A/N: Dear friends, I am SO sorry for the delay. Drama irl rather overwhelmed me and I completely forgot about this fic - forgot about writing in general, actually - until a friend reminded me. The drama from last year has (hopefully!) died down (replaced with new, exciting dramas!) and, fingers crossed, this fic will be finished! Eventually! Thank you for all the patience!
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Chapter 8
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It has been a long time since Haru last stepped foot inside the Sanctuary – the real Sanctuary – and everything feels a little... off, after her many visits to the Other World. Like someone has snuck into her house and moved everything an inch to the left. Imperfections she'd never noted before now catch her eye – the faded paint of the postbox, the off-centre angle of the tower, the rickety wicker chair... Things the Beldam had corrected, like an artist amending an early sketch.
But it is her Sanctuary, warts and all, and finally open to her again after all this time.
She hopes the reason why isn't what she thinks it is.
"Baron! Muta!" She storms across the courtyard, heart pounding. "Toto! What–"
Her foot collides with something and she freezes.
A small, button-eyed doll lies abandoned on the cobbles, its facade and dress an uncanny replica of her. She crouches down and warily turns it over. Caught up in the chunky woollen hair is the zipper from the inside of her bag, broken during a case – back with the true Bureau – and which she'd been meaning to fix ever since.
She flips it back over, and now she sees the button eyes are cracked, as if they had undergone some great pressure.
"Serves you right," she mutters, and continues into the Bureau, the incriminating doll clutched in her hand.
Within, the Bureau is as empty as it was without, and there are some minor signs of disturbance – but only in the manner of an abrupt breakthrough on a case, rather than an intruder wreaking havoc. The desk is littered with files and books, and in the centre of the room there is a chalk circle, inlaid with symbols thay Haru has no hope of understanding. Several footprints mar the lines, but only those of Baron and Muta.
"I thought Baron learnt his lesson about taking shortcuts from the last time he summoned a demon," Haru says, and pointedly sidesteps the circle. She sets the doll (face-down) on the desk and rifles through the abandoned research.
The majority of the research is in the form of Baron's own case notes or from his extensive book collection. Usually he's fairly fastidious, returning his sources as soon as he's finished with them, and setting aside anything of use. Haru's only seen him resort to such chaos on the most rushed of cases – or the most desperate.
There is an anomaly among the collection though; a book Haru doesn't recognise and which bears a Cat Kingdom Library stamp on the inside cover.
A scrap of paper has been deliberately slotted inside and Haru flips it open to the marked page.
In all my travels, I have never seen anything so reminiscent of the monsters told in my kittenhood, as is to be found in the Beldam, the page declares. She is a kind of witch, nearly fae in her love of games, and resides almost entirely in an adjacent world of her own making. When she does venture out, it is only to lay her traps – button-eyed dolls mimicking her prey – through which she watches them.
Haru's blood runs cold. She affords the doll a hard stare, even though it likely can't see her, and wonders just how long it had been hiding in her bag, eavesdropping on her life. Had it heard her final conversation between her and Baron? How had it ended up here?
Once she has collected enough information, Haru continues to read, she then alters her world, weaving puppets which pose as improved, or perhaps idealised versions of her prey's friends and family, using them to create a wonderland kind of life.
"Not quite wonderland enough," Haru remarks to the empty Bureau. She can't be certain, but she thinks she hears the building around her creak in agreement.
When her prey has fully fallen for the other world, the Beldam offers them the chance to stay forever if they allow buttons to be sewn over their eyes. This done, the Beldam is free to take the soul of her victim. What she does with these souls, I do not know.
"Nothing good, I'm sure," Haru says. She begins to skim the rest of the page. "C'mon, give me something to work with."
I am only grateful that her appetite seems to be limited to human children, and I have encountered only one who has managed to escape her grasp.
She flips faster, hoping to find some mention of how the kid had escaped. Nothing. On the plus side, at least she knows what she's facing now. On the negative... everything else. She turns back to the bulk of the information, staring at the page and its damning words.
A noise shakes her from her thoughts. It's a clattering, wooden sound; one she recognises from too many cases. As she rises and approaches the window, she's not surprised to see Baron's cane bouncing across the cobbled courtyard. It rolls to an eventual stop beside Toto's column.
But no Baron.
She goes to gather up the stick, and finds his top hat lying abandoned near the Sanctuary entrance – close to where the Beldam's world had spat her out. A ticket, not unlike an old-fashioned hatter would use, is tucked into the ribbon. Instead of a price, it simply says TWO BUTTONS.
It leaves little doubt as to its origin – or its message. The Beldam, it seems, has set a firm price on her friends' return.
"Would work a lot better if you hadn't already proven you were a lying toerag," she grumbles. She still doesn't want to believe the monster has her friends – even if she and Baron left on bad terms – and she returns to the Bureau. She rifles through his desk with the familiarity of one who's done it before, but is still not sure exactly what she'll find. After previously finding a live crab in one of the drawers once before (case-related, but still) she affords the search its due care.
Eventually she finds what she was looking for. The pouch is small and mundane, and the dust she takes a pinch of is even more so.
Creation dust doesn't have a very wide application of uses, but there are times its ability to react to Creation magic has been invaluable. She scatters a few motes across the top hat and cane.
It lights up.
Creation, then.
Baron's.
For good measure – because she's encountered weirder Creations than what the Beldam is – she scatters a portion over the doll.
Nothing.
"Well," she says after a dubious pause. "Shit."
She drops the pouch into her bag, stuffs the incriminating doll into a drawer, and storms towards the doorway to the Beldam's world.
Time to rescue a Bureau in distress.
x
The Other World has changed since Haru last left it. There are cracks in the brickwork, fissures where webs have thickly scabbed over, and silk strands waft from the Sanctuary.
