•••

Humans swim around in the cosmic fishbowl known as Earth. You blink out of existence faster than a strand of Christmas lights circa 1986, and while you muck around, indecisive on how you want your lattes, your memories lose their edge.

They soften and dull and fade until you forget the things that were essential in making you, you. You allow parts of yourself to feed Time, who, as you might recall, has been referred to as a bit of a douche. By no means is this an exaggeration. Time, much like one's Uncle Bennie, can leave everyone repulsed and confounded.

However, unlike Uncle Bennie, Time also knows how to read a room; it can sense people's waning disinterest. This ability allows Time to demonstrate compassion when it so chooses.

Now Time has come across a moment where it does not know what to do. With its hands shoved in its temporal pockets, it pauses, lingers. Unsure if it should move on. It has never felt awkwardness, until now.

Peneloper gazes into the eyes of a ghost, but he is as real and concrete as herself. Flesh and blood and bone. Smelling as he always had, trying to smile as he always had, but faltering because, like Time, Rayburn Auttsley does not know what to do.

Peneloper tries and fails, but being our heroine, tries again, only to fail again, at coming to terms with her father's liveliness. Though others fill the room, all as equally uncomfortable in the space except for Welda, who leans over, tongue-wagging, savoring the collective discomfort floating through the air, we do not matter.

It is Peneloper and Rayburn, daughter and father, trapped in this second with no end in sight.

He's alive, she thinks. She does not call him by name, and she does her best to resist falling into the arms that had always provided her comfort when she sought them out. Peneloper is a united front of anger and bitterness and resentment.

Her father is alive.

And then, more solemnly she thinks, is it for the best that he is alive?

The seconds waste away. Minutes solidify into glass sheets that shatter. Words are swallowed back, not a breath is inhaled. They are simply two people frozen alongside Time.

The seemingly young leader of the Council, a one Kelpner Finn, a dashing, shining example of Crows, steps in to assist his old friend Time by breaking the proverbial ice.

He is careful not to break the literal ice, which earlier on in his career resulted in a few thousand prehistoric men and fuzzy elephants becoming the highly sought after prizes of future archaeological digs.

Kelpner decides to tell her of her family's misfortune, which like most tragedies, centered around an office romance.

• Where the Sour Turns to Sweet •

"Mildrea Auttsley's actions broke the world, Miss Auttsley," Kelpner Finn said.

Peneloper twitched, as this was not something one heard every day, but she found herself hard-pressed to care as all her focus hinged on the man before her. Kelpner cleared his throat, the sole of his sneaker tapping against the floor. "Miss Auttsley, her folly is why you are to this day, cursed."

"So what?"

Two words and that's all it took for Peneloper to succeed where others failed - brushing aside one of the most powerful beings in the layers.

How absurd. What would come next? Would she reach in her pocket and discover the secret of life?

Peneloper meanwhile, felt wholeheartedly, the entirety of world and its layers could, in the most basic and unsavory of terms, bugger off. All that mattered right then was the man standing a few feet from her, shuffling in his boots, frown worsening. Breathing, and fidgeting and alive. Her father, not dead.

"Miss Auttsley." Kelpner tried for a three time, his composure under duress. "I understand this is--"

She whipped around, eyes a stern, unapproachable glacial blue. "You have no idea." Beside Kelpner, Quinceton gasped. Peneloper held her gaze.

"Good lord, Kelp," Quinceton piped up, fingers twirling the ends of his mustache. "Have you ever seen so many colors in an aura?"

Peneloper crossed her arms over herself protectively, as if that could stop the prying eyes of the magical community from reading her like a borrowed library book. "I'm feeling a lot of ways."

"Clearly." Quinceton adjusted his monocle. "I believe you've even created a new color. Shall we name it after you? Penlack or Peneloyan? Maybe, Penolange?" He sniffed, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Penolange. I do like how that tickles the tongue."

Peneloper shook her head. Crispen was right, they were an absurd waste of time.

Her father grunted, and she made him the center of her attention again, his bootheels digging into the floor, and earning him a disapproving glance from Kelpner.

He clicked his tongue before tossing a nod Heavensley's way. "Good to see you again," he said as he moved toward the lush office seat that he seemed so reluctant to use.

"Same," Crispen replied.

Peneloper raised her eyebrows. "Cozy with a should-be ghost?"

"Nell-"

She put up her hand, much the way Anderson had done. "You knew." He nodded.

After a beat of silence, Peneloper laughed. How could she not? Crispen knew her father was alive. Of course, he did. Crispen seemed to know more about her life than she did. Might as well have him live it then.

He could wield her magic, save the day, prevent Gideon from doing whatever it was Gideon would do, secure the accolades of the magical community, and then live happily ever after, seated around a table, eating breakfast, every last chair filled. No longer would there be a chair shoved off in the corner, that made everyone's hearts ache when they caught sight of it and the layer of dust building on its surface.

