out of their street towards the Lowe mansion. Bad at hiding, was he? No one ever saw him when he made his way there. They were all probably too busy lighting the world on fire and petting goats. It was better that way.

Once he exited his street he stopped looking over his shoulder and he walked past adults and wove through carts and animals with ease, following the familiar paths that would eventually take him to a quieter part of town where Cassia lived.

No matter how many times he had seen it, Caelan couldn't help but gawk a little at the towering, pristine house and the elegant metal fence surrounding it. He wondered what it would be like to walk through the grand gate and on the neat cobblestones leading to the large, heavy wooden front door. However, like always, he followed the fence to where it became a lower, plain wooden one at the back of the complex.

He opened the little gate in the back and knocked on the door leading to the servants' building. The door opened and a woman looked down at him.

"Hello, Caelan. Miss Cassia wanted you to wait for her in the courtyard."

"She's not ready yet?" Caelan asked, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

The servant shrugged. "Last somebody checked." She stepped back and let him in. "She asked for a new set of clothes for you to wear for today's game. A 'special costume,' she said. It's over here." She gestured into a small room to her side and then left him there alone.

Caelan pushed the door open and stopped dead at the doorway. His mouth gaped open and he closed it again. He stared at the costume--if you could even call it a costume--and he shut the door.

"Nope," he muttered. "Nope and nope." What a joke.

He walked through the servants' building and walked out into the open air, peering over at the garden and the large tree far away. There was the small figure of a girl with dark, curly hair in a frilly, flouncy pink dress sitting under the tree with a lace parasol. The girl noticed Caelan and shot to her feet.

"Hey!" Cassia shouted across the distance. "Where's your costume?"

"You want me to wear that?" Caelan shouted back in outrage, gesturing at the building behind him. "No way!"

"Yes way," she retorted. "You have to. Now hurry up if you want to read later!"

Caelan let out a long, loud sigh and stomped back into the servants' building. Ten minutes later he re-emerged, bristling.

"I could be the laughingstock of all of Sticks," he grumbled, shoving the rabbit ear headband back up on top of his head. "Why am I stuck wearing this when you get to have a real outfit?" He motioned at the monocle, the gigantic frilly collar around his neck, and the absolutely ridiculous suit that looked like one he'd seen in one of Cassia's fairy tale picture books.

Cassia managed to look down her nose at him despite her being seated and Caelan standing. "Because we're playing 'The Princess and the Rabbit' today. And of course I'm the princess." She touched the sparkling stone and silver chain on her forehead with a hand.

"Is that one of your mother's necklaces?" said Caelan.

"That's none of your business!" said Cassia, crossing her arms. "Anyways, sit down already! We're having a banquet with the king's court before the Red Knight comes and throws the kingdom into chaos."

Caelan sighed and flopped down onto the blanket spread over the grass. "Yes, Your Highness," he said, scowling.

"Why are you so mad? You have to smile because you're having a good time at the party!"

They had a deal that he had to follow. It was all for the books in the mansion's library. And the food in front of him. All for the books and food . . .

Caelan walked quickly away from the Lowe mansion (back in his own clothes), sighing repeatedly. Thankfully today's session was over. If he had to hear Cassia insist one more time that the Rabbit was "supposed to be a distinguished gentleman," he might have genuinely considered joining Ivy's arson squad to set Cassia's hair--and that ridiculous Rabbit costume--on fire. Even getting to read a new book and eat an even fancier snack than usual wasn't enough to erase his embarrassment.

As Caelan neared the street he lived on, he checked himself over again, brushing any imaginary crumbs away and straightening his shirt. He ran his hands over his hair. Then he stepped onto the road and kept to edge of the street, next to the houses.

When he saw the goats in front of him near the large tree where the other kids often met, he straightened and kept walking at a regular pace. He kept his eyes on the path in front of him and acted as if he didn't notice anyone else nearby.

It didn't work.

"I spy a cactus!" Saoirse called tauntingly.

Caelan stiffened. He turned and glared at her. "Oh really? I don't see one."

Saoirse appeared unperturbed by the glare. "You're just in time! We needed a sixth person to make the teams even!"

"What teams?" asked Caelan, not in the mood to play any games. Not after 'The Princess and the Rabbit.'

"It's for capture the flag," Ivy called, jumping down from one of the tree's branches. Caelan recognized the patterned fabric in her hand that she waved around meaningfully as a bandana that Juni often wore around.

Not only did he not want to play any more games, Caelan especially did not like running games.

"You're not setting things on fire today?" he asked. Surely that would be a preferable activity to running around fighting over a piece of cloth.

Ivy shrugged. "I wanted to, but somebody didn't like that idea," she said, with a teasing look in Ossie's direction. "So this was the second best option."

"Besides," Ramona added from atop a branch, "we did light Snowball's tail on fire yesterday."

Silas' face blanched of all color. "You what??" He scrambled to investigate Snowball's rear.

"It wasn't me, for once," Ivy said hastily. "I had gotten my hands on some very fluffy and flammable cotton balls to burn, but Ramona wanted the real deal!"

The very tip of Snowball's tail was, indeed, a bit blackened. "Please don't do that again," Silas said. He looked like he was going to be sick.

"Cotton balls are just fine," Ossie agreed.

"You all are no fun!" Ramona objected.

"There are definitely better things to burn," said Caelan, thinking very specifically about the rabbit costume again.

"Have you got anything in mind?" Ivy asked, and the perfectly-timed question felt almost uncanny. "I do take suggestions."

Caelan immediately reined himself in. He couldn't talk about his visits to the Lowe mansion. He shrugged. "Nothing really. Just not goat tails."

"Well, let me know if you think of anything specific. Anyway--" Ivy waved the bandana. "Are you playing?"

"Sorry, I have to go," said Caelan, and he walked away in the direction of his hut. "My mother is expecting me to come home any minute now."

"Seeya, mama's boy!" Saoirse taunted. He heard her blow a raspberry.

Caelan rolled his eyes, but he didn't look back. He sighed and pushed the hut door open quietly. He was about to say, "I'm home," but stopped short when he saw the figure of a red-haired man sitting at the table with his back mostly turned to the door. Caelan could only see the barest outline of the side of the man's face.

And there was his mother, sitting at the table opposite the man, leaning forward on an elbow with her chin resting in her hand. A strange sort of smile played around her lips, one that he only saw when she was, as she had said in the past, "playing around" with grown men. They usually gave her things she wanted afterwards.

"I've missed you," the man said with a grin.

"Really now," said Caelan's mother, tilting her head in a way that matched the melodic, coy lilt of her voice. "With the way that you disappeared for so long, I almost started to believe you forgot about little old me." She widened her eyes and batted her lashes a couple of times, then she reached out her other hand to nudge his. "You left me all alone. Not very gentlemanly of you, Simon Ink."

Simon grinned in a way that seemed both sly and knowing. It was like Simon and his mother were playing a game, and they both knew they were playing it. Was this what Caelan's mother meant by "having fun?"

"I guess I've never been a gentleman," he said. "But for you, I could be persuaded."

"Hmm." She traced over his knuckles with a finger, then looked up at him again. "What would you be willing to do for me? Enlighten me."

Simon's eyes followed her fingers.

"What do you need?" he asked with a lilt in his voice, meeting her hand with his. He traced her wrist.

Caelan's mother's smile grew slightly bigger, looking a little like the smug grin of the stray cats Caelan often saw in the streets who had caught a mouse. She hummed slightly in her throat as she appeared to think. She sighed and her expression grew serious. "It's been hard finding enough work these days, I hate to admit. I worry about running out of what little I earn . . . my poor son, it's hard to feed both him and myself." She blinked and Caelan saw the shine of tears brimming in her eyes.

Caelan's brows furrowed. She never acted like that around him, all worried. Was this also a part of her act, or did she really worry about him?

"If only I had a knight in shining armor to help me," continued Mother, "but unfortunately, you can't find those in Sticks. If there were a man who would be so chivalrous and a gentleman to come to my aid, I would do anything for him." She met Simon's eyes expectantly, a single tear trickling down her cheek. She looked beautiful even when crying (even if it was probably fake crying).

Simon's expression softened and he held Caelan's mother's hand between his.

"For anything? I would move mountains for you, Sophie," he said emphatically.

Caelan's mother sniffed and offered a small, hesitant smile. "I knew I could rely on you, Simon."

Her eyes flitted over the man's shoulder and they met Caelan's. There was the tiniest flash of surprise but it was gone so fast that Caelan almost thought it was his imagination. "Caelan," she said, her expression now calm. "You're back."

Simon turned, and when Caelan looked at his face, he thought that he seemed annoyed. But only for a second.

He also looked a lot like Ramona.

"This must be the big man of the house," Simon said with a smile. "Caelan, right?"

Caelan studied him, letting the silence stretch between them until he could tell that the man was growing bored.

"Not a talker, huh? That's okay," Simon said, quick to dismiss him. He turned his attention back to Caelan's mom. "It was good to see you."

"Don't be a stranger," she replied, standing and wiping her face. "I'll see you soon, my fair knight." She came around the table and put her hand on his arm.

As she came close, he got to his feet and leaned in, kissing her quickly on the lips. He pulled away with a smile and smoothly slipped his arm away from her hands, reaching briefly for her waist.

"And I, you, my fair princess," he said.

She laughed and gently swatted his hands away. "Oh, you," she said, casting a brief glance at Caelan.

Simon smiled wide and let out a chuckle as he pulled away and bee-lined for the door. On the way out, he passed Caelan and ruffled his hair, but said nothing more.

Caelan scowled at the weight on his head, and he smoothed down his hair with his hands as well as he could manage once the man had left. He decided that he definitely disliked Simon.

"Caelan," said his mother, stepping towards him. Her expression was back to normal--or at least, more like normal. He couldn't exactly tell what she was thinking.

"Did I come in when I wasn't supposed to?" he asked, a little cautious. He glanced at the door again, the image of Simon Ink's back as he crossed the threshold in his mind again.

His mother sighed a little and shrugged. "Never mind that. He was going to leave soon, anyways."

"Is he Ramona's dad? He looks just like her. Red hair and everything."

"Ramona?" His mother thought for a moment. "Right, Dolly's daughter. Dolly . . . Well, the short answer is yes, I think so."

"You're 'playing around' with him? Why Ramona's dad?" Caelan felt like he couldn't help himself. "Is kissing part of getting something out of him?"

For once, his mother looked at a loss for words. But she quickly recovered and replied, "He's not a good man. He loves chasing after things he shouldn't have. He's created a lot of broken things, hurt a lot of people in this town with how he acts. But I do this to survive, just like with any of the other men."

And Caelan knew she was willing to go to great lengths to survive in Sticks.

His mother sighed and softly stroked his head. She rarely did this, but whenever she did, Caelan had this strange feeling well up in his chest. And it was much better than the rough carelessness of Simon. He wished the moment would have lasted longer when she withdrew her hand.

"Don't ever forget," she said. "You must leave this place one day, Caelan. Sticks is not a place for you to stay and die."

"Yes, Mother," whispered Caelan.

"Good," she said, straightening and her face growing resolute again. "Why don't you go outside and get some sun for a little while longer? Dinner's not ready yet."

"Okay." Caelan pushed the door open slowly, looking back at her for a moment. He paused over his words before asking, "Mother, would you really do anything for him?"

She looked steadily at him. "No, Caelan, I wouldn't," she said, lifting her chin. "Not for a scoundrel like him, and not for any man. I've learned better." She nudged him out the door into the light of the setting sun. "Go on, now."

She shut the door behind him. He sank down to his feet, leaning against their hut as his mind swirled with everything he had just seen and heard.

He had wanted to ask her, Would you do anything for me?

He sat for a while, wondering what to do with himself. He didn't want to go play and he didn't have anything to read. Then he remembered.

He glanced at the other kids chasing each other and screaming in the distance. Thankfully, they didn't see him at all. So he stood and began walking, ducking behind anything that could cover him from their view. He soon found himself in front of a house with leafy vines trailing down its sun-bleached walls. A window was open, pale curtains fluttering in the low breeze. That usually meant someone was home.

He turned back to make sure that none of the others saw him--especially Ivy--and he knocked on the door.

It took a moment, but the door opened to reveal a smiling Adonis.

"Caelan!" he exclaimed. "What a pleasant surprise. How are you?"

Caelan hesitated, then shrugged. "Okay." He peered inside past Adonis. "Are you busy right now?"

"Not with anything important," Adonis answered, clasping his hands together. "Can I help you with anything?"

Caelan shuffled one of his feet, then looked over his shoulder at the others again. "Can I come in?"

"Be my guest," Adonis invited, holding the door open and stepping out of his way.

The air was fragrant with the dark, herbal smell of tea as Caelan entered, and a glance toward the kitchen told him Adonis was working from home again today. A fire was on at the stove, and Caelan could feel the heat from here. He couldn't see what was in the pot that sat over the burner, but he could hear the sound of a thick liquid bubbling and popping.

"What are you making?" he asked.

"That's melted wax." With a smile, Adonis entered the kitchen, waving him over to see for himself. "It's going to be pressed into seals once it's done simmering-- it makes the letters they go on appear as official correspondence, but it also makes them look as though no one's opened them yet." He gestured to a set of wax stamps lined up on the counter, pulling over a stool from the nearby table. "Those are the seals for today."

Caelan climbed onto the stool and looked into the pot, then down at the seals. "Are they supposed to go on different letters?" Each of the seal designs were different, with symbols from a glittering moon to an eagle with outstretched wings.

"They are," Adonis confirmed. "Some families are considered important enough to have a symbol like these representing them. It's called a crest, or sometimes a coat of arms. When they send a letter, they'll usually put a seal with their crest on it, as a way to prove it's from them."

"What makes a family important enough to have a crest?" Caelan imagined that if he had a crest, no one could ever tell him what to do. And he certainly wouldn't be living in Sticks.

"For other people to see them as important, it usually takes a great deal of money," Adonis said, before pausing and shaking his head. "But that's always seemed like such a narrow idea of importance to me. It doesn't mean that families without money don't matter."

Caelan shrugged. It sure felt like he didn't matter a lot, and his mother didn't matter a lot either. He thought about the Lowe family. They didn't have a crest, as far as he noticed, and they were the richest ones he knew. Just how much money did someone need to have for everyone to think he was important?

