Chapter Text

Chapter One: Threnody and Rowan

The Dream

Hello, Rebecca

She opened her eyes, searching for the sound of the voice. It was familiar, and yet utterly alien to her. Rebecca found herself standing in the heart of a forest in twilight, the region taking on a washed-out appearance of faded colours and long shadows. The trees here were twisted and dying, barren of leaves, and the ground was dry and cracked, stripped of all life. Above, the sky was an unnatural grey, but behind the clouds she could see the silhouette of a pregnant moon — a pale disk that shined like an eye through the cloud cover.

The air smelled of impending rain, causing her to shiver, then consider perhaps finding shelter. A breeze whispered through the barren tree branches, causing them to brush roughly against one another, the sound causing Rebecca’s skin to crawl. The wind picked up, the uppermost branches swaying, and she felt the urge to move — to get away from the forest. She searched for a path, a marker, anything to help her get away from the trees. Ahead, she saw a clearing, and she quickened her pace in the hopes of escaping the forest of dead trees.

A wordless singing came from the clearing, and she ran. The ground gave way to a depression, revealing a cemetery below. She slowed her steps, taking care and moving carefully as she made her way down the slope towards it, glancing over her shoulder furtively as she heard the wind sigh through the branches behind her. The sound, to her ears, was a little too human-like for her comfort, and seemed closer than it was before. She turned away, concentrating on the gate in front of her, and noticed that beyond was a lone mausoleum at the centre, past the wrought iron fence that surrounded the scattered tombstones and grave markers.

There was no rhyme or reason to the placement of the graves, and while some of them were small enough to trip over, others were large and imposing, bearing angelic figures who crouched or rested among them. The gate itself was blackened, rusted, as if it had been exposed to fire and the elements. The gate, like the trees, was twisted, and it creaked and swayed in the low wind, bound by a rusted chain and an ancient padlock.

Rebecca glanced once more over her shoulder at the rise. The colours of the forest were even more muted with distance and gloom, and the trees were more out of focus now that she had left them; but she could feel, more than see, that there was something drifting among the trees. A brief, momentary sense of yearning came over her, and she forcibly turned back to the cemetery. The details appeared too sharp, too real. The contrast was jarring, and she hesitated.

The singing stopped.

I am here. A voice beckoned her. Come, Rebecca.

From behind her, Don’t leave me. I am lost.

She paused, then looked back at the forest, before she pushed her loose, raven hair back from her amber eyes and stepped hesitantly towards the gate. It creaked in protest as the wind moved it, trying to shut it, and her hand hesitated centimeters away from it. She peered past the gate and into the graveyard, trying to make out the source of the voice.

“Who are you?” she asked, startling herself with the way her voice cut through the silence. There was a sigh from the forest behind her which made her turn and glance over her shoulder once more.

You may call me Threnody, if you like, the voice replied. Your father sent me to find you. Hurry, though, there isn’t much time, Rebecca.

She focused on the voice, which sounded more feminine now, but there was a sharp edge to it; a wild, hungry sound. Rebecca carefully slid between the fence and the gate without touching either, not wanting to hear it creak any more than it had to. She wormed her way into the graveyard proper, while a faint mist clung to the ground, pooling around her ankles and coiling around the tombstones as she crept inward. The ground was just as dry and cracked as it was in the forest; broken and brittle, turning to dust under her bare feet as she walked.

The tombstones around her were worn and corroded with time, the writing on them declaring names she did not recognize. Some held carvings of flowers, others had faces, and some had no letters at all, just scratches which made no sense to her. There were some gravestones that held writing she simply couldn’t understand.

Mark Solace. 1972-2024

The grave had recently been filled, and the tombstone was new. She paused and studied the grave quietly, the fresh flowered that were laid out over the plot, while the other plots around it held flowers that were dead and shriveled in clay and copper urns covered in dust. She carefully made her way past them, towards the mausoleum.

“My father?” she asked aloud. “I don’t know my father. I’ve never seen my father.” She found a vantage point from behind the rather impressive statue of a weeping angel, kneeling over one of the more elaborate grave markers. She had a better view of the mausoleum — an imposing edifice done in the Roman style, with a heavy iron door facing her. It was open, and on the other side was darkness.

The clouds parted reluctantly, just enough so to allow the moon to peer past them and bathe the land in its cold, uncaring light. Rebecca faced the entrance of the mausoleum, and wondered if the mysterious woman who called her was a vampire or some other creature of darkness. This is a dream, she reasoned to herself, anything is possible.

Instead, all she saw was a woman that was, perhaps, twice her age. The woman was perched on the front steps of the edifice, holding a skull in one hand. She was turning it from side to side, studying it with mild curiosity that indicated she didn’t truly understand what it was she was examining.

Rebecca held her breath as she watched. She noticed Threnody’s flawless, alabaster skin, and her long, ebon hair that hung down her back tangled and wild. There were white feathers in her hair, and her eyes were a brilliant gold, the irises far wider than they had any right to be. She balanced perfectly on her toes, knees slightly bent, her curved toenails digging into the stone. Her naked form had a feral, savage beauty to it that reminded Rebecca, somehow, of an owl, and she sucked in her breath as she studied the figure, then covered her mouth in alarm.

