Chapter 18: Those That Left, and Those Remaining

The poor fellow was now completely confounded. He doubted his own identity, and whether he was himself or another man.

--Washington Irving, “Rip Van Winkle”

           Grace was uplifted. She rode a pony once on a relative’s farm, and little cared for the experience. Riding a griffin was something else entirely. Dr. Bezoar had been truthful when saying the agate would help her fly. It just took a hatching, maturing, and training to reach that point. It felt more than worth the effort.

While Goldtalon had to fledge on his own, his hatchmate taught him to fly with style. Here was the first opportunity to show off those tricks while carrying a passenger. He looped, zipped, and twirled, metallic feathers glinting in late morning sun.

Imprinting did not combine them, exactly. It felt more like their minds flowed, like water poured from one cup to another. (But with no risk of brains spilling.) Grace was both flyer and passenger. Her griffin’s senses were her own. Normally, unfamiliar stimuli overwhelmed her, but with her friend, everything in the sky felt manageable. Still, when Goldtalon eventually got sick from spinning too much, she became nauseous as well. 

This was why her father must have loved planes. If there were gremlins in the sky now, none came to harass the griffin and rider. Their quest was half-finished. Surely there was time for a small family mission, right? Grace tightened her knees around Goldtalon’s middle. She hunched, holding firm to his thick neck.

The griffin had never visited a city—or had any idea how to read street signs—so Grace shared that knowledge mentally. His eyes tracked the quickest route to her grandfather’s house, if they were the same Oberon Ross.

It no longer felt like winter. In fact, it must be spring. Flowers bloomed, for one thing. Insects arrived to drink nectar and spread pollen. Goldtalon was content enough waiting outside. Some butterflies were in need of chasing.

“Hi,” Grace said to the old man who cracked the apartment door right as she rang the bell. In returning to the Dojo for Goldtalon, she put on the green dress O practically forced onto her. The girl was glad she looked clean enough to make a decent first impression. “You don’t know me, but I’d like you to. And um…I’d also like to know you.”

“Who are you, little girl?” His voice sounded dry, like he needed a glass of water. “Where you from? Are you okay? Where’s your mother? If you’re lost, I’m sure she’s worried sick…”

“I’m not lost,” she answered quickly. “Though I’m sure my parents think I am.” Coming out, she realized that made little sense. She decided to explain better, albeit leaving out the more fantastic aspects of her journey. Mentioning magic or monsters was a sure way to convince him she was insane. And she needed him to believe her if he was to search out her mother and deliver her message. The next thing that popped into her mind was “You have one daughter and a younger son.”

He nodded. “Lots of people do.”

“Are their names…Desdemona and Horatio?”

The man stared, then opened the door wide. “You’d better come inside.” While he headed straight to the sink, Grace inspected the room. It felt sad how little the apartment was furnished. Many homes had walls covered in photos. This cramped space had none. There was a wooden table with one chair. A stack of thick books lacking covers lay on the floor instead of resting comfortably on shelves. She decided to stand by the threadbare couch until the owner said it was okay to sit. This also meant she was prepared to run.

“My name’s Grace Grey,” she started. To answer his other questions, she identified the city she was from, confirmed she was “okay,” and agreed her mother must indeed be worried. “Anyway, you’re Mr. Ross, right? I came looking for you.”

“Please tell me you didn’t leave home on my poor account…” The man put down his glass of water. He offered to get one for Grace, but she declined. He sat at his table while she took the couch. “You’re very far from where you belong. How did you know where I was, and why look for me in the first place?”

“Because my mom couldn’t,” responded Grace. “She’s named Desdemona—I never call her that, though—and she had a brother name Horatio and a father named Oberon. Not many people have those names. I can’t think of anyone else with yours.”

“I lost my children,” Oberon Ross put a callused hand to his bald temple. “Please believe—it wasn’t intentional! For years, I’ve known nothing except work and worry. You know, I still think of Dezzie as sixteen. Not nearly old enough to have a daughter of her own.

“I remember listening as my wife (no longer with us) tell our children Anansi stories. My own mother knew some, but in hers they were about a rabbit instead of a spider. Same stories, but a different animal. Have to admit, a rabbit’s cuter, don’t you think?”

