Chapter 8: my girlfriends girlfriend looks like you
"One last thing—go and fetch that bone you threw."
— 14 —
Jack made the call.
He's doing that more and more. And Eddie is losing control. It's getting dark, he said. No one was in any position to travel far. The barricades are too obvious, so they could hide somewhere with easy escape routes.
No one would argue with the blood-soaked paladin and his easygoing smile.
Exhaustion is dense. It's a physical thing. She feels it slithering between the chords of her muscles, playing the sinews like a harp. It sloshes; it is wet. Just like everything else in a living body. She sits there on her bedroll, watching Tav and some tiefling making stew over the campfire, and she rocks side to side.
It pools like pus in diseased wounds, weighing her down with the pungent, half-digested contents of her day. She stares at her fingernails and picks at them. Pulling on the cuticles until they turn bright red. Like her nails are a cork, and all she has to do is pull them off and drain herself of the pulpy liquid.
Then she won't be tired. Her mind will clear. And then she can think again.
Jack sits down on the floor beside Eddie, offering her a bowl. But she almost doesn't see it. The boy changed out of his armor into regular clothes. Just behind his bowl is the sleeve of tattoos running up his arm. She stares at them, trying to make sense of the symbols, the obvious writing.
Her mind cycles through a dozen scripts and languages and isn't sure she recognizes any of them. She can't sense any obvious magic like those of Thayan origin. But she knows they mean something; they don't look merely decorative. They feel familiar in a way she feels she can almost reach. Like having food stuck in your teeth. You keep licking and licking at it, hoping and praying that fleshy wet muscle in your mouth can force it out of the gaps—there's something in your teeth, misaligning your entire jaw as it settles in, and that back of your throat tickles with the anxiety to get it out.
What in the hells are they?!
"Yeah, I thought you looked hungry," he says. "Here. It's good soup."
Eddie scrunches her eyes shut, trying to shake the feeling off. "It's a stew."
"What's the difference?"
She rubs her eyes, feeling the fleshy bulbs pushed deeper into her skull until there's friction burns in the back of the sockets. "Liquid content, usually."
"Oh." He looks down at the bowl in his other hand, the one for himself. "I like liquid. My favorite one is water."
Eddie tightens her lips. "If I take the bowl, will you leave me alone?"
"Probably not, but those are still better odds than not taking it."
She sighs and takes it anyway. The first bite gets stringy, poor-quality food ingredients stuck in her molars. Unseasoned bits of something that maybe used to be alive slide into the crevices. She swallows and gets most of it down, starting it on an almost ponderous journey into guts so empty they've compressed in on themselves.
Eddie groans uncomfortably and takes another spoonful. Calories are calories. And this day has been terribly long.
Jack tilts the bowl into his mouth and drinks it. "You did good out there today, though. Hated seeing you stewing alone in your own juices while everyone is trying to unwind and relax."
"How am I supposed to relax with this thing in my head?" she asks. "Every moment that passes, more of my brain is eaten. The closer I am to losing what little I had of myself in the first place."
"You relax knowing you done all you could," he says seriously. "And you need to give yourself a break so you can give it a hundred-and-ten-percent out there tomorrow. Shit, you're probably finna clock out for twelve hours."
Her skin crawls at the thought. "I don't think I could live with myself if I was useless for that long. I doubt I could even die with it."
"Yeah?"
She rubs her cheekbone. "Death isn't an excuse to be lax in your duties. There's always a way to bring the recently deceased back if you're callous enough."
He looks at her thoughtfully. It makes her want to bury her head in her bedroll and hide. "Tell ya what," he says. "We got enough people for a decent watch tonight. You take as much time as you need to sleep tonight, and I promise not to resurrect you if you die suddenly and horribly in the night. A wizard needs to be well-rested, right?"
"I…" She rubs her hands together, feeling the cuts and scratches on her skin. "I'm not like you. I don't need that much sleep."
"Don't be a hardass," he says with sudden sternness. "Exhaustion doesn't impress me."
"Shame," she says with a rueful little chuckle. "And here I was hoping to wow and dazzle you."
"Keep doing what you're doing." Jack shrugs. "Magic is plenty impressive."
"At least my company amazes easily." She stirs her spoon through the stew. "I envy my mother. You can get so much more done when you don't sleep."
"You got a family history of insomnia or sommat?"
"No, she's a high elf."
"And?" he asks, perfectly innocent. Idly chewing on another spoonful of stew.
"The trance."
His expression doesn't change.
She's about to insult him when she remembers he's only human. In a derogatory fashion, of course. Humans don't know the quirks of other species outside of how willing they might be to mate with them.
Eddie calmly adjusts her hair. Putting things back into their precise, proper place. "Elves don't sleep. My father was a human. Half-elves have a biologically middle ground where they can get the same amount of rest for less time."
"What, so your mom was just walking around awake forever?" he asks.
"No, she rests," Eddie says, shaking her head. "Instead of sleeping, elves enter a sort of trance. They're fully conscious and aware, but in a restful state. Mother did that a lot."
"So, what, they can't never sleep?"
"Yes and no. They try not to, but can. Actual sleeping is more… uncomfortable for elves. It opens them up to genetic race memory. Imagine closing your eyes and suddenly you're in a new body, with a new mind, experiencing a life that isn't yours."
Jack's shoulder twitches. He sucks in his bottom lip, tightening his fist into a ball. "Sounds nutso. Couldn't imagine it."
"Given the choice, elves enter the trance," Eddie says. "It is far more efficient. You can get the physical benefits of sleep for a fraction of the risk. I only have half of that. I don't need to sleep very long compared to a lazy full-blooded human. But."
