T H I R T E E N

Memories Feel Like Weapons

 

Persephone Chase was six years old again. She was in Auntie’s house again, trying on her amazing clothes again, when Summer opened the door and found her again. The kind adult took her to the mirrors again, snapped a Polaroid again, let her shake it again. Persephone asked about her tattoo again, and Summer took her out of Auntie’s closet and into the kitchen of her childhood home again.

Persephone’s mum, Dylan Chase, was there baking and consulting the Chase recipe book again, but behind him was someone who hadn’t been there the last time Persephone had this dream. Auntie Elle leaned against the kitchen table, dressed in a black skirt and a shiny, billowy red blouse; her arms were crossed, which pulled the blouse up a little, exposing a hint of midriff. Though she feigned disinterest, Persephone noticed her sneaking a hungry glance at the pastries Mum was inspecting.

But then Mum looked up at Persephone and smiled. “Persephone!” he said. “You haven’t been making trouble, have you?”

Persephone shook her head. “I was playing dress-up!” she said. “Wanna see?” She held up the photo for him.

He plucked it out of her hand and peered at it for a moment longer than she’d expect, then fixed her with a smile. “So pretty! Did you have fun?” he asked.

“Yeah!” she said.

“And do you like wearing clothes like these?”

Persephone nodded eagerly.

Auntie Elle giggled. “Well, Dylan, seems like this one’s getting an early start.”

He glanced at her. “No rush,” he admonished her mildly. “She has all the time in the world. Still...” He looked at the pastries, then snapped the journal shut. “I think they can finish without me. Persephone, would you like to swing by the store on the way home? Get a couple new outfits? Anything you feel like wearing, as long as it fits.”

“Yeah!” Persephone said with a grin.

“Great. Just one more thing to do before we leave…”

 

2024 January 1
Monday

It was unseasonably toasty for Duncraven Castle in January. The drafty old fortress, with its stone floors and retrofitted radiators, was usually chilly in the winter, but this morning Persephone was feeling remarkably cozy even with the duvet half-kicked off.

Then she opened her eyes to the wintery light creeping around the curtains, saw a headful of short black hair and a shoulder tattooed with vines, and remembered: She wasn’t in Duncraven; she’d probably never go back there again. She was in Summer’s flat. She was out. She was free.

(And also technically homeless. But she tried not to think about that.)

Not only that, but she had Auntie Elle back in her life. Her godmother had left the gala before they did, but she’d sent her car back to give Persephone and Summer a ride home. The driver—a middle-aged cis woman named Grace who’d greeted Summer by name—had given Persephone a white business card. One side bore the words ‘Grace Lively—personal assistant to Elle Lambert’, as well as a phone number and email address. The other had nothing printed on it, but written in an elegant, compact cursive that Persephone recognized as Auntie Elle’s handwriting were a different phone number and the words “my mobile”. Persephone had quickly tucked the precious phone number away in her new purse.

After being driven home—and after carrying the green gift boxes containing Persephone’s discarded tux up the many, many stairs to Summer’s flat—the two of them had carefully taken off their dresses and hung them in the closet, put on pajamas, removed their makeup, and fallen asleep almost instantly.

Yesterday, Persephone had been a closeted trans girl with a hated uncle stuck in a hostile home. Today, she was an out trans girl with a supportive godmother moving towards independence. It was a huge change of fortune—2024 was looking to be an incredible year.

And it was all thanks, of course, to the woman sleeping peacefully a few inches away.

Persephone had gotten incredibly, impossibly lucky by being introduced to Summer. She was kind, she was knowledgeable, she was resourceful, and she had all sorts of unexpected talents. Who would’ve thought she’d have all the skills she’d need for a high-society party? From a girl who could also do electrolysis, give shots and draw blood, beautifully dress and make up not only herself but also girls who had barely left testosterone behind, juggle an enormous in-person social network, practically administer talk therapy, hold an impressive amount of liquor, and make Persephone’s brain go blank every single time they kissed?

Did every trans elder have a skill set this versatile, or had she just lucked in to meeting trans Mary Poppins?

