Chapter Fifteen
Still crouched in front of him, Tag pivots on the balls of her feet to put her back to Jaune. He watches, anxious, as the hem of her shirt comes up.
"It's right above the small of my back," she says, "you see it?"
"Yeah." he answers unsteadily. The collection of symbols and glyphs that make up the sigil form a circle just bigger than his palm, but all of it looks haphazardly...carved into Tag's skin. Some of the lines showed signs of staggering, unsteady starts and stops. If Cinder made it, chances are that was intentional, so Jaune doesn't feel a need to ask about it. "So?"
"Just...be quick, okay? And try not to break up any of the lines. It has to stay whole or Cinder's going to come running."
"She'll probably do that anyway."
"Fair enough, but this way it won't be as soon." she swallows loudly, shifting on the balls of her feet and gripping her shirt in both hands so tightly her knuckles whiten. "...I'm ready if you are." she exhales.
He looks down at the knife in his hands, his lip between his teeth and his brows knit tight enough to hurt. "I don't know if I can do this."
"You've got to." she counters quickly. "I trust you. It'll be just like shaving cold butter."
"I really hate that mental image." and yet he somehow manages to grip the handle, moving forward in spite of himself. His hands tremble even as he gently presses the calcified edge to her skin. "I don't-,"
"Please, just fucking do it!"
"Okay, okay!" Jaune takes a breath and holds it. Then he bears down.
Warding takes an uncanny amount of unshakable focus, which Cinder is presently having to make a conscious effort to keep. Her mind is trying to go in several directions at once, nervous ticks from thought to thought that she's only somewhat able to work around. She hasn't botched a ward yet, but that first mistake feels but a breath away.
It really feels like time is running out. The anxiety buzzes through her, makes her hands shake a little as she draws on the inside of the front gate with her own blood. The markings hidden in her skin still burn, and it's only gotten worse over the last few hours. That damn Schnee is still alive, and is likely headed this way. If it's Willow, that could prove to be a...problem to say the least. Cinder knows she doesn't have time to prescribe against her, or any White Witch at this rate, as this ward is taking so long to finish. But it's worth it, she convinces herself, more than worth it.
Because Cinder knows she can handle almost anyone who may try to stop her, anyone except Raven, and she snarls silently as her finger drags out the Huntmaster and her twin's name in crimson Malphasian glyphs. With that completed, the sigil glows, waxing powerfully with a low hum as it courses throughout Tinksylvan before vanishing from sight. This gives her a little more confidence, pushes her to work a little faster. She needed this all to be ready before Emerald returned.
How long had she been gone?
Cinder lays a few traps in the courtyard, invisible seals that would prove to be a nasty surprise for anyone stupid enough to come through the front door. From there she heads back inside, barring the main entrance and putting a simple lock spell over it, and starts towards Emerald's lab. There were a few more preparations to make, such as the select few more traps she lays on her way.
In the library, down in the alcove, Cinder approaches the still crackling hearth. Without hesitation she'll kneel down in front of it, all but climbing into the roiling flames within. She pushes the logs aside, flames growling in protest as she digs through the plentiful collection of ashes and coals to the firebricks below. She feels a shift of energy beneath her hands when she touches it; the Cornerstone, hidden in a place that -realistically- only she had unhindered access to. With her nails now like proper talons she pushes them into the seams of the stone, heaving it upward with one punctuated jerk of her whole body. A heavy, grinding lurch, then another as she pulls the relic from its hiding place and props it atop one leg in order to start negotiating her way out of the hearth. She almost topples over, but manages to gracefully save herself and rise out of the hearth like a phoenix fresh from its nest. Smoke and embers flutter around her as she heads up and out of the alcove.
There's a trick stone near the bottom seam of the wall, half hidden by a bookshelf that Cinder's able to prod with the tip of her boot to trigger the hidden mechanism. There's the churn of gears, of grinding stone as the wall opens up to a yawning darkness. Once she has the needed clearance she steps into the shadow of the revealed corridor, her amber eyes flashing in the same instant that a pair of torches burst to life. A few more do the same as she advances, the passage opening up into what appears to be just another portion of the library, though the bookshelves here are concealed behind heavy iron panels and wards. There are two reading podiums in either hemisphere of the room, for convenience, and a stone altar in the center. Though it appears that everything in here is untouched and pristine, it is quiet the opposite. This room had to be regularly cleansed, physically and magically, to undo whatever was left behind by the various nefarious activities that took place here.
