Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The day everything goes sideways, Kipperlilly decides, is the day they move Buddy into Lucy’s spot at Ruben’s house.

It’s three days into junior year. Porter has been working with Buddy, convincing him and slowly edging him into compliance. Now that he’s there, Ruben leads him into the big, empty house, into the big, not-so-empty room, where one corner is set up for a cleric.

“Well dang, y’all, you got yourselves quite the setup here,” Buddy says. Kipperlilly considers taking an axe to his face. Buddy walks around, trailing fingers across the walls as he looks at everything. Immediately uninterested, Ivy heads to her wall section next to the door to Oisin’s tower. Oisin climbs inside and sits, pulling up his thick-ass notebook with all his study stuff in it, and neither of them looks as Buddy starts putting his hands on Lucy’s old shrine.

“Be careful,” she spits, storming over and grabbing something off the mantle. It’s a necklace—a holy one, she thinks—anyway, it’s not his, and he can’t have it.

“That’s his area,” Ruben says tersely. “Kipperlilly, you have your own space.”

“It was Lucy’s first!”

“Oh, god, not this again,” Ivy groans, throwing her head back as she spins in her stupid chair. “Lucy isn’t here anymore. That’s why we’ve got him.”

Kipperlilly knows this intellectually; it’s just that in practice, this is the first time she’s had to face the fact that Lucy isn’t coming back. She seems to be the only one with any hang-ups. It would be disgusting if it hadn’t been Kipperlilly’s idea to move on in the first place. She’s not very good at following her own rules.

“It’s just—she left some of her stuff,” Kipperlilly says, shoving the necklace into her pocket.

“Right,” Oisin drawls. “And when is she coming to pick it up?”

Yes, that’s the day everything changes, because Kipperlilly picks up one of her daggers and aims for Oisin’s neck, and it’s the first time they’ve properly turned on each other. She gets away with only two arrows in her leg and a pounding headache from Ruben’s guitar. Buddy gives them some fucking lecture about how they’re all a team, and they need to act like one, but Kipperlilly tunes him out the second she gets the arrows out from under her skin. Her chest aches with unfamiliar pain and a wave of overwhelming anger; as soon as Buddy seems done, she storms over to her corner and starts sharpening her knife.

“…Go, team,” Buddy says, clearly annoyed.

“Go fuck yourself,” she replies.

It gets worse when, only two hours later, Buddy starts blasting some of his sermons.

“Now, I appreciate y’all letting me in on your project,” he says, voice dripping with disdain. “But I have a godly devotion to Helio I need to uphold.”

“Not gonna have it for long,” Oisin mutters, just loud enough for Buddy to hear and stare at him with an angry curiosity.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Kipperlilly says, spinning in her chair angrily. “No, answer that. I genuinely want to know. Were you dropped on your head as a child, or is the fact that you were never held at all?”

“Helio’s sake,” Ruben mutters, tuning his guitar string so tight it snaps. “Fuck!”

“I don’t know who you think died and left you in charge,” Ivy hisses, smacking her bow onto the table and glaring at Kipperlilly. “But you aren’t our leader.”

“What do you mean I won’t have my devotion?” Buddy demands. “What on Helio’s green planet are you talking about?”

“Good fucking job, Oisin. We’re supposed to leave it to the Big Guy to explain,” Kipperlilly hisses. “Now look what you’ve done!”

“How the hell was I supposed to know?”

“Use your fucking brain!”

Something collides with the far wall. Everyone turns to stare; Mary Ann casually walks over and hucks her axe out of the wall. It’s a far cry from the one Gorgug Thistlespring carries, but it evokes the same sensation anyway, so she likes to practice with it.

“Aren’t you guys supposed to be focusing?” she says, unbothered. Kipperlilly forces herself to take a deep breath.

“Buddy, there are other plans in motion,” she says, pulling out her bureaucratic training. “I promise, you just need to trust us.”

Buddy makes a face but turns back to his livestream and bible. “…Uh huh.”

But he has it up at full volume, and Kipperlilly can only take hearing the name “Helio” so many times before her eye starts to twitch.

“Do you have headphones?” she asks tersely, still trying to fake politeness. Buddy gives her the dirtiest look.

“I’m praying.”

“And I’m trying to focus, and I can’t.” She smiles. She’s sure she looks deranged.

“That sounds like a you problem.”

“I work best in low noise.”

“Why don’t you invest in some kind of noise-cancelling headphones, then?” He narrows his eyes. “And stop interrupting me.”

Kipperlilly feels her computer mouse crack under her hands. She takes a steadying breath. “I’ll bring you headphones next week.”

“The noise is bothering you?” Ruben asks suddenly.

“Yeah,” she replies, voice strained.

“Huh,” he says brightly, then turns his music on at full volume. She jerks back from it so sharply that she falls backward off her chair, making Ivy shriek out a laugh. Oisin protests, covering his ears.

“Turn that down!”

“What’s that?” Ruben shouts, grinning. It’s some metal screamo emo, making it hard to hear much of anything, much less his near-giddy laughter. “I can’t hear you!”

“Turn it off!”

“Sorry,” Ruben laughs, picking up his guitar. “Doing research!”

“I cannot hear the sermon!” Buddy shouts. “Turn that disrespectful, asinine bullshit off!”

Kipperlilly’s vision is starting to go red. She clambers over the chair, eyes locked in on the stereo, and everything goes white hot until the noise stops. The speaker is smoking, hissing, and spitting sparks at her, and her hands hurt, and her chest feels like it’s going to explode. Beside her, Ruben makes a noise of distress; then he slams his foot into the base of the stereo. It cracks even more; she watches as he kicks it again, then tears the top of it off and throws it towards the center of the room.

“Fuck,” he says, his chest heaving. “God, you’re such a fucking—“

“I’ll get everyone headphones,” she says stiffly. “Everyone.”

And she does. They’re nice ones, big and chunky, so they look like AV Club nerds. She gets Oisin a pair with an old cord, just so he has to go looking for an adapter; Ivy gets the ugliest set, with some kind of child’s game painted onto the plastic, and they probably aren’t noise canceling, but Kipperlilly couldn’t give any less of a shit if she tried. Ruben gets a nice wireless pair despite how much she hates seeing him light up at them. He needs to move around a lot while he’s working on things, so they need to be practical. (Oisin only protests that he needs wireless ones once, but after a look that could kill from Kipperlilly, he shuts his mouth.) Mary Ann gets some random generic pair and doesn’t use them at all. And Buddy receives earbuds instead, cheap ones that work reasonably well for blocking out the noise—Kipperlilly would know because she got the same pair. Which would be all well and good except for one slight problem.

She’s working the next day, Thursday, and it’s nearing two in the morning when her phone lights up. She checks it: a message from Oisin.

OH > I have been trying to get your attention for fifteen minutes. Take the fucking headphones out.

Kipperlilly makes a show of rolling her eyes, pulling one of the earbuds out. “Fuck’s sake, Oisin, what is it?”

“We’re getting food,” Mary Ann says, much closer than Kipperlilly expected. She jumps. “You need to eat. How much pasta do you want?”

“I don’t want pasta,” she grumbles. “I don’t carb load.”

“You need to eat. Everyone does.”

“Then get me a salad.”

“For the last fucking time,” Ruben nearly shouts, “I don’t have any fucking shit to make salads!”

“Which you would know if you weren’t wearing those fucking headphones,” Oisin points out.

“If I have to sit here and listen to another three-hour sermon about how Helio is going to shove corn up our asses and save us, I’ll kill myself,” she deadpans.

“Promise?”

Kipperlilly meets Ivy’s eyes with an icy glare. Ivy smiles smugly.

“Livestream it for me, won’t you?” Ivy continues sweetly. “I want to be able to watch it over, and over, and over—“

“That’s it,” Kipperlilly hisses, and only Mary Ann grabbing her by the back of her sweater keeps her from strangling Ivy. She kicks her chair over in her attempt to reach the other girl, and it clatters loudly. Ivy, too, is trying to get at Kipperlilly, but she’s having to contend with Oisin lifting her into the air so she can’t get any leverage to lunge.

“Cut it out!” Buddy shouts. “We are supposed to be a team, y’all! And y’all means all!”

“We were a team before you showed up!” Kipperlilly hisses, wrangling her way out of Mary Ann’s grip but no longer trying to escape. “You were a replacement for collateral damage!”

“Oh, boo fucking hoo,” Ivy says sarcastically. “Your poor little girlfriend didn’t come back—“

“She wasn’t my girlfriend!”

“—get the fuck over it! Lucy left us! She left all of us! She chose not to come back, Kipperlilly!” Ivy’s face is red, matching the light in her eyes. “You’re not the only one who misses her, but get the fuck over it because she isn’t coming back!”

“I hate you!”

“Believe me, the feeling is fucking mutual!”

“Guys, enough!” Oisin, always the voice of reason, shoves Ivy down in her seat and points a critical finger at Kipperlilly. “Whose side are you on here, Kipperlilly? Are you on the Big Guy’s? Are you on ours? Or are you going to fuck off like Lucy and go back on your word? Because believe me, if she was replaceable, so are you.”

Kipperlilly’s face is hot again as she starts to cry. “I was the first one to believe in the cause!”

“Then get it the fuck together and stop fighting us! Buddy—“ Oisin sighs, clearly exhausted, and waves in Buddy’s direction. “As much as it physically pains me to say it, he’s right. We’re a team. We aren’t going to get anything done like this if we keep infighting. We aren’t the enemies, and neither are you.”

She scrubs at her face, trying to tap into the hot, dry anger that they need instead of this stupid, wet anger that leaves her crying all the time. Sometimes, she feels thirteen again, begging to be special at a school where everyone is special, so no one is until someone is exceptional. But it doesn’t come easily to her at the moment, so she storms back to her chair, picks it up, and puts it back in place.

“Well?” Oisin prods. “Whose side—“

“I believe in the fucking cause,” she says, praying they ignore her choked voice. “More than anyone.” The chair finally stands upright. “I’ll eat later. I’m not hungry right now.”

“You need food,” Mary Ann says, still unbothered.

Kipperlilly sits, scoots back to her desk, and shoves her headphones in. “I’ll eat later.” If anyone responds, she doesn’t hear them, and she gets back to work researching and staring at her bullet point list of facts until another ping lights up her phone.

IE > Don’t kill yourself.

IE > Found some lettuce. Put it at the back of the fridge for you. Eat soon.

It’s the closest thing Kipperlilly is going to get to an apology, so she takes it as a win. An hour later, she sneaks down the hall and (as quietly as she can) makes herself a tiny salad, shoves it in her mouth, and heads to one of the guest rooms to catch some sleep.

The next day, Porter pulls Buddy aside and explains the rest of the plan. It goes about as well as expected.

Buddy comes storming into the war room with his bible lifted high and deep, dark bruises around his neck. “How long do I have left?”

“Dunno,” Ruben says casually, lounging in his beanbag with his guitar. “How long until you start pissing us off?”

“When I came here, I didn’t agree to be some sort of sacrificial lamb for some dumb new god.” He waves his bible pointedly. “My devotion is to Helio, and I don’t intend for that to change!”

For once, it’s just Kipperlilly and Ruben in the room, sitting in their respective areas in trepidatious silence. She looks up at the bard, who looks up at her, and he gestures for her to handle it. He’s less of a leader and more of an accomplice out of the two of them, and they both know it. He doesn’t have much he’ll get to be part of.

“We chose you for a reason,” Kipperlilly says, raising an eyebrow. “We had it on good authority you’d join us.”

“Good authority from who?”

“Porter. He thinks you’d be a fantastic paladin, Buddy.” She smiles. It feels so fake he must be able to see through it, but Ruben jumps in before Buddy can start to.

“We had a lot of ideas, but we also looked at the strongest candidates, and we picked you for a reason.”

Buddy flounders for a second, still waving his bible around. “I just don’t think—I mean, Helio is—“

“Sure, Helio is a big part of your life,” Kipperlilly says quickly, trying to cut off the inevitable sermon. “That doesn’t necessarily have to stop, and definitely not today. But Helio didn’t choose you.” Her eyes cut to Ruben; he stares at her with warning but doesn’t interrupt.

“Right, I know that,” Buddy says, conviction weaker.

“You know who he chose? Kristen Applebees.”

“Believe me, I am well aware.”

“Couldn’t he have picked someone else to be his chosen one?”

“That isn’t how it works.”

“Isn’t it? Because I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty sure the god’s chosen ones aren’t supposed to denounce their church either.” She shrugs casually, spinning back to her desk. “What do I know, though, right? I’m not a cleric or a paladin. And no god certainly ever chose me.”

With bated breath, she waits. It doesn’t need to be a complete conversion right now, of course, but holy fuck does she need him to at least be open to the idea.

Like clockwork, Buddy makes a noise. “…I guess you have a point…but it doesn’t matter, because I’m not abandoning Helio.” His voice would be more convincing if it weren’t shaking.

“Okay,” she says lightly, tapping away at her keyboard. She has some food trucks she needs to reserve. “If you still want to worship Helio, that’s fine. As long as you help us get the rest of it set up. Hey, Ruben, did you delete that email of the candidates?”

“Nope,” he says, strumming his guitar.

“Great. Could you forward it to me when you get a chance? I need to start making more preparations to make sure we don’t let the Big Guy down.”

“Let him down?” Buddy repeats. He’s still in the doorway, staring, and she doesn’t look at him.

“Well, sure. We picked you, but if you’re not working out, I want a solution to present to him.” Finally, she turns, a pitying smile on her face. “It was just a chance we took. We can’t have expected you to live up to Lucy, after all. We need a good, strong champion. And if that’s not you, hey, egg on our faces, right?” She turns back to the screen. “Hey, Ruben.”

“What?”

“You think you could get in with that Applebees boy? Can you convince him he needs the glory? I doubt he’d take it well coming from me.”

“Well, hold on now,” Buddy says, voice still unsteady. “Let’s not be hasty.”

“I just want to be prepared if you’re not going to follow through,” Kipperlilly says quickly, typing away. “Don’t you have a service to tune into?”

“It’s Friday,” he says. “Services are Wednesday and Sunday.”