And did they all have shoulders that looked this kissable? Because Summer’s smooth, soft skin was right there, gently rounded, broken only by two thin cami straps and the curve of her neck…

Down, girl! she told herself, and tore her eyes away from Summer. Okay, maybe she should do something else. Start the day. A shower! In the bathroom! On the opposite end of the flat from the bed! That would do the trick.

She rolled out of bed, headed for the bathroom, and wondered how exactly she was going to survive waking up in her crush’s bed every morning.

 

* * *

 

Summer awoke to a colder, emptier bed than she’d expected this morning. She briefly wondered where Persephone had gone, but concentrating, she could just barely hear the shower running. Fair enough; judging by the light at the edges of her curtains, it was probably creeping past noon.

Summer picked up her phone and checked her texts. There was only one:

Tabby:
Hey. Is Persephone okay? Apparently Stephanie was chatting with your girl last night on Consensus, but she disappeared in the middle of the conversation and didn’t come back.

She quickly typed a reply.

Summer:
she’s fine
phone got erased
she’s staying with me indefinitely, so best behavior if you call

Tabby:
OK.
Steph said she got outed last night? And Elle was there too? Sounded like a shitshow.

Her stomach churned as she remembered her suspicions from last night. Elle had read Summer’s reports on Persephone—the reports Tabby had encouraged her to file in Dorley’s systems. Had Tabby lied about the reasons she was suggesting it? Was it Elle’s idea from the start?

But how do you say something like that? Hey, bestie, you didn’t trick me into helping a chaser, did you? Not the sort of thing you just ask. She’d have to figure something out eventually.

Summer:
i’ll file the report later
but shitshow is an accurate description
did you know that persephone’s uncle was involved with grandmother???

Tabby:
WHAT?
Like, Dorothy Marsden?

Summer:
yeah
he was creepy as fuck, too
even when he thought i was cis, he still looked at me like i was a piece of meat
and when he figured out i wasn’t, he got even worse
they kicked him out for it

Tabby:
No wonder Aunt Bea asked me about that care package.

Summer:
elle mentioned that
what’s the deal with it?

Tabby:
Just a few things to help you out.
No overnight shipping during the holiday, so we sent it by courier early this morning.
Should be there pretty soon.
Aunt Bea wanted me to dig up an old Christmas present I never got to give you so she could include it.

Summer was about to ask what she meant by that, but before she could start typing, she heard a knock on her front door. She tossed off the duvet, threw on a dressing gown, and padded over to answer it.

Wait—Elle had said they were probably safe for a few days. But what if she was wrong?

Summer looked through the peephole and saw a redheaded guy with a cardboard box in one hand and a phone in the other. He was wearing a black jacket with…okay, that was a Peckinville logo. She checked that the chain was engaged, then opened the door enough to talk

“‘Ello, luv,” the guy said. “Delivery for Miss Summer Nesbitt?”

“That’s me,” Summer said. “Can I see some ID?”

The card the Peckinville guy handed over looked like the ones she’d seen back in Almsworth, so she closed the door and then opened it properly. The guy had a more sophisticated way to check her identity: he held up his phone and took a photo of Summer’s face. It apparently was comparing her to a file photo, because it chimed happily and he handed over the box. “Careful—it’s a bit ‘eavy.”

It wasn’t too bad, but it certainly wasn’t just a box of chocolates. “Cheers,” Summer said. “Sorry you had to slog all the way up to Scotland on a holiday.”

“It’s fine,” he said, waving a hand. “Overtime pay’s worth it, I get to sleep in a ‘otel instead of barracks, and I can pick up a bottle of good scotch before I ‘ead back in the morning.” He turned and waved, calling back over his shoulder, “‘Appy New Year!”

Summer closed the door and listened carefully. Good, the shower was still running. She headed to the bedroom, set the box on the toy chest at the foot of her bed, opened it with a pair of sewing scissors, and started digging through the packing peanuts.

The first thing she found was a brand-new phone, still in its original packaging. Probably to replace Persephone’s dead one.