Threnody turned her attention Rebecca’s direction, her head cocked to one side in an exaggerated fashion as she listened for any further sounds. “Will you come out so I can see you, Rebecca?” she asked, shifting to balance on her toes in a low crouch as she turned to face Rebecca’s direction. Her head tilted one way, then the other. “We have much to talk about but not much time.”

Rebecca wondered if she was dreaming. She glanced around nervously, turning her gaze back to the hazy forest on the rise. A lone figure obscured by shadow hid there, among the twisted trees. She turned back to Threnody, surrounded by the crisp, stark cemetery with its vigilant angels. She steeled herself, then stepped out from behind the statuary, a small part of her mind wondering if the owl-woman would turn into some ferocious monster. Instead, the strange woman shifted her stance, gazing at her, before giving what might constitute a smile that held within it no warmth, no emotion. Rebecca felt like it was a practiced effect — a thing that a predator might use to lure in its prey.

“You said my father sent you,” Rebecca answered Threnody, stepping forward slowly, uncertain. “I don’t know my father.”

Threnody remained crouching, shifting from foot to foot, then moved forward in a strange, scuttling fashion. She started up at Rebecca with her large, golden eyes, and Rebecca fought down the sudden urge to run away in terror.

This is only a dream, she reminded herself, though it felt more real than any dream had a right to be.

“You never will,” she replied. “He died.” There was the faintest hint of emotion in the strange woman’s voice. Was it sadness? Or regret? Rebecca wasn’t certain, but she felt the pain, herself. She had often wondered who her father was, and there had been so many questions she had wanted to ask him — though it seemed none of them would ever be answered.

It’s only a dream, she reminded herself again. Out loud she replied, “But you said he sent you.” Her voice was quiet. “Why?”

The owl-woman gazed into Rebecca’s eyes, her expression inscrutable. “He wanted to meet you, Rebecca, but he couldn’t. There just wasn’t any time. He told me … us … to find you.”

“Us?” Rebecca asked, “What are you?” She met the woman’s gaze. There was something wrong here, she could feel it. This woman wasn’t supposed to be part of her dream, telling her that a father she had never known was dead. There wasn’t supposed to be a creepy shadow in the woods, stalking her. These two figures were alien, and she was certain they were not a part of her dream, but an intrusion.

“We are yours,” Threnody replied. “if you will accept us.”

Rebecca frowned at the answer. She preferred it when her dreams made no sense at all. There was another thing bothering her as well, a sense of urgency in the alien woman’s voice. Rebecca felt the tension building as she examined the figure. Threnody’s skin appeared cold to the touch, and she found herself reaching out to run her fingers along one of the woman’s arms. The skin was firm, unyielding, but not cold. In fact, Rebecca couldn’t feel any temperature at all, but her skin was smooth, without any veins under the skin, or even fine hairs along it. Threnody could have been carved from stone.

“What do you mean ‘you are mine’?” she finally asked, her gaze returning to Threnody’s golden eyes. She saw her reflection there, and the strange woman met her gaze, head tilted oddly to one side. She was still crouching, balanced on the balls of her feet, watching Rebecca expectantly.

“We will serve you, as we served your father.”

Rebecca forced herself to hold the older woman’s gaze. “What’s my father’s name, then?” she asked, feeling her heart begin to pound in her chest. She’d never heard her father’s name.

“Mark. Mark Solace,” Threnody replied, reaching up to play with a strand of her own hair, looking at one of the owl feathers without concern. From the woods, far beyond the cemetery, the wind howled in an anguished cry.

Rebecca’s world crumbled.

Mark Solace. 1972-2024.

She shuddered as she felt despair creep into her heart. The name sounded right to her ears, but she didn’t know why.

“Then... I’m ... I’m Rebecca Solace?” she asked, studying Threnody, then looking over her shoulder, back at the fresh grave. Another mournful sound came from the forest, causing her skin to crawl. She peeked out at the woods, and saw the figure at the edge of the rise, hidden among the trees.

The owl-woman stood quickly, following Rebecca’s gaze, then moved past her, cutting off her view with a very bird-like hiss. “Not yet, Rebecca. You’re not ready for her.” Rebecca turned to follow her movements, noticing the woman’s back was to her, as if shielding her.

“Ready for her?” When Threnody didn’t answer, Rebecca frowned in spite of her fear. “You’re supposed to serve me?” she pressed. The older woman gazed out to the forest a moment longer, before turning her head to meet Rebecca’s eyes. “I … just … what? I have to accept you?” Rebecca pressed more, everything becoming familiar to her in a way she didn’t understand.

“Yes,” Threnody replied, but she didn’t nod her head or give any other physical response. She didn’t even seem to be breathing, though Rebecca wondered why that would seem unusual — this was a dream after all. It made sense that people didn’t need to breathe in dreams. However, the woman seemed to be expecting an answer, and Rebecca could feel that giving one soon was important. She let out a breath, not even knowing she’d been holding it in.