“Oh, sorry. My bad.” She gives him another sickly sweet smile. “I’m sure you have some devotion you can do.”

But that afternoon, he doesn’t pull up any service at all. She keeps glancing out of the corner of her eye, but Buddy is just sitting at the altar, staring at his phone, the link pulled up but not activated. She considers going to talk to him, but Ivy beats her to it; they speak in hushed tones for a while until she lays his phone face down, smiles, and trots her stupid self back to her bow. Buddy doesn’t move for a while; when he does, it’s only to gather his school things. Kipperlilly makes a tally mark in her notes.

That night is Fabian’s party. Oisin knows the plan; everyone else is going over to fuck around and try to relax. Kipperlilly elects to stay home, of course. She doesn’t have her own classwork, but she had offered to help research some stuff for Oisin (back before she realized she probably hated his guts). So she tries. She stares at books, types various phrases into the search engines, clicks around, and prints a few things out—all useless, of course, because she doesn’t study fucking magic, so what the fuck does she know about what he needs for summons or whatever the hell it is he’s learning? She dumps it all on his desk, organized because she doesn’t know another way to be.

She thinks she sees something move out of the corner of her eye. Her head snaps up. Lucy’s altar may be lightly decorated in Heloic relics now, but it’s still hers fundamentally, and Kipperlilly can feel her absence like a gaping wound in the silence of the war room. She approaches, her fingers trailing along the edge of the mantle. There used to be pictures, she remembers. Photos of all of them—they’d been friends freshman year. It was exciting. Fresh. New. They didn’t know each other’s darkest desires and deepest fears. They barely knew anything about each other. Ruben played bad covers on his ukulele of songs they liked to pass the time; Oisin, in his skinny and scrawny glory, would wrestle with Mary Ann to keep her engaged and to make her smile when she got to suplex him. Ivy smiled more. She made less snide comments and even complimented Kipperlilly a few times. And Lucy had been the glue, generous and kind, insistent that they could handle anything as long as they had each other. They just needed to hang on. They’d get a quest soon; it would outshine anything Riz Gukgak would ever do because Porter and Jace wouldn’t steer them wrong. They were going to be heroes. They were being primed to change the world for the better.

But that was two years ago, and Lucy isn’t here anymore, and the world isn’t any warmer despite the fact that they’re bound together. The world is frigid. They’re all burning hot. And none of it is for the reasons Lucy would have wanted.

You should have come back, Kipperlilly thinks, her eyes pricking with tears again. Why didn’t you come back?

But she knows why, and it claws its way down her throat and threatens to yank the bile from her stomach onto the floor. She swallows the feeling, closes her eyes, and taps into the rage the way Porter had taught her. How dare Lucy think she was better than them? How dare Lucy decide to go back on everything they’d agreed on just because her devotion to her goddess was better for her than being with her friends? If Lucy hadn’t died, things would be so much fucking better. The rage lights up inside her chest, and Kipperlilly doesn’t know what happens next. All she knows is the all-encompassing anger doesn’t let her go until her hands are cut and raw and the entirety of the cleric’s corner is destroyed, all of Buddy’s relics included. She ought to feel bad. Instead, she picks up the biggest piece of whatever statue he’d had and throws it into the wall, watching as it dents. She picks up another piece, smashes it in her hand, and punches the wall; her hand is certainly bleeding now if it wasn’t before, and she thinks it might be broken.

She doesn’t know what to do. Kipperlilly floats in the endless sea of rage, staring at the last place she knew Lucy—her Lucy, the one that would never abandon her—had been. Everything hurts.

All she knows to do is walk over to her computer and pull up her encrypted messaging system.

KC < Are you available? I’m injured. Rage went a little heavy.

PC > Loc?

KC < HQ

PC > 15

So he’ll be here in fifteen minutes. He knows how to get in, so she sits and waits, staring at the crimson blood dripping from her knuckles. The bruises are spreading quickly. She stares, and she doesn’t move her hand, and she didn’t know the cut was that deep but she watches it drip, drip, drip, drip, drip…

"What happened?"

Kipperlilly looks up, blinking. She hadn’t even realized how much time had passed. "Oh, I…"

Porter has several feet of height on her. She feels smaller than usual right now, the pain in her hand drawing her focus towards it so she feels nearly non-existent outside of it.

"I got mad," she finishes finally. He doesn’t like it when she doesn’t finish what she’s saying, and she has trouble with it around him more often than not. He’s intimidating. It freaks her out. "About Lucy again. So I decided to…redecorate."

She glances at the corner. The shelf is snapped in half on the floor, and four or five dents in the wall are perfectly shaped like Kipperlilly’s fist.

"For Buddy," she says.

"For Buddy," Porter repeats doubtfully. His hand is bigger than her face; when he puts it on her shoulder, she resists the urge to flinch. "Alright. I mean, you know this is unacceptable, but at least he’s not here."

"At least he’s not here," she agrees because it’s easier to echo him than to provide her own thoughts.

He heals her abrasively; she doesn’t look at him, because she can’t. Truly, she’s the only one who knows his entire plan as far as she’s aware, and to be looking at a future god feels disrespectful.

"Alright," he says eventually. "Get to cleaning that up."

She scrambles off the chair to the corner, grabbing the pieces of the statue first. There’s blood on her skirt. She tries not to look at it.

"You got mad about Lucy," he repeats after a minute. She’s on her knees, trying to grab a piece that had rolled under the desk just out of reach. "Why?"

"She’s not here," Kipperlilly says, her voice shaking. "She was supposed to be the champion, and she’s not here."

"And you thought that was a good reason to destroy someone else’s property?"

"I didn’t say it was the smartest plan ever," she says tersely. Her fingers close around the last piece; she adds it to the pile on top of the desk, then pushes herself to her feet and dusts her knees off. "And I didn't really mean to either. I just miss her, that’s all."

"You miss a traitor?" he asks doubtfully. "No, no, come on, Kipperlilly. That’s not what this is about, is it?"

She looks at him curiously, feeling ashamed. "What do you mean?"

"You were mad about something else."

"No, I wasn’t." It’s one of the only things she’s sure of. Porter levels her with a hard stare. He’s leaning against Mary Ann’s boxing bag, the aura around him…sour. "It was just Lucy not being here."

"You’re mad about Kristen Applebees again, aren’t you?"

Kipperlilly stares at him, utterly baffled now. "What? What does Kristen—"

"You’re mad about her being at that party. You’d never get invited to a party like that," he decides, narrowing his eyes. "Isn’t that right?"

She doesn’t like disagreeing with him, but she squares her shoulders. "No, it was because I missed—"

"You were mad," he repeats, pushing himself so he can stalk towards her. "About Kristen Applebees. Weren’t you? That’s what you told me."

She blinks several times, then almost laughs. "What? No, I didn’t!"

He pulls out his crystal, swiping through a few things. He passes it to her. There, on the screen, as clear as day.

KC > Are you available? I’m injured. Rage about Applebees went a little heavy.

She keeps blinking. That isn’t right. That isn’t what she sent, is it? It didn’t have anything to do with Kristen—sure, she hates her guts, but—

"What?" she whispers, glancing at her computer. The thread is still pulled up, but she can’t read it from over here. "Did I…"

"You did," Porter says. "You forgot already?" He tsks gently, putting another massive hand on her shoulder. "Come on, Kipperlilly, I can’t have you failing me."

She swallows back the bile that’s threatening to come up again. "I’m not—that doesn’t seem right, though," she insists.

"Don’t be crazy," he assures her. "I have the proof right here. Do you need to see it again?"

"No," she whispers, stepping away from him towards her computer. "Hold on—"

But as she approaches, the messages vanish. She turns to see him pressing something on his crystal.

"Sorry," he says, face blank. "It was a misclick. You’re too good with that encryption stuff, you know that?"

Kipperlilly’s shoulders fall. "…Right."

Something still nags at her, but she saw the proof. Never mind that she can’t check it; Porter’s looking out for them, right? And god, she needs to be more put together, because he needs a good leader, a promising one, one that isn’t losing her mind and forgetting things.

"Sorry," she admits. "Tonight has just been…I mean, it’s Kristen Applebees, right? She drives me crazy."

"I know," he agrees lightly. "You need some rest."

"I need some rest," she repeats, pressing her fingers into her temples. "I have a campaign to run."

"You’ve gotta get that spot," Porter says. "We need you in that position. You’re the key here, Kipperlilly." That same hand lands on her shoulder; it’s heavy, like his expectations. "You can’t lose this campaign."

"I know," she says quietly. "I won’t fail you."

Her eyes shine with promise. Porter looks almost proud of her, but he’ll be more proud when she succeeds.

In her dream that night, she dreams about Kristen Applebees setting herself on fire and drowning in a pool. It nearly soothes her.

Monday, she gets to spend all day setting up her first campaign event. The food trucks have really shown out, and she makes a point to stand where everyone can see her as they eat. Her little megaphone is decorated with campaign stickers. The rest of her party is here somewhere, but she doesn’t need them to support her. They’re here for appearances only. She can stand on her own for this campaign if she has to. Mary Ann is sticking by her, though, passing out some flyers, and Kipperlilly makes a note in her head to buy her something nice as a thank you. Mary Ann may be against her in every other moment, but right now, she’s trying.

Kipperlilly doesn’t know Mary Ann’s endgame, but maybe she doesn’t need to.

“Thank you all so much for coming! Thank you, one and all!”

And then her vision goes red as Kristen fucking Applebees approaches. She’s in fucking—what is that, Wranglers? And her hat is filled with salsa, and—

She takes a long, deep breath. Mary Ann looks up at her, then turns around to pass more flyers out. So she’s on her own for this, then.

The conversation is infuriating. She grits her teeth to get through it, simply smiling and waving like the sweet little halfling she needs to appear to be, and she doesn’t let Kristen Applebees get under her skin. It’s made worse by the fact they’re all there—she’s never alone. Her entourage is tight-knit, loud, and stupid, but Kipperlilly practices her breathing and smiling and lets it all glance off of her. She doesn’t want salsa. She was just studying on Friday. It didn’t matter. It still doesn’t. Porter is counting on Kipperlilly, so she’s going to give it her all to beat this nightmare student of a cleric who—

Who doesn’t have a goddess.

Truthfully, it’s a combination of shock and processing that keeps her from immediately commenting on it. But Kristen starts to walk away, and Kipperlilly sees her opportunity. If everyone knows—how can they follow someone so clearly blind?—

“Your goddess passed?” she asks loudly. “How can you cast spells?”

Kristen’s response is asinine and ridiculous, but Kipperlilly is sure the damage is done. Who will vote for someone who’s now gone on record as having let two of her gods die?

“Piece of cake,” she says, turning to Mary Ann—Mary Ann, who has put down the flyers and is eating chips and salsa. Salsa of the same brand that Kristen Applebees had just been pouring into her fucking hat. “What the fuck?”

“Okay,” Mary Ann says, and the flyers get caught by the wind and fly away behind the giant spider wreaking havoc. “I was hungry.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Kipperlilly’s eye starts to twitch.

“I didn’t make any jokes,” Mary Ann tells her, and then the kobold wanders off into the sea of leaving food trucks.

Kipperlilly is alone again. She doesn’t break anything, and she doesn’t lose her cool, but she’s one step closer to it. It had all been going so well up until…

“I want to kill her,” she tells the counselor, balling her fists up against the armrests. “But I can’t get her alone. She’s always with her stupid fucking party, and I hate it, and I hate her, and I hate Riz fucking Gukgak—“

The counselor has heard it all before. His name is Jawbone, and he’s not as rough around the edges as she would have expected. She wishes she had someone to commiserate her anger with, but he just won’t do it. He just hums, takes some notes, frowns at her a few times, but otherwise just lets her vent.

“Alright, kid,” he says soothingly. She wants to rip his teeth out of his head. She wonders how the blood would make his fur mat, if he would howl, if it would be enough to kill him through pain or loss of blood—she envisions it, fuming in the seat, feeling her chest burn bright. “Here, you want a water? Practically got steam coming out of your ears.”

“I don’t want water,” Kipperlilly seethes. “I want Kristen Applebees and her whole fucking party to go fuck themselves.”

She tries repeating the same sentiment to Ivy later that night, standing over her while Ivy writes an essay. Ivy’s hand is gripping the pen so tightly that it’s already cracked in two places.

“They’re annoying,” Ivy says through gritted teeth. “I get it. But you’re annoying too, so shut the fuck up and go somewhere else.”

“I’m better than Kristen Applebees.”

“I’d take her over you. Leave me alone.”

Kipperlilly makes a big show of rolling her eyes, then storms over to her own desk. There’s a message waiting from Jace. She hasn’t opened it yet. She doesn’t want to, frankly. She doesn’t care enough about what he has to say. She cares about Porter, who doesn’t have anything to say to her at the moment, so she opens social media and begins to furiously scroll her burner accounts to see what the Bad Kids are up to. Seeing even one of their profile pictures makes her want to scream, but she needs to know what they’re doing. So far, they’re quiet. Everything has been quiet since last spring break. She had wondered if returning to school after the whole Night Yorb situation would have forced them out of silence, but clearly not. So she scrolls and scrolls and clicks a few things and stares obsessively, letting her chest burn again as she looks through everything she’s looked through before.

An ad stops her doom scrolling, and she spins in her chair, narrowing her eyes at Ruben. He’s perched on a stool like he’s at a poetry slam, his guitar slung across his lap as he plucks the same chords repeatedly.

“Frosty Fair,” she demands. He looks up; one of his headphones is off his ears.

“What about it?”

“How is your performance coming along?”

He rolls his eyes but grabs some sheets and offers them to her. She darts over to look at it—sheet music. Quizzically, and a bit pissed off, she stares back at him.

“Porter helped me finish the big song,” he explains, waving his hand.

“And you’re practicing?”

“In between trying to fill out the rest of my repertoire, yes,” he responds, clearly annoyed.

“You need to focus.”

“I need not to be interrupted,” he says, putting the headphone back over his ear and snatching the papers back. “I’m working, unlike someone.”