Grace grunted to change the subject. “My mom told me a little ’bout where she grew up. There was this terrible storm with dust clouds as tall as mountains. Nobody could farm, or even breathe!”

Oberon shook his head. “Near as I can figure, Oklahoma was always a place forsaken by God. It’s why the U.S. so graciously set up our reservations there. The government said it’d leave us in peace, but whites kept coming, gradually chipping at our property. So-called pioneers lied; said we had no concept of ownership. Maybe not the way they meant it: exploiting the land till only dust’s left over. Seeing the worst coming, my—or our—family cut its losses.”

“I know some of this part,” Grace volunteered. “Mom and her little brother moved east. She went to school and he eventually joined the army. But you went west.”

The old man choked. Finally, he said “In pride, I figured a father’s place was to provide for his family financially. No matter how far he must go to get honest work. Nurturing was the mother’s role, even though Dezzie and Horatio no longer had one. For over a decade, I never was sure they received the money I tried mailing out.”

Grace shrugged. “Enough to pay for a nursing degree. After that, I dunno.”

“Like I said, I lost contact. So much hustle. When you compete for work with thousands of starving, homeless families—white ones at that—well, you do a lot that’s rightly beneath your dignity. Years laboring under bosses who treated out-of-staters more like plowhorses than fellow men evaporated half my ego.

“The rest was stolen by the writers, eager to exploit our trials to sell articles and novels, so subscribers and readers could feel compassionate without ever having to show charity. Getting wealth none of us humiliated workers ever saw one red cent of. I tried saving up, regardless, do whatever it took to find my children. But ironically, the harder a person works in this country, the more debt they wind up collecting. Till we might as well be back in slavery.”

Oberon clearly meant to sigh, but it became a terrible cough. Grace rose to refill his glass. “But…” he resumed, “if I helped my girl educate herself on how to heal others, to save lives, any indignities feel worth it. Please, Grace, tell me more about Desdemona.”

Grace described her family as she could still vividly recall. Nothing endured since being taken to the Ambrosius Institute had the power to dislodge her experiences of safety, home, and love. Even though her family members frequently disagreed. She could not help but grin.

Oberon failed to match her smile, but not for lack of effort. “That’s good,” he said. “What about my son, Horatio?”

This was harder to recall.

Other than some gardening equipment, the only ties she had to her mother’s brother was a set of photo albums including a young man, always wearing a leather jacket, beaming and cradling a pudgy baby she refused to believe was her, no matter what her parents insisted. Honestly, Horatio Ross was a stranger. She had to rely on second-hand reports.

***

“Why,” she once asked her father, “didn’t you ever fly with uncle Horatio during the war?”

“Good question.” Grace’s father had leaned back in his chair. “One I think grownups still don’t have a decent answer for… Those at the top of society always set categories to split the rest of us into, and the majority silently go along with whatever the system happens to be at the time, acting as if that’s the way it always was. Military units were separated back then. Folks like your uncle went to one part of the front, and I went with the Brits.”

At this point in the conversation, Grace’s mother added “Wish I’d been able to nurse my little brother along with your dad, Grace. I’m sure I’d have spotted the sickness before he did. Horatio kept insisting, ‘No civilian hospitals, sis. Quit worrying. The government’ll take care of me. How else would they treat a veteran?’ He was pretty proud that way.” She started fiddling with a dishrag, touching it to her eyes. Grace had never actually seen her cry.

 On reflection, that does not mean it never happened.

***

“I’m sorry, Mr. Ross, but he died.”

“In the war, against Hitler? Knew that boy’d be a hero!” Oberon’s voice exploded with zeal, but the look on his face better matched a wet firecracker.

“Um, no.” The instinct to avoid eye contact came back to Grace. “I mean, he was a hero. He saved a bunch of fellow pilots during this huge battle over a place called Sicily. But he died years after, from a disease that never got treated. I was maybe two or three.”