“He said you were both to serve me?”

“Yes.”

“Fine, yes. I accept. You both can serve me.”

“Rebecca!” Threnody’s voice was filled with surprise, sounding like a cry of joy and an owl’s screech. Rebecca reeled as she felt something deep within her grow and shudder. Threnody turned once more and held her tight, as Rebecca looked past her at the forest. The gloom of the forest was withdrawing, the trees growing, leaves budding then unfolding as the woods sprung to life, the wind sighing through the trees in relief.

Upon Awakening

It was the sound of her aunt’s alarm clock in the master bedroom that jolted Rebecca awake. The dream lingered, and she frowned reluctantly as she sat up, pulling herself into a sitting position as she pulled the blankets off of her. She really didn’t like dreams that made sense — that had a narrative that she could follow once she had woken up. Rebecca much preferred dreams where anyone she met and didn’t know simply faded away, to be forgotten as she went about her day.

This dream was unlike any she’d had before. She remembered the forest, the strange figure who lurked there, the owl-woman, and the cemetery. Threnody? It all seemed important, and she rubbed her arms to get rid of her goose pimples.

The alarm clock in the other room had stopped, and she slipped out of bed, shivering from the cold, wooden floor beneath her feet. She didn’t have her own alarm clock, or much of anything else in her room. There was a stack of clothes to one side, a Bible on her dresser, and a cross hanging over the door. If she had to guess though, it wasn’t even eight in the morning, and Rebecca resigned herself to getting ready for her first day of high school. It was the end of summer vacation, and it had been as uneventful and boring as every other summer had been for as long as she could remember.

She flopped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling, waiting for her aunt and uncle to finish showering and go downstairs. She heard first one, then the other take their turns, then rolled off to the side and walked over to her closet to search for a proper outfit. Rebecca glanced out the window and released a wistful sigh — her aunt and uncle were ‘nice’, but they were never fun . All of her summer holidays were filled with chores, visits to the library under strict supervision, and visits to the church on Sundays. When they watched television, the programs were boring, and the only radio she was allowed to listen to was the just boring people talking, with the odd bit of classical or church music.

Going out wasn’t much use, either. If Rebecca had to visit the mall, her aunt was always by her side, and did all the talking with store clerks — preventing her from meeting with ‘strange people’ and effectively cutting her off from making friends. Nobody was allowed to visit from school, and she wasn’t allowed to go out and see anyone. Her family was strict, conservative, and practical, and the few times that she complained, her aunt would say ‘ this is for your own good, you’ll thank me someday’.

It wasn’t that her aunt and uncle were cruel, though. They didn’t punish her, or yell at her, or even raise their voice to her, but … there was just a little bit of fear in their eyes when they talked about her going out. When her aunt and uncle thought she couldn’t hear them, they wondered if ‘they’ were still watching. If ‘they’ would take her away. She had only ever asked about ‘them’ once, and her aunt nearly had a panic attack. She wasn’t allowed out of the house for a month.

Rebecca sifted through her outfits, and finally picked out a practical, green t-shirt and some loose, worn jeans. She had no reason to dress up — it wasn’t like she had anyone to impress, and her aunt disapproved of dating, saying she was too young. ‘ You’re in school to learn, not to make friends and certainly not to be popular’ , she’d say. Rebecca remembered when her aunt had seen her a few years back, when she had lingered at the bus stop when she was dropped off after school. She had been talking with some of her classmates, and her aunt quickly intervened, taking her hand and all but dragging her home. For that entire semester, her uncle drove her to school, her aunt met her at lunch, and her uncle drove her home.

She heard her aunt and uncle talking downstairs, the floorboards creaking from their footsteps as they talked about some documentary they’d been watching the night before on the British monarchy. She waited until she heard them enter the kitchen before stripping off her pajamas and carrying her fresh clothes into the bathroom. She heard the doorbell ring — a thing so rare she’d almost forgotten what it had sounded like — but after a few moments she ignored it and closed the door before turning on the shower. She rubbed her eyes with a hand as she used the other to test the water’s temperature.

“Hello, Rebecca.”

She would, upon describing the event later, mention with pride that she didn’t immediately squeal in terror at the owl-woman standing in the shower. Threnody appeared only superficially like she had in the dream — her skin was still alabaster white, and she still had the same raven-black hair. She possessed the same golden eyes, with irises that were far too large, but where there had once been the feral woman in her dreams with the tangled here, there was a girl in her late teens, or even in her early twenties, wearing a long cloak of white owl feathers draped over her slender frame. Her glistening, raven hair was combed, even if there were still feathers that hung neatly within the long, straight locks that ran down her back.

The water passed through her, entirely oblivious to her presence.

“Threnody?” Rebecca clutched her chest, gasping, waiting for her heart to crawl back out of her throat and move someplace more suitable for breathing. The owl-woman stepped out of the shower, nodding only once.