“You can’t fuck this up,” Kipperlilly practically shouts, getting into his face so maybe he’ll be able to hear her regardless. He glares at her, turning away so the neck of the guitar clips her shoulder. “Hey!”

“Working!” he says again, strumming a new set of chords in a much faster beat.

“Don’t fuck this up!” she insists, groaning when he starts to headbang. On her way back to her desk, he opens his mouth to begin to sing.

“It’s all fun and games until the games aren’t fun anymore,” Ruben sings, half mournful and half angry. Silently, Oisin raises a hand in his direction without looking and casts something. Ruben starts screaming, wailing about how he can’t see anymore.

“Unblind him, Oisin,” Buddy protests.

“Not until he shuts the fuck up.”

“He needs to practice!” Kipperlilly hisses. “He can’t do that if he’s screeching like a fucking baby!”

“He can’t do that if you’re all over him trying to backseat bard,” Ivy hisses, spinning in her seat. “What the fuck do you know about it anyway? Is it so hard to believe we all know what we’re doing?”

“Guys,” Oisin says loudly. “Enough.” He waves his hand at Ruben and dismisses the spell; Ruben immediately quiets, ripping his headphones off.

“Guys, I think I’m too powerful!” he whimpers. “I played a chord so sick I think I blinded myself!”

Kipperlilly stares at Ruben until he shrinks back, then she pointedly turns her gaze to Ivy. Ivy rolls her eyes.

“Well, some of us know what we’re doing, at least.”

“What’s wrong?” Ruben asks, semi-panicked. “Did something happen?”

“Practice the song from Porter,” Kipperlilly says, pointing at Ruben. He flinches but starts strumming his guitar again.

“Wanda would never treat me like this,” he mumbles.

“Who?”

“Wanda Childa. She showed up for one bard class and got kicked out,” he sighs. “Something about how she doesn’t go to Aguefort or whatever. Fucking lame, man. I’d take her as a classmate over fucking Fig Faeth any day.”

“I thought Faeth didn’t even go to bard classes,” Kipperlilly says, already beelining for her computer again to look up the girl. Wanda Childa. Huh.

“She showed up the same day Wanda did,” he says sadly. “And then never again, but…”

“She keeps coming to barbarian classes,” Mary Ann says. She’s by Oisin’s desk; he jumps out of his chair, clearly not having seen her approach, and yelps. “She and Gorgug have a whole trio with Porter some days.”

Her chest burns. Kipperlilly types the name Wanda Childa into the search bar with much more force than necessary. “Huh.”

“You think he’s trying to recruit them?” Buddy asks. Kipperlilly’s finger almost goes through the mouse with how hard she clicks. “I don’t think I could stand having one of them on my team.”

“He’s not,” Kipperlilly insists.

“Whoa, half pint,” Ivy croons. “Take it easy, yeah? Got that steam coming out of your—“

“I do not have steam coming out of my ears!” she shouts, grabbing the nearest thing and chucking it at the far wall. It was her pen holder; mostly plastic, it shatters on impact, sending basic black gel ink pens scattering. The rage is consuming her again and she knows it.

She also knows nobody else understands. Not yet, anyway. But they will.

“As if you know,” Oisin prods, cracking his knuckles above his head. “You think Porter really tells you everything?”

She knows he doesn’t. She knows she’s in the dark about most things, in fact, but she knows more than fucking Oisin Hakinvar. She’s willing to bet her life on it.

“The Bad Kids are our enemy,” she hisses, storming over to collect her pens. The edges of her vision are red. “They’re the only things standing in our way. If they catch on or get involved, they’ll ruin everything.” A pen has exploded against the wall, leaving an inky mess. She nearly ignores it, then stares directly at Ruben as she rubs it in more. He looks completely affronted.

“Hey! I can’t get the cleaners to come in here!”

“Sucks,” she replies. “Clean it your fucking self then.” She stands, bringing all the surviving pens back to her desk and placing them on the desk orderly.

“You think you’re so much better than us,” Ivy says, coming over and swiping the pens back into a mess. Kipperlilly is doing her damndest not to snap, but the knife is right fucking there; all she has to do is— “What the fuck do you know anyway, huh? Why are you the only person who fucking matters? Is it because you’re a selfish little cunt?” She leans down, pressing her nose to Kipperlilly’s cheek as she hisses. Kipperlilly tries to remember how to breathe. “You think you’re so goddamn important that we have to bow down and suck your twat as a thank you for letting us into your sacred little world? Newsflash, bitch. You’re not fucking in charge here.”

“Then who is?” Kipperlilly asks, her voice more steady than she expected. The calm before the storm, perhaps.

“I don’t know, and I don’t care, as long as it’s not you,” Ivy whispers. She spits on Kipperlilly’s face, and then all hell breaks loose. She doesn’t remember stabbing Ivy’s shoulder with the pen, and she doesn’t remember getting nearly strangled; most of the fight is a blur of red rage, screeching and fighting and going for the kill, the kill, the kill—

When she comes back to herself, it’s just her, Buddy, and Ruben. The boys are whispering about her, she just fucking knows it. Buddy is still healing her, one hand on her back as he breathes out prayers in between responding to Ruben’s bitching.

“I can’t get delivery,” Ruben says when she finally tunes in. “Outside the area.”

“What a shame.” Buddy sighs, pulling his hand back. “I was really looking forward to some egg rolls.”

“What are you saying about me?” Kipperlilly demands, though her voice is weak. She’s on Buddy’s pew on her side. No wonder the world looks so skewed. Quickly, she sits up.

“We literally weren’t even talking about you,” Ruben replies, vaguely annoyed. “I’m trying to get everyone fed.”

“Oh.” She’s not convinced. Porter had told her everyone would be jealous, and she believes him. In moments like this, when she can’t breathe because of the anger in her chest, she has no choice but to believe him, because nobody else can understand. “Just send someone to go pick it up.”

Ruben hums. “Mary Ann does have a car…”

Buddy looks up, pushing himself to his feet. “I suppose that ain’t too bad of a plan.”

Ruben punches a few things on his crystal, and then she hears the tell-tale sound of him calling someone. Oisin is the one to pick up.

“What?”

“Could Mary Ann go pick us up some food if I put the order in? You guys can go with her. Get out of the house for a bit.”

There’s some rustling on the other end of the line. “…Yeah, sure. How’s the brat?”

Ruben’s eyes cut to Kipperlilly. She isn’t sure, but part of her thinks he might feel bad for her. She doesn’t care. She doesn’t want his pity.

“She wants some fried rice,” is Ruben’s only response.

Forty-five minutes later, they’re all sitting awkwardly at an unused dining room table, settling down with their food. Buddy is on one side of Kipperlilly; he insists Ivy be on her other side, so Kipperlilly steadfastly ignores the other girl, stabbing into a carrot with a crazy amount of force.

“I believe some apologies are in order,” Buddy says, clapping a hand on Kipperlilly’s back. “Dontcha think?”

“No,” she says immediately; at the same time, Ivy scoffs, “Over my dead body.”

“I can arrange that, you fucking bitch—“ Kipperlilly says, trying to brandish her fork, but a quick hold person spell from Oisin renders her unable to follow through.

“I fucking mean it,” Oisin says. “Enough. From both of you, Ivy, I’m serious. This is ridiculous.”

“What the hell has gotten into you lately, Kipperlilly?” Ruben asks, leaning over the table. “You’ve been so—I don’t know. You weren’t always so violent.”

“You just don’t understand,” she says, eyes cutting to Oisin. He purses his lips, then releases her from the spell. She sighs, sulking back down in her chair. “I’m…sorry I was trying to force myself into a leadership role,” she continues, picking at the hem of her vest. “We’re a team.”

“We are a team,” Ivy agrees coolly. She pokes at a floating mushroom in her soup. “I guess I’m sorry for spitting on you.”

Kipperlilly glares at her. With a dramatic sigh, Ivy rolls her eyes.

“Fine, I’m sorry for being hard on you or whatever.” She drops her spoon and sulks in her own chair. “You’re as much a leader as we’ve got.”

“Maybe…” The words taste bitter in her mouth, but she forces them out. “Maybe we don’t need an in-team leader. We can just default to the Big Guy.”

Ivy nods awkwardly. “Yeah. No more petty bullshit.”

“Shake on it,” Oisin demands. Ivy sighs dramatically again but holds out her hand. Kipperlilly takes it, shaking it smoothly. “Okay. Good. No more problems, right?”

True to their word, the problems subside significantly—at least between the two of them. Kipperlilly starts giving less of a fuck about what anyone else is doing, only occasionally popping into the group chat to see the drama. The rest of her time is spent campaigning and stalking the Bad Kids, with less and less success as the year drags on.

The mood in the room is frosty at best. Oisin’s tower isn’t soundproof; frequently, when he’s supposed to be working on schoolwork, Kipperlilly hears songs coming from his area at a high volume, which means he isn’t using his fucking headphones. It doesn’t bother her the way the sermons did. She can just turn her music up.

One Saturday, when they’re all in the midst of focusing, Kipperlilly is hit with something in the back of the head. She spins, ready to snap—but the scene she’s greeted with makes her realize she wasn’t the target for once. As she pulls her headphones out, she hears Ivy cackling over the sound of some oldies song playing at a volume far too high.

“Turn it off!” Ruben shouts, nearly in tears. “For the love of god, turn it off, turn it the fuck off—“

Buddy isn’t here today. Mary Ann is standing, just watching the chaos, drinking a mango soda.

“Use your headphones!” Oisin calls gleefully over the music, and Ruben throws another cup full of stationary at him. A pen lands at Kipperlilly’s feet.

“Stop, stop, I’m going to piss myself,” Ivy shrieks, doubling over and nearly falling off her chair. “Oisin, turn it up, see if he cries again—you’re so mad—“

Ruben makes another noise, like he’s about to start sobbing, falls to his knees, and covers his ears. “Turn it off!”

By the time Kipperlilly can hear what song is being played, she’s got a list of songs she expects it to be—or some oldies covers of said songs, anyway—but she’s not expecting the singer to start shrieking unnaturally as the next verse starts. Kipperlilly covers her ears as Oisin presumably turns it to max volume.

And then the lyrics start back up. It’s definitely an oldies song, sounding like it was recorded on a fucking potato. Still, the main singer going, “Fuck! Fuck! My arms are not going back to normal, am I fucking gonna die? Fuck fuck fuck fuck!” is pretty much the exact opposite of what she expected to hear.

Kipperlilly bursts into her laughter as Ruben begins to wail, rocking back and forth and covering his ears. He’s in the middle of some kind of meltdown, a far cry from any face he puts out in front of people he wants to like him—but here, in this room, in this house, his own fucking house, Kipperlilly delights in his agony.

“Oh my god, Oisin,” she wheezes. She and Ivy start laughing at each other’s laughs, hearing the echo of Oisin’s join them occasionally, as the song ends then begins again.

“It’s on repeat,” she gasps, pounding the desk. “Fuck, it’s on repeat—”

“My arms are just fucking stuck like this!” Oisin sings along, dancing his way into the middle of the room, and she watches as he straight up kicks Ruben in the side to topple him over. “This ain’t normal, fuck!”

“I can’t breathe,” Ivy shrieks. “I can’t breathe—“

A normal party, Kipperlilly will think later, wouldn’t go out of their way to torment each other like this. A normal party would be kinder, apologize, laugh a little, and move on. But her party is fucked up in more ways than one. Ruben’s chest and eyes start to glow red, and before they all know it Oisin is down on the floor getting his face fucking pummeled. Kipperlilly is still laughing so hard at the song that she can’t do anything about it, but Ivy makes a halfhearted attempt to throw something at Ruben to get him to stop. She does this by throwing a single piece of paper that floats a foot towards him and then lands, which is so pathetic that Kipperlilly officially falls out of her chair and lands on her knees, pounding the floor. It makes Ivy laugh even harder. If it weren’t so twisted, this would be the best bonding experience they’ve ever had. Something to bring up at a wedding, to reference in birthday cards for years—but Kipperlilly doesn’t give a fuck about their birthdays, doesn’t even know how old most of these fuckers are anymore, and if a single one of these fucks lives long enough to get married she’ll probably kill them out of jealousy and spite.

The song keeps playing at top volume until a loud crash stops it. Kipperlilly stops laughing immediately. Looking up, she sees a positively unbothered Mary Ann walking out of Oisin’s tower with a massive halberd. Casually, she makes her way back to her own area, picking up her mango soda.

"Fuck!" Ruben shouts, finally rolling off Oisin. There’s a lot more blood than Kipperlilly feels comfortable going unacknowledged.

"Did you kill him?"

"I’m alive," Oisin groans, annoyed. "He needed that more than I did."

"If you ever play that song again," Ruben hisses, pushing himself to his feet. "I’ll—I will. I’ll kill you. Or something."

"Or something," Oisin repeats doubtfully, sitting up and rubbing his head. His glasses are shattered on the ground next to him. He picks them up, muttering a quiet mending spell. They snap back to his ordinary, unbroken frames and lenses almost immediately. "Well, I look forward to that 'or something', then."

"I could kill you," Ruben says sharply, spinning and glaring at Oisin. "I could. I can. I will."

"Then do it," Oisin challenges, but the entire room watches as Ruben fidgets and flusters and finally turns back around.

"Songs off," he says. "No point."

"You’re a coward. That’s the point." Oisin stands, adjusting his glasses.

"I’m not a coward!"

"Then I’d be more hurt right now." The Dragonborn has about three feet on Ruben (and Kipperlilly), and he fills up the whole gap with his shoulders squared. "You barely hurt me at all."

"If you two start fighting again, I’m using this on you," Mary Ann says casually, hacking the halberd into the floor with a sharp crack.

"That’s a real threat. Ruben, take notes." Oisin smiles. Kipperlilly’s skin crawls. Sometimes, she forgets that Oisin is on their team, that he’s got an anger running deep in his bones that’s even worse than her own sometimes. He puts up a good face.

He got help.