"I know how it feels otherwise," Adonis continued, casting him a softer look as he gave the wax a stir. "Most people in this town would share that feeling. But you don't have to agree with anyone who doesn't see your worth-- the problem isn't that it isn't there, it's that they can't see past their assumptions. You can always prove them wrong."

Caelan stared into the bubbling pot for a while, Adonis's words echoing in his mind. Maybe he could be different.

At last, he said firmly, "When I grow up, I'm going to get out of here. I'm going to leave Sticks and never come back." Just like Mother said.

Adonis was silent for a moment before he nodded, offering Caelan a warm smile. It was encouraging, but there was something sad about it. Something Caelan hadn't really seen from him before.

"I wanted to do that when I was your age, too," he said with a slight chuckle, patting Caelan's shoulder affectionately for a second before pulling his hand back. "Maybe you'll do a better job of it than me. I believe you can."

Caelan looked at him and wondered at it, but he put it out of his mind and he nodded. "I will, you'll see." He paused for a moment, then he said quietly, "Maybe then . . . maybe you could leave too."

"Maybe I will. Someone's got to be around to see all the great stuff you'll do one day." Adonis's smile brightened as he seemed to remember something. He took a quick glance at the wax, as if to check it wouldn't boil over, before reaching up to grab something from an upper shelf and set it on the counter. "In the meantime, maybe you're in need of some light reading?"

There was one book Caelan often saw around Ivy's house: Adonis's collection of handwriting samples. This, however, was a new book he'd never seen before. It was a simple brown hardcover, but in good condition, looking new or lightly used. The title on the spine read Faking and Finesse: A Beginner's Guide to Forgery.

Caelan held the book carefully and opened it to a random page. His eyes found a diagram and then the words beneath it detailing something that he couldn't even make sense of yet. He could feel his heart begin to race and he closed the book and held it near to his chest. ". . . Thank you."

"Of course. It's yours to keep." Adonis went back to the wax, but shot him another small grin. "Feel free to ask any questions you may have-- I know the guy who wrote that, and he's a fan of big words. But you're a smart kid. I know you can figure out anything you put your mind to."

Caelan nodded. He didn't reply--he wasn't sure what to say either when there was a feeling in his chest that made him feel like he was about to cry (and he never liked to cry in front of anyone). He slipped down off the stool and headed for the door. "I think I'm going to go home now."

"You know this door is always open to you," Adonis said with a nod. "I'll see you soon, Caelan."

Caelan ran out the door and towards his own house without another word. He hugged the book even tighter and smiled at the thought that he owned a book of his own. One day, he would be able to own a whole library full of them--this was just the start.

Ossie was tired. His mom and step-dad both left for work before the sun came up, which meant Ossie also needed to get up before the sun came up, because Beau had been throwing up nonstop for days. It had been going through the night, which meant Ossie, who shared the bed with him, had also been waking up all night. His mom had said that even if he threw up, Ossie needed to feed him and get him to drink water so he didn't end up more sick. Ossie didn't really understand that, because Beau ended up throwing most of it up and cried when Ossie tried to feed him, but he always did what his mom told him to do, so he got up to make breakfast when his parents left for work.

By the time he'd finished that, Grace and Mabel were up and asking for food too, so he made theirs. The day that followed had also been exhausting, trying to keep his two sisters safe while Beau slept under a pile of blankets. Beau had always coughed a lot, and sometimes had trouble breathing, but the throwing up was new. His mom said it was something called a stomach bug--which had scared Ossie, until she'd explained it wasn't actually a bug. She'd also told him, "Your step-dad and I are going to work extra to try to get some medicine, so we're gonna need you to watch them until sundown instead of the usual time." That had been two weeks ago, which was also the last time he saw any of his friends.

He hadn't been able to take any of his siblings outside, since Beau needed to stay inside for his 'temper tour'-- whatever that was--so he hadn't even gotten to wave to any of them. Ossie felt like he would probably miss them, if he wasn't already so tired. He tried to be a good brother, but when he'd reached for one of the pans over the woodfire stove that he had to stand on his tiptoes to reach, he'd accidentally pulled all of them down, which had sent Grace crying, which had woken Beau, who started throwing up, which made Mabel start gagging and run into the other room.

Ossie had known he needed to go and clean the throw-up, and also pick up all the pans, and also try to get Grace to stop crying, but instead, he'd just sunk to the floor and started bawling. Ossie always cried quietly, and always tried not to cry while doing it--pressing his hands against his eyes, and biting his bottom lip, and a lot of sniffling. After a few minutes, Mabel, who was six and the oldest of Ossie's younger siblings, had ventured over to him and patted him awkwardly on the back. "You okay?"

Ossie had rubbed his eyes and sniffed. "Yeah," he'd said bleakly, before pushing himself to his feet. "Go fill the bucket with water. I gotta give Beau another bath."

"I don't wanna," Mabel had groaned.

"I'm not asking," Ossie had muttered.

"Fine." She'd groaned again before stomping off.

And that had all happened before lunchtime.

Ossie hadn't had a chance to eat all day by the time his parents got home, which usually meant he didn't eat until the sun had risen and set again--but today, his mom arrived home early. The sun, though moving down, was still pretty high in the sky, and Ossie felt it was the only chance he might get, so he decided to ignore the rumbling in his stomach and give it a shot. "Can I go outside?" He asked as soon as she got inside.

She looked tired, too, her hair sweaty, resting her hands on her hips in that unhappy way she always did when something had gone wrong. Ossie tried to cheer her up sometimes, but she still seemed to have a frown on her face all the time. "Did you draw water for dinner?"

"Yes," he said, nodding fast.

"Did you give everyone baths?" She countered.

"Yes," he replied.

"Did you take a bath?" She eyed him doubtfully.

Ossie deflated, shoulders and head falling. "I didn't have time," he said quietly.

His mom studied him for a moment, before she sighed and waved him off. "Go ahead. Just make sure you're not out too late."

Ossie's heart leapt inside his chest. "Thank you!" He smiled as he ran towards the door. "I love you!" He slammed the door behind him, and was halfway down the street before she could even reply.



"Look, I'm a possum!" Ivy said as she hooked her legs around a tree branch and swung upside-down, dangling overhead. Beside her--or above her, really, Saoirse and Ramona were on branches of their own, looking down at her. Below the big tree behind the blacksmith's shop, Silas was also there, watching the sheep.

"I'm a bat!" Saoirse said, also swinging upside-down with her hands on the branch to keep her steady.

"I wanna be a cat," Ramona said, crawling up higher into the tree, making "meow" sounds.

Meanwhile, down on the ground, Silas watched with tense shoulders, keeping one eye on the three clumsy goat kids and one eye on the wild girls.

In his pocket, Ossie held tightly onto the tiny wooden carving Adonis had given him and raised his arm, waving. "Hi!" he called out, grinning as he ran towards them.

Ivy spun her head around, almost like an owl, and beamed when she saw him.

"Ossie!" she said. "Where have you been? You're nowhere to be found whenever there's a tree to climb, and I've been looking."

Ossie shrugged uncomfortably. "Haven't really been able to leave my house. My brother's sick." He quickly changed the topic when he saw Ivy's face briefly turn concerned. "What're you doing up there?"

"We're playing 'animals,'" Ramona answered with a hiss. She'd made it to the highest branch and scratched at the air.

"Whoa," Ossie said. "That's cool. What animals are you?" He reached the base of the tree, and was now staring directly up at them.

Enticed by the new human, the three baby goats tumbled after him. One rammed into Ossie's legs with a bleat. "Oh!" Ossie beamed. "Buttercup had her babies!"

"That one's Kaboom," Saoirse pointed out at the baby bonking Ossie's leg yet again.

"I named her," Ivy said proudly. "She's a bit explosive."

Silas stepped in to scoop up the kid that was sneakily nibbling on Ossie's pant leg.

"That one's Beep-o!" Ramona said.

"No, it's 'Sir Bennet Ignacio,'" Saorise said with a giggle. It sounded like she was mocking Caelan's voice.

"We haven't agreed on what to name the last one yet," Silas said, wrangling the wriggling Sir Beep-o in his arms. "Any ideas?" he asked Ossie.

"I dunno." Ossie tilted his head and looked at the remaining kid, who was looking up at him with unwavering eyes, which were also slightly crossed. It was so intense that Ossie laughed a little. "I don't know how to name something." He thought for a moment, then said, "My step-dad's name is Kyle. That's not as good as your names though."

It must have been good enough, because Ivy pointed triumphantly at the baby goat. "Kyle!" she declared.

A chorus of "Kyle!" arose from the tree. Ossie giggled, looking down at the baby goat, who bleated, then ran headfirst into the trunk of the tree. Kyle stumbled back, a little dazed, then bleated loudly.

The tree erupted with giggles, and Ivy jumped down to Kyle's side, helping him back on his feet.

"Now that he's named, we can help him work on his balance next," Ivy giggled.

Saoirse started sliding down the trunk of the tree to come down. "Are goats scared of bats?" she asked.

As if summoned from the depths to respond to any intellectual lack, Caelan appeared out from behind the smithy, looking innocuous as ever.

"A goat would only be scared of a bat if the bat were hostile," Caelan reported, and Saoirse shot him a glare of annoyance and defeat, as if she'd thought she could ask a question without him around for once. She quickly changed the subject.

"What were you doing all day?" Saoirse pried, still jumping from branch to branch.

"That's not your business," Caelan said, sticking up his nose.

"You sound just like my brother," Ramona piped in with a groan. She rolled her eyes dramatically as she flopped her legs over either side of a branch and straddled it. "He's always saying: 'It's not your business. Suns business is my business.'"

Her imitation of Hoss was more dopey than anything.

Ivy groaned disappointedly. "Juni never shares anything either! And she shares everything."

"Well, I'm not in the Blue Suns," Caelan retorted.

"My mom and step-dad said to not ever talk to Blue Suns 'cause they're bad news," Ossie added helpfully.

"...But Adonis is a sun," Ivy said with a tilt of her head. "He's, like, if good news was a person."

Ossie thought on that for a long moment, dumbfounded. "Oh," he said finally. "Maybe they didn't know Adonis was one."

"Momma says he's 'one of the good ones,'" Ramona offered.

"So there's good ones?" Ossie asked confusedly. "Like, good and bad ones?"

"As much as anyone else," Ivy said, shrugging. "The same way there's good and bad farmers. It's just a job."

"I guess that makes sense." Ossie thought on that more. His mom and step-dad hadn't said anything about the Blue Suns, except to stay away from them because they were bad--but maybe that meant they didn't actually know a lot about them, so they didn't know there were good ones too.

"Yeah," Ramona said. "Juni's a good one. Hoss is obviously a bad one because he's an egg-head."

"A bad egg," Ivy giggled.

"A stinky egg," Ramona added with a laugh, flipping over the branch and jumping down.

Silas flinched towards her in alarm, as if going to catch her, but she landed flawlessly. He stepped backwards and awkwardly patted Stickers' rump.

"What does your brother even do all the time?" Saoirse asked, looking at Ramona curiously.

"All I know is that he sells a bunch of stuff." Ramona shrugged.

"Like a businessman?" Caelan asked.

"No, he's not cool enough for that," Ramona dismissed him. But Ossie had a feeling she didn't know what that word meant from how quickly she brushed Caelan off.

"What kind of stuff?" Ossie asked, sitting down on the ground to lean against the tree.

"One time I saw Juni with some vials she was hiding," Ivy offered.

Ossie's eyes widened. "Vials?" he repeated. Vials held stuff like medicine, didn't they?

"They were a really pretty purple color," Ivy said thoughtfully. "I asked her if they were flammable, and she laughed and said no, so that was all I ever learned about them."

Purple... Ossie didn't know anything that came in cool colors like that except for medicine. And if it was medicine, that meant the Blue Suns had medicine. Maybe his mom and step-dad didn't know they had medicine! Which meant that maybe Ossie could actually help Beau. His mom had told him it wasn't his 'responsability', which she had said meant it wasn't something he needed to worry about-- but she didn't understand that Ossie was already worried about it, so he couldn't just stop being worried about it now. Besides, Ossie already made things a lot harder for his parents because he meant they had to buy more food, which meant more work, which meant less sleep, which made his mom frown all the time. Maybe this was the way he could actually help, and also stop being worried.

"Do you think the Blue Suns have medicine?" Ossie asked carefully, feeling more certain in his new-found plan the more he thought on it. Since some of them were bad and some of them were good, he'd just need to find one of the good ones, and ask if he could have some medicine for Beau--and since they were good, they'd give it to him, and then Beau would be able to stop throwing up. Maybe they'd even have something to help fix the way he breathed weird, and coughed all the time. He couldn't get too ahead of himself though-- he'd focus on the throwing up first, because that was what was making him so tired right now, and what was also making it to where he and his mom and his step-dad couldn't sleep very much, and also what was making him clean up a lot of throw-up, and he'd really like to get that fixed as soon as possible, because Ossie would really like to not be cleaning throw-up all day.

"Probably," Ramona offered. "They sell everything, don't they?"

That settled it! Ossie was going to be able to solve all of his family's problems because the Blue Suns had medicine, and even though he didn't really have money, he could probably find someone who was nice to give it to him, because who wouldn't give medicine for a three-year-old?

"Ivy," Ossie said, already feeling better. "Do you know where Juni is?"

"Probably by the fountain," Ivy suggested. "She and her friends like to hang out there."

Ossie nodded, then stood. "Okay," he said. "I've probably gotta go then." He needed to make sure he got there with enough time to ask Juni, before he had to get home to eat.

For a moment, Ivy seemed confused and a little disappointed, but she looked around at the rest of the group, and a look of understanding passed over her face as she glanced back at him. "Good luck!"

Ramona gave Ossie a quick salute.

Ossie smiled shyly at Ivy, then waved as Ramona and the others, before turning around and running in the direction of the fountain.

"What's he running off to?" Saoirse asked behind him, already far away.

"I think he's going to get medicine," Ivy answered. "For his brother. That's nice of him, isn't it?"

Ossie didn't stop to answer. He left them all behind.

