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This one didn’t take that much thinking, not with what Fern had just heard. Not when Bannick, too, had seemingly never asked for any of this, had been forced into the actions he’d taken, trapped as Aris and Miranda had.

“No, you don’t have to go to the basement,” they said with a slow, deep sigh. “I don’t want you to feel you have to go somewhere you’ve been trapped all this time. That sounds miserable. I’d like… I just want you, everyone, to feel more free.”

“That’s a kindness,” Bannick said, after a too-long hesitation. “I’ll take that, thank you, though it’s hard not to wonder what the cost is.” He sounded cautious, waiting for a strike. Fern decided they didn’t want one to come; maybe some grace, some respect, would be what Bannick needed.

Bannick wasn’t powerless—had power, had been using that power over Fern already, and Fern couldn’t forget it. But even if not powerless, he’d been subservient, which was almost the same thing. Fern themself was powerless, but not subservient.

Either way, none of these spirits deserved indefinite imprisonment, or the desperation that came with it.

“No cost,” Fern said, “for not locking you away. But I’m going to be in here a little longer, okay?”

The room was choked with steam. They managed to get up again, legs weak, exhaustion making them tremble, and turn the shower off. Good. Next step, trying to pull themself back together for this conversation: ice cold water from the sink, splashed over their face, a miserable jolt they hated and enjoyed in equal, shocky amounts.

“Okay,” they said finally, and slid down on the other side of the door. They imagined themself back to back with that uncanny form, only the wood of the door between them, and closed their eyes, sliding fingers into their hair and tugging it to ground themself. “Let’s talk a little more like this? I’m just… worn out.”

“Sure. I imagine you are. Being hunted is exhausting,” Bannick said.

See, then he said worrying things like that. Fern snorted softly. “It’s more… mm. Dealing with Miranda is so important to me, but it brings back unpleasant memories. As I guess you’ve already picked up.”

“Hard not to.”

“I’m going to release her,” Fern said. “But I want to give her as much information about herself as possible. I’ve got her name, and her face, and an idea of how she died, and I know she was a mother…”

A shocked laugh at that. “I don’t know that she got much of a chance to be that.”

“It was your child too, right?” Delicate, delicate. Fern didn’t want to accuse Bannick of rape, especially if he hadn’t done it; that might push Bannick back into hostility. At the same time, they needed to know, know what they were dealing with here. A delicate touch was vital, a tightrope of possible abuses spinning out beneath them. “So Aris said.”

“That one has the gift of gab,” Bannick said, voice distant. “I don’t know that I’d call her my child either. Ahh, yes, we made a child together, Miranda and I. We were never in love or anything even close to it, but it was so isolating out here, so lonely, and she and I are both by nature interested in those activities, you know? We were bored and some things happened. You know, I know I’m hideous in quite a few ways, but with the veil on, and looking below the neck, I’m not so bad.”

It was hard to tell if the edge to that was a teasing invitation or some sort of bitter, self-aimed back biting. Fern made an ambiguous noise in response, unsure how to react.

After a pause, Bannick continued with a sigh. “Yes, I hit on her first, but a good girl should keep an unrelated gentleman at arm’s length until winning papa’s approval. She wasn’t a good girl, and I’m no gentleman. You know, I’ve thought a lot about this, and I really wonder if this is what got her killed. Madoc absolutely didn’t approve of his daughter’s disobedience, and her choice to do something he didn’t approve of, rather than remaining his loyal little household servant… I do think if she’d kept her head down and quiet and remained demure, he might have found someone else to kill. But his bloodline was secured by then, and she’d already proven she was willing to go behind his back to do what she wanted. You can’t command a human the way you can a spirit, you can just coerce them or kill them, and he kept her locked up after until he killed her.”

Bannick’s voice was almost clinical, remote, the voice of someone watching it all play out again in the past and simply not getting their feelings tangled up in it.

“Did that… it must have hurt,” Fern prompted.

“Oh, yes, she hurt quite a bit,” Bannick said. “Me, though? I don’t know I’d say that. I was told to have nothing more to do with it, so I didn’t.”

“So neither of you got to see the child?”

There was a little sound, Bannick shifting on the other side of the door, perhaps uncomfortable. “I was never allowed to spend any time with my little cambion, no. Not once did I hold her. And to my understanding, Miranda was little more than a wet nurse, though I can’t confirm that. Aris might be able to, they were permitted to see her, and I wasn’t. I still probably can’t look upon her. No, I donated the ingredients, as it were, but I was never the father.”

Fern grimaced. “That sounds… terribly lonely.”

“Eh,” Bannick said dismissively. “Everything is, so one more thing doesn’t matter so much.”

It was odd how he always seemed to run hot and cold on everything, clearly full of opinions with a long history of resentment and longing to back that up, then almost absent when it came to answering questions about his own feelings. “Will freeing her cause issues for you?” Fern asked carefully.

