Hi. So... Basically my life has imploded with BUSY. I'm starting my last semester in college plus working on the days when I'm not in college. I have no real way to schedule my free time, meaning I have no real way to schedule updates. I am not abandoning this story by any means because writing is what's keeping me sane, but I can't really guarantee anything even resembling a schedule. I'm sorry about that, as I know a lot of people really enjoyed having something to look forward to with TbaS, but unfortunately that's not the situation here with Cactus Cat.

That piece of paper in Credence's pocket was the biggest secret he'd ever had. Just in case Ma found it, he had laid in bed that first night and repeated the address on it over and over and over until it would never leave his brain. Then he'd hidden the paper itself away folded into a tiny square and tucked into a joint on his bedframe. Ma wasn't above searching their rooms – it was how Chastity had been caught with a pair of lacy gloves that she swore someone had left behind after a service. He didn't want her to find that piece of paper and start demanding answers, and he also didn't want to throw it away. There was this terrible fear that he'd misremember a digit of the address or get the street wrong and he'd end up unable to find Iliana.

He hadn't had the guts to actually try yet, though. During his rare free time, when he was supposed to be scouting locations for the next rally, he would slowly drift up one street and down another, making his way through the grid-like streets of New York City and coming closer and closer to her address. He never made it all the way though. There was that fear that she hadn't meant it, that she'd just been trying to be kind. That she would look at him with as much disdain as Ma did. That Ma would somehow know he'd run off and met a girl. Not just any girl, but a girl his Ma hated. He never had the nerve to actually do it.

Until today.

Ma had been… quiet. For two weeks after the fight at Bethesda Fountain she'd been withdrawn. Credence had never seen her like that before, so… small. There was a part of him, a tiny, vicious part that he berated himself for, that was glad to see Mary Lou Barebone be the one beaten down for once. But the part of him that had lived with the woman for as long as he could remember was terrified. Because angry Ma, disdainful Ma, righteous judgment Ma, those he knew how to deal with and tiptoe around. But a subdued Ma? That meant new territory, and likely several nasty surprises.

The third week after the fight was when it hit. The slightest thing set Mary Lou off. Once she had even yanked Modesty around in the kitchen and paddled her rear viciously with a wooden spoon for making too much noise washing the dishes. Even Chastity, the golden child, the one who made a mistake once or twice a year, had been subject to abuse. A small water spot on the church floor after she'd scrubbed had gotten her bathroom duty with the lye soap that cracked her hands painfully, followed by preparing a salty soup for dinner.

Credence had taken the worst of it. He hadn't spoken in Mary Lou's presence for two days for fear that she'd take after him again hadn't dared to say anything to the sulking Chastity for fear she'd try and get him in trouble again to take Ma's eyes off of her. He made himself as small as possible, did his work as quickly and perfectly as possible, even went above and beyond. He tried his hardest to keep Mary Lou happy, but it didn't matter what he did.

Today had been when she snapped. Credence wasn't even sure what he was supposed to have done on this occasion. Her voice had been so shrill that his ears rang and as he cowered against the railing on the balcony, he didn't bother to listen to whatever scripture or vitriol was pouring from her mouth. He just focused on keeping his body as loose as possible as the belt cracked over his shoulders. He'd learned long ago that tensing up, while he couldn't always control his muscles, made it hurt worse.

When Mary Lou left his back was a blazing mass of pain. Everything hurt. Breathing hurt, sobbing hurt, even trying to drag himself to his feet was too painful. Credence was left to crawl back to his bedroom, tears running down his face. His cheeks burned as Chastity's door opened and he froze, keeping his eyes on the ground. He had never felt more worthless in his life when Chastity gave a small, "Hm," at the sight of him and just walked past him and down the stairs. Like he was nothing, like his pain was expected and deserved and he had earned every bit of it.

Sinner, Mary Lou's voice hissed in his head. Sinner, born of a devil-woman. You were born into filth and darkness.

Credence managed to kick his door closed behind him and pick himself up enough to sprawl, face down, on his bed. His mattress was nothing but a thin pallet, his pillow clumsily re-stitched around the edges to keep the stuffing inside, but it was better than the floor.

Credence moved his arm, reaching up for the corner where the paper was concealed. It sent a fresh wave of pain down his back and Credence let out an involuntary whine at the sensation of skin tearing and a trickle of blood running down his spine. He pushed on, Iliana's words filling his ears.

"If you ever need to get away for a while, or just want to talk, look at the paper in your pocket. You'll be able to find me."

