"Moxie," breathes Lemony.

Standing by a hedge is Moxie Mallahan, ever quaint in style, eyes still that peculiar shade of grey, though he notes that their spark has been tempered by the passage of time. Her smile widens when he speaks, and she tugs down on the rim of her hat with two fingers.

"Fancy seeing you after all those years," she says. "You've lost weight. Are you still running away from the authorities in Budapest?"

"No, that was more than a year ago," he mumbles. They begin to walk down the path he had just crossed, and she scans him as he doggedly stares at the ground. "It's worth mentioning that I've been declared dead in both Hungary and Austria."

Moxie nods, her grin stretching wide. "I know. I'm the one who wrote your obituaries. Declared dead in Switzerland, too, mind you."

His eyes widen and he raises his head to gape at her. "You wrote them — ? Why ask, then?"

"To see that look on your face, of course. Or to simply see your face. Still so furtive, honestly Snicket…"

And despite himself, his lips tug up and he scoffs in amusement. He faces the road ahead as he walks, but he is no longer looking down.

"It truly has been a while, Moxie."

"Oh you've missed me, I'm sure of it."

He has.

Lemony doesn't have many friends — sometimes he forgets he has friends at all — and it feels light and liberating to be in the company of someone he can mindlessly trust. Someone who isn't dependent on him, that is.

Having teased Lemony enough for the time being, Moxie shifts her attention to her surroundings, and her expression becomes markedly less blithe. A twig cracks beneath her heavy shoes, and the noise is reminiscent of bones breaking. Lemony flinches.

"It's a dreary little place, isn't it?" she remarks offhandedly, squinting to read the faded font on the plaques fixed to the fences. "To sacrifice is to serve… What do you suppose it means?"

"Nothing agreeable."

"All those inverted crosses near the border — is everyone here part of some cult?"

"Quite likely."

"Do you suppose I could meet the leader?"

Lemony levels her with a look.

"Or maybe not," she answers herself before returning to read the plaques. "Children, Lucifer's bravest servants… Christ."

"Wrong deity," Lemony says dryly. "Try Vesper for that."

Moxie blinks at him. "Does none of this phase you?"

"I have to be selective about what phases me and what doesn't… Otherwise, everything would."

"Ah, now we're inching closer to the core of your dilemma." She is back to scanning him. "The Baudelaires."

Smiling with some self pity, he says, "You must have grown tired of hearing that name. All those years…"

But she smiles, too, except her smile is sympathetic. "It's nice that some things stay the same. I live a fast paced life. Everything is changing all around me. Everything except…"

" … me," he finishes for her.

She nudges him with her elbow. "I'm looking forward to meeting the two elder Baudelaires."

"Just… don't ask too many questions, please."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He sighs. "Curiosity can steal away your better judgement sometimes. Violet and Klaus… they have been through a lot. They might be sensitive to prodding. Klaus, in particular. And Violet… she might put on a strong face, but she's vulnerable on the inside. Don't give her one more reason to act strong. It can be quite taxing, I should think."

"Well what do you know," she says, brows furrowed and lips smiling. "You really care about them, don't you?"

"No, I…" he splutters. "Well, yes, of course, but… only sensibly… wouldn't you?"

"Calm down, Snicket, it's not an accusation; it's an observation. A positive one at that. It does you good to care for someone other than yourself."

Lemony considers a response to that for some minutes, but he only bemuses himself. Some indistinct grumbles and mumbling escape his lips, but they're too softly exhaled for Moxie to pick up on. She recognizes them for what they are — a token of his self-conflict. The story would peel itself open sooner or later, and a trait of a good journalist is patience.

They walk in silence, with Moxie observing everything and Lemony lost in thought.

"No one lives here?" she says.

"We have yet to see anyone," he says.

The small house they have taken as refuge comes into view. Lemony inclines his head for Moxie to follow, and, standing in front of the window entrance, he pats the small protrusion of a sill in search of the key that Violet said would be there. Then he feels it. A smooth, cool metal no larger than half his thumb.

"Now where does it go…" he mumbles.

A strong light shines on his face, and he squints his eyes and blinks rapidly. In Moxie's hand is a brass flashlight whose body is long enough for her to use as a stick should she ever be in need of a weapon or to make use of blunt force.

And he sees the slot for the wind-up key. He puts it in and twists it thrice clockwise, and the cogs squeak as they begin to turn. The teeth of the wheels are visible through the glass — they pull a rope downwards, tugging at the now repaired handle so that the window would open.