It was only when Ossie finally reached the fountain that he started to hesitate, as he saw the group from afar. He could see Hoss, standing tall and joking with several other big, teenage boys, and a couple girls who looked kind of scary. Even though they were joking, they looked like they were snarling at each other as they talked, and Ossie felt his heart race a little. Then, one of the boys moved, and he saw Juni on the inside of the group, leaning against the fountain and smiling as she laughed at something somebody said. Immediately, Ossie felt his anxiety melt. Juni would give him medicine, and she also wouldn't be mean to him, like some of the others might. He approached the group, one hand slipped inside his pocket as he nervously thumbed the wooden lute in his pocket.

One of the girls pushed her hair over her shoulder as she looked Ossie up and down with a frown.

"Guys, what's this kid doing here?" she asked.

"Is he somebody's brother?" The boy beside her asked.

"I don't know, I've never seen him before," another muttered.

Juni craned her head to see what the discussion was about-- and her gaze lit up when she saw Ossie. "Wait, that's one of my sister's friends. Hey, Ossie!" she hollered, with a light wave.

"Hi," Ossie said nervously, glancing at several of the older kids who were giving him mean looks, before quickly looking away. "Umm... I had a question for you," he said quietly.

"Fire away." Juni made a finger gun and imitated a bullet firing.

Ossie gave one more hesitant glance at some of the other teenagers, who were so much taller than him, before he said, "I was talking with Ramona and Ivy and Saoirse and Caelan and Silas, and Ramona said that Hoss sells stuff, and then Ivy said that you sell stuff in vials," Ossie said, "and we all agreed it was probably medicine, and my little brother is really sick, and I was just wondering if you had any medicine."

Juni exchanged a curious glance with some of her friends, and Ossie had the indescribable feeling that they knew something he didn't. One of the girls huffed what sounded like a pitying laugh.

"Medicine," Juni echoed. "I mean, that's not really what I do, but-- shit, I don't know. I could ask around, I guess?"

"We can't just ask for anything we want," Hoss interrupted, pushing through the group. "You'll get us in trouble."

Juni rolled her eyes. "Relax, I don't have to involve any of you guys. I'm not too scared to poke around."

Hoss's expression darkened as he stopped at Juni's side. "You should be," he said, standing taller.

Even though he was younger, he was bigger than Juni. Some of their friends exchanged uncertain looks.

Unfazed, Juni raised her chin, shrugging as she made direct eye contact with him. "You're just saying that so you feel better about your own fear."

"No," Hoss said. "I'm saying that to keep you from doing something stupid. You know we don't give handouts."

"You don't gotta give it to me for free," Ossie said, wringing his hands nervously. "I can watch kids really good, and also I can cook, and I do all our laundry, and the dishes, and different stuff like that."

"No," Hoss said firmly. "No deal."

"Come on, Juni," a girl called from behind her. "It's for the best."

"Please?" Ossie asked, beginning to feel desperation claw its way into his stomach. "He hasn't stopped throwing up in weeks, and he barely even sleeps, and he's hot all the time even though he says he's cold, and he's only three."

In the back of his head, Ossie had known Juni probably could be intimidating-- he'd never actually seen it until now. Juni's hard stare burrowed straight through Hoss, with her jaw set and her strong arms folded over her chest.

"You didn't get an excuse to be heartless when you got that first ray," Juni said coolly.

"And you didn't get a pass to be careless when you got your second," Hoss replied, just as cold.

Juni scoffed. "You'll never get yours if you don't make some ripples. You think they promote mediocrity?"

"Who do you think will pay?" Hoss asked instead, inching just a bit closer.

"You only get to ask that if the answer actually matters to you," Juni said, with a meaningful raise of her eyebrows.

Hoss's lips curled in contempt at Juni, and there was a flash of rage in his eyes. He looked to Ossie, however, and the look quickly diminished into something softer: something odd, seeing on Hoss, who was normally harsh in everything he ever did.

He almost looked sad. Was it for Ossie?

"We can't help you," Hoss told Ossie. With a pressing stare from Juni, Hoss added: "I'm sorry."

Ossie watched him for a moment, confused and then hurt. He glanced back at Juni, but she wasn't looking at him-- her expression of disgust was entirely directed at Hoss. Her jaw clenched stubbornly, but she said nothing more. Ossie opened his mouth, then closed it again as he realized she wasn't going to say anything. Ossie suddenly felt very ill, as if he'd just done something horrifically wrong--and all the other teenagers were watching him. Embarrassment and shame crept into Ossie's stomach, along with the hunger. How had he thought he'd be able to do anything to help Beau? How had he thought they'd do anything to help him?

Hoss was still watching him, and Ossie swallowed back the bile rising in his throat as he turned away silently, eyes trained on the ground. He'd run all the way here, but suddenly, the exhausting day with his siblings and no food felt like it was dragging him to the ground. He wanted to collapse and cry, but he felt like even if he did that, they'd laugh at him and tell him to get lost. His stomach cramped, but he didn't know if he needed to throw up or eat.

By the time he got home, it was completely dark outside, and his siblings were all in bed. He knew this because when he opened the door, his mom and step-dad were both talking near the stove in quiet voices, and nobody greeted him at the door like his sisters or brother usually did. Ossie tried to hold back the rapid flood of tears building behind his eyes, but his bottom lip trembled as he stepped inside and shut the door.

His step-dad glanced at him as he walked towards them. "Hey, Os," he said, then studied him with a frown. "Didn't like getting to see your friends?"

His mom looked over at him too, in the middle of cooking eggs. "What's the matter?"

Ossie bit his bottom lip and took in a shaky breath, still holding back the tears. "I tried to talk to Ivy's older sister Juni about getting medicine, because Ivy said she'd seen her with vials, and so Ivy said that maybe Juni would know how to get some medicine because she's one of the Blue Suns and--"

Crash. Ossie's mom dropped the pan, splattering the eggs all across the floor. His step-dad dropped the glass of water he held, and it shattered, sending sharp shards across ground.

"I'm sorry," his mom said, "you talked to who?" Her voice was sharp like the glass, and if Ossie hadn't been worried about scraping his feet up, he would've stepped back. "Osmond, we specifically told you to stay away from the Blue Suns."

"But Ivy said--" Ossie began.

"I don't care what Ivy said!" she snapped. "Dragons above, do you not listen to a word I say?"

Ossie's breath caught in his throat and he chewed on the inside of his cheek, but a few tears escaped anyway. "No, I just--"

"Osmond, your mother and I made it very clear that you are not supposed to interact with the Blue Suns," his step-dad said seriously. "Ever."

"But I just thought that maybe they'd have some--"

"Osmond Ferrer," his mom growled, "I would rather Beau die than us have to owe something to the Blue Suns. Do you understand me? It would be better for him to--" Her breath hitched and she clutched her chest. "Oh, I feel faint," she mumbled, and Ossie's step-dad steadied her.

In the other room, as if on cue, Beau started crying loudly. Grace yelled, "EWW, EWW, EWW!"

Only a second later, Mabel called out, "Ossieeeeee! Beau threw up in our bed!"

His mom, now seeming more steady, let out an exasperated sigh. "Dammit, you woke your siblings! Dragons above--" She grabbed a broom and angrily swept glass into one corner, before she marched past him and into the next room.

Ossie couldn't hold it back any longer. He burst into tears. "I was just trying to help," he bawled, as his step-dad pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I know, Ossie," he said tiredly. "I know you were. We just--" His voice sounded pained. "It's just dangerous to talk to the Blue Suns, okay? They're not good people."

Ossie hiccuped over several sobs. "I just-- thought-- it-- would-- help."

"I know," he said softly. "I know. Ossie, it's alright, come here, it's okay." He pulled Ossie into a tight hug. Ossie's entire body trembled. "Listen," he said quietly, "we just want you to be safe, okay?"

"Did Mom really mean that she wants Beau dead?" Ossie cried. "I don't want him dead. I don't want him to go anywhere."

"No, no," he said, stroking Ossie's hair. "She didn't mean that she wants him dead. It's just-- it's complicated, Ossie, I don't know how to explain it."

Ossie cried harder. His stomach let out a loud growl.

"Have you eaten anything today?"

He sniffled. "I didn't have time."

"You've gotta eat," his step-dad said.

"I didn't have time!" Ossie complained, pulling back from the hug and crossing his arms self-consciously, like that could protect him.

"Okay, well, you would've had time if you didn't go out seeking out the Blue Suns!" His step-dad retorted, small slivers of anger peeking through his voice.

"I'm not hungry anyways," Ossie mumbled, wiping his nose off against his sleeve.

"Your stomach says otherwise." As if to emphasize, it let out another growl. "You need to eat. You're not going to bed until you do."

"I don't want anything."

"It doesn't matter if you don't want it, you need to eat," he said firmly. "Come on. Let's make you a sandwich."

They stood together silently as Ossie put two slices of bread down, then a layer of cheese between them. Normally, he would've used a pan to melt the cheese, but he didn't have the energy to right now. His tears finally dried on his face by the time his mom re-emerged from the kids' bedroom, looking more exhausted than ever. She had dark bags under her eyes as she sat down unsteadily on a chair in the living room. Ossie sat down on the floor on the opposite side of the room, and ate his sandwich without looking at her or his step-dad.

"Osmond," his mom said finally, breaking the silence. He glanced up at her without lifting his head, knees pulled to his chest and chin resting on them. "I shouldn't have said that," she said finally. "I love Beau so, so much. I don't want him to die. I only meant that... well, I know it's hard to understand as a kid, but some things are worse than death, especially when those burdens fall on the living. Do you understand?"

He didn't, but he didn't want to say that either, so instead he nodded his head quietly.

She seemed relieved. "Alright. Good." She hesitated, then added, "You should go on to bed. Long day tomorrow."

Every day was a long day. Ossie didn't say that though. Instead, he just stood up, whispered, "Goodnight," and walked into the room he shared with his siblings. Even though his mom had cleaned it up, it still smelled like throw-up in here, and he tossed and turned in the bed he shared with Beau, trying desperately to find some way to fall asleep. His mind turned the words of his mom over, trying to puzzle them out--again and again and again. He couldn't, for the life of him, understand what they meant, though. He didn't understand how some stuff could be worse than dying, and he didn't know what it meant for there to be burdens that fell on the living.

Beside him, every breath Beau breathed rattled, like something metal trapped inside something else metal, or leaves shaking in the wind. He was fast asleep, but even then, he looked like he was grimacing, which felt weird to see on a three year old's face. Finally, Ossie managed to shut his thoughts off long enough to drift off to sleep after an exhausting day, knowing when he woke up, he'd have to do it all again.

Saoirse hated cooking.

Unfortunately, it was her night to prepare dinner. Her step-father was working late today and while her mother was home, she was exhausted, and had more or less collapsed on the couch as soon as she'd gotten back.

Saoirse's mother had picked up some forage on the way home. The weeds were bitter and stringy, but full of iron. Saoirse was just glad to have something to eat. She knew she needed more iron in her diet, but it wasn't like supplements were something her family could get. Even if they were available, none of them were in the Suns -- they wouldn't have been able to afford it.

So, Saoirse was stuck with the weeds. They sizzled in the pan, soaking up the oil she'd already set to work frying a clove of garlic. It didn't take long for the greens to finish. Saoirse took them out and dumped a bowl of cooked rice into the pan. No eggs or meat today. She added some diced... root? Whatever her step-father had foraged. Saoirse didn't know the name, but it tasted like carrot.

The door rang.

"Saoirse!" Her sister, Ciara, called out her name from down the hall. "Can you get that?"
Saoirse scowled, but turned off the stove and took the pan off the heat. She'd get the stupid door. Her family could complain about the food. At least this time it'd be her sister's fault.

Saoirse slipped out of the kitchen and went to get the door. She didn't expect Uriah to be on the other side. "Uhh," Saoirse looked at him, already uneasy.

Uriah towered over her. She'd seen him from afar and around Sticks, but close up, he looked even more intimidating. Like he could crush her with a thought.

"Saoirse!" Her mother shouted, after an undeniably awkward amount of time had elapsed. "Who is it?"

The man smiled like a shark. It would be charming if it didn't make Saoirse feel like she was his next meal.

"Are your parents home?" the man asked politely.

"Ummm. One sec," Saoirse said, panicking. She slammed the door in his face and locked it, then ran to fetch her mother, who sighed but got up off the couch. Saoirse watched from a distance as she opened the door. She'd never seen her mother go so pale.

"Celia," Uriah purred. "It's been too long."

"Uriah," Celia said. "What a surprise."

"I'm sorry it's just me today," Uriah said. "Your sister wanted to stop by, but she's not feeling well."

A pause.

"May I come inside?" Uriah asked.

Saoirse's eyes went wide. She ducked out of the living room and out of sight, nearly crashing into her sisters in her panic. Máire grabbed her and dragged her to their bedroom. Ciara wasn't far behind.

"Who is that?" Saoirse asked. "What's he-"

Ciara clamped a hand over Saoirse's mouth. "Later," she said. "Be quiet."

They watched from the gap in the doorframe as Celia stepped aside.

"I know you don't like minced words, Celia, so I'll tell you why I'm here," Uriah's voice carried smoothly down the hall. "I know that you kidnapped my son. I'm here to offer forgiveness."

"How benevolent of you," Celia said. "I don't know where he is."

"I find that hard to believe," Uriah said. "You don't just lose a child."

“My family doesn’t have such complex medical needs. We weren’t equipped to care for them.” A pause. “I’d be happy to forward the address of the Jord's Grace Orphanage. I’m sure they’d be glad to reunite you.”

The gap in the doorframe was narrow and difficult to see through. Saoirse pressed closer to it, squinting. She could see the back of her mother's shoulder, and half of Uriah's face leaning in like a shadow. The pleasant look in his narrow, dark eyes had faded to something far more sinister.

"You are playing a dangerous game," Uriah said, his voice growing quiet.

Her mother looked like she tried to step away, but Uriah's hand shot forward. It looked like he was gripping her wrist.

"How many years has it been since you abandoned my son?" Uriah asked lowly.

"Seven."

Uriah's eyes brightened with rage.

"You think anyone would believe you?" Uriah asked with a slow-growing smile.

"It's been seven years."

"Indeed it has," Uriah murmured, barely audible.

There was a long, drawn out pause. Neither Uriah nor her mother moved, but Saoirse could clearly see the look in Uriah's eyes. He was full of wrath.

