note: If I actually write 1,000 words of Epic every day like I'm planning to, updates will be even more frequent. Cool, eh? Again, thanks to everyone reading and reviewing, you guys are pretty awesome. Thanks also to Nick Drake, who continues to serenade me with his bittersweet 'tunes.

thirteen: reunions

I woke up the next morning still exhausted, which, by this point, wasn't much of a surprise. I lied in bed facing the wall, torn about what to do next. The most logical course of action would be to find One Lung Pete and get the elixirs, but I didn't really feel like bringing my whole entourage with me to do it. After the Blithe Mile incidents, I didn't trust them enough to leave them alone either, so I was kind of in a bind. I finally made myself get up and I went to the window, digging the sleep from my eyes.

The street below was busy with people already out and about, another reminder that we had work to do. Boots and Dutchy were now waking up, questions in their eyes. I sat back on the edge of my bed and yawned.

"Race," said Dutchy, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and fumbling with his glasses. "I've been thinking. Who is One Lung Pete?"

"A friend," I said, paused, "sort of."

"A friend like Swifty's 'a friend'?" Boots asked wryly from the floor. He was sitting now, too, knees drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. He grinned at my discomfort.

"No. He's not so much a friend as he is a… business partner. But we get along. Or, at least, we did. I just haven't seen him in awhile, is all."

"Yeah? I keep hearin 'bout this. So where you been all this time, anyway?" Boots asked, and I was starting to get a little unnerved at his astuteness.

"Home," I said simply, and found myself looking at Dutchy, who was nodding in agreement. I caught his eye and we both smiled a little, Boots watching us curiously.

The peace was broken by a sudden knock at the door. It was quick and quiet, almost like an accident, but nevertheless we knew it was for us. We all exchanged glances, because no one had any idea who it could be.

I went to the door, mainly because no one else looked like they were about to move. I opened it a bit and prepared myself for anything. I was pretty taken aback at what actually greeted me; standing in the hall with his hat in his hands and a sheepish grin on his face was none other than Bumlets.

"Hey," I said, the surprise registering on my face. I stepped back and allowed him to come in.

"Hey," he said, and then smiled around the room. "Hey, Dutch."

Dutch's grinned, relieved. "Hey!"

"This is Boots," I said. Boots jumped up and spit on his hand. Bumlets laughed a little and returned the gesture, and everything seemed remarkably normal.

"So? How's things?" Bumlets asked, crossing his arms across his chest and surveying us all with that same smile. "How're you holdin' up? I heard about Sofia. Man. That's rough."

"Yeah," I said with a nod. Suddenly I remembered the pact, remembered that day we sat in the park, and I added, "But I guess we all knew it wasn't going to be that easy."

He glanced at me and I could see the recognition flicker in his eyes as well. "Guess not," he said, and sighed, sat next to Dutchy.

"How's everything back home?" Dutchy asked worriedly.

"Good," Bumlets said slowly, clearly calculating how much he should and should not say. "I'm not going to sugarcoat things," he decided after a moment. "I mean, Specs is bad, Dutch, real bad."

Dutchy let out a shaky breath and attempted a grateful smile in Bumlets' direction.

"He was bad even before we left," I pointed out.

"Yeah, exactly," Bumlets agreed. "He's worse, but he's hangin on. He's tough, kid," he said, directing this last comment to Dutchy. "He's real tough."

"And everything else?" I prodded. "Everything normal, or what? Help us out here, we're totally…"

"…in the Dark?" Bumlets finished, raising an eyebrow.

"Ah, yeah. You know."

"Everything is normal, yeah, of course. Kloppman crawled back to the Lodging House after the CAS got on his case, but he still won't come upstairs and you can't even mention Specs' name in front of him. Jack wanted to get Specs to a doctor, but so far we've been able to convince him that he'll get better soon. Still, some of the others… they're skeptical. You know, though, Pie-eater? He's been really helpful."

"Yeah?" I asked. Bumlets looked thoughtful.

"Yeah. Really. I mean, the kid still isn't talking for whatever reason, but he's always by Specs' side, making sure he's comfortable, whatever, you know, whatever he can do."

Dutchy obviously took comfort in this, and Bumlets must have noticed, because he continued on.

"We have faith in you guys, everyone that knows. I mean everyone is thinking about Specs, not just the Dark kids. Us, we just know a little more than them, but everyone's worried. I mean, it's Specs, kid would never hurt a fly –"

I remembered what Swifty had told me and felt my stomach drop. I didn't know any details, but that what little he had told me only encouraged my imagination. How deep had Specs gotten? Had it changed him?