Next, some sort of internet-connected video camera. There was a short note with a list of settings taped to it; looked like they’d tie it into the security room’s systems. Well, if Dorley was offering to watch Summer’s back, she was more than willing to let them.

After that was…a rather large black handbag. It looked slightly used—probably something from Dorley’s storerooms, occasionally borrowed but always put back. Summer shrugged and set it aside.

Finally, at the bottom of the package, she found a smaller box of some sort wrapped in red and green paper. After unearthing it, Summer checked the card:

25.12.17
To my sister Summer:
I’m proud of how far you’ve come these past few months. And though there’s still further to go, we’ll be with you every step of the way. You will always belong here, no matter what.
Love, Tabby

Christmas 2017. Two weeks before she had left Dorley Hall; two weeks after she’d told Tabby she was going to resign.

That Christmas, Tabby had given Summer her first two mugs: the ‘If you don’t have a sister, make one’ and the ‘I can fix him’. Housewarming gifts for her move. This box must be something she’d gotten before that, when she thought Summer would stay at Dorley Hall instead of quitting before the 2016 intake had graduated.

The road not taken.

Summer carefully set the gift down, running her fingers over the slightly faded paper. She listened carefully; Persephone was still in the shower. That much hair probably took forever to wash.

After a moment’s hesitation, Summer ripped off the paper.

Under the wrapping paper was a black plastic case, perhaps a third of a meter wide and not quite as tall. She flipped the latch and swung it open.

The inside was padded with black foam. Nestled in it was something shaped a bit like a gun, but much boxier and made of plastic, black with yellow highlights.

It was a taser. A two-shot sponsor’s taser. Except Summer immediately noticed that it wasn’t like quite like any of the other tasers at Dorley Hall.

Summer picked it up gingerly, tears in her eyes, her hands trembling.

After she’d lost her dominant index finger, Summer had needed to re-learn all sorts of skills involving her hands. Typing, handwriting, electrolysis, and even sex had to be done differently now, and it had taken time and practice to adjust.

But the tasers were something she’d never figured out how to adapt to. Dorley’s tasers were all right-handed, with a custom thumbprint sensor grafted to the left side. Even left-handed sponsors were trained to shoot with the right hand—tasers were used at such short ranges that imprecise aim wasn’t really a problem. But Summer couldn’t reach the trigger with her middle finger, and she couldn’t unlock it with her left hand, so she simply hadn’t been able to carry a taser after her injury. It wasn’t the reason she had quit sponsoring, but it had contributed to the feeling that after everything that had gone wrong, she no longer belonged at Dorley Hall.

But Tabby had found a solution to that. Because unlike every other taser Summer had ever held, this one had a thumbprint sensor on the right. It was meant to be held in her left hand, the hand Summer could still use.

And that wasn’t the only customization: instead of an embossed manufacturer logo, the grip was wrapped in flowering vines that had been hand-painted in green, pink, blue, and white. Just like the vines and flowers on Summer’s arm.

In its own way, it was the most personal, thoughtful gift that anyone had ever gotten Summer. It must have taken weeks to get and hours to paint. And when Summer had announced a decision two weeks before Christmas that made it no longer appropriate, Tabby had quietly put it away and given Summer some of her other most cherished possessions instead.

Summer didn’t need to ask Tabby if she’d kept something from her. She’d forgotten how much her sponsor loved her.

“What’s that?”

Summer gasped and looked up sharply. Persephone had a pink towel wrapped around her chest and was using a smaller red towel to dry her hair; Summer hadn’t noticed her arrival.

“Sorry to startle you,” Persephone said.

“It’s okay,” Summer answered. “I got lost in thought.”

“So,” Persephone said, “what is that thing?”

“Oh!” There was little point in lying; Persephone had already gotten a good look at it. “It’s a taser,” she said. “Elle’s worried about your safety now that you’re living here full-time; she wants me to be able to defend you.”

“Oh. Do you…do you know how to use it?”

“Yes,” she said simply.

She could see Persephone struggling with the urge to ask for details, but she’d promised not to pry into Summer’s past, so she didn’t. Instead, she said, “Summer…are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’ve been crying.”