"And seven years..." Uriah said slowly. "It shall stay."

Later, Saoirse would replay the night’s events and wonder if there was any possibility of her mother walking away. One moment, her mother was there. The next, she was gone. Saoirse caught the briefest glimpse of black fur and teeth and Uriah, standing over the spot where her mother had been.

Ciara clasped a hand over Saoirse's eyes and dragged her away from the door, as Máire pushed them both into the closet. Saoirse listened as her sister dragged the dresser in front of the door.

Saoirse couldn't hear anything beyond her own heartbeat. The world was at once overwhelming and impossibly distant, and she was numbly aware of the fact that she was crying.

She heard something heavy being dragged briefly across the carpet. And the door closing, quietly. Ciara was still covering her eyes. Saoirse pushed her away and covered them herself.

The image of teeth and fur replayed over and over again. She had always been afraid of wolves. It made sense, now.

Saoirse sobbed. Her shoulders shook from the force of it. She reached for her sisters and found that they had gone. She could hear them in the other room, crying and talking quietly as Riley and their father came home.

Saoirse stayed put. Curled up on the closet floor, she cried and cried until she had no tears left and there was nothing to do but fall into an uneasy sleep.

Her dreams were plagued with werewolves and violence. Flashes of teeth and dark fur and, inexplicably, Silas, younger than she’d ever remembered knowing. The two of them were playing, roughhousing like any little kids would, until Silas shifted into something altogether different – a werewolf, smaller but no less feral than Uriah.

Saoirse woke up.

Why didn’t anyone tell me… She wondered, as she rubbed her eyes. It was light out again. Somehow, Saoirse had slept through the night. Probably the same reason Silas didn’t, idiot. Safer not to know.

Still, despite everything, Saoirse couldn't help but feel betrayed.

The feeling followed her throughout the day. Broaching the topic with her remaining family felt about as easy as swallowing sandpaper, so she didn't - instead avoiding her step-father and siblings in favor of ducking out of the house as soon as her eyes were dry.

"Oh, it's you. Cassia's . . . playmate."

Caelan looked up to meet the eyes of Cassia's father, which were positively condescending. He and Cassia's mother always looked at him like this, and they said things that had more than proved to Caelan that they definitely thought of him and his poor background more like a plaything rather than a playmate for their daughter.

Caelan merely smiled and dipped his head. "Hello, sir." Inside, he wished for the thousandth time that he could give the man a piece of his mind, to demand what he possibly knew about Caelan. He also wanted to say that he knew their secret, the reason why the Lowes were rich. But he couldn't, not if he wanted reading privileges and access to the most luxury and food in Sticks.

"After today, you are no longer needed here," said Cassia's father. He seemed pleased, almost smug.

"What?" Caelan blurted out before he could stop himself.

"You aren't needed," the man repeated. "Don't come back after today." He walked off, and Caelan saw him join his wife in exiting from the front door to a carriage waiting outside.

Caelan stared after them. In all of the years that he'd come to keep Cassia company, her parents had never said anything like this, as displeased as they had acted. Her father was absolutely serious in what he said.

Caelan ran up the grand staircase in the mansion (Cassia's parents had long given up on stopping him from playing with their daughter in the main house) and into the hall to the right of the stairs. He took a turn around the corner and burst into the room at the end of the passageway.

Cassia jumped and hastily snatched her embroidery frame up from where it was lying haphazardly on the floor as if someone had thrown it. She straightened her dress and ran a hand over her hair, though the second action did little to make the frizz and disarray any better.

"Hey!" She shot him a glare, but her amber eyes didn't feel as sharp as they usually did when she was angry. "You couldn't have knocked before barging in here?"

"I'm no longer needed here," said Caelan, meeting her gaze with a hard look of his own. "At least, that's what your father said to me just now. What's going on?"

Cassia's irritated expression faded, and she plopped back into the plush armchair she had been sitting on when Caelan came in. Her fingers gripping the wooden embroidery frame grew white. "I'm going away. For a long time."

"Away . . . from Sticks?"

"Yeah, Father and Mother said that I need to go to finishing school and that I can't learn how to be a 'proper lady' if I stay in a place as uncivilized as Sticks." Cassia's shoulders drooped and started to shake. "But I don't want to go. I'll be all alone." She began to sob.

Caelan stared at her, frozen. Most people around him didn't cry very much, except for when his mother would will herself to cry to gain sympathy from others, so he wondered what he should do when Cassia, who was much softer and weaker than Ivy, Ramona, or Saoirse (you could never call girls who attacked you or set things on fire weak), was crying a whole river in front of him.

He sighed and walked over to her. Gingerly, he put his arms around her and gave her a couple of awkward pats on the back. He'd seen Ossie plenty of times on his family's front porch with his younger brother, doing something like this when the kid would bawl his eyes out. Images of Simon and many other men holding Caelan's mother's hand or even embracing her when she put on her crying act also came to his mind, and he wondered if most women liked things like that.

Cassia almost immediately pressed her face into his shirt and somehow sobbed even louder, despite her voice being muffled. Caelan grimaced hard when he felt her tears (and hopefully not snot) soaking through the cloth and plastering it to his skin. He fought the instant urge to shove her face away and instead took a deep breath.

"There's a whole world out there beyond Sticks," he began. "So many things to see, so many things to learn that you could never find here."

Cassia mumbled something into Caelan's shoulder.

"What did you say?"

Cassia lifted her head and let out a heavy breath. "But everything I love is here," she said, swiping at her reddish eyes with the back of her hand. "Mother and Father aren't coming with me. And--and you can't come, either. They said so."

"You asked if I could leave Sticks with you?" Caelan couldn't keep himself from asking. Surprise washed over him, but so did anger and jealousy. How easy it was to leave this place if you were rich.

Cassia sniffed and weakly tried to give him her usual haughty expression. "Well, it'd probably be boring at school. I don't know if anyone would like me there, anyways. You're my only fr--the only person around my age that I know. You're always willing to play with me, at least."

If it were Caelan leaving, he wouldn't care if nobody liked him wherever he was going, so long as he got to leave Sticks. He wouldn't even mind if he had to play fairy tale games for the rest of his life with Cassia if it meant he could leave all of this behind. But, of course, things could never be that easy for someone like him.

"You'll be back someday, right?" he asked. Cassia nodded. "When I'm done with school, when I'm eighteen." She made a face. "That's so far away. We're going to be so old."

Six years did feel like a long time away, but Caelan said, "I think it'll go by faster than you think. And when you come back, your parents will still be here."

"What about you?" asked Cassia.

Caelan hesitated. "Your parents don't really like me, you know. Because I'm poor and low-class."

"I don't care," replied Cassia, and she grabbed onto his arms. "Promise that you'll come find me when I get back?"

Caelan looked into her eyes, wide with fear and uncertainty. And yet, he also saw trust within their depths.

"Sure," he said, though he didn't really mean it. She'd forget all about him when they grew up and she'd seen the world outside of Sticks anyways.


Before Caelan left the Lowe mansion, he paused in front of a nondescript door in a dim hallway where he knew he was never allowed to be. But Cassia's parents weren't home yet, and no servants ever came to this part of the house.

He pulled a key out of his pocket. Mr. Lowe would never leave the key to this room lying about, but Caelan didn't need that to get into the room. Through reading enough books and Adonis's teachings, Caelan had figured out how to make a copy of the key with just the lock itself. Now, it was time to test it and see the Lowes' secret with his own eyes.

He slid his copy of the key into the lock. Part of him was still surprised when it turned smoothly and he heard the click that told him that the room was now unlocked. Free for him to survey as he wished.

When he opened the door, he was hit with a wave of bittersweet odor, almost like flowers that had gone rotten. His stomach churned, and he felt like he could find himself with a bad headache in an instant. So this was the smell of lumshade. For some reason, the smell reminded him of Simon. Caelan had caught faint, nauseating whiffs coming off of him whenever the man stopped by to visit his mother. Was he using lumshade?

He looked around and took in the sight of tables neatly organized with different shapes of glasses and burners, like the ones he'd seen in Adonis's books. On a shelf on the far wall, there were many jars of the parts of a purple flower--petals, pollen, a purple liquid, and there were some intact flowers as well. On another wall there were hooks from which hung goggles, gloves, long coats, and what he guessed must be masks.

There were vents and a window on the other side of the room, and Caelan walked around the tables to get a glimpse outside. There was a thump and his foot collided against something, and he glanced down to see a crate, its lid askew due to his accidentally kicking it, with rows of sealed vials full of a transparent, purple liquid. The rest of the boxes were carefully sealed shut and he couldn't get them open without risking breaking them.

He picked up one of the vials and considered taking one, just to prove that everything was real, but what if the Lowes came back and realized that one was missing? He shouldn't touch anything if he could help it. He put it back into the crate and straightened the lid and the crate's position as well as he could in line with the rest of them.

Well, there wasn't anything else he could do here. Before he left, Caelan looked out the window and saw that it provided a hidden view of the courtyard with the large tree, the one where Cassia and Caelan had often played over the years. They must have been watched all this time, none the wiser.

Caelan slowly walked out of the lab and locked the door. He sighed, and as he began his last exit from the mansion, he felt his head throbbing. Somehow, it was only when he had stepped outside of the premises that he felt as though he was breathing fresh air again.


Caelan's head was still hurting when he got back into town. He meant to slink through the carts, crowds, or animals like he usually did, without paying attention to much other than getting home unseen, but it must have been his snooping around earlier in the day that caused the shouting across the street to catch his attention.

He peeked behind a couple of people standing back and observing as members of the Blue Suns gang were kicking the curled up figure of an emaciated man on the ground. He couldn't look away.

"Please, I'll get you the money next time!" yelped the man, trying to shield his head with his hands. But Caelan could see the veiny, purple hue of the man's fingers as the mark of people who used lumshade too much. "I need it now! Please." The sound of the man's voice and the expression in his glazed eyes was something Caelan had never truly experienced before, and there was a strange feeling that grew within him as he kept watching.

"Poor man," said one of the adults in front of Caelan. The other scoffed and whispered quietly, "It's his fault for dabbling in lumshade and getting tangled with the Suns. You don't just mess with the Suns like that. Now he's as good as homeless and broke."

"You can't blame him entirely," a woman said beside them with more empathy. "They always get you started with something small. No one ever thinks they'll become... this."

"You're already behind on paying us," said one of the Suns members, the three-rayed tattoo looking dark and almost menacing as he smirked down at the man. He gave him another kick in the stomach, and the man shrieked and curled further into himself. The Suns member made a show of counting on his fingers. "You're behind . . . I don't even know how many payments! You're killing me, man! We need to make a living too." He motioned to the others to stop kicking, and he knelt down to get closer to the guy's face. "I'll let you off today--before you get excited, you have a one week mercy period before we come back to take what the Suns are owed, including interest. And," he paused dramatically and fished around in his pocket, "because I do have a heart, I'll give you one vial of lumshade today. Payment is due in one week for that too." He stood and dangled the vial in front of the man.

The man's eyes grew even more desperate, almost hungry in some way, and he scrambled onto his knees, reaching up to snatch the vial with trembling hands. "Thank you! Thank you," he said, and he immediately opened it.

The Suns smirked at the sight, and the Sun with the three-rayed tattoo turned to walk away. "Sure, sure. You'd better have the money for us, or you'll regret it." They all headed away, though not before Caelan heard one of them mutter, "What a loser."

All this fuss over lumshade. The adults walked away, talking among themselves, but Caelan lingered for another moment, watching the man swallowing the substance as though he were a man wandering through a desert who had finally found an oasis. Then Caelan averted his eyes and kept going on his way.

Caelan's headache only worsened as he was one street away from his own when he saw another group of Suns crowding the door of one of the businesses there.

"I can't afford that!" protested the business owner, though she shrank under the gaze of the Suns. Her eyes were filling with tears. "I don't even make that much in a day."

"It's a dangerous world out there. You need our protection if you want to be able to run this place without fear," said one of the Suns. "But protection can't be for free. You understand, don't you?"

Caelan took a deep breath and rubbed at his forehead, willing for the pain to go away, and he kept walking. The woman's sobs seemed to follow him until he crossed into the familiar territory of the street he lived on.

"What is up with everyone today?" muttered Caelan. At this point, he didn't care if even Saoirse saw him and called him a Booger-Brained Sewer Sock on his way home. He felt sick and tired of everything.

However, he was glad that he didn't see Saoirse anywhere on the road home and his shoulders sagged with relief as he saw his door. He pushed it open, hoping that his mother had a morsel of dinner for him when he heard a voice that grated most unpleasantly on his mind and a sickening whiff that was--after he had experienced it today--most definitely lumshade.

The very last fool he wanted to see at this time in the day. Caelan fought the scowl off his face, for his mother's sake, at least.

"Oh, Caelan, you're back," said his mother, smiling.

Simon turned and caught sight of Caelan. He reached out his hand as if to ruffle Caelan's hair, but Caelan stretched a civil smile onto his face (though it absolutely infuriated him on the inside) and put out his own right hand to catch Simon's. He shook it.

"Mr. Simon," he said, giving the man a nod. "How are you?"

Simon's grin was vacant of fondness as he shook Caelan's hand in return.

"Well, aren't you the little gentleman?" he asked.

Caelan felt his jaw muscles twitching as he clenched his teeth behind his lips. Idiotic trash.

"You know what I think you'd like?" Simon asked, reaching into his back pocket. "A present."

He pulled out a small leather-bound book and offered it to Caelan. It was pocket sized, and the title was embossed on the cover in silver lettering, reading: "Killing With Class," by Bertrand Wilcox.

"You like to read, right?" Simon asked.

Caelan opened the book to the first page, which had the subtitle, "Keeping Chivalry Alive for Generations." Then he cast a furtive glance at his mother. She was leaning forward, reading the title of the book. A small smile grew on her lips, but one look at her eyes and the very subtle twitching at the corners of her mouth told Caelan everything he needed to know about what she thought of the book.

"As a matter of fact," said Caelan, "I do enjoy reading. Very much."

"Thought so," Simon said. "Keep at it, then. Maybe one day, that brain will get you out of this mud pit."

"Say thank you to Mr. Simon, Caelan," said Mother, putting a hand on the man's arm. Though she hid it well, Caelan could hear a hint of laughter in her voice.