Cinder hauls the stone across the room to the altar, setting it on top with surprising care. She even goes so far as to dust it a little, though it does nothing to alter it's appearance of a mundane bit of masonry. But she knows better, can feel what it is, and can almost taste her freedom.
There's a healthy clip to her strides as she leaves the chamber, walking through the library to return to the hallways. It was time to fetch the Scribe. Surely Emerald would be back any minute and they could begin. She wonders if he'll still resist with his offspring's life in danger? Cinder can't help but be curious about the ins-and-outs of potentially torturing a child -she's never done it before, so...maybe Neo would have an idea. Where had she wandered off to, anyhow? It feels like it's been days since she'd seen her...
Cinder feels a sudden, sharp spark of static roll up her spine, a sensation that takes her by surprise but is not unwelcome. That should be Emerald now.
The further along she goes to find her associate, following that blossom of energy to its source, the more something unsettled grows under her skin. She's always been one to trust her gut, but she can't understand why it is raising the most gentle of alarms. Was she just being paranoid, seeing as how everything seemed to be turning to shit in the last few hours? Yes, that's likely it. Cinder lets the little confidence set in, even when she passes the dining hall and finds it empty, the Scribe not sitting where she last remembers. Maybe her Gatekeeper had a stroke of good sense and put him to bed.
But that confidence shudders when that energy she had been following leads her directly to the Scribe's room. Why would Emerald come back here? Why not her lab? Why not...was that blood she smelled? Her pace quickens until she reaches the unexpectedly open door, stepping inside with her brow knit and lips set in a half snarl. All she can see is the Scribe laying on his side in his bed, apparently asleep. She can smell it; that's blood, sure enough, but where was it coming from? It's in this room, damn it, but there isn't so much as a drop anywhere. And the static of magic still hangs in the air. What the hell is going on?
Patience now perilously thin, Cinder makes three long, anxious strides to the bed and grips the human by his shoulder, jerking him onto his back, and is barely to get out the first syllable of the question perched on her tongue before the word is shredded on a vicious shriek of shock and pain.
Jaune had been faking it, clutching the bloodied blade in one hand with it tucked between his folded arms. Pointed down, he used the momentum of Cinder's demanding pull in tandem with whatever strength he had to spare into one desperate, hard stab. He felt it pierce soft flesh, felt a rush of hot air across his whole body, and winced hard to cover his ears at the resulting scream. He doesn't have a moment to feel or think anything about what he'd done, as a clawed hand tears into the front of his shirt before Cinder rips him from the bed and to the floor. Linens and his pillow come tumbling behind him, revealing the patch of intact, freshly carved, marked skin that had been tucked away beneath them.
Cinder's eyes bulge, alight with flames and rage. Her teeth are curling into tusks, her horns rising just a few inches, and smoke coils between her teeth as she puts together the pieces of this fresh mess she's discovered. The knife in her side -by the gods, only one person could have made it- draws her gaze for but a few blistering seconds, long enough for her to take measure of the golden scales that are now slick with blood within her fist. Black smoke and embers billow out of her mouth as she slowly withdraws the blade, letting the pain ground her, pull her out of her furious dismay. No, this was really happening, this man had wounded her, and she had been betrayed.
She'll switch the knife to her other hand, freeing up the one that now glows white hot at the talons before she presses it to the wound. Sliced flesh hisses and cauterizes, sealing up with the stench of charcoal. Then she turns on the Scribe with a deep hiss, eyes narrow on him but no less fierce. She's got him by the shirt again, her talons burning away cloth and making him sweat within seconds.
"What have you done?!" she growls. "Where is my Gatekeeper?!" Because she recognizes that bit of skin on the floor, recognizes her own glyph work.
He can barely lift his head, and he sputters on an attempt to laugh.
She jerks him closer. "Answer me!"
"She's safe now." he forces out. "And you're in deep shit."
"Is that so?"
He coughs and grins. "My mother is coming for you. You can bet on that."
"Hah!" her toothy smile is startlingly genuine. "The Nikos family can't even begin to stand against me!" A half blind Seer, a Necromancer, and a Summoner are hardly an army.
