"I declare us bosom friends," Poppy announced as she made her way around the room, picking up one book or another to take with her. Her shift had come to an end, and now Emery had to watch over Fosse until the break of dawn. 

"Very well," Fosse replied, accepting a swift, but tight embrace from the teen. A warm smile spread out on his sharp features as he watched her retreat toward the door. 

Emery sulked toward the loveseat and hunkered down, her shoulders defeated. "What are you two going on about?" she half groaned, half mumbled out while she buried her face in between her tucked knees. 

"After a thorough interrogation about my entire existence, we read Anne of Green Gables," Fosse boasted. "And so, we're bos—"

"Yeah, got it." Emery lifted her suddenly heavy head to stare at them. They had spent their entire day reading while she had been facing conflict upon conflict. "Good for you," she pushed out through bared teeth. 

"Poppy's quite the storyteller, you should hear her."  

"I could stay and read it again . . . or read something else," she offered, taking a small step away from the door, her eyes big and bright.

Though it wasn't particularly uncomfortable, she was ever-conscious of the Song of Water tucked into her back pocket. Her possession of it felt like a ticking bomb, beeping down the seconds until someone noticed the imprint of the extra key on her backside. She wished she'd dragged down her bag with her when she snuck out of Mrs. Baker's, but she had been in such a rush. Now she didn't have her satchel nor her bandages to hide the key away

If Poppy saw the Song of Water, it would bring on another shower of questions whose answers weren't certain. They were as hazy and unknown as Theo's honesty. 

They'd have to bond over storytime at another moment. Right now, she needed to speak to Fosse. She could only hope he'd help settle her indecision.

"No. Thanks, Poppy, but you should go and get some rest," Emery replied, turning her gaze to Fosse. The siren narrowed his eyes at her, the irises glowing under the light of the torches. 

From the edge of her eye, she saw Poppy slump her shoulders and make her exit, letting go of a discouraged "See you later" before she closed the entrance behind her. 

Fosse immediately proceeded to take off his shirt. Only when it was halfway up his chest did he think to look at Emery and ask, "Do you mind?"

After a tired groan she replied, "Pants stay on," and the siren peeled off the tight clothing to hurl it away. 

A sigh of sheer satisfaction escaped him while he rolled up the legs of his pants to his knees and nestled down on the hard, uncomfortable-looking stone floor. "What's troubling our little gatekeeper? Ready to open up your heart?"

Like a desperate gasp for air, she said, "Yes." 

The siren sat up in a rush. Astonishment pulled at his eyelids.

"If opening up my heart means settling the half a dozen decisions looming around my head, then yes. Help me," she said. "How do I do it?"

His black pupils grew, nearly swallowing up his golden irises as his gaze darted around her features. "All you have to do is speak to me . . . in absolute earnest."

Emery slid off the seat to sit crossed legged in front of him. "And what I tell you won't leave this room?"

"Only in song," he told her before stretching his mouth into a less warm, much more sinister smile. "Unless my life is in danger. Survival lies in knowledge as much as it does in strength, you know."

She gave him a tight nod in response before reaching into her back pocket and getting the Song of Water. She held it against her chest as she told him, "This is how this is going to work: I answer a question, and then you answer one of mine."

His eyes moved to the key and then back to her. He didn't hesitate before asking, "The boy—the fireborn . . . tell me . . . is he Vareus' son?"

Another nod. 

Fosse laughed heartily, letting his back fall against the stone as his flat stomach shook with each chuckle. "Vareus actually bore a devil spawn. Who in their right mind would ever lay with that beast?"

"What did you see . . . when you looked into Theo's heart?" she asked.

He turned his head toward the loveseat, his flaxen hair spilling over the dark floor. "Give me my fiddle," he told her, pointing behind her. She obliged, watching as he laid the instrument against his neck and raised the bow against its taut strings. 

A slow melody poured out; its haunting whine causing Emery to cringe. The small fragment of song rose to a crescendo, the notes seeming choppy and hasty. His bow's rhythm increased from a gentle caress to harsh swings and bashes. One note crashed into the other with fervent anger, but somehow still kept its original soul-stirring melody. Fosse let out one last, long note, before setting the bow and fiddle down next to him.

After hearing his song, the room felt quieter than before. Empty . . . Void.

"Longing plagues the boy's heart." Fosse said, "He loves or loved, and it's been taken away from him. So, instead of suffering through it, he cast his heart to the shadows. Better to feel nothing than to suffer. I've seen it many times before."

Someone he loves . . . Is that person why he suddenly wanted to run away and join the House. But what if he'd already lost this person, and this was just some weird power-play? 

"My turn," Fosse started, sitting up once more and dragging himself closer to Emery. He stared her down, his eyes reading her innermost feelings. Emery tried her best to remain still as if that would help him get a better reading on her heart. "What you want most of all . . . you used to have it, and now it's lost. What was it?"

