“You know, I’ve never understood how someone like you can be so selfless and so selfish all at once. You’re like a dying lightbulb, it’s so fucking impossible to rely on you.”

Odell’s voice is low and hoarse. It has none of her ritzy charm in its rumbling; She is furious. Her words are little more than a whisper.

“Why the fuck are you at the Cocteau? I wake up and there’s a fucking gang of Officials at my bloody doorstep and you are ​gone​…?” She seethes; the end of her sentence falls apart like she’s suddenly so out of breath that she can’t finish it. Then she explodes, “Why the fuck did you run off!?”

Lenore flinches. Odell’s scream rings loudly in her ears. Officials? At this time of day? Knocking on the Theatres door? It’s enough to make her heart stutter in her chest.

“Officials?” Lenore stammers, “Are you okay? What did they want? What were they doing?”

“What were ​they ​doing?” Odell hisses through the phone. “What—what were they doing...? What are ​you ​doing!? It’s eleven o’clock in the fucking morning and you haven’t slept in days! The car is still here; you walked all the way across the city in broad daylight without a word! Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been!?”

Lenore sinks into the couch, carefully holding the phone away from her ear. Her head throbs and her eyelids feel like they have hundred-pound weights attached to them.

“All right, okay, I apologize. Now, what is this about Officials at the Theatre--”

“Oh no,” Another raspy, bitter laugh reverberates through the receiver, “No, no, no. You are ​not​ getting out of this that easily. Answer my bloody questions, Lenore. Why are you at the Cocteau?”

There’s a pause as Lenore thinks over all that had happened over the course of just a few hours. Everything that had happened after she walked out those library doors. It’s a lot. Maybe a little too much for one phone call.

Still, there’s a melancholy resignation when Lenore answers, “Odell, there was… an accident with my project earlier today. I came here for some help.”

“And you didn't think to tell me before you left?”

“I…” Lenore hesitates, “I didn’t want to wake you...” It’s a lie and an obvious one at that. Why hadn’t she told Odell where she was going? Why hadn’t she told her she was leaving at all? Lenore can’t think of a good reason, only the pitiful truth. She had forgotten.

Odell, who knew her too well to buy her excuses, scoffs, There’s a shuffling sound from Odell’s end of the line. The clipping sound of walking, “Oh please. If you wanted to wake me up, you would have. Don’t give me your bullshit. You forgot about me. And I really shouldn’t be surprised! It’s not like this is the first time you’ve sidelined me; it’s not like this is the first time you’ve put your fucking work before me!”

Lenore slouches further into the cushions, “Look, can we do this later? I’ll explain everything just not over the phone--”

“Why not!?”

“Odell, please stop interrupting me. Just—are the Officials still there? I can come back--”

“Shut up!” A thump and then the smashing sound of something very fragile and probably very expensive being broken. “What is it with you; always dodging every single question--”

“I am not dodging anything!” Lenore snaps but she quickly swallows her growing annoyance. One angry person is more than enough. “I don’t want this conversation to become an argument. Besides, it’s not safe to talk like this over the phone--”

Now, Odell’s tone turns mocking, “Oh, really? Are you worried they’re tapping the phones now? Oh, paranoid little Lenore Laymon—”

Lenore panics, “Odell, don’t say—!”

“Lenore Laymon?” Odell provokes with a sadistic reverence, “You don’t want me to say your name, Lenore Laymon? Why not? You are Lenore Laymon, aren’t you? The Romilly’s disgraced dog! Quin City’s most wanted! The Theatre’s lowly hermit! Lenore Laymon, Lenore Laymon, Lenore Laymon, Lenore—!”

The black plastic of the phones cracks in her grip. The lingering effects of exhaustion muddling up her mind make this rush of anger boil unfiltered and uncontrollable.

“Odell!” The little lady almost rips the phone cord out of the base. She can’t find the words to express this volcanic rage coursing through her system, choosing instead to stumble over a few angry expressions. Finally, she presses the speaker close to her mouth and all Odell can hear is her raggedly harsh breathing. Although Lenore can’t see it, Odell flinches. The singer’s fury drains in an instant.