"Oh, so you went through my wallet after all? Well," he grabs her heated wrist in both hands, using the leverage to fully lift his head so he can look her in the eye. "Nikos is my married name."
That wicked smile dies like a snuffed candle.
"Arc is my given name. My mother is-,"
"GYPSY-FUCKING-ARC!" tongues of fire curl around her teeth as the Witch's name rings through the fortress, Cinder punctuating those cursed words with a fierce swing of her arm that hurls Jaune towards the door -his head coming this close to smacking the wall. Now her mind is swamped with the words of the Oracle, of Salem's warning, and an ever growing panic over the absolute absurdity of all this going so, so wrong.
But there's no time for panic, no time for a fruitless fit of rage. There's no time at all.
Cinder stalks out of the room, hardly pausing long enough to snatch Jaune by the leg of his pants and drag him along behind her. And even though it hurts, the stone grinding against his nerves through his shirt, he can't help but wear quiet satisfaction on his face. Cinder was going to lose, he could feel it. All this would be over soon, and maybe he and Pyrrha could be together again when it ended.
Cinder leaves a trail of smoke in her wake as she practically stomps through the hallways, meaning to return to the ritual room in the library. She can feel the sigils in her skin buzzing, a pain she's accustomed to for all the times her rage has pitched this high, but coupled with the closing proximity of that Schnee out there somewhere, it's only wearing her patience that much thinner. She'll be less than gentle with the Scribe when she returns to the altar, hauling him up and dropping him atop it next the to the stone, half of him slouching over the edge. If he slips to the floor, so be it. She'll leave him, confident that he's simply too weak from the fever to do anything but lay there.
Cinder is in the meager shadows of the corridor between the ritual chamber and the library when she feels a pop of static, a fresh charge from the markings down her back. Someone just crossed planes. She lingers in the half-dark, listening, somehow knowing someone else was in the library now.
Emerald is struggling to catch her breath even now. She shakes, her knees threatening to knock together from the leftover adrenaline and fear still pushing through her. Her glamor shudders and almost falls, allowing her fleeting, staggering seconds of seeing scales and talons on her hands. The blood still rolling down her leg is cold and starting to stick. She'd had to hide for so long, long enough for anything that might have come hunting for her to lose interest, at least until the tonic masking her scent began to wear off. She has no idea how long it had actually been.
She had stumbled through the portal into her alcove, welcomed by the heat and light in the hearth, but she doesn't stop to warm herself. Instead she stumbles to her work table, trembling hands going for cabinets and drawers. She isn't concerned about getting infected; lamia were immune to such things as lycanthropy and vampirism, but the pain is terrible. And she had to stop the bleeding.
Emerald jerks a drawer open, various junk shifting forward with a punctuated ruckus. She freezes and feels the distinct vacancy of blood in her face. Something was missing, and it wasn't what she had initially been looking for. Part of her wanted to scream, suddenly feeling more fear than pain.
"You're back."
Emerald jumps with a gasp, her grip on the handle of the drawer probably the only thing that kept her from falling on her ass. She pants for a few seconds, trying to gather the courage to look up and face the devil above her.
"Where's the child?" Cinder's questions comes languidly, smoothly, impossibly calm around tusks and smoke. She stands at the upper ledge above the alcove, hands folded behind her.
"It...I...everything went wrong, Cinder. I tried, b-but," how could she make a good enough excuse? What the hell was she supposed to say?! "I had no idea...what I was walking into."
"Gypsy Arc."
Emerald swallows hard and finally looks up, hating how her glowing eyes holds her attention like a steel trap. "H-how did you know?"
"The little bastard just told me. Gypsy is his mother." and the last word grinds out of her chest and into the air with sparks.
"A-and there was more, it was like walking into a trap. There was a Shaman, and the Nikos' Sentinel, and a kirin, and that lycan is alive-and-," she sputters, feeling the fear trying to throttle her, "I had the baby in my hands-," and she cuts herself off when Cinder raises a clawed hand to shush her.
"It's all right." Cinder hisses. "Neither of us could have known."
"...You're not angry?" because she certainly looked like it.
"I'm furious. But...we don't really have time for a tantrum, do we?"
"...W-what do you mean?"
