DAY 18,123 [15th of February 2063]

"He said I killed his mother?" said Jenny, dabbing solvent on the bristles of a thin bore brush.

"Yes, Jenny; how many times? He said that and then he tried to kill me and Clara as revenge," said the Doctor. Jenny frowned, sliding the bore brush into the barrel of her revolver to clean it. "Do you have to do that in here? You're going to get oil all over my TARDIS."

"I'm sitting at a table," said Jenny. She was at the dining table in the downsized version of Nerve Centre they'd had for decades, ever since the crew dispersed and less space was needed. She had all the paraphernalia laid out on an old blanket in front of her, the Doctor pacing up and down. "I really don't remember killing anybody's mother and them swearing revenge on me. Maybe it's still in my future."

"It had better not be, Blue," said the Doctor. Jenny shook her head.

"What do you want me to say? I don't remember," she insisted.

The Doctor scoffed. "Who's to say you'd tell me even if you did?" Jenny kept gently scraping the gunpowder residue from the inside of the barrel.

"Well, did he say anything else?" she asked.

"He was a Khaolu who said you killed his mother in 1958."

Jenny paused.

"1958?"

"Yes."

"You didn't say that before."

"I did. He was very clear that he'd been waiting for over a hundred years to get revenge." Jenny kept going with her gun, removing the bore brush when she was done.

"Do you see this number?" she showed it to the Doctor, pointing out the old serial number on her Smith & Wesson Model 10. "Starts with a 'V'. That means it's from the Second World War. Somebody used it to fight the Nazis before it fell into my lap."

"You mean to say you weren't using it to fight Nazis?"

"No, but you never pay any interest in my guns," said Jenny. "They're antiques I've been collecting for centuries. Did I ever tell you the story of how I got this one?"

"I doubt it."

"It came from a friend. In 1958."

"A friend…?" said the Doctor. Then she realised. "Don't tell me this is one of your business stories."

"Family business, yes."

She sighed and pulled out the chair opposite. "Fine. I guess you'd better confess all your sins – that's the Catholic thing to do, isn't it?"

"They never got anywhere trying to convert me," said Jenny. "But, fine. It all started in Hollowmire one day – November, I think. There was a rainstorm, but Clara forgot her umbrella; she asked me to walk down and bring it to her while she locked up that night…"

DAY 144

Rewritten July 2024

1051: Another Girl Another Planet XVIII

Jenny

It was a battle to keep Clara's umbrella from getting turned inside-out in the wind and rain that night, especially when Jenny still only had one good hand. But she managed it and stumbled into the bookshop, wind blowing the door wide open behind her. A few leaves followed her in as she forced the door closed.

"Is that you, Jen?" Clara called out.

"Are you expecting anyone else?" said Jenny. She closed the umbrella and started shaking it out while it was loose, but Clara was in there to stop her like a shot.

"Don't do that, you'll get all the books wet."

"Sorry."

"I'm nearly done, just have to close up the safe with the day's takings in it."

"Have you made a lot?"

"Oh, tons," said Clara. "We've sold at least two books today. One of them to me."

"Anything good?" said Jenny, following her behind the till to the tiny office hidden by a sequinned curtain. She'd never been in there before – she'd barely even been into the shop.

"Mm, some Patrick Hamilton. Oft-forgotten novelist of the twentieth century," said Clara. "Which is a shame, he's very good. Just give me two seconds." Jenny waited as Clara finished, writing the total in the ledger and double-checking that the safe was completely locked. She picked up the keys and smiled at Jenny. "Shall we?"

Jenny held the umbrella over her while she locked the front door, having switched off the lights and fully closed up for the night.

"You'd better take this, you've got two good hands," said Jenny. Clara did, leaning in to kiss her once to say hello as she did. Jenny linked their arms together and they set off through the village, braving the rainstorm. "Where's Dylan, again? Why does he need you to close up?"

"In Harrogate, with his woman. Catherine. She's fifty-six and she has a four-year-old granddaughter," said Clara. "Posh, though. Nowhere near as posh as Sally, but still; up there."

"Don't you find it a bit hypocritical that you're so preoccupied with Dylan's age-gap relationship while you're with me?" said Jenny. Clara looked at her and saw that she was smiling. "I remember listening to FDR win in 1932 on the radio. I bet Dylan's girlfriend doesn't."

"But you don't look old," said Clara.

"Ah, I see; you're just shallow."

"I've always been shallow, Jenny," said Clara, nudging her playfully. Jenny laughed a little. "I suppose you're right, though; it's a pointless thing to gossip about. I just get so bored in that shop all day – it feels like Dylan's just paying me to pretend to be his friend at this point."

"Oh, so, you're jealous that you're not hanging out with him all day every day?" said Jenny. A gust of wind blew in and Jenny shivered. Instinctively, she pressed against Clara for warmth, but Clara wasn't warm at all. "It's freezing."

"It's England in the winter, what do you expect?" said Clara. "I thought you were used to the cold, anyway. Didn't you live on an ice planet for years?"

"That was a long time ago," said Jenny. "And it's different, there wasn't any rain. Rain makes everything worse."

"Well… I might have something for you, to help with the cold – a present," said Clara after a moment.

"Oh?"

"I'll give it to you when we get home. And it's not a butt plug, before you ask."

Jenny frowned. "But I thought you-?"

"Parcel's not arrived yet," said Clara.

"…A butt plug wouldn't help with the cold, anyway," said Jenny, unable to hide her disappointment.

She was immensely relieved when they got back to the cottage, even if the noise of the wind outside was still deafening.

"I've gone my entire life with people telling me I'm English and having almost no idea what it's actually like to be here, and now I am here, and it's dreadful," said Jenny.

"I thought you were here during the war?" said Clara, propping up the umbrella by the front door.

"I was, but that-"

"Was a long time ago?" Clara suggested.

"…Yes."

"Everything seems to have happened to you 'a long time ago'."

"I've just been thinking a lot recently about my childhood – or, as near a thing to a childhood that I had," said Jenny, watching Clara take things out of her bag; her new book, the wrapper of the sandwich Jenny had made for her that morning; her flask full of blood. "I don't know why. It's playing on my mind." She didn't elaborate.

"Turn around," said Clara.

"Why?"

"Because I have your present in this bag, and as I said, it's a surprise," said Clara. Jenny rolled her eyes but obeyed, turning to face the front door. Clara approached from behind and then wrapped something around her shoulders; it was a scarf. "I know you've been saying that what you actually want is a new coat, but I can't knit a coat."

"You knitted this?" said Jenny. It was black, but the yarn had little strands of silver in it. "I didn't know that you could knit."

"I learnt how to do it when Danny died, it helped a lot," said Clara. "I saw the wool, and it made me think of the night sky. And the night sky makes me think of you." Jenny ran her hands over it; it was soft and fluffy. She turned back to Clara.

"Nobody's ever knitted anything for me before."

"In that case, I'm honoured to be the first. I'll be honest, though; I can basically only do hats and scarves at the moment. But I do have a lot of free time at that bookshop, so, maybe one day it'll be jumpers," said Clara.

Jenny put a hand on her cheek and kissed her warmly – or, as warmly as she could, given she was still ice-cold from being out in the wind.

"I love it," she said. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome," Clara whispered, kissing her again. Then she stepped away. "Do you want tea? Or dinner? There might be some leftovers to reheat."

"I…" She thought, then took a deep breath. "I'm going to go out for a bit."

"Out? Out where?" Clara stopped on her way into the kitchen to put the kettle on, glancing at the rain lashing the windowpanes.

"I think it's about time I do get a new coat, to match my new scarf."

"Er, I mean, I'm happy to come and get a coat with you," said Clara.

There was only one place Jenny would go to for outerwear: O'Hara's. She'd been meaning to go and check in for a while, but… Could she bring Clara? Could she invite her into that part of her life? It was the last thing Clara didn't know about, after all…

"I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on you," said Clara. "Your thumb is still broken, remember?"

"I won't get into any bother."

"Jenny. What's going on?"

"I just know some people, that's all. People who make coats."

Clara crossed her arms. "The same people who make that space weed you get for Sally?"

"Different people," said Jenny. Now it looked like everybody she knew was a criminal – then again, everybody she knew, bar Clara, was a criminal. "Where I'm going, it's time travel."

"All the more reason why you shouldn't," said Clara. "I'll buy you a coat from somewhere around here – we'll go into town, or something."

"No, it has to be them," said Jenny. "And you…" She made the decision. "Okay. You can come with me. If you want. Like I said, it's time travel, so, maybe you won't want to."

"Time travel to where, exactly?"

"Back home, to New Orleans. I have some old friends there that I should catch up with, and… Well, you said the other week that you want to marry me someday. And if you mean that, there are people I need to introduce you to."

"The people you grew up with?" asked Clara, shocked. "You want me to meet them?"

"Yes, those people. They're called the O'Haras, and they're my family."

Rewritten July/August 2024

1052: The Three Hearts

Jenny

It was just as damp in New Orleans as it had been in Hollowmire, the city enveloped in sticky, post-storm humidity; the sky was clear and the sunset burned, but the clouds had only just left. Jenny was drenched in sweat in a matter of seconds as she and Clara disembarked the gleaming UFO in the middle of a baseball diamond.

"Are you sure nobody's gonna see this thing?" asked Clara, glancing back at it when they were on the ground, putting up her umbrella again – but this time to protect from what sunlight remained. Jenny went through her pockets and found the ship's keys, pressing a button on them. The spaceship disappeared before their eyes. "If you can turn it invisible, why do you leave it out for everybody to see in Hollowmire?"

"I don't want to lose it. But I won't lose it here; it's above the Leprechauns' baseball pitch." The Leprechauns were the local Little League team. "And besides, nobody ever goes to Hollowmire to see it; but people do come to New Orleans for Mardi Gras."

"It's Mardi Gras?" asked Clara, following Jenny across the outfield to the exit.

"Day after," she said. "Ash Wednesday. Always quiet."

"Uh-huh. And what year is it, exactly?" Clara's eyes followed a brand-new Pontiac Bonneville as it glided down the street in front of them, with a mint green body and whitewall tyres.

"1958," said Jenny. "I've been away for a while. Since the war, I never stay here very long. But it's best to stay in touch since I'll need their help in the 1960s when I lived in Germany," Jenny explained. "Gave them the inside track on life behind the Iron Curtain and built up a few networks to, er, facilitate the trading of… commodities."

"Smuggling, you mean?" said Clara.

"There's a lot of money in untaxed cigarettes," said Jenny, leading Clara over a crosswalk and deeper into the French Quarter. Even in February, the heat was striking, though it didn't bother Clara and her cold blood too much.

"Why do you care what makes a lot of money?"

"Because I was living here, so unlike the Doctor, I actually needed money to live," said Jenny. "You can't steal everything. You can steal a lot, don't get me wrong, but not everything. It's just down here."

The Three Hearts was exactly where Jenny had left it, a traditional, Irish pub built into the ground floor of one of the many blocks of Creole townhouses. The upper floors were overflowing with foliage, almost drowning out the wrought-iron balconies. The old, wooden sign, battered from so many storms, swung in the gentle breeze. But Jenny didn't go in right away; there was a homeless man sitting on the street opposite, wrapped up in newspapers.

She'd brought a few things with her from her stash, including all the American money she had left. From an old wallet, she peeled a fifty-dollar bill and approached him.

"Buy yourself a hot meal," she said, handing him the bill.