"Hell if I know. My gate. Or my sanity? Or both." she joked and strayed off into some awkward laughs which Fosse did not share. He was too focused on studying her features. 

"No, it's not that. It is immaterial . . . symbolic, but it's not that."

Her heart thumped in fierce anticipation as he seemed to piece things together. "Do you see what it is?" she whispered. 

"Not yet. And you just wasted your question," he beamed. Emery wanted to protest, but he was already spouting off the next question. "What are your plans with the boy? Does he mean to invade Izoven as his father once intended?"

Emery bit her lip. "I don't know. We intended to fix the fire gate and go our separate ways. I didn't—I guess, I don't still—know what his intentions are." The siren nodded along to her words, and she wondered how many judgments were passing through his thoughts. "He approached me tonight, saying how he wants to join the House, possibly try to uncurse himself in a more passive way or . . . to make amends. I'm not sure. He's either a hell of an actor or has some kind of uberly-frustrating double personality." 

"You want to know if you can trust him . . . I've told you before; the heart does not lie."

"As if you'd let me forget it, but I can't read hearts. Your point?"

"Back in the forest, your aggression toward him broke through every wall around his true feelings. And at that moment, although there was much anger and resentment, none of it was towards you."

"So, he's indifferent toward me. Big whoop," she dismissed his words. "So am I."

His lips once again moved to reveal a big, toothy grin. "Silly gatekeeper. It's not indifference I mean. He's as conflicted as you are, maybe more so. It's possible his longing was for an escape or . . . someone to trust."

"He hasn't done anything to earn trust."

"Maybe he doesn't know how."

"A lot of maybes and possibles here . . . They aren't exactly encouraging."

"Then I suppose it all boils down to a leap of faith."

A humorless laugh erupted out of her throat. "I'm done with those. They've given me too many problems. You being one of them."

"Then say no."

"No . . ." she repeated the word and tried to think of what its consequences might be. Why did this decision lie on her shoulders? 

"Purpose!" the siren burst out, leaning forward to cup Emery's cheeks between his iridescent hands. He planted a stale kiss on top of her head before picking up his fiddle. "It's purpose, Emery."

"Purpose? What—" Emery didn't get a chance to finish her question as Fosse began stringing together loose notes and melodies. 

"That's why I couldn't see your truest desire. You don't have one. You want one. You want to feel the need to be," he rambled, trailing off into another set of musical fragments. "You want your purpose to be clear."

"I have a purpose . . . It's—" she stopped herself mid-sentence, realizing that the purpose she'd uttered for years now seemed well beyond her reach. That quaint and occasionally eventful life as a police officer in Wimborne could never be hers. 

Her purpose was now imposed on her—the House of Fire's gatekeeper. The sense of loyalty and destiny she felt toward Izoven could be boiled down to genetic disposition—a birth-given admiration. But she didn't want this, not really . . . Not yet, anyway.

At least she knew she wanted to want it. Why else would she get herself involved in reckless situations that would ultimately prove her worth? Or at least prove that she was meant for this, that it had some bigger . . . 

"Purpose," she voiced out, bringing a hand to her lips as if she could still feel the whispered syllables pouring out of her mouth. 

Fosse knelt down once again and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Oh, but don't you see, my little gatekeeper? I was right! We've only just tapped into your potential. Your song has a magnificent beginning. Once you realize what you are and will be, it'll be a masterpiece! A musical blessing equivalent to Acacia's Lullaby."

Emery flinched. "Acacia?"

With a loud, reverberating thud, the door to their little sanctuary burst open, sending stray pieces of parchment and paper fluttering about. Emery flew to her feet, tucking the Song of Water deep into her back pocket. Her heart beat erratically with visions of any other House member finding her with the siren. 

Only when she saw Poppy storm in and grab her by the wrist did she get some sense of relief. But the girl's blatant distress prevented Emery from being completely at ease. 

"We need to go," Poppy said, dragging her toward the door with surprising strength. "We'll be back later, Fosse."

"What's wrong?" the siren asked, his excitement bubbling down to worry. 

"I didn't know. I didn't get the messages because I was down here. They'll be so mad and suspicious," she rambled before pulling her out the doorway. "C'mon, Emery! Pick up the pace. Lila's waiting for us."

"Poppy, what happened?" Emery asked, yanking her arm back to set both hands on either of her shoulders. 

Poppy nervously fidgeted with the ends of her air as she nervously gazed around the room. 

"It's Mave."

⤝◈◈◈◈◈⤞

"What are the odds of you two not receiving my messages or calls and then appearing at the same time?" Lila asked as she pulled up at a tall house, a few streets away from Mrs. Baker's. She cast Emery a sideways glance before jamming the car in park. "Especially you, Poppy. You always answer quickly, no matter how late it is."

"What's wrong with Mave?" Emery asked for the third time and received no answer from either one of her companions. 

