Chapter 20: Culinary Conversations

(One Month, Two days Post-Incident)

Kane had finally done it. This morning he achieved a monumental victory against his greatest foe. He stared at his vanquished enemy with the smugness of a warlord upon a stolen throne, sitting on his woven reed chair in a small Mooshian bedroom and eating scrambled eggs, rice, and bacon strips as his foe glowered back at him. He savored the taste of this victory; for the first time in the two and half weeks since arriving in Mooshu, Kane successfully managed to cook a meal of his own.

It was truly a victory for Kane, no matter how small and insignificant it may have been. For Kane it was dominating a once indomitable obstacle. Since arriving in Mooshu his sensei–who he stayed with after getting exiled by his brother- had been cooking his meals after his first attempt yielded a panic attack.

He had just wanted to make a wanton soup dinner for himself and his sensei instead of having the old goat doing all the work. It was meant as a culinary thank you for taking in the exiled wizard. It devolved, however, into a terrifying revelation when he ignited the fire beneath the large metal wok. Kane had never felt a sensation like it; his rational brain was diametrically opposed to the actions of his body, screaming obscenities into the mental void as his muscles failed to respond to his commands. Instead his muscles convulsed and forced him backward into the cabinetry. His lungs had likewise failed him, refusing to do their most basic function as he struggled to force air into their vacant chambers; vacant because of his scream.

His eyes had been locked on that young fire, still burning the outer flesh of the fuel provided. He hadn't even noticed when his sensei had approached him; he had been too busy struggling to regain control of himself. If not for the goat monk putting out the fire, Kane could not contemplate what would have happened, nor did he wish to know. Neither of them spoke of the matter that night and long into the following morning, for which Kane was thankful. What could Tan Keng even say to make sense of what Kane had felt in that moment? Kane knew the old goat had an explanation for everything and would have something to say, but the question was if Kane was open to hear it. And the truth was Kane was not, even that following morning, shouting and tossing the table and breakfast in defiance of his sensei's assertions.

Tan Keng proceeded to make his meals from that point, a fact that both relieved Kane and irritated him. Kane was not a man used to dependency; his last fifteen years had been spent striving to be as independent as possible. His few relationships with others were based on needs he alone could not fulfill; spiritual guidance, martial training, magical training, and allies in a war he couldn't win alone. For everything else, everything basic, Kane relied on himself. But in the days that followed Kane was more and more incapable. Mere candles in the marketplace were making him uneasy and distracted. He was giving lit lanterns so clear a berth he was knocking into people. He would read in darkness, squinting at the text, because sleeping brought the infernal nightmares and lighting his room brought the gripping panic.

When Tan Keng finally mentioned to Kane that he was aware they were eating dinner in darkness, despite his blindness, Kane was days into depression. He was too disgusted with himself to contest with Tan Keng. 'How much longer will you allow yourself to live like this,' the monk had questioned, and it bit into him as much as that Reaper's scythe. Kane couldn't argue the point; he allowed himself to get destroyed by Talon. He was allowing himself to get destroyed by this trauma. Never before had Kane operated under the guise of being controlled by any force, but for days he acted as if he had no choice but to be gripped by fear. He was treating these panic attacks and night terrors as an inescapable part of his life now, and Kane had never been that kind of man.

Kane was a man of the impossible. He had mastered two schools of magic before graduating Ravenwood. He had beaten a Professor in a duel to the death. He'd spat in a Titan's eye and lived. Against one of the ancient Grendels of Grizzleheim he had traded blades and won. So many battles brought certain death and he had found the most insane of ways to avoid fate. Thanks to Tan Keng he now knew his very birth was impossible. He vowed that night this condition would not beat him and would fall like so many foes before.

If only that valor had lasted more than one night.

Multiple meditation sessions had completely failed. His night terrors got worse, making his sleep and his resolve weaker. His sensei prescribed him something called Saikokeishikankyoto; but that could take up to two weeks to even begin having an effect on his traumatized mind.