"God bless you," he said, nodding. He looked into her eyes, and she knew he recognised him – everybody around there did – but he didn't say another word.

"Did you give him fifty dollars?" Clara whispered when Jenny pushed open the creaky doors of the Three Hearts. "That's a lot, isn't it?"

"We'll see," said Jenny.

"What does that mean?" She didn't have time to answer.

She heard a gun being cocked and froze. A young man was sitting at a nearby table pointing a magnum right at her; other than him, the place was empty.

"What are you planning to shoot with that thing?" asked Jenny. "A horse?"

"We're closed today," he said.

"Not for me, you're not."

"And who are you?"

"Well, I'll be!" A woman walked out from the storeroom behind the bar; she was six foot tall and built like a weightlifter, carrying a keg on one shoulder. "Jenny DeLacey, in the flesh."

"Niamh!" Jenny grinned.

"Hold on – did you say DeLacey?" said the man – well, he was really a boy – with the gun. Niamh turned on him.

"Put that thing away, Joyce; don't you know who this is? Don't you look at the pictures in here?" said Niamh. He holstered the magnum immediately. "Get upstairs and tell the boss she has company – or are you too chickenshit to talk to her?"

"Alright, alright," he grumbled, getting to his feet. He nodded at Jenny. "My apologies, Ms DeLacey."

"Don't worry about it," said Jenny. He shuffled away, through the backdoors, while Niamh walked out from behind the bar to lift Jenny into a rib-crushing bear hug. Clara folded her umbrella down.

"Long time no see, Little Jenny," said Niamh, dropping Jenny onto the floorboards to catch her breath. "How is it that you never seem to age? The boss has pictures from thirty years ago, and here's you, not looking a day over twenty. Can you even buy liquor?"

"What's the world come to when I need to buy my own liquor?" said Jenny. Niamh laughed. Jenny turned back to Clara to make the introductions. "This is Niamh 'The Machine' Murphy. She's the best pugilist in this entire city, man or woman."

"But you taught me everything I knew," said Niamh.

"Only a few bits and pieces," Jenny shrugged.

"I didn't know you were a boxer," said Clara.

"From time to time," said Jenny. "Not anymore, though, with my hand the way it is."

"But it was your left hook that was always the killer," said Niamh when she spotted the bandage and the brace. She nodded at Clara. "Who's the lady?"

"Oh, this is Clara, she's my girlfriend," said Jenny. Clara was stunned.

"She's your what?" said Niamh, looking between them.

"I, er…" Clara didn't know what to say.

"Girlfriend," Jenny repeated. "Is there a different word for it? We're going steady, I mean." Niamh stayed quiet. "Homosexuals."

"Should you really be telling people that, Jen?" said Clara.

"Something tells me that Niamh won't mind," said Jenny, smiling at her.

"I didn't know you, uh… You never said, back in the day, that you… That you swing that way."

"Well, some people are natural hitters, and some people are natural catchers," Jenny shrugged. "And some people are both. I really didn't know at the time, though, so I didn't have anything to say about it."

"Uh-huh. If that's the case, there's a bar a few blocks over, and it's… Well, the cops have been sniffing around, trying to ask about liquor licenses," said Niamh. "It's not the easiest thing to bring up with the boss, but if you're back-"

"I'm just visiting," Jenny interrupted her. "But I'll see what I can do while I'm here." She gave Jenny the name and address, as well as instructions on what the password to get in was, just as Joyce came back looking wan.

"The boss wants to see you right away, DeLacey," he said.

"I thought she might," said Jenny. She smiled at him again and nodded at Niamh, then indicated for Clara to follow her.

"You said this was about a coat," Clara whispered to her. "Now we're in a pub? People have guns? There's a boss?"

"It's just Viola," said Jenny dismissively, leaving the Three Hearts through the back door. It opened onto a courtyard that was mostly being used as an ad hoc beer garden, full of rubbish from last night's festivities that hadn't been cleaned up yet. The ornate fountain was full of cans and empty glasses, but it was still picturesque with the fronds and antique lampposts.

"Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?"

Jenny turned and saw Viola leaning on the balcony above the Three Hearts and grinned. Of course, she didn't know the next line from the play to reply, but she quickly surmounted the metal steps up to the balcony to greet her. They didn't hug, though; Viola didn't hug anyone. She just offered Jenny a cigarette, which she refused.

"I haven't heard a thing from you in god knows how long," said Viola, taking out her lighter. "I thought you might've died out there."

"Only once or twice," said Jenny. Viola pointed out the chair on the other side of the table and Jenny sat down as she lit her cigarette. Clara was lingering at the foot of the stairs, but Jenny beckoned her up.

"Who's the girl?" said Viola.

"Clara," said Jenny. "We're in love with each other – sexual deviants, you know?"

Viola shrugged. "I did always wonder."

"Clara, this is Viola O'Hara, she's a… small business owner," said Jenny.

"Mm, I own this whole block now," said Viola. She held her cigarettes out for Clara, who also refused.

"No, thank you; I don't smoke."

Viola narrowed her eyes, then put the packet back down on the table. "What kind of a woman have you found who refuses my hospitality, JD?"

"One far more sensible than me," said Jenny. Still sitting down, she pulled out one of the two unoccupied chairs at the table and slid it nearer to her, for Clara.

"How long has it been? Three years? All I do is get older, and here's you, a photograph."

"It's a curse," said Jenny. "Three years sounds about right." It had been nearer to fifteen on her end. "I'm two hundred and eight now, though."

"Rub it in, why don't you… What do you want, anyway? A favour? Yeah, I'll bet," said Viola.

"Hardly favours," said Jenny. "I didn't just walk in off the street, did I?" Viola scoffed.

"And I suppose I should take it as a compliment that you've brought this girl to meet me?" said Viola. "Do you need my approval – or do you need my blessing? Is there a way to make it legal?"

"Don't be a prude," said Jenny. "Since when do you care who falls in love with who?"

"I care if she whisks you away from the family."

"It's not like that, we only met a few months ago," said Jenny. Clara hung onto every word. "You can't get me something to eat, can you?" Viola snapped her fingers loudly. Joyce downstairs heard and was back in the courtyard in an instant.

"Yeah, boss?" he called up.

"Go to Bonsoir and ask Lucie for three po' boys," she said.

"No garlic," Jenny added. "Clara's allergic."

"Right away, boss." He crossed the courtyard to go into the backdoor of a different building.

"Po' boys with no garlic," Viola shook her head.

"It's a serious allergy," said Jenny.

"And you bring her here? What else is she allergic to?"

"Not much," said Jenny. "Sunlight, water, Catholicism."

Viola laughed. "And she's in the Big Easy?" She spoke to Clara directly, "Are you lost, darlin'? What lies has this swamp witch been telling you?"

"Clara's a vampire," said Jenny before Clara could reply. Viola raised her eyebrows. "Like Dracula, you know."

"After Venice, this might be the worst place in the world for her," said Viola. "But let me get this straight. Now you're telling me vampires exist, after insisting on the exact opposite when those boys were turning up dead in '49?"

Jenny frowned, then remembered. "Oh, yeah… I suppose that could have been a vampire, then. I didn't know."

"I could fill the universe with things you don't know," said Viola. Then to Clara, "I get myself an alien, and she can hardly even point to the sky." Clara smiled uneasily. "Where are you from?"

"England."

"England. You finally bring someone to meet me, and it's an Englishwoman," said Viola. "I hope it doesn't last."

"Ignore her," said Jenny. "Viola isn't capable of feeling love."

"Hey, now; I love a lot of things. Money being the main one. It certainly helps when I'm – what did you call me? A 'small business owner'?" said Viola. "Astonishing that she brings you to meet me and doesn't tell you the truth beforehand."

"Don't say it like that," said Jenny. "You make it sound like I've lied."

"Have you?" asked Clara seriously.

"No."

"What's really going on, Jen?" But Jenny couldn't find the words to explain.

"You're not gonna take your credit?" said Viola. "If I'm a small business owner, that makes you a small business manager, I imagine."

"Only because you're bad with people," said Jenny.

"What do you want, Jenny?" said Viola.

"I'm in the market for a new coat," said Jenny. "I knew you wouldn't forgive me if I didn't come back to use the family tailor."

"Perfect," Viola smiled. "John'll love that. I'll have someone give him a bell right away."

On the other side of the balcony's door, the one that led to the Three Hearts' private rooms and offices, there was a ruckus. Viola sighed and stood up. When she opened the door, two girls tumbled out; Viola's adopted daughters.

"Jenny!" the smallest one shouted. "I knew it was you!" Jenny stood just in time to catch Sinead O'Hara in her arms, picking her up and squeezing.

"Of course it's me," she said.

"Were you two fighting again?" asked Viola. The older of the two was Imogen; she was twelve, Sinead was eight, and she stood in the doorway with her hands behind her back looking guilty.

"No, ma'am, no fighting," said Imogen.

"Did you finish cleaning in there?" asked Viola. "There's a dollar in it for you."

"All clean," she said. Viola craned her neck to look into the dark room behind, which wasn't clean at all.

"Go and do it again," she ordered.

"Just make Joyce do it, give him the dollar," said Jenny, holding Sinead; she was really too big now, but Jenny was more than strong enough.

"I'm teaching them the value of an honest day's work."

"They're children, Vi. Let them have fun." Jenny set Sinead on the floor and Sinead wrapped her arms around Jenny's legs, hugging her again.

"Jenny, will you take me fishing for crawdaddies?" she asked.

"Absolutely," said Jenny. "I'll come back in a few months when they're bigger."

"The lightning bug you caught for me died."

Jenny crouched down to talk to her. "I did tell you not to keep it in the jar. Did you let it go?" Sinead said nothing and looked at the floor. "No more catching bugs. You can look at the bugs, from a distance."

"But you don't make me set the crawdaddies free," she said.

"Oh, that's different; they're delicious, aren't they?" Jenny tickled her and she erupted in laughter. "You're welcome to come as well, Immie."

"No," said Imogen. "I have better things to do."

"She's almost old enough to know what boys are," said Viola. Imogen crossed her arms, sulking. "The two of you go back inside. Jenny's busy."

"I'll take you fishing in summer," Jenny smiled at Sinead.

"Do you promise?"

"Always."

"Pinky swear." Jenny did, using her good hand to lock her pinky with Sinead's and do the gesture. After that, they calmed down enough to be herded by Viola back indoors, with her saying that they didn't have to clean anymore and could keep drawing their pictures.

"I didn't know you were good with kids," said Clara when Jenny had sat back down, the doors closed again. She looked at Jenny with such adoration in her eyes that Jenny was nearly broken imagining how that was going to change when she found out the truth about the O'Haras.

"I've asked her to stay and nanny them a thousand times," said Viola. "Betsy's off sick today so I had to bring them in. Claims she has the flu – who has the flu the day after Mardi Gras? Nobody, that's who."

"Let her live, she's young," Jenny shrugged.

"This attitude is why you're not in charge."

"No, this attitude is the entire reason why you still have all this," said Jenny, indicating the buildings. "Without me, everyone would hate you."

Viola laughed. "True enough. Oh, would you look at that; Joyce is coming back."

He crossed the courtyard and came upstairs to deliver their po' boys on a platter borrowed from the restaurant. Stinking of fresh shellfish and loaded up with green vegetables, Jenny felt like she was in heaven – even if her sandwich was sans garlic. In the distance, somebody was playing the trumpet.

She moaned with pleasure when she bit into it, surprising Clara.