Summer touched her cheek. It was wet—she had been crying. “Sorry. Didn’t notice. It just…” She stopped; there was no way to explain it properly. “It reminded me of someone.”

Persephone hesitated, but eventually nodded. Instead of asking for more details, she stepped into the closet and started looking at her meager wardrobe. “Let’s see, I have…an incredibly expensive dress, a tuxedo, a Halloween costume, the boy clothes I arrived in yesterday, and like, three girl outfits. I think I might need to go shopping.”

“Not today, though,” Summer said. “The shops will be closed.”

“True.”

“You thinking boy clothes or girl clothes or both?”

Persephone walked out of the closet in a fitted pink t-shirt and a pair of jeans. “Girl clothes.” She crossed to Summer’s mirror and looked herself over. “Honestly, Jesse can burn my old clothes for all I care—I’m done boymoding.”

Summer smiled. “That’s my girl,” she said softly.

Persephone whirled to look at her, blushing, then suddenly seemed to decide that she needed to look anywhere else. “Oh, is that a new phone?” she asked, pointing at it.

“Yeah,” Summer said. “Elle sent it for you.”

“Great.” She snatched it up eagerly. “I guess I’ll go set this up.” She walked out towards the kitchen. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Please!” Summer said. Her gaze returned to the taser in her hands; then she shifted her grip to hold it properly and lifted it.

The grip fit her hand like they were made for each other, the solid heft inspiring a sort of confidence she hadn’t felt in years. It felt like the very first time she’d held one. Like she’d never left the Hall.

She put the taser in the new purse—it was big enough to conceal the weapon, which was probably why they’d sent it—and picked up her phone.

Summer:
it’s here, and i just opened it
i don’t know how to thank you, tabs
except in the usual way
so i guess i’ll do that

Tabby:
You’re welcome, babe.
I just wish I could’ve been there to see you open it.
Back when I got it, I was sure you were going to cry.

Summer touched her wet cheek again.

Summer:
you were right

From the other room, she heard Persephone shout, “Does the idiot who made these jeans think women don’t have phones?”

 

* * *

 

It took Persephone several hours to set up her new phone, sign into the accounts Uncle Albert hadn’t deleted, reset all of her passwords, and remove any other means of access for her uncle. She’d been lucky—her photos, contacts, and emails were all intact, as was her Consensus account. On the other hand, all of her social media accounts—not that she’d used them much—and payment methods were gone. If it weren’t for Summer, she’d be penniless.

She would also occasionally rub the side of her foot against the opposite leg of her trousers. It felt nice.

While Persephone reconstructed her digital life, Summer made bacon butties for their brunch, washed some dishes, spent a while typing on her laptop, re-packed a backpack she kept in her coat closet (she told Persephone it was her “go bag”, whatever that meant), and finally dug out a power drill and started using it on the door.

Persephone pulled the business card out of the purse she’d used last night and entered Elle’s number and her assistant’s into her contacts. Then she sent her a text.

Persephone Chase:
Hi, it’s Persephone. Thank you for the new phone! Everything’s all set up.

No answer was immediately forthcoming, so she stuffed the new phone into her jeans pocket as best she could, walked over to where Summer was working, and leaned against the wall next to the doorframe, watching her work.

Summer had drilled four holes in the door around the peephole and lined up some sort of white plastic box with them; now she was using a Phillips-head attachment to drive screws into the holes. The warm electric lighting played over her soft cheeks and the bared muscles of her arms as she worked, painting them in shifting shades of yellow.

I would rather see her lovely step
and the motion of light on her face
than chariots of Lydians or ranks
of footsoldiers in arms.

She really had it bad for this girl, didn’t she?

“What is that?” Persephone asked.

“A security camera,” Summer said. “It can see through the peephole into the hallway and alert me if someone’s there.”

“I didn’t know they had those,” Persephone said.

“Me neither, but I guess some of Elle’s people did.”

Persephone hesitated, but decided to bite the bullet—she needed to know. “What’s the deal with you and Auntie Elle, anyway?”

Summer switched to another screw. “I used to work for her.”