The little lady grits her words through her teeth in an almost inhumanly low growl. “Do not ​belittle me. Our safety is ​not​ something to scoff at, I do not​ care how angry you are with me.”

Big black dots checker her vision. The adrenaline coursing through her turn into full-brown tremors that wracked her body to her very core. She holds herself upright on the arms of the couch,

“Do you want the Theatre to get raided? Do you want all your employees to be jobless? Do you want to be arrested, tortured, murdered? Because I don’t. I don’t want that to happen to our home. I don’t want that to happen to your friends. I don’t want to lose you, but that’s exactly what will happen if we’re not careful and I’m trying to protect you! I know I’m not always good at that and I know I’m not good at expressing that to you and I’m sorry. I’m sorry, but I’m trying. I don’t want you to get hurt, I could never forgive myself--”

Lenore falters. Suddenly there’s a sharp sting in her chest. She chokes, both too much and too little air in her lungs. The heat in her head pounding like a bass drum. Her muscles ache even as her body goes lax. The living room spins.

She collapses.

The phone lands right her ear and as she blacks out, she can hear a faint voice calling her name through the receiver. And then the exhaustion swallows her up and there is nothing.

It is cold. Dark and cold. She tries to open her eyes.

Nothing. Darkness lingers.

The ground is rough against her cheek. There is a sound in her ear.

“Lenore!?”

Someone is screaming. Raspy and sweet like a honeycomb. It gives her such a headache.

And then.

Pulsing in the floorboards. A thud. The sound of a door slamming open.

“Lenore!”

It is not a whisper. It is not a shout.

Hands caress her cheeks. She feels her body lift from the roughness of the carpet.

It is less cold now. Not warm. Just less cold.

“Lenore? Open your eyes!”

She tries. She fails.

Awareness fades all the further.

One final voice echoes. It is loud and soft. She doesn’t hear it exactly.

She feels it. Her conscience made not her own.

Lenore?

Awareness returns in waves.

Lenore wakes up surrounded by softness. It takes her too many seconds to recognize that the plush ball of fabric under her head is a pillow and the hot, ruffled material draped over her is a blanket. She’s in a bed that’s way too comfortable to be her own. She shifts onto her side, burying her head into the pillow to try to ease her splitting headache.

There’s a shift on the far right end of the bed. Even though her mind is still fuzzy, Lenore hears heeled shoes clicking on the floor, getting closer and closer from the sound of it. If she was in her right mind, she would have already sprung up from the bed, knife in hand. But she doesn’t, only tensing when a distinctly slender hand caresses her hair.

“Why do you always have to make me worry about you?” A fragile voice whispers, “It’s so exhausting.”

All too soon, the hand pulls away. Lenore quickly decides that such a thing would not do. Reaching up, she jerks the hand back, nuzzling it in a way she’d normally find pathetic.

“Lenore?”

Lenore mumbles an incoherent response. She stretches underneath the too hot covers and clenches the fabric in her fist. Her other hand stays grips those slender fingers tightly. Those fingers curl around her cheek and under her chin, caressing her as if she was sleeping kitten.

“You’re such a sweetheart when you're just waking up.” The voice coos.

Finally, the little lady musters up the strength to crack her eyes open, if only a little. It’s blurry and the light stings. Luckily, the room is dim, lit only by a single candle on her bedside table. The bed is huge with heavy red drapes boxing her in on all sides except for on her right where a hazy figure leans in, shadowed by the candlelight.

The figure sits beside her. Their long raven hair makes a halo around their head as they lean over the little lady. Their skin is an ethereal weave of honey caramel and pale cream. When her eyes finally focus, Lenore is struck by the familiar glimmer of those eggshell blue eyes.

“Hey there, shapeshifter.” Odell sighs.

Lenore stares up at her. Her messy bedridden hair is like a shallow ring of fire around her ashen face. Odell is sad to see that Lenore looks like she’s about five seconds away from death's door.

“Hello, Odell.” Lenore croaks, voice rough and lips dry.

Odell continues to nuzzle her fingers against Lenore’s face. She has no idea what to say next, so she says nothing. Lenore is halfway back to sleep before Odell finally speaks.