"You just don't get stuff like this in England," she said. "The food culture over there is abysmal. No offence."

"Offence taken," said Clara. "I don't even know what this is."

"It's a po' boy," said Jenny.

"But what's a po' boy?"

"Oh. Fried shrimp in this one, mayonnaise, lettuce, tomatoes, and pickles, I think," said Jenny, opening hers to peer into it. "The recipe's not set in stone, and I know Lucie likes to mix things up depending on what's freshest. You'll like it, don't worry. Even without the garlic." Gingerly, Clara picked up her sandwich and took a bite. Jenny was right; she did like it, particularly the mayo. Jenny smiled at her but then went back to Viola; they had more to discuss.

"You know you've got a G-Man out front," she said, chewing.

"Who? That bum?"

"Yeah."

"What makes you say that?"

"I gave him a fifty-dollar bill and he didn't leave to go get something to eat or drink," said Jenny. "I bet he's still out there now if you have Joyce check."

"Probably," said Viola, trusting her. "He's been there for days."

"What do you mean, G-Man?" asked Clara in a whisper. "The government?"

"It'll be the FBI," said Viola. "They've been sniffing around for weeks, looking for high rollers to photograph as evidence that we're running a casino."

"And are you?" asked Jenny.

"No. Some superintendent lost at a poker game downstairs last month and sent a phoney tip in," said Viola. "I already sent Seamus to put him back in line, but the dogs haven't been called off yet. That's all they want, one caveat to bring me in. But there's no dirt."

"Won't he see the shine coming in?" said Jenny.

"No, no; we're renovating, so the old place is closed for now. Bonsoir needs more space; who knew that fine dining brings in more than shine and a bar full of drunk cops?" said Viola.

"I think I did, considering you only opened a restaurant because I suggested it," said Jenny.

"Conor's handling the merchandise, too. But I did buy a controlling interest in a distillery last month, and they're interested in his draughts. Something about expanding the beer market," she said. "That's all legitimate, though."

"But where's the shine going? To the distillery?"

"No; I've made an arrangement with the Cubans to trade it because they're also in some kind of dispute with Big Sal. They're cutting us in on grass, and in exchange, we cut them in on the shine. They handle the transportation once it's port-side," she explained. "Do you want a full business update?"

"No, it's fine," said Jenny.

"The girls are doing swell, before you ask."

"Mmhm. Did you say the Cubans are also in a dispute with Sal?" asked Jenny. "Implying that you're in a dispute with Sal?"

"Hardly," Viola shook her head. "A button-man goes missing in the Irish Channel and suddenly, that's my fault. I'm accused of ordering a hit on a guy who's only been made for two months because he was trying to fleece some of my bookies over a drag race. Imagine, killing someone because of that."

"Killing someone?" Clara hissed.

"Nobody's killed anyone," said Viola. "Well, actually, I suppose somebody probably did kill him, but it wasn't me or any of our guys. A thing like that – you slap him around a little, take the money, and drop him off in the swamp to walk back into town. Lesson learned. Sal's blaming me – apparently, he liked the kid, Carlito Scarpa, and he's taking it personal. So, I had Seamus lift Sal's latest car, something from Europe, I don't know."

"You-? Where's the car now?" asked Jenny.

"In the garage out back. Why? Do you want it?"

"A hot car?"

She shrugged. "Change the plates."

"That won't fool the Italians."

"If you want it, have it. It's a Porsche, I think."

"But what happened to the kid? Carlito?"

"That's what I'm waiting to hear. Word has it that Carlito hatched this drag race grift with one of Sal's accountants, Eddie Mancini."

"And?"

"He's in the basement, Seamus is talking to him. We're gonna see if anybody else was involved."

"Hmph." Jenny kept eating, thinking. Viola sighed.

"You're welcome to join Seamus. It won't take too much longer; we've got Mrs Mancini tied up somewhere as collateral."

"Where?"

"Out with Conor, at the stills. He's boring her to death as we speak, I'm sure."

Jenny rolled her eyes. "How long has he been here?"

"Three hours."

"And he hasn't talked? Even with the kidnapped wife?"

"No."

"Any kids?"

"Jenny," Clara whispered, but Jenny ignored her.

"Yes, a girl, I understand – Bianca," said Viola. "She's ten."

"Ten? Okay. Does he work long hours?"

"Doing Sal's accounts? If he doesn't, I'd worry that the IRS is going to come knocking. God, I'd love that – it'd make paying those taxes worthwhile."

"Paying the taxes is already worthwhile so that you don't get Al Capone'd," said Jenny. "Did you say they're drawing in there?" She nodded at the doors.

"Sinead loves to draw these days."

"That's perfect." Jenny wiped her hands and stood. Clara was stuck with Viola, but only for a minute. "Sinead – I'd love it if you can draw me a unicorn."

"A unicorn?" said Sinead, sitting at the upstairs bar on a precarious stool, coloured pencils laid out in front of her. Imogen was reading a magazine.

"Yes. The best unicorn you can."

"Okay!"

"Bring it out to me when you're done, please. And draw a big letter 'B' in the corner."

Jenny left them to it and sat back down, picking up the rest of her po' boy.

"I'll get him to talk if he knows something," she told Viola.

"I don't understand any of what just happened," said Clara.

"It's nothing," said Jenny. "I'll just take care of something while I'm here – while John makes my coat." Clara was staring at her. "Look, I can't leave without resolving a feud with the Italians – especially if it's based on a misunderstanding."

"But – Jenny. You're saying 'Italians' – are you talking about the mafia?" Clara kept whispering.

"Well… Yes," Jenny finally admitted.

"And this, all this – a 'family', 'business' – telling me you're an accountant – moonshine – you're – you're in the mafia! Even though you explicitly told me that you weren't!"

"It's not the mafia!" Jenny argued. "Everybody here's Irish."

"So?"

"Only the Italians are the mafia. This is the mob." Clara was furious. "I didn't lie to you, technically."

"Oh, technically, sure," said Clara, crossing her arms.

"Clara, I brought you here to show you, to… This is me telling you about it, this is me letting you in," said Jenny, wishing that Viola wasn't sitting there listening to this. "Viola found me living in a shack in the swamp and brought me up. We built all this."

"You built a criminal empire."

"It's not really an empire," said Jenny. "It's not even the whole city."

"And what are you going to do to that man?"

"I'm going to talk to him, that's all," said Jenny.

"You're gonna make him an offer he can't refuse, you mean?" said Clara. "Christ. This is why your favourite film is The Godfather, isn't it?"

"It's the best film!"

"You've only seen that one!"

"It's the only one I need to see, Clara, because it's the best one!" Jenny went on arguing with her. "This is exactly why I didn't tell you sooner. And for the record, I'm two hundred years old, and you and I have only been a thing for a few months – you can't expect me to have even had time to tell you everything that's ever happened to me. Not yet." Clara said nothing. "When was I supposed to bring it up?"

"When I asked whether you were in the mafia, that's when!"

"Can we talk about this later, please?" said Jenny.

"Oh, don't worry. We'll be talking about it a lot later."

Then Viola laughed.

"I've never seen you look scared before, DeLacey," she said. "Maybe I will give you my blessing."

"Just to clarify, I'm not asking for it," said Jenny.

"That's good, because she's going to dump you."

"No, she isn't," said Jenny.

"Let's not speculate about what I may or may not do," said Clara. Jenny's blood ran cold. She couldn't finish her po' boy, and nor did Clara. Viola was unperturbed, though.

"You came all this way, and blew up your relationship, for a coat?" she asked, chewing.

"No. I had something to tell you." Viola waited for her to go on. "I found my father."

Her eyes widened. "After all this time?"

"Yes." And then silence.

Without a word, Viola got up and went inside. Jenny could feel Clara's eyes boring into her, trying to silently demand that she explain everything immediately, but Jenny didn't. She waited there for an interminable few minutes until Viola returned with a bottle of whiskey and a poor, but finished, drawing of a unicorn. She set the bottle on the table.

"It's a shame you didn't take it with you, it would be two centuries old by now," said Viola. It was a dusty bottle of Jameson whiskey, bottled all the way in Dublin in the 1920s.

"It's my 'finding the Doctor' whiskey," said Jenny. "Vi's been saving it."

"A bottle like that – that's a few grand in the future," said Clara, staring at it.

"I told you and Sally that I have a friend who collects whiskey," said Jenny.

"Your friend who's a mob boss," said Clara. Jenny just shrugged. "You're absolutely unbelievable sometimes – you really are just like him, trying to control all the information everybody else has access to."

"Clara-"

"Don't 'Clara' me." Jenny shut up. At a loss, she looked to Viola, who only laughed and had more of her drink.

"Don't look at me, killer. It's your degeneracy; if you want it, fix it."

Jenny clenched her jaw and then stood.

"I'm going to talk to Eddie, in that case," she said. She turned back to Clara. "Are you coming?"

"To see you interrogate someone? What are you going to do, break his fingers?" asked Clara.

"People are usually more precious about their toes," said Viola. Clara looked at Jenny in horror.

"Just come with me," she said. "It won't be what you think."

"…Fine," said Clara, relenting since Jenny was inviting her.

Jenny picked up Sinead's unicorn and told Viola to keep the whiskey until her coat was done and she was ready to leave, then directed Clara down the metal stairs ahead of her.

"I don't like this, Jenny," Clara whispered.

"It's not what you think. It's mostly admin and gossip."

"Gossip?"

But Jenny didn't explain. She cut through the Three Hearts again, nodding to Niamh and Joyce, and headed behind the bar and into the cellar. Down there was a familiar scene; Eddie Mancini, whimpering and tied up in amongst the kegs, with Seamus Mahoney sitting opposite him, bored, smoking a cigarette. Seamus jumped when Jenny came in, though, standing up to meet her.

"JD! Nobody said you were back in town," he said.

"Oh, I just rolled in. Vi wants me to help out with something," she said. She smiled at Eddie. "Is this the guy? Mancini?"

"Sure, but I almost had him talking. No need to trouble yourself."

"I choose what is and isn't trouble," she said, picking up the chair Seamus had vacated and putting it down in front of Eddie. "Hello. I'm Jenny. Jenny DeLacey."

"Oh, please, I don't know nothing, I swear," he said.

"I just want to know about this drag race con you and Carlito Scarpa hatched," she said, sitting down. "Did you think you could muscle in on the O'Hara bookies? On a drag race being held in the Irish Channel, with all the cops paid off to be somewhere else?"

"I don't know nothing, Miss DeLacey."

She sighed. "I only have so much patience, Eddie – I can call you Eddie, can't I?" Clara hovered in the doorway behind them; Seamus said nothing about her presence.

"I, er, call me anything you like…"

"Well, Eddie. We have your wife. I was just there with her, in the bayou. It's amazing how loud somebody screams when you pull out their teeth." He sobbed. "You'd think they'd get used to it after the first two or three pulls, but the screams – they always rip right through you."

"You – you said you weren't going to hurt her! You said she was collateral, those were your words!" he shouted at Seamus.

"I'm sure he did say that," Jenny leant back in her chair, calm, "but I'm here now. Things change. Frannie's certainly changed – she's going to have to get used to drinking through a straw."

"Oh, please, please – not my wife, I don't know anything!"

"Relax. We're done with your wife, just about. But, you know, with you and her both preoccupied, somebody had to go collect Bianca from school," said Jenny, lifting up the crudely drawn unicorn to show him. His eyes nearly popped out of his head.

"Not Bianca! Tell me you didn't hurt my little girl, you mick bastard!"

