“It’s called a cinnamon roll,” Avery said. He straddled his chair backward and peeled a puffy pastry the size of two of Simon’s fists from a baking pan, plopped it on a paper plate, then reached a long arm out towards Simon. After Simon took it, Avery licked sticky sugar from his fingers.

  “You’re a cinnamon roll,” Shana said, walking by.

  Avery leaned back and called after her, “Are you saying I’m sweet or spicy?”

  “And everything nice. Casey told me you checked on Tara twice yesterday, and he let me know what happened to her. I’ll believe it when I see it, but... That was very kind of you. How’s she doing?”

  Casey walked into the room. “Ooh, cinnamon rolls.”

  Simon sniffed the roll, then cautiously tore a piece off and sampled it. Like much of this world’s food, it was extremely sugary. Having been raised by a lord whose family had made their wealth in the spice trade, Simon appreciated good cinnamon. Whatever ‘cinnamon’ he’d used for this roll lacked many of the more desirable flavor notes. Yienry would have flatly rejected a shipment that was so monotonously sharp. The bread itself was incredibly fluffy but didn’t have any real character beyond that.

  He chased the bite with a mouthful of black coffee and decided the roll was still reasonably edible. His standards for what he’d consume were vastly different from what they used to be. It was definitely better than a boiled leather belt.

  While he was still mentally critiquing the pastry, Avery said to Shana, “She’s still the same old Tara. She unbent enough to smile a few times. She didn’t tell me to fuck off, which was a bit of an improvement over a few of our interactions in the past.”

  “I remember you and Casey worrying about her when we were kids.” Shana walked back with a package of paper in her hand. With a bang and a clatter, she opened a tray at the bottom of what Simon had learned was a miniaturized printing press. “Tara was never anything but rude to me. I was partnered with her once in an art class, and she completed the entire assignment herself. When I asked why she wasn’t working with me, she said she didn’t want to be paired with a guy.”

  “To be fair, you weren’t out yet.” Avery licked icing from his fingers. He’d already finished two of the puffy pastries. “Though, I’d have no mercy for her if she’d said guy.”

  “My point, dumbass, isn’t gender. She was so snotty that she didn’t want my help making an illustrated children’s book. That was the assignment. We had to come up with a story and do twenty pages. It was a huge amount of work.” Shana rolled her eyes at him. “She might be the better artist, but I could have done the lettering. I’m good at calligraphy.”

  “Did you get an A?” Casey asked, words slow. Both of his friends gave him a sharp look. Simon heard a carefully controlled tone in Casey’s voice, but he wasn’t entirely sure what it meant.

  “I mean, yeah, it counted for both of us, but I invited her to my place to work together, and she said her dad wouldn’t let her go to a boy’s house. I pointed out I was a couple of years younger than her — that elective had all the grades in it — and I also reminded her that everybody thought I was gay, and my parents would make us work at the kitchen table where they could supervise, anyway. Would it really be an issue? Apparently, yes. Then I said I could come to her house, and she got really snippy.

  “It was like she thought I was being rude to suggest pretty normal shit. Even parents didn’t stop me from working on projects with classmates, at least not then, especially not if it was with a girl.”

  “Have you ever seen her father’s trailer?” Casey asked. “Daxariel lived in the same park, and I used to go over to play video games with them. Daxi’s trailer was nice enough. I mean, it was old, but it was clean. Tara’s had cardboard and plastic bags covering broken windows and a hole in one wall from a kitchen fire that they’d patched up with tin and Bondo. Her dad was always on the porch with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, yelling crude comments at anyone walking by, including Tara herself. I’m not surprised she didn’t want anyone there.”

  Shana shook her head. “I didn’t realize. But then I suggested we meet somewhere in public, like the library, and she said it was easier if she did it all herself. Then she did.”

  “And you felt rejected?” Casey’s tone was pointed now.

  Shana sighed and nodded.

  Casey nodded slowly. “I mean, she did reject you, so that’s fair. But lots of people were also awful to Tara. She was probably wary of being alone with anyone else. She’s two years older than you, so I bet that was right after that prom where the Riley boys kidnapped her, yeah?”

  Shana made a face, wrinkling her nose up. “I get that now, as an adult. As a kid, I was pissed. I did assume it was about race or about her thinking I was gay, especially since I figured she was queer too. I’d never anything to her.”