"My Gatekeeper is gone...that Schnee is undoubtedly on her way here...and Gypsy Arc, well, gods only know what she's likely to do to us." and, albeit briefly, she can't help but fancy a thought as to where Glynda Goodwitch might be at this moment. "We need to work faster. You'll have to make the Scribe alter the stone."
"I don't know if I can. I...I've lost a lot of blood. The lycan."
"I see." Cinder's brimstone eyes thin. "Here, I'll help you."
Emerald can hear her instincts screaming in the back of her mind -DON'T DO IT, IT'S A TRAP, SHE KNOWS WHAT YOU DID, DON'T LET HER ANYWHERE NEAR YOU- but she knows she can't do anything except try to continue selling the illusion she's improvising every second. She makes herself move, makes her still shaking hand rifle helplessly through the mismatched items in the drawer as if there was a purpose to it, all the while watching Cinder make her way down into the alcove in her peripherals.
Emerald can feel the heat as Cinder draws closer, can hear the Efreet breathing in spite of how even a quiet it is. She knows when Cinder is standing right over her shoulder.
"What are you looking for?" she asks, calm, casual.
Emerald shoves the drawer closed. "S-something for the pain."
Cinder just nods. "Then let me do something for the bleeding."
Emerald doesn't have the chance to convince her otherwise. Before she can even begin to think of something say, Cinder snatches her by the hip and spins her around, then shoves her against the table until she's perched on her heels. Then there's claws in her, pulling the edges of the jagged bites in her side before the burning heat surges through her. She tries to scream, but reflexively stops when Cinder reveals what had been behind her back this whole time. The edge of blade presses up under her chin, cutting by degrees as she shivers through the pain.
Pitch black smoke spills over them as Cinder growls. "You made a vendetta. Just. For me." Part of her is so tempted to follow through, to etch Emerald's throat out, knowing it would regenerate due to the weapon's magic. It could only kill it's intended target, but for anyone else, it would do everything but. But she satisfies herself with watching her suffer so quietly, somewhat impressed. When Cinder knows the wound has closed, she'll draw back the fire, but maintain her grip.
"I. Trusted you." she rumbles, just loud enough that Emerald might hear her over her panting and whimpering. "I would have given you everything!"
"You went too far." Emerald forces out, having to look down her nose into molten gold.
"Too far?!"
"Children, Cinder! You sent me after a helpless child!" but there's more to, she realizes. The vendetta had been an insurance policy because Emerald knew Cinder could lose herself to her ambition. But now she had a real excuse, now she could feel less guilty about stabbing her in the back. Or the side, as the case may be.
"Which your kind have been devouring whole for centuries! What the hell makes this any different?!" she waits for answer, but receives non. "Out of your entire, gods-forsaken species, I get saddled with the one with a conscience!" then she sneers around her tusks. "What a fucking waste. You're so lucky I still need you."
"I'm not-," she has to stop as Cinder shoves the blade tighter to her jaw, bone biting into bone.
"You are, and when you're finished I'll decide what to do with you. You should consider it a blessing that killing you quickly is even crossing my mind."
(II)
It's quiet in the Warren. The day had passed without further incident, but everyone remained on edge to some degree; Billy and Theron had gone with Nessa and Trixie to search the property, maybe find a trace of the lamia but came back several hours later with nothing. This did little if anything to ease anyone's anxiety. There was little else to be done but to return to some semblance of normal, and for the Arc family, that meant tending to guests and family.
Gypsy cooked more than she needed to that night, but that's her M.O.; there's royalty in the house, after all. It's too obvious how everyone is consciously making an effort to pretend today is just another day, everyone skirting certain words and questions, sometimes refusing to make eye contact with each other. Stranger still is that they're all aware of it, aware of the waste it is. Still, they keep up appearances for the little comfort it brings. Most of them think it's best, think it'll help Pyrrha relax if they just act like nothing happened. If only they knew.
Pyrrha had managed to catch a short nap in the recliner, but it hadn't done much for her. She had been grateful for the mental break, but it wasn't worth it for the physical discomfort she feels when she wakes up. She feels like it's the middle of the lunar cycle, when her flesh is raw and needy for things -blood or sex- and any pressure against her skin sends her nerves alight with too much sensation. Not necessarily pain, more like overload. Doing her best not to seem too desperate, she had handed the twins off to her parents, too aware and worried how distance from them took the edge off. It gave her pause, long enough for Billy to ask her if she was all right. She lies, says she's fine, but can tell by the way they look at her that they know.