“I can avert my gaze,” Bannick said roughly. “I do worry it’s dangerous to all of us, though, yeah. Human spirits are dangerous in a different way than things like Aris or myself. Not that we’re not dangerous, but… human spirits are all fury and obsession and grief. They’re strong feelings with no limiter, no body to hold them back or reason to hesitate. What makes her Miranda was a spark that existed when she was alive. What makes her human… that remains, but without the part that is Miranda. Maybe trying to teach her about herself will help, but… that’s why a ghost loses those things over time. It’s hard to make the memory of something be enough when the actual thing isn’t there.” A ragged breath in. “But I know you’re going to free her either way, and that’s probably for the best. And if she’s more inclined to be dangerous to Madoc than anyone else, great.”

Fern couldn’t think of anything else to ask. They nodded, realized Bannick couldn’t see it, and said, “Okay. So um. I don’t want you to have to return to the basement. This was your home once. I’m not the owner, but for the time being, legally, I’m residing here, which … there’s a contract and everything I signed for my use and all that. So, under the… the sacred laws of AirBnB, you’re welcome to use this place as your own.” On the other side of the door, Bannick made a sound like a ragged gasp, as if something had just impacted him. “But, kindly, I ask you to stay off my bed unless invited onto it??”

“Oh,” Bannick said, almost breathlessly. “Am I likely to be?”

Despite themself, Fern let out a little laugh. It was half exhaustion, half bitterness, half something else altogether they couldn’t quite name. All the tears had left them drained. “Not right now, at any rate.”

Bannick laughed in return; it was back to that soft, low sound, casual and easy. “I’ll do my best to stay to the main floor or basement unless I need to come up,” he said. “It’ll keep me out of Miranda’s warpath once she’s freed, and give you some manoeuvrability around your own space without having to always look over your shoulder. Anyway, doesn’t that sound fun? Aris outside, me main floor, Madoc below, Miranda up here.”

“Sounds like there’s no space for me, when you put it like that,” Fern muttered.

“You said it, not me.” Fern could hear the sound of Bannick getting up. He tapped twice on the door by Fern’s head. “I’m heading to the living room. I suggest leaving your phone and radio off if you don’t want me to possibly listen in on you. Just a polite tip, from me to you.”

“…Noted,” Fern said. “Listen, you said none of my other clothes fit? I don’t know if you looked under the pillow. I have sleep shorts there that are pretty loose. Give them a try.”

A few moments of silence. Then, “I like the teddy bears.”

“I didn’t ask for critique,” Fern shot back.

Bannick laughed. “Okay. All dealt with. Your robe is on your bed. I’m going downstairs. Good luck with the girl, Guy.”

Fern almost corrected their name, then hesitated. Not sure if it was safe, still. “Okay.”

They waited a few moments, then cracked the door. Sure enough, their room was empty now, though a faint smell lingered, like burned cinnamon. They felt a little too warm breathing it in and shook their head.

God, they were tired. They’d need food soon, and maybe sleep. No helping that.

But first, they had to free Miranda. There was no question in their mind they were going to do it, but… they had a lot of information about her now.

What information should they provide to her? How should they do it? Were there any other preparations they needed to take… or anything else they should do before releasing her?

[Comment below with a suggestion for Fern]

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Fern stared almost blindly at the figure sprawled on their bed. Their bed, their bedroom, the one damn place in this cottage they’d mentally put aside as for themself even if on some level they knew it wasn’t true, that this place wasn’t theirs and never had been.

They had to keep it together. They were fine. They were—

They were about to cry, something they didn’t want to do in front of Bannick. They swallowed convulsively, said, “Sorry, Bannick, excuse me,” and walked straight into the bathroom, shutting and locking it. Their body slumped back against their will, leaning against the door, shaking.

Did a locked door even mean anything? It might. Maybe they could lock their own bedroom door tonight and be fine after all. They felt like the floor was about to come up to grab them and touched the spike to make sure they had it, in case the fairy hangover was coming back. Did it mean something that Aris had done that to them even after promising no harm? Pushing things to the limit? Or would it just have happened anyway, due to drinking all afternoon? They swallowed convulsively.

“Hey—” Bannick was on the other side. “It’s okay! It’s okay. Sorry to have surprised you. I just wanted to talk.”

Fern swallowed again, this time trying to keep themself from yelling an impulsive, Go away. “I just need—” no, talking was no good, the tears were audible in their voice. They tried to clear it. “Just give me a minute.”

“I just—”

“Just one minute!” they begged, feeling something cracking in their chest, no longer able to focus on how their voice sounded. “You were naked in my bed—!” 

Bannick was right on the other side of the door, from the sound of his voice. “I had no clothes to wear! I own nothing of my own,” he protested, his own voice rising a little. “The only thing of yours that fit me was the bath robe! I was waiting for you to come back—”

Fern swallowed a strangled scream, not knowing what words would come out with it, and gritted out, “I just need a minute,” before stumbling over to the bath and turning the shower on.