  Avery seemed to be looking off into some middle distance, not his usual avoiding-eye-contact, vaguely off-center focus, but rather, deep in thought. “I wish I’d tried harder to win her trust. I don’t think she had anyone she was friends with, and her family’s a bunch of shitheads.”

  Casey helped himself to the cinnamon roll and swallowed a bite, then said, “Avery, I figured you’d be zonked out as soon as you got home from the hospital, not baking shit. Didn’t you take your pain meds last night?”

  “No meds. I don’t need them. And I couldn’t sleep last night,” Avery said. “I baked. A bunch. There’s espresso fudge and tiramisu in the break room fridge and some loaves of soda bread on the counter.”

  "Do you need to talk to your shrink?” Casey said, suddenly looking alarmed. Simon heard Casey's words but wasn’t entirely sure what they meant. "You’re not decompensating? Or hyperfixating? You visited Tara in one day?

  "I’m okay this morning.” Avery sighed. He slid a hand up under his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "It’s been a rough couple of weeks. It doesn’t help that they didn’t give me my psych meds in the hospital. Fucking withdrawal and I’m still getting the zaps. I’ll be better in a few days.”

  "Aves. I will call your doctor myself if I have to,” Casey said, then, in a softer tone, "Avery. I love you. If you can’t sleep, either you make an appointment, or I will do it for you. I you.”

  "And tell her what, magic’s real, my brother’s geasbound to an elf, and the missing girl from the news got turned into a seven-foot-tall hairless furry? I’d rather not go back to the loony bin.”

  “Just tell her you almost died, your mother’s on a tear, and some assclown assaulted you last night when we were trying to have a little fun in a bar that’s supposed to be safe. That’s the real issue, yeah?" Casey’s compassionate tones held steel. Simon, only following about half the discussion, was nonetheless impressed by the man’s determination to bully his brother into medical care.

  “Yeah.” Avery ran a hand over his face. "My mother blew my phone up last night after Miguel told her what happened. She’s completely freaking out, and it’s not helping. For what it’s worth, I have an appointment with my doc on Friday, and if I’m not feeling better by then, I’ll ask about increasing my medication for a bit. I just hate feeling foggy during the day. In the meantime, you guys can enjoy the goodies, and I’ll be fine. I’m not bad. Not like I used to get. I just couldn’t sleep, and I needed a distraction.”

  “You could have called me,” Casey said.

  Simon managed to finish the last bite of the roll. He knew he would have heartburn later.

  “I was up until three a.m.,” Avery pointed out, tone dry.

  “You know I will complain about you calling me if you need it. And you’ll feel better with some sleep. Go take a nap on my couch.”

  Avery smiled at his brother. “I will, later. I wanted to see Daxi and Freddie first. Freddie called me every day when I was in the hospital, and I know he was worried.”

  “We all were,” Shana said. She ripped the wrapper off the stack of paper, shoved it into the tray, and then closed it with a rattle. The printer beeped and whirred, and the display lit up. Simon rose from his chair and watched it in fascination over her shoulder. Shana shuffled to the side so he could see better. It had jammed yesterday, and Shana had shown him the inner workings, which were incredibly precise and extremely complicated.

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  He started to lean forward for a closer look at the spring mechanism that held the paper in place when there was a sharp and authoritative rap on the front door — a surprise since it was half an hour until opening time. Shana muttered something about impatient customers and tap-tapped impatiently towards the sound in her high heels.

  “So, Simon,” Avery said, while they waited for her to return, “What can you tell me about the grimalkins…?”

  Shana called from the sales floor, “Hey, there’s a cop here that wants to talk to you guys!”

  Dissertations on one of his world’s more dangerous people would need to wait, Simon thought, with some relief. Talking about grimalkins in any depth was bound to give him nightmares. He could not stand on the edge of a rushing mountain stream to this day without feeling awful, sick, grief, and horrific guilt.

  “Officer Libby, probably.” Casey stood up. He started towards the door, then raised his hand to stall the others. He backed up, snagged a cinnamon roll from the tray, stuck it on a plate, and went out to meet the officer.

  Libeza was still in her uniform — and Simon immediately noticed that she had a sheathed sword in one hand and a small envelope in the other. The sword wasn’t his mother’s, nor was it the one she’d taken as evidence. Simon glanced at it curiously but didn’t comment.