" – so everyone is pulling for him. They'll all be real excited to hear how you guys are doing, which is half the reason I'm here. The other half is, well, Race I knew you'd get mad if we didn't check in every once in awhile like we said." He flashed me a grin and I rolled my eyes. He was right. I had just been wondering about this so-called "Brotherhood," so it was nice to finally have some sort of confirmation of its existence, and their loyalty. My hand unconsciously moved up to the small nick behind my ear. It had long since scabbed over and was almost smooth again.

"Those kids staying out of trouble?" I asked, still thinking about the other that had made the pact; Skittery, Kid Blink, Snoddy.

"For the most part, but you know them. Skittery, he just attracts trouble no matter what he does, meanwhile Kid goes out on his own to find trouble, and Snoddy, well, that kid's a mystery anyway."

"Sounds pretty normal," I said. He nodded and we fell quiet, having seemingly run out of things to say.

"You live in that 'House, too?" Boots asked out of the blue.

"Yep," said Bumlets, smiling curiously at the kid.

"Seems like a nice place," Boots said with just a hint of wistfulness.

"It is," said Bumlets. "It's a very nice place. Good beds, good friends, cheap food, relative safety. We sell papes, newspapers, it's hard work and it can get boring, but we get to run all over the place, anywhere we want, doing anything we want. Yeah. It's a nice place."

I couldn't help but smirk at the expression on Boots' face, one of rapt attention and not a little idolatry. Dutchy had closed his eyes and I could see the homesickness in the way that his shoulders slumped and hung heavy. I remembered that, that homesick feeling, but I did not feel it that day. That day, I felt nothing but the same weariness that had been plaguing me since the very morning I woke up to the panic in the bunkroom.

"So, tell me, are you close? What have you accomplished, what's your next move?"

"A visit to One Lung Pete," I said, ignoring the first half of Bumlets' questions. He didn't seem to notice.

"Ah, Petey," Bumlets said, and laughed. "Been awhile since I've seen that sonuvabitch. Will he have the Cure?"

"Something like it," I answered. This time he did catch my omission, I could tell because he switched on his poker face, and a certain coldness entered the room that had been absent before. "Actually," I said quickly, "I need to ask you a favor." I trusted Bumlets, and now I needed to assure him of that. Besides, this solved my earlier dilemma. "I need to find Pete but I don't want to bring this kid-" I nodded toward Boots, "-with me. Would you mind staying here for just a little while and looking after him?"

Bumlets hesitated. He had probably had other plans, but a promise was a promise, and what else was this Brotherhood if not one big promise?

"Of course," he said, amiable once more.

"Thanks. And, I mean, you don't have to stay in this room. Just… you know, don't go too far. We gotta deliver the big guy in one piece."

Bumlets looked questioningly to Boots, who shook his head with a little smile. "I'll explain later," he said with an exaggerated sigh.

"Okay," I said, standing up and grabbing a few of my things off of the bed. "Dutch, you wanna come?"

"Sure," he said, trying to hide his surprise that I had asked.

"Alright. Then let's go."

I headed out the door with a wave and a mock salute to Bumlets and we tramped down the stairs and out into the day. The steady rain from the night before had let off a little and now there was just a light drizzle to contend with.

"Why didn't you tell him?" Dutchy asked as soon as we were out the door.

"Tell him what?"

"Tell him about… I don't know, about what we have. What happened – the ingredient list, any of that."

I shrugged. "I guess because he doesn't really need to know."

"He's trying to help us," Dutchy said, with a little more bite in his tone.

"I realize that. But, listen, the less people that know about what we're doing, the better. Even if those people are people we trust. Look at what happened to Sofia. And who knew we were going to Sofia's? Four, five people?"

This thought made Dutchy stop short. "You mean one of them…?"

"No, no, that's not what I mean at all." But I hesitated, and for longer than I should have. "The, um… no, there was no betrayal here. But, you know, the more people know, the more it's talked about, and others hear things and… we're just trying to keep all this quiet, right? We're trying to get through unnoticed."

"Fair enough," said Dutchy, but I knew he had more doubts now than before. But despite my initial hesitation, I was still confident. I ran through my friends in my head. Skittery was loyal to a fault, so long as you could put up with his complaining. Snoddy – Bumlets was right about Snoddy, he was a mystery, dark, brooding, but smart as hell. He wouldn't cross us. Then there was Kid Blink, who'd slept in the bunk above mine for years and had actually saved my life more than once, and finally Bumlets himself. Bumlets had a heart of gold. If he had betrayed us, we wouldn't have been able to touch him – the guilt would have killed him first. No, our group was fine. It was the Dark we had to look out for – always the Dark.