They didn’t get in—didn’t want to get undressed with Bannick on the other side of the door and hated the thought of wet clothes against their skin—but they hoped it helped cover the sound of their sobbing, the little strangled gasps they couldn’t prevent themself from letting out as they hugged their knees and hunkered in place, head buried in their knees as they wept and waited to get killed. They felt like it was inevitable, whether or not that was true. They couldn’t trust anyone, they had to trust someone, they’d betrayed the alliances they already had been trying to make by being unreliable, Bannick and Aris both would sell them out in a heartbeat if it kept either of them safe, Fern wanted to believe both wanted them safe and well, they didn’t know which of these impulses was true. They were going to die.

But nothing killed them. 

Nobody came in.

Nobody pounded on the door, demanding anything.

All that happened was that Fern cried until the room was choked with steam because they’d turned the water on hot, and then eventually ran out of tears, and huddled there choking on the thick air and their stuffed sinuses, head pounding, heart aching. 

A long few moments after the tears had run dry, they heard a sigh from the other side of the door. “Hey,” Bannick said. “Rough day. Sorry to have surprised you.”

“Mmmm…”

“Aris probably got you drunk, too. Got your head spinning. They’re a heady influence on any mortal, I know that much, that flighty creature.”

“Mmhmm,” Fern said, noncommittal, just listening. God. They had to get it together. They drew a deep breath. “My apologies—”

“Naw, none of that, I get it,” Bannick said. “Maybe more than most. I’ve been trapped here a long time too, you know? Lonely, under someone’s command, miserable, wanting someone to come to make it better. You don’t have to be so formal. Scream and curse. Won’t hurt me any.”

Fern licked their lips. They couldn’t trust that to be true. Anyone could lie to them at any time. “You’ve cut me off from the outside world. Played with me.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not a good guy, Fern,” Bannick said. “If I hadn’t done it, and you’d freed Aris first, they’d have done it instead. We don’t have a choice. We’re both on an arcane leash, choking us with orders. One of those orders is to keep any sensitive trapped here.”

A sensitive. Fern had been accused of being too sensitive more than once, but they were at least enough adjacent to the weird mysteries side of their podcast world to know what was being suggested here. “Open to the supernatural energies.”

“Yeah,” Bannick said through the door. “Usually people like you have had a hole torn in you that makes a kind of conduit. Sometimes it happened early enough they’ve always been like this and don’t remember why. Usually it’s trauma, though. It has other knock-on effects but… that can be one of ’em.”

Fern thought they were out of tears but felt another sob well up anyway. “All those sounds, those weird feelings… but if I was hearing ghosts or whatever, why am I getting tormented by every spirit except Stephen?! Why’s he the ghost I don’t get to hear?!”

“Stephen?” Bannick echoed.

Fern groaned, putting their head on their knees again. “It doesn’t matter,” they muttered. “So I got someone killed and now I’m getting punished for it.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way,” Bannick said. “Can I come in?”

“I can’t right now,” Fern said.

“Okay,” Bannick said. There was the soft shuffft of him sliding down the other side of the door. Fern couldn’t tell if it was to keep them company or keep them trapped inside. “That’s fair.”

“I want to make an alliance,” Fern said dully, drawing a deep breath, “but I’m aware I’m at a loss against you the way I’m not against Aris, or even Miranda.”

Bannick made an odd little sound.

Fern said, “Can I even make an even alliance if I can’t protect myself from you? Though maybe that’s what you want.”

“You could ask Aris for a ward,” Bannick said, voice strange. “I can’t give you one, for obvious reasons. Or, you could find Madoc’s journals. They’d be in the cellar.”

“Madoc…” No, Fern knew who that had to be. “Why would you help me?”

Bannick was silent for a long moment, long enough that Fern had just about given up on getting an answer. Then, abruptly, “Do you think I like this? Do you think I want this? I want to be free, Guy. I’m sick to death of an eternal existence trapped in a mirror, looking only at my flawed self until I’m sick of it, left to be nothing but a hunting dog begging in the night for some scrap of something more.”

“What would you do if set free?”

“What would anyone do?” Bannick countered.

“Aris called you a beast.”

Bannick let out a sharp laugh, not his usual casual, habitual one. “Aris and I go way back. No, they’re right right, I’m a beast, a crawling thing of the earth and the realms beneath it. So what? Does that curse me to be always to a madman’s beck and call, a choke chain around my throat? I’m the one who wants to defy him, while Aris— Ah, but if I turn you against Aris, you’ll only find me more suspicious. And I suppose I don’t know what’s truly in that one’s heart, only what I believe.” 

Fern hesitated. Should they bring up the whole thing with Miranda? The fact that Bannick had a child with her, how did Bannick even feel about that? Or was it better for them to avoid it?

When Fern didn’t reply to that right away, Bannick laughed again, this one low. “Tell me to go, and I’ll leave this room and return to the basement to stay there, give you this floor back, kindly. You can come down and treat with me formally when ready. Or we can keep talking through this door, or you can come out. It’s entirely up to you.”