“I’m so sorry, Lenore.” She says, “I was… I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

And Lenore, her eyes fluttering open again, is confused. The past is nothing but a blur to her at this point. Whatever Odell is apologizing for has been consigned to oblivion after her collapse. She just can’t remember.

“This… isn’t my bed...” Lenore quietly points out, “This isn’t the Theatre. Where...?”

“You’re still in the Cocteau, Lee. I came as soon as the Detective told me you had passed out.”

“And why--” Lenore stops to cough, her throat burning like she’s swallowed a pound of hot coals, “Why am I here, exactly?”

Odell laughs, gentle and self-deprecating, “I wish I knew...”

The singer reaches to the table, picking up a chilled glass of herbal tea. She guides the little lady up just enough for her to take a few shallow sips.

“You tried to tell me. I guess I wasn’t listening too well, huh?”

“Odell...”

“Shh...” She gently pushes Lenore back into the pillows, “You’re tired. Just… just go back to sleep for a while, okay? We can talk when you’re feeling a little better.”

Part of the Lenore wants to argue. The curious and stubborn part of her that always wants to know why. What is Odell apologizing for? What must she have done to convince Odell that she had done anything wrong? But then, Odell pets her hair and tucks the covers around her now too-cold body and Lenore drifts off to the soft sound of Odell humming a faint lullaby.

The singer hums a few notes of a tune she was coming dangerously close to forgetting. Lenore breathing evens out, the frown of confusion still resting on her thin face. Odell nuzzles against her one last time before she stands. The evening chair in the room's corner has a side table and on it is a tall bottle of wine. Curling herself into the seat, Odell pours herself a hefty glass and contents herself to wait until her shapeshifter awakes.

On the wall beside the bed is a large mirror. Unbeknownst to Odell, this mirror is a one-way window. From being the window, Loch and the Detective gaze into the room. Wrapped around the Detective’s arm are Belva and Astra.

Loch fidgets, eyes never straying from the bed where the Lenore lays in fitful and feverish sleep.

“Her immune system has been weakened tremendously due to fatigue and stress.” The Detective says, petting Loch’s head like one would a startled dog, “I will bring her a water-soaked cloth. As it cools, it should slowly help to bring down the fever. Odell will keep an eye on her. Keep her hydrated.”

Loch’s eye drifts to the other lady in the room. Tall with hair as long as a river. She’s sitting in a ragged navy dress, cinched and flared, with her wine glass in hand as she stares at Lenore, not unlike the way Loch was a moment ago. He turns back to the Detective, more than a few questions in his eyes.

“Odell is a friend, do not worry.” The Detective mumbles. They drift down the hallway, waving a hand that motions for Loch to follow them. “Lenore will introduce you two when she’s feeling better.”

Lock takes one last long look through the window. The white with pink flower, the one Loch now knew as Belva, reaches out to him. The other flower, pink with white and named Astra, soon does the same. Loch catches up with the Detective. Astra wraps a thin root around his delicately glowing body.

“The first day is usually the most stressful. I think it’s time we explore your abilities. I was hoping Lenore could help with this part, but as it is, well...”

Along the hallway walls, arms of stone and wood hold out the frames of eroding abstract paintings and waxen candlesticks that light their way. There are tables in front of doorways and coaches on the staircase. Furniture appears in places Loch is certain they were not in before. Hallways and bedrooms shuffle their shapes in a dreamlike fashion. The Cocteau is constantly shifting and changing for no more reason than the whims of its inhabitants. Broken apart and then haphazardly put back together again with clashing, multi-coloured glue.

The Detective takes a turn and the paper ghost follows.

The Detective hums in thought, “I think your first lesson shall be...”

~*~

It’s times like these that Odell often thinks that she’s the luckiest unlucky person in the world. For most of her childhood, she had lived a meagre existence. Little food and no money; she was reduced to begging on the streets. On the worse days, when the people passed her by with more ridicule and spite than compassion and generosity, it forced her to cheat for her fortune. Little things that couldn’t be missed; loose change in some old man’s pocket or a few bites of bread from the weak baker woman. She had to strive every day to find just enough to continue her pitiful existence.

