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Please Hold- Nothing is Deceiving- Messes

"A pleasure," Saturday replied automatically, hoping her voice didn't convey the deep disgust she felt.

Emily turned back to Arthur, as if this pleasantry was all was required to appear socially couth to humanity, and smoothed back some of the boy's hair. He shivered at the touch but didn't protest. "Bob, dear, why hasn't Arthur had a haircut? It's getting a bit long, don't you think?"

"Sorry," Bob said, and chuckled. "Arthur says he wants to put it in a ponytail. Told me it'd look 'Victorian.' The kid's obsessed with the era, Em. No idea why."

Saturday had a very good idea why. "Uh, Arthur," she called.

Arthur faced her, expression inscrutable. "Yes?"

"Could I speak to you for a minute? About your upcoming test?"

Arthur sighed, nodded, and followed her into the kitchen. Saturday shut the door behind them, then muttered something that made his teeth ache and a feeling of numbness attack the tips of his fingers for a moment before it ran away. "What was that for?"

"I wanted to make sure she can't hear us," Saturday answered.

Arthur took a deep breath, knowing exactly what would come next.

"You know that's a Nithling," Saturday said, "or something else entirely. That's not your mother."

Arthur shook his head.

Saturday scowled and took the boy firmly by the shoulders, as if to shake the foolishness out of him, but the second she touched him, blue sparks bounced off her hands and around him. She drew her hands away, shaking them at the pain, and he winced. "Ouch." Then his eyes widened and he said, "There's a- that looks like-"

Saturday nodded.

"What do I do?" he cried. "How did she get here?"

"Look, I've listened to you tonight," she said. "Waiting to attack the Gardens has taught me patience, so as much as it has hurt, I have consented to you tonight and did not touch the phone to the House, and nor did I have a reason. But now someone's got to ask the New Architect what in the Universe is going on here, and if you're not going to make the call, I will."

"But maybe she-"

"Are you still under a spell? Those aren't supposed to last past a breaking, or be recast. She isn't, and you know it."

Arthur sighed, bit his lip, and said, "Yes, I do." He did know, but some part of him had never given up hoping. He looked back at Emily from a break in the wall, out of the corner of his eye. Before, when presented with illusions, this usually broke it, such as with the pirate Feverfew. For a second, her appearance did not change, but as he kept at it, his eyes watered, and he sneezed, blinking. The Emily in his gaze wavered. He bit back a gasp, though he had been prepared.

Emily's dark, unwavering obsidian pupils now took up the entire eye, and her hair was bright, almost shining. Her skin was paler than moonlight, with strange patterns of black adorning it, veins of darkness that gave him the impression that vines had crawled up along her arms, legs, neck, and parts of her face, curling on her cheeks below her abysmal eyes. It still resembled his mother but subtly wrong, inhumanly beautiful and terrifying all at once. She looked nothing like the misshapen Nithlings, and she was, he had to admit, aesthetically perfect, almost like a superior Denizen. Nevertheless, she wasn't human. That much was clear.

"You call," he said. "Say you need to use the bathroom- it's right next to my room, so they won't bat an eyelash."

Saturday agreed.

"I'll cover for you," he added, "but don't take too long, or they'll get suspicious."

They walked back into the living room, and the Not-Emily said, "Forgive me, Arthur, I've been gone so long! I suppose I have lots of things to catch up on. You have a tutor now?"

"Yes."

"I'm Susan," Saturday said. "I live down the street."

Emily smiled. "Do you like this neighborhood?"

"Oh, yes. It's quite… pristine," Saturday replied. She hated the place, but whatever.

"Hey, Mom!" Arthur cut in with a glance at Saturday. "Where've you been these past couple of months?"

"Wandering about. I'm not sure exactly where… er, I have this funny memory of gardens and green-skinned men… but it was probably a dream. I must've sustained a head trauma or something…" She looked around and crinkled her brow in confusion. "Did you remodel?"