He knows how to control himself, how to hold himself like a hero if he doesn’t want anyone to see the truth, how to play diplomatic and fair and fool everyone. It’s almost psychopathic in a way; it’s like he’s hiding in plain sight. He fools everyone. He fooled her, he fooled Lucy, and hell—he fooled Adaine Abernant, the elven fucking oracle, so that’s gotta count for something. Everything about Oisin is methodical and planned, whether she wants to admit it or not. Sometimes she wonders if he’s the reason they’re all together. He knows how people tick and what buttons to press to make them do exactly what he wants.

He just doesn’t follow through often.

Today, he lets it go, sighing semi-dramatically as he makes his way back into the tower. Kipperlilly feels that low simmer in her chest that means she’s starting to envy him, but with difficulty she swallows it down. God, she needs to get a handle on this. They’ll be found out if she loses her cool.

"Fuck you," Ruben calls after Oisin, his voice shaking, and Kipperlilly would feel bad for him except that she doesn’t care enough about Ruben, so. She climbs back into her chair.

"Someone needs to clean the floor," Mary Ann announces. The rest of the room is silent, save for the distant sound of arcanotech popping while Oisin tries to repair it unsuccessfully. "Ruben, your floor is gonna stain—"

"I know," he snaps, swiping his binder of sheet music off the desk. It goes flying, papers and all; it lands in a small patch of blood towards the center of the room. "I know! Everything in this house fucking stains, everything in this house is—it’s so fucked up. It’s so fucked up—"

Kipperlilly stares at him, shakes her head, and turns back to her computer. She hears Ivy do the same, and then Mary Ann makes a quiet noise and the sound of her hitting the punching bag resumes.

"Nobody cares," Ruben laughs disbelievingly. "Not a single fucking one of you cares, do you? You fucking—" Something crashes. "You all just sit here and pretend you’re the morally superior ones the second someone doesn’t do what you like, huh?" A string twangs; Kipperlilly wonders if he’s really grabbing the guitar, if he’s going to smash it, if the rage is going to consume him— "What’s wrong with you? What the fuck is wrong with all of you? What the fuck are we even doing, huh? Kipperlilly—" Something collides with her shoulder. She winces, but she doesn’t turn around. "What the fuck do you get out of this? Nobody’s going to see you as a hero! And Ivy—this isn’t going to make Fabian fall for you! I don’t know what you want, Mary Ann, but this isn’t—you’re never going to get it like this! Do you know that?" Something collides with the floor bluntly—-a chair, maybe? "Do any of you know what we’re doing? Do any of you care?"

Nobody answers him. Nobody turns around, not when he screams and cracks something, and nobody turns around when he presumably storms out of the room. Nobody even goes to check on him. Freshman year, they might have. Freshman year, at least Lucy would have followed him, offered him a shoulder to cry on, and commiserated the frustration.

But Lucy isn’t here.

Nobody follows Ruben.

Jace sends her another message. He needs her to be more on top of everyone lest the plan be ruined, so he prods her to get everyone in line. He doesn’t care when she informs him she isn’t their leader; he tells her to suck it up and get over herself, because if she’s going to be class president then she’s got to take some fucking initiative sometime. It manifests into Kipperlilly destroying three planners trying to get everything scheduled to a T.

The schedule falls into place as follows: every morning, the party either meets at school before classes or travels together after breakfast, passing out duties. Kipperlilly does research for everyone and splits her time between that and working on her campaign. Ivy is in charge of gossip, news, and secrets; she delights in telling Kipperlilly every time it seems like people are defaulting to Kristen Applebees instead and seethes to tell everyone how well Fabian Seacaster seems to be doing. She and Oisin are in charge of writing things, mostly because Oisin is a beast who can crank out a five-page paper in under an hour, provided he has adequate materials. Ruby and Mary Ann are in charge of any kind of physical projects like dioramas. They all meet up with Buddy after school and Owlbears practice to march into the woods, work with Porter, get their experience in, and then they head home and the cycle repeats. Weekends are much the same except Kipperlilly spends most of the time researching Riz Gukgak’s party. It’s worth it, she tells herself. They’ll post a weakness somewhere and it’ll all be worth it.

Meanwhile, the team is starting to tear themselves to shreds. Ivy has nowhere to practice her archery in Ruben’s house, so one Sunday afternoon she comes home to find several arrows embedded in the living room wall and hears distant shouting and a loud crash. Buddy, who had come in with Kipperlilly, gives her a concerned look.

"We’re gonna have to go find out what that was, aren’t we?" he asks sadly.

She sighs. "Unfortunately, yes."

So they climb the stairs, dreading what they’ll find—Oisin is standing outside the door to the war room, offering Ruben some popcorn. Ruben sneers at him and knocks the bag away with the back of his hand; a piece of popcorn goes flying, and Oisin shrugs, taking a handful for himself. Inside the room, there’s another crash.

"Has Ivy finally lost it?" Kipperlilly asks dryly.

"Mary Ann was trying to play her game in the living room, and Ivy opened fire with her bow," Oisin says, holding the popcorn out to her. "Wanna snack?"

She debates, then takes a handful and shoves it in her mouth. Next to her, Buddy looks positively horrified, and he does some kind of hand gesture that she thinks is supposed to be warding off evil at the bag. "She was asking for targets last week. I guess she’s decided it’s going to be us."

"Apparently Fabian was seen talking to Mazey today," Ruben sulks. "As if that’s a surprise. They’re in the same fucking classes, and he’s totally into her—"

Something collides with the door. "He is not into her!"

Kipperlilly snorts. "Great. Are we waiting it out in the hall or can we migrate downstairs?"

"My guitar is in there," Ruben says, but he’s already heading towards the staircase. "I’ll just have to help one of y’all."

Oisin raises an eyebrow, catching Kipperlilly’s eye. She doesn’t know what he finds so interesting, so she spins on her heel. "I’ll hang out up here," he says, relaxing back against the wall. "And text you updates, if you want. All of you."

"Sounds good," Kipperlilly says, still confused. She trots down the stairs, watching as Buddy falls in line with Ruben as they walk ahead of her.

Setup happens at the kitchen table, with Kipperlilly taking the head and Buddy and Ruben splitting the rest of it—and by extension, sharing the other head of the table. Ruben is focusing on his laptop until the tell-tale sound of gems rattles from Buddy’s side.

"What’re you doing?"

"Counting out components," Buddy explains, dumping a bag onto the table. There are at least sixty diamonds, if not more. "Need to make sure that if Porter tries to let us actually fight a monster we’ll be able to come back quickly."

"He’d never," Kipperlilly promises, her fingers flying across her keyboard. "That defeats the whole purpose."

"I dunno," Ruben says, joining Buddy and peering over his shoulder. "Jace had said something about—"

"Jace Stardiamond is a bumbling idiot," Kipperlilly says immediately, not even looking up. "I don’t give a shit what he has to say. If Porter decides something, fine, but if Jace is talking I assume it’s bullshit and ignore it. I suggest you do the same."

Ruben and Buddy are both silent; after a moment, Buddy pours out another bag. It’s gems this time, ranging from blues to greens to reds, and Ruben hums appreciatively at the sight. "Can I?"

"Well—go ahead, yes," Buddy says cautiously. Ruben takes his fingers and rakes them through the pile, then picks a few up and lets them slide through his fingers. "What’s that now?"

"Just like the feeling," Ruben hums. "You ever stuck your hand in a bag of rice? It’s like that."

"Well now, I can’t say I have."

"You’re missing out." He hums again. "Kip, you think there’s any—"

He’s cut off by a knife lodging itself right between his middle and pointer fingers. A gem pings off the far edge of the table. He looks up sharply; Kipperlilly is glaring at him, her arm still extended from tossing the knife.

"Don’t call me that," she hisses. Anger burns hot in her chest.

"Right," he says, belated, suddenly paler. "Sorry. Uh, do you—do you think there’s any rice around here—Kipperlilly?" Her name is stilted in his mouth, but she doesn’t care. Let him be scared of her. He should be. He needs to be.

Nobody gets to call her Kip.

"Try the top cabinets," she says, turning back to her computer. She’s much more put together now. "Above the stove. Buddy will probably have to get them."

Buddy pushes away from the table, giving Kipperlilly the stink eye, and checks the cabinet. At least she was right. There are several bags of rice, more than half of which are opened and rolled closed. Buddy makes a face as he pulls all of them out. "This can’t be good, can it?"

Ruben and Kipperlilly share a glance, glaring at each other.

"You’re the last one who cooked."

"Someone told me we were out."

"You didn’t check?"

"Does it look like I can check?"

They both stare at each other, letting it sink in, then sigh in unison. "Just combine them all," Ruben says, resigned. "Hey, that might actually work out well for what I wanted to show you." He makes his way over, grabbing the bags and slowly starting to put them in a pile.

"Will it?" Buddy muses.

"Sure will. You’re sticking your hand in a bag of rice today, sir."

"That surely doesn’t sound sanitary."

Ruben stares at him, affronted. "Well obviously you fucking wash it."

"You wash the rice?"

"Oh my god," Ruben says. "I’m never letting you cook."

Kipperlilly snorts, clicking through another link. She’s trying to figure out what to do for her next campaign event at the moment, so she completely tunes the boys out as they chat and mess with the rice. The second floor shakes a few times and she can hear loud crashes; all she thinks is If they break my computer, I hope they know they’ll pay for it.

A while later, when Buddy’s wrist deep with two hands in a bowl of rice that’s bigger than Oisin’s head, a cry comes from upstairs. “Buddy!”

“Huh?” He looks up at the same time as Kipperlilly; his face is red, and Ruben is…close to him. Very close. She stares at them for a moment, trying to figure out why the fuck Ruben jumps away from Buddy like he’s been burned, but another call derails her train of thought.

“Buddy! Revivify!”

All three of them snap to action. Kipperlilly grabs a handful of diamonds, counting quickly, then follows the boys upstairs. Oisin is on the ground, hunched over a body in the middle of the room, and Mary Ann is staring at the door with her same unbothered face. Kipperlilly wonders if punching her would change her expression, but it’s not the time to find out.

“Buddy,” Oisin says, nearly breathless with panic. He’s cradling Ivy close to his chest. “Please, help—“

“I’m not dead,” Ivy says, but her voice is weak. “She broke my shoulder—“

“She deserved it,” Mary Ann says. Ruben and Buddy both glare at her as Buddy slides into place on the floor next to Ivy, taking her hand. Oisin has to move, so Kipperlilly sees the extent of it—arms are certainly not supposed to twist that way, and the fact that there’s a bone sticking out nearly clean of blood also probably isn’t a good sign.

“Nobody deserves this!” Oisin pleads. Kipperlilly can’t figure out why he’s so upset. It’s not like he cares about anyone—not like he cares about Ivy, anyway—doesn’t he hate them all? Ivy is a bitch anyway—

Standing there, watching the way everyone fawns over Ivy, the grace they give Mary Ann, Kipperlilly is struck with the realization that if she was in either of their positions they wouldn’t give a shit. It’s not that Oisin is a heartless bastard, he just hates Kipperlilly. It’s not that Mary Ann is a saint, Ruben and Buddy just hate Kipperlilly. Every single one of them hates Kipperlilly. She’s alone, standing at the door, holding diamonds and staring at this adventuring party in front of her, and she knows in her deepest heart of hearts that none of them would resurrect her unless they were given no other choice.

But she swallows the pain, passes the diamonds to Buddy anyway, and waits until Ivy is back to her normal self. She doesn’t say a word.

“I need somewhere to aim,” Ivy hisses at Ruben.

“I’ll get something set up in the backyard,” he promises, exchanging a look with her that’s completely unreadable.

When Kipperlilly heads back downstairs, she goes alone.

She doesn’t let herself sleep much at night. There are too many moving parts to keep track of, and she’s often working until the sun comes up, taking a few cat naps here and there, and working obsessively around the clock to keep her campaign on track, her party on track, to keep Porter and Jace happy with her and their progress, to keep pushing Buddy in the right direction subtly—

She’s got so much on her plate, and this is the year she’s supposed to be taking it easy. She doesn’t have classwork, after all.

So one Friday night, about nine, she stretches at her desk, pops her neck and shoulders a few times, and pushes back. Ruben looks up from his guitar as she starts turning her monitors off.

“Porter asking for you?”

“No,” she says simply. “I’m just tired.”

Mary Ann looks up from her bean bag, staring at Kipperlilly over the plush in her lap. Her laptop is on the portable desk in front of her. “Tired? You?”

“Yes.”

“You’re joking,” Ruben laughs. “Nah, come on, where are you going?”

“To bed.” She shrugs, smiling, and heads out of the room.

The thing is, she knows them too well. They all follow her to the bathroom—Oisin is with his great something grandmother tonight and Buddy doesn’t stay on weekends, so it’s Ruben, Ivy, and Mary Ann that stand at the end of the hall, watching to see what nefarious plan she’s got under her sleeve.

She uses her own toothpaste and her own toothbrush, doesn’t touch anyone else’s, and steps out into the hall. Three heads whip behind a corner; she pretends not to notice. There’s four guest rooms; on nights when everyone is staying, either someone pulls an all-nighter or someone ends up napping at their desk. It’s usually Kipperlilly that sacrifices the room. But again, Oisin isn’t here, and they agreed early in sophomore year that they wouldn’t mind letting her borrow his unofficial room when she needed it. It’s been a while, but she thinks the offer still stands. So into his room she goes, and there’s lots of papers regarding bank dealings and Adaine Abernant, but she ignores all of it and shuts the door so she can change.

Shadows pass in front of the door a few times as she gets ready, letting her hair down, avoiding looking in the mirror. When the light goes out, the movement stops, and she can picture them all on the other side. Let them wonder, she thinks. Let them stalk her. They don’t care about her and they never did, so—

She tries to sleep. Honestly, she does. But fifteen minutes later the door creaks open, letting light spill into the room. Kipperlilly doesn’t move. She’s not doing anything wrong, goddamn it, she’s just trying to fucking sleep.

“She’s still here.”

“It’s really her?”

Someone creeps next to the edge of the bed. She keeps her eyes steadfastly closed. “Yeah,” Ruben breathes. “It’s her. What the fuck?”

“Why does she look like that?” Mary Ann asks. She doesn’t know how to whisper. Ivy and Ruben don’t bother to shush her. “She looks stupid without the ponytail.”