If she had been fortunate enough to have a family at some point, she certainly couldn’t remember them now. All to be recalled now is an abandoned brothel’s cellar and a cold cardboard box for a bed. The first sixteen of her roughly twenty-six years were probably best forgotten.

A low groan. It shakes Odell from her thoughts. Still holding her half-full glass, the singer takes a seat at Lenore’s bedside. Odell meets the hazel eyes of the little lady; she is both relieved and anxious to find them clear and alert, much more so than they had been an hour earlier. Lenore squints. Her pinched expression eases when she catches sight of the singer.

“Drink,” Odell says, bringing a cup of tea to Lenore’s dry lips.

Lenore does as she’s told before she weakly tries to pull herself up by her elbows, only managing to sit up a few extra centimetres. Yet even as she struggles, her expression stays calm. Once she’s settled, Lenore eyes Odell’s wine glass. Half-empty.

“... Becoming a morning drinker now?” She mutters, the cautious twinkle in her eyes letting Odell know that she is just as uneasy about their upcoming conversation as the singer is. It’s a poor attempt at a jest but the effort is appreciated.

Odell grins, “I’m an always drinker, Lenore. It’s not like we have much of a choice in the matter.”

The little lady grimaces.

“So,” Lenore breathes, “I do believe I owe you an explanation.”

“Yeah. But to be fair, I guess I owe you one too.” Odell mumbles, “Do you want to go first?”

Lenore looks down at her lap, “Not really. Do you?”

“You know I don’t.” Odell rests her back against the headboard, taking a long sip of her wine. She smiles a little against the rim of the glass as an idea comes to her. She puts her glass down on the side table and from her dress pocket, she pulls out a copper coin.

Odell smirks, “Well, let’s flip a coin then. Two out of three; loser has to start.”

The little lady raises an elegant eyebrow, “... You’re stalling. You know that, right?”

“Yes, I am!” Odell smiles, “Heads or tails, darling? Or are you volunteering to open up and talk about your feelings first?”

With feigned reluctance, Lenore grumbles, “Heads.”

Odell flips the coin with a smirk.

It lands on heads. Odell pouts at her first loss.

She flips again. Tails. Her pout turns into a smirk.

Last round; the coin lands on heads and Lenore is crowned the winner.

Odell sighs. “Fuck.”

Lenore settles herself back into the bed cushions, somehow exhausted from such little movement. She hated being like this, so tired and weak and frail. It wasn't in her nature to stay in place for so long.

“You launched the coin on the tails side, making it 1% more likely to land on tails. But, since I know that you tend to invert the coin onto your other palm when you reveal it, it was more likely that the coin would end up being heads. Luckily for me, you flipped from tails two out of three--” Lenore broke into a coughing fit, her throat itching from all this talking.

Odell gives her another sip of tea with a shake of her head. “Geez, it was a coin toss, not bloody chess. It’s supposed to be random.”

The little lady grumbles under her breath. Then her gaze becomes tender, or at least as tender as her ever-vigilant visage could get.

“What did they want? The Officials, I mean.” Lenore asks.

“Ah, so you remember now. You were pretty out of it when you first woke up.”

“First? I don’t remember--”

“Don’t worry about it. You were pretty delirious.” Wrapping an arm around Lenore’s shoulders, Odell smiles a sweet, wistful smile. “You know, when we first met I would have never taken you for a cuddler.”

Lenore levels the singer with a cool glare even as she feels her cheeks go hot.

“Anyway, about this morning,” Odell digs her hand into the pocket of her dress coat, producing an unmarked letter, indistinguishable or the one they’d received the day before. She smirks bitterly as she hands it to Lenore. “They nearly gave Jason a heart attack, I’ve never seen him so shaken. One of them showed up at the door but you could hear the rest of them. That creepy scratching sound they make was echoing throughout the courtyard. They were trying to intimidate me, that much was obvious. I don’t know why they’d bother for such a nothing little letter.”

Lenore listens along as she read the letter. It was considerably shorter than the first one.

