•••

A lizard man, stocky, with mottled brown snout and cap slung low over his eyes, slid the package toward Peneloper. "You're all set," he rumbled, his yellow teeth glinting severely under the overhead lights.

She blinked. "That's it? No more ridiculous steps? No more paperwork to sign?"

The guard sat back on his chair and hefted a skull of steaming coffee to his mouth. "You use the sign-in sheet?"

Peneloper reached under the glass and grabbed the paper and twine wrapped package. It hadn't even looked like it had been inspected. She nodded.

The lizard man leaned over, spilling coffee down the front of his uniform, and pressed a button. To her left, the doors slid back. "He's already waiting for you. Go straight. Visitors room, can't miss it. Big, honking sign."

Peneloper nodded, noting the man's name tag, Doug followed by four squares. She waved. "Thank you."

He nodded as he took a gulp of his coffee and opened a paper skewing him from sight. And that's how Peneloper entered the Rose and Relinquished, the layers' finest magical jail, without the ado a magical place should have. Then again, she'd be situated behind a desk to conduct magical business, so the way the jail functioned shouldn't have been a surprise.

She needed to stop searching for absurdity everywhere. Sometimes, it was just a Doug Four Squares, stuffed into a guards navy shirt and slacks, sipping coffee and reading the paper as he buzzed you on through to the visitors' room. Which, she couldn't have missed, even if she'd closed her eyes - the sign, more like a roadside billboard, flashed "Visitors Go Here" in changing neons, each tube thicker than she was. How the wall hadn't buckled under the weight of one of them, let alone the set, made her remember that magic could be found even in the more mundane settings.

She needed to learn that. But learning had always proven difficult for her, so much so Howell protested to her graduating and had started circulating a petition for Peneloper to be held back a year. He'd gotten ten other teachers' signatures and brought the whole stupid thing to Principal Gale.

Gale had dismissed the charge, and the hammy Mr. Howell, threw the petition into an overflowing trash bin, opened a fresh bottle of her 'apple juice', and congratulated Peneloper on graduating. She snuck a cigarette and then asked what plans Peneloper had after high school.

Since "I've inherited a curse and must work beside the stupidest people in the world," sounded fishy, insane and would instantly draw Gale's suspicion, Peneloper settled on "doing office temp work for some of the stupidest people in the world," which wasn't so much of a lie as a stretch of the truth. Principal Gale sympathized with her pain. If anyone knew the tortures of working alongside idiots, it was her.

Gideon sat furthest from the entrance, hands shackled to the table, his ankles sporting similar restraints. They glowed a bright orange, matching the jumpsuit he wore. His hair had grown longer, though she saw some of her nagging finally got through - he'd gotten a hair tie to keep it out of his face, and considering that she was visiting him, her other request had gone through.

She bounded over to him, navigating the spacious rows of other round tables, where visitors from across the layers conversed with their convicted in-laws, siblings, parents, children, lovers, or other. Peneloper plopped into the chair opposite Gideon and placed the package on the table.

Gideon didn't pay attention to the package. In true Gideon fashion, his gaze focused on her and made her feel as though she were the only one whose existence mattered. If his rehabilitation was going to be successful, he'd have to learn to see everyone else, and not be so singular. That kind of limited sight could lead to obsession, and obsession had landed him back in the Rose.

"How?" The cuffs jingled as he rubbed his hands together. Gruff as always. Though this was their first official time seeing each other since the events of last fall, dubbed "The King's Return," a name which Peneloper had lobbied for after the Council made clear their first inclination to name it had been, "The Return of the King" since none of them understood copyright infringement or how much that could cost them, she'd visited Gideon in the darkness.

They'd been nice visits, where they floated among the stars and chatted about trivial things. About Peneloper's school. About any news, she heard about Crispen. About Chant and how she'd shaved him over the summer since his dander combined with the pollen had driven her to it. Gideon talked little about himself and only grunted when Crispen's name came up, but Peneloper knew he didn't mind listening, and that, despite the throwaway vocal cues, any news about his brother, even if it was that there was no news, helped ease his worry.