 [Comment below with a suggestion for Fern.]

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Nauseous, head throbbing, Fern rubbed at their face, grinding the heels of their palms into their eyes as if that would actually help. Predictably, it made things worse.

Right. They needed some water, even if the thought of sipping it sounded absolutely disgusting. At least they’d brought a little tub of gatorade powder for the anticipated problem—their tendency to get distracted writing and forget all day to take care of themself. Being force-fed booze by some sort of fairy lord hadn’t been in the plans, but it’d work just the same.

Fairy lord. Right. Fern grabbed the iron spike as they got up; if it was only a ward against Aris, they weren’t sure they actually wanted it, since it meant Aris couldn’t communicate directly with them while they had it on their person. They might not be able to tell if Aris urgently needed their attention as a result. On the other hand, leaving it out in the open sounded like a great way for the sorcerer to take action to re-spike the tree. 

Maybe they could find somewhere to put it.

As they headed into the house, they felt the wretched hangover receding impossibly quickly. Maybe that was due to the iron as well? If it was fairy-caused, Fern figured, the iron might block that as well. Nevertheless, they headed down the hall to the kitchen for a drink. Better to treat the problem just in case they did stash the spike somewhere.

The beer outside the basement stair door was gone. Fern paused for a moment, eyeing that spot. They had put it there, right…? They were certain they had. They really weren’t sure how they felt about it vanishing, even if they’d put it there for that reason. There was a part of them that had hoped that anything that was still in the house was confined to the basement. If it wasn’t…

There wasn’t anything they could do about it either way. They forced themself to proceed on to the kitchen, mixing themself up some gatorade and shaking it in their water bottle, trying to not feel nervous, not look over their shoulder.

The radio sat where they’d left it. Fern stared at it for a long moment, reluctant. They should get on a call, they knew; last time they’d talked to Bannick at all, they’d basically thrown a note at him and yelled that they were going to get on the radio later and to read their note etc. God, that was awkward. They’d always been like this…

But also, Fern wasn’t sure they could trust Bannick after the things Aris said. Aris had obviously been coming from a position of codependent love-hate, where Bannick had been the only other creature in the same situation as Aris, and their only company, while the two also didn’t get along. So not an unbiased source.

Nevertheless, Aris had been offering honest answers, so it was certain that Bannick had, at some point, gotten Miranda pregnant. Which raised all sorts of questions, first-most of which was was it consensual. Fuck, Fern hoped so, for so, so many reasons.

It may have been. There was no point in getting ahead of themself in their fear. When Bannick had talked about wanting to fuck Aris, he’d said something like, but that should be a decision both parties agree to. Which meant he would prefer consent. If he was telling the truth and not trying to present an image to Fern, anyway. If they started doubting everything everyone had said ever, what good would that do them?

Though… Bannick was also able to be commanded by the sorcerer, which might mean what Bannick wanted was moot. Fern didn’t like that thought, either.

No point overcomplicating it, they decided firmly. They needed Bannick on their side if at all possible. They could be cautious and distrust whatever he said, especially until they had more proof about his personality and past, but they needed his support to survive, even if it turned out he was really, as Aris called him, a beast.

Which meant not leaving him hanging longer. Fern turned the radio on, and for a moment thought it was out of batteries. The only thing emerging was dead air, that soft uncomfortable static of a radio not picking up a signal.

They shook their head to themself and grabbed their cell phone from their pocket—still recording, and battery almost at 0. Drat. It seemed somehow that they’d been in with Aris for hours. No wonder they’d had a hangover, if they’d been drinking fairy ale all that time, even if it was also just half a can of their own beer.

Well, they could charge it shortly. They used their last dialed number to call the radio station again

There was a click as if it was picked up, but Fern didn’t hear anything on the other end, not even breathing, and the radio remained staticky.

They swallowed. Best to act like Bannick was listening, they decided. “Hi, Bannick. Sorry. I was gone longer than I’d expected to be.” True. “As my note mentioned, I really want to meet and treat with you. I’ve been getting to understand how huge this is. How at risk I am. And I’d love to figure out how to make an alliance that works for us both.”

Silence.

“I’ll… try calling in again later, then,” Fern said. “I’d like to talk to you tonight, if you’re willing.”

They hung up, unnerved, and plugged the phone in to charge. They didn’t love being separated from it, but it’d be worse to let it run out of battery. Either way, they could take the radio with them, and keep an ear out if Bannick got back on the air. 

Then they took a big swig of gatorade and headed to the living room, fetching those photos from the back of the frames again. If Bannick was out of touch right now, next up had to be Miranda, poor thing.

Now that was a situation to be cautious about. Not just for Fern’s own sake—though the idea of vengeance rebounding back onto them definitely didn’t appeal either—but for the sake of Miranda herself. She’d been through an absolute nightmare, betrayed by the people she should have been able to love and trust, and murdered in such a brutal, traumatizing way. Even thinking about the death Aris had described made Fern feel a little nauseous.