“Is this her relaxed?”

“She’s in silk pajamas,” Ruben whispers, laughing under his breath. “Stuck up bitch. Those don’t do anything. They’re just there to make you uncomfortable.”

Kipperlilly thinks about responding, but fuck, she’s just trying to sleep—so she lays as still as possible. She keeps her breathing deep.

“Someone ought to keep watch,” Ivy says, her voice louder now. “I don’t know what she’s up to, but this is ridiculous.”

“I’ll take the hallway,” Ruben says quickly, and then there’s a lot of shuffling and discussions as they plan how to stake her out. God, it is ridiculous, because she should be able to sleep without being put under such fucking suspicion, but so goes her party. Once everyone is settled she finds it easy to go to sleep, though. Something about the anxiety of not wanting to give herself away lulls her to sleep faster than any kind of attempt at relaxing ever could. (Not that she’s doing anything that needs to be caught out—fucking hell, something is wrong with her, but at least something is wrong with all of them.)

The next thing she knows, something loud is blasting from the far side of the house that wakes her. Sleepily, she pats around until she can check her crystal. Helio’s sake, it’s five in the fucking morning.

Who the fuck is making this much noise at 5 a.m.?

She sits up, rubbing her eyes, and checks the room. Sure enough, Ruben is posted in the corner, also waking up. He groans, then makes eye contact with Kipperlilly and goes pale.

“I was literally just getting some sleep,” she informs him, then slides out of bed. “And the silk is comfortable. It’s soft on the inside.”

“Oh,” he says, voice small. And then he follows her out.

The noise, as it turns out, isn’t the far side of the house. It’s just the bathroom. Ivy is running her hair dryer, blasting inane music at top volume and singing along. Kipperlilly sneers when she realizes, because Ivy can’t fucking sing, so no wonder it sounded like an animal was being brutally murdered.

She knocks on the door loudly. “Hey, shut the fuck up!”

“I’m getting ready!” Ivy shouts back.

“For what?”

“Never can be too prepared!”

Kipperlilly spins to Ruben. He flinches. “Who gave her drugs?”

“Sorry, what?”

“Is she on fucking snuff or something? What the hell is wrong with her?”

“Maybe she’s got a date,” he hums, then pounds on the door himself. “Hey, did Seacaster agree to fuck?”

Something clatters loudly. “What? No!”

“Then who are you trying to impress?”

“It’s five in the morning, asshole!” Kipperlilly pounds on the door again.

“I’m just getting ready!”

“What are you getting ready for?” Kipperlilly is about three seconds from breaking the door down. She starts pulling her hair back into a ponytail, but—

Something hits the wall next to the door; it’s a handheld game console. Ruben and Kipperlilly turn to find Mary Ann at one of the other spare room doors, glaring.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “It’s five in the morning. All of you shut the fuck up.”

“She started it,” Kipperlilly insists, but she holds her hands up when Mary Ann reaches for something else to throw. “Fuck, okay, fine, sorry!”

“I’ll handle Ivy.”

“Okay,” Ruben agrees, a beat too quick, and grabs Kipperlilly around the waist to drag her back to the guest room. “Not getting in the middle of that.”

He shuts the door behind him, and Kipperlilly glares hard. “What the hell are you—“

She’s cut off by Ivy screaming, then lots of crashes. Ruben is barricading the door with his body, eyes locked on Kipperlilly in fright. There’s a few more shrieks, two doors slam, and then complete and utter silence. The pair stare at each other; Ruben’s hands are shaking.

“You can borrow the other side of the bed,” Kipperlilly offers, voice small. In truth, she’s too shocked to even pretend to start processing what happened on the other side of the door.

“It’s my house,” Ruben says, but she can tell he’s going to take her up on it, so. Into bed they go. Ruben doesn’t have anything to change into, so he strips to just his underwear and curls up on the left side of the bed. Kipperlilly takes her place on the right, staring at the wall away from Ruben, and they both sit in horrified silence until the panic lulls them to sleep.

By the time the Frosty Fair rolls around, she’s bored out of her fucking mind.

“I don’t see why we can’t go to the festival,” Buddy insists that afternoon, his bible off to one side and his notebook spread out in front of him. He’s got a bullet-pointed list of things that make him mad. Kipperlilly mentally makes another tally mark. They’re all in the kitchen today, dredging the cabinets for any kind of food since Ruben has been so busy rehearsing he hasn’t bought groceries.

“It’s their turf,” Oisin reminds him, peering into one of the taller cabinets. “They might catch on. Besides, Ruben’s playing the spell today, so we need to be as out of the way as possible. I have to go drop off some crystals on the far side of town.”

“Me too,” Ivy says, leaning against the counter next to Buddy. Her tits are on display today; Kipperlilly thinks, briefly, about cutting them off and hollowing them out to use as cereal bowls, it’s just that they wouldn’t hold much—

Huh. Kipperlilly stares at the grout in the counter for a moment. That was…more violent than she usually gets. Her chest burns.

“I have to talk to—someone,” she announces, darting back to the war room. She nearly runs into Mary Ann, but she doesn’t stop, darting around her easily. Mary Ann watches her book it down the hallway and shrugs.

“Okay.”

She scrambles to her computer and inputs the password wrong four times before she finally gets in. Her hands are shaking. Porter isn’t online—he never is—Jace is, but Kipperlilly would rather rip him into tiny pieces than go to Jace with any of her problems—he’d look great as a bunch of bacon bits—

Something is wrong. She messages Porter anyway.

KC < SOS

She stares at his icon, waiting for him to pop online. It doesn’t happen immediately; he gets annoyed when she double messages him, but she’s in the middle of typing a follow-up when she gets a response. He’s still not online. That’s…new, and terrifying, and she thinks this could cause more problems than it fixes.

PC > Aware of it. Taking care of it today.

KC < ?

PC > In regards to being found out?

Kipperlilly stares at the screen, a new feeling overtaking her chest—fear.

KC < Found out?

PC > Available? Clearing

KC < I can be there in 20.

PC > Good

She jumps off her computer and grabs her bag, hearing one last message come through as she heads to the door. She goes to check—

PC > Come armed

That’s a new one. Her chest seizes; she grabs her knives, pockets them, and locks her computer. She can’t trust any of these fucks. He asked for Kipperlilly and Kipperlilly alone, so goddamnit, she’s going to make him fucking proud.

As she bolts for the front door, Ivy’s voice stops her. It’s echoing in the mostly empty house; Oisin’s laugh covers some of what she says, but Kipperlilly sneaks to the door to listen anyway.

“Bet she’s telling Porter on us,” Ivy laughs. “Stuck up cunt.”

“We didn’t do anything wrong,” Oisin protests. “Maybe she’s talking to someone else.”

“People like her just love to complain all the time. ‘Jeepers, they want to go to the fair, Porter! Lemme suck your dick so you can remind me I’m your favorite!’ It’s fucking pathetic—“

“She seemed distressed.” That’s Buddy, sounding at least somewhat sympathetic. Kipperlilly swallows hard.

“She’s always distressed when we don’t bend over backwards for her,” Ivy dismisses. “Come on, Buddy, get it together. Hey, Oisin.”

“What?”

“You think if you set her on fire and she dies she’ll come back again?”

That same fear from before steals the breath from Kipperlilly’s lungs. She was promised—only the once. She only needed to die the once. And now her team wants to kill her again? She’s not that insufferable, is she? It’s not her fault Porter likes her more than everyone else. She’s the smart one, the mastermind, and—

“I’m not killing her again,” Oisin responds. “I’d still feel guilt.”

“Why? You’d be doing the world a service.”

“She’d say the same about killing you,” he responds sharply. “Shut the fuck up. She’ll be back soon.”

Ivy starts muttering under her breath, but Kipperlilly doesn’t listen anymore. She sneaks back through the hallway so they don’t see her and leaves.

She’s used to making her way to school in Mary Ann’s car, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t know how to get there quickly. One too many alarm mishaps by Lucy had taught her how to find her way around the city with alarming speed on foot if a dimension door wasn’t available. Aguefort is cresting the horizon before she knows it, and the forest not too long after. She makes her way in. By a check of her watch, Ruben’s probably already performing. She hopes she isn’t too late to what Porter needs her for.

As she approaches their usual clearing—the normal one, not where everything had gone wrong—she hears voices in the distance, and someone crying.

“…and when Jace gets here we’ll have him contact her family,” she hears Porter say. Kipperlilly slows, then stops; he’s in the cursed clearing, the one she refuses to go to, talking about…

“Lucy was so young,” someone cries, and Kipperlilly’s blood runs cold.

“I know.”

“How did no one find her?”

“I told you, they don’t come here for practice,” Porter says. “They come to another part of the forest.”

Kipperlilly sneaks up, but it’s useless. Porter is staring straight at the entrance. He smiles at Kipperlilly.

“See?”

“Hello,” she says awkwardly, her eyes flitting to the other person. It’s one of the teachers—Lucy’s teacher, actually. Yolanda Badgood, if she remembers right. She only had to forge her name once or twice for Lucy’s old paperwork. “Am I interrupting something?”

The look Porter gives her tells her everything she needs to know. Yolanda pushes to her feet, trying to collect herself, her back to Porter. “Oh, Miss Copperkettle—oh, I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you—we found your friend.”

Kipperlilly is unnaturally still. “Who?”

“Lucy,” she says, then breaks down into tears again. “Oh, she was so young, and so close all this time…”

Kipperlilly is unfortunately too familiar with death. She’d been the first one taken down, long before the rest of her party—by weeks, actually. And then she watched all of her party die, and then she helped kill Lucy, and she kills monsters and rats and other insignificant things all the time. Death is something she’s had more than a brush with. She’s intimately familiar with it. But it still takes her breath away when she watches Yolanda’s face sieze up and the teacher collapse. Behind her, Porter has a single hand raised at her, a small smirk on his face.

“Knew you’d come to the rescue,” he says lightly. “She was getting too close, Kipperlilly.”

She shouldn’t be so numb. “You just…killed her?” she asks, voice small.

“I had to,” he explains. “Did you not hear me? She knew too much.”

“Why can’t they know where Lucy is?” she asks.

“Someone will start putting pieces together,” he insists.

“You killed her,” Kipperlilly repeats, staring at Yolanda—and only a few feet away she sees the sleeve of a cable-knit sweater, and suddenly she starts to feel sick.

“Don’t worry, Kipperlilly.” She’s not paying attention to Porter; when his voice comes from behind her, she doesn’t know how he got there, and she doesn’t know why he’s so close— “Let me bring your conviction back.”

Yes, Kipperlilly is intimately familiar with death, and when Porter fatally strikes her down, she doesn’t even have time to scream. Death burns hotter than the rage, and it consumes her wholly, and she wants to shriek and cry and get away, get away from it, get away—

She’s offered another out. Rage, child. Rage, and you may live. Worship it. Choose it. Do not bow out; do not falter.

Between white hot death and simmering red rage, she chooses the rage. Another shatter-star embeds itself in her chest.

See how easy it was, Lucy? Why did you not choose the easy way out?

When she comes to, gasping on the ground, there’s two voices above her.

“I can bring her back—“

“She’ll come back on her own, Stardiamond.”

“We can’t have three bodies in this clearing this close to school! Are you nuts?”

She pushes herself up, steadying herself on her feet. The crazed fight instinct from before—her whole reason for her distress message earlier—is gone, replaced by a heavy, deep-set anger that makes her feel…grounded. It rushes through her veins. She relishes in the feeling.

“I told you,” Porter says, a hand landing on Kipperlilly’s shoulder. “Welcome back, Kipperlilly.”

She looks up at him, eyes shining. “Thank you,” she says, because she needs him to know she’s grateful. A small part of her still insists that she doesn’t understand—what did she do? Why did she have to die again? What happened to only the once? Didn’t they promise?—but maybe she doesn’t need to understand, because Porter so obviously knows better than her. He didn’t even know her problem and he managed to fix it. He’s smiling at her like she’s done something excellent.

“You’re welcome,” he tells her warmly. “See, Jace?”

She spins to Jace, putting her hands behind her back. “I didn’t realize you’d be joining us.”

Jace looks so thoroughly unimpressed that she nearly cows away—but she doesn’t, because Porter needs to use her as an example, clearly, and she’s going to be the best damn example out there if it kills her. (Again.)

“Right,” Jace says. “Well, Porter said he needed help. I guess he was wrong.”

“I was the help he needed,” she insists. “He probably just needed you for backup. A failsafe.”

“See how smart she is?” Porter grins, squeezing her shoulder. “Now, I think the three of us have some things to talk about, hm? Why don’t we head somewhere more private? Ruben will be finishing his set soon.”

“About that,” Jace deadpans. “I don’t think he got to finish it. Got a message that Grix is down.”

“What?” Porter’s previously gentle grip turns vice-like. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Jace says pointedly, “that he crashed the Fair and was taken out of commission. He was trying to stop Ruben.”

“Is Ruben okay?” Kipperlilly asks quickly.

“Thanks to the Bad Kids, yes,” Jace says.

Her face sours. She doesn’t like that—she shouldn’t owe them thanks for anything. They’re monsters, the bottom of the barrel, bullies of the highest degree, and she hates them, she hates them—

“We need to talk privately,” Porter insists. “Jace. Your apartment.”

“Are we bringing the kid?”

“We have to.” Porter smiles ruefully. His tone says, She knows too much.

The irony is lost on her that the last person who knew too much was completely taken out of commission. She stays at Porter’s side dutifully like a little puppy as Jace grabs them all and dimension doors to his apartment nearby. She’s never been here, but she’s being trusted, isn’t she? She has to make sure they know she can keep being trusted in the future. The kids may have agreed no internal leaders, but god damnit, if Jace and Porter trust her then fuck whatever she told Ivy. If they trust her to be their go-to, then that’s what she’ll be. If they promote her to leader, fuck Ivy.

Fuck all of them, in fact.

Jace’s apartment is nice, if not a little messy. There’s a fair amount of dishes around, looking like there’s two people who live here instead of just him. She could ask, if she cared, but she doesn’t. Her body is thrumming with the knowledge that she’s about to be let in on something big.

