Peter made his way down the Cirque du Chânce, heading home after his lunch with the House Laws people. They were all low-level Family members like Appollon whom he’d interact with in the course of his job, though they seemed mildly uncomfortable with the deal Appollon had made. From Peter’s viewpoint that was ideal. He’d have known he was in trouble if they were happy.

On the business side, the work seemed interesting. They spent some time going over the family’s financial holdings, which were, to put it mildly, extensive. While each Family had built their initial wealth on the back of the innovation for which they were named, they had diversified significantly since then. That provided significant income for the family, yet only represented the tip of the iceberg. The real strength of Palmyre’s economy came from The Palmyrian Trading Company—a joint operation run by the city’s six most powerful Families: Laws, Machina, Equus, Glass, Dye, and Arbor, in that order. The Family members hadn’t spoken a great deal about the inner workings of the trading company, but what they did say was interesting. It wouldn’t be a focus of his initial work, though, as he got the impression it was too sensitive for a newbie like himself. In the early going he would simply focus on the Family holdings. It was probably for the best. His Accounting Skill was significant in a culture that lacked formalized non-magical education, but he was still just a guy with a degree who ran a farm.

As Peter walked down the street, he happened to look through the window of a pub-style restaurant. Much to his surprise, he recognized one of the patrons.

“Angela?” he said, peering through the street-facing service window. His daughter was sitting at the counter with an empty plate in front of her, and when she heard his voice she looked up in confusion. Spotting him through the window, she gave him a big smile.

“Dad!” she said, waving him inside. “Come on in.”

He obliged her request, making his way in through the heavy wooden door and heading over to where she sat at the bar. She gave him a once-over, then gestured at his new clothes with her wooden fork. “Nice threads.”

He chuckled, looking down at the clothing Appolon had bought him before their lunch. “Apparently, around here they give you the job before dressing you up for the interview.” He glanced around the room, noting with some surprise that Angela was the only non-beastkin patron in the restaurant. “So, what is this place?”

“It’s called The Beasts’ Feasts,” she said. “Cool name, huh? I don’t have a huge sample size, but I’ll go ahead and say it’s the best place for vegetarian food in the whole city.”

“You’re too kind,” the beastkin behind the counter said. He tipped his head in Peter’s direction. “The father of a druid, you must be very proud.”

“I am,” Peter said, grinning at the compliment towards his daughter. And he was. Before they were stolen from Earth, Angela had stated one goal: To become a druid. And she’d managed it. Even if she died in the process, he was willing to enact his father’s prerogative to be proud of the accomplishment regardless.

“Can I get you a bite to eat?” the beastkin bartender asked. “Your daughter seems to have enjoyed the food.” Then he did a double take at Angela empty plate. “Gods, you even ate the garnish.”

“Which one was the garnish?” Angela asked.

“If you don’t know, I’m charging you for it next time.”

Peter smiled. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ve just come from lunch. I saw my daughter through the window and figured I’d pop inside and see what she was up to.”

“Next time then,” he said, giving Peter a nod.

Peter nodded to Angela. “I’m heading home. Care to keep me company?”

“You bet,” she said. She pulled some coins out of her pocket and counted them out, then got a quizzical look. “Hey Barnaby, is tipping a thing here?”

A minotaur at the back of the room slammed his drink down on the table. “Just because a guy sleeps standing up doesn’t mean it’s funny to—”

“No, not that!” Angela said. “Where I come from, it’s customary to give a bit of extra money when you’re at a restaurant. Like, ‘thanks for the meal.’”

“You mean baksheesh?” Barnaby asked, eyebrows pursing together. “I’ve heard of it in other countries, but you don’t want to do it here. Every coin spent in Palmyre is tracked and taxed, with no exceptions. If you want to break the law in this city, you’d be better off killing someone than messing with taxes.”

“Uh, okay. Duly noted,” Angela said. She put the coins onto the counter, then winced as she counted what remained. “Yeesh. I hope your job pays well, dad. I think druids are supposed to live off the land.” She got a pensive look. “Although I did find some mushrooms that present an intriguing business opportunity….”

“I did get a job, actually, so let’s just put a pin in that career as a druglord,” he said. “With the silverware money to tide us over, we should be fine until I start collecting an income. Although it will be tight until everyone else finds work.”

“Well that’s good news,” Angela said, groaning as she got out of the chair. “Ugh. Any chance you brought a wheelbarrow to carry me home in? I don’t think I’ve ever eaten so much.”

“Sorry, kiddo. We just aren’t a ‘wheelbarrow home from the restaurant’ kind of family.”

“Boooo…” Angela said, giving him a mock glare.

Peter pulled open the door and held it for his daughter, who surprised him by waving at the entire restaurant on her way out.

“Bye, Barnaby!” she shouted. “I’ll definitely be back. See you, everyone! And thanks for the cutlery.” The patrons shouted out acknowledgment as she left, banging their glasses on the table until she was outside.