"No, the house got destroyed," Arthur said, which was close enough to the truth. It had been taken by Lord Sunday and shoved into the Gardens as an exhibit, with his mother still inside and looped. It had shared the fate of the House and the fate of his real mother- instant dissolution via Nothing. Sometimes he wondered if the spell holding her to repeat her motions over and over, unaware that time had stopped ticking for her, had somehow been broken before she died, and she was struck with terror as she realized that not only was she no longer on Earth but also about to die.

At least it had been quick.

"I should probably get going," Saturday said. "Uh, could I use your bathroom first?"

"Sure," Bob said.

Emily frowned.

I wonder if she can tell I'm not human, Saturday wondered as she tread up the stairs. It was difficult to restrain herself form tearing up the stairs in a sprint. And does she know about Art? Does she suspect Arthur and I aren't fooled?

Saturday reached Arthur's room and ran the last couple yards, closing them in record time. She ripped open the velvet case and pulled out the plastic phone, the surface unnaturally smooth beneath her fingers. Unlike the phones of the Old House, this was more modern, a one-piece instead of the Graham Bell-like phones to which she was so accustomed.

"'Ello? Operator 'ere," said a whiny, nasal voice the second she held it up to her ear.

"Get me the New Architect," she snapped, only a little bossily. It felt so good to tell a Denizen- though he was of the New stock- what to do!

"Say 'please.'"

That startled her a bit. "What? Why?"

"Them's the rules."

"Fine. Get me the New Architect, please," she amended, greatly irritated. In the Old House, no one would dare stop her for something so trivial- her call would be put through right away, and woe betide anyone who tried to make it any different!

"Who's calling? Not everyone can call him, what with him being Lord of the Universe and all."

"Superior Saturday."

"Never heard of ya."

"Give him the call before I start shouting," she hissed, but the operator wasn't listening. She heard him say something like, "Said she was Saturday, but Saturday's the doc, innit?"

The reply was lost.

"Puttin' ya through to Doctor Saturday, ma'am, er, Saturday," the operator said. "Please hold."

"No, don't give me-" she began, but was cut off by some too-cheery hold music. Great. The New House has updated phones and, of all things, hold music. What a real improvement.

She rolled her eyes, and a voice said, "Yes?"

"Who're you?" she demanded. "Look, I'm short on time and I need the New Architect."

"You're not Arthur, so that must mean that when they said Saturday they meant…"

"Yes, I'm not Arthur! Why would I be Arthur?"

"You're using Arthur's phone."

"Really? I had no idea!" she seethed. "Stop wasting my time!"

"I'm Doctor Saturday, formerly known as, ah, Doctor Scamandros," the man at the other end said. "The operator said something about Saturday, so I assume you to be the former Lady Saturday."

"Former my foot. Yes, it's me. Give the New Architect the freaking phone!" she exclaimed. For claiming to have learned much patience, it was wearing a bit thin.

"Yesl well, I wasn't aware you were saved as well."

"How were you?" she said.

"A long story. I'm sure the New Architect could speak to you about it later. Um, is there a reason for this call?"

"Yes, I'd like to ask him over for biscuits at my apartment," she said with false sweetness. "What did you expect? What are you, some kind of fool Supernumerary? There's a Nithling in his- er, Arthur's- home that looks like his mother!"

"Oh. Well, that seems urgent."

Saturday nearly smashed Arthur's komodo nearby, that was how irritated that one sentence made her. How simple-minded was he? When the ridiculous hold music returned, it was even more tempting to bash that stupid model's head in, but she pinched her arm to restrain herself.

"Art here," said a voice that sent a warmth flooding through her body. A sorcerous voice, with magic of the kind that flowed through her own blood, resonating inside of her. Good, Old House magic. "Saturday, is it? You used magic out of the apartment."

"Yes. About time I got you. There's a good reason for that spell! There's a Nithling or something, I'm not exactly sure, that looks like Emily Penhaligon and has her memories. I assume it does, at any rate- it seemed to recognize Bob and Arthur and acted a bit too nonchalantly to not have any."