Her frown worsened as something clicked into place. "Not only did you know, but he was also the one who made you look after me, wasn't he?"

A pause, then, "He didn't make me do anything."

So it was true. Rayburn Auttsley had enlisted every one of Peneloper's friends and acquaintances, at least those in the know, to do what he'd been too cowardly to do. Her hands tightened into fists.

"Miss Auttsley," Crispen continued. Rage bubbled over Peneloper like a pot of Aunt Rita's autumnal stew made with one too many chunks of acorn squash. Her shoulders trembled. "Nell, I'd do anything in my power to make sure you were-"

"-Don't," she snapped, her mood exponentially sour. Every lemon present at a fruit stand or farmer's market within a 500 mile-radius felt their insides curdle, for reasons unknown.

She whirled away from the boy in black and closed in on Chantham. She stalked toward him like a leopard, hungry for information and ready to drag the truth from a corpse if need be.

"Chantham." He gulped, Peneloper's glower so severe it could make the moon pack a suitcase and seek shelter in Jupiter's orbit for a few days out of fear. "You knew as well?"

He wrung his hands. Sweat dripped off his fingertips. His scent rose off him like mist, but anger proved to be all it took to render it ineffectual. Peneloper would not so easily swoon again.

His silence confirmed all that she already knew. "All this time," she growled. "Seven years. Seven years." Her knuckles turned as white as though she'd dipped them in paint. She mashed her teeth together, the sound echoing in her ears. "You consoled me when-"

"I didn't know then," Chant said, thrusting his hands in front of his face defensively. "I swear, I had no idea."

"Then, when?"

"The Luric boy only found out a few months ago," cut in Rayburn. "When Gideon escaped. Nep, lay down your quills, or at the very least aim them at the person most deserving of them."

He leaned back in his office chair, dark spots under his eyes giving him a hollowed, gutted appearance. Not that Peneloper cared. She didn't, or she would tell herself she didn't until it became one of those self-fulfilling prophecies all those self-help, grass-shake guzzling, gurus swore by.

"You don't get to do that," she hissed. Her father straightened. "Not now. Not after—"

"Miss Auttsley," Kelpner rose to his feet and shuffled from behind the Council's desk. He appeared even shorter on level ground with the others though he carried himself with the dignity no child would ever want to replicate. "I'm sure there is a lot of catching up, but we really must focus on-"

"There's no need," she said. "I laid my father to rest seven years ago when he deceived my whole family and made us mourn him because we thought him dead." Tears snuck up on her ready to assassinate whatever strands of dignity she had claim over. She bit down on her tongue, and the pain inflicted allowed her to focus on one more singular than that which she'd felt like had been leaking out of her heart the moment Rayburn Auttsley came back to life. "If you were so worried about me, why didn't you protect me?" She shifted uncomfortably. "I had to watch Mom—"

"Oooh," Welda crooned, her hooked nose catching on a barnacle stuck to her collarbone, "Ss-s-he's-s got Mildrea's-s fire."

A slight, fleeting smile appeared on her father's lips. "Of course, she's an Auttsley."

"Let's just get on with this." Peneloper huffed toward the Council table and slammed both her notebook and star onto it. "Gideon wants to kill me, so how do I stop him?"

"Singularly focused. Uncomfortable with emotional strife," Kelpner turned, an eyebrow raised. "How very Mildrea."

Peneloper snorted and opened her mouth, a retort forming on her tongue when Kelpner looked at her. She stopped and for a second her mind went blank. His gaze was far-reaching as though seeing every last atom of her make. The hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention, ready to march into war if summoned. Peneloper blanched, despite her best effort to stand tall.

"While I don't like getting intertwined with familial tiffs," he tapped a finger along the tabletop, "I must stand up for my co-worker. You are unduly judging him without knowing the full picture."

"It's the truth." Rayburn, grabbed a wrapped candy from his pocket and undid the foil. Immediately, Peneloper smelled the chocolate and peanut butter she associated with so many of her childhood memories. Her heart grew with her fondness for the scent and the memories it brought to mind, but she tamped those back down, remembering that said memories had been scandalized by a big, fat lie. "I was made to leave."

Ignoring her father, Peneloper snorted and rounded on Kelpner. "Way to act like you know what I went through. You didn't see what his death caused."

Kelpner stood to his full height and straightened his collar. "I assure you, I did, Miss Auttsley. I see everything."

His words stoked the flames of her anger. "You didn't live through it, though."

"No." Anger crept into Kelpner's voice. "I have, however, lived through far worse."

Peneloper stiffened.

Kelpner swallowed, and when he spoke again, his voice held all the softness of velvet, the smoothness of still waters, the sweetness of honey. "Forgive me.".

"No. Perhaps I-"

"Shall I regale you with a story, Miss Auttsley? I do believe it's time to learn the truth."