“Thank you, mistress, for joining with us. I was not sure you would do so before you woke, and it would have been far too late at that point.” Threnody examined the bathroom, giving everything within it a curious glance. “You should bath yourself quickly. Then I will need you to do something important before you go downstairs.” The apparition turned to face Rebecca, giving what one would presume was an attempt at an impish smile. “You have a guest, and your first day among us is going to be very … interesting. ”

Rebecca gaped silently for a few long moments, trying to process everything she was seeing and hearing. Finally, she hissed, “But you were only a dream!” She hesitated, uncertain. “Weren’t you?” Her tone was almost a plea.

Please don’t be real, my aunt will kill me if I had a mostly-naked owl-girl in the bathroom with me.

Threnody moved behind Rebecca, placing her hands on the girl’s shoulders as if to push her. She couldn’t feel any sensation of contact, but carefully stepped into the shower anyway, looking over her shoulder at the strange girl behind her, noticing that Threnody had no reflection in the mirror. The owl-girl smiled once more — this time Rebecca felt real amusement there.

“I was in your dream, yes. But I am very real,” she replied.

“What are you?” Rebecca asked quietly, wondering if she was, maybe, having a hallucination, or perhaps she was still dreaming. A dream within a dream? She kept the shower curtain open just enough to keep an eye on the strange, intangible girl standing outside the shower.

“Clean yourself, mistress, and I will explain what I can.” As Rebecca slowly began to wash her hair, Threnody observed silently, then continued, “Last night, your father died facing a … well, it does not matter what he faced at this moment. But he died in the act of doing what he must. I was at his side when it happened.”

She paused, and Rebecca could feel a brief sensation of sorrow echoing from the spirit. Threnody gazed down at her hands before continuing, and Rebecca could only watch in fascination as they curled into sharp talons, avian scales forming along her fingers and the back of each hand. There was a quiet pause, before Threnody turned her eyes up to Rebecca once more.

“I failed him. He died. But he told us to find you and serve you as we did him. I am … was … his fetch.”

Rebecca’s hands had stopped moving, her fingers tangled in her ebony hair as she silently watched Threnody through the water pouring down over her face. The spirit’s fingers had relaxed, once more normal. Rebecca took a short breath, her thoughts in turmoil. “What’s a fetch?” she asked, as she felt her questions begin to bubble over and pour out of her mouth. “Who was my father? What was he doing? How did you find me?” There were so many more things she needed to ask, but it was just too much for her. She couldn’t think , her emotions were boiling up, and she felt her breathing grow ragged.

Sadness. Anger. These two emotions warred in her heart.

“A fetch is a spirit that is bound to someone,” Threnody explained. “I have served your family for generations, mistress. I have been called many names over the years — your great-grandfather called me Morrigan. Your grandfather called me Lilith. Your father … he called me Threnody.” She looked at Rebecca for a quiet moment, before giving another one of her strange smiles before changing the subject. “Rinse your hair out, mistress, otherwise you will get soap in your eyes.”

Rebecca closed her eyes and dunked her head under the shower nozzle while Threnody observed. The spirit continued, “Also, mistress, you may call me any of those names you wish, or give me some other name. I am bound to you for the rest of your life, to serve you as you need.”

The water was turning cold, and Rebecca used it to distract herself from the tangled knot of her emotions. She took a breath, feeling the pain in her chest ease, even if only slightly. She was only half-listening, letting the water run over her, letting herself imagine the sadness and pain running off her and down the drain. She faintly heard her name called from the bottom of the staircase, then turned the water off and pulled a few loose strands of her away from her eyes. She wrung her hair out, twisting it to strain the water from it.

“Serve me?” she finally asked. “Forever?”

Threnody moved aside so Rebecca could step free of the shower. “Yes. I will serve you better once you have attended class, but for now I can only advise.” The spirit gave Rebecca a crooked smile at her confusion, before continuing. “Only you can see me or hear me, mistress — I am not manifested.”

While it was obvious Threnody was enjoying the conversation, Rebecca felt those golden eyes on her. She suspected the ‘fetch’ knew the quiet struggle that she was having, and was trying in her own way to help the girl work through it.

Rebecca shook her head in disbelief, grabbing another towel to dry herself off. She wanted to ignore all of this, to simply disbelieve , but there was something about the situation that resonated with her and felt strangely natural — like it made sense to her on a level she couldn’t quite grasp.

Of course I would have a strange spirit attending me for the rest of my life , she thought with a hint of bitter sarcasm. She rolled her eyes and began to get dressed while her spirit — her fetch — kept silent vigil. She brushed her teeth, combed out her hair, then checked herself in the mirror one last time before.

The Visitation

Rebecca quickly crossed the hall to her room, calling out to her aunt that she’d be down soon. Threnody was already there, relaxed on top of the bed with a serious expression. The bed seemed undisturbed by the spirit’s presence on it.

“You are going to need to go into your aunt’s room and get the black, wooden box from the bottom drawer.”