The Council had forbidden such unsupervised meetings, but her father had given her a few pointers, sans a PowerPoint presentation, on how to best sneak around under the Council's collective nose. She made sure to put those instructions into long-term memory. No filing them away in a cardboard box to be thrown overboard into the sea of her short-term memory, where literally everything from school ended up.

"You look good," she said to him.

Gideon harrumphed, the universal signal for quit avoiding the question. She straightened and slid the package toward him. His eyes, almost imperceptibly, widened. "Now that I'm taking over for my father on the Council, I have more pull-"

"You nagged them?" He ran his fingers over the brown paper, tugged at the twine bow.

"Relentlessly," Peneloper admitted. "Have they moved you to a more comfortable cell?"

He nodded. "Got a nice view of the yard. See some sky, though it's always that dismal shade of purple. Can watch when the sandstorms kick up. Glimpse a moon or two." He frowned. "No stars though." He scooped the package and held it up. "What's this?"

She smiled. "Crispen," Gideon tensed and gave one his "I don't care, but really I do" grunts, "wanted you to have it. Now that you can have things, he wanted to gift it to you."

He placed it back on the table. "Can you-" He nudged it toward her with a finger, "Can you open it?" He raised his arms to demonstrate he only had a little give. "Chains make it hard to do much of anything."

"I think that's the point." She undid the twine and then tore each side. When the first slashes of banana yellow showed through the paper, she grinned. Crispen hadn't told her what the gift was, just left her with specific instructions on what to say after Gideon exclaimed, "What the hell's this?"

She took the yellow Walkman and plastic headphones from the wrapping paper and placed it in Gideon's hands. He poked at the foam coverings, prodded the buttons. Held it up to the light and, as Crispen predicted, said, "What the hell's this?"

Since Crispen's prophecy had come true, now it was her turn to live up to her end of the bargain. She straightened in her chair. "Time to start finding that middle ground."

Gideon blinked. Under such an intense look, Peneloper's confidence waned like the moon highest in the sky beyond the Rose. "Crispen's words," she fumbled. "Not mine."

"This thing plays music?" Gideon pressed the eject button and the cassette holder popped open. A cassette laid inside. He eyed it suspiciously. "It's not Phil Collins, is it? I hate that stuff."

"I thought all magical beings -"

"You hear that from my brother? Because that would explain it. He's incredibly biased." She nodded sheepishly.

Gideon released an exaggerated sigh and placed the Walkman in his lap. When he set his hands on the table again, they held on to a package of their own. He slid that toward Peneloper.

She eyed the guards standing in each corner of the room. Gideon snorted. "They know. Got it cleared with the warden. Made an exception because you're the new Fourth. Even in here, you've got name recognition. Besides, I think he's a fan of your grandmother. Has a poster of her in his office. She killed a cyclops?"

"Totally and completely," Peneloper shook her head. "For eyeing her wrong." She brought the package to her ear and gave it a little shake. "So, what is this?"

Gideon looked away. Looked up, down, sideways, and, after another round of grunts and throat clears, said, "Happy Birthday."

"A gift?" Peneloper felt her eyebrows make for her scalp. "For me?"

He slammed the shackles on the table, his clear eyes sparkling. "Who else?" He leaned in. "Just, don't open it here. Wait until your party." He sat back. "They are throwing you a party?"

Peneloper sighed. "Yeah, sponsored by Boyle, Bane and Derndach Ad Agency. It's a birthday/coronation. I'll officially get to sit my butt in an overstuffed, overpriced office chair and rule over peons." She tossed her head back and cackled, to show her real despotic attitude that hadn't been made-up at all, no siree.

To her surprise, Gideon chuckled. "You're going to be fine as long as you don't let all that power go to your head."

"And you know that how?"

"I know you. You didn't give up on me. You didn't sit idly by and watch everything fall apart. You get bored sitting around doing nothing, so I imagine you'll use that to motivate you to do a great deal."

She smiled. "But I'm awfully lazy at heart and a terrible learner."

Gideon howled. His manacles shook. "Good, you don't need to learn anything from those Council buffoons."

"Time's up," a guard boomed. The inmates stood one after another. Gideon looked troubled. While the other visitor's filed out of the room, Peneloper hunched over and slipped the headphones over Gideon's ears. Shooting him the biggest grin she could, she pressed play and headed for the door.