Better that than focusing on how Porter killed her again. She straightens her back.

“What’s the plan now?” she asks, turning to Porter. He’s staring at Jace with an anger she doesn’t normally see on him; Jace is staring back with a similar frustration.

“You killed another staff member,” Jace says plainly.

“It’s alright, Kipperlilly,” Porter says gently. “We’ll cover for you.”

She blinks a few times, then stares up at him, confused. “I didn’t—I didn’t kill her, Porter.”

He gives her that same pitying look. “Didn’t you?”

Jace sighs heavily, but Kipperlilly is flitting through her memory—well, she was angry when she walked into the clearing, wasn’t she? But she didn’t kill—she doesn’t have the ability to kill people without touching them, and there’s no blood on her, and—

“I didn’t,” she says, voice unsure now. “Did I? I couldn’t have.”

“It’s alright. If you need to tell yourself you didn’t, that’s fine.” He pats her back. “Why don’t you take a seat, yeah?”

She sits, because Porter is telling her to. Her memory is getting more fuzzy the more she tries to think back. She remembers watching Yolanda die—but she couldn’t have…could she? Is Kipperlilly getting so good at killing that she can hide the truth even from herself? Or is it a trauma response to forget? Yes, she decides, she must have just forgotten because it was something she had to do—she didn’t want to. But Yolanda knew too much, didn’t she? So of course she had to take her down. She had to make Porter proud, so she acted to impress him. That must be what happened.

Jace and Porter are whispering a few feet away, glancing at her every so often. She looks at them, blinking a few times, and smiles hopefully. Porter claps Jace’s shoulder and approaches.

“You’re making me proud, Kipperlilly. Look at you. You didn’t even hesitate this time. You’re shaping up to be a wonderful lieutenant,” he says. “See how fast you came back?”

“Was it faster than last time?”

“Sure was.”

She grins. “I’m glad.”

“Now.” He takes a seat next to her at the counter, crossing his arms on the surface in front of them. “Why don’t you tell me why you messaged me? Premonition? Are you going to be the halfling oracle now?”

Kipperlilly bristles a little, then smooths out her skirt. “No—no, I was just fighting with the party a little. Ivy has been particularly insufferable. But I can handle it now.” She grins again. “You helped solve that problem.”

“Did I?” Porter asks, amused. “What did you get all up in arms about, lieutenant?”

Warmth spreads through her chest. She really must be doing something good if she’s the lieutenant now. “I was trying to keep everyone on track a while back and she got mad I was trying to promote myself to leader.”

He tuts before she can continue. “Come on now, you’ve been leader the whole time.”

“That’s what I thought! But she was jealous.”

“Of course she’s jealous. You know—and more importantly, they know—that they’re nothing without you. You saved them from generic oblivion.” He puts a hand on her back. “Your drive made this happen.”

She sighs. “I know. I wish they’d take the time to thank me every once in a while.”

“Well, I’ll thank you for them. Solving problems they didn’t even know they had, you know. Good on you.”

“Porter,” Jace says, annoyed. “The murder?”

“Right, right. I need to go clean up the scene.” He nods, standing. “Why don’t you head on back, Kipperlilly? Sorry, sorry—lieutenant?”

She grins, saluting. “Can do.”

“How are you feeling? Angry?”

“Lustful for revenge.”

He grins at her. “Attagirl. Head on out of here. We’ll cover up your mistake.”

A mistake. She tries not to deflate. But she gathers herself, stepping out of the apartment, and finds herself making a mental note how to get to Jace’s apartment should she ever need to come back.

God, she hopes she never has to come back.

IE > I don’t know which one of you doesn’t know how to flush, but fuck’s sake, LEARN.

RH > Next time we run out of milk, can someone let me know before I find out at THREE AM when I’m trying to make some fucking MAC AND CHEESE

OH > Hey, anyone seen my sleep mask? Since someone can’t turn the brightness on their monitors down even when it’s the middle of the fucking night, I need some extra help getting to sleep. I’m sure you all understand.

IE > Stop deciding to recite spells when I’m in the middle of studying for an exam. I can’t have half my attention on trying to understand what words you’re saying when I’m trying to answer questions about the history of Spyre. Besides, you’re pronouncing half the words wrong.

OH > Might be because I’m not speaking in Elvish. Mind your fucking business.

IE > Whatever you’re speaking is giving me a fucking migraine. Shut the fuck up.

Only a few days after the Frosty Fair incident and the announcement that Yolanda and a student had been found in the woods, Kipperlilly comes bounding into the war room. She’s done with her club meetings for the day, at least, but now she has more work to do, and she beelines for her computer—only to find it being commandeered.

“What the fuck is her password?” Ivy whispers loudly.

“I don’t know!”

Ivy is sitting in her chair and Oisin is leaning over her, both of them staring at the computer screen with intensity. Kipperlilly’s eye twitches, but she approaches silently, taking the spot behind Ivy on the other side.

“I bet it’s something weird.” Ivy types something. “Well, it’s not ‘crystalupmyass’.”

“Why the fuck would you even try that?”

“Can I help you?”

Ivy and Oisin jump, screaming. They both turn to glare at her.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Ivy hisses.

“This is my seat.” She’s calm, cool, collected. She points at the desk. “That’s my computer. Can I help you?”

Oisin groans, dropping his head back. “We needed to get into it.”

“For what reason?”

“You have enough encryptions that nobody can trace anything from this computer,” Ivy explains. “And I need to be untraceable.”

“For what reason?”

Ivy sighs. “I…need to do some sneaky bullshit.”

“I can set up encryptions on your computer,” Kipperlilly offers. She smiles, still calm.

Ivy looks up at Oisin, then sighs and nods. “Alright.”

So they all trot to Ivy’s desk; she types something in before Kipperlilly can see what the password is. She sits; Ivy pulls up Kipperlilly’s chair and Oisin drags his own over. She goes for the classic setup, rerouting IP addresses and a few other basic systems she knows, trying to figure out how to ask. She doesn’t have to, though.

“We need to fuck with Buddy’s ads on his social media,” Ivy explains in a whisper. All three of them look at the conspicuously absent cleric’s corner. Kipperlilly raises an eyebrow. “I think he’s gay. I need to get his ads to start showing him dildos and stuff.”

“We’re helping him,” Oisin adds earnestly. “He just won’t know until he gets used to it.”

“It won’t work,” Kipperlilly says immediately. She doesn’t stop the setup. “Believe me. He’ll die before he ‘falls to sin’. I asked him what he thought about smoking cigarettes one day and he told he I’m going to hell for even considering it.”

“He’ll die anyway. I want him to come out first. He’s already questioning it.”

Kipperlilly’s head snaps to look at Ivy. “What?”

Ivy grins. “His little notebook of things that piss him off? Yeah, one of the things listed is, and I quote, ‘the way some of the boys at school make me feel’. He’s gay as fuck. We just want to speed the process along. The further into sin he falls, the faster he’ll accept rage when he comes back. Helio would never approve and we all know it. Just look at Kristen fucking Applebees.”

The newly minted anger burns hot in Kipperlilly’s chest. Her vision goes red; but it fades quickly and she nods. “…Right.”

“How’s her campaign coming?” Oisin asks. He’s just being a dick. He knows Kristen is beating her by a landslide.

“I suggest you stop antagonizing me,” she responds coolly. “We’re on the same team.”

“For once, I agree,” Ivy says.

So she keeps working, and Ivy and Oisin start ignoring her, talking under their breaths about whatever they talk about. For the most part, she ignores them too, until she hears Fabian Seacaster’s name being thrown around.

“I shouldn’t be surprised he chose that bard bitch over me,” Ivy grumbles, crossing her arms and sulking in her seat. “I mean, I’m pissed, but—“

“He probably saw right through you,” Kipperlilly offers. Ivy goes silent.

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, Mazey seems to be actually interested in him. She’s kinder than you are by a long shot.” She types in a code quickly. “No wonder.”

“You better watch your mouth—“

“I’m just saying, between the spawn of a demon and another bard, you can’t be surprised he chose her.”

For once, it isn’t Kipperlilly who goes ballistic first. Ivy smashes something against the wall, then kicks Kipperlilly’s chair over, screeching. Finally she goes for Kipperlilly’s throat, but Kipperlilly was expecting it; she draws her knife and defends herself until Oisin takes Ivy out of the room.

For posterity’s sake, she finishes the encryption, leaves a note about it, and jaunts back over to her own desk. A muffled noise from Ruben’s corner stops her; he’s lying face down on the ground, looking like he may or may not be crying.

She almost ignores him, but Porter calling her “lieutenant” echoes in her head, so she makes her way over.

“What happened?” she asks, trying to sound genuinely interested.

He mumbles something into the floor.

“What?”

This time, Ruben rolls his face over. “Wanda Childa,” he repeats mournfully.

Kipperlilly raises an eyebrow. “What about her?”

“She came,” he cries, putting his face down to the floor again. “She came to the concert and I didn’t even get to talk to her…”

“Poor baby,” Kipperlilly says, then turns away.

OH > Hayseed, did you take my headphones?

BD > I certainly hope you aren’t talking to me.

OH > I am. Where are they?

BD > Why would I take your headphones?

OH > I can see them on your pew. Give them back.

BD > Why are you asking questions you already know the answer to?

BD > Come get them back yourself. I didn’t take them.

MS > i did. buddy’s listening to sermons out loud again. his are broken. we can tolerate your music, oisin, just play it out loud

IE > Maybe we don’t use names in the chat. Have we considered that?

RH > will you guys shut the fuck up

BD > Come get your headphones yourself, Scales.

OH > Scales? Really? That’s the best you can come up with?

OH > Fuck’s sake. This is why I hate being surrounded by mammals.

RH > what the fuck is that supposed to mean?

OH > M A M M A L S. Non reptilian creatures. I.E. you all.

RH > rip to your girlfriend

OH > I don’t have a girlfriend.

RH > sorry ivy, heard it here first

IE > WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT USING NAMES IN THE CHAT?

RH > we’re encrypted to hell and back, it doesn’t matter. sorry you’re single now, wanna grab dinner?

OH > We probably shouldn’t throw sharp things inside the house. It might kill someone.

MS > isn’t that the point

OH > Give me my headphones back, Hayseed.

BD > I can’t. I’m focusing on my divine realm research.

OH > Give them back.

BD > Let me spell it out for you. I AM NOT IN THE ROOM.

MS > idiot

RH > moooom, ivy’s being a bitch again @KC

KC < I’m busy.

RH > :(

IE > You’re trying to tell on us? What is this, first grade, ukuloser?

RH > for the last time, if you’re gonna give me a nickname, it’s EMOLELE

KC < Gemcutter. Pinewood, be quiet.

IE > Aw gee, did I make half pint mad?

IE > Sorry. Half Pint. Gotta capitalize your name. :)

PC > Lieutenant. Have a moment?

KC < Always.

PC > Clearing. 30

It’s late in the evening, but Kipperlilly would be remiss to say no to him. She quickly gathers her knives, locks her computer, and makes her way to the door.

“Kipperlilly,” Mary Ann says. The room goes quiet as everyone turns to look at her. “It’s late.”

“I don’t have class tomorrow,” she reminds them sweetly.

“Are you coming to my game then?”

Now, everyone’s looking at Mary Ann. She’s so hard to read usually, but she looks almost hopeful, taking a slight step out of her normal area bounds.

Kipperlilly blinks a few times, then nods. “Yeah. I’ll come to a game.”

“Okay.” But Mary Ann gives the barest hint of a smile, so Kipperlilly looks at the rest of the group pointedly. They all nod silently. “Are you coming back tonight?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Stalking Riz again?”

She bristles, glaring at Ivy. “It has nothing to do with Riz Gukgak.” The name tastes like blood in her mouth, but she pushes through. “I’m on an assignment.”

“You just said you don’t have class,” Oisin points out. Always backing up Ivy. Always picking her side. Always making Kipperlilly seem stupid. God, she hates him.

“Not an assignment for class,” she says tersely.

“For the Big Guy?” Buddy guesses, gathering his notebook and putting it in his bag. He didn’t even pull out his bible today.

“Yes.”

“Doing what?”

“It’s private.”

“You have no idea,” Ivy decides, spinning. “Alright, whatever. Don’t come back. I promise I won’t care.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Kipperlilly says brightly, skipping out of the room.

The last time she was in the woods this late, she’d come to check up on Lucy’s body. Just to see if it had moved. Just to see if she had changed her mind. She hadn’t, of course, and Kipperlilly had killed almost the entire colony of rats before she’d broken down crying. But now she knows Lucy won’t be here. She’s buried finally, somewhere nice and gentle, and Kipperlilly tries not to think about what she looked like when they found her.

She still doesn’t know who it was, but she has her guesses. Fuck Kristen Applebees, by the way.

Porter is waiting in the cursed area, his hammer at his side as he stares up at the stars. Kipperlilly’s approach is silent. He knows anyway.

“Glad you could make it, lieutenant.”

“Anything for you, sir.”

He turns to smile at her. “Nah, come on. Come, sit. We need to talk.”

They sit. They talk. It’s mostly small talk, until he finally turns it to the party, and then things get…interesting.

“You’ve got drive, kid. You always have. But I don’t think your team does.”

“We’re all invested—“

“No, I know that.” He shifts his hammer. “But you remember how I reconstituted your conviction a few weeks ago?”

She doesn’t react outwardly, but the memory of her second death burns in her chest. “Sure do.”

He smiles at her, like they’re sharing a secret. Like this is fun. Like he’s not opening his mouth to tell her “I need you to do that with the rest of the party for me.”

It shocks her into silence. He waits; when she speaks, she’s got more voice than expected.

“You’re asking me to kill the party again?”

“I am.”

“Me?”

“You’re ruthless. In another life, you would have made a hell of a barbarian, Kipperlilly.” He claps her knee. “But you gotta do it.”

“Do I need to bring them to you?” Why is it suddenly hard to breathe? Kipperlilly tries, unsuccessfully, to steady herself, but Porter is starting to go a little in and out of focus.

Please don’t make me do this. Please don’t make it be me.