"I didn't hurt your little girl. And I won't. Unless you consider leaving her with no parents as hurting her, which, I suppose, you could," said Jenny. "Just tell me what really happened to Carlito."

"Cazzo! I don't know what happened! One minute, he's there, the next, he's goo! And I'm the most wanted man south of the Mississippi! I tried to tell Sal that Carlito probably just skipped town, but he wouldn't listen!"

"You… excuse me? Goo?"

"Yeah! Goo! At least, that's what he wants me to think. I have it on the authority of one of my usual broads that he's been seen walking around Bourbon Street!"

Jenny frowned and turned back to Seamus. "Where'd you pick him up from?"

"Mistress's apartment," he said.

"Classy. But, Eddie; why would Carlito Scarpa fake his death and then stay in the neighbourhood?" said Jenny.

"Find him and ask him yourself, why don't you!"

"Oh, I will. Where do you think I should start?" asked Jenny.

"Guy's a sucker for the Irish – he's been seeing one of your girls for months. Why don't you go see if she knows anything?"

"Which girl?"

"Grace O'Something," he said.

"Care to be more specific?"

"I can't tell these goddamn mick names apart. It's definitely Grace, though."

"Well, then. I'll go and talk to Grace. But we'll keep a close eye on Bianca until all this is resolved – wouldn't want her to get lost, after all," said Jenny, standing, leaving the drawing behind for him to stare at. She had one lead, at least; she'd just have to call around the brothels to find out which Grace he was talking about.

"You're not gonna let me go!? I told you everything!" said Eddie.

"You'll be fine, especially with Seamus. Now, if they'd left you with me, it'd be a different story. But lucky for you, I'm leaving," she said.

He kept shouting as she left, Clara right behind her, but Seamus came, too.

"Just a second, boss," he said when he closed the door.

"You're 'boss' as well?" said Clara quietly. Seamus crossed his arms and stared at her. She shrank.

"Seamus, this is Clara; Clara, this is Seamus; be nice," said Jenny quickly. "What's wrong?"

"This thing he said. Goo. My brother told me something similar about a missing person's case a few weeks ago," he said. "She turned into some kind of liquid, too, right outside her apartment building. They found all her clothes in it, ID, even some teeth and hair. But then the girl, Kitty, turned up a few days later."

"Interesting… What was her name, again?"

"You'd have to ask Paddy."

"Alright, I will," said Jenny, going on up the stairs. "Call him, get me the address of this girl, Kitty, and tell him to meet me there with whatever case file he can get his hands on."

"Will do, boss."

"And when you're done, have Niamh call around and find out which Grace I need to speak to," Jenny went on. "They're more likely to talk to her than you." Back in the empty bar, Seamus went for the phone. Through the front window, Jenny saw the homeless man was still there; he was a fed, alright.

"What's that about?" asked Clara. "Why can't you call?"

"Me? How does it look?" said Jenny. "I have people to do those things."

"You have people? Not Viola?"

"It's complicated. Hey, Joyce; make yourself useful and go get me the keys for this hot Porsche," said Jenny. Joyce nodded and disappeared through the back again.

"You are going to take that Porsche, then," said Clara.

"I need something to drive."

"Where to?"

"To wherever Kitty Whatshername lives. I have a few questions."

Rewritten August 2024

1053: The Criminal Touch

Jenny

It was a bright red, 1956 Porsche 356 A. Clara was enamoured with it as soon as she saw it in the musty old garage Viola used for her personal cars. She didn't usually include stolen ones in that collection but Big Sal wouldn't be bold enough to try and steal it back from right under her nose.

"I didn't know you know cars," said Jenny, who'd gotten the keys from Joyce, along with a slip of paper with the girl, Kitty Winthrop's, address.

"I've always liked Porsches," said Clara. "It's their big headlights. Very cute."

"Do you want to drive it?" asked Jenny.

"Me?"

"You're a better driver than me," she said. "And it's dark out by now, the sunlight shouldn't bother you."

"You want me to drive your stolen car around for you?"

"It'll be fine, they switched the plates."

"What if someone shoots at us? The Italians they stole it from?"

"They're not going to put bullet holes in Sal's latest collectable. Far more likely to just follow us around and try to steal it back," said Jenny. "But they won't cross me. There are rules." Clara sighed. "Do you want to go home, Clara? I'll take you back."

"And leave you to deal with a mafia goo killer on your own?"

"I can handle it. I've been handling it for a long time."

"No. I don't want you to leave, I just want you to talk to me."

"I will, on the way," said Jenny, handing her the keys. "Come on. You know you want to drive it." Clara looked longingly at the Porsche and relented.

"Alright, fine. But you'd better be good at giving directions," said Clara.

"Just remember to drive on the right."

Even with an unfamiliar, vintage car, Clara was still a good driver, starting the engine and reversing out into the street easily enough. It was a little eerie being in a car with someone who didn't appear in the wing mirrors at first, though.

"So?" Clara prompted as they drove, Jenny telling her which way to turn.

"So what?"

"So, what's all this about? Will you speak to me?"

"It… Could you be more specific?" asked Jenny.

"Why haven't you told me? Why did you lie? And don't tell me you didn't, you knew exactly what you were doing by being selective with the truth the way you were. I might be young, but I wasn't born yesterday," said Clara, the words cutting into her.

"I didn't know if you'd be able to look past it," said Jenny.

"But you told me about the assassins. About killing people. And Viola – she called you 'killer'. Those people seem terrified of you."

"Viola calls me that for a joke, because I won't kill. She thinks it makes me weak," said Jenny. "And I told you about the assassins because that wasn't my choice. It was something that was done to me, and as soon as I found a way out, I went for it. The mob is… I chose it. I chose to help Viola all those years ago, I chose to stay for years, and I choose to keep coming back – I always will. Do you understand?"

"Why choose it in the first place?"

"She offered me a home. I was a child. Nobody had ever done that before – I barely even had a name, let alone a family, a place to belong to," said Jenny. "And Vi was an orphan, too. Her dad had just died owing some money and she had the burden of paying it back. She ran out into the swamp to get away from some wiseguys and I scared them off, saving her life."

"Scared them off how?"

"Ooh, I shot one of them right through the hand," said Jenny, doing a mime like she really did have a gun. "That reminds me, Viola said there was a piece in the glovebox." She opened it and found a gun, as promised; an old Smith & Wesson Model 10, from the war.

"Another gun," said Clara.

"You're too British about guns, Clara. They can be useful."

"Useful for killing people, the only thing they were designed to do, sure."

"Turn right down here," said Jenny, unloading the gun to be on the safe side.

"And what was all that with Eddie? The drawing? His daughter? Has somebody really been pulling out his wife's teeth – are you going to kidnap that girl?"

"No! Nobody's been hurt. Other than Eddie when Seamus grabbed him, but that's just a few bruises. Frannie's fine, she's out with Conor, and he wouldn't hurt a fly," said Jenny. "I made all that up about the daughter. He works long hours for Big Sal – not to mention the mistresses. Show him anything and say his daughter made it and he'll believe you because he doesn't know the difference, he's never around." Clara said nothing. "I told you, Clara; it's gossip. It's all smoke and mirrors."

"You're just spreading rumours around New Orleans that you're a murderer, then?"

"If that's what people need to believe. Keep going straight."

"Christ, that's rich." Clara's knuckles were white as she held the steering wheel. "And how does that work when you let him go and he finds out that his wife and daughter are fine – that you really were full of it?"

"It never happens like that. If you get someone to believe you when you tell them their wife is dead, then when they find out she isn't, they don't think of you as a liar, they think of you as a saint. Like you brought her back to life. And then, they're grateful. The relief is strong enough that they never slow down to think too hard about it," said Jenny. Clara scoffed. "What?"

"Rule number one," she said. "The Doctor lies."

If Jenny didn't need to keep giving her directions, the rest of the drive would have been passed in complete silence. They glided through the bright lights of the French Quarter, while Jenny tried to work out whether Clara was going to forgive her.

"Is it not a bad idea to drive a car like this around here?" asked Clara once they'd left the glitz and descended south, into the Irish Channel.

"Sure, if anybody else was driving it," said Jenny. Clara sighed and kept going. People on the sidewalk turned to look at the bright red sports car, but Jenny wasn't concerned.

They eventually pulled up and parked alongside an old townhouse that had been converted into apartment units, already run-down despite not being that old. Paddy Mahoney was waiting for them in his unmarked police car, a plainclothes detective now.

"If it isn't JD, in the flesh," he said. "And you're driving a car we've had reported stolen from Salvatore Scarpelli."

"I won't tell if you won't," said Jenny. "It's good to see you, though."

"It had better be. I'm pulling a lot of strings to get you these photos."

"Isn't that why we pay you?" she said.

"You're a funny son of a bitch, DeLacey," he said, reaching into his car through the open window and picking up a manila folder from the dashboard. He handed it to her and Clara appeared at her shoulder to look through the pictures. "Who's the broad?"

"This is Clara," said Jenny. "She's shadowing me today."

"Uh-huh. Sounds likely."

"Tell me about this girl," Jenny changed the subject. "Kitty. And the goo."

"It's a funny thing. Two weeks ago, the city gets a call about some kind of a substance, bright green – they're worried it's radioactive. For my money, some local kid's been reading too many comic books. Anyway, it's been determined that whatever it was, it's not dangerous, but most of it washed away in the rain."

"Washed away where?"

"Sewer grate out back," said Paddy. "They called in the department because it was full of personal effects. Everything including the kid's driver's licence and underwear. Stuff she'd've had on her. We were working under the assumption this is an insurance thing – faked death – and then, she turns up. We're still working the insurance angle, attempted fraud maybe, but there's no evidence. Judges won't give us a warrant to search the apartment."

"But now the same thing's happened to Carlito Scarpa, also in the Channel," said Jenny, thinking. The photos were goo alright. They were black and white, but it was still clearly very vivid, throwing out the light from the flashbulb, full of slimy clothes. She showed it to Clara. "Have you seen anything like this? In your travels?"

"No, sorry."

"Carlito Scarpa, you said?" Paddy asked.

"Yes, and he's turned up as well, supposedly," said Jenny. "I'm looking into it. But I'll be sure to let the department know if there's somebody involved that you can arrest for something."

"Sure you will. Keep the photos, they're just copies. I'd better get back to the station; we're snowed in processing last night's Mardi Gras arrests."

"I can imagine. Thanks for this." He nodded and got back in his car, heading off into the night and leaving them there at Kitty's place.

"He's a dirty cop, then?" asked Clara.

"Most of them are," said Jenny.

"And they're working for you."

"For the family, the O'Haras," she said. "Let's go look at this sewer grate, shall we?" She followed Paddy's directions and Clara followed her.

"Are you sure it isn't toxic waste, or something?" asked Clara.

"Around here? No, I don't see how it would be. Maybe out in Nevada where they're running bomb tests that would make sense, but there aren't any nuclear power plants in America right now," she said. "Unless an alien's been coming to New Orleans to dump toxic waste. Sounds like a lot of work, though. And besides," she took out her sonic screwdriver to scan the air around them, "I can't detect any radiation here at all. What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Do you smell anything?"

"I'm not a bloodhound."

"Try, though," said Jenny. Clara glared at her but then theatrically sniffed the air. When she did, she paused.

"…I do smell something, actually, something… it's… it smells like bleach," said Clara. "Bleach and chlorine. Like a swimming pool."