At the dinner table, Pyrrha had to consciously stop herself from eating too quickly, from eating like a savage. She feels starved, like her guts are threatening to turn inside out from being so empty, but for her own sake she had to know she could still show some sort of restraint. Because, truth be told, she simply didn't trust herself anymore. If she ripped through the food on her plate, gods only knew if she'd stop there. And something is telling her, some little instinct insists that everyone knows. She's convinced as relaxed as everyone else in the room appears, that they're actually on the edge of their seats, waiting for her to snap.
And it's in this moment that Jaune's absence was most impossible. She felt alone in a crowded room, helpless and exposed with the weight of the cosmos pushing down on her. The space where he's supposed to be feels like a yawning void, threatening to pull her in with no chance at rescue.
The feeling never truly goes away, doesn't even subside at all as day slips into night. In fact, sunset somehow makes it worse. Once darkness settles in, Pyrrha feels like every last hair on her body is bristling, and some nameless anxiety nestles in her chest, keeping her heart rate up. Once she's aware of it, she's aware of how thin her patience is -feeling like someone just thinking about her the wrong way would warrant getting bit. And that's how she knew for certain that it was best for the cubs to go with Ren.
It wouldn't take much to convince the others to go along with the idea; the only real debate is whether or not Pyrrha should stay here. Theron believed she would be just as safe in Nirvana, if not more so, but Pyrrha would resist him on that. "It's for the best, babba." she pressed gently. Because she feels like a disaster looking for a place to happen, and her children didn't need to be a part of that. They would wait for the twins to nod off before traveling on. Ren opens the portal to his home plane in the living room, filling the whole house with soft pink and white lights. Pyrrha will hug him, thank him quietly, and does her best not to flinch at the little kiss he presses to her cheek.
"It'll be all right." he assures her softly.
She just nods, not sure she'd be able to speak if she tried.
Rhea and Gypsy offer similar affections and encouragement, "Protect them with our lives" her mother-in-law promises in the midst of a long embrace.
When the portal closes and the wave of energy subsides, everything is heavy again. The emptiness has grown, now large enough to encompass the vacancy of her husband and her children and her mother, leaving her with a house full of people that suddenly felt more like prison guards than family.
No, no, this is better. This is safer. Although the mantra feels about as helpful as spitting into the wind. "I...I'm going to lie down." she exhales uneasily, pushing her clawed fingers slowly across her scalp.
Pyrrha will make it to the sofa, feeling like it's where she's allowed to be, sitting down heavily. When she lifts her head, Billy is there, holding out their big hand to her. "More pills?"
"Please. It'll help you rest."
No argument, no room for it, she just takes the tablets -double the dose from earlier- and palms them after asking for something to drink them down with.
Theron fetches pillows and blankets from the hall closet, convincing Pyrrha it's not a sin for her to have a little comfort as he lays it all out on the sofa for her. He'll sit down and put the pillows beside him, patting them to coax her over. She lays down on her back, tucking the blanket beneath her feet and closing her eyes, and does her best to stomach her father petting her head until it stops feeling awful.
Pyrrha does her best to escape the situation from the comfort -or the lack thereof- of the couch. Eyes shut, brow gently furrowed and her hands folded over her stomach, she just tries to focus on existing for a while. The TV is on, the volume low but more than enough for her to hear. It's a trivia show that she knows Gypsy watches religiously, but it's a rerun so Pyrrha lets the noise blend with the hot static in her mind until it's just a dull buzz in her consciousness. A small improvement.
She doesn't notice the hours she passes just hovering in the feverish neutrality between asleep and awake. She tries not to, she tries not to think of anything at all. All that clues her in to the passage of time are commercials and snoring from her father just beside her, and Billy drifting in and out of a light snooze in Gypsy's recliner.
But the middle ground is sorely kept, as her mind just wanders on its own, as a woman's mind tends to do, particularly when it's too quiet. She thinks of her children, her life when it was normal, her husband. Her brow furrows tightly, briefly like the surging burn in her eyes. Jaune... When it's obvious that she can't stop herself, she remembers her conversation with Billy in the hospital, she tries to focus on the good things.