They had not made any headway until Tan Keng had declared Kane's arm sufficiently healed and allowed martial practice to resume. Kane made an odd, but in retrospect logical, discovery that day. When he held a weapon in his hands, he felt once more complete. His response to fire was more nuanced and manageable. Finally, they had found a chink in the armor of his condition. A weapon in hand gave him a feeling of agency against threats. It was a tangible reminder to his warrior instincts that he was never powerless, and there was always a way to fight his foes.

The days that followed gave some improvement. He slept for longer with a practice weapon in hand, but still woke far too often. Reaching for a fire-shield amulet during fire-desensitizing sessions helped to ease his panic attacks. He tried more and more to perform martial drills, the only thing that brought him comfort, but found his room wanting for space. And he felt even more burdensome now to Tan Keng than ever, as the monk kept a close watch on his student ward.

So he moved out.

Being under his sensei's roof was never going to get him back to the way he was, and Tan Keng didn't have the facilities Kane seemed to need to improve. So he bought a tranquil cottage built over a pond on the outskirts of Shoshun village. It was just far enough to be lonely, but close enough to still be part of the village community, something the village was delighted by when a champion of the Emperor handed over the full asking price in coin. Kane hadn't specified, of course, that he wasn't much of a guardian at the moment.

Today marked the third day living on his new property, and the first day he had spent the night. And today was the first day he had empirical proof that all the medication, meditation, and painful talks with Tan Keng were bearing fruit.

"I am an inspiration to children everywhere," Kane sardonically jeered at himself, tearing at another bacon strip as he watched the dying embers of his stone oven struggle to continue burning. "Moodha… I am pathetic…"

The Ravenwood girl's dormitory had been Alia's home away from home for years. Until the war ended, she'd always return from their adventures to her room on the twelfth floor, east wing. Her hand briefly caressed the gnarled roots of wrought iron railing that adorned the spiral staircase at the center of the first floor, remembering the touch of the cool metal on all those nights when she led boys up to her room. She was hardly the only girl to do so; just one of the few to claim a high degree of diversity and frequency.

Taking the first few steps, Alia instinctually looked up the spiral stairwell, seeing the lights of the floors above dancing over the underside of the steps. While she had been assigned the twelfth floor along with her twin, she remembered times where she had taken the full flight all the way to the twenty-second floor. The top floor was a common study area, but unlike the common area on the first floor, had four twelve foot windows as wide as two trolls abreast, one for each cardinal direction. Alia smiled as she remembered seeing the gorgeous skyline and accompanying bird's eye view of Wizard City in her first year. Over time Tasha shared in that amazing view less and less, preferring to study in the bright, refreshing sunlight; Alia never could remove herself from the open sky view, and the sense of wonder it always gave her. She remembered fondly they would sit on the opposite ends of the marble windowsill, Tasha studying diligently while Alia would take frequent breaks to gaze at the endless sky. And sometimes –rarely- she used the uninterrupted view of the sky to very selectively change the local weather.

It had been years now since she had walked these stairs. By the end of the war with Malistaire Rowan had already had her mansion in Marleybone for a year, and the twins both invested their spoils in real estate of their own. As she passed each floor she heard the giggles of first years still naïve about the difficulties of coming exams, and the groans of later years as they struggled to retain information. The dorm floors were not organized by year or seniority, but rather first-come, first-serve. When the school was founded it was decided that each wizard would be allowed to magically modify their suite to fit their needs, so it would be cruel to shuffle their rooms every year after summer break. With each floor having four suites –one in each cardinal direction- and only twenty floors of the dormitory towers containing dorm rooms to a total of eighty rooms for each gender, there were always spare rooms to be had; especially since most later year students would purchase or rent islands, tired of the three-thousand-something steps to their rooms.

This time Tasha did not get the luck of the draw, as Alia finally reached the eighteenth floor landing and stopped to catch her breath. While doing so she looked around the circular hall, seeing each of the four oak doors decorated with a plaque holding the name of the resident engraved in gold leaf. To either side of the doors hung flags depicting the primary school symbol of the wizard residing there. Tasha's room to the north had Ice banners, and there were Storm banners to the east, Fire to the west, and Balance on the south wall. Tasha just can't escape having a Storm floor-mate, the Diviner mused joyfully.