"Listen," I said to Dutchy with a sigh, "I trust Bumlets, again, I really do. We just don't need this – any of it – to be gossip, on this side or the Other."

He nodded, seeing the logic in this. Figuring he was just waiting for the chance to ask more questions, I went ahead and said, "We're going to find One Lung Pete at his favorite hangout. It's a bar. Or something like that. Be careful when we go in. Don't touch anyone. Don't make eye contact. Keep your head down and your eyes on my back. Hopefully we won't be in there long, but I guess it all depends."

"How do you know he'll be at this bar?"

"He'll be there," I assured him. "Unless he's dead, in which case we would probably find his ghost there."

Dutchy opened his mouth to speak. I sighed.

"He's not dead, Dutchy, it… we know he's not dead, Swifty told us to find him. I was just trying to prove a… nevermind." Luckily, it wasn't a long walk.

I paused for just a second beneath the broken sign of the Quill. "Remember what I said," I hissed to Dutchy, who waved me off. The face of the Quill was nothing but a few steps down to a stained, dark red door. Overhanging the steps was the sign, or what was left; it hung by just one hinge, so that you now had to duck to get inside. Whatever paint had originally been on the sign had long since peeled off, leaving basically a couple of wooden boards nailed together. Honestly, I had no idea why it was still there.

Beyond the red door would be more steps down – steep and narrow – leading to the bar. The bar itself was nothing more than a cellar, complete with a dirt ceiling and damp concrete walls. It was, without doubt, one of the dirtiest and most decrepit places I'd ever had to go – and I'd been there often. I didn't know how One Lung Pete could stand it, but there was a lot about Petey that I didn't understand.

I didn't tell any of this to Dutchy, so he had no idea what he was getting himself into. I wondered, as we trekked down those slippery steps, if he was still glad he had been invited to come along.

As I'd expected, nothing had changed. Despite the fact that it was still mid-morning, the place was packed with all kinds of riff-raff. I made a path toward the back, doing my best to ignore the feeling of a thousand eyes on the back of my neck. I doubted that anyone was actually watching us, but it felt that way, like bugs were crawling up your back.

The Quill was just a long, narrow rectangle. On the left was the bar, stretching the whole way down, its occupants standing shoulder to shoulder. There was stuff behind that bar that would get cause even the hardest drinker from the Other side to crawl out the door. The right side was lined with booths, dark and separated with dividers that went straight up to the ceiling.

That's where we would find One Lung Pete, all the way in the back corner of the place, holding court in his coveted seat with a stein of something dark and a devilish grin. As we approached, I saw he was alone. We stopped next to the table – Dutchy pressed against the back wall, visibly nervous – and he noticed us right away.

"Well, hot damn, looky heah," he drawled in a familiar but impossible to place accent, standing and stooping a little due to the low ceiling. I grinned and clasped his hand in a firm shake while behind me, Dutchy froze. Maybe I should have warned him about One Lung Pete, but this way was much more fun.

See, One Lung Pete calls himself a chemist, which means that not only does he deal with some shady characters, but the actual nature of his work can get real messy, too. One Lung Pete himself was walking evidence of all this. He face was crisscrossed with a dizzying mix of scars and burns, his eyes a cloudy, light gray, but still functional, and his hands – one of which I was grasping now – were scalded and burned, not one inch of unscathed skin between the two of them. If that wasn't scary enough, he dressed all in rags without discriminating color, pattern, or fit. Most of his teeth were chipped and he didn't have much hair left. I was used to him, but even still I had to blink a few times to be at ease. Dutchy was still rooted in place, clearly shocked.

"'ave a seat, yuh, plenty a' room," One Lung Pete said, motioning to the bench across from his side of the table. I pushed Dutchy in and then squished myself next to him so I had the outside. "Jaysus," he said, looking at me and shaking his head fondly, "Iven't seen ya since-"

"Yeah, it's been awhile," I interrupted, and he nodded, muttering to himself.

"Who ya got heah?" he asked, tipping his stein in Dutchy's direction and then taking a long draught of whatever it held.

"This is Dutchy," I said, giving Dutch a clap on the back. "He's an old friend, and I'm helping him out. It's his first time in the Dark, you know."

"A first timer!" One Lung Pete crowded, slamming his stein down on the tabletop. It groaned a little in protest. "I'll be. Goddamn, boy! Welcome!"