The mask has been dropped.
She meets no one as she strides across the courtyard. The air is uncannily still. She doesn't know why it unnerves her until she sidesteps another strand of web, undulating in an absent breeze.
She half expects a trap to spring upon her already, but she reaches the Other Bureau's double doors without incident, and they open with ease.
"Come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly," she murmurs beneath her breath, and steps inside.
The Other Baron – the Not-Baron, the Beldam – is sat at the desk Haru has seen her Baron occupying so many times before. There are even files spread out before him, as if he were mid-research for a case.
"So," he says, and his voice is distorted, but still recognisably Baron's, "you've returned. Come to your senses, I hope."
"I have."
"So what colour buttons have you decided on?"
"I said I've come to my senses, not that I'm agreeing to join you." She stays by the door, hands still curled tight around Baron's top hat and cane. "I know who you are now. What you are, I should say."
The Not-Baron smiles, and Haru catches a glimpse again of that monstrous maw. "Do you, now?"
"I know what it is you do – what the price is for the button eyes, Beldam."
"The Beldam is my sister," the monster replies. He rises to his feet with a fluidity that even the true Baron would fail to match – as if gravity has no pull on him. "If you're going to name me, I go by the Bedlam." Another smile, wider than the first. "Or you can continue to call me Baron, if you'd prefer."
"Bedlam it is."
"Suit yourself." He rolls the button box into his hand and lingers at the side of his desk. His lack of attempt to block off Haru's exit leaves her uneasy; he stands like a predator who knows he can outrun his prey – or that he has no need to. "And I don't think you really understand the full price of these buttons. There's far more at stake than simply your soul."
"The Bureau."
"That's right. Your so-called friends." The button box dances between his clawlike hands. "I'm sure you can figure out the deal I'm offering."
"You'll let them go free if I let you sew buttons into my eyes."
"It'll be quick and painless."
Haru highly doubts that – but what is one more lie for the Bedlam compared to his multiple fictions? "And I suppose that's because after a certain point I'll be too distracted by the loss of my soul?"
"Such a small, inconsequential thing. Surely it's worth the ongoing existence of your friends?"
Her heart leaps into her mouth. "Where are they?"
"Hidden. Somewhere you'll never find them."
"Wanna bet?"
The Bedlam raises an eyebrow – in insult or interest? "Why would I agree to any game when I've already won?"
Haru really hopes the Bedlam isn't the kind of monster that can track her heartbeat, or her nonchalance is going to fall flat. She leans back against the table beneath the window, hoping it'll disguise any weakness. "Have you, though?"
"You're in my domain."
"I'm not wearing your buttons."
"I don't have to give you a choice." Cobwebs dance in the corners, and thread shimmers in the light. The Bedlam twists a hand, and the webs tighten just a hair's breadth closer.
Haru barely surpresses the shiver. "If you could have forced the buttons on me, you'd have done so long ago, instead of enacting this ridiculous charade," she says.
"Perhaps I like the charade."
"When it's working out for you, sure." She roams her gaze pointedly over the Bedlam's poor parody of Baron. "Doesn't seem to be right now, though." She pushes away from the table and stops behind the sofa, enough of a step to imply control of the situation, but not enough to be within reach of the Bedlam. Her hand brushes over the back of the sofa, steadying her. "I think this is one of those willingness things. You can't just take a person's soul; they have to do it of their own free will by abandoning their world. The only way you can get my soul is if I willingly agree to the buttons."
The way the Bedlam's face twists is enough confirmation of her theory. "I have your friends," he snarls.
Haru nods. "True. But threats will only get you so far. And this is going to turn into a very boring battle of attrition if you keep that up, and I don't think you like being bored, do you? A game – a bet – will be so much more fun."
The Bedlam visibly withdraws his snarl, defanging his smile with considerable effort. When he offers a smirk, it almost looks mundane. "The rules?"
"You say I cannot find the Bureau. I say I can. If I find them, I win."
"Guess wrong, and you lose," the Bedlam adds. "Every game needs limits. And the wager?"
"If I win, myself and the Bureau get to go home unharmed and buttonless."
"And if you lose?"
Haru's gut twists. "I'll let you put buttons in my eyes. Willingly."
The Bedlam smiles, his head inclining to one side as if listening to a melody for his ears alone. "Oh, your little Bureau do not like that."
"Well then, it's just as well you're making the deal with me, not them, isn't it?" Haru replies. "Do we have a game?"
"Not quite." The Bedlam plucks the opaque (what Haru had assumed to be a defunct) snowglobe from the mantelpiece and cracks it into three smaller spheres. They shimmer, almost like a mockery of the lights Baron can summon. "Three friends. Three hiding places. Wouldn't want to make the game too easy now, would we?"
"Maybe you wouldn't," Haru mutters. Still, at least the Bedlam seems in favour of her offer.
"Find all three, and you can go home as if all of this was a dream."
Haru points to his hand. "Found them."
"Very funny." The Bedlam snaps his fingers closed, and the spheres vanish. "The game begins now. And remember: guess wrong, and you're mine."
"Do I at least get any clues?"
"Three friends," the Bedlam repeats. "Three hiding places." And he disappears.
"Yeah, I suppose a treasure map or riddle would even the ground too much," Haru grumbles. She skims her gaze across the Bureau, where – shockingly – there is no neon sign with "FRIENDS AHOY" helpfully clueing her in, so it looks like she'll have to do this the old fashioned way. She circles the room, reluctant to pick at anything lest the Bedlam interpret it as a guess.
She has time to look. At least until the Bedlam grows bored with the game. The rules specified guesses, not a time frame.
On her second circuit, she spots something glimmering from the window. She stops beside it, and raises her eyes up.
"Well, at least I'm not going to have any trouble guessing where one is."