"Thank you," said Caelan, keeping his smile firmly pasted on his face. "I'm sure this will be an enlightening read."

"Hope so," Simon said, briefly tapping Caelan's chin and pushing it up before he rose to his feet and turned to Caelan's mother.

In that moment, Caelan realized he became invisible again. Simon put his arm around Caelan's mother and murmured just loud enough for Caelan to overhear.

"Seems he's doing well," Simon said.

"I couldn't have asked for better," said Caelan's mother. "I worry about him, since I'm busy working all the time, but he's growing up well all on his own."

"It's better that way," Simon said. "Start them young so they'll learn to be independent."

"Oh, certainly," she replied, leaning in a little closer. "We all have to live our own lives, after all."

There was a pause as Simon gripped Mother's waist more firmly and he looked into her eyes closer than Caelan felt was comfortable.

"You're not leading me on, are you?" Simon asked lowly like a wounded dog.

Caelan's mother laughed and tapped him playfully on the nose. "I could never, darling. Do you think I would accept such lovely flowers from just anybody?" She motioned over his shoulder to the table, where there was a bouquet of dandelions, no better than common weeds, sitting in a bowl in its center. "And you remembered my favorite ones. Very romantic of you."

Mother, being the very practical, no-nonsense woman that she was, often said to Caelan that the only good flowers were the ones that you could eat. Around Sticks, that was basically just dandelions.

"I'll be back tomorrow, then," Simon smiled, giving her a quick kiss.

Caelan had to fight an eyeroll.

"Until then," said his mother. "I would so love if you brought more of these flowers with you--they just fill me with so much joy to see."

"That, my dear, is an easy task for you," Simon cooed. "Until then."

He grabbed her hand and pulled away, interlocking their fingers for a lingering moment before he fully strode through the door, finally gone.

Caelan's mother let out a sigh, walked to the table, and slowly sank into one of the chairs. "Well," she said, looking up at Caelan with a weak smile, "how about dandelion salad for dinner?"

Caelan looked steadily at her for a moment. She was as beautiful as she had always been, and her spirit was as immovable and fierce as ever, but she somehow seemed tired these days. Like the world was taking its toll on her.

"Sure, Mother," he answered at last. He smiled back at her. "You're always so impressive."

She raised her eyebrows and straightened. "That's unlike you to say something like that."

Caelan shrugged. "You're outplaying someone who 'kills with class.'"

She laughed and pointed at the book Caelan still held in his hand. "I still can't believe he actually brought you that. 'Keeping Chivalry Alive for Generations.'" She snickered. "My first thought was to tell you to burn it, but hey, keep it. Sometimes you need a bit of humor amid the serious reading, right?"

It was the first time in a while since Caelan had seen his mother look so genuinely amused, if not completely happy.

He smiled back and sat down to help his mother tear the dandelions apart.


After dinner, Caelan left the house and walked down to Adonis's house. He peered through the window and, when he didn't see any signs of the girls or any other kids inside, he pushed the door open without knocking.

He found Adonis at the kitchen, leaning over a piece of yellowed paper as he carefully but swiftly traced someone's signature at the bottom of the page. He offered Caelan a silent smile in greeting, tilting his head to the side in invitation. Caelan hoisted himself up onto the high stool next to Adonis and quietly watched him, his chin in his hand.

"You're in the Blue Suns," he said at last, "but you don't hurt people like the others do or take their money."

Adonis looked up, setting down his quill pen next to the ink pot as he met Caelan's eyes. His expression was soft but serious.

"It's not a requirement to do either of those things," he said. "Certainly not in my field. I don't intend to start at any point."

"I heard some Suns say that they do it to make a living." Caelan looked down at the signature on the paper, which was obviously not Adonis's own. "But what about regular people? And why do some people start using lumshade if it's bad for you and ruins your life?"

Adonis hummed, the sound a little sad. His ink-stained fingertips drummed on the counter.

"A lot of people you might deem regular are in the Suns, too," he said. "In a small town like this, any organization on this scale tends to have its roots dug into just about everything. You can't really separate Sticks from the Blue Suns. But for the people uninvolved-- yes, much of the Suns's success comes at their expense. Some people are more comfortable with that fact than me."

Caelan let Adonis's words turn in his mind. "Then do people who join the Suns make a lot of money?"

Adonis shrugged, with a glance around the small house, which was already half an answer.

"Some do," Adonis said. "Most of the money goes to a few people at the top, of course. But even at the lower levels, the money is good enough to draw people in."

"How do you become someone at the top?" asked Caelan. They must be able to do almost anything if they had that much money.

Adonis looked up to the ceiling in thought. "I'm sure no one's taken the exact same path," he said. "But generally speaking, they become indispensable. They specialize in something, become the best at it, and make their worth known. The people who make it there know how to stand out from the herd." He looked back to Caelan, a hint of something curious in his eyes. "You seem very interested in this."

Caelan shrugged and looked back down at the paper. "I think I should try to get a job."

Adonis seemed to think for a moment, picking up his pen again and holding it over the paper, through he didn't write anything with it just yet.

"Working for the Blue Suns is much different than any other job," he said. "It's not an honest living, like your friend Silas."

Caelan thought about how his mother had said again and again that he should get out of Sticks, no matter what it took, but he realized that he actually didn't know how she felt about the Blue Suns. She had never expressed her opinion about them. Did she care about 'an honest living?' It seemed like Adonis did, even though he was a Sun himself.

"I'm not saying I want to become a Sun," began Caelan. "I just want to get some more money or food." He hesitated, and he ran his finger over a crack in the wood of the table. "Mother looks tired these days."

Adonis's expression softened again, and although Caelan wasn't looking directly at him, he could sense the saddened sympathy coming from him.

"You know," he started, "you've learned a lot from me already. I could afford paying an assistant around here, if you wanted something to do."

Caelan's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Really." Adonis offered him a faint smile. "I think you're ready for it. As long as this is something you think you want to keep doing--" He waved his hand at the paper. "--the work is yours."

"Yes!" said Caelan, with more enthusiasm than he was expecting. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. "I'd like to work for you. But--" He looked around. "--Ivy and the others are probably going to find out, right?"

"They'd probably notice, if you were over more often," Adonis agreed. "I wouldn't expect them to judge you for it, though."

"Saoirse might," said Caelan. He raised his chin. "I don't care though." He had a real job, after all.

"That's the spirit." With a slightly wider smile, Adonis looked down thoughtfully at the paper. "Alright. Let's get you started, then."

In the haze of a sleep-deprived stupor, Silas was carrying an armful of supplies to the general store's counter when something else caught his eye: the face of a snarling wolf with glimmering black eyes on the front cover of a book by the window.

"Can I help you?" the shop owner asked just behind him, making him jump.

Silas forced a smile. "Thanks, I'm good."

"You sure? That stuff looks heavy." She extended an arm. "Here, let me take the charcoal so you have a free hand. I'll ring you up when you're ready."

"Alright," he relented, handing off the bag.

She grunted under its weight and hefted it up onto the counter.

The voice of reason told him to turn away from the book rack. He didn't even know how to read. Whatever this werewolf book might teach him about himself, assuming it even had drawings in it, it wasn't worth giving this this shopkeeper any hints about who he was. And if he bought it, and took it home - what would Morgan think if he found it?

It was a risk to take the book, but he reasoned simultaneously that it would be a risk to pass it by. He'd just endured another sleepless night in a week of many. He could feel it in his bones that if he let down his guard just a little, it would win, and Morgan would wake to find a grotesque black beast curled up where the boy was supposed to be.

The face of that wolf was more tantalizing than the shop's entire candy section. It promised him it had answers.

Feigning disinterest, he picked it up and quickly fanned through a few pages. No pictures: worthless. His sleep-deprived eyes rolled desultorily across the meaningless leaves of ink.

"That one just came in," the shopkeeper said cheerily. "It's a good one."

Silas raised his eyebrows. "You've read it?"

"Oh, yes, and I think all of us should. It's got everything you need to know, dear. Signs to identify them, what diseases they carry, how to defend yourself in an attack - you name it."

Silas felt his ears turning hot. "Maybe I should get it, then."

"It might just save your life," she agreed.

Silas thought she might just be right about that. One thing was certain - he knew precious little about what he was up against. Diseases?! That was new.

After a quick calculation, he returned the taffy and stickers bar and carried the blacksmith supplies and the book to the counter. Perhaps someday, if he spun it the right way, Caelan would help him read it.

Outside the shop, Kyle the goat was strapped to a wooden cart, straining at the harness to nibble on a sprig of weeds. Silas arranged the werewolf book and supplies in the cart, then, remembering the shopkeeper's huffing, decided he'd better loosen Kyle's load. He swung the bag of charcoal over his shoulder instead.

Happy to have a job to do, Kyle skipped along at Silas' heels. Silas was very glad he had persuaded Morgan not to sell his little cross-eyed buddy along with the rest of the herd. It had been a close call - after Morgan slipped on the stairs and broke his shoulder, he became much more dependent on Silas' strength in the smithy and didn't want him wasting his time herding the goats around. It took some convincing, but Silas couldn't bear to see the look on his friends' faces when he told them their favorite goat was gone.

"You wanna keep that one?" Morgan had asked, left arm wrapped up in a tight sling and his other hand tented over his eyes. "Ain't he the dumbest of the bunch?"

Silas shrugged. "He's also the most well behaved. Comes when he's called, isn't picky about grass."

"He won't be makin' us any milk neither. What good is he 'sides mutton?"

"I'm teaching him how to pull a cart. He could help me on errands."

Morgan snorted. It was rare to hear him laugh, and it made Silas worry that he wasn't taking him seriously.

"I promise taking care of him won't interfere with my chores," Silas insisted. "Isn't that right, Kyle?"

Kyle looked up on command, flicking the white flag of his tail.

By the time Morgan's shoulder was mostly healed up, Kyle was proficient in cart-pulling, fetch, and jumping through a hoop that Ivy and Ramona made. Though he was far from the brightest caprine in Nye, he would do anything for a good noggin scratch, and even the old blacksmith was starting to enjoy his company, even if he'd never admit it.

As they went by Saoirse's street, a familiar pang of worry tightened in Silas' chest. He hadn't seen her all week, which in itself wasn't unheard of, especially with how busy he'd been at the smithy lately, but when he ran into Ivy and Ossie yesterday and they said they hadn't seen her either, he knew then that something was wrong.

Stuck in his head and with instincts dulled by fatigue, he didn't notice the group of Blue Suns in front of the blacksmith until he was only a few buildings away. He ducked down an alleyway so he could come around the back. It wasn't the first time Suns had paid a visit, but he'd never seen so many here at once. He'd counted, what - six or seven of them?

"Morgan." Hoss's voice drifted over the breeze as Silas was locking Kyle in his pen. The sound of that voice bristled the hairs on his neck. "How's your shoulder treating you?"

"I'll be doing jumping jacks in no time," came the gruff reply. "What can I do you for?"

"I'll be straightforward with you," Hoss said. "I'm here on behalf of Uriah."

Uriah. That was the top dog in this region's Blue Suns organization. Silas had seen him once or twice before, from afar - he doubted such a powerful figure would waste much time in Sticks - but he did know that he was someone to be feared. It was surprising to learn that Hoss was working under Uriah's direct order. Was Hoss old enough for that?

Silas entered the shack from the back and crept up to the front window to steal a glance over the sill, scanning for a friendly face. He was disappointed to see that Juni wasn't among them.

"And what would our almighty 6 be needin' from an old fella like me?"

"Weapons, Morgan," Hoss said simply. "You've been let alone because of your reputation in Sticks, but it's time you start paying your share."

"Wouldn't say I've been left alone, exactly."

"The suns have been generous," Hoss said. "Or do you think you owe us more than we're due?"

"Said nothin' of the sort," Morgan said, hastily. "Did your boss give you any precise number?"

"Twenty swords, fifteen crossbows," Hoss said.

"End o'the month?"

"At the end of next week," Hoss corrected.

Silas blanched. He couldn't see the old man, but he could imagine a similar look was on his face, too.

"We mountin' an attack on King's Peak or somethin'?"

"New recruits," Hoss said sharply. "Not that it's your business."

"Twenty swords, fifteen crossbows." Morgan sighed. "Alright. Tell Mr. Pretorius it'll be done."

"Pleasure doing business with you," Hoss said with no smile.

There was no answer from Morgan aside from the clanging of metal as he returned to his work.

Silas waited until all the Suns had wandered off, then he went back outside to unhitch Kyle and pick up the supplies. He tucked the book under his mattress and took the rest down to the smithy.

"I'll probably need you to make another trip," Morgan said after he heard the door hinges squeak. He was hunched over the anvil, hammering out a new blade from a glowing shaft of iron.

"I heard," Silas said, setting the bag of charcoal next to the furnace. "Thirty-five weapons in just a few days? That's impossible!"

"Thirty-four," Morgan corrected. "Mr. Jones' crossbow'll be finished at the end of the month."

"Isn't he picking it up today?"

"It's the blue tax. He'll understand."

The blue tax. He'd heard it thrown around before but didn't realize what it meant until now. Hoss' threats still echoed within the cold stone walls of the smithy, and that name - Uriah - shrouded them both with silent dread.



Morgan, battered but stubborn, didn't call it a day until it was too dark for them to continue working.

Silas figured he'd waited long enough for Saoirse to show up, so he decided to take matters into his own hands: he'd swing by her house and see what was going on himself. He washed up, ate some grits and split a stale loaf with Morgan, and headed out into the cool desert night. Wasn't like he was going to get any sleep tonight, anyway.

A few blocks away from Saoirse's house, Silas noticed a familiar figure hunched over a book, reading by candlelight. He jogged over, remembering the werewolf book he'd stuffed under his mattress that morning.

"Caelan!" he called, rather cheerily. "I was hoping I'd see you."

Caelan looked up and saw him. He hastily shut the book and turned the cover face down. "Oh, it's you, Silas," he said. "Do you need me for something?" He glanced at his stub of a candle as if measuring how much time he had left on it.

"I just had a question," Silas said, dialing back the enthusiasm. "Would you be interested in . . ." He scratched his head. ". . . someday, maybe, giving me reading lessons?" He offered a hesitant smile.