This one needed a delicate touch, something Fern had never been good at.

But Fern couldn’t just leave her in there. Even if she wasn’t the only one this sorcerer couldn’t order around, nobody deserved that. They deserved—closure. People to mourn them. That grief…

Okay. They would explain themself. They would drip-feed Miranda information about herself, with full sympathy.  They would give her time to process things, not just dump everything on her all at once and then let her out carelessly. Hopefully that was the kind option, and not the cruel one. It was so hard to know.

Photos in their hands, radio coming with them, they headed upstairs, straight to the spare room. It was as they left it, though the hair stood up on their arms as, over the sound of the radio static, Fern realized they were hearing slow, steady scratching of nails on wood from the inside of the wardrobe.

“Hi,” they called, trying to keep their voice from cracking. “It’s me, I’m back. Sorry I took so long. I got a bit unexpectedly waylaid.”

The scratching paused briefly, then resumed. Shuddering, Fern came closer, sitting down on the other side of the door. “I’ve been learning about who you are.”

“Who…” came back, a faint whisper.

“I’m going to tell you,” Fern said. “But… there’s a lot of scary information in here, so I don’t want to just shock you with it all at once. I’m going to give you a little bit at a time so you can think about it. Take it in. When I—”

They swallowed. They had been about to share something personal there. Weren’t sure it was a good idea. Not in the plan.

“I have a picture of you,” they said. “Here, you can have this first. I hope it helps you remember your face.”

Careful not to crease it, Fern slid the photograph of Miranda by herself between the wardrobe doors. The scratching ceased. “Your name is Miranda,” Fern said softly. “I have your last name too, but I’ll let you take this in first, so you don’t remember too much all at once. I’m so, so sorry, but you were killed. Someone took your life from you, and that’s so… so cruel and so unfair and I wish it hadn’t happened to you like that.”

There was a long moment of silence, and then a sob.

“People deserve to be grieved,” Fern said. “They deserve to be remembered, not… not forgotten so long they forget themself.” The memories were rising up despite themself; their eyes were stinging, nose clogged. They scrubbed at their face with a sleeve. Fuck. At least they had gatorade. “That someone would do that to you on purpose… I don’t have words. I’m glad I found you. I’m glad I’ve learned your name and face. I want to know you, Miranda.”

The soft sob from inside the wardrobe grew louder, a hint of shriek in the sound. Fern drew a deep breath. “Take a moment to think about it. To remember yourself,” they suggested, choked. “I have more information about who and how but… but I don’t think it’s good for you to learn all at once. I have images in my head I’ll never get rid of. And if I can help, if I can help not have a searing moment like that for you. I will. So I’m going to—” They had to get out of here. Couldn’t breathe. “I’m going to give you a little time to think. I’ll just be next door.”

“Wait—”

(“Wait up!” Stephen had called, chasing after them. Fern had plenty of time to cross the street, even if it would mean waiting at the other side for Stephen to catch up after. They got across before the car did, easy, turning back, expecting to see Stephen waiting on the other side.

The screech. The crunch. That horrible exhalation and strangled sound as every organ—)

No, no, no, Fern couldn’t think about it, Fern had to put it in a box. They shoved their thoughts’ doors closed again and listened to the radio static as they jolted to a stop. They didn’t wait before. They would wait if asked now.

A long pause. Another sob. “Yes… Get out! Go. Come back. Go.”

Fern was fine. They could wait if she wanted it, but if she wanted space, no point arguing. Whatever she asked for was fine. “Okay,” Fern said. “I’ll be back shortly. Just… bang on the door if you need me back sooner.”

They were just fine. They picked up the radio and their water bottle, and withdrew. In the hallway, they took a deep swig, and stared at their distorted reflection in the curve. Fuuuuck. That was a bad one. Hadn’t had a visceral flashback like that in a while. Their thoughts kept trying to veer back to the road and they recognized it was happening, breathed, and closed it off again before they could get to the worst part.

Another swig. At least this part of the horror was familiar. At least they had strategies for this one.

God, they were tired. They needed to sit down. Their bedroom was right there; might as well take a lie down while they had the chance.

Fumbling everything under one arm, they opened the door.

There was something on their bed, something shaped like a man, long and lanky and with a body that would be handsome if there wasn’t something slightly off with the way his limbs were positioned. He was loosely dressed in one of Fern’s own house robes, which barely did anything to disguise his strangely iridescent pale limbs, legs ending in hooves. He had long black hair that showered around his shoulders as he slowly pushed himself up on an elbow to look at Fern—

—or sort of look at Fern, anyway. There was a veil covering his whole face.

“Wow,” Bannick said. “Rude hours around here, huh?”

 [Comment below with a suggestion for Fern.]

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The beer had been intended as an offering—and while Fern didn’t remember too many specifics, they knew that people were cautioned from accepting food and drink from the fairy folk. While Fern didn’t know for sure that’s what Aris was, they sure seemed like it.