Crispen's voice floated to his ears, Now playing, The Lonely Boy by the Black Keys.

The music kicked in, an upbeat tempo, coupled with some fun guitar riffs and drum lines. Beneath the song, none of which he loathed, much to his surprise, his brother's voice came again, lower. I heard it and it made me think of you. How about you and I meet in the middle sometime? Maybe catch a star or two like before.

The music infectious, Gideon found himself humming along to it as he was separated from the other inmates to be taken to his new cell. Lonely boy, huh? he thought. How could I ever be lonely now, when I've got people like you and Nep annoyingly refusing to give up on me?

As he was led down the hallway, the corner of his mouth upturned. He didn't think he was ready to revisit those memories he'd convinced himself to loathe over the years, but finding the middle ground? That he could manage.

●

By the time Peneloper got through processing at the Council's corporate HQ, the party was in full swing. Mind you, it was the party the Council of Four had insisted throwing her to celebrate her birthday/coronation. Her. But it had started without her anyway.

Halfway across the top floor of the Council building, Kelpner and Quinceton, seeing her approaching, leveled party streamers at her, dousing her with enough glitter to relive the club scene from the eighties. She glimpsed the Exit. If you dare door and weighed the pros and cons. She hadn't worked alongside the Council enough to commit completely to throwing herself at the mercy of the door, but dang, she was close.

An arm rested over her shoulder and pulled her in the other direction. She smiled as her father led her toward a table, festooned with paper streamers, floating lanterns, and enough candelabras to make even the gothiest of goths give their approval. The centerpiece of it all was a golden pedestal, which propped up a sheet cake iced in her image, literally. It was a cake with her face on it, you guys.

She cocked an eyebrow. "I'm to eat my face?" The corner of the cake boasted an iced, purple winged serpent insignia. A mark you could find on almost every corner of the building. "The Ad Agency makes cakes?"

"They make a little bit of everything." Her dad said, swiping a finger across her cake to heist some purple frosting from the corner. He plopped it in his mouth and his brow crinkled. "Tastes like lavender."

She frowned. "They certainly go above and beyond."

"That's the more optimistic way of looking at it." He leaned close. "Keep that optimism, you'll need it." She threw an arm around his waist and gave him a side hug. "How's Gideon?" he asked.

"He's better. Has a better cell, gets to see the scenery, has some time outside, and-" She produced the small package from her pocket. Her fathered eyed it suspiciously. She playfully slapped his chest. "It's not a bomb, the prison okayed it. It's a gift." She shook it and feigned disappointment. "Think it might be knitted socks."

"Are you kidding?" Rosen bounded over toward them, her sister straggling behind. Both of them had hot dogs. Rosen wore more of hers than she'd eaten, her tee splattered with ketchup, mustard and relish. Lyabelle, still reeling from when Peneloper broke, peered meekly out from behind her sister's back and gave a polite nod. "Like hell, they would give those criminals knitting needles." Rosen snorted before shoving the remaining half of her hotdog into her mouth.

Lyabelle tugged at her sister's sleeve. "I think you're missing the point," Rosen belched, "Nells is joking."

"Ding! Ding! Ding!" Peneloper trilled. "I am, and for knowing as much, you've won a prize."

Lyabelle perked up and stepped out from behind Rosen. "And what's that?"

"You get to eat my nose." She pointed at her cake.

Lyabelle frowned. "You think they had snot-flavored filling made for the nostrils?"

Peneloper shook her head, but stopped mid-shake because she couldn't be certain the Council hadn't given those specific instructions to the baker. "How about you get a cheek instead?"

Lyabelle nodded.

"Where's Chant?" Peneloper asked.

Rosen grinned as she wiped her mouth. "Welda's trying to feed him cat food. I think she's got him cornered. That witchy lizard's got Dad all in a fuss, but Mom seems to be amused." She pointed to Mrs. Luric standing in a corner, laughter freely flowing from her mouth as Cat Chantham scurried away from Welda, Mr. Luric huffing after the pair, sweat dripping off his mustache.

"Miss Auttsley."