She takes another bite of the bland, poor-quality stew, mulling her words over as Jack waits patiently. "It's still so much time wasted. None of us have the time to sleep or rest with these things in our heads. Yet, our own flesh can't keep up with the mind. I need to keep going. I suspect pushing it would kill me. So rest and inch closer to losing my soul, or press on and have the meat slough from my muscles and leave me a harrowed corpse."
He examines his own arm, the tattoos. She feels her own heart pump that much faster. Until he says, "I think your meatspace is made of sterner stuff."
Eddie flexes her fingers, watching the tendons pull and contract on the back of her hand. Getting his tattoos out of her head. "I'd like to believe."
"Do you want to die?" he asks.
She blinks. "No. I had figured my actions made that patently clear. Are you threatening me again?"
Jack shakes his head and laughs. "Nah, Eddie. I'm saying you don't want to die, so you won't. Mind over matter. I'm the same way."
She cocks an eyebrow. "You have an inflated appraisal of your own mind, boy. Especially with the tadpoles eating what little of it you have left."
Jack looks off towards the rest of the camp at their other two traveling companions and people who came with Zevlor. "I've got a lot on my mind and, well, in it. Intestines throb. Blood whispers. But so long as you're in this boat with me, refusing to die, well…" He shrugs. "The secret to success is to pretend pretty girls are watching."
Her lip curls. "Read the room, boy. No."
The boy gives her an incredulous look. "I said pretty girls, Eddie. Not the chairwoman of the Itty Bitty Magic Titty Committee."
"I—!" Her voice dies in her throat. She realizes she's flinching, holding herself. She can taste an acidic mix of bile and poorly seasoned broth on the back of her throat. It gets in the way of trying to wrestle whatever incoherent concoction of chemicals is currently passing itself off as her emotions.
She thinks she should be offended. Angry. But all she can do is shrink down, hugging her own body. Looking at herself and away from him.
"Oh," she breathes out. "That's… oh."
Jack frowns slowly. "Eddie?"
"No, that's… just leave me alone, boy."
"Why, what's wrong?"
And there it is. The spark that ignites the chemicals into molten slag. It swirls around inside her, unable to find any convenient hole to ooze out from. She presses the bones in her mouth together. "Nothing. Nothing is wrong. This is just typical. An incredibly average day with you. I don't—I don't even!"
"Eddie?"
"What, boy?" she asks harshly.
He's thinking. Hard. Enough that for a moment she almost lets herself hope he'll get it and that getting it will even mean something. Instead, looking at the way she's hugging herself over her stomach, he says, "You still hungry?"
Eddie doesn't even know anything. She just feels so empty. Like she's talking to herself more and more with every word he says. She sighs. "Sure. Fine. I guess. My caloric intake doesn't make the cut for how much running and fighting I've been doing."
"I think it's a little bland, but a good meal after a long day usually helps me along," he says, getting back up to his feet. "I used to not eat enough, I think. Still sometimes don't. But I'm sure it'll help you feel better."
She scowls. "You really never hear yourself talk, do you?"
Jack looks confused. A little wary. "Huh?"
"Just—leave me alone!"
"Are you okay?"
"Oh, don't act like you care suddenly!"
He's staring at her. "Eddie?"
"What?!"
Jack takes a step back, hesitating. "Look, we're all going through some shit right now. I'm… I'm about to go talk to Zevlor and figure out what's going on. Be nice if you came with. In case you had any thoughts I didn't."
"You're not even self-aware! You do not have any thoughts, categorically."
He holds his tattooed arm out to her. "So help be my braincase backup dancer, yeah?"
"I literally cannot understand half of the things you say, boy. I don't even think you speak Common. Like you're just flailing your mouth and by pure luck it vaguely resembles language."
"Are you coming or not?" he repeats. "Didn't want to get Zevlor's story until we were all together and recovering."
She stares at him for a very long minute. She's about to decline and focus on her stew, when she realizes she's actually eaten it all without noticing. The pit in her stomach yawns, her organs pleading for fuel to keep up this death march. The earlier stupid offer is more tempting, in a "you must do it or you will die" sort of way. It'd be even more awkward to say no, only to slink up while they're busy to get more.
Eddie would rather starve than suffer the indignity.
"We can get you thirds, too," he offers. "You seem in a bad way."
Eddie flexes her fingers and follows after him to the campfire.
Moleeshka is sitting by Zevlor. She waves as they approach. "Heya, Eddie. What's that sour look for?"
"She's plotting my murder," Jack says casually.
Tav pours himself another bowl of stew. "I recommend against slaying our fellow party members, hun. We have need for them."
Eddie glowers at Tav. "Why are you still disguised as a dark elf woman?"
With a shrug, Tav says, "I have had too many eyes upon me and it is awkward. Worry not, sweetling, I explained it all to Zevlor. They are only tolerably uncomfortable with it."
"Of course they are, Tav; it's weird."
Moleeshka makes a dismissive gesture. "Oh, come off it, Eddie. You're just jealous regular half-elves can't get a nubile paladin boy-slave that you accidentally boypregnate and have to force to get a boybortion to preserve your noble bloodline."
Eddie feels like she was just stabbed in the gut. "What the fuck is wrong with all of you people!?"
"Gosh, chill out, just a joke," she says with a wave.
"Why are all of your jokes about me like that!"
"She gets that from her mother, I swear," Zevlor says, holding up his hands. "Molly, seriously!"
Moleeshka clicks her tongue. "You can't control me anymore, dad. I'm an adventurer now. We're estranged."
"Y'all sure y'all's related?" Jack asks.