"Well, my hands are a bit tied here," Art's voice replied, a bit peevishly. "I would send the doc, but his presence might be inimical, and you'd have to wait several days… today's Wednesday, and he can't show up until Saturday…"

"This creature's presence is inimical!"

"I'll think about it- I don't like interfering. But good move tutoring me! Or Arthur. Whatever," Art continued. "Keep an eye on me- er, Arthur- and the whatever-it-is. I'll investigate, maybe Lady Sunday would have an idea what to do…"

And he hung up, the phone melting into red fragments of falling light. Soon they were swallowed up by the yellow glow of the room provided by the light bulb in the ceiling, fading into oblivion.

Drat! I want to strangle him, she thought. That was nowhere near satisfactory, but she was acutely aware that if she tried calling again, she'd tarry too long for her excuse to cover her actions. Sighing, she slipped back down the stairs.

Arthur and Emily were nowhere in sight.

"Where's Arthur?" she asked.

"He and Emily went to get some late dessert," Bob said. "They wanted some one-on-one. Understandable, really. He wanted to say goodbye, but… well…" Bob shrugged.

"Yes, understandable," Saturday agreed. "I'm going to head home. Could you tell Arthur to give me a call when he gets home?" She scribbled her number onto a piece of scrap paper and handed it to him.

"Sure," Bob said. "See you."

"See you."

She exited, sighing at the rain that came hurtling down. She opened her umbrella and held it above her head, closing her eyes for a second and listening to the patter of the drops onto the raindrop and the surface of her umbrella. She was already forming theories on Emily's 'resurrection,' and what she could possibly be or want.

First a Nithling attacks Arthur, and now we've got this Spirit Eater-like version of Emily. These strands are all knotted, and I can't see the pattern…

Tuesday looked up as she entered the apartment, then went back to his writing, which Saturday realized was a job application. That was good- they needed more money anyway. She was a bit surprised to see Monday filling one out as well.

The kitchen was deathly quiet. Saturday frowned, sighed, and made up her mind. She strode to Wednesday's door, rapped on it four times, took a deep breath, and smashed her foot against it.

"Ooowww," she said as Wednesday opened the door. "I think we need a new knock."

Wednesday peered at Saturday, then at the new dent in the door. "Told you," she said. She motioned for the other Day to enter and sat down at the edge of her bed, hugging her knees to her chest. There was a strange look in her eyes, an emptiness that made Saturday shiver for several reasons, mainly out of familiarity- that was how her own eyes had looked, before they took on an icy sheen that may have had to do with slight madness. Something was wrong with Wednesday. "What? Here to gloat? You were right, okay? It was a disaster."

"What was?"

"My date," Wednesday sighed.

"That's not- well, what I'm trying to say is… er, I mean…"

Wednesday stared at her.

Saturday took another deep breath. "I'm sorry about trying to stop you from seeing Mr. Ronne," she said, then winced, as if it had been a great, painful effort. "I guess… I guess I still feel the need to have some sort of control."

"Oh." Wednesday nodded. "Apology accepted."

It was easier to apologize for the simpler things, Saturday decided. She still hadn't apologized for turning on Wednesday about the Will. She wasn't sure she felt any remorse about that, either. She had done what she thought was right. It was selfish of Wednesday to put her own hunger in front of her Denizens, in front of the Universe and the House…

Stop it, Saturday chided herself. You can't blame her. You weren't yourself for a while either. I'm still not myself. …Am I?

"I'm a bit confused," Saturday admitted. "Everything's a jumbled mess. There's something inhuman in Arthur' home, work is terrible, I can't be in the same room as Sunday now without being deeply embarrassed… Do you remember when we were in the House and we imagined ourselves as mortals?"

"Yup. We were jealous."

"For some reason, it seemed better in our dreams," Saturday sighed.

"Everything's better in our dreams," Wednesday replied. "That's why they're dreams."

Arthur mentally reviewed everything he knew about Nithlings as Emily drove, the inside of the car getting alternately bright or dark as they passed the street lights, the car's headlights burning into the blackness ahead. Dessert alone with something that wasn't human and might be a Nithling.