Peneloper whirled. Rayburn stiffened and cleared his throat. Two men stood before her - Anderson in his familiar suit and tie, with accompanying silver accents, fidgeting, this time, with a silver-threaded pocket square, the other man beside him a mystery. It was the mystery man who was the first to extend his hand.

She took it and he rewarded her with the biggest, warmest smile she'd ever witnessed. Suns be shamed, none of you burned as brightly as he, she thought. Around her, the air grew hot, stifling. Sweat formed and evaporated before her skin could register it was wet. The man's gold eyes dazzled.

Rayburn placed his hand on the small of her back and pushed her forward. "Mr. Pale," he said. "You remember my daughter."

Mr. Pale leaned down and examined her. "I most certainly do." He cocked an eyebrow as he slipped his hand over hers and gave her another shake. "Still hate microwaves?" She nodded. "And, what was it?" He released her and scratched his chin. "Ah, yes! You enjoy mint chocolate chip ice cream, yes?"

Again, she shook her head. His smile widened. "How-how do you know?"

Mr. Pale's gaze flickered to her father. "Why, Rayburn of course. Talked about you and your sister incessantly." He offered his hand to Rayburn who shook it immediately. "And how is Laura? I hear you've seen her recently."

Rayburn grinned. "She's the same as ever."

Mr. Pale nodded. "That's good. It'll be hard returning to them, but give it time."

Peneloper's head tilted. "And how would you--"

Anderson stepped forward. "Mr. Pale knows everything precisely when he's supposed to, Miss Auttsley."

Mr. Pale straightened as Rayburn excused himself to go to the drink station, where a tower of glasses were being filled with sparkling apple juice, Quinceton overseeing the whole thing, as he levitated the bottle, making sure not to spill a drop.

"Miss Auttsley," Mr. Pale said. "You have done well protecting what you love."

Peneloper stumbled back. "Again, ho-how--"

He chuckled. "My behavior ought not surprise you now."

She shook her head. Mr. Pale was right. It really shouldn't but something about him, about his precision, unsettled her. "And," he whispered, "you have my gratitude. In protecting that which you love, you have protected that which I love." He bowed his head, golden locks tumbling in front of his eyes. He gave her one last smile, before he turned, and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I look forward to watching you, Miss Auttsley. Your grandmother was a powerful crow, whose caw shaped the layers for decades. I pride myself on having her picture hanging in my office." He cocked his head and threw her a smile. "I look forward to one day adding yours to my collection." He waved, and Anderson fell in behind him. As he disappeared into the crowd, she heard his voice echo inside her head, "Do tell Mr. Heavensley I send my regards."

She massaged her temple. "What in the world was that--"

She stopped mid-sentence, sensing a presence she hadn't felt in a while. The charm bracelet around her wrist jingled. "Mr. Heavensley," she said and turned.

The boy of crows stood before her with all the elegance of a long lost nobility, though his shirt was wrinkled, his jeans torn, his sneakers caked in a swamp's worth of mud which made him rival Welda's stench though the witch supreme was still the reigning champ. No one wore muck and flies better.

His curls bounced in front of his eyes as he ambled toward her, hands shoved in his jean pockets, shoulders slouched. "Happy Birthday, Miss Auttsley." He beamed,  a low-wattage smile, something intimate and embarrassed. A smile just for her.

She looked back at the crowd. Had Mr. Pale known Crispen was on his way?

Crispen nodded. "Mr. Pale knows exactly what he's supposed to know at precisely the correct time. It's annoying." He frowned. "Surprised he stopped being dead long enough to attend your party."

"Is death like a switch every creature in the know can turn off and on according to whim?"

Crispen shrugged and that was the end of that. No answer. Just a noncommittal shrug.

Things just were, Peneloper. Get used to it.

"Anyway," Crispen coughed as he redirected the conversation, and his gaze, to the nature of Peneloper's cake, "your face?"

She giggled. "Yep, and we all get a piece. Though, Lyabelle has dibs on one of my cheeks."

Crispen smiled. "I'll take an eye."

"All that time away has made you ruthless, Mr. Heavensley," she replied.

Leaned against the table, he lowered his head enough so his hair tickled her forehead and said, "Nah, I just wanted to see the world as you do."