Lila continued her impromptu interrogation, "You know, Asher might've mentioned something about seeing you two together this morning, and seeing Emery in some weird—"

"Oh, that turd can mind his business!" Poppy exploded, letting go of an annoyed harrumph before crossing her arms and falling back deeper into the car seat. "I hate him. He thinks he's invincible ever since he started getting in your pants."

"Poppy!" Lila exclaimed, turning around in her seat to give her a savage glare. Emery could've sworn the small blonde hairs on her temples rose up like an angry cat's. 

"What?! It's the truth!" she retorted. "Asher's awful!"

"Well, that's none of your business!" 

"I care! It's my business to care," Poppy screamed. "Asher's just being a Noisy Nancy! He's no good for you. He's no good for this town. He's no good. Period."

Lila's cheeks were beginning to grow a slight shade of pink. From anger or embarrassment, Emery couldn't tell. Probably a bit—or a lot—of both. 

"Oscar was better," the girl added. 

Lila's glare softened at the words, and her body slumped into a defeated position. "You never even met Oscar."

"Don't have to. Anything is better than that dud. Besides, Mave's told me enough to know that Oscar was great."

"He's gone. I've moved on, Poppy." She straightened up and took the keys out of the ignition. 

"Hell of a rebound to pick," she replied in a very audible whisper. 

Lila let her hands fall against her lap and let out a tired sigh. "Get out of the car, please. I don't want to talk about this."

"That's just great, Lila. Let's just never talk about anything and bottle up all our emotions. That's healthy!" Poppy continued to mutter a thorough sequence of complaints while throwing the door open and slamming it behind her with unnecessary force. 

Emery remained awkwardly still, gazing as Lila rubbed her knuckles against her eyes. 

Though it made her nervous, she couldn't resist saying, "Would it be out of place for me to ask who Oscar is?"

"Yes." Lila gave her a frown before opening the car door. "Now, get out. We're late."

In two seconds flat, Emery was out the car and walking up the narrow, short driveway to an incredibly ordinary Bellenau home. Its wooden walls were not painted, and—unlike Mrs. Baker's—there wasn't a single plant or flower in the garden, just patches of unkempt grass and shrubbery. A broken flower pot laid close to the stairs. Weeds had claimed the pieces as their own, wrapping their long, leafy arms over the brick-red porcelain. 

"Is this where Mave and Melinda live?" Emery asked, noticing the way the porch's roof was uneven and droopy, probably the result of a roof leak that was never fixed. 

"Sometimes. They're rarely here. Beware of dust bunnies and cobwebs upon entering," Lila said while she jogged up the few steps to the porch. 

"Where are they . . . when they're not here?" 

"We're just full of questions today, aren't we?" She raised a closed fist to land three slow knocks on the door before giving Emery a look over her shoulder. "Like most of us, they'd rather be anywhere but Bellenau."

The front door swooped open with a grinding creak. Melinda stood on the other side, her hair twisted up into a large, unruly nest. "You're late."

"Sorry. I had some trou—"

"It's worse," Melinda spit out before whipping back around and disappearing into the dark, unlit home. 

"What do you mean it's worse?" Lila asked. 

Melinda covered her fist with fire while she took a left into an unlit hall of the house. It was hard to see anything inside, but with the little light Melinda provided, it was clear this place wasn't a home. A sofa and what Emery thought were tables were tucked under white sheets. There wasn't a single picture hung on the walls, nor any sort of decor. The air was musty, dusty . . . all around unclean. Emery's nose itched with every sniff. 

"I mean, it's out of my hands. We're going to have to try a stronger enchantment today. It's a good thing Emery's here."

"What?" Emery exclaimed, nearly tripping over a jutted out floorboard. No one seemed to mind her little stop and tumble as they continued their hasty stomp towards an open door at the end of the hall. By the flickering yellow pouring out, she could tell the room was lit by plentiful candles. She hurried to catch up. 

"Remember the sickness I mentioned?" Poppy whispered when Emery was close enough. "We're gonna have to get it under control."

"Don't worry, Emery. We'll guide you through it. We've done this a million times," Lila encouraged her, slamming a hand on her shoulder and shoving her to the front. "Now, keep up, sport."

Before she could step into the room, Emery heard a raging scream. Her blood turned to ice as every single hair on her arms stood up. The shrill ring in the voice made Emery shrink her shoulders. Although she was tempted to stop, Lila shoved her through the doorframe and into the candlelit bedroom. 

Mave laid on a sheetless mattress, its bedding sprawled throughout the room, some of it torn to feathers and threads. Her lilac gown was soaked through with sweat as she writhed and dug her fingers deep into the cushions. 

Another pained yell escaped her, and she clutched her head fiercely, her eyes nearly bulging out of her head, and mouth so gaping wide Emery was afraid it'd crack out of place. 

She supposed this was something they handled frequently and that there was no reason to lose her cool or let go of the terrified whimpers climbing up her throat. As long as the others remained calm, Emery managed to keep her fear at bay. 

But that all went out the window when Melinda herself exclaimed, "Shit!"