"What're you in the mood for?" Emily asked.

"Fisn 'N Chips," Arthur replied. His mother loved the place.

Emily frowned. "For dessert, though?"

"Yeah." The place had lots of salty fare, and he remembered what Scamandros had said about the Skinless Boy, a Spirit Eater: …it would not eat salt voluntarily…

"I like their crepes," Emily replied, "and their ice cream. Sure, buddy. Whatever you want."

Arthur slumped in his seat. He hadn't expected the thing to know his mother had loved their crepes or ice cream. Was she like a Spirit Eater, her touch giving her access to Arthur's memories, letting her learn more about the woman she was pretending to be?

He checked over his hands, pulling up his sleeves to peer at his arms. No grayspot. He was going to roll up his pant legs, but Emily shot him a withering glance. "Calm down! You're distracting me!"

"Sorry," he said. "I'm itchy." Then, to validate his story, he scratched his arm vigorously.

"Don't scratch it, you'll make it worse," Emily admonished.

"Hey, Mom?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Why haven't we waited for Michaeli to come home first?"

"In theory, she lives at home, but in practice…"

Arthur chuckled, despite himself. Emily used to say that all the time…

"Does Michaeli have a boyfriend?" Emily continued.

Michaeli spent most nights at her boyfriend's, something Bob didn't approve of but made no real moves to discourage. "Yeah," Arthur answered.

"Is she spending the night there?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

Emily's grip on the wheel tightened, her black eyes narrowing with displeasure; she had always been the stricter parent, more rooted in the 'conservative family values' that she believed were the keys to a functional family. Bob's more liberal, be-your-kid's-friend approach sometimes butting heads with her I-am-the-parent-you-are-the-child ideology, but Arthur found that they often mediated each other in a way that resulted into a very balanced parenting method.

"Well, enough about Michaeli," Emily said after the silence became unbearable.

"Is she in trouble?" Arthur asked.

"Well, yes, but I want to hear about you. Any news?"

"I'm homeschooling."

"Oh, right, because of the raid…" Emily said. "How's eighth grade?"

"Fine."

"Are you lonely?"

"I text Leaf and Ed. We meet up on the weekends."

"Leaf and Ed, huh? Maybe you could invite them over sometime."

Not with you there. "Maybe," he said.

Emily pulled into a parking space. A large neon sigh depicting a grizzled captain holding a fish greeted them as they ran into the restaurant to avoid the chill. The inside of Fish 'N Chips was dimly-lit, lame jazz music saturating the air. The place had a scent of salty, fried food lingering around it. Emily wrinkled her nose but didn't complain or give any other sign of adverse reaction.

The restaurant was neither nearly empty nor full, at the comfortable level of patrons, filling the air with a pleasant chatter. As a result, they were seated quickly near a window, and Arthur sat opposite the doppelganger of his mother.

Emily took Arthur's hand. He shivered- it was ice cold, with little warmth to it. "Arthur, I'm sorry you had to go through so many changes," she said, "but I'm here with you now. It's just us. Arthur, is there something you want to tell me?"

Half of me is the Lord of the Universe, and you're supposed to be dead. My tutor used to be one of my mortal enemies, and she's supposed to be dead too. She's not human, and neither are you. I have a phone that links me to the House, the Epicenter of the Universe, and I can talk to my other self, who's no doubt trying to find out how to kill you because you're supposed to be dead.

Arthur shook his head. "Nope. Nothing."

Emily frowned. "Arthur, I know you. Something's up. Are you sure? Nothing you're hiding?"

"Absolutely sure. There's nothing." Arthur sat up, not able to look her in the eye. A lair. She might develop a lair and hide her lifeblood there, probably part of Mom's coat, I've noticed it was torn. I'll need to find it, but until then, I'll have to pretend… but what if she's not a Spirit Eater? What do I do?

"Arthur?"

"There's nothing, okay?" he snapped.