Tasha jumped when Alia swung the door open, but settled when she saw the familiar visage of a brunette in a green t-shirt and purple leggings. She lowered the spatula she had been wielding like a wand and hugged her sister.

"It's you, thank the Raven," Tasha said as she pulled Alia in, then forced her to arm's length and smacked her twin's shoulder. "How many decades will it take for you to learn to knock?!"

"At least one more, sis," Alia mocked, feigning injury from the slap before inhaling deeply like a heckhound on the hunt. "What is that glorious smell?!"

"Pork roast in the oven," Tasha crooned, gesturing to her small kitchen area. Alia took in the sight of the small cooking station. Tasha had dedicated the whole west wall to a modest kitchen area on par with Alia's, but fashioned from a crystalline substance that was either ice or resembled it greatly. It was a deep blue and had decorative crystals jutting from various locations, with sapphire knobs for the cabinetry.

Alia then looked around the rest of the dorm room, which was generously half the size of her own home. Tasha's four poster bed was nestled between the two ceiling-high windows that were currently concealed by snowflake patterned curtains, and she had a student desk on the east wall beside a stuffed bookcase. Her armoire was by the door and the center of the room was dominated by a cherry circular table and two ornate chairs –with blue upholstery- resting upon a powder blue, snowflake patterned oval rug.

"Did Professor Greyrose only allow you back if she got to decorate your room?" Alia taunted her sister as she moved to one of the chairs at the center.

"No, actually," Tasha snapped back, hands on her hips, "I chose it all myself. I think it is lovely." She stuck her nose up, not hiding her disdain for her sister's opinion. Alia held up her hands.

"It is very lovely," Alia submitted, "just very… blue." Alia averted her eyes and found blue banners beside Tasha's door. Her eyes rolled. Even her sister's lounge robes were icicle blue.

"Maybe I should have you with me when I pick out wallpaper at the Bazaar this weekend," Tasha teased as she turned to work on a pot of vegetables. Alia gagged audibly, prompting Tasha to giggle.

"I can't anyways," Alia added, "I've got to take Talon shopping."

"Take Talon shopping?" Tasha turned to regard her sister with surprise. "But-"

"Talon's healed!" Alia interrupted and jumped from her chair, arms wide, and her delight in the surprise announcement plain on her features. "That's the big news I had! He's up and walking again!" Alia spun in place and bounced, but stopped when she saw her sister not sharing in her jubilation. "Tasha…" Alia's hands rested on her hips and her voice grew dark, "are you not happy Talon has recovered?" Her eyes narrowed and her sister withered beneath that accusatory gaze. Tasha's arms folded around her and she avoided her sister's eyes.

"No… It's wonderful," Tasha admitted with genuine, but restrained, delight. "But I can't help wondering what happens next. Where will he live now that his homes are destroyed?"

"Buxley is working on the reconstruction of his woodland cottage," Alia informed her with a level tone, "and should be done in roughly two weeks. Until then Talon is continuing to stay at my place," Alia paused when she heard her sister sigh. "What? You think I would just kick him out on the streets of Wizard City now that he's healed?"

Tasha winced at the accusation.

"No, you would never do that," Tasha shook her head, "but I do think he ought to get an apartment of his own until his cottage is repaired." Tasha continued not to look at her sister, her tone revealing her concern that this conversation was not going to go well.

"He's already been in my shack for over a month, Tasha," Alia jabbed, sitting back down with all the grace of a shot waterfowl hitting the water. She grabbed a glass of water Tasha had already placed on the table. "I don't see any reason why two more weeks would matter." She downed half the glass while watching her sister's back. Tasha moved the finished vegetables off the burner and squared her shoulders.