Peter looked at his daughter in confusion. “Making friends?”

“I’m a very likable person,” she said, giving him a casual shrug before heading down the street. He chuckled in response, shaking his head. He loved his daughter, but he knew she was an acquired taste.

The pair headed south down the Cirque du Chânce, chatting amiably about the events of their respective days. Peter was happy to tell her about his successful dealings with House Laws, and it sounded like she’d also gotten an unexpected lead.

“…and I had no idea something like that existed in Palmyre!” she said excitedly. “Can you imagine? A Druid Grove? Barnaby’s wife said I should head there at dawn to see if I can get some help with my magic issues.”

“You? At dawn?” he said.

“I know, right?” she groaned. “Barf. But clearly druids have a thing for dawn, as evidenced by this frigging Trait that won’t let me sleep in. Hey, stop laughing!”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it!” he said, trying to keep his composure.

She glared at him. “Aaanyway, I have a quest to get a weapon appropriate for a druid and I figure a trip to the Grove might help out on that front. How about you? Who’d you get a job with?”

“House Laws. It was surprisingly easy.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, but I was able to avoid fully entwining myself with them in a legal sense,” he noted. “They didn’t seem too happy about it, but apparently my Skill set is highly sought—”

“Dad? Is that mom?” Angela said, her voice full of concern as she pointed down the street. Peter followed her gaze and was shocked to see a listless Beth shuffling down the street with a bent-over old woman guiding her steps.

Without another word, Peter began shoving his way through the crowd, ignoring the shouts and glares of the people they elbowed out of the way.

“Beth?” he called out as they approached. “Is everything okay?” She didn’t respond. Just continued her shuffle down the street, eyes staring ahead.

Peter swung his gaze to the woman beside her. “Who are you? What happened to her?”

“And who might you be?” the woman said calmly.

“I’m her husband!” he snapped. “Now, please, what happened?”

The woman looked closely at him, and Peter realized she was inspecting him. Seemingly satisfied, the elderly woman sighed and nodded. “She was mugged down by the docks.”

“Mugged?” Angela said in alarm. “Is she okay?”

“That depends on your definition,” the woman said, worry deepening the wrinkles on her face. “I fear the event was rather traumatic. Physically, she’s fine, but…Perhaps you should hear it from her when she’s ready.”

Peter’s gut dropped. “What do you mean by ‘physically fine?’”

“I mean, they didn’t lay a hand on her,” the woman said. “She’s a fighter, that one.”

“Mom? A fighter?” Angela scoffed. “Not a chance. Right dad? Dad…?”

Peter didn’t answer. Like the old woman said: it was a story for Beth to tell when she was ready.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t even know your name,” he said, ignoring Angela’s question. “How did you end up involved with all this?”

“My name is Cara. I run an orphanage not far from where the mugging occurred,” she said. “One of the children saw what happened and followed your wife when she ran away. She happened to flee in the direction of our building, so we took her in off the street to make sure she couldn’t be found if her attackers followed her. Although I suspect she wasn’t pursued.” She patted Beth on the back and gave her a concerned look. “She’s been like this since she showed up. We managed to get her name and where she lives, but not much besides that. I hoped that if I brought her back home, I could find a loved one to care for her. It sounds like that’s you, but would you mind if I accompany you the rest of the way? After guiding her this far, I’d prefer to see her journey through to the end.”

Peter looked at her with concern. He knew nothing about this woman, and she wanted him to show her where their family lived?

“Dad!” Angela said, picking up on his hesitancy. “This woman isn’t some secret assassin. If anything, we should be finding out where her orphanage is so we can make a donation.”

Peter shook off the momentary cloud of paranoia and nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Cara. Of course you can come. And my name is Peter, by the way.”

Cara gave a fatalistic shrug. “This is Palmyre. You’re right to be paranoid. That’s why I’m loathe to simply hand her off to you, after all.”

The woman let Peter take Beth’s arm, and he began guiding her down the street towards their home. They got occasional odd looks from people they passed, but he ignored them. All that mattered was getting Beth home safely.

As they walked, Beth leaned into him. That was good. It meant she wasn’t wholly catatonic. She didn’t respond to any verbal cues, though, even when Angela kept prodding her with increasingly urgent questions. It got to the point where Peter had to tell her to cut it out, since all she was doing was getting herself more wound up. His daughter wasn’t good with emotion, preferring jokes and obscenities to outright dealing with her feelings, and that left her particularly ill-equipped for any situation where silence was the appropriate response.

It could only last so long, however.

“Aaargh!” Angela suddenly burst. “Why isn’t Grandpa Jack here! He’d know what to do.”

Beth’s head moved, the mention of Grandpa Jack bringing forth the first reaction since Peter and Angela had found her.

“Grandpa Jack,” she whispered, shaking her head slightly. “How does he manage?”

Her words trailed off as she returned to her previous state of detachment. Peter wanted to ask what she meant, but they had just arrived at the house, so it would have to wait.