“The second most frightening idea is a parent outliving their child.” Oberon’s hands covered his mouth while he spoke. “The first is suspecting you have, but can never be sure. ‘Might be’s’ have rattled at the back of my skull for years. Now it’s settled, and it feels like I’m torn to pieces. But I appreciate what truth you’ve brought me today, Grace. I shouldn’t have…well, I guess I did abandon my children. Debt be damned, I should have spent everything I had finding them!”

“Mom wanted to look for you, too. But then she had me.” Grace’s legs fidgeted. “I guess that got in the way.”

“No, Grace. You mustn’t think that way. A child should never feel they ‘got in the way’ of anything their parent hoped for.” Oberon stood. Grace noticed his back curved in an uneven way. He must not be able to work much anymore.

“I’m a sick old man.” He resumed his original position, but now he was the one not making eye contact. “Undeserving of seeing my daughter again. Wouldn’t Dezzie think less of me, comparing this broken version to how I looked when I was still her father?”

“No.” Grace stood, and put her hands on her hips. She forced Oberon to look at her. “Now it’s your turn not to think like that! You left home because you wanted to help your family—I think I’m doing the same, actually. If you could’ve stopped the dust storm, wouldn’t you have?” As she got worked up, she ignored the quizzical look on his face.

“It’s hard to explain if you don’t know about the Astral. Important thing is: I know my mom. It will not matter if you look different than how she remembers. She doesn’t care about anyone’s appearance. It only matters what they do. What you should do now is find her. She’ll be happy to see you. I mean…you’re still her dad.”

This struck Oberon mute for a long spell. At last, he whispered, “How?”

Grace described her city again, providing as much specific information as she could about her family’s address. “Just be careful, Mr. Ross, or…I guess maybe I should call you ‘Granddad.’ Director Ambrosius and his cronies will probably be monitoring them. But they shouldn’t suspect you of anything, so you can tell my family I’m all right.”

Though Grace considered it extremely forward, she embraced the old man. He hugged her back.

“Stay with me,” insisted Grace’s granddad. “We’ll go east together. However you found yourself here, you’re safe now!”

“I’m sorry. None of us are with Ost—that bad bunny.” Grace checked herself about speaking Ostara’s name. She pushed open the apartment door and took off down the steps.

Oberon tried following, but while her legs were not nearly as long, they were spryer, with more years to go before the warranty expired. Outside, she leapt onto the back of Goldtalon, who was munching a pretty orange butterfly.

As they took to the air, the man gazed up. Even from her height, she saw his surprise.

“How are you doing that?” Oberon put hands to his mouth like a loudspeaker. Just as Bennu or Mr. Aitvaras could make themselves unseen, Goldtalon was probably invisible to him.

Grace made her own loudspeaker. “It’s one of my friends I’m traveling with. He’s great at flying. My other friends can do all sorts of things, and I’ve got a sword that heals any injury on Earth. We’ll be fine!”

“Is it magic?” was the last she heard Oberon say.

“Sure, you can call it magic…granddad! I love you, even if we only met today. I’ll see you, and mom, and dad, and Grandmam soon! Once things get sorted out.”

As he already knew the spot, Goldtalon had an easier time returning to Maneki’s restaurant than finding the apartment.

Bennu flew in lazy circles. He took a deep breath of oxygen and combusted into flames. “Ahhh, I’ll never fail to appreciate this after the Silent Forest. Where’ve you been, Grace the Benevolent and Goldtalon the Puissant?”

“Meeting a grandfather I’d never met,” said Grace.

“Chased butterflies,” said Goldtalon.

“Both fine ways to pass the time,” said Bennu. 

Grace’s attention fell to several black vans in the parking lot most certainly not there when she left. On landing, she insisted they enter the restaurant cautiously. The front door was unlocked. They did not require the pass-phrase, but did not know what lay inside, since blinds were drawn. The vans might simply be the owners, returned at last. But Grace had Director Ambrosius on the mind.

Apparently, Director Ambrosius had sushi on his, along with his agents. Maneki and Schrodinger were nowhere in sight, but three burly men wearing black suits and sunglasses sat at a table. Agent Grammery and the Director himself sat at another. None ate, though Grammery submerged a hand in a glass of water.

Grace wanted to flee right out the front door, but heard a familiar humming voice from behind. “Oh no,” she whispered.