The ferocity of his answer surprised even him. Emily pulled back, a hint of a hurt expression on her face, and lapsed into silence. Arthur had to wonder how this creature so perfectly and creepily mimicked and matched his mother's personality and reactions. For example, this current look of pain was very convincing.

Does she really care, or is she pretending too? Arthur wondered. If I find out how, will I be able to kill her? Darn it, this shouldn't be my problem. I could just pretend. It'd be so easy to just pretend, and everything could go back to normal…

"Monday."

"Yes?" He smiled. "What is it?"

The Architect frowned. "Your work is subpar today."

"Oh." He shrugged. "I'm sorry. I tried."

"Try harder."

"Of course."

She studied him for a second. "Are you all right?"

"Just a little tired, that's all," he said, stifling a yawn. "I pulled several all-nighters this week to catch up on my work."

"I see… Monday, I have something ask of you."

"Yes?"

"Who do you find attractive?"

What a ridiculous question. "No one," he answered truthfully. "Why?"

"I am wondering what makes Denizens fall in love," She replied.

"Why?" he repeated.

"I am having… issues… you might say," the Architect said. "Anyway, enough about that, Monday. I expect tomorrow's work to be up to standards."

"Yes," he agreed, trying to keep the hurt off his face. He always worked hard. Just because it wasn't like the higher ups' didn't mean it wasn't good or quality. Was he not good enough?

Monday snapped out of his daydream and yawned. How like a mortal, he mused. Yesterday's meeting was a hasty thing about the creature in Arthur's home, but now the lull had settled back over the apartment. Tuesday had finished installing the new door, Wednesday was tentatively back into the kitchen, Saturday was at work, Friday was job-hunting (true to her suspicions, she hadn't gotten the last job she'd applied for), and Sunday was strutting around in his room, making speeches to his mirror about who-knew-what. Thursday was out enlisting in the military, and about time too, in Monday's opinion. The Day needed something active to do or he fell apart at the seams.

Monday shrugged. He was fine doing absolutely nothing productive, but perhaps he should make an effort to accomplish something. He stood and walked over to Tuesday, now known as the Tenement Handyman after he'd fixed not only the door but a power outage and several broken items. "Let's go out," he said.

"Where to?" Tuesday said.

"I dunno."

"Did you finish your application?"

"For being a mattress-tester? Yes, I did."

"Well, I'm one of their top candidates for the bank," Tuesday replied. "It seems this fake identity I've created myself is quite learned in economics."

"Wonderful. I'm bored," Monday said.

Tuesday nodded. "Me too. Say, let's deliver lunch to Saturday; Wednesday always cooks too much anyway."

"But Saturday's at work. She doesn't eat lunch anyway."

"It's an excuse to see the place," Tuesday shrugged. "I'm curious. And I know she doesn't eat lunch. She probably works through it. I'm surprised she hasn't been promoted yet, she's such a giant suck-up."

Wednesday frowned, exiting the kitchen holding a plate of curried rice, but didn't say anything.

"Are you going to eat that?" Tuesday asked.

Wednesday blushed. "Y-yes. Why wouldn't I?"

Monday noticed her gaze drop to the floor. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!"

"Don't get so flustered. I didn't mean it that way," Tuesday said. "Geez. We're going to take lunch to Saturday."

"Go ahead. You know where she works, right?"

"Yes, we do. Truman Legal Inc., right?" Monday said. "I remembered her saying it."

"Yeah, that's the place," Wednesday said, and dashed away.

The fork was right in front of her lips, but she just couldn't… she couldn't…

She wanted to so badly, but she couldn't.

"No," she said, hand trembling. "I'm going to do this." Then she took a deep breath, stuck the food in her mouth. She chewed slowly, and swallowed.

There. That hadn't been so difficult.

Now all she had to do was force herself to repeat the motion.

Susan was in a meeting.