"Because he's dangerous," Tasha declared with a sudden aggression, turning to her twin. "We both saw what he is capable of that night, and we both saw how much it took to stop him. We nearly killed him trying to keep him from killing us!" Tasha was now standing by her stove in a defensive posture, bracing herself. "We need to keep some distance from him for both his safety and ours."

Alia parted her lips to say something but for once nothing came to her immediately. Instead her mind roiled indecisively. Part of her was agreeing with Tasha, having had similar thoughts herself, and reminded of the words Lenora had shouted at her at the end of that first day they met. "If ya ain't prepared ta be that kinda woman, then soon as he's healed, ya best get 'im outta yer life. Otherwise, ya both ain't gonna do nothin' but hurt one 'nother, an' there'll be nothin' but pain." She and Tasha were right that there could be a lot of pain in their future if Alia wasn't careful.

But then another part of her mind was bristling –now as it did a week ago- at the mere thought of distancing herself from a good friend, especially one in great need of her support. Her memory flashed right back to yesterday afternoon, with her head nestled in Talon's collar bone, looking up at the face of a man unsure of himself and his future, questioning who he should be. She'd promised then to be there for him, to help him; not to abandon him. Together there ain't a thing in all the Spiral that can stop us.

"You wouldn't be saying that if you saw him, Tasha," Alia's evident initial anger had quenched into a somber, smoldering disapproval that Tasha did not expect. The Diviner kept her gaze on the crystal cup in front of her, speaking to it rather than her sister. "Standing in the rubble of his first home, holding the remains of irreplaceable mementos he had destroyed by accident. He was as much a wreck as that house." She looked to her sister with a cold calm more at home on their eldest sibling's face. "We healed his body, Sis, but not his soul. He is still a broken man."

"All because Rowan cheated on him? Really," Tasha snorted incredulously.

"No, not that," Alia replied curtly, but still coolly, which unsettled her sister, "because of what he did, because he is dangerous. Rowan's betrayal was only a trigger, Tasha; he's always been this dangerous, even as a child."

"How do you know that," Tasha inquired quickly but evenly, not eager to provoke her typically raging sister from her presently uncharacteristic calm. "None of us know anything about that man's childhood."

"Lenora Willowsong told me," Alia replied, sitting back and folding her arms. "She's a childhood friend of his and a Theurgist. He insisted I reach out to her to help heal him because he was finally feeling like too much of a burden upon me. We talked in between healing sessions over the course of last week. She told me he nearly killed a kid with accidental magic when he was a preteen." Tasha leaned on the counter and folded her arms, taking in this new information with a frown.

"He really has been a ticking time bomb then, hasn't he," Tasha contemplated, mirroring the remark Alia herself had made days prior. But instead of agreeing with her, as she would have back then, Alia was surprised to feel an angry tension in response, muted and yet similar to Lenora's reaction. The irony gave Alia brief pause before she rose threateningly from her seat.

"I used to think the same thing, but I was wrong, and so are you," Alia snarled, hands pressed to the table. "What Talon is, is a man in need of support from his friends. Unlike you and me, he has to work much harder to remain stable daily, something I am slowly coming to understand. The last thing he needs is for his friends to abandon him."

"I'm not saying we abandon him, Sis," the Thaumaturge defended, "I'm saying we need to be careful and not get too close emotionally or…"

Alia's eyes narrowed and her voice followed the barometric pressure in the room, gaining a threatening depth. Tasha did not flinch or shudder, but took a more defensive posture. This was the kind of response she had prepared for earlier.

"Or what?" Alia egged her sister on, already knowing where this was going. Tasha remained silent, the twins' eyes locked and conveying the conversation without words. Alia grit her teeth. "Do you really think so little of me?"

"No," Tasha's eyes narrowed and she pointed at her twin, "I know you. I know how you behave, and how you think. We may not be the same, but we are twins. Not even our mother knows you as well I do, Alia." She thumbed at herself. "And as I feared when you took him in that night, you've already become more emotionally attached to that man than you ever were after the war."

"If healing and supporting our best friend is excessively emotional attachment," Alia started but Tasha cut her off.