Pocketing the key, Lemony extends a hand in an awkward gesture for Moxie to go in before him.

She pushes against the window glass and climbs the ledge, whispering, "A clever trick, that one!"

"That's Violet's work," he says as he follows after her. "She's quite mechanically gifted."

"Her father's daughter indeed."

"Yes…"

Once inside, Lemony shuts the window and lays the key on the coffee table nearby. Now that it is nighttime in earnest, the house is entirely dark save for the illumination offered by the fireplace and the candles that the two Baudelaires managed to find. It offers a warm glow to an otherwise bleak and haunted place.

Moxie puts her typewriter on the floor and rolls her shoulders, kneading the back of her neck with one hand. "I still get terribly sore from traveling. You'd think I would have gotten used to it by now."

But just before she can slump into an armchair, Violet's voice comes from the doorway. "That one is broken," she says quietly. "It only looks intact, but if you sat in it, it would collapse."

Not having expected her emergence, Lemony and Moxie only stare.

"I'll fix it tomorrow," Violet says.

Her face is paler than usual, which makes the skin around her eyes look darker and more swollen. Her hair is still damp from her shower, and the blouse she wears is crumpled and too large for her frame, and it is tucked into trousers whose legs have been cuffed four times and that is tightly secured to her waist by a belt.

She will fix her clothes tomorrow, too.

For now, she suffices with staring at the newest member of her roughly patched group, holding her forearm with a hand.

Moxie breaks the silence with a huffed laugh, striding towards Violet with an extended hand. "You must be Violet! I'm Moxie Mallahan, but feel free to call me Moxie. What's the story?"

Hesitantly, Violet shakes her hand. "Story…?"

"It's an Irish way of saying 'how's it going?'," Klaus says. He enters the living room looking significantly better rested than Violet, and the clothes he wears are a better fit for him than for her. Age has added inches to his height and breadth to his bulk, and he stands taller than his elder sister.

"You're not wrong there," says Moxie, "but other than being Irish, I'm also a reporter, so I'm always on the lookout for my next story."

"Well," says Klaus with a lowered voice. "I hope you're not here to write our story." He looks at Lemony. "We don't appreciate having our name on strangers' tongues."

"Of course not, Klaus," she says. "Protecting your anonymity is part of keeping you and your sister safe. You're infamous, Baudelaires. A story on you might sell heftily but I'm not one to give away poor souls like you to the slaughter house."

From his spot, Lemony shifts uncomfortably.

"Well," Klaus says, looking at Lemony. He then looks at Moxie. "That remains to be seen."

Moxie looks at everyone around her. "A lot of unresolved tension in this room." Then she looks at the Baudelaires. "Is it Snicket? It's Snicket, isn't it. He'll grow on you, I assure you. It helps if you think of him as a black cat — you start tolerating his mannerisms much better."

And as though she summoned the creature, a cat, completely black save for a patch on white fur on its chin, meanders into the room and jumps onto the broken armchair. Its weight is too light to cause the chair to collapse, but the wood does creak.

"You have a pet?" Moxie asks, pointing at the cat.

"No — I mean yes, we do — but that cat's not ours," says Klaus, eyebrows furrowed. He turns to look at Violet, who is just as confused as he is.

"Oh, what do you have then?" asks Moxie.

"A raven," says Violet, walking to the cat. She extends a hand and allows the cat to sniff it. Having decided that Violet is not a threat, it pushes its head into her touch and purrs. "Where did you come from?"

"Huh," vocalizes Lemony, looking around the room as though an explanation would avail itself.

"Maybe it came in before us?" suggests Klaus. "Maybe it belongs to the original owners and was here all along. It does have a collar."

"Poor one must have been so lonely," whispers Violet, now scratching the cat's chin. "She's not very thin, though… Hm…"

Moxie says, "It's a she?"

Violet mumbles a 'yeah' before turning to look at everyone. "Should we name her?"

"Vi, you can't keep picking up strays wherever we go," sighs Klaus. But he undermines his point when he goes to pet the cat as well.

Even though the statement is not aimed at him, Lemony looks away, feeling a tug of discomfort. In some ways he feels like one of the strays that Violet has a penchant for picking up.

She does glance at him very briefly but soon returns to the cat. "I'm keeping her," she says, smiling.

Tesla, who has been sitting on a bust of an angry-looking man this entire time, caws. Klaus chuckles. "Tesla is doing a very good impression of Edgar Allan Poe's Raven."