Zevlor runs his red-skinned hand through his hair, massaging the base of his demonic horns. He's old in a way that suggests weathering rather than age itself. An armored man who's seen the literal fires of hell and still has to carry on. "Molly's been coming and going for a while now. She's an adult; it's her life to lead, not mine. When Elturel fell into Avernus, I thought I'd lost her along with so many others. Then the city returned and exiled us. She appeared again, wrangling some of the orphans and lost children we took with us onto the road to Baldur's Gate. She's like her mum that way."
"Yeah," Molly whines. "But I helped the kids for evil. Stop praising me."
"I don't approve of what you did with the children," Zevlor says. "But I'm glad someone was taking care of them."
"I abandoned them to come here!"
"To save me, like the brave little fool you are."
Moleeshka folds her arms, pouting. "You're welcome. I hate you."
He gives a fatherly little laugh, running his hand through Moleeshka's hair, which only makes her freak out more. "And even if I don't approve of your life, I'll still always love you. You always come through in the end when you're needed."
"Ha," Jack says dryly. "You have a fairly healthy relationship with your father. What a loser."
Moleeshka throws her wooden spoon at him. "Shut up!"
"Zevlor, is it?" Jack asks, changing the topic.
The man nods.
"You're a paladin, too?"
He grimaces. "I swore an oath once. I served the Hellriders of Elturel in the name of the vigilant god."
"Who, Iomedae?"
Zevlor frowns, confused. "Who? No, Helm. Elturel's patron. That's where the tieflings with me came from. Not that it did us much good in Avernus."
Rubbing her forehead, Eddie sighs. "Look, Zevlor, we're just after some information about a druid named Halsin. We need to find him."
"You and the lot of us," some human who was with Zevlor says harshly. "He came with us to investigate the goblins and offer advice on some relic called the Nightsong."
Eddie looks around the camp nestled here in this obscured basement, where the smoke of the fire escapes through some vent in the ceiling. Zevlor had tieflings with him, yes, but the human adventurer-types were unexpected. He has a lot of competent fighters, even if they do look in incredibly bad shape right now. It's little wonder he was able to hold off the goblins as long as he did.
Zevlor puts his hand on the human's shoulder, who pulls back and almost punches the man. "Look, Aradin, it wasn't about the thing you've been paid to recover. After we arrived in the grove, we ran into goblins. It's why we holed ourselves up there. A drow was leading them out in the sunlight of all things. We defeated them, but after the druids got a look at the body, Archdruid Halsin grew concerned. When you rolled in and were heading that way, he went with. That's all."
"What about yourself?" Eddie asks.
"When they didn't return," Zevlor says, "Kagha grew increasingly irrational. I took a few of my scouts, plus Tav here who volunteered, and went after Halsin."
"And you didn't tell anyone?"
Zevlor squints. "I told all of my veterans and everyone on watch. Who told you otherwise?"
Eddie glares at Moleeshka, who is innocently poking at her stew.
The old tiefling just sighs. "Whatever the case, we found Aradin and some of his party on the run from the goblins in the above village. They cornered us. I suppose Tav's plot to sneak off ended up working."
"Because I am useful," Tav says proudly.
"Very."
Eddie shakes her head. "And Halsin?"
The human, Aradin, spits. "Either dead or captured by goblins. Probably alive for interrogation. They don't seem to know where the grove is."
"You left him behind?"
He scowls. "Fuck was I supposed to do, girlie? Just fight a horde of goblins, wargs, and some fat-arse ogres with three wounded mercenaries?"
A human woman with her knees to her chest looks up sharply, then frowns and turns her head.
"We was trying to find the Nightsong. The payday woulda set us all up for life."
"So the wizard, Lorroakan, sent you?" Eddie sighs. She finds somewhere to sit.
Aradin blinks. "Yeah. How did you know?"
"Because it's all he ever talks about," Eddie says, adjusting her shirt and hair. "I was working with him in Baldur's Gate as a sort of liaison. If he hadn't hoarded such a massive trove of rare tombs and spells, that fool wouldn't be worth anyone's time. He put out a massive reward for his latest hyperfixation, the Nightsong, yet kept almost every detail of it obscured due to his own paranoia. So many of you idiots took up the job and so far the only ones who have come back alive are liars."
"Don't insult me, bitch!"
She snaps her fingers, letting the magefire burst in her hand. Her muscles are too tired and her gray matter too soggy to even bother looking angry. "You have my permission to apologize, boy. Now."
Aradin stares.
Zevlor stands up sharply. "Hold on, hold on! It's too soon to turn on each other and start killing another."
"You're right, it is too soon," Eddie says. "I'll give him until the count of five to grovel. That should be sufficient time."
"You can't be serious!" Aradin shouts.
"Five. Four. Losing time quickly, boy."
"I'm not bowing to some witch!"
"Three. Two. I've really been needing something to take the edge off."
"One."
"Alright!" Aradin says, holding his hands up. "I'm sorry!"
"Hm. No. I'm not convinced. Try again."
He blinks, looking around for help. His eyes settle on Jack. The paladin gives a "what can you do?" gesture.
Aradin drops to his knees, hands in the air still. "I am very sorry. I got angry. It won't happen again, ever, I promise."
Eddie stares him down, watching his pores leak sweat. Seeing it run down his face, trailing the dirt and grime from his days fighting on the road. Then she flicks her wrist and throws the firebolt.
Aradin squeaks.
Then the bolt hits the campfire, igniting it harder and harsher.
"My stew was lukewarm," she says simply. "That should help with seconds."