Kelpner snapped his fingers, and a couch flew out of nowhere, scooping Peneloper up in its cushioned embrace. She sat at one end, her father at the other. Along with the couch, came a rug, a TV with an old-school V-shaped antenna, four Laz-e-boy recliners, a golden bird perch, and a dog bed, extra-large - she believed this was for Chant. Chant eyed the bed, growled, and then, having no other space available to him, sat on it reluctantly.

Crispen rested in a chair, and although a gilded perch glinted under the overhead lighting - a perch even a mirror would have a hard time winning against - Genesis took to the boy's lap, where he rested his beak between his wing, eyes trained on the Council.

The TV came alive. White noise buzzed from its old-school speakers before an image appeared. In rippling black and white, Peneloper saw the four forms of the Council - Kelpner at their center. Quinceton to his right. A creature like Welda, though with a more pronounced snout and fewer barnacles at his left. A third gentleman, filled the frame furthest from Kelpner, draped in all black and a little messy - his shirt baggy and oversized, his jeans torn, hair the color of black licorice, braided and trailing over one shoulder where curiously, a blackbird roosted.

Peneloper leaned over and eyed Mr. Heavensley. "That seems familiar."

Crispen shrugged. Peneloper glanced at Genesis and tapped the bird on its head. "One of your relatives, perhaps?"

The bird turned its beak up at her and gave a throaty grunt of disapproval. "I'll have you know, that's a raven. You have a fouled me most grievously, Miss Auttsley." He whipped his head away from her and scooted out of reach.

Crispen leaned over. "Don't worry. His anger's nothing a few peach slices can't correct."

Peneloper nodded and returned her attention to the TV. The image changed, and then she saw the man with the raven on his shoulder alongside a petite woman with squared shoulders and a heart-shaped face. Her eyes blazed a bright, unrelenting blue. She beamed as she held up the humongous head of a one-eyed creature, the man's arm over her shoulder, pulling her into an intimate embrace.

Rayburn whispered, "Your grandmother."

Peneloper nodded. "And the decapitated fellow?"

He smiled. "A cyclops. No one before, and since, has ever defeated one so completely."

"Who's that beside her?"

Kelpner answered. "The original Fourth. We called him Never."

Peneloper raised her eyebrows. "Never?"

Kelpner shook his head. "Yes, Miss Auttsley. For several centuries, I considered him as much a friend as a colleague. But that time has passed."

"And why's that?"

The child-like Council member's face darkened. "He fell in love, utterly and completely, with one of our brightest crows to ever make her caw echo throughout the layers."

"With my grandmother?" 

"Yes, and when that particular entanglement ran its course, he broke, and with it, the world." 

"That's--"

"--what happened, Miss Auttsley. Never shattered, and from those remains, emerged the Refracted, the home of nightmares." His eyes skimmed over Crispen before returning. "There was a time when those nightmares terrorized the layers, but the first iteration of the Council put a stop to it. Sealing off that layer and--"

"Banishing the former Fourth," interjected Rayburn. "Your grandmother took up his chair. And then because of a council incompetence, they bungled the banishment spell." 

"My word!" exclaimed Quinceton. Summoning a cane from a nearby broom closet, he slammed it against the floor. "We did not bungle anything, man. Never twisted the magic; we could not have foreseen his use of perversion. Until then, we had no idea he'd inherited such power." 

Rayburn frowned. "The spell worked for the most part, with one tiny exception. Someone of Mildrea's blood must always be seated around the Council, occupying Never's chair, or, he will return."

"Let me guess," Peneloper folded her arms over her chest, "if he returns, so too do the nightmares." 

Kelpner nodded. "And such an occurrence would lead to an apocalypse even all of those gathered here wouldn't be able to fend off."

"No more looking on while the world burns from your Laz-E-boys, huh?" Crispen huffed. 

Welda smacked her lips. "The boy of crows-s-s-s has-s-s-s guts-s-s-s." With a flap of his wing, Genesis swatted at the air in front of the witch, dispersing her flies. They were back, encircling the crown of her heads in seconds. 

"Your grandmother set off to destroy Never once and for all," Kelpner said. "She always despised his dramatics," Rayburn shook his head furiously, "but she couldn't defeat him. Never is like magic himself, a power of creation. And so it is that nothing that exists can destroy him. Your grandmother--"

"And that's it," Rayburn cut in, sternly.

Kelpner's eyes went wide, but for a few seconds, then he blinked, clapped once, and the TV screen went dark. "It is as Rayburn says. We have said everything that needs saying." He got out of his chair, the other Council members falling in line. "You, however, have questions. They pollute your aura." He turned and nodded toward her father. "I believe you can provide adequate answers to your daughter's inquires?" 

He nodded.

"Very good. We will afford you what time we can. It's not much I'm afraid as we've all sensed it." 

"Sensed what?" she asked. 

"Mr. Darquish has boarded the train and travels to Reason this very moment." He turned and swept from the room, Quinceton and Welda close behind.