He didn't know her. He'd only met her twice, and only for a handful of minutes each time. But both times she'd acted like she cared for him more than anyone else in his life ever had. She seemed like she cared about everyone, from that random boy on the street to Modesty.

Credence needed to get away, he needed to talk, he needed… he didn't even know. He just wanted someone to acknowledge his existence in a way that didn't involve pain or a verbal assault and he figured that, stranger or not, Iliana was his best chance.

Using his short fingernails, Credence pried the paper from its spot hidden in one of the joints of his bed frame. He sighed as he pulled the paper to his face, flicking it open with a thumb, eyes opened just a slit, just enough to read the familiar address….

Credence jerked involuntarily and moaned in pain as he did. His eyes blurred with tears, but he knew what he'd seen. A digit out of place in the address, an apartment number flipped, that he could dismiss as him misremembering. But the address was entirely different, a different street, a different floor. The whole thing had changed.

Credence felt as if he'd been struck by lightning.

Magic.

It was that more than anything else that gave him the courage to seek Iliana out. He needed answers, needed to know that what he was seeing was true and he wasn't going crazy.

It was an ordeal to get into his jacket but the dark fabric would absorb any blood and it would keep anyone from seeing the streaks and dots through his white shirt. With his hat on to hide under the brim, Credence dragged himself from the church and set off down the road.

He kept to main roads, instinctively cringing out of the way of the other pedestrians so that they wouldn't bump him. His heart was racing and his back was throbbing, but he couldn't help but think that tonight something special was going to happen. After so many years of hearing Ma rant and rail against magic and witchcraft, accusing Credence and his birth mother of making unnatural pacts with the devil – Credence certainly couldn't recall ever doing such a thing – then maybe he'd finally know the truth.

Even in Pike Street he stuck out thanks to his outdated clothes - cast-offs donated to the church – but Iliana lived in a fairly nice neighborhood and as he stood outside of her building, Credence felt even more insecure. If Iliana did have magic, what would she think of him for asking questions? What would she think if she didn't? What if he really was crazy, what if she was furious at him for asking either way, what if she did all those terrible things Mary Lou accused witches of?

"Look, pal, are you going in or not?" demanded a gruff voice. Credence's vision flickered as the man shoved past him, the corner of his shoulder colliding directly with one of the most damaged areas of his back. He staggered slightly and faltered at the sight of the man glaring back at him over his shoulder, pushing through the door.

With the door quite literally swinging closed before him, Credence made his decision and pushed on, entering the apartment. Stairs were a special kind of hell, but he managed to make it up to the top floor and find the door he was looking for.

His hands were shaking but, feeling brave for the first time in a very long time, Credence raised a fist and knocked.

Iliana had decided that since it was her night off, she was going to have a nice night to herself. She'd turned off the lights and lit candles to set the mood a bit more and uncorked a bottle of elf-made wine. After another trip to the greengrocer's earlier in the evening, she'd made herself a tray of breads, cheeses, meats and berries to nibble on. Dressed in her lightest and most comfortable peignoir set, hair pinned up loosely, Iliana stretched out languidly on the couch, nibbling on her treats and reading.

The arithmantic value of half-breeds such as half-werewolves or half-giants can be determined by subtracting the value of a normal witch or wizard from the value of the outside parents. The resulting total can then be applied to any number of equations, up to and including the best spells for the capture and destruction of such creatures…

Iliana shuddered faintly at the line, well aware of the fact that many witches and wizards felt that way about people like her. She'd had more than one witch come after her for drawing away the attention of a man she'd had her eye on. Half the time Iliana either didn't even know who they were talking about or hadn't been near the man in question in days.

Iliana reached over to the side table where her plate of treats and wine were sitting and lifted her glass, taking a long sip. She closed her eyes as she swallowed, tucking her hand to her chest and lowering her chin over the top of the glass.

When the knock came at the door, she was surprised. It was barely ten o'clock and Elvira normally wasn't back until two in the morning. Either something had gone horribly wrong or very, very well. Setting her wine and book aside, Iliana approached the door. She pulled it open, saying as she did,

"It must have been an interesting night at the bar…"

She trailed off. It wasn't her sister standing there but a familiar hunched, dour figure. Credence Barebone. She hadn't seen him in weeks. Iliana had assumed he'd burned the paper she left with him and intended to have nothing to do with her. As much trouble as she'd apparently gotten him in, she would hardly blame him. She'd just made peace with the idea of simply hoping for the best for him and now, suddenly, there he was. Standing in front of her door and looking like he had no idea what to do next.