Everyone is still. And it feels so satisfying to see people turn their heads when Eddie looks at them, whether they be tiefling or human. After the longest day in her life, from puking into a harpy's open wounds, to hours of walking over hard terrain, and several brutal fights, she's getting that respect she's been owed from the start. It's enough to settle something warm into her muscles, a pleasant, almost alcohol-like sensation.
She breathes a sigh of relief. She's in control. She is in control. Of her life, the people around her, the doing of things. For just a moment, everything is in its proper place. As much as it can in this screwed up situation.
"You'd really just let that happen, paladin?" Zevlor asks, shaking his head at Jack.
Eddie feels the Weave of magic again. Fingers twitching. Until Jack steps halfway towards her, facing Zevlor down.
"She's an adult," he says slowly, deliberately. "It's her life to lead, not mine."
It's almost patronizing. It's almost an earnestly supportive gesture. She doesn't know how to feel. She takes another breath, feeling it shudder in her throat and against her uvula. Eddie seizes on it and presses forwards.
"Here's how it will work, Zevlor," Eddie says. "Rest tonight. In the morning you may return to your grove. It seems we have business with the goblin camp. You'll only get in the way."
Zevlor sits back down. "Right. And with the goblins dealt with, we can move our people from the grove. They're ill-disciplined by nature. I suspect these Absolute cultists are the only reason they're so coherent."
"Cut off the head and the rest of the snake dies," Eddie says with a nod. "They've proved to be as stupid as they should be. I have no doubt we can handle it."
Moleeshka grins. "We sure can!"
"You're not coming back with me, Molly?" Zevlor asks.
She makes a hissy face. "Hard pass, Dad. I'm an adventurer now. I go outside and do cool dangerous stuff. But, uh…" She touches her fingers together. "Make sure the kids have some food at least, yeah?"
"Right. I'll check on your secret little cave. 'Dragon's lair,' was it?"
"How do you know about that?" Moleeshka demands.
He gives her a dry look. "Everyone knows about your little cave where the children bring garbage to, Molly. Did you really think the kids can keep secrets when I've grabbed one of their ears for trying to steal something?"
She sits down, sulking.
Jack looks around. "We'll set up a watch shift. We should all be able to get a good night's rest before morning. Then we part ways and we'll see what we can do. Agreed?"
Everyone nods.
"One last thing, Zevlor," Eddie says. "This town. Does it have a name?"
Zevlor thinks on it, hand over his mouth. "Moonhaven, I believe. Why?"
And suddenly everything snaps together in Edwina's mind.
"Nothing," she says. "Get some sleep, old man."
— 15 —
"Hey, sleepyhead. Been tryna reach ya. Let me help you."
Eddie wakes up screaming, gasping for breath. Clawing for her throat, trying to open up holes to let more air in, so she can breathe. And nothing comes out but a harsh rasp. A high-pitched whine of pinched air through an open wound.
This isn't where she fell asleep. Not that she wanted to, even. She had planned to pretend to sleep. Until it was light enough she could do something alone. And as soon as her head hit the rough sack she was using for a pillow, that was it.
She lurched into unconsciousness. Ripped her mind from her body and shoved it into a dreamy pocket.
Eddie looks around for the voice. A woman's voice, a purring in her ear that raises every hackle on her neck. This isn't the basement. This is a bright, sunny field. She doesn't know where she is. She feels drugged. She can't figure out the right electrical impulses to send to her body to get up.
She tries. Sits up. And collapses face-first into lush, green grass.
The woman's voice is there again. She searches frantically for it, trying to open her mouth. And all that fills it is dirt and wet grass.
A woman is kneeling beside her, wearing a white dress that splits to reveal bare leg and thighs. Hair so blonde it's almost white that spills over her shoulder as she leans in over Eddie.
"You frown in your sleep, Edwina," she says. "It's cute."
Eddie chokes. Coughs. "Get away from me," she groans into the ground. "I've got enough crawling around in my head without sleep paralysis nightmare bimbos, too!"
The woman sits up, rolling her eyes as she snaps her fingers. "Whoops. Got a lil' overzealous there. Silly me."
Eddie grabs her throat as she struggles onto all fours like a dog. Dry heaving. Tears in her eyes.
The woman reaches her fingers for Eddie's cheek, and Eddie throws herself back to the ground to avoid the touch. She rolls onto her back, panting. She feels so dry. Like none of her sweat glands are working. She's mummifying here in the dew-soaked grass.
She stands above Eddie, hand on her exposed hip. She's perfect, and it's all wrong. There's not a single blemish on her skin. Not a single hair out of place. Not even a wrinkle in her dress. Just realizing it sinks a pit into Eddie's gut, a heavy stone that digs into her spine from within, pinning her in place.
"There's no need for that, Edwina," the woman says.
"Who—what are you? This is a dream. This isn't real. I'm having a nightmare."
She shrugs, hair bouncing perfectly. "I'm the only one who's really on your side, Edwina."
Eddie stares. "I'm turning, aren't I? You're my parasite. You're in my head. It's too late. I'm dead. I'm a freak and a monster."
The woman crouches down over her. Her voice is so soft and caring. "Aw, Edwina, that's cute. Look at the tattoos on your own body. You're already a monster." She runs her finger over the air above Eddie, tracing invisible symbols from womb to her chest. "Like father, like daughter. Down to the company you keep."
"You don't know anything about me!" Eddie says.
She shrugs. "I know your father only married your mother for her magical pedigree. I know your life was just a necessary evil to him. I know you think you're sicker than a dog. That you're dying. But you're only half-right. I want to support my little wizard and ensure she's totally right. Least I can do ya."