“I’ll leave you now,” Cara said, patting Beth on the back. “I’ll say a prayer for your wife and mother, okay? You can find me at the Orphanage of Ádhmór if you need me.”

“Thank you, Cara. We won’t forget it,” Peter said. He waved goodbye to the woman, then helped Beth through the door as Angela held it open.

“Hey guys!” Mark said, walking down the hall towards them. As soon as he saw Beth, he froze. “What’s going on? What happened?”

“It’s mom,” Angela said anxiously. “Something happened when she was in the Port District. Physically she’s fine but mentally she’s all whacked out and I don’t know why that would happen and I’m really freaking out so I don’t know what to do or if I should try and do some rune stuff or—”

“Calm down, Angela. It’s going to be fine,” Peter said.

“You don’t know that! You shouldn’t have let her go there alone!”

That stung, particularly since he had been thinking the same thing. “Everyone we spoke to said the main roads were as safe as anywhere in the city, Angie, you know that.”

“I don’t care!” she snapped. “She shouldn’t have been down there alone, no matter what! This is Palmyre, not San Die—”

“Hey!” Mark barked out sharply. He gave them a pointed look. “Before we start playing the blame game, you should know there’s someone else here.”

He gestured down the hall, and Peter discovered a young black woman standing in the door to the back yard, looking at them curiously. She was around the same age as his kids, but unlike them, she was dressed in business clothing similar to that of the women he’d met during his lunch with House Laws.

As for why she was in his house, he had no idea.

“Naomi?” Angela asked. “What are you doing here?”

Peter looked at his daughter in surprise. “You know this woman?”

She nodded. “She’s a mage we met at the college yesterday.”

Christ almighty, Peter thought, gritting his teeth. The last thing Beth would want right now was a spectator.

Shaking his head, he guided his wife towards the sun-filled back yard. “Sorry, but now isn’t the best time,” he said to the woman as his determined path forced her to step out into the yard so Peter and Beth could pass through the doorway. It was a not-so-subtle signal that the woman had no trouble picking up on.

“Yes. My apologies. I will come back later,” the woman said. Once Peter passed, he heard her quietly ask Mark, “This is your mother?”

“Yes, it is,” Peter said tautly, answering for his son. “And unless you can do something to help, Mark will be seeing you out now.”

Naomi nodded and made to leave, but Angela grabbed her by the arm before she could go anywhere.

“Wait. Is there something you can do?” Angela asked with evident desperation. “I mean…you’re a mage, right?”

The woman hesitated, then looked at Mark for some reason. His eyebrows pursed together, but he gave her a nod. She nodded in return and looked at Peter.

“Do you know what happened to her?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No, that’s part of the problem. We found her like this.”

“Just wandering around?”

“No. A woman was helping her get home. She said Mark’s mom was mugged near the docks but somehow managed to get away.”

“She was mugged?” Mark asked incredulously.

“That’s what the woman said. According to her, Beth wasn’t physically hurt, but whatever happened shook her badly.”

Naomi’s brow wrinkled. She glanced at Peter. “Do I have your permission to use magic?” she asked, gesturing towards Beth.

“Are you going to do something to her?” he asked.

“No, it is purely for assessing whether there is anything I can do to help.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded, but made sure to watch the woman closely. Much to his surprise, instead of doing a bunch of hand waving and gibberish words, her pupils simply glowed a faint orange for a few seconds as she peered at Beth. When her eyes returned to normal, Naomi nodded and addressed the family as a whole.

“Let me be clear: I am not a cleric,” she said. “I cannot address her symptoms. What I can do is tell you what happened, if that is of interest.”

“Really?” Peter said incredulously.

“Yes. My specialty is Tome magic, and what you see in your own Tomes is but a fraction of the knowledge hidden beneath the surface. By looking into that deeper layer, I believe I can reconstruct the incident. The required spell is at the highest end of my abilities, but from what I can tell, your wife is under no magical effects that might block my scrying. Do I have your permission to continue?”

Peter frowned. “Isn’t that a bit invasive?”

She shrugged. “I wouldn’t say so. I won’t be reading your wife’s Tome information directly, rather, I’ll be looking at the external events that affected it. The inputs, not the outcomes, so to speak. From that, I can extrapolate the events that led to her current state.”

“In that case, please, find out what happened,” he said.

Before the woman could approach Beth, Mark interposed himself between the two and said something to Naomi quietly, but with a fierce expression. The woman nodded and said something back, prompting Mark to back off and allow her to step closer to Beth.

“Can she sit?” Naomi asked. Peter wasn’t sure, but when he gently applied pressure to his wife’s shoulder, she obliged, lowering herself to the ground and sitting with her legs splayed out in front of her. Naomi then placed herself opposite Beth, cross-legged with their knees almost touching, and manifested her own large, ornate Tome in her lap.

Opening her Tome up to a blank page, Naomi produced a charcoal pencil and began to draw.