"You're not my sister," Iliana said, bemused.

"I-I…" Credence's face was red. He refused not only to meet her eyes but to look at her at all. It took one look at his conservative attire for Iliana to realize he wasn't comfortable seeing her in her nightclothes. "I shouldn't have come."

"Nonsense," Iliana insisted, stepping out of the doorway and beckoning him inside. Credence's eyes darted past her into the darkened room.

"I-Is… Are you alone?" he asked nervously. Iliana nodded and he shook his head quickly. But something seemed to stop him. He winced, freezing in place for a moment, and slowly returned to a curiously stiff posture.

"Are you hurt, Credence?" Iliana asked worriedly. "Do you need me to take you to a doctor?"

Credence twitched. "We also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character," he recited mechanically and Iliana had heard enough of Mary Lou's speech to guess that he was quoting the Bible.

It made her close her eyes in horror as she realized – Credence had not only been broken down like that horse, but even worse, Mary Lou had twisted it around to make him think he deserved it, and she was doing him a kindness by beating the life out of him. She had never in her life heard of something so twisted, and looking at how old he was, she guessed he had endured that sort of life for well over a decade.

Religion, particularly Christianity, wasn't something Iliana had ever put much stock in. Any group with a saying like 'thou shalt not suffer a switch to live' would undoubtedly not welcome her on Sundays. But she supposed she did believe in some kind of grand plan – hoped for one, at least, instead of a messy mix of people just doing what they could and hoping for the best – and that did imply that someone or something had to plan it out. More than once she'd done what she supposed counted as praying, thought it was more simply putting a wish or a hope out into the world and crossing her fingers for the best.

She did that now, thinking, deep in her heart, If anyone's listening, help this poor man, because no one deserves this. And give me the strength to try and help, she added. Elvira had usually been the one who patched up people and animals but years of watching her sister made her confident she could perhaps pull it off.

Granted, what a project to start off with.

"Credence," Iliana said, stretching out her hand invitingly, "would you like to come in?"

He still wouldn't look at her. "It's not appropriate…"

Iliana raised an eyebrow. "Are you planning on doing something to compromise my virtue?"

"No!" The amount of horror in his voice at the very idea made her chuckle slightly.

"And I'll try to keep my hands to myself," she promised him, watching his cheeks go pink again. "So if we've agreed on that, would you please keep me company?"

The look on Credence's face was a mix of pain and eagerness and uncertainty as he stepped cautiously over the doorstep. He looked like he was waiting for lightning to strike him for daring to be alone with her, and Iliana had to gently urge him further in so that she had enough room to shut the door behind him.

"Can I take your jacket?" she offered, well acquainted with the role of hostess. Credence replied with a no just as vehement as the one that he had let out when she asked if he had plans to assault her. It made her suspicious. Iliana narrowed her eyes.

"Credence," she said, working very hard to keep her anger from her voice lest he think it was aimed at him, "I'm going to take off your jacket."

It was sad the way, when faced with an order, he went limp, arms loose at his side and head lowered like a puppet hung on a rack, waiting for a puppeteer to come along and make him dance to their tune. It was easy for her to move behind him and reach up. Iliana first pulled off his hat, hanging it on the hook where Elvira's usually rested. She took a moment to note that the bowl cut really did him no favors before reaching up for the collar of his jacket. Iliana was careful as she peeled it back and down his arms and finally all the way off.

The blood stood out sharply against the back of his white shirt, thin lines, drips, and scattered spots. There were even a few rips in the fabric where a buckle had probably caught him wrong. Iliana raised a trembling hand to her mouth.

"Is this…" she whispered, feeling sick, "is this why you came?"

"I don't… I didn't…" Credence was actually shaking and it took her a moment to find a place she was confident was uninjured. Iliana laid her hand tenderly on his upper arm.

"Credence," she murmured, "I know you don't know me… I don't really know you." That was perhaps the strangest part of all of it, the fact that they were basically strangers and yet he'd come to her after he'd been whipped and she was completely okay with him taking shelter here. "And I can't promise," she admitted with a wince, "that I won't hurt you because I'm not very good with people generally, and I may say something wrong... But I can promise you that I won't do anything to physically hurt you if you don't try and hurt me first. So as long as you don't raise a hand to me, you don't have anything to fear."

"I wouldn't," Credence whispered with such intensity that Iliana believed him in a second.