The more she speaks, the more Eddie can feel every syllable dripping with something. A viscous feeling coating every word that clots together in her ears like hot wax. Honey-like and sickly sweet. There at the end, she realizes it's her accent. It's familiar to her and not in a good way.
"Why do you sound almost like Jack? Are you connected?"
"Hmm?" she hums, as if genuinely confused. "Oh! Proximity to him infects you. Lingo, moral outlook, who should be in charge. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time once. Still am."
Eddie doesn't believe a word of it, but remains silent.
The woman raises her hand. There's a flash. Her tadpole squirms. The grassy field evaporates. She's suddenly back in the basement. Moleeshka is sprawled out asleep. Tav, meanwhile, is in the far side of the room, notebook in hand, trying to interview a drop-dead exhausted tiefling scout on how one can go about achieving optimal sleep.
Eddie follows the woman as she walks through the camp, but can't remember when she got to her feet. She's just standing and following her.
Then there's the boy, sitting by the entrance to the basement. His eyes are distant as he's fidgeting with something in his hands. She walks around to get a better angle and sees that strange prism in his hands, its polyhedric sides etched with strange runes. He runs his fingers over it, tapping on it, rotating it.
"Jack?" she says.
Nothing.
"Jack, you bastard, listen to me!"
"You're not really here," the woman says, standing in front of Jack. She tilts her head as his prism bounces, shining a light. He scrambles to hide the light, as if illumination makes noise.
And it goes dim as the woman walks away, leaving Jack looking around and confused.
"I'm here to prove you can trust me. I want to help you."
"I'm listening," Eddie says.
She stops by a wall where Jack's supplies are and points. "You remember that tadpole he corked up from the dwarf?"
Eddie nods.
"You'll want it."
"No, I don't," Eddie says defiantly. "I've already the one passenger and now you're mucking about in my head. And I'm asleep, wasting time as I turn more and more into a mind flayer."
The woman looks over her shoulder at her. "As long as I'm here, I won't let it kill you. You won't turn against your will until you see this all through. You're only a shadow of what you can achieve. Potentially strong enough that even your father, Edwin, would be terrified of you."
"What?"
"Trust me," she says with a sigh. "I know what it's like to make your own daddy scared shitless." She hunkers down, opening Jack's bag. "Wake up for me. Find the tadpole. And you'll get what you've always wanted."
"What if I don't?" she says. "What if I tell the others?"
The woman tilts her head. "Has Jack ever once told you the truth? Ask something simple first like why he's always twitching. He'll lie. He does that. Don't make the same mistake I once did."
Eddie looks back at Jack. "Why would I care anything about that arsehole? It's not like he cares about anything but himself."
She smiles at her, warm and sad, almost lost in reverie. "I wish I learned as quick as you do, Edwina. Still, keep the question in your back pocket as a tool if nothing else."
"Meaning?"
The woman snaps her fingers.
Eddie sits up with a gasp in her bedroll. She expects to be soaked through with sweat, her clothes sticking to her body in every uncomfortable crease. Instead, she is bone-dry. Her skin feels smooth, the right texture, and perfectly allocated over her body. Eddie's not even sore. Her legs feel fine, her back has no aches, and she is wide awake.
She stands up. The camp is exactly as it was a moment ago. The only difference is where she is. Even Jack is where he was, fidgeting with his thing. Part of her wants to confront him, demand to know what he's doing.
Then she looks at the far basement wall and all of Jack's things. And she realizes she wants absolutely nothing to do with the boy anymore than she has to.
Eddie doesn't move. Not for the longest time. As if the slightest creak of bone rubbing cartilage will wake everyone up. She wrestles with the tempest of thoughts swirling in her head, letting her brain wrestle with the groggy tadpole making its home up there.
She feels something in there, her nonconsensual passenger reaching out. Recognizing its own kind in Moleeshka and Tav. It wants to talk, and she somehow forces it away from them. The parasite settles for a yearning towards Jack's backpack, right where the dream woman had shown her to go. Towards the parasite Jack had corked up.
And so she goes, sticking to the shadows to avoid waking anyone. Jack remains there by the front, fiddling with his strange object, and doesn't notice her. The sense of getting closer to something grows stronger, an itch in the back of her throat so potent she thinks she could stick her fingers into her mouth, claw her nails into her soft palette and dig her way up to cradle the eager tadpole.
It's there. It's close. Eddie opens the back and pulls out the little glass bottle.
The parasite within moves lethargically, swimming in its own ooze and secretion. The same kind webbing her own brain. The fat little worm turns towards her, and Eddie can see the rows and rows of teeth lining its sucker, the little tendrils its sibling used to push her eye to the side and dig in for a new home.
There is power here. She doesn't understand it. But she knows she wants it.
It feels like her body isn't her own. Delayed actions in her electrochemical systems. She thinks about moving. She contemplates it. Fantasizes about manipulating her own bones and sinews. Only to watch as her own body uncorks the bottle. The tadpole wriggles and undulates out of the top, hissing with a high-pitched whine.
Eddie knows what to do. It's not knowledge native to her. Yet she reaches her mind and her own tadpole towards this one. The creature seizes up and spasms, writhing in a mix of pain and excitement. Her intellect merges with the living alien reproduction system trying to worm away from her.
And it happens.
Her mind swells as it devours the tadpole, ripping it apart on a psychic level. Mind and fat and insectoid fluids dissolving as her consciousness devours it—everything it is, everything it was, and everything it could be.
Pure potential. Pure power.
"Told ya so," the dream woman's voice purrs in her ear, tingling her spine. "Thank me later. For now, watch this."