“What?” Rebecca came up short.

Threnody stared at her with unblinking eyes. “When you were brought here, your father also gave you a small, black box. Your aunt hid it in the drawer — it was not like she could do harm to it. You inherited it, and you must take it back, or I will be useless to you.”

Rebecca picked up her backpack, then glanced out into the hallway, where she could hear a soft, urgent-sounding murmur coming from the living room below. She heard her uncle head out the door, slamming it shut as he left, which meant the top floor was empty.

“I’ll be down soon!” she called out, then slipped into the bathroom and flushed the toilet. That being done, she hesitated. “What am I doing?” she hissed to herself. It felt wrong at a fundamental level to sneak into her aunt’s bedroom and steal from her, but at the same time, Threnody had said whatever was in there was a gift from her father — a father she’d known nothing about. Maybe the box had answers. She crept into her aunt’s room, careful to muffle her footsteps as she went. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she carefully opened the door and stepped inside.

She couldn’t believe she was doing this, and her heart pounded in her chest. Her father had left something for her, so why didn’t her aunt tell her about it? She looked to her side, and stifled a cry at seeing Threnody creeping along beside her.

“I thought you said nobody could see or hear you?” she hissed. Threnody gave her an impish smile at the accusatory tone of her voice, and Rebecca fought the impulse to try and smack the spirit.

Her aunt’s bedroom was simple and old-fashioned, with a bright orange shag rug and matching, faded orange drapes. The twin bed had a thick, scratchy brown cover, and the morning sun bathed everything in an ugly, orange glow. Over the door into the room was a cross, and on a wall was a picture of White Jesus, looking to one side as he knelt in prayer. There were at least three Bibles on one bookshelf, and the room had a musty, old feel to it. Rebecca had always hated this room. Her uncle’s room was a smaller room beside the bathroom. She’d never known her aunt and uncle to share a room, let alone a bed. Her aunt’s excuse was always that her uncle snored, but Rebecca suspected there was more to it than that.

She quickly made her way to the nightstand beside the bed. It was squat, with two drawers, and an ancient lamp sitting on it with a cracked shade that had dulled to a sickly yellow with age. She pulled out the bottom drawer, digging past the socks and stockings, and paused to make a sour face at the texture of her aunt’s choice in hosiery. She hesitated as her fingers brushed across something smooth and cool to the touch, before grasping it to pull out a small, black box made of wood. It was lacquered, glossy and smooth, and on the underside was a copper clasp for attaching it to a belt. It had a simple latch on the front to keep it closed, and the top seemed to slide to one side rather than flip up. She quickly rose, closing the drawer with one foot before hurrying to her bedroom to stuff the box into her backpack.

“What is it?” she asked quietly before reaching the stairs.

Threnody appeared to be pleased. “That is your trionfi deck, mistress. Now, you need to go downstairs. You will have the chance to look at the cards soon enough.”

Cards? Rebecca glanced at Threnody in confusion, but descended silently. The staircase opened into the main foyer, which was lit by the back bay window that softened the sunlight coming in, bathing both the kitchen and the dining room with a soft, blue glow.

To Rebecca’s left was the sliding door that led to the living room. It was closed, though through the door window she could see that the curtains drawn to leave the room dark. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs to find her aunt sitting tensely with a young man over tea in the dining room. Her uncle had gone — work always began early for him, and Rebecca hesitated as the young man glanced up at her from the table.

She found herself studying him as he smiled and stood in greeting. His auburn hair was trimmed and neat, hanging down to his shoulders, and his eyes were soft and grey, filled with amusement. She decided that he was quite handsome, even more so when he offered his hand which she accepted without thinking. He shook it lightly, and she noticed her aunt’s lips thin with a look of disapproval.

“Good morning, Ms. Solace,” he said, warmth in his voice.

“Good morn- … wait.” Rebecca looked at him cautiously. “How did you …?” she had never used Solace as a name before, and didn’t even know that was her last name until her crazy dream. She’d always used her aunt and uncle’s last name, Patri .

He nodded with a knowing grin, “My name is Kristen Tremblay, a teacher at —”

Her aunt cut him off. “Not if I have anything to say about it.” She rose from her seat, quickly stepping forward to put a hand on Rebecca’s shoulder, gripping it so tightly as to be almost painful. “I won’t have it!” There was a tone of desperation in her voice, which caused Rebecca alarm.

Mr. Tremblay released Rebecca’s hand and turned his attention to her aunt, taking a step back to give Rebecca some breathing room. His expression was one of disapproval. “You most certainly do not have a say in this.” The warmth in his eyes had cooled a little, and Rebecca found herself wondering how he would look if he were to get actually angry. The grey of his eyes had darkened, like a gathering storm. “This would be Ms. Solace’s decision to make — most certainly not yours.”

“What decision?” Rebecca finally asked, shifting her shoulder to try to get out of her aunt’s grasp, rubbing it when she got free. “Auntie?”