  When he’d known her last, she’d been elegant and cultured, always wearing the most fashionable dresses, with carefully coiffed hair and perfect cosmetics. Now, she wore ill-fitting brown trousers and a dull brown shirt with some sort of padding, or perhaps a thin armor plate, underneath.

  The illusion’s facial features were simply not hers; it had flatter cheekbones, light brown skin, short and straight black hair, and a rounded jaw. If not for some womanly curves, he could have mistaken the crafting for a teenage boy not quite old enough to have developed the more defined features of a man.

  Casey offered her the cinnamon roll. “Avery just baked it last night.”

  She declined it quickly. “Thank you, but no. I’m very sorry. I’m not a fan of spicy food.”

  “Spicy?” Avery said, sounding confused.

  “The cinnamon,” Simon translated what she meant, surprised at how quickly the memories came rushing back about Libeza and her notoriously picky eating habits. Ellia had been harshly critical of the half-elven noblewoman’s distaste for anything but the blandest, most predictable foods.

  “Oh. No worries,” Avery said, easily.

  Shana reached out and snagged the plate from Casey. “Her loss. take that.”

  “Simon, how you?” Libeza held the sword out to him. Before he could answer, she said quickly, “This is for you. It’s of modern make, but it is made right, and it won’t look out of place in the hands of a nobleman’s steward. You’ll need it if you go home. The sword you came here with is still in an evidence locker until my superiors convince themselves there wasn’t a crime.”

  Shana muttered, “... that’s probably not legal since there a crime here, and nobody’s been charged with anything. You don’t need a permit to own a sword in Arizona.”

  Libeza lifted an eyebrow at her.

  Shana stared back, her expression hard. Libeza eventually looked away, but it wasn’t a surrender; somehow, she made it seem as if she’d just dismissed Shana as inconsequential. Shana was gritting her teeth so hard that Simon could see her jaw muscles bulge.

  Warily, Simon accepted the blade. It was a longsword, nicely balanced, and of a style he’d trained extensively with. As she’d implied, it was not fancy, but he’d trust her assessment of its practical merits. His mother’s sword had also been well crafted but, ultimately, ordinary.

  “Thank you,” he said stiffly. He hadn’t forgiven her, but he would acknowledge she was trying to make matters right.

  “And this is so that you can establish an identity. You need to do so as soon as possible.” She handed him the envelope.

  Shana made a strange noise, and he saw Casey and Avery exchange a startled glance as he pulled the contents out. There was a small blue-and-white paper card that said "Social Security," and a thick, creamy, embossed piece of paper called a "Birth Certificate." He also found a “high school diploma” from a “home school academy,” and what appeared to be a child’s birth record.

  “Interesting gift from a cop,” Shana drawled.

  Libeza gave her a sideways look. “Would you suggest that we have every wayward dai’sheea fleeing genocide on our world apply for asylum here? I’m not certain the US government knows how to deal with elves. At best, we’d be considered stateless, but more likely, we’d find out if the rumors about Area 51 are true. There are so few of us left with any significant amount of elven blood, who speak the language and know the lore, that we are at risk of utter extinction as a people.”

  “Point taken,” Casey said. “Is that... real?” He reached a hand out for the papers. “Or, like, faery magic?”

  “The birth certificate is for a child who never existed, recorded as a home birth. The paperwork is entirely mundane and sufficient to establish his identity in this world. He’ll have no credit history, and it’s for an eighteen-year-old man, but Simon can easily pass for half his age. He should claim he was homeschooled and isolated by a cult to cover any lack of other history and gaps in knowledge. It’s plausible in this area.”

  “Angus Adrial,” Casey read the name.

  “He is not an Angus,” Shana said.

  “Simon, this is huge,” Casey said as he handed him the papers back. “We don’t have to call you Angus. Plenty of people don’t go by their legal name, and, er, that name alone would explain why you go by another. Angus is a breed of cow.”

  “We could call him Mac!” Avery suddenly snickered.

  “would get that reference,” Casey replied.

  “You did.”

  “Yeah, because you and your dad inflicted old TV shows on me on every cross-country flight we ever took when we were kids.” Casey shook his head at his brother and didn’t bother to explain, leaving Simon mystified. Instead, he said, “However, if this is real, it will enable you to get a driver’s license and in this world. You won’t be tied to me. You could get an education here and become whatever you want.”