"He's not our best friend, Alia!" Tasha's voice rose in contrast to the air temperature around her. She was getting increasingly aggravated by her sister's rosy attitude about their relationship to Talon. "We barely spent any time around that man during the war, and he was never around us without Rowan nearby! I avoided him mostly because I found him uncomfortably friendly and flirtatious, and you spent most of the war bullying him just like Kane!"

"I did not!"

"Yes you did! Of the entire crew, only two people ever called him an oaf or a fool! And the second person didn't start until they began a terrible relationship with the first!" Tasha huffed and brushed crystals off her shoulder before folding her arms. "You think I'm a rotten friend for distancing myself, but you were hardly a friend at all until you finally started fighting alongside Talon in Dragonspyre. Only then did you seem to have any appreciation for the man."

Alia let some of her frustration with her sister release as crackles of energy around her, dancing over her flesh. She never thought she was bullying Talon all that time, just being playful and silly; just some light teasing. But given Kane's attitude towards Talon, she could see how her sister might perceive it as bullying. And that irritated her further.

"I've gotten to understand him as a person better, okay?!"

"Exactly my point, Alia," Tasha continued, snapping her fingers at her sister, "you barely knew him beyond being comrades-in-arms but now you are 'best friends'? Over the course of a month you've gotten very emotionally attached to that man, Alia, and you can't deny Talon has a reasonably attractive figure. Combine that with your lack of activity over the last -what, two months, three?- and the longer he stays in your hut without any injuries to hold you back, the more likely you'll end up doing something you will regret."

"I'm trying to heal his mind, not get in his pants! How many times do I have to tell people I am not pursuing him?!" A bolt of electricity strayed and hit the metal leg of one of the chairs, sending it tumbling away from Alia.

"Don't damage my furniture!"

"Don't call me a whore!"

"Then what are you, Alia," Tasha questioned at an even higher volume than her sister. "This is what you do! You get attached, screw around for a while, get bored, and move on! And that's all and well with most men, but if you do that with Talon, we'll have an Incident on our hands all over again!" Ice was forming around Tasha's hands, getting thicker with each sentence, preparing to shield her from the coming storm.

"I cannot believe you!" Alia's ponytail rose an inch off her back as her electrical energy began to build, and another arch hit the metal table leg, flipping it onto Tasha's bed with a loud crash. "Our friend, a man who saved our lives, needs our support to keep him from giving up pyromancy forever or just straight up killing himself, and you think I'm trying to fuck him! Maybe I'm trying to change! Maybe he's changed! Maybe we'd be good for each other, but right now, I don't care, because I'm too busy trying to keep him alive!"

"You are putting that man's health before your own safety, before your family's safety!" Tasha screamed back, pointing at the floor between them and causing ice to accumulate on the floor between the girls to divide them. Alia straightened up at that accusation, backing up, clenching her fists at her sides, and leveling her brown eyes at her sister in a malicious, electrified glare.

"Or maybe I'm the only one doing as our mother taught us," Alia snarled, "and putting the needs of those worse off before my own. Maybe, in this moment, mother would finally be more proud of me than she is of her darling daughter," tears began to fill Alia's eyes, but she choked them back to get off one last quip. "Come talk to me when you thaw that heart out, Ice Queen, because Talon needs your friendship as much as mine." Alia turned sharply away from her sister, not looking back, and let the tears roll as she yanked open the dorm door and barged out, barreling through an unfortunate bystander on the landing before she made it to the stairs and disappeared in a shower of sparks and a clap of thunder.

Tasha sighed at length before heading for the door and glaring at the bystander. For her part, she looked absolutely startled by the entire ordeal, leaving Tasha wondering if she had managed to hear any of the conversation through her cloaking charm. The volume of their yelling had gotten a little higher than Tasha had prepped for.