“They’re not good people, dear,” her aunt replied. “They took Papa away from me.” Her face crumpled for a brief moment, before she turned and gave Kristen a hard stare. “I’ll never forgive Mark for joining them. Them and their devils .”

Rebecca was surprised to hear the venom in her aunt’s voice, and even more so at her father’s name coming from her aunt’s lips. She’d never mentioned Rebecca’s father before — as if he’d simply ceased to exist in her world.

“Devil, is it?” Threnody’s voice was clear in her mind, sounding almost amused. “I prefer the word deva . I always liked the name deva. What do you think, mistress?”

Rebecca glanced around the hall to try to spot Threnody, to no avail.

Mr. Tremblay let out a quiet sigh, and while his voice softened at least some, his eyes remained dark and stormy. “Mark’s dead, Melissa. He died last night, on the other side.”

Her aunt’s face drained of all colour as she put her hand to her mouth. There was a soft, mournful cry, that Rebecca was certain came from Threnody. She felt an echoing pain in her own heart, and turned to regard Mr. Tremblay.

“Why? Why did he go into that God-forsaken place?” her aunt whispered.

Mr. Tremblay clasped his hands in front of himself for a moment, almost as if in prayer, his eyes distant and his lips tight. “Because he had to. He did what he must, to keep us safe.”

“It isn’t natural ,” her aunt protested. “Why did he have to get involved?”

It was all too much for Rebecca to handle all at once. She held onto the wall and leaned against it for a moment, then excused herself to retreat to the living room, shutting the glass door behind her. Between finding Threnody, meeting Mr. Tremblay, the confirmation of her father’s death, and her aunt talking about devils, she was having trouble taking it all in.

The living room was bland, with the same ugly orange carpet as was upstairs, with an ugly brown couch set against a wall. A recliner rested in the corner. There was a simple, small television on a stand, beside a sixty-year-old radio and a shelf of books on saints, miracles, religious figures, and other topics that Rebecca had found rather dull. The drapes were closed, keeping the room dim.

Threnody was sitting on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her, and motioned for Rebecca to join her there. The couch didn’t yield at all to the spirit, but Rebecca sat down and leaned against the back of the sofa quietly, before giving a soft sigh. She felt drained. “Threnody? What happened to my dad?” she asked.

The spirit reached over, running her fingers through Rebecca’s hair and, while she couldn’t feel the touch, it soothed her anyway. “A young boy had disappeared,” Threnody began, “and Mark had found the hollow. I can explain what that is later on, perhaps, but for now imagine a place like the place in your dreams.” Threnody took a moment to look down at her own lap before she continued. “Mark found it behind the school the boy had attended. He was certain that the boy had been kidnapped by a maere … an unbound spirit.” The apparition turned her gold eyes to Rebecca, almost shyly. “You saw what I was like without someone to be bound to. Do you see how different I am now?”

Rebecca’s thoughts turned back to the dream, remembering Threnody as she had appeared there. Feral. Alien. She remembered the other’s voice; wild, untamed, and desperate. She gave a quiet nod, but didn’t immediately reply. Her fetch studied her for a few moments longer, before she continued.

“Mark went into what you might call the underworld. It is a place of spirits and monsters, and is not safe for humans. Especially children. He found the child; I was there to help him track the boy’s scent. But we also found a nest of rabisu.”

“Rabisu?” Rebecca wasn’t exactly sure she wanted that word explained, and she saw Threnody hesitate.

“Vampires, you might call them. Ghuls. Corpse-eaters.” Threnody looked distant, reliving the events in her memory, perhaps. “They fell upon him, and I tried to tear them off. If he were in the living world at the time, I could have saved him, I would have pulled him down into the underworld and away from them to safety. But since we were already in the underworld, I could only do so much.”

She withdrew her hands from Rebecca, her fingers curling into sharp talons once more, the scales growing up along the back of her hands to her wrists and her forearms. “I tore into them, but there were so many. They were too strong. At the last moment, Mark unbound us, told me to bring the child home, then to find you. He said … he said that you’d accept me.” Threnody looked up from her hands, her golden eyes fixed on Rebecca’s amber ones.

Rebecca hugged her knees to her chest, before looking down at Threnody’s hands. The talons had faded away, and her skin was pale and smooth once more. “Did you save the boy?” she asked.

Threnody smiled once more, and lifted a hand to rest weightlessly on Rebecca’s shoulder. “I took him to his home, and he woke up in his bed, safe once more.”

Rebecca was about to reply when she heard the foyer door open, then slipped off the couch to stand up. Her aunt was there, and Mr. Tremblay was a step behind her. Her aunt was wringing her hands in fear.

“It’s too late, isn’t it?” her aunt said. Rebecca was about to reply to her, but her aunt cut her off, talking to herself, perhaps. “You’re going to take her too, aren’t you? She has that thing in her.” Mr. Tremblay stepped around her and took a simple, polite step towards Rebecca.

“Threnody, I believe?”

Rebecca heard Threnody purr behind her, and saw her aunt’s pinched face. She nodded once. Mr. Tremblay nodded in satisfaction, then turned back to talk to her aunt. “She’s not a devil, or a ‘thing’, she’s lilitu. They’re guardian angels.”