“Ben Benny Bennu,” drawled Mr. Aitvaras. “Love the new body. Once I only wanted to capture you for Ostara’s collection. Now I’d also like your gold scroll. From news I stole down at the Croatoan Archives, it might interfere with the mistress’s plan.”

“Sorry, have we met before?” asked Bennu.

Mr. Aitvaras dropped the black hat he twirled one-handed. “Wha…I mean, how could you possibly forget me?” His line of red hair became a rooster crest. His leering mouth morphed into a yellow beak.

Not to be outdone, Bennu’s purple feathers flashed with prismatic fire. “Quick, Grace, you and Goldtalon fly to our friends.”

Grace tried doing just that, but a straight route to the back door put her in Agent Grammery’s reach.

The tree woman dug claws deep enough into Grace’s arm to give her splinters. The rest of Grammery became more tree-like. Her hair was greener than her suit, her skin was bark. When she turned, the back of her head was hollow. Goldtalon tried biting her wrist, but not being flesh, the agent experienced no pain.

“Leggo!” Grace yelled.

“Hush, brat.” Agent Grammery turned to Mr. Aitvaras. If she noticed he was turning into a demonic rooster, she showed no hint of surprise. “You’re the one who brought our spores. It’s aggravating how long we’ve had to chase you.” At most, she sounded mildly irritated.

“This was merely meant as a rendezvous point for my field workers.” Director Ambrosius smiled. He was still too thin to serve for a decent Santa Claus, but the expression appeared genuinely friendly. “What a great couple of gifts, then! You’re the man I flew out to see,” he pointed to Mr. Aitvaras, “but finding our dear Miss Grey is a miraculous bonus.”

Mr. Aitvaras laughed till he cried sparks. “Sir, I may look like a man, but I’m actually much worse. You think your government’s so powerful, but I’ve lived under princes, kings, and dictators. Whatever they’re called, their rules end. Societies die, like the individuals cloistered in them. Money survives. I am immortal.”

“I’ll be present when the sun swallows the Earth.” Bennu’s plumage turned black. “Even that is not true immorality. That is the unquenched energy in every soul who hopes despite a world glutted with misers. That light will exist for times incalculable to you, because you can’t see past your own lust for materialism to appreciate the beauty inside all art and science. To demons, the only thing of consequence is the price-tag on the painting, how the newest medical breakthrough can be marketed to squeeze the most from the sick and poor.”

“You say these things like they’re insults.” Mr. Aitvaras resumed his mostly human shape. “Really, you illustrate why I am great and you are a fool.”

“Better a fool who knows themself than to have a dying ember for a brain!” Bennu laughed. “You didn’t even realize: I was stalling.”

Schrodinger and Maneki jumped on either of Mr. Aitvaras’ shoulders, biting down with needle-sharp teeth. “Yuck.” Maneki spit out a hunk of meat. “Tastes like charred fried chicken.”

Mr. Aitvaras screamed and lolled his head Schrodinger’s way. The demon grasped at the gold scroll around his neck, but the tabby batted him away.

“Enough!” Director Ambrosius slammed his fist so hard it left a dint on the table. “Now, I don’t see through Astral like most of you. I don’t need to as long as I can capitalize on it. See these gentlemen?” He waved to the three agents at their table. “They’ve received my refined strain of those spores Mr. Aitvaras once peddled our way. They know no fear and have no desires beyond faithfully serving this nation. In short, they are ideal citizens. Agents, take out your weapons!”

The three stood and pulled out guns previously holstered in their jackets. With a nod from the Director, one pointed theirs at Mr. Aitvaras, the second at Bennu, the third alternated with the grimalkins. Agent Grammery took out her own gun, aiming it right between Goldtalon’s eyes.

“Okay.” Director Ambrosius rose from his seat, then neatly pushed the chair back under the table. “There are two other changelings once housed at my Institute. My agents will get them back. Then you, Mr. Aitvaras, will answer some questions for the United States government.”

“What about the phoenix, griffin, and cats?” Agent Grammery apparently knew enough about magical creatures to identify them on sight.

“Hmm.” The Director stroked his beard. “I suppose they’d make decent test subjects, if kept under control. But they step out of line—respond with lethal force. We can always dissect the bodies.”