"Here," Jenny spotted the grate and crouched down next to it. "Do you have a light?"

"Just my phone," said Clara, getting it out. She switched on the torch and shone it. In the light, Jenny saw green residue shimmering on the metal. She scanned it with the screwdriver.

"Hm… It's giving me a very high pH reading," she said. "Heavily alkaline substance – which makes sense, if it smells like bleach."

"But what would you need alkaline for?"

"Digestion, breaking things down once they reach the gut," said Jenny. "I might have a trail. Let's see where it leads."

She suspected that it was going to lead to Kitty's apartment, and she was right. They left the yard alone, Clara now holding the folder with the pictures, and headed in through the door, Jenny sonicking the lock and inviting Clara in after her. They went all the way to the top floor and, sure enough, the name 'Winthrop' was written on the door.

Jenny knocked; no point breaking in and spooking her if they could help it. Clara leant close to the door and listened.

"Don't hear anything," she said. "I think it's empty."

"What can you smell?"

"More bleach, it masks everything else. Family of four in the flat behind us having dinner and I only think it's meatloaf. I can barely smell them…" She stared at the opposite door.

"You did bring your flask, didn't you?" asked Jenny.

"What, you think I'm going to break in there and kill an entire family?" she asked.

"No, I just-"

"Yes, I have my flask. And they'd still need to invite me in, anyway."

"I'd invite you in," said Jenny.

"And maybe I'll still kill you."

Jenny scowled but sonicked the door open anyway, stepping in tentatively. And yet again, Clara was stuck on the doorstep until she was formally invited.

"No keys on the side," said Jenny as Clara closed the door. "Probably means she has gone out."

"Or that she keeps her keys somewhere else; you're always losing yours," said Clara.

"I don't lose them, I always remember where I've put them," Jenny defended herself. "I just put them in different places. And what does it matter? We don't live together."

"Except that you have been living with me for the last fortnight."

"If I can find my keys, what does it matter if you can or not?" said Jenny. Clara stopped arguing about it and Jenny moved on, examining the apartment.

It was messy, with clothes strewn all over the place, but Jenny didn't know Kitty; maybe that wasn't out of the ordinary. She smelt something other than bleach, though, and found the modest kitchen. There was a bucket by the floor full of bones – animal bones, thankfully, but they'd all been dropped into the bucket, with a healthy population of flies circulating.

"Looks like she's eaten a whole pig," said Jenny.

"Bins not taken out, clothes not washed, but all the utensils are clean," said Clara. "I don't think she was cooking that meat before she ate it."

"Pork tartare," said Jenny, examining some of the other foodstuffs. Cereal and old tins. The cereal and the tinned vegetables hadn't been touched, but there were empty sardine tins. There was mouldy fruit in a bowl on the windowsill, also attracting flies. Jenny opened the fridge and found it full of raw meat, all fresh and purchased recently. In the door, however, were expired bottles of milk. One of them had been opened and was giving off a smell. "Two weeks, Paddy said…"

"Look at this," said Clara from the living room nearby. Jenny shut the fridge and left the rancid kitchen behind. Clara was holding a stack of photographs. Jenny approached and Clara looked up, indicating the walls. "They've all been taken down, all the pictures. Why would someone do that?"

"Maybe she feels bad."

"What about?"

"About the fact that she's killed Kitty Winthrop and taken her place. It's easier to ignore the guilt if you don't see family photos." The one Clara was looking at was a young girl, presumably Kitty, with a midshipman in the US Navy. Her father on his way to war, by the looks of things. Did he ever come back?

"You think it's a shapeshifter, then?" said Clara.

"Yes, that seems likely. Not sure which one, though. Whatever it is, I think it has to kill to take on a shape. Kill, or… Well. That goo smells like digestive fluids."

"It ate her?"

"Possibly. Carnivorous, going by the meat. Might be new to the planet, too, hence not covering its tracks, and not knowing how to go to the laundromat and clean everything," said Jenny. "See if there's anything around here that shows where she works."

"But whatever it is, if it's moved onto Carlito Scarpa, didn't you get another lead on that?" said Clara.

"Yeah, but maybe she has co-workers who have noticed something strange. They might have clues." They kept searching, picking up stacks of paper and rifling through them.

"I've never met a shapeshifter that kills before," said Clara. "Although, the Zygons did once capture me and their leader took my form, a while ago. They were trying to kill the Doctor."

"You never mentioned that," said Jenny.

"No, well, you and I have only been a thing for a few months. You can't expect me to have had time to tell you everything that's ever happened to me." Clara turned her own words against her.

"It's not the same. Were we sleeping together when this Zygon thing happened? What if I accidentally slept with a Zygon?"

"Oh, believe me, the Zygon had more important things on her mind," said Clara. "But, yes, we were sleeping together."

"And you didn't tell me?"

"Don't make out like it's the same as you lying to me," said Clara. "I was sleeping with you to get away from everything going on with the Doctor, remember? That's why we didn't talk about it. And look, now it might be relevant, and I've brought it up." Jenny gave in; she didn't want to argue.

Clara brushed past her on her way into the bedroom and Jenny paused, midway through going through Kitty's unopened post. She composed herself and tore open another letter, but this was the one that was actually interesting. It was a notice of termination of employment from a secretarial position at a law firm, post-dated five days ago. She'd missed a week of work without contacting the office and had been automatically dismissed.

"Jenny," Clara called out.

"What?" said Jenny, still reading through the letter.

"Come in here, you have to see this."

"See what?" asked Jenny, heading into the room with her bundle of letters.

"This," said Clara, nodding at one of the walls. Jenny's jaw dropped.

There were dozens of photographs pinned to the wall with yarn linking them all together, accompanied by articles cut out from the same old newspapers. Scraps of notepaper filled in the blanks, covered in the names of people and places, all of them related to the O'Haras – even Jenny's name was there. But in the middle was a picture of Viola O'Hara, from a public appearance years ago at the opening of the Dauphin Park baseball stadium in 1952. It was the home of the Clovers, and O'Hara Outfitters were the team and stadium's biggest sponsors. They even made all the uniforms.

"She's mapped out most of the family here," said Jenny.

"Looks that way," said Clara. "I suppose even the FBI hasn't managed to do that."

"No, the FBI knows everything, they just can't prove it, it's complicated," said Jenny. "This is impressive, though, for a civilian… It's all Irish, though, she's targeting Viola. So why go after Carlito? Unless…"

"What?"

"Carlito and Eddie were here, in the Irish Channel, trying to muscle in on Irish bookmaking on an Irish drag race," said Jenny. "Maybe she thought they were Irish, and that Carlito was a way in. Look, there, she has his name down. If she's an alien, maybe she can't tell the difference between Irish and Italian."

"Or it's bait," said Clara.

"How do you mean?"

"Your goons already picked up Eddie Mancini," said Clara. "Aren't they combing the streets looking for Carlito, too, to try and iron this out with whatshisname? Sal?"

"No, nobody's out looking for Carlito."

"We're looking for Carlito," said Clara. "If we were just ordinary people, and not us, we'd think this was an assassination plot and go and get him. Bringing him right to the Three Hearts to be questioned. Right to Viola."

"I… You're right," said Jenny. "This thing's using itself as bait. I bet it wants to take Viola's shape. But why?"

"I don't know, Jenny. I suppose you're the expert on why aliens come to Earth and try to join the mafia."

"Mm… Lots of space criminals out there who want money and power. Or just a place to belong to. In any case, I have to make a call. This is serious."

Back in the front room Jenny put the post down and picked up the phone, sonicking it – an old trick to block the wiretaps the FBI almost certainly had placed on the Three Hearts – and dialling out. It was Niamh who answered.

"Who's this?"

"Jenny. Have you been able to find out who this girl, Grace, Carlito's been seeing is?"

"She's in the cathouse a few blocks away, the Petit Rose," said Niamh. "I called over. Zelda says she's there now and she'll keep her there until you talk to her. Unless you wanted Seamus to pick her up?"

"No, she stays there, I'll be over soon," said Jenny. "Listen to me. When I hang up, go tell Viola to stay put, and lock the building down. Nobody goes in or out."

"Is it the Italians?"

"No. Just tell her that's what I said, and don't answer the door to anybody except me – and only if I'm with Clara."

"Will do, Little Jenny."

"The Petit Rose, you said?"

"That's the one." Jenny nodded, thanked her, and hung up.

She smiled uneasily at Clara. "Well. It looks like we're going to a brothel."

Rewritten & Renamed August 2024

1054: The Petit Rose

Jenny

"So, what does 'Petit Rose' actually mean?" asked Clara as she parked the car in a secluded back alley. They'd returned to the French Quarter, to one of the bougier bordellos the O'Haras controlled just off Bourbon Street.

"The Little Pink," said Jenny. "No prizes for guessing what's so little and so pink." Clara frowned. "Vaginas."

"Could've been a penis," said Clara.

"You think we'd name a brothel 'The Small Penis'? You think that'll get the men visiting?" said Jenny. "It's all branding."

"Sorry. I didn't realise I was in a relationship with a pimp," she said. Jenny shook her head and opened the door, making to get out.

"It really isn't like that."

"Then what is it like?" she asked. Jenny stopped. "Explain it to me." With a sigh, Jenny got back into the car and shut the door again. It looked like rain.

"It's a business."

"In which you profit off those girls."

"We look after them. They choose to be there; I've made sure of it. And why shouldn't they be allowed to do it for a profession somewhere safe, where somebody can go and get them all the contraceptives they might need from the future?" said Jenny. Clara was quiet. "There will always be prostitution, but at least this way, I can make sure some of the women doing it are safe. Don't tell me you're against sex work, though."

"No, of course I'm not," said Clara. "I'm just trying to understand how you justify all these things in your head."

"Viola would have done all this without me. She'd've tried to, at least; maybe she wouldn't have gotten as far, since she's not a people person."

"And that's what you do? You're a mediator?"

"Kind of. It's like good cop bad cop. I'm good cop, most of the time."

"But you're a criminal."

"Oh, crimes and laws – it's all paper, Clara. Semantics. It's a community and an infrastructure, and the actual government has failed a lot of the people here," she said. "We invest in all sorts – hospitals, smaller clinics, schools, that baseball stadium Kitty Winthrop has a picture of. We're the biggest sponsors of the Clovers and the Leprechauns, and don't you think that means something to the people here? That they have that? That they have people they can trust to look out for them and get them in to see a lawyer or a doctor if needed? You know, the government is all dirty money, anyway; at least we're honest about it. Now, I should really take care of this before somebody else gets hurt." Jenny got out of the car and didn't check that Clara was coming, too – but she was. Jenny heard the door go and Clara caught up with her.

"I'm not trying to upset you," said Clara as they approached the distinct, pink door into the building.

"Save your questions and I'll answer them later, okay?"

"Okay."

Jenny walked right in and was immediately greeted by the bouncer, Johnny. He was reading that day's newspaper and holding what smelt like a very strong cup of coffee, sitting in a chair near the door in the narrow hallway.

"Nobody told me you were swinging by, boss," he said, standing up. He put a hand to his head and staggered a little when he did, jarred by the change of altitude.

"Long night?" said Jenny.

"Mardi Gras."

"I figured. I'm only dropping by to talk to Zelda; is she in the office?" asked Jenny. Johnny nodded, barely, and sat back down, waving her on through.

The building had been a hotel, a cheap boarding house, once upon a time, but the O'Haras had acquired it ten years ago, largely under Jenny's direction. The legal owner of the building was buried in companies and aliases, but Zelda Kelly had always been in charge.