She thinks that's it.
Until the veins in her face constrict, closing to strangle the blood to her eyes. Her heart seizes with panicked energy, pumping harder and harder to force liquid through her arterioles and suck them up through capillaries. The veins twitch, spasming like broken valves as liquid is forced through them.
She wills it to go away, shoving the feeling away to some diseased hole in her brain. The psychic potential of the tadpole shunts itself into the gap, and then it's over.
Eddie gasps, her body suddenly so damp. Her leaking flesh sticks to her clothes, grasping on anything. She gasps, grabbing her head and stumbling into a desk. The edge digs into her hip bone. She loses her balance and hits the floor.
She lays there, mouth open, sucking in breaths of dirty, dusty oxygen. So hard she ends up drooling, as a hot, wet glob of spit leeks out of her mouth. She feels it sticking to her cheek, leaving a snail-trail down her skin and hitting paper.
Paper?
Biting back a sense of nauseousness, she sits up, holding her eyes. There on the ground, below the desk, are loose sheets of yellowed paper. They look torn, and at first Eddie thinks nothing of it until she remembers that Tav said he'd ripped pages out of a book he found.
She gets her breathing under nasal control and picks the papers up.
They're notes, she thinks. The handwriting is a hard-to-decipher cursive. She focuses hard, and she can feel her tadpole squirming. As if pulling the right puppet strings of her mangled mind, she suddenly knows what she's looking at. It's not Common, and trying to think it is was why she couldn't make sense of it.
The script is the Infernal alphabet, but the words themselves aren't Infernal. She recognizes them as Mulhorandi. That combination is only done in Thay, a magocracy in the east where her father was born. Her pulse quickens as she reads through. At first it looks like a scroll, but the list of spell reagents doesn't suggest that. When she looks at the torn edge of the page, she realizes she's looking into the personal spellbook of the mage who once called this place home.
A Thayan mage, here in the Sword Coast. In the ruined town of Moonhaven. This spell summons their personal familiar. Is this what the dream woman was pointing her towards as her own proof of trust? Her tadpole feels stronger, and it was like the thing was helping her realize what this was.
So many things happened at once she's in a daze. Almost absently, she rifles through the desks and shelves until she finds the dust and gem the spell requires. She focuses her Weave into them, like shifting magic through a sieve straight into the page of the spellbook. Her hands make the gestures the text describes as she says the correct Thayan words.
There's a flash of light. A figure materializes before her. It's the size of an imp, skin green and covered with armored bumps, eyes black as coal. But it's not an imp; this is a minor demon, a chaotic being from the Abyss, not Hell. This is a quasit.
Neat, she thinks with absent fascination. I just summoned a demon.
The quasit looks around, confused and agitated. It runs its little claws over its horns until its gaze settles on Eddie.
"Shit guzzling whorelings!" it says in a high-pitched voice. "Never summon Shovel. Never feed Shovel. Now call Shovel?"
Eddie just stares at the two-foot-tall demon, suddenly wondering what possessed her to bring a demon into this world.
"Wait," it says slowly, taking a step backwards. "You're not Illy."
"Illy?" she asks.
The quasit nods. "Yeah. My master. Tall. Skinny. Prick with ears. Your ears are too stabby to be him. You can be Shovel's master now. Mistress?"
"Your name is Shovel?"
Shovel shrugs. "Don't like it? Change it."
Eddie shakes her head slowly. "No, Shovel is fine."
"Sure," Shovel says, scratching at the warts along its chicken-like legs. "So, what now, master? Gutting locals? Raising the dead? Making them walk? Making them scream? Whatever you need, Shovel is here for you!"
"Is that what your old master, Illy, did?" she asks.
Shovel nods eagerly. "Yep-yep! Steal bodies. Tear them. Then Shovel put them back together for master's research. When he wasn't horny for the book. Urgh. Book this, book that. Always with his book!"
Eddie swallows. "What was this book?"
"Book about dead people. Why?"
"Thayan necromancy?"
Shovel shrugs. "Sure."
Eddie takes a deep breath. "Where is it?"
"Why?" Shovel asks sharply. "You wanna rub your dirty bits on it, too? Illy drew good corpses in it. Mortals are always so boring with their depravity. Never creative enough."
"Answer me, Shovel, or I'll drown you just to summon you back until you do tell me."
Shovel pulls down one of their long ears. It flops back. "Moon sluts probably have it."
"Meaning?"
"If it's not here, then probably took it. Last time Illy summoned me, he was trying to grab his things and run. Priests of that bint Selûne got wise after he killed one kid too many. Apparently the limit is 'four' before they come for you. So if we kill any kids, we gotta limit it to three. I have lots of useful info for you that doesn't require that stupid book."
"Did they destroy the book?"
Shovel sighs. "Nah, can't burn the book. Illy made sure it was fireproof. And waterproof. He needed liquids not to affect it."
She puts a hand to her chest, feeling her heart. The irregular way it pushes blood to her extremities and sucks them back towards her lungs. "So, if it still exists, the Necromancy of Thay is with the goblins."
"Kill them. Or ask nicely. Goblins stupid, but they're good at hiding things." Shovel shrugs. "So can we go raise some dead now? I'm bored."
"Our business is concluded."
"Wait, but I'm hungry!"
Eddie sighs. A moment later she returns with a bowl of cold stew. The quasit devours it, shoving their face into the liquid.
Shovel grins, face dripping stew. "New master better. Very better! You call Shovel whenever you want, Shovel will do best to help. Put me in your spellbook. Summon demon and I'll answer first. Deal?"
She nods. "Deal. Now, go. Before anyone sees you."