On the other hand, Aris had already given their word not to harm or imprison Fern during this visit, and had specifically invited Fern to share their hospitality. Rejecting that hospitality itself then might undo the other terms of their agreement. 

Also… Fern really wanted a beer right about now.

“Well?” Aris asked, wiggling the can between two fingertips.

“Sure,” Fern blurted. “Sure, I’d love a drink, in the name of hospitality and a shared experience.” 

Aris’s eyes glittered at them as a glass appeared in front of them; they poured, slowly. 

“Sorry for getting lost in thought,” Fern added in a near-stammer. “You’re more beautiful than I’d expected.”

It wasn’t exactly what they’d intended to express, but it was true. Every time they looked Aris over, their heart squeezed inside their chest. It was half like seeing a perfect sunrise or fog through the trees, a sight so beautiful that it couldn’t help but move you, and half erotic, because that experience was condensed into a creature that resembled a human and moved with a dangerous, too-sharp, too-languid energy. 

Aris beckoned, and Fern came closer, sitting on the stump next to Aris as the spirit handed a glass of beer over. Closer to them, it was even harder to focus, the chime of their hair matching every movement. They could really understand Bannick’s desire for them, even if they didn’t fully know the history there.

That was a possible question, though not the best one to start with, probably. Fern took a sip of beer in the hopes that would clear their head. Somehow, it tasted way better than a cheap beer ought to. It was something about the air in the place, the reflection of Aris’s eyes on the surface. Their lips tingled.

As if reading their mind, Aris prompted, “You may begin with your questions as you’re able.”

This was not the condition they wanted to be asking questions in. They shifted awkwardly and closed their eyes, thinking back over everything that Aris had recently said.

“You’ve mentioned being bound,” they said slowly, careful not to make that one a question. “And that Bannick is also bound. What are the details of the binding, including how and who did it?”

“A large question, several in one, but bound up tight enough to count as a bundle instead of each separate,” Aris noted. “Very well, I shall answer, though I fear that my answer may be unsatisfactory. Our master, the lord of this house, has control over us as summoner and binder; I do not know precisely in what ways Bannick has been bound, though given Bannick’s nature, it may be his name or a contracted assignment he has been unable to fulfill. I, myself, have had my freedom itself extracted from me, and put in a bud that has been hidden away somewhere beneath the house. Both he and I were punished as the master aged, and have thus been imprisoned. If we can please that man, we may earn our freedom back. If I have my freedom, I will be free—as I’m sure you can see.”

They leaned over, brushing fingertips against Fern’s jaw. Fern shivered hard, trying not to react too overtly. “I see,” Fern croaked. “There is another spirit upstairs in the wardrobe. You didn’t mention if she is bound. Who is she, both in general and in terms of the overall situation here?”

Aris laughed, that sharp little sound. “She’s a different case. The master’s beloved daughter, Miranda Kemp, who followed him so loyally into his exile into the woods, killed as a sacrifice to the spirits of air and darkness to bind them more tightly and provide the power to do his bidding and get his revenge on those who ran him out of town. She was stabbed and locked in the wardrobe to bleed to death, or, if she outlasted her wound, to die of thirst and hunger instead. A terrible death to bear. Truly, she was double locked, in a wardrobe and in a room kept much as she remembered it to keep her in the past, because should she realize her vengeance she may be dangerous to all, himself included. Poor creature.”

There Fern hesitated. What they wanted to ask next and what they should ask next felt like they were vastly different questions. 

The master, that man—Fern felt like they were beginning to get an image. A would-be sorcerer, exiled from a nearby town, who wanted revenge, who summoned Bannick and Aris and then later empowered them by sacrificing his daughter… presumably. He was keeping Aris’s feedom under the house, and therefore, he was the threat under the house, since that’d be his domain. The first threat, who had been active from the start. He would have built this cottage originally. Was he renting it out for a purpose? No, given the appearance of his daughter’s room, he would be long past a natural death. Unless it had kept him alive? Hard to imagine an ancient sorcerer renting the cottage out on online vacation sites. Another ghost? Or something else? 

What Fern wanted to ask, though, was more about Aris and Bannick. Who they were, who they were to each other. That too they felt they had an idea of. But they wanted to know more. Couldn’t help it.

They were feeling drunk off less than half a beer. Impossibly heady. Dizzy. They swallowed the last gulp of their drink and decided, recklessly, to just say that. “You know, I know I should be asking more about this sorcerer. If he’s even still alive or whatever. But I want to know more about you, Aris. You’re so beautiful, and so desirable. And I want to know more about Bannick, who I’ve been talking with all this time. And the history you two have shared, I want to know.”

Aris’s blade-sharp laugh felt like it was going to cut right through Fern’s chest, and they were fairly sure they’d lean into it if it did. “No questions asked there, I see,” they cooed, putting a full hand against Fern’s cheek this time. “Little human, you have a choice, then. You can ask what you think is the smart, safe thing to ask. Or you can throw away safety and ask what your heart wants most.”