Caelan raised an eyebrow. "You want me to teach you how to read."

Silas shrugged. "Don't know who else would. You seem to like it an awful lot."

Caelan looked down at his book, chuckled, and glanced back up again. "Yeah, I do. So why do you want to read now?" He thought for a moment before he added, "And what do I get if I teach you?"

In Caelan's language, all that was as good as a yes. Silas' next grin was genuine. "I thought of that," he said. "I have about four copper pieces to spare each week. Would that do?"

Caelan silently counted on his fingers for a moment and thought a little while longer. "If you have any extra food on top of that, that would be nice too." He extended his right hand. "Deal?"

"Deal!" Silas heartily agreed, shaking Caelan's hand. "When can we start?"

"Well, not right now," said Caelan. "I've only got so much candle left for tonight. But you still didn't answer my question. Why do you want to learn to read?"

He'd hoped Caelan would let that one slip by. Silas wasn't very good at lying.

"I dunno, it was about time." Silas' ears were turning hot for the second time that day. "I want to be able to help Morgan with the client ledger. Check the client orders and stuff."

"Hmm," said Caelan, as though he didn't quite believe him. He was silent again, contemplating, and then he shrugged one shoulder.

"Well, if you say so," he replied lightly. "That's very . . . good of you, to help Morgan like that." It was clear that Caelan knew that Silas wasn't telling the whole truth, but he didn't pursue it further. At least, for now.

"I'll let you get back to your book," Silas said, taking a step back. "I'm on my way to check on Saoirse. Have you seen her recently?"

Caelan grimaced. "No, thankfully. Let's start tomorrow in the afternoon. I've got plenty of free time now, anyways. Oh--well, sort of. I'll make it work."

"Tomorrow afternoon," Silas noted aloud, wondering if he'd get the chance to step away from the smithy. He'd make it work - maybe he'd start extra early. He nodded and waved goodbye.

On the remainder of his trip to Saoirse's house, Silas had an extra kick of energy in his stride. Buying that werewolf book hadn't been a waste of copper pieces, after all - Caelan was smart, and he would teach him how to decipher it. He looked forward to spending more time with Caelan, too. That guy was funny.

The lights were on at the place Silas had called home for the first five years of his life. It was too long ago to remember what it looked like on the inside, but he still remembered which room was the girls' room and which one he shared with Riley. He lowered himself to a crouch and inched towards the window of the former, the same place where he'd left the little goat carving on the sill.

One of his cousins was resting on her mattress, but there was no sign of the youngest one. She must be somewhere else in the house.

If he knocked on the front door, what were the chances Saoirse would answer? Ever since Silas and Saoirse had rekindled their friendship, he'd been careful to avoid the rest of the Carver family, knowing they remembered very well what he was.

"My mom doesn't like you hanging out with us," Saoirse had admitted the day they'd built, then burnt down, a structure that vaguely resembled a treehouse.

She'd said it so casually, so out of the blue, that it took Silas a second to gather his thoughts. He hadn't even known his Aunt Celia was aware of his existence until that moment.

"Why's that?" he asked, knowing full well why.

Saoirse shrugged. "She didn't say. Said she just had a . . . bad feeling about you." She wrinkled her nose. "Probably because you stink."

If Aunt Celia answered the door, what would she say to him? Would she look at him with disgust and slam the door on his face? Would she hiss at him to leave her daughter alone?

Or - Silas dared to entertain - would she take pity on her dead sister's only son, who she loved, once, and invite him in for dinner?

Silas grimaced. Saoirse's comment about her mother had made it clear - the possibility of that kind of reunion was close to none.

Still, he'd walked all this way in the dark. He wasn't about to turn back without some answers. If luck was on his side, Saoirse would open the door, but if one of her parents or siblings opened the door, so be it. He just wanted to make sure Saoirse was still okay, then he'd be on his way. Hopefully he'd avoid getting yelled at.

Steeling his resolve, Silas knocked on the door and quickly stepped backward, partially hiding himself in the shadows.

Half a minute later, the door cracked open an inch. One wide, terrified eye - his cousin Riley's - appeared for a moment before the door slammed shut in his face.

"Hey, wait!" Silas protested. "I just wanted to—"

The door opened again, and Riley's arm shot out, grabbing the front of Silas' shirt and pulling him inside. A hand clapped over Silas' mouth, and his back was slammed against the wall.

Riley loomed over him, glaring. "Be quiet," he hissed. He reeked with the stench of fear. "For all of our sakes, just shut up!"

Silas was too stunned to fight back. This wasn't a scenario he'd anticipated.

"Saoirse can't come out and play," Riley said with a sneer. "She's-- Ugh, you're putting us all in danger just by being here."

Silas, exasperated, managed to push Riley's hand off of his face. "I haven't turned since I was five," he whispered, in case Saoirse was in earshot. "No one's in danger. I have it under control."

That last part was a tremendous lie - rattled as he was, his control over "it" felt tenuous as ever.

It surprised him to see Riley so desperately defensive, quivering with tangible fear. He knew Riley was protective of his sister and guessed he wasn't fond of her spending time with him, but this?

Riley scoffed. If he'd trusted Silas enough to look away from him, he'd have rolled his eyes. "My mother is dead. Wouldn't exactly say you're safe to be around."

"Aunt Celia—" Silas suddenly felt stone cold. "What happened?"

"Your father happened."

Silas's confusion deepened. His father? Riley must be confused - he didn't have a father.

"My mom knew where you lived, but she protected you." Riley drew in a ragged breath and let it out, slowly. Silas could sense he'd have raised his voice if he wasn't trying to be careful. "And look at what happened to her. How many more of us have to die just to keep you safe? What makes you so special?"

"I . . ." Silas swallowed. His throat was unbearably dy. "I don't understand."

"Of course you don't." Another pause. "She should've just told him where you were and saved us all the trouble."

"Told who?"

"Uriah," Riley said, as if Silas were being intentionally dense. "Your father. Big scary werewolf guy? Has to ring a bell."

A peculiar gray fog settled over Silas then. Part of it was the sleep deprivation, part of it was the overwhelming odor of despair permeating the Carver home. Most of it, though, was that name, Uriah: a dark rumbling cloud of dread rolling in for the second time that day. This time there was no waiting it out; this time it was going to stay.

"You didn't know?" Riley asked in disbelief, but didn't wait for an answer. He scoffed and shook his head. "...You should go."

A beat. Silas' eyes were as wide as silver pieces.

"Unless you want him to find you," Riley said. "That would make all our lives easier."

And in the shadow of his presence, Silas heard the telltale footfalls of Saoirse, creeping up the hall. Silas could smell her fear.

"Saoirse!" Riley snapped. "Go back to the kitchen!"

"Is that Silas?" Saoirse peeped.

"Now!" Riley hissed.

She fled, but Silas caught a glimpse of her eyes - just as wide as his - before she disappeared.

"I'll go now," Silas croaked.

"Don't come back," Riley doubled down.

Riley didn't offer the courtesy of opening the door for his guest. Silas fumbled for the doorknob and escaped into the night, and though the cool air was a relief, the stink of dread that had been nearly overpowering inside the Carver home now came to live inside his lungs.

His eyes darted at every moving shadow, every snapping twig. He was only a few houses away when he became certain that someone was following him.

He'd never felt more afraid in his life.

Silas lengthened his strides. He knew he could outrun most humans, but outrunning another werewolf? A full-grown one, like the one on the book cover, fangs dripping with Aunt Celia's blood?

He realized he might have to shift to his wolven form if he was to even have a chance. Would he know how?

Silas threw a glance over his shoulder. That was when he saw the familiar silhouette of Saoirse's cowlick atop her head poke into the light, and her scent drifted his way.

A wave of relief crashed over him. "Saoirse!" he groaned, turning around. "Why were you chasing me?"

Saoirse was panting as she walked up. "Chasing? Why were you running away?!"

"I thought you were him!" he cried. "I thought . . ." He faltered.

Dragons above, how many times in the past few days had she mistaken a shadow in the window, a rustle in the garden, for the terrible 6 of the Sticks? As Silas searched his cousin's face, his high-strung nerves melted into overwhelming sorrow. All the anxiety and fear and confusion he'd felt in the past five minutes - is that what she had been going through all week, magnified by the loss of her mother? "Saoirse . . ." he mumbled, grabbing her gently by the shoulders, "I am so, so sorry."

Saoirse looked at him. Her expression was blank for a moment, then crumpled. She looked as if she was about to cry. "Why didn't you tell me?" Saoirse asked, sniffling. It felt like all she'd been doing lately was cry. Saoirse was sick of it. She wiped her face and continued. "We, I could've-- I don't know, we would've done something."

Silas looked away, ashamed. "I couldn't believe my luck that you didn't remember. It seemed like a gift from above, you know?" He looked back at her for some shred of reassurance, and found none. "The truth is . . . I couldn't risk losing you, again, so I never told you the truth."

The mention of Silas losing Saoirse seemed to set something off in her. "You didn't lose me. You didn't lose anyone! I--" She cut herself off. "My mom's dead, Silas! Your dad is horrible and mean, but at least you know who he is." She sniffled. "My step-dad doesn't even wanna talk to me anymore."

"Ever since your mom . . .?" he trailed off.

Saoirse nodded.

He saw her point. She'd lost one parent - maybe two - and he'd gained one, however despicable and dangerous. At least his dad wanted to see him.

For the first time, a small voice in his head made itself known. What if letting Uriah find him wouldn't be such a bad thing after all? What if he would be welcomed home as a long-lost son and celebrated by the Suns, given nice clothes and warm baths and advice for dealing with his undesirable half?

He'd heard that correctly, right? Riley had referred to Uriah as the "big scary werewolf guy."

He let that sink in for a moment. The most powerful person in the Sticks, his father, was a werewolf too.

A murderous one, a more sensible voice reminded him. Just like the black-eyed wolf on the cover: the embodiment of evil magic.

"Aunt Celia was good to me," he said, staring at his hands. "Riley said she protected me, all the way up to end."

"Yeah," Saoirse said, still rubbing at her eyes. "She did." Saoirse sniffled. After this week, she thought she'd run out of tears -- but she was crying now. "She did, but I don't think it was enough."

"He'll keep trying," Silas said.

"Yeah."

Silas slipped the bandana off of his head and rubbed his throbbing forehead. "Riley's right, you know. I'm dangerous. You should stay away from me."

"Riley's an idiot." Saoirse said. "And a coward. He wasn't even home when--" she cut herself off. "Riley thinks he's in charge now, but all he does is stay inside."

He didn't want Saoirse to think he too was a coward, so he didn't admit it, but that was exactly his plan also - to hide.

"You're still my friend," Saoirse said. "And, like, we're cousins. I don't even know if I have any other cousins. You aren't getting rid of me."

Silas, deeply touched, sensed the encroaching threat of tears. He sucked in a sudden deep breath and looked up at the moon. "How can you say that? Your mom's gone and your family's in pieces, all because of me."

"Hating you won't bring her back." Saoirse said, looking at the ground. She wouldn't admit it, but it wasn't like she really had anyone else left. Saoirse was still angry at Silas, sure. But she didn't hate him. Her mom would've been disappointed in her, if she did, and hating Uriah made more sense.

"No, but . . . Saoirse, I mean it. Every second you spend with me now, it isn't safe. Not for you, not for the others. He's proven he'll do anything to find me. We have to be careful."

"We'll be careful." Saoirse said, as if she and the others didn't regularly set things on fire.

"Maybe I should just turn myself in," Silas said, looking off toward the silhouette of the Blue Sun's base, hazy gray in the moonlight.

"What?" Saoirse looked back up at him. "No. That's a horrible idea."

He'd said it out of selflessness, or at least that's what he wanted to believe. In truth, that little voice had spoken up again: Just give up. You think you can hide from him? Give up now, and maybe it won't be so bad. Besides, you've always wanted a dad—

Silas shook his head, pushing away the voice. "You're right," he said. "Aunt Celia stood between me and Uriah for a reason."

He promised himself, right then and there, that he wouldn't let her sacrifice go to waste. He would try to survive.

"I should head back," Saoirse said. "Riley wanted me to make dinner, and it's already dark out." She sighed. "I won't say anything. About the, uh--" she hesitated. "I'm still pissed, but I'm not gonna tell anyone your secret."

He nodded appreciatively. "Let's get you home. I'll walk you back."

Saoirse nodded, and they started to walk.

They were quiet for a bit before Silas decided to share what was on his mind. "When we still lived together, and all that . . . has any of it come back to you?"

"You ate a frisbee," Saoirse said, matter-of-fact. "When you shifted. It was supposed to be your birthday gift. It's got a bite mark in it, but Mom never threw it out."

"I just, took a whole bite out of it?" Silas raked his fingers through his hair and laughed uncomfortably. He didn't remember much of that day, and he certainly didn't remember eating a frisbee.

"It's mostly just a lotta teeth marks."

"And she kept it? What'd she do, hang it on the wall?"

Saoirse shrugged. "It still worked."

Silas snorted. "No sense in throwing out a perfectly good frisbee."

As they walked, he folded the bandana into a triangle and looped it around his neck. "I haven't shifted since, you know." How strange it felt to crack open the deepest part of himself and admit that to a second soul that night.

Saoirse hummed in acknowledgement.

He brought the bandana up over his forehead so his hair was swept back snugly. He thought about letting the rest of the truth spill out - that the wolf was getting stronger, that he didn't know how much longer he could resist - but he decided to spare her all that. They'd covered enough for one night.

Was he hiding things from her again? No. He would tell her, when the time was right.

They reached the Carver home and wordlessly crept around to the back door. They whispered their goodbyes, and Saoirse slipped through the door.

Alone again, Silas felt the weight of anxiety return, but it was ever so slightly weakened by Saoirse's warmth.

Ossie's house was a bright blue now.

Ossie had never seen a house as bright as his, actually. The furniture was all clean and bright, with a sofa that didn't sag, and a chair with no tears in it. The walls were all a gorgeous shade of bright blue, like the sky, or water, and the windows were all lined with clean, white paint. Ossie's house wasn't bright on the outside, but that was okay, because people on the outside didn't always need to know how good something was on the inside. He didn't remember where he'd heard that, but somebody had told him that sometime recently.