Eddie knows how to remove one's own summon from the world. Even if Shovel isn't technically hers, its presence is bound to her weave, her will. Shovel flashes and leaves this plane of reality. Eddie takes the spell to summon Shovel and tucks it away for later.
She puts her hands to her face and breathes. Her tadpole wriggles, using parts of her brain like a chew toy. There's a demon in her pocket. And more than anything, with a drooping feeling in her gut she realizes she still needs the other three in her party if she wants any hope of finding the Necromancy of Thay.
Even with that thing eating her brain, it's hard to forget the reason she came this far south of Waterdeep. Why she put up with that arrogant wizard, Lorroakan. Sussing out details on an old Thayan wizard who stole a very valuable tome of spells and knowledge. All the myriad details that put her in the wrong place at the wrong time for a random nautiloid to kidnap her and impregnate her mind as part of the illithid reproductive cycle. And she wouldn't even have stumbled onto this if the dream woman hadn't pushed her to.
Not that she can really tell the others about the book, of course. It's a needful thing. Thayan necromancy is a special breed with special costs.
And an… intimate connection to potential flesh. What was once merely a dream is now tantalizingly close at hand. If only she remains herself long enough to seize it. Parasites won't matter. No one else will matter. Not that dream woman. Not her father. Not even herself, not really. Only—
"Eddie?" Jack asks.
She inhales hard, stepping back. Her heart claws at her ribs, trying to suddenly flee to anywhere but where he's looking. He stands there in the dark, the dying firelight flickering behind him. It casts long shadows over his face.
"I heard a noise. Saw something flash," he says. "What are you doing?"
Eddie's tongue is a hot, wet worm in her mouth. Rubbing against her teeth. Trying to contort to help words form. And nothing comes out.
Jack steps closer, examining her and the desk. Until his eyes fall on his rucksack and all his gear on a nearby wall. To include broken glass when Eddie dropped the bottle with the tadpole. He stares at it, and Eddie can see the fleshy tendrils of thought connecting abstract ideas behind his eyes.
"Why do you keep twitching?" she asks suddenly, desperately.
He blinks and shakes his head. "What?"
"Like the squirrel you murdered," she says more forcefully. "Same as you did when you were near the goblins."
Jack shifts his weight from one foot to another. Like he's surprised, and she has him on the backfoot. Away from what she's done.
"Is that why you're awake?" he asks.
"Maybe."
"Worried for me or yourself?"
"Myself, of course. Don't be ridiculous. How'm I supposed to sleep when you do that around people?"
Jack stares at her. For a very long moment. Looming. But there's something in his eyes she does not like. Something he's biting down. She is suddenly oh so very aware she and him are functionally alone in a dark, obscured part of a basement in the middle of nowhere. The carotid in his exposed neck spasms. He very quickly balls up a fist tight, holding it to his chest.
"Jack?" she asks cautiously.
He sighs long and hard. "Just nerves. Don't worry about it."
"Which is literally the most worrisome thing you could say. Right up there with 'it's fine; trust me' and other nonsense. You won't even tell me your paladin's oath. I feel like you want me to trust you while telling me nothing."
Jack shakes his head. "I'm not asking you to trust me. I'm asking you to rely on me."
"Rely on you? Rely on you?!"
He flinches.
"About the only thing I can rely on you is to constantly insult and demean me like losing our souls is a joke to you. You run off ahead, you constantly ignore my wishes and just do your own thing. You take pride in making me miserable."
He holds up his hands. His voice is small. "Wait, now hold on—you don't gotta yell. We're both adults. Let's just talk."
"Talk?" She harrumphs. "What would be the point? It's not like you listen to me. Being with you is like being a prisoner in my own flesh and blood—I can't do this alone, and you know that, so you take every chance you can to drive the knife in just to get a laugh. I can't even figure out why!"
"It's not—I don't mean it like—I'm not trying to—" The boy flounders through his sentences.
"Do you have any idea how lonely that can make someone feel? Isolated with people I have to work with that just love belittling me as they drag me along because I don't have anywhere else to go? And who know and relish that little bit of power they have over me just because they can?"
He's just staring.
"I don't know whatever screwed up world you came from where this is acceptable behavior, but in my world we have a word for this. It's called malice."
"I don't have anything against you."
"Then why is that so hard to believe, Jack?"
He stands there, just breathing. For a moment, he looks offended. Like he's about to get defensive and start accusing her of things to protect his ego. Justifying malicious actions so he can keep pretending to be a good person in his own head like everyone else does.
Until it all washes away like blood down the drain. He twitches, eyes widening. He almost looks scared. Terrified, in a way which doesn't look appropriate on him, but fills her with this vaguely vindictive feeling. She finally has him on the backfoot for once.
His eyes can't ever seem to settle on one place. They rove. Whenever he looks at her, it feels like he's not even seeing her. Like there's a ghost in her place besides the electrochemical network piloting her flesh and bones.
"I'm sorry," he breathes.
Eddie shakes her head. "You tried this before, after the harpies. You looked like a sad puppy and apologized, said you'd learn, and then you immediately did the exact same thing again. Good sense has been chasing you this entire time, but yet you've been running faster."
He takes a long breath, steadying himself. Trying to wrestle control of his little twitches.
"What makes you think I'll believe you a second time?" Eddie asks. "What makes you think you can just act like this and it'll all be okay?"
"You're right, I shouldn't."
She folds her arms, glaring. Her limbs rise and fall with her pulse, the air rapidly sucking into her lungs. The back of her throat is dry and itchy.