After passing through clouds of cigarette smoke, the dark purple wallpaper hiding the worst of the stains, Jenny arrived at the office door and knocked. She didn't wait, letting herself straight in. Zelda had one of the girls in there who Jenny didn't recognise, but as soon as the door opened, Clara covered her mouth and nose.

"JD; what a surprise," said Zelda. "I wasn't warned you'd be stopping by."

"I'm not auditing," said Jenny. "I want a word about something, but just – what's the matter?" She turned to Clara and spoke quietly.

"Purulent discharge," she said. "Some kind of infection. Open sores. Bad blood."

Jenny nodded at the girl in the chair and spoke to Zelda. "Is she sick?"

"Close the door," said Zelda. Jenny did, though Clara didn't look happy about being stuck in there. "This is Polly, she's new. Polly, this is Jenny DeLacey, she's Viola O'Hara's right hand. Polly's been working out of a boarding house in Riverside, but now she wants to work here." Polly didn't say a thing and Clara isolated herself in the corner.

Jenny sat down in the last, free chair, dragging it over to Polly.

"Can you look at me, Polly?" she asked. Polly did, and Jenny saw her mouth was covered in sores. "Do you have more than the ones on your face?" Polly nodded. Jenny turned back to Zelda. "It's syphilis."

"Are you sure?"

"I worked with airmen and nurses during the war, do you think I don't know what syphilis looks like?" said Jenny. "She needs penicillin, that's all."

"We haven't decided whether she's a good fit yet," said Zelda.

"Excuse me?"

"The cost of a months-long course of penicillin-" Zelda began.

"What? You're not going to help her if she's not profitable?"

"We help all of our girls, you know that. But this is a whorehouse, not a charity," said Zelda. She could be nearly as ruthless as Viola.

Without asking, Jenny picked up a piece of paper and a pen from the desk to write a note.

"I'll pay for it myself," said Jenny. "Get her seen by a doctor, and then ask Viola to cut a cheque to reimburse you. Tell her it's from me, give her this." Jenny gave back the page. All it read was, 'From my personal account' with the signature she used as Jenny DeLacey; JD, in cursive. Polly stared at her with wide eyes. "There's no debt. But if you work for us and it happens again, Zelda will pay for it. Don't feel like you have to, though; like I said, there's no debt."

"I don't know what to say," said Polly.

"You don't have to say anything. Zelda will arrange everything with the doctors," said Jenny.

"Of course," said Zelda. "Wait outside and we'll continue this when Jenny leaves. I assume you want something urgently?"

"Yes," said Jenny. Polly nodded and left. Only when the door was closed did Clara start coming back to herself. "Were you going to kill her or be sick?"

"Second one," said Clara.

"Excuse me?" said Zelda. "What do you mean, kill her?"

"Just a joke. Clara hates germs," said Jenny.

"Mm," Clara nodded, unconvincing.

"I won't be here long. I'm looking for a girl. Grace O'Shea. I have it on good authority that she's moonlighting as the mistress of an Italian button-man, Carlito Scarpa, who may or may not be dead," said Jenny.

"I don't think she's his mistress, I don't think it's as emotional as that," said Zelda. "But you know Italians come here. They like it because you spend a fortune on medical bills. They never catch anything and take it back to their greasy wives."

"Italians like Carlito?" asked Jenny. Zelda paused and didn't answer. "He's here right now, isn't he?"

"Don't go interrupting someone in flagrante, Jenny," said Zelda.

"Which room?" Jenny stood.

"I'm sure whatever he's done will keep another ten minutes," said Zelda.

"She's in danger," said Jenny. "Which room?"

Zelda shook her head. "Second floor, third on the left."

"Thank you."

Jenny hurried out of the room with Clara at her heels, heading upstairs as quickly as she could.

"Shouldn't we come up with a plan?" Clara whispered. "Whatever this thing is, it's dangerous."

"I brought the gun."

"A gun is not a plan."

"The plan is that we talk to it and try to find out what it is and reason with it," said Jenny. "But, also, I have a gun. As a last resort. And I have you, why don't you try to frighten it?"

"Why would it be scared of me?"

"The Doctor, before she left, told me that all planets have a vampire myth – an innate fear of you," she said.

"Thanks."

"It's worth a shot, isn't it?"

"Or we could just tell it that you're a Time Lord," Clara grumbled. "Everybody hates Time Lords."

On the right floor, Jenny approached the door Zelda had pointed her towards. There was a light fixture outside with a tealight burning away, covered with red-tinted glass; an old-fashioned way to show the room was occupied. Jenny knocked loudly on the door.

"Are you in there, Scarpa?" she called loudly. "It's Jenny DeLacey, I have to talk to you. Urgently." She heard a noise in the room like something falling over.

"She's gagged, I can hear her trying to scream," said Clara.

With no hesitation, Jenny stepped back and kicked the door down. It splintered underneath her boots. Grace was cowering in the corner, gagged with one of her own stockings, the other wrapped around her hands. Leering over her was a half-man, half-tentacle monster, green and gooey. He was standing up with four limbs, but instead of hands, there were suckered arms. When he turned to face Jenny, it looked like his head was melting, human on the top with tendrils on the bottom, pouring from his mouth.

"Ah-ha! You're a Khaolu," said Jenny. "I really should've guessed – I used to know a Khaolu who worked with the Blacklighters, he could play three trumpets at once. Always left them covered in slime."

He drew back a slippery arm and tried to punch her. She dodged to the side, but it came with such force that it smashed part of the doorframe.

"Why kill me? Aren't you looking for me?" said Jenny, drawing it out of the room. She caught Clara's eye and nodded at the bedroom. Clara stepped out of Carlito's way and, when Jenny had lured it far enough into the corridor, slipped inside to untie Grace. "All this time looking for a foothold in the mob here, and what do you know, I happen to show up on the same day you make your move!" She dodged another strike from a tentacle. He got more inhuman by the second. "You did catch my name, didn't you? DeLacey? I saw the pictures up in your flat – you've got our whole network mapped out, haven't you? The FBI would love you – I can put you in touch if you like. There's a G-Man right outside one of our pubs!" She ducked again and then drew the gun from where she'd had it in her jeans. The Khaolu paused.

"You think that'll stop me?"

"Maybe for a few seconds."

"And what will you do with those seconds?"

"Well, it's 1958 and this house is full of women – I'm sure at least one of them has a bottle of hairspray and a cigarette lighter," said Jenny. She'd loaded the revolver while Clara had driven them over, and without hesitating plugged him with three rounds. It was deafening and he staggered backwards, but Khaolus were so malleable that Jenny knew he was right; bullets wouldn't do much for long.

Luckily, they didn't need to. Clara appeared behind him and threw a flip lighter and a big can of hairspray over his head. Jenny dropped the gun in her haste to catch them, but of course, she didn't miss. Clara ducked back into Grace's bedroom as Jenny blasted the Khaolu with fire, spraying onto the lighter to create enough heat.

He tried to shield himself with his arms, wailing from pain, staggering backwards as Jenny advanced. It turned and ran, slipping and sliding all over the place on its own slime, and threw itself out of the window with a crash. Jenny flinched and stopped spraying, the Khaolu disappearing into the night. She thought she heard a squelching and tentatively approached to peer outside.

There was nothing out there except a small streak of green liquid on the floor with things stuck to it, but she couldn't tell what from that distance.

"Come and find me in the bayou, if you're still out there!" Jenny shouted into the night. There was no response. She backed away, treading carefully over what broken glass had landed on the carpet and retreating into Grace's room – picking up her gun on the way. "Thanks for the tools," she said, setting everything down on the dressing table.

"I can't believe he would try and hurt me like that," she said, tears in her eyes. Clara was trying to comfort her.

"He wouldn't," said Jenny. "That thing, it wasn't Carlito. It's from outer space."

"Outer space?"

"Like in War of the Worlds," said Clara. "Or Earth vs. the Flying Saucers. I think that's already out, at least?" She looked at Jenny, who shrugged. "Forbidden Planet, maybe."

"It killed Carlito and then changed its shape to look like him," Jenny explained.

"It stole his face?"

"Yes. I'm sorry."

"Was it going to do the same thing to me?"

"Maybe. Maybe you, then Zelda, then whatever enforcer next comes to collect kickback," said Jenny. "Working its way up." She covered her mouth and sobbed. "Look, take the week off. I'll clear it with Zelda and cover your lost wages. But it won't come back for you now I've told it where I'll be."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

They stayed a few minutes to make sure she was alright, then Jenny disappeared to square everything with Zelda while Clara got the car ready. As well as Polly's penicillin and Grace's time off, Jenny also said she'd pay for the broken window.

"How in the hell can I run a cathouse in February with a broken window?" she demanded.

"Viola will be able to get a glazier," Jenny brushed her off. "It could've been worse. Could've been Grace."

Outside, she found the broken glass and the patch of green gunk the Khaolu had left. She crouched. Inside it were grey feathers from a common pigeon. There must have been one on the building it had absorbed and stolen the shape of during its descent.

"You didn't want to bring the hairspray?" asked Clara when Jenny got into the passenger seat of the Porsche, shutting the door.

"No need. We're going to the stills."

"In the bayou? Like you told it?"

"Yes. We're going to set a trap, and me and Viola will be the bait."

Rewritten August 2024

1055: The Gator Racket

Jenny

"What, exactly, is this thing you have me hiding from?" asked Viola. Seamus had driven her behind Jenny and Clara in the Porsche all the way out of the city, but there hadn't been time to explain what was going on before they left. Niamh and Joyce had been tasked with watching Imogen and Sinead.

"It's called a Khaolu, it's a shapeshifter," said Jenny, shutting the car door. They were out in the swamp late at night, at the rickety old moonshine stills manned by Conor Finnegan. "Looks like a big ball of tentacles in its natural form."

"And this thing, it wants to kill me?"

"It wants control of the family," said Jenny, eyes on the sky; she was looking for pigeons. "It wants to absorb you and melt you into a goo using digestive acid. That's what happened to Kitty Winthrop, and Carlito Scarpa. It was about to happen to Grace O'Shea, too, but we stopped it."

"Christ – but if the thing already had an in with Carlito, why not just go for the Italians?" she said.

"I don't even know if it knows he was Italian," said Jenny. "Which reminds me, somebody needs to go and clear out Kitty's apartment. The Khaolu's made a detailed map of our entire operation."

"What?" said Viola.

"It even had me on there."

"That's hardly surprising. Whatever subtlety you think you have, you're imagining, Jenny. Everybody knows you, they always have," said Viola, the four of them heading into the largest shack, the one with lights on inside.

"Because you're so integral to all this, I suppose," said Clara, listening to all this.

"Boss!" said Conor when Viola came in. He was sitting in an old rocking chair with a bottle of moonshine in his lap and nearly fell over when he stood up. "I wasn't expecting you, or – Jenny! What's going on?"

"Don't mind us, just hunkering down for the foreseeable," said Jenny, glancing around the room. It was big enough with a makeshift bar along one wall, but she was more interested in the big glass bottles of shine stacked up near the door and ready to be collected. A dishevelled woman she assumed was Frannie Mancini was tied to a chair in the corner. "You could've let her go hours ago; didn't anybody call?"

"Ain't no phones out here, you know that," said Conor. Jenny shook her head and spoke to Frannie.

"Your husband's fine, you're fine. Someone will drive you back into the city when we're done out here," said Jenny.