It should be a given Grace wanted to cry. Between losing her friend Chiaroscuro, nearly losing Diana, being forced to hear to her father’s confession while unable to speak, and meeting, then abandoning a side of her family she never knew, she had plenty to fuel a crying fit. None were why she wanted to cry now. At the moment, it was fury.

“If a gunfight breaks out,” Bennu whispered while they were marched out the back of the restaurant, “I’ll take any bullets coming your way. This new incarnation only exists because of you.”

“I’m on either my eighth or ninth life,” whispered Schrodinger. “I’m not as sure about sacrificing myself. But if it comes to it…”

“You don’t remember which?” asked Maneki, a bit too loud to qualify for a whisper. “You’ve gotten sloppy, cuz.”

“Shut up, all of you.” said Agent Grammery. The splinters in Grace’s arm needled deeper. Goldtalon went cross-eyed trying to watch the gun barrel always trained on his forehead.

“I know it’s there!” Director Ambrosius kicked a trashcan. “I’m not going home without Miss Levinson and…the other one. Mal, you can see into the Astral world, right?”

“I prefer not to,” Agent Grammery bent like a marionette with all its strings cut. “Your glamour all but fooled me,” she said to Grace. “However you learned to mold clouds, the clone made a big, wet mess. You and your bratty little friends will regret embarrassing me that way.”

“I’m guilty of that, actually.” Schrodinger sidled up. “Why not make me regretful instead?”

Mr. Aitvaras sauntered down the drive like a pistol was not pressed against his back. His suit was identical to the one worn the night Bennu’s ritual was performed, which had been merciless ripped-up by corvids. It was well tailored, significantly less shabby than what the agents had on. Daylight played on his mostly bald scalp as he twirled his hat on one finger. He pawed a random trashcan. The plastic melted. He removed his almond shades and made a piercing glare into thin air. Evidentially failing to spot anything, he started sniffing.

“I came here by tracking the smell of my compatriot, the Aniwye.” Mr. Aitvaras glanced sidelong at Grace, Bennu, the grimalkins, resting an extra moment on Goldtalon. “Now I think of it, if you’re still alive, you must have taken him out instead. Congratulations! I always hated having to split commissions with the brute. Admittedly, he’s not as bad as the spider, trying to regulate trade from beneath its trapdoor…”

He sniffed again, putting his palm against air like it was a wall. Which became a door. A gun to his back forced Mr. Aitvaras to enter Yokai-Town first. Everyone in the tense group eventually passed, Director Ambrosius last.

Grace stepped mechanically, circumventing a giant pawprint that must have been left by the Aniwye on its rampage to the Dojo. The stalls and shops looked undamaged, though, reopening as proprietor’s lunchbreaks ended. The afternoon market was abustle.

“Help, oh no. There’re humans in Yokai-Town!” Mr. Aitvaras screeched and flailed his arms, naturally drawing the resident’s attentions.

“Shoot him,” Director Ambrosius muttered to the gunman holding the demon.

“See? I’m about to be executed in cold blood!” Mr. Aitvaras’ eyes blazed wide like the fireball batted around by ogre baseball players in the distance. The gunman looked far stronger, but Mr. Aitvaras was faster, and snatched the pistol before it could go off. His touch melted metal.

“What’s more, they’re not even here to buy anything!” A wave of heat expanded from Bennu’s increasingly dark plumage, singeing his own gunman. The fungus-infected agent had not been ordered to feel pain, however, and did not recoil.

Grace caught on. “People, er…things of this town, what if they came after your families next? They might seize you from your homes!” For a moment, she managed to struggle out of Agent Grammery’s grip, but the woman quickly reclaimed her.

“Oh right.” Schrodinger’s voice traveled far for such a small animal. “We forgot to mention—they’re G-men!”

An even number of heads with an odd number of eyes stared at Director Ambrosius and his followers. Those creatures dreamed up by the Japanese immigrants who once tried making that state home clawed, pawed, crawled, stepped, knuckled, hoofed, lunged, leaped, floated, waddled, danced, and oozed closer. The snapping turtle in the zoot suit and the monkey with a snake tail were at the head of the crowd.