"Whatever you heard, Simone, forget about it, or winter will be year-round just for you," Tasha threatened, not in the mood to even sweeten her voice. The girl froze from fear, not temperature, and nodded briskly before carrying on to the stairwell. Tasha groaned and slammed the door, turning to rest against it. "She's definitely gotten too attached to Talon," she mused aloud. "I'll have to try to talk some sense into him instead, or-" Tasha's train of thought was interrupted by a bell going off; she ran to the oven and swiftly grabbed some mitts, pulling out a pan bearing the once-promised pork roast. She set it on the counter sadly, debated a thought, and then snapped her fingers. A sparkling globe of light appeared beside her, appearing to await command.

"So remember how I said we can't hang out because I had dinner with my sister," Tasha spoke into the sphere, which pulsed at each word. "Well we just had a fight about a mutual friend and she bailed out on me. I could use somebody to share this big meal with, and maybe just…" Tasha sighed "talk, without drama. Meet you at the Pet Pavilion?" Tasha waved the sphere away and it blinked twice before popping out of the air.

Tasha was returning her dining table to the center of her room when the sphere of light returned with a soft pop, blinking twice before she poked it with her index finger. A voice that was smooth and baritone emanated from the sphere.

"I dunno," the voice began with a playful edge, "I've got an awful lot of studying to do tonight. My Snow Angels still aren't working out right..." The sphere popped out of existence and Tasha smirked. She summoned another speech sphere.

"I've got pork roast, balsamic vinegar veggies, and a bottle of Kensington Park 54." She dismissed the sphere and moved to reposition her chair. Another sphere popped into her presence, and she prodded it quickly.

"Girl, I'll be there in five."

Rowan felt pretty guilty about nearly killing Emmaline, no matter how unnaturally level-headed the girl was in response to her life nearly ending. She was an innocent student that, if not for Dworgyn's involvement, would have never been victim to Rowan's violent brand of introversion. Which was also something Rowan needed to work on; she absolutely could have been more mature about Emmaline's questions, instead of giving her hypothermia. By this point it was pretty clear Emmaline was going out of her way to be accommodating to Rowan, and consequently showing an embarrassingly higher level of maturity about their uncomfortable situation than the woman who was nearly twice her age.

That humbling guilt ate at Rowan the entirety of the night and into the next day, leading Rowan to make an offer to Emmaline that surprised both women; Rowan would do a favor for Emmaline of her choosing, within the limits imposed by her condition. Emmaline insisted throughout the day that Rowan owed her no favors, but that humiliating guilt inside made Rowan insistent, finally getting an answer this morning. And that was how, in the late evening hours, Rowan ended up in her kitchen with Emmaline baking cookies, of all things.

Emmaline's choice was unexpected but not unwelcome as Rowan actually enjoyed baking. This was the first time she had ever baked with someone who was not a relative and had no knowledge of her kitchen however. They weren't well coordinated in their baking efforts, and that made this experience awkward.

"You look like you're enjoying yourself," Emmaline commented while placing cut circles of dough on a baking sheet. Both ladies had their hair up in untidy buns to keep most stray strands from joining in the baking process. Rowan was, in fact, smiling to herself as she kneaded their second batch of dough. Emmaline had tried to do so earlier, but quickly showed a complete lack of technique that prompted Rowan to take over the kneading. Rowan's grin remained as she cast a sideways glance at Emmaline.

"That's because I actually enjoy baking," she affirmed, "so much so that if you had asked days ago you wouldn't have had to use a favor to get me to do it, Emma." The remark lacked the venom her voice usually carried regarding Emmaline, but she realized after it left her lips the jest might not be taken well.

"Well how was I supposed to know," Emmaline replied sharply before Rowan could apologize, "our classes never suggested the undead enjoy sweets."

"I have taste buds, unlike most, so I do. But that's not the whole reason," Rowan explained. She watched with some concern as Emmaline placed the first cookie sheet into the stone oven without any apparent caution regarding the heat. Pyromancers, Rowan shrugged and grabbed her rolling pin. "I realized early on that I am not going to die –unless someone manages to murder me- and that I am also infertile. I literally cannot continue my family line; but I can pass down family knowledge and traditions, such as recipes."

"That's surprisingly sweet and sentimental of you," Emmaline noted, leaning against the mauve countertop and folding her arms. She smiled broadly. "I like it."