“At your old dormitory, I know.” Summer stopped the drill and raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “I was telling Stephanie what happened last night and she told me about the connection between the three of you. That Stephanie works at your old dormitory, and that Auntie Elle is, like, their biggest donor or something.”

“That’s right,” Summer said, and she gunned the drill again.

“But that’s not what I’m asking about. It sounded like Stephanie barely knows her, whereas you have a history with her. Don’t you?”

Summer stopped the drill again, cocking her head as she thought. “Yeah,” she said, “Yeah, given—“ she gestured in a vague circle with her free hand; Persephone took it to encompass their ill-defined relationship status, “—you should probably know.” She lowered the drill and leaned her shoulder against the door, facing Persephone. “Nine years ago, before I was on staff, Elle and I went on a date.”

“A date? One date?” Persephone said.

“Yes. One date.” Summer paused, apparently thinking through what to say. “It was on New Year’s Eve too, actually, in 2014. An event very much like the one we went to last night, but in London, not Edinburgh.”

“Wait—when you said you were ‘arm candy’ for someone, it was Auntie Elle?”

“Um…” Was Summer actually blushing a little? “Yes?”

“That’s wild! I thought you were talking about a man!”

“I thought it was going to be a man!” Summer said. “It was sort of an obligation; I wasn’t actually expecting to have a good time. But it turned out to be Elle, and, well…we actually had a lot of chemistry. Like, a lot of chemistry.”

“I noticed,” Persephone said with a giggle; Summer stuck out her tongue.

“Unfortunately,” Summer continued, “the chemistry blew up. We left the party to head back to the hotel, and got to talking about things, and we…discovered an incompatibility.”

“What kind of incompatibility?”

Summer hesitated. “Sweetheart, do you really want to know the details of your godmother’s sex life?”

“Ugh, forget I asked,” Persephone said, making a face.

“So, that’s where we left it,” Summer said. “There are good reasons why we aren’t involved, but the attraction is there anyway.” She pushed off the door, lined up the drill, and got it going again. “That’s what you saw last night.”

“Okay.” That made sense of things; there were a few gaps in the story still, but Persephone wasn’t sure she wanted them filled in.

“What about you?” Summer asked, pausing her work again. “I mean, you know her through your parents, yes. But how did they meet her?”

“They actually both knew Auntie Elle before they knew each other,” Persephone said. “Mum met her at uni, when he was studying for his doctorate and she for her bachelor’s. He was presenting as a butch bi woman at the time; they tried dating, but they didn’t click, so they became friends instead. And then Auntie Elle introduced him to this openly bi second son she’d chatted with at a few society events, and the two of them worked a lot better.” Persephone giggled. “Dad said he was actually more surprised to have ended up with a wife than a husband!”

“Huh. I guess I have Elle to thank for you, then?”

“I suppose so.”

Just then, Persephone’s phone beeped. She wiggled it out of her pocket to take a look.

Elle Lambert:
Wonderful.
How are things today?

Persephone glanced at Summer, but she had returned to her DIY work.

Persephone Chase:
Good. We slept in, so we’ve just been puttering around the flat for a couple of hours.
But since I’m not going back, I did shave my legs for the first time today!

Elle Lambert:
Congratulations!
All of the little milestones in a woman’s life are worth celebrating.
I’m so excited to see you grow, my dear.

Persephone Chase:
Me too!

The noise from Summer’s drill had stopped. Persephone glanced over; she had put it back in her toolbox and was poking at her phone, probably trying to set up her new camera.

Persephone found herself looking around. Summer’s toolbox, Summer’s door, Summer’s sofa, Summer’s table, Summer’s plants covered in Summer’s fairy lights. Summer’s flat. At some level, it all reminded her: She might be welcome here, but it wan’t her home. She didn’t have one.

“I guess I should start looking for a place.”

Summer glanced at her. “No rush,” she said. “It’s a holiday, and yesterday was really intense. You can start looking tomorrow.” Summer took her hand, and Persephone relaxed a little, allowing the black-haired woman to lead her to the sofa. “We should do something fun together—something we haven’t done before. Like…how about I braid your hair?”

 

* * *