Fern leaned into the touch, which stung their cheek. “Or I can try to find a way to ask both at once.”

“O! Do you think that’s possible?”

It was so hard to think. They bit their lower lip almost too-hard to feel something past the burning, stinging sensation. “If I found a way to ask both,” they said slowly, “how would you answer me?”

Nails curled briefly, but retracted before drawing blood, Aris’s promise clearly holding them. “O, what a monster you could become, if you were inclined to be a monster,” Aris said. “I would tell you, then, that the sorcerer died but it hasn’t stopped him, that he is waiting for someone to let him be alive again, and that he would order his servants to cause that if he had the chance. I would tell you of decades of my own airy self being trapped alone with no company but a beast of the earth and of the realms beneath it. And even that company could only happen briefly, on the air, a long distance communication through proxies, after being punished with our own prisons for the crime of not keeping that man alive. I would tell you of the bond that formed, the love and the hate, the deep resentment and the need, the desire to see the other worse off, the desire to not be left alone. I would tell you that the man is dead, but he had a granddaughter through Bannick before he killed his own daughter. That that child had a son, and that son owns the cottage, and enacts the will left to him with no additional thought to it. That the sorcerer needs someone sensitive enough to have heard his spirits for him to be able to act. That this cottage has been rented out to nobody able to hear or listen for far too long, but now you are here.”

That was so much information. Head swimming, Fern could hardly sort through it. “Oh,” they said.

“As for an alliance, think on everything I’ve told you, and in the meantime, we can simply help each other kindly as we can,” Aris said lightly. “And you have finished your drink before I have finished mine and we cannot allow that.” They took a swig of beer, and then, still holding Fern’s cheek, turned Fern’s head and kissed them.

Fern felt like they could die in this kiss, and then that they very nearly might, as beer poured from Aris’s mouth into their own. They swallowed frantically, head swimming, and for a long moment, everything grew dark.

When they managed to move, groaning, head throbbing, they opened their eyes to find themself in the dirt outside the cottage, lying next to the pine tree. The stake lay where they’d left it.

It felt like an absolute miserable hangover, given that they’d only had the one beer, but they supposed that itself wasn’t harm, and so Aris had kept their word.  

Slowly, carefully, they pushed themself upright. Ugh. Now what?

[Comment below with a suggestion for Fern.

oh i’m on page 69 of my writing doc. nice.]

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Hands up to show they were empty, Fern took a step away from the spike, and another. “Of course I’d like to show a willingness to trust you,” they said carefully. “I’d love to speak as allies and equals, like you said. Being trusting is willing to be betrayed, right? But it would be very rude to get betrayed after I helped you willingly first.”

The shadows around Aris’s face seemed to shift as if with an expression Fern couldn’t quite make out. “That would be inhospitable of me indeed.”

“And of course,” Fern added, “my being willing to come visit you isn’t a favor you’re doing me, either. If it were, we wouldn’t be meeting as equals.”

“So you’re saying,” Aris said briskly, “that by meeting alone with you in my place, I have not paid the inherent debt I am in by you saving me in the first place.”

Fern swallowed, unsure if Aris was annoyed or just in agreement. “Of course. That would be strange right?”

“O, strange indeed of any host,” Aris said. “Very well. Hedge your bets, and know I will do you no harm while you are in my place for this visit, nor will I keep you trapped there. We will meet, we will treat, you will put yourself in my hands and in the strength of my words here, and that will be that.”

Unsure if they could relax, Fern found themself smiling again anyway. Nerves really did some wild things to a person. “And I, like. I have to emphasize I’m not Bannick’s stooge,” they added. “I’m open to an alliance with him—like, of course I am, I’m a soft little human who’s trying to survive here, I’m not going to turn my nose up at any possible help! But I’m also really aware he’s been messing with me. He’s told me he’s cut off communication, and even talked to my brother pretending to be me?? And he’s messing with the number stations on the radio.”

Aris let out a little tittering laugh that sent a chill down Fern’s spine, like a cold breeze that they just weren’t dressed for. “In regards to the radio,” Aris said, “nothing you’ve been hearing is an actual station. For someone who can play with communications and who wants to communicate, anything that can enable communication is their toy. He built an intrigue for you, a mystery for you to want to dig into, and then you tuned in. Well, he’s been broadcasting for some time in the hopes some other sensitives would be able to pick up on it, though most cannot hear it at all. And here you are! But it’s not for you. He’s run his little shows before you and if you die, he’ll run it after. It’s how he and I have been able to talk while both locked away, so that we have not lived in full isolation. Even no longer trapped, we are bound, and so he’ll continue to speak and play music in the hopes of strangling some of the pitiful loneliness out of his life.” They sniffed. “Pathetic.”

Intriguing. Fern wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that. That the radio show wasn’t really for Fern, but that by coming here and picking up the radio, it sounded like maybe Bannick had immediately begun using it to… to tune Fern somehow…?