"What's also surprising is that you chose to use your one favor for a baking night," Rowan noted back, reaching for the cookie cutter and purposefully paying more attention to her work than her housemate's comment. "You could have gotten a very thorough lesson in higher class necromancy, or had me make a school bully wish they were never born. Instead you chose cookies, and I must admit my curiosity is piqued, Emma." Rowan heard Emmaline sigh deeply and began to wonder if she just hit a deep nerve. Her suspicion was confirmed when she felt the anxiety and sadness radiate out of the teen.

"Mother never let me cook with her," Emmaline explained. It didn't take a necromancer to feel the sorrow in her words. "I always wanted to, but she was constantly afraid I would hurt myself."

"Sounds like a real peach," Rowan snipped.

"She meant well," sighed Emmaline, moving off the counter to grab cookie cutouts and place them on a second baking sheet. "And she wasn't entirely wrong, as I do have a propensity for injuries. Still, I want to properly cook a meal, with or without her, just to prove that I can do normal things like everyone else." As Emmaline placed the second cookie sheet in the oven, Rowan reflected on her words. Emma can't cook.

Thinking back over the last week, Rowan realized all of Emmaline's meals had required minimal preparation; mostly boiling water or just eating it cold. This was the first time in nine days of living in her house that Emmaline had actually used Rowan's oven. She pitied the girl; for her eating was unnecessary because she wasn't alive, yet even she knew how to cook. She had many fond memories of cooking with her mother; all Emmaline possessed were memories of rejection and belittlement.

"I can't replace your mother," she softly pointed out, "cooking with me won't make up for the lack of quality time spent with her."

"I know," was the sheepish reply. "It's not like we didn't have fun times in other ways. But I figured cooking together is something friends do, right?"

Rowan shrugged in acknowledgement. "All my friends are siblings, romantic partners, or brothers-in-arms. Frankly, I haven't a clue what two unrelated, civilian, platonic relations do with their time together."

"You've never had a female friend," Emmaline asked with wide eyes. Rowan shook her head in affirmation and Emmaline smiled hesitantly. "Me neither. Had to keep my parentage a secret, and all that. Plus I was way too weird for most popular girls to put up with." Emmaline shrugged. "That's the reason this was my favor; so I could pretend to have a friend, and have fun…" Emmaline crossed her arms and looked at the floor, that sensation of anxiety roiling off of her again and bombarding Rowan's senses. "For a little while, anyways…" She added sheepishly.

A potential response from Rowan was interrupted by a loud chirping alarm, emanating from a wristwatch Rowan noticed now that Emmaline's sleeves were drawn back. The watch was a caricature of a bloodbat with its teeth clasped around the watch face and wings wrapped around the girl's pale wrist. She noticed with amusement the tongue served as the hour hand. Emmaline shut off the alarm and Rowan detected a wave of relief washing over the teen.

Emmaline hastily excused herself from the kitchen, Rowan's emerald eyes on her back the whole time. Emmaline felt that stare, and it felt deeply judgmental. Saved by the bell, she thought, I was getting too bold. Us. Friends. She'd never let that happen. Emmaline sighed heavily after she shut the bathroom door, looking at her face in the mirror glumly. But at least I got to live my dream for a short while. Emmaline wore a sad, spacey smile as she traced a life symbol over the sink, the chiming of bells heralding the summoning of a small orange Sprite.

"Hey Amaryllis," Emmaline smiled brighter to the sprite, who flitted up to her face, "I haven't looked yet but there's a fair chance I burned myself slightly somewhere." The Sprite folded her arms and sighed at the teenager before eagerly fluttering around her body to begin the examination.

Emmaline returned to the kitchen to find two finished trays of cookies on the counter and an aggravated Rowan assaulting the citizens of one tray with a metal spatula.

"Everything alright?"

"Yeah, sure, just fine," grunted Rowan as the cookie gave way and crumbled under her assault, rather than lifting off the sheet compliantly. "Except if I had known you had no cooking experience, I would have thought to remind you to grease the damned pans!" She slammed the spatula down and huffed, choosing her next victim with a vicious eye.