“In Regards to Quin City’s most esteemed Theater,

This letter is written in concern for your theatre’s lack of a reply to our invitation to perform at this annual new year’s dinner. Given the silence on your part, we, Quin City’s most refined and gracious rulers, the House of Romilly, have chosen to send this letter as a reminder.

Please send your acceptance to us by way of our city’s law enforcement, our highborn and noble officials, so we may prepare for your arrival with haste.

With reverence of the highest esteem and consideration,

The House of Romilly”

“How odd...” Lenore muses. Folding the letter in half, she sends Odell a questioning look. “That’s all they were there for? From what you said, I’d thought they were there for bloody murder.”

Odell's face clouds with something not unlike guilt.

“Yeah… I just… Lenore.” She lies onto her side so she’s nose to nose with little lady, her arm still carefully wrapped around her, “When Mr. Tanner came back and told me you were missing and the Officials were just waiting around the Theatre… They were surrounding us. They didn’t give me any sign as to why they were there, no matter how many times I asked, for such a long time… I assumed the worst.”

“Oh...” Lenore frowns. “Odell, I...”

Odell’s grip on Lenore tightens, “I thought you’d run off again, as you do, and gotten yourself caught. You’ve been so… distracted this past week, I wouldn’t have been surprised if it had come back to bite you. And then, they gave me the letter, and it had nothing to do with you. So I went back inside, and I checked your room. Your Clara mask was missing. It hit me. With how stressed out you were about the first letter, where else would you go other than to the Detective? So I gave them a call.”

Lenore smiles weakly, “Quite the detective work.”

“Well, don't go mistaking me for D. I’m nowhere near their level.” Odell chuckles, “Or yours for that matter. Anyway, I sent back a letter of confirmation because they clearly weren’t going to take no for an answer and you know the rest of the story. I called, I yelled, you fainted, I’m here.”

The singer shrugs, trying to play off all the worry and anger she’d felt mere hours ago like it had been nothing. That simply wouldn’t do. After all, having one emotionally stagnant person was enough for one relationship.

“Thank you for coming,” Lenore says, “And for taking care of me. The Detective has other things to worry about than me.”

“They care in their own way. Besides,” Odell frowns, “It’s my fault you collapsed, anyway.”

“No,” Lenore firmly denounces. She cups the singer’s cheek and Odell cringes at how warm her skin feels. The little lady’s face is pink and her brow glistens with sweat. Part of Odell wants to leave, go ask the Detective for a medical kit or at least a wet cloth to ease the fever, but Lenore’s grip and fierce gaze keep her still.

“That was not and never will be your fault.” There’s a calm steadiness to Lenore’s voice, “I overworked myself. You are not responsible for my faults.”

Pity paints Odell’s expression and Lenore’s proud heart gives an annoyed jerk at the notion. She tempers herself. Thinking it over, her current condition was rather pitiful.

“You were stressed,” Odell argues, “I should have tried to support you, but instead all I did was mock you.”

“You have supported me. Besides, you and I both know there’s no reasoning with me when I’m in a mood. And I did abandon you without a word. Look,” Lenore tries to give Odell an uplifting smile, “I apologize and I forgive you, all right?”

The singer gives her a long hard look, searching for any traces of anger or resentment in Lenore’s features. She finds it as she always does; Lenore’s brows are forever crinkled even when she isn’t frowning and her eyes were still untrusting and pained. But Odell is relieved to find that none of this is directed to her and so she sighs. She picks up Lenore’s tea and the little lady downs it in one gulp.

“Now then,” Lenore says, “I suppose it’s time for my side of the story.”

Odell snuggles into the cushions. They’re lying close enough to feel the rise and fall of each other’s chests. Lenore coughs into her elbow, sitting up as straight as her body would let her. Subtly, she snuggles into Odell’s shoulder, hoping the singer doesn’t notice.

“You left me a little present before you left the library this morning. Couldn’t find any blankets?” Odell teases.

“... I didn’t want you to feel chilled. The library can get quite cold.”

The singer hums, running her fingers through Lenore’s pretty red hair.

“Well then,” Lenore begins, “A little while after I left the library I returned to my room but when I arrived....”

~*~

“Wow. It’s like every crazy thing that can ever happen is drawn to you like a magnet. I don’t know how you do it.”