She remembers when they met, seeing him from across a crowded room after an exposition. He wasn't looking at her, but she couldn't stop looking at him. She wouldn't call it love at first sight, nor sexual attraction -though he was handsome- it was just...unadulterated want. She had never felt it before, and couldn't properly decipher what it was she wanted exactly, but all she knew is that there was a desire for something and that he was related to it somehow. The woman saw a gentle looking, easy going man, while the wolf had seen something soft, something welcoming like a steady fire in the hearth in the middle of winter. However, in spite of all that, she hadn't dared to think they would ever have anything other than a passing acquaintance as colleagues.
That's why their first dance had been so easy for her, she had no expectations outside of their work together, so there weren't any serious nerves raised by it. He was a good teacher, complimented her often and didn't hesitate to correct her, he was the perfect gentlemen. By then Pyrrha just hoped they could be friends, maybe hang out some time. Still no hope -well, maybe a tiny one- that it was anything more. She almost laughs when she remembers her own shock when he asked her out.
Pyrrha had been terrified on their first date. She mentally policed anything and everything she did or said, convinced even the littlest tell would give away what she really was. But as the evening progressed she relaxed, finding him incredibly easy to talk to. She could pick almost any topic -gods know she tried just to keep the conversation going, to cover up her anxiety- and he had, at least, some cursory knowledge about all of it. She remembers her gaze constantly switching focus from his eyes to his throat and back again. She blamed it on the wolf.
Their first kiss had been so wonderful. It was a little hope that she had allowed for herself, after a number of dates that she thought were clearly more than just a friend thing to do. She just wanted to give him a little one on the cheek, just the one, a way to tell him how she felt wordlessly, but then he turned his head. She remembers hearing the little gasp that she made, the wide feeling of her eyes when they separated after a too-short instant. Then they started laughing, appearing surprised at themselves. "Can...wanna do it again?" he asked, sounding so sweet and honest and vulnerable. She'd blame her eager agreement on the wolf, too, because all she can really remember about it was how good he tasted and how he had lingered in her senses for hours after that.
Telling Jaune the truth about what she was had been the most terrifying moment in her life to that point. She remembers how she hugged herself as she and Billy and Jaune sat in the living room together and talked, she remembers how calm he seemed through it all and how confusing that had been for her. That was supposed to be when he got scared and broke up with her, at least that's what she expected. Instead he sat and listened, asked questions and nodded in understanding at the answers. "I'll need some time to adjust," he said with an anxious little laugh, "but I love her, so I'll do it." And she remembers the assurance in his eyes when he looked at her.
It was a look that resurfaced time and again throughout their relationship; when she said she loved him for the first time, when he asked her to move in with him and accepted when she said no the first time. When he said he had a Solstice present for her and made her close her eyes, not letting her open them again until she could see the shelter he had built just for her. "No matter where this...we go...I just want you to know that you'll always be safe with me. Even if we don't work out...you're welcome here." She remembers it when they made love for the first time that same night -because then she knew, knew that he was the one-, and how it made his little laughter at their awkwardness all the more endearing. It was there on their wedding day, through her miscarriages, through her pregnancy and in the hospital bed after the delivery. And it was always there whenever she felt fragile and overwhelmed. Gods above, she wishes it was here now, when she feels she can't possibly get any lower.
Now she feels too hot, nauseous, and she squirms out from under the blankets and to her feet. She hurries around the couch and the recliner and scrambles towards the bathroom for another round of dry heaving. It feels worse than earlier, her gut more sensitive somehow, and when the fit ends she just lets herself slump on to her backside in front of the toilet. She pants and coughs, her head in her hand until her body stops throbbing like an exposed nerve. She'll tip her head back, hitting the wall at a surge of tension, her jaws apart so her fangs won't touch -because gods above they hurt. She'll drop her head into her hands, muffling the two punctuated sobs that rattle free.
Pyrrha eventually stands up, unsteady and shaking for a moment, her movements a conscious effort to execute, and comes to stand at the sink. She can't stand to look at herself in the mirror until she's put some cool water to her hot face, shivering at the little shock. She'll lift her head slowly, loosen the muscles in her neck to let it drop back as far as it will go, her throat stretching tight. Then she finally opens her eyes and looks at herself. But only for a moment, her bright green eyes flitting to the shadow she spies over her shoulder in the mirror.