  Simon looked sharply up at Casey and felt a smile light his face. Could he get a car? He’d been bitterly disappointed when Shana had told him driving was unwise without a license; it was a good way for the cops to discover he was undocumented should they pull him over.

  Then, he realized what else Casey had said... education? In what? He to look into that.

  “And, you can work legally,” Shana said, looking mildly relieved. “For certain values of legal.”

  Simon looked up at Libeza. “Thank you,” he said, a bit more grateful.

  “I am so pleased you are here," Libeza said, stepping towards him. “You are so thin, Simon. Are you ill?”

  Simon reflexively shifted his weight back onto one heel, then resolved to hold his ground unless she tried to hug him — which was unlikely. Libeza was not the hugging type, and neither was he. He folded his arms across his chest and said, “You must be able to sense what I bear on my back. I’ve spent the last six months fleeing the Hunt.”

  “Ah.” She inclined her head in acknowledgment. “Did you earn the Mark?”

  He wondered if she’d sensed he was hiding inside the chest when she’d come to investigate Avery’s injury. It was likely. She had undoubtedly seen the Book. Yet, she’d acknowledged neither and had not returned to the shop until now.

  What was she up to?

  He looked her in the eye and said, “I was convicted of impregnating a noblewoman who was betrothed to another.”

  Both her eyebrows rose. “ the child yours?”

  “No.” He felt no urge to elaborate. “Can you sense the geas?”

  She disregarded that question to say, “If the child is yours, we can, of course, ensure they are brought here...”

  “I do not doubt that you know the likelihood of the child being mine,” he said, a sentence that was both blunt and obtuse at the same time.

  She seemed to have adopted this world’s morals. Her response was far more direct than he would have preferred. “Mm. I suspected you preferred men. Your eyes gave you away whenever that one young prince came into your view. I believe he cared for you, as well... you two certainly spent enough time in each other’s company.”

  “Prince Iorge is dead,” Simon said, words crisp. Perhaps his life would have been different if he hadn’t been forced to slay his closest friend. He didn’t want to discuss it with anyone. He tried not to think about it at all. No one living knew who had delivered the fatal blow.

  “Oh, I'm sorry.” Belatedly, he remembered Iorge had been her cousin. He should have been more tactful.

  “So am I. He would have become a good man.” That was safe enough to say. He added, “I am sorry to bear the bad news to you.”

  “He was human. I haven’t seen him in almost a century and a half. We weren’t close.” She shook her head. Simon heard the casual dismissal in her tone, and he looked up sharply at her. Was she saying she hadn’t loved her own cousin because he was ? He could see disliking humans who hated elves, of course, but Iorge had frequently been Simon’s champion at court — and Libeza’s, as well. He’d even spoken in her defense against Ellia’s accusations that she had slept with a grimalkin man, though his words had done no good.

  Libeza continued, “However, even if a tryst with a lady was not your preference, it does not mean you do not have a child. Some of the noblewomen of the court take whatever lovers they please, regardless of the inclination of the man.”

  “I declined her advances successfully.” He’d actually made it clear that, should Lady Stashia try to coerce him into her bed, she would not survive the encounter. She had been offended, but perhaps not as much as her persistent advances had angered him.

  “Ah. Well. As far as the geas goes, it is Nadria’s work.” Libeza glanced up at Casey. “Which begs the question of what was done to her to cause her to bind her own—”

  “That possessed book chose to do this to us. We didn’t ask for it!” Casey snapped.

  Libeza’s brows pinched together. “I don’t understand why—”

  An enormous crash from below their feet made them all jump. Simon pulled the sword an inch out of its scabbard, and Avery spun to face the basement stairs with remarkable speed and grace for a large man with recently broken ribs.

  “What the fuck?” Casey demanded, sounding more irritated than startled. “What did she do now?”

  “I’d guess Nadria wants to join the conversation,” Libeza’s voice held a verbal shrug, even as she headed towards the stairs while rather assertively gripping the butt of her holstered gun.

  “Hold up,” Shana said, stepping into her path. "Don’t you need a warrant or something?”

  Libeza stopped and lifted an incredulous eyebrow at the taller woman. “You have a ghost tearing up your basement, and you want a ?”