“No,” he says simply. “You can handle this on your own. I expect you to. You keep those deliveries coming, and you kill them all one more time.” He smiles. “But not the cleric. I’ve got bigger plans for him.”

“Bigger plans?” she whispers.

“He needs to be taken care of at the right time. It’s like he’s a roast, yeah?” He winks at her. “Let him cook a while longer. I’ll tell you when to strike on him.”

“How?”

“How what?”

“How do I kill them?”

His face turns sour finally. “I don’t know. However you see fit. As a group, or one by one, I don’t fucking care. They need to die, violently, and be brought back again. Repledge themselves the way you did. I shouldn’t have to spell this out for you.”

She almost opens her mouth with another question, but he seems angry now; so she nods silently, and he sends her back on her way.

The thing is—well. The thing is, she knows her party too well. The thing is she promised to come to the game, so she can’t disappoint Mary Ann—Kipperlilly’s logic, of course, is that she needs them to be angry when she kills them, one by one, so they’re more willing to fall into the rage that brings them back. So she gets the party. She goes to the game.

(She leans over at one point, seeing how Mary Ann seems to be struggling to do much against Fabian Seacaster’s insufferable bravado, and makes a joke to Oisin about how bad it would be for Mary Ann to not make the winning goal. She knows her party too well, and she knows when the ball bounces out of Mary Ann’s hands and into Fabian’s for the final scoring goal it’s not a coincidence, nor is Oisin’s smile of confidence.)

(God, she knows her party too fucking well.)

She sees Kristen Applebees and doesn’t say a word; she hears Riz Gukgak and doesn’t even look in his direction. She’s insufferable normally, but she’s a rogue, and rogues blend in. Ivy doesn’t make jabs at her; Ruben actually cracks some jokes with her; Buddy even smiles at her, and she plays along with every one of them.

(Buddy doesn’t always stay the weekend at Ruben’s with them; she plants the idea in his head to go home after the game, and she manufactures a spill onto Ruben’s favorite shirt that soaks all the way through.)

(Ruben’s known for taking the longest showers, especially when he’s upset, and he pretty frequently uses up all the hot water. That morning, one of the showers at Ruben’s house had mysteriously been disconnected from the water line, so they’re down to only one shower.)

(Mary Ann doesn’t shower at school.)

(Her party is a ticking time bomb.)

Ruben takes exactly two hours and fifteen minutes in the shower. Mary Ann is pacing her area like a tiger in a cage. Nobody is talking to her, but every once in a while her voice carries over the silence of the room with a ghost of Fabian Seacaster’s name. It’s putting Ivy on edge; Kipperlilly keeps hearing pens crack in her hand as she writes an essay furiously.

Somewhere in the house, the water stops. Kipperlilly starts sharpening her knives.

Seven minutes for Ruben to arrive, and four for Mary Ann to storm back in wearing a sweatsuit, rage burning in her eyes.

“You used up all the hot water,” she hisses, more emotion in her voice than ever before.

“Yeah,” Ruben says, like it’s obvious. “It’s my fucking house.”

“I just played a whole fucking Bloodrush game!”

“And? Should have showered at school.” Ruben is completely unbothered.

Mary Ann makes a noise of frustration none of them have ever heard before. Kipperlilly watches her.

Waits.

Mary Ann barrels over to Ruben, grabbing him by the throat and tossing him into the wall. Oisin goes to intervene, but Kipperlilly beats him to it. She grabs Mary Ann’s hand, raised into a fist as she goes to punch Ruben.

“You fucking asshole—“

“Deep breaths,” she says gently. “Come on. Let’s go take a walk, yeah? Girls time.”

Ivy snaps another pen. Mary Ann doesn’t fight Kipperlilly’s guidance out the door, nor down the stairs, nor even to the front porch.

She doesn’t have time to fight when Kipperlilly approaches her from behind and slits her throat.

She’d never thought about what killing her party would be like. She expected more guilt. Instead, she watches Mary Ann collapse, choking, until she stops twitching. Her only real thought is that Porter will probably be so fucking proud of her. Kipperlilly takes a napkin she’d stored in her pocket and cleans up Mary Ann’s new wound, then her knife, just killing time until the kobold finally jerks, sitting up with panic in her eyes.

Kipperlilly checks her watch. “Not even ten minutes. Porter’s right. It gets faster.”

“What?” Mary Ann gasps. She doesn’t sound angry. She sounds barely scared.

“It’s okay,” Kipperlilly says gently. “We needed to reconfirm our devotion. I knew you’d come back.”

I knew you’d come back. I thought she would too. Why didn’t she—

Blinking, Mary Ann stares at her solemnly. “Has everyone else—“

“Just you and me for now,” Kipperlilly says. “But you can help me with everyone else if you’d like.” She offers Mary Ann a hand. “I knew I’d need you first.”

Like Porter does. She reaches out. She makes the person feel special, and it fucking works. It works. Instead of being pissed at Kipperlilly, Mary Ann turns her anger on the rest of the team for their clearly waning beliefs, and she thanks Kipperlilly for helping her. A small part of Kipperlilly’s brain expects to be disgusted by this turn of events, but she takes that part and squashes it easily. This is how it was meant to go. This is how it was always meant to be. Mary Ann thanks her, and they walk back to the war room, cool, calm, and collected.

The hot water is back by now. Mary Ann showers.

Getting everyone else angry is easy. Ivy only takes a few pokes and prods when they’re alone for Kipperlilly to manage it; she gets Oisin when he walks in five minutes later before Ivy has rewoken up. Buddy isn’t on the schedule, so that leaves only Ruben left.

And the thing is, Ruben is the toughest nut to crack. He keeps emailing Lola Embers, lamenting about his album, or his tour, or his band, or Wanda fucking Childa (which Kipperlilly never finished researching, because she couldn’t care any less), and it seems to Kipperlilly that maybe Ruben was never angry enough in the first place.

For the first time in the whole endeavor, she approaches Porter after school. It’s right before the Moonar Yulenear break, and he’s gathering things that people have left in his classroom.

“Miss Copperkettle,” he says, keeping his voice down. “What is it?”

“I have a scholarship paper I’m writing,” she says quickly. “I need some advice.”

He raises an eyebrow, but he beckons her to his office. She follows along dutifully, like a little puppy dog (like four dogs stacked in a trench coat, like a white family’s fleet of dogs, like she’s nothing more than a fucking joke—) and steps in as soon as he opens the door.

It’s too soon.

“Back for round two you fucking—“ Jace stops short, tugging his shirt back on. Kipperlilly sees more of the sorcerer teacher than she ever wanted to see. It takes everything in her to swallow back her bile. “Why the fuck is there a kid—“

“Vice Principal Stardiamond,” Porter says stiffly. “Perhaps you can…help us.”

Jace dresses himself quickly. Kipperlilly starts to sit in the chair until Jace reaches and grabs something off of it, then wipes it off hurriedly with his scarf.

She decides to stand.

“It’s about Ruben.” She squares her shoulders, staring directly at Porter. “I’ve been successful with everyone else, I’m just having trouble—“

“You haven’t taken care of him yet?” he asks incredulously. “Then why the fuck are you here?”

Her chest burns hot; she glares at him. “Because I need advice for it.”

“You have a whole holiday break to take care of this,” he threatens.

“I need him angry, and I can’t figure out how to—“

“I don’t give a shit,” Porter hisses, slamming his hands on the desk. “I have more important things to worry about than holding your hand through the one thing I asked you to take care of on your own.”

Never mind that he’s been asking for more and more from her. Never mind the Devil’s Honey deliveries, picking up his prescriptions, answering his messages at an alarmingly fast rate—never mind that Kipperlilly is fraying at the fucking seams trying to keep up with a class load she didn’t sign up for, provided by one Porter Cliffbreaker, for her to help keep him alive. Never mind that she’s trying, she’s been trying, she just needs some help, and goddamn it, they’re fucking teachers—aren’t they supposed to be a support for her? Aren’t they supposed to make her feel less stupid?

“Fine,” she snaps, making sure to ‘accidentally’ knock his name plaque off his desk with her bag when she spins. “Forget I even—“

The third time Kipperlilly dies, she nearly welcomes it, begging for the anger to return so she can take it out on the one who struck her down. Instead, she wakes up, rage burning brighter than it ever has, on a bench on the lunch patio. That infuriates her even more—fuck, they know she’ll come back, but they’d abandon her dead body in public anyway? Her vision is overtaken by her anger, and she’s not sure how long she spends destroying school property out here, but by the time she’s done, it looks like a riot has come through. Tables are flipped; plastic is snapped in half; she even managed to bend one of the school’s support beams somehow, alighting something like pride in her chest when she notices.

Not for the first time, she envies the fact that Riz Gukgak can bring a gun to school. Sure, shooting Porter in the face multiple times wouldn’t be as visceral a death as he deserves, but it would still be satisfying to riddle his body with lead, just as a treat. An appetizer. She spends far too much time thinking about where she can acquire a gun and somehow manages to miss the fact that she’s storming back to Porter’s office. The Kipperlilly who hadn’t died, or the Kipperlilly who had only died once, or the Kipperlilly who had only died twice—she’d never do this. She’d never be so bold as to show up back at her thrice-murderer’s office, demanding explanation or repentance. She’d never be so bold as to throw her shoulder into the door when she finds it’s locked, and she’d never be so bold as to smash the window open, reach in, and let herself in.

Fuck, she’s a rogue. Isn’t she supposed to be better than this?

The feeling of inadequacy nearly claws her chest open, and she’s glad Porter and Jace have vacated the premises. She’s sure they’ll be back tomorrow; so she takes her time and lets go, ruining the room, breaking everything she can get her hands on. She smashes picture frames, rips the books, snaps the chair in half, yanks the drawers from their holding, and begs the anger to release her. She’s so mad, fuck—

She’s so angry.

Kipperlilly has died three times.

When Porter’s office is sufficiently destroyed, she heads out, jumping over cars instead of walking two feet around them in the parking lot because she’ll be damned if anyone stops her from getting to Ruben’s house as fast as possible.

The rest of the team is in the war room, everyone in their own corners, silent and tired. They’re all working. It’s as if they’ve forgotten—they don’t need to work. It’s a holiday break. Maybe they need the distraction as much as her, or maybe they’re scared of her coming home to them goofing off, or maybe—maybe it doesn’t fucking matter, because Ruben will never be angry enough and Ivy will never be any less of a bitch and Oisin will never stop being a condescending bastard and Mary Ann will never show her hand and Buddy will never, never, never be Lucy Frostblade—

She throws open the door to the room, the edges of her vision red. Everyone’s head snaps to her.

"I’m gonna order takeout," Ruben says casually, going back to his crystal. "You want something?"

He doesn’t care. He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care, and they’ve all died twice over except for him and Buddy, and Kipperlilly isn’t allowed to touch Buddy yet but by their nameless god, she can touch Ruben.

She doesn’t respond. She approaches, tugging her knife out, and nobody stops her.

"Oh, we—everyone else got it subtle," Ivy comments, and Kipperlilly doesn’t look. "Is he the last one?"

"Must be," Mary Ann says.

"What the fuck is happening?" Ruben tries to scramble out of his chair, but Kipperlilly gets to him first. She grabs his shirt, shoves him onto the ground, and drags the knife across his throat—a few times, just to get the point across. He doesn’t struggle for long. She stays on top of him until his body finally stops twitching, and then she stands up.

There’s a lot of blood on her skirt, most of it Ruben’s, but the blood on her sweater must be her own. She stares at it, brushes at it for show, and squares her shoulders. There’s a clarity behind her eyes she was missing. She grins; Mary Ann visibly flinches at the sight.

"Kipperlilly," Oisin says, voice shaking. "What the fuck?"

"By Helio’s name," Buddy breathes, making a sign with his hand and beginning to pray.

"What did he do?" Oisin demands. "What the hell was that for? Why didn’t he—"

She ignores them both. "I feel great," she announces. "Damn, maybe Porter is onto something. The more you die, the better that feels." She stares at the knife, then up at Ivy. She’s not sure why; Ivy looks horrified, but she doesn’t seem scared. Maybe that’s why. Maybe she understands, Kipperlilly reasons. Maybe she understands. Maybe she’ll understand, once Kipperlilly can get the words out. "We’ve all died twice now, right? Except for Buddy?"

"Excuse me?"

"Why not Buddy?" Ivy asks, her eyes unwavering as she stares straight at Kipperlilly.

"Porter says I can’t touch him yet," she breathes, a wide grin splitting her face. "Buddy gets to resurrect at the perfect moment. You’ll be a savior, like your dumb corn god," she says, turning to him with that same psychopathic smile. He flinches, his prayer dying on his lips. "So you get to be special, and I can’t touch you. But—"

"Did you get killed again?" Ivy asks.

"I did!" She grins, stepping off of Ruben and swishing her skirt a little as she makes her way to her desk. "I did, and Porter left me on the fucking patio—" Her vision goes red again, and without thinking she takes her keyboard and swipes it off the desk. It clatters to the ground, some of the keys popping off. She sits at the desk now, much more calm. "Well, anyway, I feel great. I feel like we can—we can raise this god ourselves. Do we even need Porter for it?"

"Kipperlilly, you’re talking crazy," Oisin insists, coming over to her desk. He steps over the keyboard carefully. "Listen, I think you just need to take a few deep breaths—"

As he says that, Ruben gasps and sits up with a hand to his chest. His eyes glow red for a moment, then fade.

"I feel great," she insists. "And so does Ruben, I’m willing to bet. Don’t you, pretty boy?"

He turns to glare at her. "What the hell was that for?"

"You’ve joined the rest of us," she says. "Bar Buddy. I can’t touch Buddy yet. Hey, Buddy?"

Buddy is kneeling in his cleric’s corner, staring at her with something akin to both horror and worship in his eyes. Slowly, his hands drop to his lap. "…Yes, Kipperlilly?"

"Stock up on those diamonds over the break. We’re going to need a lot of Revivify."

"We may not need him," Mary Ann says quietly. "You can’t revive people and I still came back. Same with them." She points between Oisin and Ivy.