"I knew…" Jack winces. "I knew someone like you once. Someone I lost. And I think—I'm trying to act out that same rapport."
"I'm not her."
He pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. "No, you're not. You're you. And I've been running roughshod over you because I ain't been able to respect that."
"What did she look like?" Eddie asks, imagining the dream visitor. Seeing if he'll corroborate what she told Eddie.
Jack hesitates. Thinks. He looks wobbly. "Do you remember what your mother smelled like when you hugged her?"
"What?"
"Do you, Eddie?"
"Yes," she says quietly, unsure. "Fine clothing, perfume, wine on her breath. It soaked into everything. You could taste her presence in the air. It made my cheeks hot and red."
"What was she wearing the last time you saw her?"
"I don't know. Look, where is this going?"
Jack shakes his head. "It's like that for me. It's…" He lets out a mirthless laugh. "I remember the feelings. Flashes, noises, blindsight. I know enough to know I've lost something terrible, but ain't got me the wherewithal to know what it were."
Neither of them seem to know what to say. The pause is pregnant—thoughts cannibalizing each other to be the first and only to escape the birth canal. All they win is the right to slither out of the abortion bucket.
"It's strange, isn't it?" she asks. "I can't relate to you. I don't think I've ever had anything worth losing. Only things to gain just out of my reach. Until these tadpoles wormed their way inside of us."
"You're not afraid of dying. You're afraid of losing your mind, your self."
Eddie rubs her arms. "No. Well… It's complicated. It's autonomy. The ability to make my own choices, to pilot my own body. To do as I see fit. Ceremorphosis will rob me of even that."
"And what I've been doing to you has been no different."
She nods uncomfortably.
Jack takes a breath. "May I have your permission to help you?"
Eddie eyes him wearily.
"Sorry is just a word. Ain't mean much if it's just a smokescreen. It's not enough to merely survive this thing in our heads; I want to come out the other end stronger, better. I can't do that alone anymore than you can. We've only been together by force and circumstance so far. So, like, what I'm trying to say is…"
He gestures vaguely. "Would you like to work together? Work on our goals together, with forethought. Pool what we got with intent and make it out the other side together."
"I don't know if I can agree to that honestly," she says. "I haven't had a choice so far."
"I'm offering it to you now," Jack says. "Your call what this partnership is. I don't want us to be bitter and hostile, gritting our teeth just to stay in proximity. I don't have the right to make that call if you don't, though. All I can say is being aware what I was doing is my best weapon against doing it in the future. It's your say at the end what I can do with that."
Eddie considers for a long, long moment. "Maybe."
"Maybe is a baby who always says yes," he says seriously.
She snerks. "What?"
Jack blinks, rubbing the side of his head. "Old habit, I think. I'm cute and quirky like that. Ideal teammate material, it makes me."
"That's… that's stupid. You're stupid," she says, but she knows what the corners of her mouth are doing. Quirking up. Not really happy, but amused.
"Hey!" he says. "I'm promising to be better. Ain't said nothin' about improving my IQ."
Eddie adjusts her hair, still making that face. "Then maybe it can be a start. I still don't trust you. Not sure I ever will. But if you can stop what you've been doing, actually listen to me, then…" She shrugs. "I guess I can help shoulder the burden of sentient intelligence."
"Love that idea," he says. "I hate thinking. Head full of dark, scary images."
She looks past him, towards the rest of the camp. She's not sure if they're still sleeping or just pretending in order to eavesdrop on them. "You should still probably remain on the front lines out there. People less smart than me seem to trust you. No reason not to play into that."
Jack nods. "Division of labor. Good. Tav heals, Molly steals, you bring the reals, and I show them how it feels." He makes quick fists, smiling. "I reckon me that's a solid dynamic."
Eddie lets out a long, solid breath. Feeling the air compression and releasing in her lungs, snaking its way out of her throat. "Tomorrow we'll see if you meant any of this, if we made progress, or if you're just saying things and lying like last time."
"Understood, Eddie."
"Now leave me be. Get some sleep. I'm too wide awake for my good. Maybe I'll take watch tonight or something."
"Okay."
Eddie waves him away. "Go, boy. You have my permission to leave. I'd like to be alone."
Jack turns from her, then hesitates. "Promise you'll still be here in the morning, yeah?"
"Go, boy," she says again, more tired than anything.
"Aight, aight, I'm listening. See this? Me respecting boundaries and going that-a-way." Just like that he walks back the way he comes.
She watches him go. She confirms he leaves. And that, for what it's worth, she's actually alone in the end.
Eddie's knees feel numb. She can feel her heart digging trenches up her throat, reaching up to strangle her like a wad of half-masticated food. But that's it. That's all. She actually got away with everything.
It doesn't even occur to her she'd hidden the tadpole and demon until after he left. She'd forgotten all about it as she let her own feeling absorb her. Now she had power, she had direction, and potentially sorted that paladin out.
It's… a strange feeling.
Control. Autonomy.
Like it's something that doesn't really belong to her, yet her nails have dug in too deep to let it go. Mindflayers, harpies, tieflings, goblins, the Absolute, and Thayan Necromancy. And still the feeling clouding her is relief. It's almost enough to leave her happy, an almost offensively out-of-place emotion for what's happened to her.
It's there all the same.
What a day. What a night. She feels like she's lived more today than she has in years of practice, study, and general living.
She just hopes tomorrow will be simpler. More direct. Practical.
And not nearly as long as today.
Eddie Odesseiron has gained a New Illithid Power, Favorable Beginnings. "The first Attack Roll or Ability Check you make against any target gains a bonus equal to your Proficiency Bonus. This affects spell save DC and spell penetration."