 “Didja hear that?” The monkey motioned to his fellows. “Boys and girls?” His mummified face was all-grin. “…And whatever Umibozu isssss sssssssuposssssed to be,” added the snake growing out his backside.

“G-men. Just the sort of people emptied out our sister city.” The turtle snapped his fingers so hard the arm fell out its socket. “Anyone else thinking ’bout payback?”

A fox bared her teeth. Her nine tails wagged. “This is a marketplace. Everyone pays eventually!”

 “Even with a pound of flesh.” A three-eyed giant had broken from his game. He still held the huge spiked club.

Agent Grammery was not a regular human like her allies. Little help her changeling nature did for them—because on spotting the ogre, her place was taken by a tree! If one failed to spot the transformation (and it occurred very fast) they would swear the sapling beside Grace had been planted. No explanation for the torn green clothes knotted around the trunk.

“What right’d you have to take our people away?” A snow-skinned man poked a finger at one agent’s chest. The spot frosted over. The black-suited man impassively stared straight ahead. 

“Someone was nice enough to let me ride in his navel,” said a blue badger. The storm cloud following him thundered. “Soldiers loading him into a train. He hasn’t come back since!”

“I miss the children,” The voice of the part-elephant, part-tiger was somehow both soft and deep. Unlike the others, it was not threatening the agents, but sat in the dust. Fiddling with a multilingual sign. “They had bad dreams worse than adults. I was always happy to gobble their nightmares so they’d rest easy. Won’t they come back?”

An old woman headbutted Director Ambrosius, then wrapped her rubber neck around his body, covering his mouth. Because the agents exposed to spores were not told to feel fear, they lacked the rational instinct to madly dash away from a horde of angry creatures. For that, they would have needed orders, which the Director was now restrained from giving.

The agent whose pistol wavered between Schrodinger and Maneki had that hand clutched by an octopus-shaped shadow. Ink splattered him. Seven spare tentacles tied his legs.

A weasel wagged a sickle fingernail. Two others were with him, all so similar they might have been triplets. Like a circus act, they formed a triangle with their bodies, somersaulting onto the agent Mr. Aitvaras disarmed.

By the bathhouse, a mother covered the eyes of her infant. Or would have if he had them. The baby had no facial features whatsoever.

Grace hardly needed a second thought before leaping on Goldtalon’s back. She called Schrodinger and Maneki, who sprung up. Maneki seemed happy, though Schrodinger complained about heights. Bennu flew in tandem. None knew where Mr. Aitvaras escaped.

“Oh, Bezoar loves the bazaar!” In the middle of fights breaking out, Dr. Bezoar crooned a goat song while heating a pot whose contents produced soap bubbles. Leaving that to boil, she put a fruit shaped like a human head on a chipped porcelain plate. A rusty knife sliced it down the middle.

She shared the contents (similar to watermelon) with a squat creature resembling a raccoon. He let go of his blinking umbrella, which immediately shot into the sky.

Atop Goldtalon, Grace waved to the satyr. There was no time to chat. Even if the Director managed to order an attack, the Dojo was the most fortified place in town. But she had no intention of staying.

The first she took stock of on arriving was Fox and Diana trying on clothes from O’s closet. Diana was finally out of bed, but had to base all fashion choices on tactile qualities.

“But do the colors clash, Tate? You need to tell me these things!”

While pulling a sweater over her new trousers, Fox shrugged. Forgetting the gesture would mean little to a blinded person.

Grace stole a moment to catch her breath, then “We need to leave! Now!”

“What’s happening outside?” asked Diana. “I hear…chaos.” 

“That’s the sound of battle.”  O nodded. Her long nose wobbled.

Fox had to turn to keep from staring.

The turtle monster tramped in. His zoot suit was scuffed. Under one arm, he carried Director Ambrosius, who, while thin, was in no way a small man.

The monkey scampered in, carrying the turtle’s fallen arm. Pillars of black smoke poured out of every one of his orifices. The both shared a laugh.

“Look boss, we got you a genuine human!” The turtle bowed so low a trickle of water moistened the brim of his hat.