"I'm going to ask," she said patiently, "do you want me to take you to a doctor?"

"I can handle it."

The worst part was that Iliana was very certain that he could because he had before.

"Okay," she said slowly. "But do you want me to try and take a look at it? Is that why you came?" She needed to know what had brought him to her door after three weeks of nothing, what straw had finally broken that camel's back, before she could work out what she needed to do.

Iliana reached out and took Credence's hand. The whole situation was utterly surreal. Perhaps because she was genuinely unafraid of him, while he seemed genuinely terrified of her. Iliana was at the very least wary of most men. She'd seen how they reacted to her. Credence, however, seemed too caught up in his own fears and insecurities to lose his mind to the natural seduction of her veela blood. Were he a wizard, she wasn't sure she would feel nearly so comfortable. It was a somewhat disparaging thought to think, but considering she had magic on her side, Iliana really didn't have much to fear from a No-Maj.

When Credence didn't reply, Iliana instead took his hand carefully between hers and pulled him to sit next to her on the couch. She was careful to sit him at one end and then move to the other, not wanting to crowd him.

Credence reached into his pocket and pulled something out, the little slip of paper that she'd passed him. Iliana bit her lip. She didn't know why she'd done it, honestly. It was a simple spell that parents mostly used to find their kids if they were going to be allowed to run around town and play in the brush. She'd seen Elvira pass papers like it to people who needed help so that, if they wanted, they could get in touch with her. It had just seemed… like the thing to do.

Now she was terrified, because she was wrong. If Credence had told his Ma, if he'd seen the address change, then he'd know she was magical. Like many people, Iliana didn't have a whole lot of respect for Rappaport's Law, but it was one thing to reveal herself to a trusted friend and quite another to reveal herself to the son of an anti-magic leader. Iliana almost lunged for where her wand was half-hidden under the lip of her plate, ready to Obliviate Credence and turn him out.

But he looked so confused as he passed it over to her.

"It changed," he said quietly. "How did it change? Are you magic?"

Are you magic? Iliana almost chuckled. It was a clunky, childish sort of way to ask that to her ears.

"Do you think I am?" she asked instead of answering.

Credence looked up and met her gaze for a moment before blinking and looking away, flushing slightly. "When I first saw you… I thought you were an angel," he admitted, and there was something very normal in the way he looked chagrined at admitting it. Perhaps there was hope for him after all. "But not the wrathful kind that Ma talks about. A guardian angel."

Iliana blushed. She'd heard the normal 'hey, angel!' and 'where ya goin' angelface?' But somehow, hearing it in this context, the term actually sounded like a compliment.

"You thought…" Iliana stumbled over her words. "You don't think I'm a witch?"

Credence shook his head. "If you are a witch, then you're a good kind. Like Glinda."

Iliana's eyes widened. She remembered reading that book in the library when she was younger. As a child, she'd liked No-Maj stories of magic, reading them and knowing decisively what was and wasn't possible. Flying around in a bubble, for example – entirely possible. Flying monkeys? Not possible. Not legally, at least.

"I'm surprised your mother would let you read that," she admitted.

Credence smiled faintly. It was just a faint uptick of the corners of his mouth, but it was enough to fill her with delight. "She didn't. She told me to teach Modesty to read. I took her to the library. She wanted to read it… We didn't finish, but it was nice."

Iliana smiled. "If I told you I were a witch, what would you do? Would you tell your mother? Would you try and burn me at the stake?"

Credence looked up at her, wide-eyed, and actually held eye contact for several moments. "No, never," he swore, and again, there was such intensity to it that she immediately believed him. "I don't want you to get hurt, ever."

Iliana smiled. "Oh, but it's my job to take care of you, isn't it? After all, I am your guardian angel." She winked and made a swirling gesture with her finger. "Will you let me take a look at your back, Credence?"

He was bright red again and hesitated for a moment, but he raised his hands to the tie at his throat, slowly undoing the knot until it could be slipped from around his throat. Iliana waited patiently, smiling at him and trying to hide her fear about what might be under the starched white shirt. It wasn't to be, though, because his fingers were shaking so badly he could barely get one button through the buttonhole.

Iliana reached out and laid her hand over his, stopping him. "If you're not comfortable taking off your shirt, I might be able to work around it. But if you need help, I can do it for you. Whichever you'd prefer."