Her aunt snapped at him. “She’s no angel, don’t you dare call her that. She’s a succubus!” Her aunt’s tone was sharp. “And I won’t have that abomination in my house!” Rebecca heard the fear in her aunt’s voice, and something more. “It’s that thing that caused my papa to die! That let Mark die!” Her voice broke. “I don’t want her taking little ‘becca too.” Her aunt used a nickname Rebecca hadn’t heard since she was very young.

Mr. Tremblay sighed, looking weary. “We can’t separate them. Ms. Solace made her choice when Threnody visited her.”

Her aunt’s voice became a wail. “She’s fourteen! How could she know what that even meant?”

Mr. Tremblay drew himself up slightly, then gave her his full attention. “That’s why I’m here, Melissa. So she can understand the choice she made. And you know damn well we’ll never force her to do anything she doesn’t want to do. You should know better than that.”

Threnody whispered into Rebecca’s ear, making her shiver a bit at the intimacy. “I always liked him.” Rebecca glanced at Threnody in embarrassment, thinking this was not quite the time to talk about boys. Her aunt sank onto the couch and put her face in her hands.

“I suppose I don’t have a choice anymore.”

Rebecca could feel sorry for her aunt. She may have been stern, a bit distant, and controlling, but now Rebecca could see why her aunt was so afraid, afraid of the things — the spirits — Rebecca corrected herself, that had taken away her brother and father. Mr. Tremblay was, Rebecca thought, the them that her aunt and uncle were so concerned about.

Mr. Tremblay glanced awkwardly at the sobbing woman, then added. “Well, you could accept what Ms. Solace has to do, and what she’s bec-”

“Her name is not Solace, it’s Patri!” The response was sharp and made Rebecca flinch. “And no, I will not have that devil in my home! And I will never accept it!” Her aunt turned to face her, and for a moment Rebecca wondered if she was already being mourned as lost.

There were a few moments of awkward silence before Mr. Tremblay addressed Rebecca once more. “Let’s go outside for a moment, so you and I can have a talk, shall we?”

Rebecca looked back at her aunt for a few precious moments, but nodded once again. She collected her backpack, then hesitated before approaching her aunt and hugging her. She felt the woman stiffen before awkwardly returning the hug, and while she was never one for any real shows of affection, that pause hurt more than all the words that had been said. She retreated, and slipped on her shoes without looking back, before stepping out onto the front porch. At the end of the driveway was a rather sporty, but practical-looking four-door car. It was a deep, reflective shade of blue which stood out, and looked rather pricey. Mr. Tremblay had taken a seat on the hood, thoughtful as he watched Rebecca walk up to join him. She stopped at the side of the garage, tugged on some mint growing there to take with her, then approached.

“A bit much, wasn’t it?” he asked. She gave him a muted nod, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. He continued with an almost casual tone to his voice, “Certainly not what you might have expected for your first day of school.”

“No, sir,” she finally said, looking up from her hands to regard him.

Mr. Tremblay chuckled quietly, then shook his head. “So, I teach in the halls of the Arcanum. I was hoping you would join us there, Ms. Solace.”

“Can you explain that, please?” she asked. “Is that what Auntie meant when she said you were going to take me away?” Rebecca made a face. “And stop calling me ‘Ms. Solace’. It sounds weird. Can you call me Rebecca?”

“Rebecca, then. And you can call me Kristen.” He gave her a hint of a smile as he continued, “Well, Melissa never did get around to adopting you, and she was never your legal guardian, so you are Ms. Solace. But I’m fine with dropping the formalities.” He shrugged, “And yes, that is exactly what Melissa meant when she said I was going to take you away. Though, to be perfectly blunt, it isn’t my decision, it’s yours. I’m a teacher for the Arcanum, and your father was a member, as was both of your grandparents. You come from a fairly long line of Arcanists, in fact.”

“But … Auntie isn’t one?” Rebecca asked as she put a leaf of mint in her mouth, feeling the sharp bite of mint on her tongue. It helped soothe her frazzled nerves. “And what about my mother?”

“Your aunt did not have a fetch, no,” Threnody’s voice replied as she came up behind Rebecca and held her in a weightless hug. “That is a requirement for joining the Arcanum. In fact, it is really the only requirement.” Rebecca turned her head to glance over her shoulder at the spirit.

“Does Mr. … does Kristen have one?” she asked, turning to watch the young man once more, trying to spot any signs of spirit beings. “Have a fetch, that is?”

Kristen shook his head, amused. “I do. Your aunt doesn’t. And you don’t even need to talk out loud when you speak with your fetch. She can hear you if you think at her. In fact, she’ll instinctively know what you want or need with very little effort on your part.”

“And Auntie can’t become an Arcanist because she didn’t have a fetch?”

“Not entirely true,” Kristen replied, shaking his head. “She was welcome to live in the chapterhouse, but refused. I don’t quite blame her, her father’s death was quite traumatic.” He paused, “And no, I’m not going to tell you what happened.”