He stood next to his mom in the kitchen, who looked so vibrant and happy. Her skin, while tan, glowed warmly--especially on her cheeks--as she smiled, humming a tune to herself absent-mindedly. It wasn't the type of smile Ossie had, big and broad, which had started to make him feel embarrassed. She had a shy kind of smile, even when it went across her whole face. Gentler, somehow, and softer than his. It touched her eyes and crinkled them at the edges. "Ossie," she sang out, then turned towards him and jumped. "Oh!" she exclaimed, and the food in her pan leapt into the air. Somehow, she managed to catch all of it. She laughed, one hand on her chest while the other set the pan down on the stove again. "You scared me, I was just about to call you in for breakfast!"

"You made me breakfast?" Ossie asked, eyes wide as he tried to peer around her to see.

She laughed again. "Of course I did," she said, ruffling his hair and patting him on the cheek before she turned back to the pan.

"What is it?" The food was some type of lumpy something that looked like eggs, but it was a bright blue instead, leaking some kind of red sauce as it sizzled. Ossie had no idea what it was, but it looked fancy, and unlike anything he'd ever seen, and delicious.

"Something special," his mom replied. "Just for you." She added a wink and turned back to the stove.

"Osmund!" Ossie rose suddenly from the ground, lifted by a pair of hands behind him until he came to rest on top of his step-father's shoulders. Ossie laughed loudly. He hadn't picked up like this in years, and he would've thought by now he was way too big for it. "How's my favorite kid doing?"

"Your favorite?" Ossie asked, frowning. That didn't sound right. Before he could think on it longer and ask a follow-up question though, his step-dad, Kyle, replied.

"Of course." He patted Ossie's leg fondly. "You did everything for so long, and doing things for people always makes them like you. Isn't that right, honey?"

"Oh, that is so right!" Ossie's mother chuckled, pulling up a spoonful of the mysterious food and holding her hand under it to keep any of the sauce from dripping onto the floor. "Here, try a bite of this." She slid it into Kyle's mouth.

"Mmmm-mmm!" He said exaggeratedly, and Ossie bit his bottom lip to stop himself from laughing. "Dee-licious! Best I've ever had."

"You say that every time!" His mom swatted Kyle's arm playfully, but she turned away with her cheeks glowing even more. "Now put him down, he needs to eat! He's a growing boy!"

Kyle lifted Ossie off his shoulders and set him down. "You heard your mother! Let's get some food, then get this party started!"

"Party?" Ossie asked. "Like the one for Juni?" He remembered something about that vaguely. He'd been helping Ivy set up for it, just the other day-- or today? When had that been, again?

"Not for Juni," his mom said, scooping out a big plate-ful of the blue food, oozing with red, and handing it to Kyle, who grabbed a fork and handed it to Ossie. "For you, remember? We're spending all day with you!"

Ossie stopped, his fork halfway to his mouth. "With... with me?" He said confusedly, thinking for the first time of his siblings. "But... who's watching Beau and Grace and Mabel?"

He looked around Kyle, into the living room, with its perfect furniture and perfect paint. He didn't see them in there. Were they still asleep?

"Nobody's watching them," Kyle said. "We get to spend all of our time with you now. Forever!"

"How can nobody be watching them?" Ossie asked. "Couldn't they get hurt?"

Kyle laughed so hard that Ossie startled and dropped the plate. His mom started laughing too, building off of Kyle's laughter until the whole kitchen was echoing with the sound. Neither of them seemed to notice the broken plate pieces on the floor, or the blue, oozing substance on it, now rhythmically sending gushes of red liquid all across the floor. Ossie watched them, his heart skipping a beat as he backed up quickly, desperately trying to avoid the red. Something was wrong here, but he couldn't figure out what.

"What's so funny?" he finally asked nervously, glancing back and forth between the pair. His back was pressed against the wall now, and he couldn't move any further, but the red liquid continued to creep forward impossibly. He didn't remember there being that much on the plate, but it kept coming. Slowly, it began to fill the room, rising from the floor and staining the pretty, blue walls. Still, their laughter never stopped, even as it covered their heads, even as bubbles began to rise out of their mouths when they laughed. Ossie gasped for breath, but couldn't find any. How were they still laughing? He could see them losing air, see them dying, but they kept laughing anyway.

If they couldn't see what was happening, then he couldn't worry about them anymore. Ossie needed to swim out of here, get to the bedroom so he could wake up Mabel, and Grace, and Beau. Beau! How was he going to breathe in all this red? He had to get to them, he had to get them out! Even as he thought it, he found he couldn't move anymore. He kept trying to push against the liquid, but he made no progress. Was he crying? He couldn't tell. Ever so slowly, the two adults slowed their laughter as their bodies and heads sagged forward in the underwater room, until they were both completely still. Had they died?

Ossie felt the red liquid fill up his insides completely. He felt like a balloon, ready to burst. He struggled for air but couldn't find any, and just when he'd given up hope--realized he was never going to be able to leave here, that he was going to be stuck here forever and drown in the red-- his mother's head jolted, eyes snapping awake as she turned to look at him.

Ossie screamed, and she started laughing again. "Osmund, we get to be with you forever now! Isn't this wonderful?"

The stream of bubbles muffled her words, and they were so fuzzy, and the world was so fuzzy. "No," Ossie cried. "We have to get Beau out, he can't breathe, he can't breathe!"

"Ossie," his mother said soothingly, and Ossie looked at her, feeling the tears streaming down his face. How could he feel that even though he was in all this red? "Ossie, it's okay." She moved through the water easily towards him, and he felt his heart slow. Maybe she could get them out of this. She could help them get out of here. It must've been whatever blue thing she'd been cooking. That was where the red came from, and maybe that was what made her and Kyle laugh. Maybe now that she seemed more connected, she could save them!

"We have to get them out," Ossie said, gasping. "We have to get them out."

His mom placed a hand comfortingly on his chest. "Ossie," she said with a smile. "We don't need to get them anywhere, remember? The reason we get to spend all this time with you?"

"I don't remember," Ossie sobbed. "I don't remember."

His mom pushed a stray piece of hair behind his face, then held his head in her palms. She kissed him on the forehead and smiled that soft smile, the one that Ossie wished he had, the one that didn't look embarrassing. "That's okay," she said cheerfully. "I'll remind you. Os, we get to spend all this time with you because your siblings aren't here anymore." She beamed at him, and smoothed his hair back again. "You killed them!"



Ossie woke up gasping. It was the same type of dream he'd been having for months now. He never remembered that he'd killed them until his mom told him, and the dream was always different, but it was also always the same. Ossie didn't understand it because he would never hurt his siblings, and he did everything for them. Still, he'd started to become terrified that maybe there was something super wrong with him, and maybe he just shouldn't tell anyone about the dreams at all, because if he did, it could prove that he was actually someone who wanted to hurt people.

He swung his legs off the bed, rubbing his eyes as he tried to steady his heart. His parents would both be long gone for work by now-- he could see the edges of the sun creeping up out of the window--and his siblings would be up soon, asking for food and water and attention. Beau would probably want to go outside, and need to be carried, and Ossie would need to be careful about how he did it, and how long he was outside, to avoid sending him into a coughing fit.

It had all gotten worse.

His mom and step-dad didn't know why it had gotten worse, but it had. Beau had stomach sicknesses more often than the rest of them, but the breathing was constant. Even now, as Ossie stared bleakly at the sun through the window, the sound of Beau's shaky, rattled breathing filled the room. Ossie was so used to the sound, he wasn't sure he'd be able to sleep without it anymore. It was also probably why none of his siblings had woken up at his gasp.

Ups and downs, then.

Ossie climbed off the bed, pulling on one of his step-dad's old shirts that was too big for him, but that he'd been given anyway. It made him look more skinny than he was, even though it didn't do much to cover up his height. Ossie didn't like it. Still, it wasn't like he had much choice, unless he wanted to start stealing his mother's clothes--which he didn't.

As he moved to the kitchen to start preparing food, his mind slowly woke. He tried his best to push the dream out of his mind. He didn't like thinking about it, especially when it was happening so often. A couple times, he'd thought of telling someone about it--but who? He couldn't tell his friends; they would think it was weird. And dragons knew he couldn't tell his parents, not when he was the one staying alone with his siblings all day. What if they thought he was crazy, and sent him away? Or what if they thought they weren't safe with him anymore, and they had to find somewhere else to keep them, and then there wasn't enough food, and they all died?

Ossie rubbed his face blearily and stood on his tiptoes to pull down a pan for the stove. Behind him, he heard the front door open, and frowned, confused. Had one of his parents forgotten something they needed? They were going to be late for work, and neither of their bosses took kindly to things like that. When he turned around though, he saw none other than Hoss--standing taller than Ossie, with his bright red hair popping against the run-down, shabby walls of the house. Ossie's hand tightened on the handle of the pan. "What're you doing here?"

"I'm not here to cause trouble," Hoss said plainly. "So you can leave the pan. I just wanted to tell you something."

Hoss put his hands in his pockets and stood in the entry to the kitchen, watching him.

Ossie glanced carefully over at the doorway to the bedrooms, then back at Hoss. He tried to stand up taller, but he felt inadequate in front of Hoss. Not that that was any different than normal... Ossie couldn't look at him without feeling like he was a foot shorter than he was now, by the fountain, waiting to hear if they could save his brother's life, and hearing Hoss say they had the medicine, but that they wouldn't give it to him--even knowing Beau could die.

Hoss let out a sigh as he looked down at Ossie, and the normally cold expression he had melted into something tired.

"You really lucked out," he said. "You look more like Kris."

Ossie didn't feel like he looked anything like his mother--but without knowing what his father had looked like when he was alive, he guessed it was difficult to compare. "What're you doing here?" he asked again, hand still tight around the pan, even as it sat on the stove.

"You really don't know, do you?" Hoss said in weary disbelief.

Ossie watched him with his eyebrows drawn down, glancing over again at the doorway, hoping none of his siblings woke up during this. "Know what?" he asked softly.

"Simon, the red-headed piece of shit who stinks up our street is our father," Hoss said.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ossie said. "My father is dead."

"Of course Kris told you that," Hoss said. "Because she wishes he was. I'd wager every fucking woman on our street wishes he was. But he's not."

Ossie felt his heart skip a beat, but he took a step forward. "Don't talk about my mom like that," he said, trying to keep his voice firm. Hoss was a liar and a bad person--a bad person who was with the Blue Suns, who were also bad, and who Ossie had been told to stay away from. He wasn't going to listen to what Hoss had to say, especially not when he'd walked right into their house like he could.

"Don't act like I'm here to ruin your life," Hoss said with a chuff. "I'm here to do you a favor."

"You're not known for doing people favors," Ossie said quietly. It was clear, even if he didn't say it outloud, what he was referring to.

"I was trying to protect you," Hoss said, sharper. "Don't you know your parents? They don't come within a mile of the suns if they can help it. What I can't believe is that you thought it'd be a good idea to go behind their back."

"My brother needed help," Ossie argued back, but he felt his heart racing. It was none of Hoss' business. In fact, Ossie hadn't even realized he was going behind their backs when he'd done it. But still, the shame and guilt crept into him anyway at Hoss' words. "He still does," he added.

"And your parents are handling it their way," Hoss said. "At least after you, your mom wisened up and tried to be respectable, getting with Kyle. I'll give her that. But sick brothers aside, you're going to find out the truth sooner or later when Simon crawls up on your porch begging for scraps. You're the oldest."

Hoss jabbed his finger into Ossie's chest.

"You're responsible. When your parents aren't here, make sure that filth doesn't get a crumb," Hoss said. "And keep him away from your sisters."

In the room over, Beau began coughing, so loud it rang through the walls, and Grace called out with a groan, "Ossie! He's doing it again!"

Ossie stared at Hoss for a second longer, then shoved past him, going into the room and carefully lifting Beau up so he could breathe easier in a vertical position. He held him as he walked back to Hoss. "What're you doing here?" he repeated again for the third time. For all his words, Hoss had never actually answered the question.

"To warn you," Hoss said. "And because I need you to keep it a secret."

"A secret?" Ossie asked, watching him warily.

"Ramona," Hoss said.

"What about Ramona?" Ossie asked, then paused. He blinked a few times. "You're not..." he began confusedly, then stopped. "You're not saying that Simon's your dad, are you?"

Hoss stared at Ossie and folded his arms, waiting in annoyance.

Ossie shifted Beau absent-mindedly to his other shoulder as he watched Hoss, trying not to break the eye contact. Hoss' stare unnerved him, and it also made him feel stupid.

"He's your father. And Mabel's father. And my father. And Ramona and Ron's father. He's the father of ten other kids in this town," Hoss said. "And he'll be the father of Caelan's younger sibling, if his mother isn't careful."

"Caelan doesn't have a younger sibling," Ossie said, frowning.

"Yet," Hoss said flatly.

Ossie crinkled his face up in disgust. "You shouldn't talk about grown-ups like that," he said. "It's disrespectful."

"You know what's really disrespectful?" Hoss said. "Leaving a trail of kids behind as evidence of where you're been."

Hoss began to stomp past Ossie towards the door.

"I'm not talking about him," Ossie said. "I'm talking about Caelan's mom."

Hoss laughed dryly as he stopped at the door and looked back at Ossie with a condescending smile.

"Grow up," he said. "The sooner you do, the better."

Hoss slammed the door behind him before Ossie could open his mouth again to reply. Ossie jumped at the noise, and Beau, who had begun to doze on his shoulder, awoke with a new fit of coughing. "Sorry, sorry," Ossie said, feeling a little desperate. The conversation had shaken him, and the dream before it had also shaken him, and now, he had a whole day ahead of him with three children who never seemed content, and a brother who couldn't breathe sometimes unless he was being held, and Ossie's arms were already starting to get tired, but the day was just beginning.

In his arms, Beau started crying, and Ossie whispered, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it's okay, I'm getting breakfast. I'm getting breakfast." He rushed into the kitchen, balancing Beau on one of his hips as he used his other hand to balance the pan on the stove.

"I wanna go outside," Beau hiccuped.