With one hand, she filled out what she was required for the meeting, and with the other, transcribed it. At first, the speakers had been surprised to see the new hire was ambidextrous, but several weeks and the novelty had worn off. She was an oddball, with her strange hair, weird manner and composure, and never tried to make friends or even small talk with the others. She seemed perfectly content to remain in her own little enclosed world, and was even nicknamed 'Ice Queen' by some of the meaner co-workers.

When some blonde man with black highlights and a strange redhead burst into the meeting, disrupting the presentation about something no one really cared about, Susan covered her head with her hands and groaned.

"We brought you lunch!" the black-haired man exclaimed.

"Excuse me," Susan said, and exited.

Caroline frowned, watching her exit. Caroline was senior secretary, and wasn't ignorant to the fact that Susan was a much better one than she was. It was no secret that the boss was thinking of switching Caroline and Susan's positions, and it had only been a couple of weeks!

Susan was too perfect, Caroline decided. The woman had a law degree, a major in paralegal studies, lived with six friends, was composed, professional, and had an air of command. This made her Caroline's rival immediately.

Caroline slipped after her, hiding behind a vending machine as Susan talked to the others.

"Monday!" she screeched.

Caroline frowned. Monday?

"Mark, remember?" the man- Monday- said. "And Tim?"

"Right, sorry. I forget. I'm in a meeting, idiots!"

"We didn't know," Tim said patiently. "We thought you'd like some lunch."

"You know I don't like to eat lunch," Susan retorted.

"You haven't eaten anything for a while," Mark-Monday said. "And you've been avoiding everyone. Something up?"

"Saturday-" Mark began.

"Susan! I thought you were the one telling me about the names," Susan said.

"I thought you said you weren't a Susan," Tim chuckled.

"I'm not."

"So, is something up or not?" Mark said.

"No, nothing."

Even Caroline could tell that she was lying.

"Is now the time to tell you a mortal's watching?"

Susan frowned and stalked to the vending machine. "Caroline."

"Hello, Ms. Rella," Caroline said nervously.

"You are lucky you didn't hear anything important," Susan sighed.

"So, do you want this lunch or not?" Tim asked.

Susan snorted and grabbed it out of his hands. "Get out of here before I incinerate you."

"Yes, ma'am!" both of the men replied, and skittered off.

"Shouldn't you be in the meeting?" Susan said to Caroline.

"Shouldn't you?" Caroline said back.

"Do not tell me what to do," Susan hissed. For a second, she seemed a little taller, her eyes brighter and more vivid, and she was more stunningly beautiful. That was another thing about Susan- she was far too beautiful. Now that Caroline thought about it, the other two who had just left were exceptionally good-looking too. Her voice seemed to resonate, having a strange tinge to it that wasn't an accent but definitely set it apart. "I am not to be ordered around by a little mortal."

Caroline shrank a bit under her gaze and blinked. Then Susan was suddenly the normal, slightly-better-looking secretary that didn't socialize around the water cooler like everyone else.

"Let's get back," Susan sighed.

"Of course." Caroline shrugged. "Do you know Emily Penhaligon?"

Susan eyed her. "Yes. I tutor her son. Why?"

"My son is dating her daughter Michaeli."

"What a small world," Susan muttered.

"Yes, the whole family is quite happy to have Emily back. We all thought she was dead, you know."

"I wasn't in town during the raid," Susan replied. "I just moved here. I wasn't aware of Mrs. Penhaligon's disappearance until yesterday, actually."

"It's strange, isn't it?" Caroline said.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I think it's odd someone would move into town after a nuclear raid, and Emily shows up soon after."

"Please," Susan scoffed. "As if several weeks is soon after. Are you suggesting I had something to do with this?"

"No. I'm just saying."

"Well, maybe you should learn what to say and what to remain silent about," Susan said, and then whispered something that Caroline didn't catch but made her teeth ache.

She opened her mouth to protest, but found no sound coming out.

Susan's eyes widened, as if she'd just realized what happened, as if she'd done something wrong by accident. But there was no way that Susan could have taken away her voice.

…Right?

A/N: Hoped you liked it! More on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday next chapter- they've been neglected the past few chapters, poor souls.