A placid lake couldn't have been smoother. If Peneloper didn't have something she needed to discuss with Crispen, she might have fumbled here, grasping for words and coming up empty only to inevitably revert to the only thing a girl in her situation could do - make those annoying, cutesy braying sounds. Luckily, she'd just seen his brother.

"I gave Gideon your package," she said, confidence rising as she steered the conversation into territory she felt much more comfortable visiting.

Crispen went along with her change in topic without struggle, thankfully. "Did he like it?"

"I think so."

A smile tugged at Crispen's lips. "Good," he said. "Good."

Fearing the conversation would lapse into silence, Peneloper showed him Gideon's gift. "He said I should open it here?"

Crispen shrugged. "So do it."

She undid the paper, and a huge ball of darkness ballooned outward until it covered the entire room. She jumped and heard the twins yelp. Chant meowed from somewhere while Welda cackled. Quinceton gave a rushed, "Oh my!" while she thought she heard her father sigh. After a few more audible gasps, a pinprick of light hovered before Peneloper's eyes. Another. Another. Together, the army of light grew - bigger, brighter until they formed stars. Gideon's gift to her had been the stars, and with them, he'd wished her another happy birthday.

As the first of what would snowball into many tears threatened to fall, she bit her lip and turned away. Welda snickered. "Looks-s-s-s like you have an admirer."

Rayburn threw his arm around her. "She's got many." His gaze flitted to Crispen, then to Chant who cowered behind a pillar, back arched, fur and tail raised. "And none of them can have her."

Kelpner clapped his hands. "Everyone--" Champagne flutes floated toward the party-goers. Peneloper grabbed one as it floated past her and, following Kelpner's example, hoisted it into the air. "This evening we celebrate a milestone in every human's life; the leaving behind of childhood and the ushering of one's adulthood. We also, welcome our newest Council member, Peneloper Rayburn Auttsley. To Peneloper!" He yelled.

"To Peneloper!" they cheered.

Rayburn leaned in. "Welcome to the madhouse." She chuckled, tossed back her glass, and then, looked at him seriously. "Hey," he said, shirking away from her. "What's got your quills-"

She set down her glass, grabbed him, and pulled him to a private corner by the coffee stash. For awhile, they said nothing until Peneloper broke the silence. "Are you sure about this?"

Rayburn chewed on his bottom lip. "I don't have a choice," he shuffled his feet across the floor, "you forced me into early retirement." He frowned. "I'm sure they'll-I'm sure they'll-"

"Be mad as hell," Peneloper finished. He nodded. "And hurt and confused and angered again but," she tugged on her father's sweater, "happiness, when all's said and done, will triumph."

Rayburn reached out and squeezed her hand.

"We haven't sat around the kitchen table and shared a meal since you-" She gulped. "Since you left us. Mom keeps to the living room in the mornings and Carma's glued to her phone most days. And even when we do sit around that table, it's not the same, especially with your chair shoved off in the corner collecting dust." She squeezed her father's hand tighter. "They need you. I'll be fine with all this madness-" She waved her arms as Chant zipped past her feet, Welda close on his heels with a tiny, cat-sized party hat in her claws. "Our family needs you now. It's okay for you to come back to us."

Rayburn grabbed his eldest daughter's shoulder and pulled him into her. "I'm just so scared, Nep." His breath tickled her scalp. He smelled as he always had - peanut butter, chocolate, aftershave and smoke. All the smells representing the very best of Peneloper's memories. He shook. "I don't know where to begin. Do I say hi? Do I say, I'm sorry? Do I hug them or will they be repelled by me?"

"Just be yourself," she said, voice muffled. "And sure they might not understand it or rage and yell and hate you for a bit, but eventually, they'll remember the love." She threw her arms around him and squeezed. "I did."

She cried. She couldn't help it. He let her go and smiling, reached up and wiped her tears away. "Well, we've got some time before then, want to dig into your face?"

She shook her head and laughed. "I think I ought to rescue Chant first."

Rayburn nodded. Peneloper meant to walk away, but before she took a step, she turned around and glanced at every face in attendance. At the people she loved dearly and the idiots on the Council, at the chaos and the absurdity crammed into one room. 

They'd weather whatever came next, so long as they did so together. 

THE END