Lenore sighs, “It’s a talent, I suppose.”

It had taken a good few minutes, filled with many breaks when fatigue threatened to overcome the little lady, but Odell was soon caught up on all that had happened. It never ceased to surprise her how much trouble Lenore could get herself into in just a few short hours.

“And here I thought you only came here because of that letter.” Odell shakes her head as she rises from the bed. She had been sitting for so long, curled against Lenore, that her legs are aching. “So, this Loch kid...”

“Yes?”

“You're connected to him? Because you added his remains into your cauldron, mixing it with your own blood?”

“As far as I can tell, yes.”

“And the boy the raccoons sent to collect your ingredients, he was the one who brought the boy’s remains?”

“Yes...” Where is Odell going with this? Considering the oddness of the tale Lenore had just told, the singer is weirdly calm.

Stretching, Odell puts down her now empty glass, “So what you're saying is, because of some brat I hired, the new compound you’ve been working on for over three weeks failed. You then forced yourself to travel across the city along the busiest roads at one of the busiest times of the day and drove yourself into a fever from exhaustion. You accidentally resurrected a dead boy.”

Oh. Oh no. Now Lenore knows where this is going. She grimaces, trying in vain to stop the inevitable storm, “Now Odell, it’s really isn't as bad as all that--”

Odell’s wine glass goes hurtling across the room where it shatters apart against the window, spreading droplets of wine and glass everywhere.

“That slimy, good-for-nothing son of a bitch!” Odell screech, red-faced and furious, “I should have known! I should’ve bloody known!”

She picks up the porcelain teapot, nearly empty, flinging it hard against the corner of a bookshelf. Lenore casually reaches over and snags her teacup, saving it from Odell’s furious rampage. She takes a sip. The tea is cold now. In hindsight, Lenore shouldn't be surprised. There really is no calm one in their relationship.

“The minute those bloody thieves introduced me to that little fiend; his stupid, arrogant look and annoyingly whiny voice!”

“How does his voice have anything to do with this?” Lenore’s interjection is ignored.

Odell makes her voice high and squeaky, mockingly ranting, “‘Oh, of course, miss. Right away, miss. I won’t let you down, miss. How generous of you, miss.’ That snot-nosed halfwit!”

“Easy there, feisty. Let’s take a breath…”

“When I get my hands on him I’m going to wring his bloody neck!”

“Odell, I really do need the boy alive.” Lenore finishes the last of her tea and pulls the covers away from herself.

“Oh, he’ll live.” The singer seethes, “I’ll just strangle him till he’s nearly dead, revive him, and then strangle him again. What could he have been thinking!? Oh look, a rotting corpse! Ain’t that a treat, better get me some that! In fact, a gift like this ought to be shared! I’m not gonna tell them what’s in it, though, because I’m an evil little brat! It’ll be a fun little surprise!”

Odell would have continued had a thump not interrupted her, quickly followed by a low groan. Spinning around, she sees Lenore, out of bed and on her knees, hunched over and panting.

“Hey!” Odell dashes over to her side, “What are you doing? Get back in bed!”

Lenore coughs, “I’ve — been in bed — for forever. I am fine — I’m just a little — dizzy.”

“That’s because you’re sick! Get back in bed!” Laying a hand on the small of Lenore’s back, Odell tries to guide her back onto the bed. Lenore bats her hands away. She grabs onto the singer by her shoulder and pushes herself to her feet.

“Stop it. Let me lean on you and help me downstairs.”

“No, you need to rest!”

“I will rest. But this room is starting to feel cramped. I want to go downstairs.”

Odell glares. She doesn’t move for a moment, staring Lenore down. It’s difficult to tell what is stronger, Odell’s temper or Lenore’s stubbornness. Eventually, Odell has to admit defeat.

She grumbles, “Your room is twice as small.”

“True, but my room doesn’t usually have broken glass everywhere, so...”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Besides,” Lenore says, “I need to introduce you to the kid. I think you’ll like him.”

The two of them wobble their way down the hall. It doesn’t take a detective to guess where the Detective and Loch have disappeared to. Lenore knows exactly where she’ll find them.

The Laboratory.