“And of course he is trying to mess with you, and of course he cut off communication,” Aris said airily. “I would do the same if I’d had the chance. It’s just that you’d given Bannick greater freedom before you gave it to me. He has to hedge his bets for his ongoing safety, just as you do, and just as I do. Neither of us want to face that man’s wrath.”

“That man?” Fern echoed.

A shift in the shadows, those bright eyes moving: Aris had shaken their head. “Well, then, if you’re willing, empty your pockets of salt and come with me.”

A beautiful hand extended from the tree branches, smooth and soft-looking, brown, almost glimmering under the sun. 

In for a penny, in for a pound. Fern turned their pockets inside out and brushed them a few times to shake out the salt, then walked closer. It was still hard to make Aris out even while right next to them. All Fern could really see was the extended hand.

They reached out and put their hand in Aris’s. It felt… nearly human. Not quite. The temperature was wrong, and it was too smooth. But nearly.

Aris’s eyes glittered. Their fingers wrapped around Fern’s, and then they tugged Fern into the tree.

For a moment, there was a sensation of falling without falling; Fern didn’t feel their feet really leave the forest ground, but their entire being shifted, like the worst hypnagogic jerk they’d ever felt. They staggered briefly, but Aris was leading them on through the woods.

The woods were different, and so was Aris.

Gone were the cottage country woods with its expected vegetation, dirt paths, roots crossing underfoot. Instead, the trees that clustered around glittered and gleamed, sending a million reflections off their silver and gold leaves, their branches laden with diamond fruits. It reminded Fern of some childhood fairy tale they’d read; they wished they could remember what happened in it. The whole thing felt like it should be teeming with life: insects, and animals, and other creatures like Aris, but besides the trees, it was empty, nothing but Fern and…

And Aris.

Aris, the creature holding Fern’s hand as they walked, was no longer hidden in shadows. They were fairly small, slightly shorter than Fern, and moved languidly, as if through a dream, walking too smoothly compared to Fern’s own awkward, jerky, human gait. Their hair was a million hair-thin tiny pine needles all rolling down in locks made of individual branches, but the needles were also emerald, glittering and gleaming as they rolled across Aris’s shoulders, down to the ground to puddle at their feet and drag softly behind them like a train, chiming softly as each brushed the other. Fern couldn’t tell if Aris was naked or not; the glittering reflections off the trees and off Aris’s hair made glowing reflections that covered their body like diaphanous robes. Walking behind Aris as they were, Fern couldn’t see their face, only the pointed ears that emerged from their hair, the silk-soft arm and shoulder in front of them.

The trees opened up into a clearing. There were various tree stumps around, not cut but fallen and then polished smooth, the ground still littered with silver and gold foil that crunched underfoot as Fern walked, but simply chimed as Aris did. Ahead was a full tree in the form of a chair, a seat, a simple throne…? It was simply the wood, no branches. It hadn’t been carved, but rather shaped while still alive.

Aris jumped up onto that and perched there, crouching, all odd knees and dangling arms, their chin resting on their knees. Their face was so perfect, so beautiful, that Fern had difficulty remembering it even as they looked at it. Soft bow lips, an upturned nose, heavy emerald lashes covering glowing green eyes—

“Now, then,” Aris said. “What you and I want from an alliance, I’m not sure we know, either of us. But let me not put words in your mouth; put them there yourself. Do you know what you want?”

Fern had to clear their throat before they spoke. They felt out of place, a scar on the world, a discordance that shuddered through their body. “I’m not sure,” they admitted, wondering if it was foolish to admit even that much. “I didn’t want to see a tree harmed the way yours was, and I don’t want to see this free beauty you are, trapped the way you have been. But I… I deeply don’t understand what’s going on here, so I don’t know what to suggest.”

A little sharp giggle from Aris at that, who barely now resembled the feral, odd thing that Fern had seen in the world outside, being now rather more royal and less wild. Fern thought it would be good for them to remember that Aris was both things.

“Well,” Aris said. “I remember that Bannick offered you three questions or pieces of advice. I’m not Bannick, and I will not advise anyone, no, but I will answer three questions as well, if you have it and you will it. Then I can give you time to think on what you want the alliance to be, and we can touch base later—though it’s also possible we can simply plan to help each other as we are best able, and not make a specific plan at all.”

“Ah…” Fern swallowed. “Right, that’s true. It might be hard to plan for what’s going on here. So … I can ask you three questions? Please don’t count that as one of them.”

“I’ll do you a kindness by not doing so. Yes, three questions, ask away and I will answer as I am permitted,” Aris said, with a little snort that didn’t match their jewel-laden appearance. They stuck their hand through the air as if tearing it, and pulled the can of beer back in from where Fern had left it at the base of the tree, then popped the tab. The sound was loud and bizarrely mundane, and for some reason made Fern want to cry. “Refreshments?” Aris offered, apparently not wanting to drink without offering Fern something in return.

Should they accept the refreshments? 

And what questions should Fern ask?

[Comment below with a suggestion for Fern.]

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