"Let him go?" said Viola, stepping in front of Jenny and stopping her from picking up one of the bottles. "He was still muscling in on our territory."

"And he's learned his lesson," said Jenny. "Besides, I'm sure it was Carlito's idea, and Carlito's dead. Conor, go get whatever guns you have. Anything high calibre should be enough to at least knock it back for a while."

"Right away, JD."

"And what are you doing, in the meantime?" asked Clara, hovering while the others dispersed to collect guns.

"Cobbling together a hosepipe," she said. "There's no running water here, but if I can build up enough pressure in one of these stills, that might work."

"A hosepipe to spray what? Moonshine?" Clara was aghast. "Are you going to burn it to death?"

"No! What do you take me for? The thing about Khaolus is that all that green stuff they drip everywhere – the alkaline – it's digestive enzymes. They digest externally and then absorb it all through their skin," Jenny explained. "Blast it with enough moonshine and it'll get so drunk we can bring it onto the TARDIS, contain it, and hopefully persuade it that trying to seize control of the Irish mob actually isn't a good idea."

"Get it drunk? Are you serious?"

"Absolutely. This stuff's potent enough to make a spider go blind. Now, go and get me any pipes or tubes you can find; I don't think we have long. And if you can keep an ear out for wings."

"Wings?"

"Mm, it consumed a pigeon on its way out of the cathouse. I think it's followed us from the air."

"If you say so…"

Jenny dealt with one of the big tanks, an old one that hadn't been used in decades – demand for moonshine had dropped since the repeal of prohibition, but all the equipment from the older, larger stills, the ones she used to man herself, was still there.

"So, what is this place?" asked Clara when she'd returned with an armful of old, metal pipework Conor kept out back. It was all rusty from the rain and humidity, but it would hopefully still do. Jenny had her sonic screwdriver out to graft the pieces together.

"Moonshine stills, didn't I tell you?" said Jenny.

"It looks like a bar, though."

"We used to have more people here than just Conor," she said, crouching and working a pipe carefully. Everybody else was armed, with Seamus keeping a lookout through a crack in the wooden wall. "People gather here sometimes. It's away from the cops and an easy way to get very drunk very fast, often for free."

"It's awfully… damp."

"It's the swamp. I lived out here on my own for five years, in this, uh… Well, people used to call it a witch's shack, for voodoo. But that was just a story to scare people away from the stills that were there. This was in the twenties," said Jenny. "I used to hunt alligators and snakes and sell the skins in the city."

"There are alligators out here?" said Clara, glancing around as if one was going to stick its head through the floorboards.

"Everywhere. But they're fine. Don't bother them and they won't bother you – same goes for most animals." Jenny kept focusing on the piping, trying to attach a valve to maintain the pressure.

"You said you knew another Khaolu once, then?"

"Mm, we used to call him Toots, on Akwana. He was the trumpeter in the house band there, in a bar called the Loop where all the Blacklighters gather," she said.

"And what's a Blacklighter? I've never heard that."

"The Blacklight Society," Jenny explained. "It's a thieves' guild in the future. They call it that because all the foliage on the planet is fluorescent. It glows at night like it's under a blacklight."

"You were in a thieves' guild, too?" said Clara.

"I still am, it's all very informal. It's mostly for fun, though, stealing knickknacks. Paintings, jewels, things like that," said Jenny.

"You really are a career criminal."

"I never said I wasn't," said Jenny, turning to talk to her properly. "But all this? It's not my real passion."

"What is your real passion?"

"It-"

"Something's moving out there," said Seamus.

Jenny sighed. "I told you we didn't have long. Help me get this thing outside."

"Oh, okay," said Clara, doing as asked.

"Nobody shoots until my signal," she said. "And for god's sake, don't hit this tank or it'll explode." She was speaking mainly to Viola, who'd always been a bad shot.

They dragged it out front and Jenny held her makeshift hose. It wasn't flexible, made up of a big, old water pipe they'd once used, but it would turn left and right. She pointed Clara to the valve to get ready to turn it; with her bad thumb, Jenny couldn't aim the pipe and turn the valve. In the shack behind them, gun barrels poked through the cracks.

"Are you out here? Kitty? Carlito?" Jenny called out. She heard a flap of wings above and a gun went off behind them. "What did I tell you!" She shouted into the shack.

"I thought I saw it!" Viola called back.

"She shouldn't even have a gun," Jenny muttered.

"I knew I smelled something different on you," said a voice from the dark. It was slithering around out there in the dark where Jenny couldn't see it. The sounds of the swamp sprang up around them, filling as she strained them to listen for the Khaolu. "You're a Time Lord, aren't you?"

"You've got me," said Jenny.

"A Time Lord and a Great Vampire. She smells like death."

"You're not so hot yourself," Clara retorted.

"If you came here looking for money, you don't need to kill anybody else," said Jenny. "I can get you money easily. We'll go to one of the casinos and I'll count cards for you."

"Money? That's what you think this is about?" said the Khaolu, gliding through the swamp water. They were semi-aquatic on their home planet. "I came to this planet to build something. All anybody out there talks about is Earth's potential. I only wanted to harness it for myself."

"By getting into organised crime?" asked Jenny, still unable to determine where it was, out there among the cypresses and the mangroves, with the bugs singing in the marsh.

"I'm building a life. I've been here for months. It won't be long until my son gets here."

"Your son?"

"You've never been to Dalara, have you, Time Lord?"

"I've never even been to Gallifrey."

"It's all like this, the swamp without the city. It's no wonder so many of us leave. Here, there are opportunities. They do call it the Big Easy, don't they? I've learned that."

"There are better ways," said Jenny. "You've got shapes now, why don't you get a job somewhere? Or come with me and I'll take you somewhere better – what about New New York? Everybody's welcome there."

"But my son is coming here. I have to stay to meet him."

"Okay, then we'll do that, we'll look after you, and then we'll all move on," said Jenny.

"No. It won't all be for nothing."

"Just listen to me. Coming to Earth, living out here in the swamp, and deciding you're going to join the mafia? That's-" Next to her, Clara cleared her throat. Jenny clenched her jaw. "It isn't the same, Clara."

"Why? Because you were too young to know what you were doing? You're still doing it now," said Clara.

"Alright, fine," said Jenny. "Why not come and work for the O'Haras legitimately? I'm sure Viola's dying to get a new hitman. And Khaolus, they live for centuries."

"I'm not having anybody in my organisation I can't trust not to eat me!" Viola shouted from inside, and then she shot off another round from an old rifle. Conor had cleverly given her a BB gun they kept in the shack to shoot vermin, but it startled the Khaolu. Jenny heard splashing, but then a hiss. Khaolus didn't hiss.

"What did you do that for!?" Jenny shouted at her. "Follow an instruction for once in your life!"

"You're not the boss of me, DeLacey!"

"Come on, let's not fight in front of all the kids, Vi!" Jenny went on. "Unbelievable," she mouthed to Clara.

"Yes, it's very hard to believe that the mobster you've latched onto as a surrogate parent doesn't want to follow orders," Clara muttered.

"What? No, it definitely isn't like that, it-"

She'd been briefly distracted. The Khaolu was in the water, a great amorphous shape coming through the reeds towards them; the moonshine shack was built on stilts on mudflats that were completely underwater in the rainy season. She saw it just in time to shout for Clara to turn the valve.

The tentacles burst out of the water towards her, and she blasted gallons of moonshine right back at it. It was pressurised enough to push it back, while the sludgy alcohol was absorbed through its skin. It slid into the water and away.

"If you would just listen to me, you can come with us and start fresh somewhere new," said Jenny. "Start your own mob if that's what you really want! We'll give you the seed capital, try to build it yourself instead of taking it."

"That's what I was trying to do, but people on this planet don't respond to anything other than violence, than power," it said from somewhere far to Jenny's right. She turned the hose, trying to track it, but it remained elusive. "Nobody would respect me if I let you give me what I want, DeLacey. It needs to be taken. Just like you took it, years ago."

"Viola's the one who did most of the taking," said Jenny.

"If you think I can't play both parts, you're wrong. I was an actor back on Dalara."

"Oh, great," said Clara. "An over-ambitious theatre kid. Because that's never caused anybody any problems."

"I really don't think eating a Time Lord will do you any good," said Jenny.

"Why? Who's left to come and avenge you?"

Jenny bit her lip. Was she going to do it? Was she going to mention him?

"Only the Doctor." She was. "I'm his daughter."

"The Doctor's daughter? And you're here? Doing this?" said the Khaolu. "I don't believe you."

"And what about me?" said Clara. Silence. "If you hurt Jenny, you have me to deal with. Do you want the Great Vampires on your case?"

"Empty threats."

Clara sighed. "Nobody's ever scared of me. Why is that?"

"Why do you want them to be?" said Jenny. She shrugged in the darkness. "You're too cute, that's why."

"And you're not?"

"I don't think this is the best time to argue about which of us is cuter, Clara. Besides, everybody on the TARDIS is terrified of you," said Jenny. She heard more slithering in the swamp and returned to the matter at hand. "I'll personally help you make whatever arrangements you want! Nobody else needs to die. And we can get you plenty of meat, you know; the swamp's full of it!"

But this time, she got no answer.

"Maybe getting it drunk was a bad idea," said Clara quietly. "It's hard to reason with drunk people." Jenny paused and thought about this for a moment.

"You might be right."

Again, she strained her ears, but there was no need. Behind them there was a crash, screaming, then gunfire.

"Get this into the water, quick," said Jenny, grabbing Clara's attention when she tried to go for the shack.

"But-"

"Clara!"

Clara stayed to help and together they pushed the big vat of moonshine and pipes over and into the swamp. The lid came off and the liquor went everywhere, which she hoped made it less of a fire risk since a gunfight had broken out behind them.

Then she was in the shack, forcing the door open and finding the Khaolu in its true form, a huge, ball of glistening tentacles, being shot full of bullets from everybody else in the room. But in a split-second, a bullet bounced from one of the bits of pipe and ricocheted. There was a scream: Franny Mancini. It had clipped her.

"Stop!" Jenny shouted, pushing between Viola, Conor, and Seamus with their guns and drawing a pistol of her own, her plasma blaster she'd taken from Koltn on Zeniph Nega last week. They all froze, including the Khaolu. "Bullets might not hurt you, but I know this will. The plasma will cause a chain reaction in every single one of your cells, and you'll be dust before you know it."

"You had a second gun this entire time!?" said Clara behind her.

"That's not important," said Jenny, holding the gun on the creature with her left hand, the most reliable. Franny Mancini whimpered nearby. Jenny glanced over; she was bleeding from her leg. "Conor, where do you keep the rubber pipes for the stills?"

"Uh, right here," he said, picking one from behind the bar somewhere.

"Tourniquet, Clara," said Jenny. Clara didn't need telling twice, though maybe getting a vampire to treat a human losing masses of blood was a bad idea. She went and got the thin tube and knelt to help Franny, tying the tube tightly to cut off circulation. "Listen to me. People are getting hurt. And I can't allow you to keep going."

"You'll just shoot me, then?" said Khaolu.

"I don't want to, but if I let you leave, you're going to kill again, aren't you? And you're targeting innocent people."

"Nobody in this room is innocent of anything, the least of all you, Time Lord. But even with all that, you're still too cowardly to pull the trigger, aren't you?"

"You think I've never shot anybody before?"

"Not when you've thought about it this much, I bet," said the Khaolu. Jenny stiffened; it was right. She heard it laughing. It was drunk, too.