"You okay, kid?"
Pyrrha takes a breath, eyes sinking shut and her brow tightening. "Of course not."
Billy shrugs quietly, taking a half step forward and into the light. "What can I do?"
"I...don't know. I think...maybe that's the worst of it. I don't know what to do. I'm," she stops herself, afraid of some of the thoughts in her mind, of saying them aloud and making them real. "I...don't know how much more of this I can take."
"You're gonna make it."
"Am I?" Pyrrha turns around, her eyes begging when they meet the shaman's. "Because I don't think..."
"You will." They assure her gently. "We'll find Jaune and put all this behind us, you'll see."
"But," her face tightens further, her throat tightening as the vulnerability mounts. "I feel like I'm running out of time."
And, in their own way, they feel it too. They see her fangs, her claws, how wide and vibrant her irises are, how at a certain angle they can make out eye shine, and know the wolf is edging that much closer to the surface.
"I'm so scared." she exhales, her ribs rattling in her voice.
"I know, and that's okay. That's a human thing, and that's good." Even though fear is an awful, gnawing thing, it was still preferable. "But you need your rest. And," they raise one hand and open it up, "you dropped these in the living room."
"Oh," the worry snaps away for a second as she recognizes the wolfsbane tablets in their hand. "I thought I took them, I'm sorry."
"Take them now."
She takes them, palms them like before. "Can it wait until my stomach settles?"
"Sure, sure," they nod, remembering hearing the retching that woke them out of their light sleep. Then they rub their eyes and smooth their big hand over their head. "I wish I could do more for you. I really do."
"You're doing your best." and it wasn't their fault it wasn't enough, no matter how much she might want to blame them.
"I am, I swear. I'm going to help you through this, no matter what."
She smiles sadly. "I know you will."
They accept it all the same, even if they don't believe her faith in them is genuine. "Come on, let's get you settled back in."
Pyrrha is sitting on the sofa again, Billy handing her the cup of water she asked for earlier after picking it up where she had left it on the coffee table between the couch and the recliner. She's about to pop the pills into her mouth when Billy pauses abruptly, tense enough to keep a grip on the glass of water when Pyrrha tries to take it.
"...What's wrong? Billy?"
"Feel something." one of their numerous tattoos are buzzing. "Stay with your dad," who is still asleep somehow, "I'll go check it out." because it's close and they don't like this one bit.
They had brought some of their gear in from the car, having deposited a collection of items on the dining table once everyone else had gone to bed. As they pass they snatch up the heavy leather belt that two axes rest on, quickly strapping it on and pulling one from its holster. When they reach the front door they're slow and deliberate, pressing an ear to it first to listen for anything before even thinking of touching the handle. The dull vibration in the tattoo surges, almost itching; there's something magical going on out there, but they can't discern the nature of it. Could be anything, anyone. They know the house is safe from most things, Gypsy saw to that, but anything could blow a ward with enough work.
They take a breath to steady themselves, get their mind right before slowly, quietly lifting the latch on the door. They push it just wide enough to see through the space, letting a splinter of brilliant light through. It brings in a fresh wave of energy, a small one, but enough to reveal itself as neutral. It's energy mostly used to travel by. Brow furrowed, confusion visible, all Billy can think to do is step outside to see what there is to see.
Billy knows what they're looking at, from the second their eyes adjust to the light and how it slowly spins in a familiar collection of glyphs and symbols they know exactly what it is. But it's impossible to believe. They know damn good and well that it's a planar gate in the middle of the front lawn. They know someone is accessing Remnant from the aether between realms, and the sigils tell them exactly who it is, but they just can't believe it. They want to pinch themselves, that's how ridiculous they feel for trying to accept what they're seeing with their own eyes; after spending months and months trying to accept they might never see her again, it's impossible.
The symbols suddenly spin faster, blurring until illegible, the magic on the verge of resolving. Then it finally bursts apart with a CRACK, the light disappearing in a split second and leaving a faint shimmer of mist that quickly fades. Billy step down the front porch steps, seemingly cautious, but then they make a steady pace across the lawn with strides that grow steadily longer and faster. With the magical light extinguished, everything is washed gray with their night vision, and they can see something -someone- moving in the grass.