"We can't go outside until you eat," Ossie said, and Beau cried harder. Ossie's heart raced in his chest. Everything was spinning, and it was all too much, and he had three mouths to feed without his own, and two hands to do it all with, and Hoss had messed everything up, he'd messed everything up! He could help Beau, but he was choosing not to, and he still came here and acted like he was trying to help Ossie, and Ossie didn't even fully understand why, and he didn't know if he believed him either, but if he did, how many more siblings did that mean Ossie had? How many more responsibilities, how many more things to do?

Despite himself, he felt himself start crying. He hiccuped quietly, and paused for a moment, leaning his forehead against the wall as he took shaky breaths to try to calm himself. In his arms, Beau's crying slowed, and Beau watched him with concern. "Ossie, you okay?" he asked through sniffles.

"I'm okay," Ossie said after a moment, trying to steel himself for the day ahead. "I'm okay."

From the other room, Ossie heard his sisters start screaming at each other, and after a few seconds, they came racing out of the room, with Mabel following Grace, holding a pair of scissors. "OSSIE!" Grace screamed, "Mabel said she's gonna cut my hair!"

Mabel laughed evilly, and Ossie knew she wasn't going to, but he sighed anyway. "Mabel," he said firmly, and Mabel skidded to a halt in her tracks. "No running with scissors. And no cutting hair."

Mabel pouted, but slowly put down the scissors, then turned to Grace. "I'm gonna GET YOU!"

Grace took off screaming, and the two disappeared into the other rooms again. Beau watched them, then said, "Ossie?"

"Yes?" Ossie asked tiredly, turning to the stove again.

"I wanna play with them."

"You can't," Ossie said.

"But why not?" Beau whined. "I never get to play!"

"'Cause you can't, Beau!" Ossie said, raising his voice in frustration. His anxiety exploded, and he felt like the world around him had colors more intense than normal, more vibrant. Sharper. "You can't breathe, Beau, how do you think you're gonna run around?"

Beau fell silent, and Ossie could feel his small body trembling against his. He immediately felt horrible for saying it. Maybe he was an awful person. Maybe, if Simon really was his dad, and he really did look so much more like his mom, then that was what he got from him. Being an awful person. "I'm sorry," Ossie said immediately. "I'm sorry."

Beau's lip quivered, but he said nothing else, and for the rest of Ossie cooking, the house was deathly quiet.



When his parents had gotten home, Ossie had waited until his siblings were in the other room to ask them. He'd waited because he was patient, and also because he didn't want to scare any of them. He also waited because he was scared to ask his mom and step-dad. When he'd finally gathered the courage though, with his mom halfway asleep on the couch and his step-father tiredly sinking down next to her, he'd found the words rushing out of his mouth faster than a moving stream. "Hoss came over today and he told me that my dad isn't dead, and that Ramona and him are my half-siblings, and also that my real dad is gonna come and try to beg for scraps."

His mom blinked awake and rubbed her eyes. "What?" his step-father said.

Ossie took in a deep breath and prepared to start the whole thing again, but before he could, his mom said, "Okay..." She pushed herself to sit up fully on the couch and glanced at Kyle, before she said, "Well, first off, I think it's really important to say that the man who helped make you is not your real dad. Kyle is the one who's helped be your dad in all the ways that matter, and that's way more important."

"So he is alive?" Ossie asked.

His mom hesitated again. "Osmond," she said carefully, "I think we should start with explaining why. Is that okay?"

Ossie nodded wordlessly.

"Okay," she said. "The man who helped make you is named Simon, and he is not a good man." Ossie knew that much--Hoss had said that. "He's hurt a lot of people," she said, "but I didn't want to tell you and make you feel like you couldn't think of your step-dad as your dad."

Ossie didn't understand that as an explanation, but he nodded anyway. Over the next hour, they talked about it more, and they talked more about Simon being not a good man, and how he wasn't Ossie's real dad anyway, and Ossie shouldn't listen to anything he said. Then, the conversation ended with his mom saying the words that sent his thoughts into a tailspin: Don't tell anybody. "Even your brother and sisters," she'd said. "We don't want them thinking of each other as super different or anything, alright?"

Once again, Ossie had just nodded.

'Don't tell anybody' had never applied to Adonis in Ossie's mind though, so he found himself running there as soon as his mother said he could leave. As he drew nearer to the house, he hesitated slightly-- was he just adding more onto Adonis' plate? Adonis already had other kids to look after, and Ossie didn't want to cause any trouble. Maybe he should actually just go home, so he didn't bother him. Before he could turn to leave though, Adonis opened the door. His expression lit up with a surprised smile-- Ossie wasn't normally over at this time of day.

"Ossie!" he exclaimed, before he seemed to notice Ossie's anxiety, and his face softened. "What's going on?"

"Umm..." Ossie stopped, glancing back down the street. "I, umm... well..." Without thinking about it, he slipped a hand into his pocket and anxiously thumbed the small wooden lute. "Can I talk to you?" he said finally, then added quickly, "or are you too busy? Because I don't have to, I can just go home 'cause I know you always have a lot of work and I don't wanna make your work harder or if you don't wanna talk to me, or... whatever..." he trailed off awkwardly, feeling embarrassment coiling inside him.

"I've always got time for you, Ossie," Adonis promised, stepping aside from the door. "Please, come on in."

Ossie glanced at the street one more time before he walked inside, fingers fidgeting in his pockets.

Inside, Juni was at the dining table, pulling the drawstring of her bag tight and slinging it over her shoulder. She turned and grinned when she saw Ossie.

"Ayyy, look who it is," she cheered, extending her fist for the start of the secret handshake that he was finally, finally starting to be fast enough for. Ossie had struggled every other time, but somehow, this time, he managed to do the ten-- fifteen? -- moves in the correct order, and despite his anxiety, he laughed.

Juni whistled, visibly impressed. "Wow, who let the expert get in here? You gave me a run for my money!"

Ossie smiled and giggled a little, then, in a sudden wave of unexplainable embarrassment, bit his lip to stop. He had a bigger smile than other people, and it made him feel weird. He especially didn't like the idea of doing something weird in front of Juniper, who was pretty and had always been nice to him.

"Clearly, this means we must add a couple moves, since you've surpassed me in mastery already," Juni said, then sighed sadly. "It's gonna have to wait though-- I gotta head out."

Ossie took a few steps back and looked away. "Okay. I hope you have fun."

"Sure will." Juni walked out backwards, flashing him another grin and offering Adonis a playful salute before she waltzed away. "Hey, tell Ivy not to torch anything too important!"

Adonis chuckled amusedly as she left and closed the door behind her, affectionate smile turning gentle again when he looked back to Ossie. "What is it, son?"

Ossie felt another wave of anxiety rise into his throat, but he tried to swallow it down. "It's about my dad," he said quietly.

The knowing concern on Adonis's face indicated he'd already guessed it might be this. Wordlessly, he sat down on a couch, gesturing for Ossie to take the other one in front of him. Ossie crossed to the spot and sat down, glancing everywhere around the room except Adonis.

"What's wrong?" Adonis asked softly.

Ossie took a deep breath. "Well, this morning, Hoss came to my house."

Adonis tilted his head. "What happened?"

Ossie glanced away, eyes training suddenly on the floor. "He said my dad isn't actually dead."

Silence fell over the room. He didn't know what it meant.

"I take it he gave you a name," Adonis said quietly at last.

"Simon," Ossie said finally. "He said he's my brother and Ramona's my sister, and that my mom is with my step-dad to be respectable now."

More silence. If possible, this one felt heavier than the first.

"Hoss is right about that, Ossie," Adonis said, with a sadness Ossie wasn't sure he'd ever heard from him before. "I'm sorry."

Ossie looked down at his lap. "I know," he said softly. "My mom told me too." Ossie paused, then said suddenly, "How come Hoss doesn't treat me like a brother?"

Adonis sighed, the sound so quiet Ossie almost mistook it for his breathing. He heard him shift on the couch.

"Family goes beyond blood," he said. "It's more of a choice than most people realize. Ivy and Juni are my family, despite my not being related to them in any way, and that is a choice I made. The same goes for the rest of you kids. Likewise, if a person related to you by blood doesn't feel like family, you don't have to consider them as such. Hoss seems to know this. I may not like his choices, but he's the only one allowed to make them for himself-- just like how at the end of the day, you're the one who chooses your own family. No one can take that away from you."

Ossie hesitated. That didn't make any sense. He'd had his step-siblings from a young age, but they weren't really his step-siblings, they were just his brother and sister. He'd do anything for Beau, even if they didn't have the same dad--but Hoss wouldn't do the same, and he wouldn't help Ossie. The Blue Suns wouldn't help either, and his parents had made it clear he should stay away. It didn't make any sense that Hoss would choose for those people to be his family when they wouldn't help Beau, but even though Ossie had the same dad, Hoss refused to see him as family too. "I don't understand," he said. "Even if I didn't live in the same place as one of my brothers or sisters, I would still help them."

"That's because you have compassion, Ossie," Adonis said gently. "Something in short supply these days."

"But how come everybody doesn't help everybody?" Ossie asked. "It doesn't make any sense. Like how Beau needs medicine, but the Blue Suns wouldn't help, even though Hoss and Juni think they're good. But my mom and step-dad think they're bad. So that doesn't make any sense, because something can't just be good and bad, so they've gotta be bad because they didn't help with medicine. But Juni is nice, and you're nice. So why won't they help?"

"It's..." Adonis sighed quietly again, folding his hands in his lap. "It's complicated, Ossie. The Blue Suns aren't a monolith-- no group of people is. There's room for grays in the black and white."

"That doesn't make any sense though!" Ossie burst out, standing suddenly. "People are good or people are bad, it doesn't make sense for them to be not good but not bad!"

"It might not make sense," Adonis said gently, calmly raising a hand. "But that is how it works. There's a lot of things out there in the world like that, where the reality isn't what you expect it to be-- or what it plain should be. In an ideal world, everyone would be as kind and caring as you, and the idea that someone could go out to cause harm on purpose would be unthinkable. That is, sadly, not the world we live in. Most people live in the difficult in-betweens of character. To make sense of it would take you the rest of your life, if you were lucky."

Ossie sat back down. He hadn't meant to stand up, or to raise his voice. In fact, he felt horrible for doing either, especially at Adonis, who didn't need to talk to Ossie at all, but was just doing it because he was nice. Still, none of it made sense. Ossie didn't have the words to ask the questions though, so he just sat in silence, staring self-consciously at his hands in his lap. Ossie knew that people were either good or bad. He trusted Adonis, but what he was saying didn't make any sense, so Ossie knew that it couldn't be right. But that meant that if people were good or bad, then Ossie was good or bad, and even though Ossie tried to be good all the time, he was having dreams about killing his brother and sisters.

Suddenly, Ossie felt tears pricking at his eyes. He didn't want to be a bad person. He wanted to be a good person. But what could he even do about that? He was just stuck how he was! Was he going to be a horrible person forever? Was he gonna get worse and worse and worse?

He raised a hand to his face and quickly wiped his eyes. He tried to be quiet, but sniffled anyway.

"Ossie," Adonis said softly. "Do you want a hug?"

Ossie pulled his eyes up to Adonis. He hesitated, then nodded.

Adonis moved over to sit beside him on his couch, wrapping his arms around Ossie and holding him to his chest. His arms were warm and strong, and his hand rubbed soothing circles on Ossie's back.

Ossie whispered, "I don't wanna be a bad person." Somehow, that was what broke him, because suddenly he was crying, and he was shaking, and he couldn't stop, even as he tried to.

Adonis only held him tighter.

"You aren't," Adonis promised firmly. "And you won't be, if you keep caring for the ones you love. That's the closest thing to goodness there is in this world."

"But I'm not a good person." Ossie cried harder. "I'm a bad person, I'm a bad person."

"You're a kid, doing your best," Adonis said. "You're not bad, Ossie. Believe me, I know what bad people are like. That isn't you."

Ossie shook his head. "I'm bad," he hiccuped. "I'm evil."

"Why do you think that?" Adonis asked gently.

Ossie let out a small sob. "You'll think I'm a bad person."

"Ossie, this is nothing in this world that could convince me of that," Adonis said. "I promise."

Ossie didn't believe him. Adonis couldn't care enough about him to not let anything change that. That was another thing that wouldn't make sense. Still, he found the words slipping from his mouth anyway. "I keep dreaming about-- about--" He hiccuped, trying to find his breath when it seemed lost. Was this what Beau felt like? He felt trapped. "About killing my siblings." He broke down into another round of sobs.

Adonis kept rubbing circles into his back, letting Ossie's tears soak his shoulder.

"You aren't the same person as who you are in your dreams," Adonis said. "They're really not that telling. You know what I dreamed of earlier this week?"

Ossie shook his head, sniffling several times.

"I dreamed that I was a circus clown," Adonis said. "It was very strange-- I was on a tightrope, high off the ground, and my hands were full. I knew somehow I had to walk forward, but I didn't know how to, and in my struggle I kept dropping things. They'd fall down to the ground, and I wouldn't be able to catch them. No matter how much I dropped, I always had something new to lose." He squeezed Ossie tighter for a second. "But I'm not a clown in real life, am I?"

Ossie shook his head again. "No," he said quietly.

"Then that isn't you either," Adonis said.

Ossie didn't know if he could believe him, but he didn't want to argue either. He was tired now. Really, he was always tired, but especially after crying--besides, even if he was a bad person, it didn't change anything, did it? He was going to watch his siblings anyway because there wasn't any other option, and he'd help his mom and step-dad any way he could, and he'd keep having bad dreams and waking up in the middle of the night to help Beau stop coughing and all the things he did already. Adonis didn't think Ossie was a bad person, but that didn't stop him from being one.

"I dreamed about getting to spend time with my parents," he whispered. "And how I killed them so I could."

"That's not something you'd do," Adonis said firmly. "Because you love your siblings, and you want the best for them. That's not what that looks like."

Ossie stared blankly at the floor.

"Ossie!" a voice called from outside. He recognized it as Mabel. "Mom wants you back!" she yelled. "Beau won't eat 'less it's you."

Ossie felt numb. "I have to go," he said, wiping off his face and turning around to walk to the door.

"It's okay," Adonis assured him, letting down of him and pulling back. "You can always come see me another time."

"Yeah," Ossie murmured as he turned to the door, but he knew he wasn't ever going to talk about this again. He was already a burden on his mom and his step-dad. He wasn't about to be one for Adonis, too.