"Grease them?"

"Yes, grease them," Rowan repeated, giving a victorious 'ha' as she separated one cookie from the tray. "It keeps the cookies, or anything you cook really, from sticking to the metal cookware. It's a basic of baking that your mother would have taught you, had she not been an over-protective coddler!"

"Since it's my fault, I'll help," offered Emmaline. She began to rummage through utensil drawers as Rowan objected.

"I only have one spatula -never needed more- so just let me…" Rowan gave up as she watched Emmaline settle for a butter knife and began prying at the cookies. "Just be careful."

It only took a minute for Rowan to regret that statement, pausing when she heard a soft 'oops' from Emmaline. She turned out of morbid curiosity to see that Emmaline had managed to stab herself with the butter knife, cutting pretty deep into her left palm. Blood trickled out at a small but steady pace onto the pan below. Rowan opened her mouth to speak, but stopped when she noticed Emmaline was not teary-eyed, or cursing, or babying her injured hand in any manner. Instead the teen returned the tip of the blade to the open wound, as if seeking to widen it further, and concentrated with pursed lips. The tip of the blade turned bright orange within a few seconds, blood boiling around it, but only at the tip. When smoke began to curdle off her flesh the young necromancer relaxed and withdrew the blade, revealing a cauterized wound. She huffed satisfaction -to Rowan's surprise- and turned to put the knife in the sink only to be caught off guard by Rowan holding out a towel.

"Might want to mop up that mess before it spreads," the older woman warned, giving Emmaline a stern, inquisitive gaze. Emmaline shyly took the towel and dabbed the blood off the cookie sheet.

"Thanks…"

"You're awfully stoic Emma, for a sixteen year old," Rowan observed as Emmaline rinsed off the towel and washed the knife. "Not even a tear in your eye, and that looked pretty deep. Even I would be whimpering a little. What's your secret," she pried. Maybe now I can't get some answers.

"Just very good at masking pain, I guess," Emmaline muttered, not making eye contact. "I'll try to act more normal the next time I stab myself, if that would make you more comfortable." There was a bit of an edge to that comment that had Rowan bristling slightly. She also noticed that Emmaline continued to not favor her stabbed hand as she cleaned. Rowan snorted.

"I'm not even sure what normal is for the living when they get stabbed," Rowan joked.

"Well neither am I," Emmaline snapped. "Mother didn't cover getting stabbed when teaching me to be normal, ok?" Emmaline turned furiously to glare at Rowan, her anger seeming to get the better of her. Rowan didn't back down, her curiosity instead intensifying as she narrowed her eyes.

"Neither did mine, but I still manage to put up a convincing charade," Rowan pointed out, narrowing her eyes as well. "You, on the other hand, show every sign of being alive but seem to be as impervious to pain as myself, if not more, and have almost no fear. I've spent the last week trying to figure you out-"

"I'm a freak, okay!" Emmaline cried, tears only now starting to well up in her bright blue eyes. She slammed her fist on the table with enough force that the cookie sheets shifted. "I'm more of a freak than you'll ever be! I'm not 'impervious' to pain, I'm not 'stoic'; I can't feel any pain, at all! I literally have no idea what pain is!" Emmaline raised her slammed fist and held it in Rowan's face. It was a bit darker in shade and slightly swollen compared to her other hand. "Maybe I broke it, maybe I didn't, I dunno because I don't feel any of it! There's my secret! There's the mystery, now drop it and let me just feel normal for once in my life!" Emmaline stomped past Rowan and rushed to the basement, slamming the door behind her. The house protested with a moan.

Rowan stood there for a few seconds, stunned by the uncharacteristic outburst that was likely brought about by some pretty serious emotional baggage she had not anticipated. Confusion worked across her face before she moved into the hallway that led to the basement, staring at the door, then looking back at the kitchen sink, then back at the door.

"Hold on…How the hell is that even possible?"