"It’ll be nice to have on hand anyway," Kipperlilly says, spinning in her chair like a little kid and kicking her feet. "God, I feel great."

"This is scary," Oisin says quietly. "I’m going to call Porter—"

"Over your own dead body you will," she says brightly, brandishing the knife. Finally, finally, he’s scared of her. He stares in horror, then holds his hands up in surrender. "We’re all even now."

"I have to die?" Buddy asks finally.

"Like your god and his god before him," she assures him. "It’ll be great. Buddy, you’re going to help change the world. I don’t know why Porter doesn’t want to convert you officially yet," Kipperlilly says, her eye twitching, "but that’s his plan and I won’t go against it. You understand."

"Now, I don’t think my grandfather—"

"Fuck your grandfather." She jumps off the chair, dodges out of Oisin’s reach, and kneels in front of Buddy with shining eyes. "Listen to me. Listen to me. You’re going to change the world. You’re going to bring about justice and order in a way nobody else has ever succeeded at. Do you understand that? Helio may appreciate your worship, but won’t he appreciate your company more? Imagine walking amongst him and the other gods," she breathes, taking his hands. "Imagine being able to help him make the decisions instead of just waiting for signs. Imagine being the first cleric of a long-forgotten god, Buddy. Imagine the accolades. You’ll never be forgotten. You’ll change the world."

Buddy doesn’t want that; she can see it in his eyes. But he doesn’t protest. He looks at Kipperlilly with a kind of fascination that he’s never expressed before.

"You said…" He clears his throat. "You said you’re raising a god?"

"I did say that," she whispers.

"That’s what you needed the powerful cleric for?"

"It is—and that’s you, Buddy!" She grabs his face, smearing blood across his skin. "Buddy, that’s going to be you. You’re going to change the world. Has Porter talked to you about being a paladin yet?"

"How much of this plan do you know?" Oisin demands.

"All of it," she breathes, turning to grin at Oisin. "More than any of the rest of you ever did. And believe me, we’re in for a hell of a ride, and we don’t need Porter. We can do this on our own."

"Kipperlilly," Buddy says quietly, putting his hand on hers. She spins back to him, their faces too close, two blonds with a secret so jarring it would rattle even the mountains. "Why don’t you catch the rest of us up on this plan, hm? And then…then, if we want to follow Porter, we can do that, or if we can handle this on our own…"

He leaves the words unspoken, but it’s better than she could have ever asked for, and she finds herself kissing him passionately as a thank you. He doesn’t kiss back, but he doesn’t push her away. When she stands and lets go of him, there’s blood all over him, and he seems just scared enough to be willing to listen to her.

The rest of the room is quiet, but they don’t protest. Oisin seems to be the only one with any reservations, but Ivy is so supportive of Kipperlilly and her newly minted insanity that he stays quiet.

"So," she says brightly. "About that takeout, Ruben?"

There’s a day Kipperlilly gets absolutely fucking obsessed with writing shit. She fills up three whole notebooks with research and glyphs and sigils in an hour, poring over everything with the kind of dedication usually reserved for the clinically insane. She doesn’t stop; she hunches furiously over the desk, occasionally saying words under her breath that have no context. They let her focus like this for four and a half hours, a fact she’s only made aware of after Ivy physically tries to pry the pen and paper from her hands.

"Fuck’s sake, Half Pint, give it a rest."

Kipperlilly glares at her, her eye twitching. Ivy doesn’t look impressed.

"You need water, and you need to eat."

"No," Kipperlilly breathes. "No, no I fucking don’t, I need to—I’m nearly done. I’m almost done. Give it back."

"You’ve been unstable since you got killed again," Ivy whispers. She’s kneeling next to Kipperlilly’s chair, staring with a level of concern she doesn’t normally have. "I mean that in the best way possible. When was the last time you ate actual food?"

"It doesn’t matter," Kipperlilly insists. "I don’t need food."

"Bullshit. I will hold you down and make you eat if I have to." Kipperlilly’s grip is still vicelike on the notebook; Ivy tugs at it again. "Kipperlilly."

"Give it back. I’m almost done."

"Almost done with what? What are you working on, Kip?"

Her vision burns bright red; she lets go of the notebook to strangle Ivy’s throat, but she’s thwarted by large blue Dragonborn hands snatching her up from behind. She kicks; she screams; she fights, claws, shrieks; and they still don’t let her go. It’s a collective effort, clearly, because Ruben is the one holding the sleeping bag open and Buddy is the one to zip it and Mary Ann is the one to tighten the ribbons around it so she can’t get away. She wiggles in the entrapment, but she can’t get out. Her party stands over her, with various levels of concern on their faces.

"I’m concerned that if we kill her again, it’ll only get worse," Ruben reasons, staring at her with his arms crossed. Like she’s a piece in a museum. Like she’s something to be studied, some kind of specimen—

"Have we considered that maybe we need to cage her?" Oisin asks dryly. "And give her some little enrichment toys like a dog?"

Dog. A white family’s fleet of dogs. Kipperlilly’s vision is clouded by red again; she doesn’t know what she’s screaming, but she knows she hates them, she hates them so much, she hates them so fucking much—

Someone casts sleep on her, she presumes, because she feels herself go limp before she loses consciousness. A tiny part of her brain knows they’re just trying to help her. They may not be friends, but fuck, they’re a party, one tied together by fate and decisions they can’t come back from. There’s only so little she can make sense of at the moment, though, because even in unconsciousness, the world swims and dances in red light, an anger she can’t shake, a residual film that shrink-wraps and distorts everything.

When she comes to, she’s out of the sleeping bag contraption staring at a slab of concrete. It’s chilly; winter air blows over her, making her shiver, and she looks up. The party is standing a few feet away, whispering amongst themselves. Ivy is the first one to notice she’s awake; she hits Oisin’s arm, who points in front of Mary Ann, who reaches and physically turns Ruben’s head so they’re all looking. Buddy has to get shaken to look up, but then all five of them are staring at her, and she’s crouched on the slightly loose dirt like a wild animal.

"What is this?" she hisses, trying to stand. She’s unsuccessful; the second she tries she gets so dizzy that she falls straight back down, and she’s pretty sure her skirt is riding up and her outfit is covered in god knows what and they’re all staring at her and she hates it, she hates it, she hates them—

"You miss Lucy, don’t you?" Oisin asks softly. Kipperlilly stops.

It’s as if someone has thrown a bucket of cold water over her head. All the rage leaves her body, leaving her a cold, shaking mess on the dirt, and it’s only then that she notices the headstones around them.

They’re at the graveyard.

With horror, she turns to look at the slab of concrete behind her. It’s still fresh, Lucy’s name still clearly carved, not moss-covered or dirty like everything else.

"What is this?" she repeats, but her voice shakes now. "What is—"

"She’s the one that left us," Oisin says, coming to crouch behind her. "You keep reaching, Kipperlilly. We’ve watched. You’re talking to her like she’s there."

"She’s supposed to be," Kipperlilly whispers, her eyes filling with tears. "She’s supposed to fucking be here, I—"

"But she’s not." He doesn’t move closer, but she feels like he’s imposing on her space anyway. "She’s not here, Kipperlilly. She left us. She chose death over being with us." He pauses. "She chose being dead over being with you. Didn’t she?"

Her vision goes red. "She was supposed to come back."

"But she didn’t."

She doesn’t know what their goal is, but none of them stop her when she screeches and attacks the gravestone. They let her tire herself out by kicking the stone over, handing her a weapon to smash it to bits. They mend it so she can keep going. They’re quiet as she mourns loudly, they’re supportive when she feels like she’s about to fall from exhaustion; when she finally collapses, Ruben and Mary Ann hand her a blanket and a bottle of water and lead her back to Mary Ann’s car. Oisin repairs Lucy’s headstone one last time.

Buddy ends up next to Kipperlilly in the car. She wiggles a few times, then puts her head on his shoulder. He tolerates it, glancing at her every so often as they drive back. "You know," he says lightly. "You’d make a hell of a barbarian."

You’re ruthless. In another life, you would have made a hell of a barbarian, Kipperlilly.

"I know," she says, voice small.

"Do you feel better?"

"I think so."

Ivy turns around in the front seat, raising a challenging eyebrow at her. "Are you going to eat finally?"

She lets her eyes slip shut. "I…guess I need to, don’t I?"

"You do. It’s been a week."

"No wonder I feel so…"

But Kipperlilly never finishes the sentence, finally falling to sleep on Buddy’s shoulder.

Buddy hasn’t been affected by the rage yet, but apparently, being surrounded by five raging teenagers with murder in their blood is starting to wear off on him. He comes to the war room one day, a few days before the Moonar Yulenear, and throws the door open, his eye twitching. "Alright, y’all, which one of you took my notebook?"

Kipperlilly isn’t subtle. Her head snaps to Ivy, who glares at her and slams her desk drawer shut. "Which one?"

"You," Buddy hisses, crossing the room to Ivy in record time. "Pass it over, hellion!"

"Does it make you mad when people touch your things?" Ivy asks innocently, blinking her big doe eyes at him, and she starts to smile until he gets close enough to slam her head down into the desk with a sickening crack.

"Ivy?" Oisin asks immediately, darting out of his tower. "Holy shit, Buddy—"

Buddy pulls the door open, grabs his notebook, and beelines for the door. "She’ll survive."

"I’m not dead," Ivy moans, sitting up. "Fuck…" She rubs her head, looking surprised when she pulls her hand away and it’s covered in blood.

"Hey, asshole!" Oisin shouts, letting Ruben heal Ivy as he chases after the cleric. Kipperlilly pauses, glancing at Ivy; despite all their bad blood, she doesn’t know how she feels about leaving the other girl if she’s in a bad state.

Ivy looks directly back at her, panic in her eyes. "Oisin’s going to kill him," she says, waving her hand. Kipperlilly nods, then darts downstairs after the boys.

They’ve made it to the kitchen now, Oisin yelling at Buddy’s back while Buddy flips through the pages. "You can’t hurt her—"

"Sorry I almost killed your girlfriend," Buddy says, annoyed. "Maybe she should learn to keep her hands to her fucking self next time."

Oisin grabs the back of Buddy’s tie, tossing him into the counter. Buddy goes to grab his staff. "That’s it, you fucking corn-looking motherfucker—"

"Stop it!" Kipperlilly dives between them. Though tiny, she is mighty; she pushes them apart, kicking Oisin away with the element of surprise. "Enough, both of you, oh my god—"

"He hurt Ivy!"

"We all hurt Ivy!" Kipperlilly hisses. "Leave him alone. She stole his notebook. He’s allowed to be upset."

"Whose side are you on?" Oisin hisses in disbelief.

"Fairness," she parrots. Oisin rolls his eyes, but he finally backs off.

"I knew it," Buddy whispers, snapping the notebook shut. "Y’all were trying to learn my secrets."

"Of course we were," Oisin says flippantly. "What the fuck else do you expect us to do?"

"We’re supposed to be on the same team!"

"You tried to kill Ivy!"

"Nobody needs to kill anybody," Kipperlilly insists. "Everyone just—deep breaths. We’re on the same team. Until Porter says something, nobody needs to kill anyone. Okay?"

And that’s all well and good, until two days later she walks into the kitchen to find Mary Ann face down in her cereal bowl (now filled with blood) and Ruben taking a slow sip of coffee as he reads the newspaper.

"What the fuck," Ivy whispers. She’s behind Kipperlilly, closer than she usually gets, and Kipperlilly can imagine her shaking a bit. "What the fuck?"

"She took the last of the milk," Ruben says casually. "So I made sure she couldn’t enjoy it."

"What the fuck," Ivy repeats.

"Ruben," Kipperlilly says carefully. "You…killed Mary Ann?"

"That puts her at three," he confirms, eyes flitting up to meet hers. "Same as you."

"I thought we weren’t going to keep killing each other," Oisin says blankly from the back of the crew in the door. Ivy moves away from Kipperlilly to be closer to Oisin. "I thought we agreed."

"She took the last of the milk," Ruben repeats. "It was only fair."

It wasn’t fair. It still isn’t. But the dam has sort of broken, and Kipperlilly watches as Oisin stabs Ruben in the chest for strumming his guitar a little too loud one night. She watches as Mary Ann takes a brick to Ivy’s head in the backyard for insulting her game console. She watches as Ivy slits Oisin’s throat for calling her a stuck-up bitch, and as Ruben bashes a guitar over Mary Ann’s head for using his shampoo one morning. They turn on her too: she chews too loud, so Oisin chokes her out; she snaps at Ivy, and Ivy puts an arrow through her skull; she takes the last chip out of the bag, the one Mary Ann wanted, and that night she’s suffocated in her sleep; she and Ruben get into it over something she can’t even remember, and he breaks her ribs and snaps her neck before she can claw his chest open. Buddy starts going through more diamonds than he can keep up with because waiting to be resurrected by their nameless rage god is starting to get annoying. Eventually Kipperlilly gets in on some of the killings too, helping hold Mary Ann down as Ivy drowns her and snapping Oisin’s neck one night when he starts playing that fucking song again—My arms are just fucking stuck like this, the lady croons, and Ruben grabs one of Kipperlilly’s knives and goes for Ivy while Kipperlilly dashes into the tower, jumps on Oisin’s back, and twists his head sickeningly quickly.

(Oisin was trying to turn it off, she realizes later. He hadn’t meant to start playing it. But what’s done is done, and she doesn’t regret it. The sounds he made as he choked to death play like a lullaby when she tries to sleep now.)

With every kill, she feels stronger. With every death, she feels more alive. With every struggle she watches, she finds herself more committed to the cause—their cause, not Porter’s. Because she explains the plan. She tells them about Porter wanting to become a god, and she’s not surprised when Buddy protests "That isn’t what my grandfather was told!" And they all agree, and Kipperlilly makes a second order of the Devil’s Honey so they can successfully lie to Porter—and Jace, by extension. He may not be doing much but he’s so up Porter’s ass, and he ends up taking over most of the communications during the break while Porter narrows in on preparing himself properly for ascension.

That is, of course, provided he’s able to succeed. And Kipperlilly intends to make sure that won’t happen.