“Worse than what happened to my dad? Torn apart by vampires?”

Kristen pursed his lips at the news. “I didn’t know how Mark died, but … yes.”

Rebecca was quiet for a few moments. “Can Threnody read my mind?” She gave a quick glance back at the spirit as Threnody rested a hand on her shoulder protectively. While Rebecca couldn’t feel it exactly, it soothed her anyway. Rebecca had noticed Threnody had a gentle familiarity and intimacy with her that, while quite sudden, was pleasant and calming.

“Not as such, no. It’s more empathy than telepathy, and they only hear what you direct at them. Just like you can’t hear Threnody’s thoughts unless she broadcasts to you specifically.” Kristen sighed quietly, crossing his ankles. “I know this is going to be a lot for you to take in all at once, but I think it’s important that you understand what you’re getting into.” He licked his lips, took a breath, then continued.

“Your aunt didn’t have the right frame of mind for dealing with fetches,” he said. “So when your grandparents died, their fetches avoided her and went to family that would accept them. Mark and Melissa were both very young when Samuel and Mary died, and I think Melissa may have taken it a bit harder than Mark did.”

He looked down the street for a moment, “We brought Mark to the Arcanum, so he could learn how to cope with having a fetch, and we would have brought Melissa in as well, but … she would have nothing to do with it. Mark was … he was a very brave and very dedicated man.”

Rebecca was silent as she took this all in, but was interrupted when Kristen focused on her again.

“Did you get the trionfi case?”

Rebecca reluctantly patted her backpack, and he looked relieved.

“Good. Listen, Rebecca. The Arcanum will always look after its members. If you decide to join us, we’ll see that you get a proper education. You can either be in school in our halls, or in any other school you want. We will cover any secondary education you show interest in. We’ll give you a place to live — either in the Arcanum itself or your own apartment or house. We’ll cover your groceries, any bills you have, and even give you an allowance if you want. We’ll help you get a proper job when you’re ready, if that’s what you want. Any family you need taken care of, we’ll take care of for you.”

“Even Auntie?” Rebecca asked.

Kristen gave an echo of a smile. “Mark wanted them to be taken care of, and we’re doing so. Subtly. If we asked them, they’d refuse us outright.” He shrugged. “They’re stubborn, but they don’t need to suffer.” He leaned back on the hood of his car and looked up at the sky. “In return though, we ask you to take your training seriously, and help us keep other people safe. That’s all we ask for, because we know just how dangerous being an Arcanist is. This is our way of acknowledging that you will, constantly, be putting your life at risk, or helping protect others who are doing so. How in good conscience can we offer you any less when you’re sacrificing yourself for us?”

A little boy had disappeared, and her father had found a hollow... Threnody had earlier explained what her father had done, that he’d put himself in danger to save a child. He’d lost his life protecting someone else, and Kristen was now asking her to consider doing the same. “Do I need to decide now?” she asked, uneasy.

“No.” Threnody’s voice was gentle and reassuring. “You may decide when you wish, mistress. The Arcanum will not demand of you what you’re unwilling to give of your own free will, and you can change your mind at any time.” Her voice took on a harder tone, “And if they tried to force your hand, I wouldn’t let them.” There was a feeling of protectiveness there, and Rebecca felt comforted by that.

Kristen echoed the sentiment, however. “No, we don’t work that way. We’d rather you felt welcome, not forced. If at any point you feel the sacrifices are too much, we can find other work for you, or let you ‘retire’. We’d still care for you.”

“Your father was proud to be a member,” Threnody added.

Rebecca looked down at her backpack. On the back, etched into the flap, was the word Ciao. “But he never had time for me,” she muttered, feeling a complex tangle of anger, guilt, and sadness that made her chest ache. Kristen observed sympathetically, but remained silent.

“He could not get you involved, mistress,” Threnody replied. “His life was far too dangerous. He was often quite sorry that he could not share his world with you,” she added, then paused. “I am sorry, too.”

Rebecca took a slow breath, held it, then sighed. “Alright, Kristen. Give me the grand tour.”

He slid off the hood of the car, then walked around to the driver’s side. “Thank you, Rebecca.” He paused as he opened the door. “Are you going to say goodbye to Melissa?”

She looked over her shoulder at the front bay window, knowing her aunt was probably still sitting there, alone in the dark living room. The image made her heart ache, but remembering how she’d stiffened when Rebecca had hugged her cooled her thoughts. Her aunt had known so much, but had kept her in the dark about so many things; all the things she’d denied Rebecca ‘for her own good’. The worst of it was denying her anything about her father — his name, or who he was, or what he was doing. She had taken any choice Rebecca could have made away from her, and kept her entire past a secret.

“No. I’ve said my goodbyes, I want to go.” It was the hardest thing she’d ever had to say.

“I’ll send someone to collect your things,” Kristen offered.

Rebecca shook her head. “No. There’s only my clothes. I can always get more.”