Credence didn't answer verbally, but he did lower his hands. Iliana thought for a moment that he was denying her help, but then he lifted his chin, allowing her room to work. She slid forwards onto the cushion that had been serving as a No Man's Land between them and began to work. In quick order she had the buttons of his shirt undone and the tails untucked, pushing it off his shoulders so that it fell around his back.

"Turn around?" Iliana requested, making sure it didn't sound like a command. Credence hissed and flinched as he did so, but he squirmed around on the couch, displaying his back to her.

Iliana let out one sharp squeak before she smacked her palm flat over her mouth to muffle the noise. It didn't stop the tears from building though because his back looked much like Abigail's. There were thick ropes of pinkish-purple scar from the deeper lashes and thinner, older scars of silver-pink. Overlaid over it all were bruises and bloody lines that matched up with the damage she'd seen on the back of his shirt.

The noise made Credence hunch and lower his head. She watched the way his back pulled as he folded in one himself, could actually watch as one of the just-formed scabs split open and began to leak blood again, a thin line that ran down the length of his spine and vanished below his belt.

"I'm going to have to touch you, okay?"

"You… you want to?"

Iliana blinked, mouth falling open, not quite sure how to respond to that. "I-I… Well, I have to, to take care of these marks."

"Chastity never would," Credence murmured. "She said it was hideous. She said I earned it. I never asked Modesty. She's too young."

Iliana was quickly developing a grudge against whoever Chastity was that sat squarely below her outright hatred of Mary Lou.

"It's not hideous," Iliana insisted, even though it sort of was. "You're not hideous," she corrected herself. "And I have absolutely no problem touching you." To illustrate that fact, Iliana found a spot on his side just below his ribcage that seemed unmarked and laid her palm there. She watched Credence's muscles flutter and spasm like a horse trying to shake off a fly, and she would have removed her hand immediately after seeing that if not for the fact that he also leaned into her touch almost desperately.

She had intended to wordlessly summon her wand and take care of his wounds that way, but Credence clearly needed a little positive physical contact. Besides, healing spells weren't her forte, but she was equally versed in spells that did and didn't require wands.

Iliana whispered under her breath, a somewhat lengthy incantation, and held her breath. She released it when the tip of her finger glowed blue. It meant the spell had worked.

She reached out her hand and touched the top of a mark that was laid diagonally across his right shoulder blade. Credence flinched, but when she dragged her finger down the cut it sealed itself closed and the pain began to vanish. He let out a shuddering breath that Iliana swore she felt in her own gut as she continued to trace the lashes across his back, closing them up. It took another incantation and this time her palm lit red. She turned to the bruises now, massaging them gently with the flats of her fingers, and after a few seconds of attention they were gone without a trace. The scars were another story, they took a bit more complicated healing magic than Iliana was really capable of, and so they remained, much to her frustration.

In a last gesture, Iliana raised her hand and pressed it to the back of Credence's neck. She dragged it down his spine to the end of his ribs and then pulled back. A final flick of her wrist vanished the blood and repaired his shirt.

"You're healed," she said quietly.

Credence turned slowly, seemingly not able to believe what she had done. Iliana wasn't quite comfortable with the amount of adoration she saw in his gaze as he was able to move without starts and stops, without pain slicing through his shoulders.

"You really are magic," he whispered, and his eyes darted all over her form in awe. "You really are a guardian angel."

Iliana was certain she was bright red. "Well… ah…" The clock chimed, striking eleven, and Credence paled slightly, shooting to his feet.

"I… I have to… She does bed checks…" He looked terrified.

Iliana waved her hands at him, standing as she urged him on. "Go on, Credence, I don't want you to get in trouble on my account." She scooped up the paper from the couch cushion as she passed him to open the door. Credence started to walk out but hesitated, one foot hovering over the hallway carpet.

"Can I… I mean, is it okay if…?"

Iliana could guess what he wanted. She pressed the paper back into his palm. "Come see me any time you can safely," she urged him. "I'll be waiting." He stepped out into the hallway, turning back to look at her again.

And because he looked so lost, Iliana rose up on her toes and pressed a quick peck to his cheek, smiling at him brightly. Credence looked like a smacked fish as she shut the door behind him.

Iliana let out a heavy breath before moving back to the couch. She flopped down on her back with a staggering lack of grace, even knocking one of the pillows off onto the floor. Her peignoir spread around her and Iliana took the ends of the robe, flapping them absently.

"Guardian angel indeed," she said faintly, and huffed, reaching for the half-glass of wine she still had left. Within a second, she had downed it, trying to work out just what the hell she was supposed to do.