"How's that?"

"And the raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only that one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour."

"Nevermore," says Moxie for Violet's benefit, "was the word."

"Should we name her that?" says Violet.

"Or Lenore," shrugs Moxie. "Lovelier name. Still sticking to the Edgar Allan Poe bit if that's what you're about."

Violet looks into the cat's bright green eyes, and she decides. "I like it. Lenore."

"And the plot grows grimmer," mumbles Lemony. Lenore looks at him unblinkingly, and he feels an inexplicable sinking in the stomach. And although he never had much of an affinity for Tesla, he feels validated when the raven croaks and assumes an aggressive stance, but Lenore does nothing but turn her gaze to him, swishing her tail to the side.

Violet crinkles her nose and says, "Tesla, I'm gonna need you two to get along."

"Maybe he doesn't like sharing the attention," muses Moxie. She goes to run a finger a finger over Tesla's beak, but she soon drops her hand. "I… oh. That's no ordinary bird."

"He's not?"

"No, he's special alright. See how the tip of his beak is chipped? It's to mark the ravens that were trained by corvid specialists in Stain'd to help sailors survive nasty storms. How did he end up with you, Violet?"

"I… don't know. He just showed up one day at my window and stayed with me ever since. That was back in Eldritch Harbor. When…"

Violet looks at Lemony again, and he acknowledges her with a strained smile.

"You're a very lucky girl, then," says Moxie. "He chose you."

'Lucky' is not a word Violet is used to associating with herself. It makes her uneasy, and she can't help thinking Tesla ended up with her for a reason more obscure than luck.

Lemony takes off his coat and removes his hat and makes to hang them on the hook by the front door, and on his way, he fetches Moxie's coat and hat from the floor after his failed attempt to catch them mid-air when she threw them at him.

"Sorry," Moxie says with a grimace. "And thanks."

His voice is faint as he calls, "Would anyone like tea?"

"Is there any tea?" questions Klaus, though he isn't given any heed.

"We have a long conversation ahead, we'd all like tea!" calls Moxie. To the Baudelaires, she says, "He's become quite domestic — the two of you really tamed him."

"I don't think I can take any credit for that," says Klaus, and he looks at Violet, who markedly looks away.

The boiling water gurgles in the distance, and in those few moments of silence, it is loud enough to resound clearly in the living room. Klaus and Violet are sat by each other on the sofa, and Moxie sighs and sits on the non broken armchair.

"Look," she says, leaning forward. Her voice is quiet so as to not be overheard. "Snicket can be a bit of a bastard. He's uncommunicative and secretive and he has an uncanny ability to disappear at a moment's notice. It's frustrating. It makes you want to pull your hair from its roots. But he has his heart in the right place. He just needs a little patience on your parts — well, a lot of patience actually… buckets of it, even. Where was I going with this?"

"Moxie," says Violet, leaning forward as well. "It's okay, you don't have to make a case for him. I know he's someone we can trust and that his intentions are good."

"But…?"

But actions are just as important as intentions, she wishes to say. An honorable intention does not erase the hurt that is dealt, and it is drowned by yet another intention that was never had at all. The intention to erase the hurt.

"Nothing," shrugs Violet. "We get along just fine."

Moxie's eyes are smiling, but it is evident she is not convinced. Picking up on nuances in behavior is one of her many areas of expertise, and Violet's reticence feels forced. Regardless, she remembers Lemony's advice that she should not prod, and she suffices with observing the girl.

"We've had enough experience with guardians to last us ten lifetimes," says Klaus bitterly. "If there's one thing I've learned, it's that we're better off not trusting anyone."

"I'll be sure not to take offense, then," says Moxie lightheartedly.

But Klaus smiles reluctantly. "Somehow I trust you more than Snicket, and I've only just met you."

"I have that charm. He has the opposite of it, I'm afraid."

The clink and clatter of porcelain saucers on a metal tray are loud enough to warrant a look into the kitchen space, where Lemony is pouring tea into every cup and lamenting the absence of non-expired milk. He carries the tray to the living room, and the flames of the candles shudder wildly when he sets it on the table.

"Is she doing a good job of turning you against me, Baudelaires?" he mumbles.

Moxie scoffs, offended. "Why, I was singing your praises! But with that attitude of yours, it's no wonder they're not having it! It's like preaching to the devil!"

"Is it?"