“Why am I here?” Being held upside-down flushed Director Ambrosius’s cheeks red.

“You are present, my good man,” O rose from where she held her afternoon tea, “because I have plenty free space now my baby birds have flown off.” She bent her knee to get a closer look. Her head turned to its fully crow state. Those intimidating black-to-blue eyes proved unreadable.

“Enjoy your cozy stay in Yokai-Town, Director.” Mr. Aitvaras waltzed right in. Literally waltzed, with a playful twirl and bow to an imaginary dance partner.

“I’ve a cage reserved for you too, Aitvaras.” O turned. “I don’t forget debts.”

“To be paid another time,” answered Mr. Aitvaras. “Perhaps after I get this fat tabby’s shiny gold scroll.”

Schrodinger swore at him.

Mr. Aitvaras tut-tutted. “Naughty talk, grimalkin. Unbecoming of a scholar, and why I cut your tongue out the first time.”

Schrodinger hissed. “First time? That implies there’ll be a second.”

“That was my intent…” Mr. Aitvaras was interrupted, because Schrodinger pushed into him just as Maneki tripped him from behind.

Without eyes to scratch, Schrodinger clawed up pretty much every other part of Mr. Aitvaras’ face. He got so close, though, the demon was able to snatch the scroll. Spurred rooster claws burst through well-polished shoes as Mr. Aitvaras sprung up.

Realizing the grimalkins, Bennu, Grace, Goldtalon, O, the turtle, the monkey, and a fully-dressed Fox forming a circle around him, Mr. Aitvaras stuttered, “Well, a…anyway, Ostara will surely be interested in this little trinket! Slipped out the hands of one of two special guests held in her palace. An old pal—Iron Will.”

Schrodinger bristled, preparing to strike. But Mr. Aitvaras half-flew, half-ran dead into the continuing melee in Yokai-Town. All the while, his features became more avian. His suit was left behind.

“Eh, I can check that item in latter,” Schrodinger said to the room in general. “No point maintaining a library if there’s nobody to read there.” He sat on Diana’s vacant pillow, explaining what happened for her benefit.

Fox helped her into clothes that did not stink, then brought Grace her bag. “I plundered specimen jars from the medical cabinet.” The older girl faced a wall while speaking. “Some hold sap, one has Goldtalon’s eggshell, another Bennu’s feather. Also, some water, bandages, bits of first aid…” 

“Good idea,” said Grace. The bejeweled handle of Ridil poked out the leather flap. The bag felt heavy, but not unbearably so.

“Whatever.” Fox crossed her arms. “So, we’re leaving soon?”

As Yokai-Town was no longer an ideal place to rest, Schrodinger shadowboxed the interior of the medical closet. The companions followed at their own pace. Bennu entered the dark after saying goodbye to Maneki. The fork-tailed grimalkin left to watch over her restaurant.

Fox pushed Diana through.

Goldtalon whined for Grace to follow. Instead, she turned back. The turtle and monkey were hoisting a thick chain attached to a cage barely big enough to hold Director Ambrosius. Whatever misery he caused her friends, Grace hoped he would be freed eventually. A decade seemed appropriate. She thought of the three agents he infected with zombie spores.

Before, they might have been perfectly nice men simply working for the government. She lugged Ridil to where they had been tied up. She understood only a complete recipe could entirely cure the Root of All Evil, but the blade on its own should accomplish something, right?

It would not hurt to test, at least. She waved it above their faces. In flashes of red so dark they became brown, the agent’s eyes cleared a bit. All started cursing Grace, threatening to shoot her once they got free. She left them to whatever justice the citizens of Yokai-Town thought up.

The medical bay was collapsing into itself. Bed folded like paper. It seemed now the Dojo had no patients, that wing was unnecessary. The last remaining piece was the dark closet.

O inspected her silky robe. “I still think I’d be the perfect mother to you, G. And, I suppose, a perfect grandmother to the griffin.” But not some musty hag with empty candy wrappers in her pockets, but no actual candy. A glamourous grandma…” She continued fussing like that, but smiled (as much as one could with a mouth that was half-beak).

The tengu’s waving was the last thing Grace saw before the door closed itself behind her.