"I'm just trying to protect people," said Jenny. "I'll protect you, if you'll let me, and your son when he gets here. You want to be an actor? Be an actor; we'll send you to Hollywood, I'll pay for everything, I'll – no!"

She shouted at Conor, but it was too late. He'd slid down the bar, picked up another enormous bottle of moonshine, and brought it down on the Khaolu. It shattered, glass and liquor going everywhere, and the Khaolu rolled backwards.

"What did you do that for!?" said Jenny.

"That was your plan, wasn't it? Douse it in moonshine! Pour some more on there and we can kill the thing for good!"

"Nobody's killing anything, we-"

"I say to kill it," said Viola.

"It isn't your decision," said Jenny, turning on her. "It's my responsibility, mine. You don't get a say."

"You question my authority? In front of people?"

"In this case, yes, I do," said Jenny. "You know this is how it has to work."

"That thing wants me dead!"

"It doesn't know what it wants! It's delusional – maybe it's sick, I don't know! I'm going to get it onto the TARDIS and take it to a hospital in New New York, and maybe then we-"

"Jen – Jenny!" It was Clara.

The Khaolu was going, back through the hole it had smashed in the wall. Jenny went after it, trying to drag it back into the light, away from the swamp, away from the hissing and sloshing in the water behind. But it was too heavy and slick. She couldn't get a grip, and in the moonlight, it slipped on the wet, old boardwalk and into the mudflats and the sinkholes.

With its suckers, it tried to drag Jenny down with it, and maybe it was still sober enough to kill. But there was a greater threat out there, sitting and waiting in the marsh, still hissing. One of the biggest gators Jenny had ever seen, and she was going right towards it.

"Don't fall! Come back, just – listen to me, if you would all just-"

Clara grabbed Jenny and pulled her free of the tentacles at the last possible second. The alligator lunged and closed its jaws on the Khaolu, and it didn't even scream. The silence was chilling. Jenny watched, barely aware that she'd dropped to her knees. The alligator dragged it away to tear limb from limb. In the gloom, she could see at least two more, their dark, beady eyes shining.

"Why didn't anybody listen to me?" Jenny breathed, watching it go. There was no way it would be able to fight off a gang of gators. "Maybe we can still help, maybe-" She heard the alligators tussling out there and saw movement and tails splashing in the water. "They're going to rip her apart."

"I know. I'm sorry." Clara put an arm around her.

"It's my fault."

"No, it isn't," said Clara.

"It's always my fault."

"It's not, Jenny. But I don't think there's anything else to be done here."

"What?"

"We need to get Franny to a hospital, and the blood, it… I can't be around the blood without you," said Clara in a whisper. Jenny managed to nod. Everything had gone to hell, but if Clara needed her, Clara needed her. It was as simple as that.

Rewritten August 2024

1056: My Melancholy Baby

Jenny

Franny would be fine. Seamus took Viola home, Jenny and Clara took Franny to the nearest hospital as fast as possible, and then Seamus freed Eddie and brought him to meet them. If the mob hadn't captured his wife, she wouldn't have been hurt, but at least she'd be alright. She just needed the wound packing, stitches, and a transfusion, all of the medical bills paid for by Jenny personally.

"I wish it was easier for me to get drunk," said Jenny, leaning on a table in the corner of the Three Hearts. It was empty in there, with only her, Clara, and Viola around a table, each with a glass of whiskey. Clara and Viola were both on their second, but Jenny had hardly had a drop. It was her special 'finding the Doctor' whiskey she'd cracked open.

With a sigh, Jenny picked up her glass and downed it in a few gulps. Viola refilled it for her.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Fight or flight. I thought that thing was going to kill me."

"It was trying to," said Jenny. "Horrible way to die, though. I hope it didn't feel anything. It's my fault, though; the moonshine was a bad idea."

"The moonshine would've worked," Clara told her. "It's just unfortunate that we were surrounded by alligators."

"And that was my idea, too, going out there." Jenny covered her face with her hands. Clara touched her shoulder.

"I'm sorry for dragging you into everything," Viola apologised again.

"You didn't. I came here myself. And you wouldn't have been able to handle it without me, anyway."

"Well, that's true enough," said Viola. "And I'm thankful. You didn't just save me, you saved that girl, Grace, and anybody else that thing would've gone after."

"But it didn't have to be this way."

"If she wouldn't listen, maybe it did," said Clara quietly.

"You've spent too much time with my father."

"He thought that, too," said Clara. Jenny clenched her jaw and went back to the whiskey she was unaffected by. She'd have to chug at least half of one of the moonshine jugs to feel something.

"What's he like? I'm dying to know," said Viola. Jenny didn't answer, she waved the glass in Clara's direction and gave her the floor.

"He's like Jenny, but worse. And they've both fallen in love with the same woman," said Clara.

"Why would you say that?" said Jenny. "Now I have to explain to Viola that there are two of you."

"Explain what?" said Viola.

Clara leant towards her over the table. "In another universe, I'm her stepmother."

Viola paused and frowned, then glanced between them. Jenny was scowling.

"On second thoughts, I don't wanna know."

"Correct answer," said Jenny. "And he's an arrogant so-and-so."

"So are you, JD," said Viola. "You've always gotta be the cleverest person in the room. The best at everything. You're saying her old man's just the same?"

"He's…" Clara began, but she saw the way Jenny was looking at her. She knew how much Jenny hated people listing off the ways she and the Doctor were alike, didn't she? "Well, Jenny's much more practical. She knows what a tagine is – I don't know what a tagine is."

"It's a lot like a casserole, I've explained this to you before," said Jenny.

"She built me a table," Clara went on. "She knows how to butcher things, she can make moonshine, apparently. And I don't think the Doctor understands how to run a business. Nor is he capable of staying in one place for more than two days."

"But what does he look like?" asked Viola.

"Depends on the day," said Clara. "Sometimes, he's not even a man." She frowned, but then the phone rang. When Jenny didn't move, Viola picked it up from where it was behind the bar and answered. Jenny was amazed to see her do that herself as opposed to calling Joyce, Niamh, or Seamus back in.

Somebody told her something; she said that would be all and hung up.

"It's your coat. I'll go around the corner and get it for you," said Viola, standing and finishing her glass.

"Are you feeling alright? Doing something for other people isn't like you, Vi," said Jenny.

"It's not for other people, it's for you," she said. "I assume you'll be leaving right away, so all I'll say is this. The Englishwoman? If she makes you happy, don't mess it up. And you?" she turned to Clara directly. "Don't let her if she tries."

"I'll do my best," said Clara. Jenny didn't say goodbye; she nodded to Viola and watched her leave the pub. Now it was just the two of them, with Seamus keeping guard somewhere outside. He'd be around until Viola needed to be driven home.

They sat together in silence for a while, Clara sipping more of her whiskey while cars rumbled past outside, and music played in the distance. People were recovering from Mardi Gras already; jazz floated in the air just like the heat and the rain down there.

"Well?" said Jenny eventually.

"What?"

"Have I messed it up?"

Clara softened and lifted a cold hand to Jenny's cheek.

"No. Of course not."

"But I lied to you."

"I know you did. But I forgive you, Jen. Always. And besides, you've let me in now, haven't you? You've let me see all of this."

"Doesn't it bother you?"

Clara sighed. "I don't think I'd felt unconditional love before. But that's what this is. No, it doesn't bother me. I love you."

"I love you, too." Clara smiled at her, then moved in close and kissed her cheek.

"How's your hand doing?" she asked.

"Fine. Stinging a bit. I think it's just been over-exerted."

"I'll clean it for you again when we get home. We are going home when she gets back, aren't we?" she asked. Jenny nodded. "Good. Don't get me wrong, New Orleans is nice, but I think I've had enough for one evening."

"That's okay. We can always come back if you like. I promised I'd take Sinead fishing, after all. And I'll have to make you my gumbo one day; it's famous in more than one star system."

"I don't actually know what gumbo is."

"Shellfish stew, usually. Shellfish, and the holy trinity."

"The what?"

Jenny leant towards her and spoke very seriously. "Onion, celery, bell pepper. The key ingredients of Cajun food, plus a little something special." She was used to people asking her what that 'something special' was, but Clara didn't. Instead, she smiled. "What?"

"Earlier, you didn't get around to telling me what your real passion in life is. But it's this, isn't it? It's food."

"Always," said Jenny. "I'd love to own a seafood restaurant one day. Imagine it with a spaceship: go to the human frontier and be the only place for lightyears with fresh fish."

"That's your dream?"

"Absolutely."

"I didn't know that you had dreams or ambitions."

"Why did you assume that I don't?"

Clara shrugged. "I suppose the Doctor doesn't – or doesn't seem to. Other than travelling and cavorting with younger and younger women."

"Well, I'm not the Doctor. I'm Jenny. I'm better."

"Is that right?"

"It-"

DAY 18,123

"Yes, yes, the two of you are adorable," the Doctor cut Jenny off mid-flow. "But getting back to the Khaolu. You're really telling me it came all the way to Earth because it wanted to join the mob?"

"Something like that," said Jenny, her revolver all clean. "It was fifty years ago, and it wasn't all that clear back then since I had the stupid idea to get it drunk. But look at this," she held up the gun. "Half a century, and it's impeccable."

"The strangest things happen to you, Blue," said the Doctor. "Don't beat yourself up about the alligators. It wasn't your fault."

"I don't need you to absolve me of things that happened so long ago," said Jenny stiffly, putting the revolver back down. They'd just been talking, sitting there together in the TARDIS drinking coffee when it was periodically brought in by Clara Ravenwood – who didn't remember the events half as well as Jenny. Or perhaps Jenny was embellishing again.

"But it said its son was only months away," said the Doctor.

"I don't know what you want me to say. I left the information with all my contacts there, no Khaolu activity ever got back to me. Maybe he got lost along the way somewhere – or a 'month' is a lot longer on Dalara. Whatever the case, my feelers were looking for tentacles in Louisiana in the nineteen sixties, not Brighton in the twenty sixties. If it really bothers you, why not cross into your own timeline and deliver a message?"

"That's not funny."

"You think Clara didn't tell me about that stunt you pulled in Whitby?"

"Things are better this way."

"Mmhm. You couldn't have let me in on this plan before you left?"

"No. I couldn't." Jenny frowned at her, but she said nothing else.

"Well, I'm glad we can share the burden of two dead Khaolus on our collective conscience, Father," said Jenny. "If you're done here, I suddenly have a craving for gumbo."

"And what do you put in that? Can I get the recipe?"

"No, never."

"Fine, fine. I'll stop asking for the recipe if you let me meet Viola."

"That's not going to happen, either, and you know it," said Jenny, standing up and turning to approach the kitchen. But she stopped and turned back, frowning. "You know, it's funny. When I try to remember the rest of that evening, it's all foggy."

"Is it?"

"Yes. Like there's something important that I've forgotten or left behind."

"Oh, well," said the Doctor, picking up her mug of tea and taking one last sip. "I'm sure it'll come back to you in a dream someday."

CHANGES:

- Changed the setting from 1948 to 1958, changed it so that Jenny says she has kept in touch with the mob and regularly visits

- Added more exposition for the baseball teams

- Added the character Niamh, and also Viola's adopted daughters, Imogen and Sinead, who I'm planning to use in future storylines

- Got rid of the car chase with the Italians

- Made the Khaolu's motivations and plan clearer

- Made Jenny's role in the mob clearer and no longer had her completely disavow/deny her criminal upbringing