"T-thanks," Dutchy stammered. One Lung Pete winked at him and then turned back to me, apparently losing interest.

"What brings ya ta these pahts, Race?" he asked, settling back. "Last I knew ya was gone fer good, yessuh."

"Like I said, I'm helping him out. And we're here to ask for your help, too."

"Figgered as much." He looked back at Dutchy. "Well, boy? Whatsit? Can't let yer friend heah do all the talkin."

"Um," Dutchy started, trying not to look to me for help. "Um, elixirs. We need elixirs," he said quietly.

"Speak up! Can't heah a goddamned thing."

"Elixirs! We need elixirs."

"Well shoah, what kind? And what foah?"

"Um, a Cure."

"His Love has the Fever," I explained.

"No shit," said One Lung Pete. "An' why's that?"

I shrugged. I couldn't say much, not when Dutchy was sitting right there, because I hadn't told him what Swifty had talked to me about. "We're not sure. I guess he got himself involved in something he shouldn't have."

One Lung Pete looked to Dutchy for confirmation, Dutch just shrugged.

"Aintcha been ta Sophie? You know Sophie?"

"Of course I know Sofia," I said. "Her shop was burned down. Didn't you hear?"

"Suppose not," he said, looking troubled. He brightened up a bit, and said, "Shoah sounds like fun. Count me in. Summin ta drink?"

"Alright, something light," I agreed, and kicked Dutchy under the table so that he nodded as well. One Lung Pete smiled, pleased, and called someone over. While they were talking, I leaned over to Dutchy.

"He'll help," I told him, "but we do need to humor him, we can't rush him, so just hang out and be patient, okay?"

"Alright."

"Gad, it's been awhile," One Lung Pete said, smiling at me. "'ow longsit been, Race?"

"Um, maybe a little over a year?" I said.

"Seems like longer. What happened, anyways? Heah I thought you was goin up the road a piece n' then you never come back. Had ta get the story from all ovah."

"Yeah, sorry about that," I said, already dreading the questions I knew this would inspire in Dutchy. "I left in a hurry. Guess I didn't have time for goodbyes."

"No mattah, no mattah. Jeezum, I remember you and that Swifty made quite a mess, yessuh." Here he paused and chuckled, light laughter that quickly turned into coughing. When he regained control and could speak again, his voice was a little raspy. "And nevah cleaned up aftah yaself, nosuh." He chuckled again.

"I guess we thought you guys would do a better job," I said, and attempted a smile of my own. It didn't go so well.

"Ayuh," he said, studying me, noticing that fake smirk. "Wicked sorry 'bout that, ya know. She was a saint, that'un, an absolute saint."

I nodded. Our drinks arrived, so I was able to busy myself with that for a few moments while he turned reflective. Dutchy took a sip of his, some sort of pale ale, and grimaced. After a second or two, he took another. The stuff was bitter, but all right. Hopefully it wasn't toxic.

"Have you seen Swifty recently?" I asked.

"Nah, well, once 'r twice. 'e's lost. 'spect 'e don't fancy you too much either, eh?"

"No, not really," I admitted.

"Hrm. Yuh, well, you boys finish up them beahs an' we'll see what we can do 'bout them potions."

"Thanks, Pete," I said. Dutchy echoed this, and One Lung Pete waved them off.

"Jus' 'elpin a friend, we'll see 'ow we do," he said.

Once we had finished our drinks, One Lung Pete led us out a door behind the bar that I had never noticed before. From there, we walked a winding, uphill path that eventually spit us out on the surface of the Dark and in a section of the city that I was only vaguely familiar with. This was where Pete's laboratory was, a place I had only visited a few times.

He slid open the huge metal door to a big, flat roofed, warehouse looking place, and ushered us in with a quick look up and down the street. There wasn't much light inside, lending a sort of dusky, dusty atmosphere to the place, but it was bright enough to make out general shapes and figures. Each corner of the ground floor of the building was devoted to one aspect of his work, everything spilling into the each other in dangerous disarray. Every once in awhile a shadowy figure passed from one corner to another, or across the wide, empty space in the middle of everything. One Lung Pete paused next to us and surveyed his lab with a satisfied smile.

"We've grown a mite," he said.

"I see that," I said, though I couldn't really tell the difference. More mess, maybe.

"Thisaway," he said, and led us to one of the areas, which was at least a little more organized than the others. As we approached, I could see why. It consisted of several large shelving units like giant bookcases that reached high enough to require the use of a ladder. They stretched down the width of the floor and about half the length. Filling the shelves were thousands and thousands of bottles of all different shapes and colors. It was where he housed all of his finished products.