The pain is incredible, the adrenaline is making her shake, and her chest heaves to keep air moving through her lungs as Tag tries to keep her balance on her hands and knees. The residual magic sparks through the patch of raw flesh on her back, but that is steadily easier to ignore as her senses come back together to help her acknowledge the feeling of soft grass beneath her palms. She made it through...by the gods, she actually made it. The prodigious weight of countless things tumble from her shoulders, leaving her boneless and collapsing in the grass, her frame jolted with quiet sobs of relief and joy and finally letting some of the hurt and fear go. She covers her face in her hands and just lets the tears come.
"Best introduce yourself, whoever you are," comes a stern voice from out of the dark. "I'm armed."
"I-I'm not," Tag has to forcibly pry one her hands away from her face and raise it up, waving it like a white flag and praying it's visible. "Please," it's all she can think to say otherwise.
She can just hear running footsteps in the grass now, almost feel each closing impact through the earth beneath her. Out of some reflex she curls in on herself, unconsciously bracing for...something, going so far as the tuck her chin tightly to her chest, like her knees, and fold her arms over her head for protection. Her heart rate spikes, heat rushes into her face and she feels like fainting. Then there are hands on her, big but gentle ones. They smooth her shoulders, try and lift her up, there are sounds like words but all she can be certain of is the dull roar of blood in her ears. She actively resists when those hands circle her wrists and start pulling, whimpering "Please don't hurt me."
"No, darlin', no. Not ever." comes an unsteady, desperate reply.
Tag's eyes snap open, the reflexive fear gone though the shakes are back in full force. She's almost shivering as her night vision makes out the great gray shape of a large frame, horns, and silver eyes. She touches their face, both hands on the their cheeks, grounding herself in the reality of them before throwing herself against their chest, arms cinching around their neck so tight they're surely strangling.
"I've got you," Billy shudders, returning her tight embrace with their own, holding her against them with a hand at her head and the other across her shoulders. "I've got you, you're safe now." Sounding like they're trying to convince themselves as much as her. They stroke her hair and kiss her cheek, shouldering her sobbing as best they can though it rips at their heartstrings.
Billy reaches down and works an arm beneath her knees, hoisting her up with a curt grunt and starting back towards the house. Tag's rambling into their neck now, none of it coming out clearly, bordering on hysterical. Billy can open the door with one hand because Tag is holding on so tightly that she doesn't need the extra support.
"Theron!" They call out, hearing a telling snort from the next room. "I need you to mind the door, something might follow." Billy stops at the dining table, sitting Tag down on the edge of it. "Pyrrha, you best fetch Jessica."
"P-Pyrrha?" Tag stammers, allowing herself to pried from around Billy's neck. "W-wait, we've got to-,"
"Slow down, you need to take a minute." Now, in the better but not bright light in the dining room, Billy frets over her, over the bruises and flecks of old blood on her face. "Gods above, what happened to you?"
"There's no time!" she insists, her hands gripping Billy's forearms tight enough to hurt them both. "Cinder's-,"
"We know about Cinder."
"I'm here, big-and-tall, what -oh," Jessica stopped mid stride and mid yawn with a swift about-face to scurry back the way she had come. "I'll get Bev."
"Cinder has-," Tag tries again.
"The Cornerstone." Billy's nodding, still looking her over. "I'm calling the Huntmaster once you're taken care of. Is all this blood yours?" they gasp, seeing the bright red blossom on the back of her shirt, over the small of her back.
"That's. Not. Important." Tag growls. "She's-,"
"Tag, please, we have a good idea what's going on, now let us-," this time they are the one being cut off when Tag snatches one horn, pulling until they are eye to eye and she can firmly grasp the other. No further division of attention.
"Jaune. Is. Dying!" She finally gets out, looking and feeling the meanest she ever has in her entire life. "He's got the fever and it is going to kill him! And if that doesn't, the Cornerstone will! Now just give me something for the pain and let's. Go!"
Billy just looks back at her for a moment, stuck in shock, before nodding.
Author's Note: So there's that. Everything is starting to come back together again I think. Next chapter is the beginning of the climax, and gods only know what that will entail, exactly. There's some surprises waiting in the wings and I hope you all enjoy them; at the very least I hope they're entertaining. Questions and comments are always welcome. See you next chapter.