Violet looks stubbornly at her lap, frowning. Klaus takes his tea and sips.

Lemony rubs his eye. "No matter. We have a job here, and that is to find Sunny Baudelaire and Beatrice Snicket."

"How is Moxie gonna help us find them, actually?" says Klaus.

"You see, Klaus," says Moxie, "I'm likely to be the best journalist you've met in your life, and I don't say that to be vain. But I know how to get my information, no matter how well it's hidden."

"If you're that good, we should have had you with us from the start."

"That's on Snicket. He only thought to phone me now. Mind you, he sounded vaguely choked up on the other end of the line. For a second there I feared he was having a cardiac arrest or an especially bad case of anti-sociality."

Lemony's mood becomes more and more sour by the minute. He stands there with his saucer and cup in hand, hesitating to take a seat.

"I only thought of it when I saw the receptionist at that dire hospital reading one of your articles," he says.

"Better late than never." Then she snaps her fingers and gestures for Lemony to take a seat, which he does with some hesitation, given that the only available spot is next to Violet who stiffens and grows cold when she feels him beside her.

But Moxie says, "Tell me everything," and the focus becomes solely on the issue at hand.

They all talk at length, adding details to each other's accounts, ranting at times and attentively listening at others, while Moxie takes note of what she deems noteworthy and interjects with questions of her own.

By the end of it, Klaus sits with the back of his head resting heavily against the back of the sofa, and Violet looks depleted and miserable — her body is aching from the physical and emotional weight of her journey, but she says nothing of it, choosing instead to cope by dissociating. Lemony, on the other hand, is inscrutable. His fingers are linked loosely together, and his face is passive.

"I'd say coming here was the right call," says Moxie as she looks through her notes. "There are many loose threads, but those are what makes my job fun."

"So what's the plan?" asks Klaus tiredly.

"We investigate. Tomorrow, we'll look around town and ask the right questions."

"Provided we find anyone," says Violet.

"Oh, there are people alright."

At the confused looks on their faces, Moxie stands and beckons them to follow her. She stands in front of the window and says, "Look across the street. What do you see?"

"A house?" says Klaus.

"Focus on the window there by the lantern. There's dim a light coming out of it."

They all lean closer and squint their eyes.

They see the light, but there is nothing of interest about it.

Until it is obstructed by a shadow.

Violet and Klaus gasp in unison and retreat, their blood running cold, while Lemony's eyes widen as he swallows the sickening feeling in his throat.

"Someone lives there," Violet says hurriedly. "They know we're here — we didn't close the curtains, we didn't try to disguise our presence at all —!"

But Moxie puts a hand on Violet's shoulder and says, "Calm down now, Violet. I noticed that person before I came in. They've been pacing the same way for the past couple of hours. They didn't react or behave any differently when Snicket and I walked by."

"But… what does this mean?"

Moxie shrugs. "They don't see us. They don't care to."

This does little to curb any fear or apprehension. The shadow in the window returns to move in the opposite direction, still deathly slow, never looking outside.

"But most importantly…" she turns to face them. "Why did you expect that no one lived here? Or… why did you hope?"

"For the same reason a child fears the dark," says Lemony, looking outside the window once more. "That sinister feeling of something looming over you. You only hide your face and pray it doesn't exist."

Sheepishly, Violet says, "I hoped this town was completely abandoned except for the place where we'd find Sunny and Beatrice."

"Huh," says Moxie. "You'd think you were too world-weary to hope things would be so clear-cut and simple."

"I'm just tired," mumbles Violet, shutting her eyes and holding herself. She sways for a moment in place, then she turns to walk away. "I just want things to be safe enough to sleep, just for a bit…"

"Go sleep, Vi," Klaus says gently.

"Things will be alright," says Moxie, nodding. "Nothing to fear as far as my instincts tell me."

Violet looks at them, hesitant.

"Go on," says Lemony softly. "You have earned it."

She nods. But while there is a ruffled raven on the bust, there is no cat in sight.

"Where's Lenore?"

Confusion ensues, and everyone makes a half-hearted attempt to find Lenore, but they never do. Violet resigns and goes to sleep, and so does Klaus. Moxie falls asleep on the sofa with her notebook cradled to her chest, while Lemony sits with the heaviness of the atmosphere atop his chest.

Tesla never sleeps. And Lenore is still missing.

The shadow never stops pacing.


Why is Moxie Irish, you ask? Her surname is Mallahan - that is a very Irish name. Never imagined her as anything but.