"Now," said One Lung Pete, stopping before one of the cases with his hand on the ladder that leaned against it. "What can I do ya foah?"

Dutchy quickly took out the black book, and the papers that were tucked inside, and handed them over. One Lung Pete cleared his throat and held the papers at arms length, scanning down the list and mumbling to himself as he went. Then, without another word, he handed the papers back to Dutchy, grabbed the ladder, carried it about five yards to the right, placed it down, climbed up about halfway, rooted around for a second, found something, climbed down, cleared a space on a big butcher block table near where we stood, and set the bottle in the space. He repeated this process three times more, all the while talking to himself. Then he stopped, staring at the cases and tapping his chin. There were four small bottles on the table. If I remembered correctly, we needed five.

One Lung Pete pondered the shelves for a minute more, then strode off to find one of his helpers, his heavy boots echoing in the hushed area. They conversed for a few minutes, Pete gesturing wildly while the other man just shrugged and motioned toward the door. Finally, Pete returned to us and just shook his head.

"Sorry, boys. Thought I had it all, but they's this one, no one knows where it's gone ta."

"It's ok," I assured him. "Having four is a lot better than having none."

"Yuh, suppose it is." He packed the bottles into a cloth bag and handed it to Dutchy. "Take care."

"I will," said Dutchy.

One Lung Pete led us back to the door and stood just inside as we emerged back onto the street. "Now, take care a' yaselfs," he called. I waved, but found myself at a bit of a loss. We had four of the five elixirs, sure, but we needed five. Besides, I felt like I hadn't had a chance to properly thank Pete. It was true that we were friends, but not like Swifty and I were friends, or like Sofia and I were friends. Pete hadn't gotten this far by doing favors.

I had some coins, I had a few cigars, and I had those seeds that I was supposed to give to Sofia. Then it hit me; Snoddy's gift. "Wait!" I shouted to Pete, who was about to close the door. He halted and watched me closely. I pulled that pouch out of my shirt and hefted it in my hand for a second, then tossed it to Pete, who caught it expertly and took a quick peek inside. Immediately, his face split into a grin, and he beckoned us over.

"Now where'd ya getcher hands on these ones?" he asked, shaking the pouch around so that he could see all of the buttons. "Nice, very nice."

"The Other side, of course," I said, and smiled as well. "Good, yeah?"

"Great. N' listen, 'bout that otha potion. Seein as how if'n I can't make it, I can find it, you jus hang tight and we'll get 'er to ya somehow."

"Thanks, thanks a lot," I said, and shook his hand. "We'll see you soon."

"Yuh, bye now."

The door slid closed with a screech and I turned my smile on Dutchy.

"All of this, for just… buttons?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Hey now, don't judge," I said. We struck out in the direction I was pretty confident we would find the Brick. "Remember your lesson with Swifty? Remember the smuggling? I'm telling you, it's the little things. A little goes a long way, right?"

"I guess."

"Right. See, I knew he was holding out on us. Just because he didn't have that last elixir didn't mean he couldn't get ahold of it somehow. But he wanted – needed – payment. It's just that he wasn't going to ask outright for it."

"Alright. That's reasonable. Then, where'd you get those buttons?"

"Someone gave them to me. I didn't understand why at the time. I guess he just figured they would come in handy." I shrugged. "Sometimes things just work out that way. Come on. Let's get back."

We ducked our heads against the persistent drizzle and worked our way home in that familiar silence. The street was thick with unfriendly faces. Dutchy remembered what he had been taught and kept his head down and let the bag swing loosely at his side, as if it were full not of the key to Specs' health, but of rotten fruit, or broken glass.

Bumlets and Boots were as we had left them, both eager to hear about our progress. Bumlets left soon after, explaining that he had a date to keep, and the three of us went down to the Brick's tavern to find something to eat. We sat together, the elixirs safe between Dutchy's feet, and I let myself relax. I closed my eyes, and slouched down, and let my mind wander.

I had spent almost all of my time on the Other side making myself forget, but now that I was back in the Dark, neglected memories were constantly pounding at my head, begging me to sort them out. For once, for just a little while, I let them in, and I thought of Swifty, and I thought of her, and I thought about what Pete had said. He's lost. I thought, and the noise around me faded away as I drifted away in my own little world.

Then Boots shook my arm so he could share something that he had noticed, and as I listened, I realized that I already had enough to think about. That, for once, Swifty was wrong. I could not let myself live in the past – even in my thoughts.