The Off Chance
(cowritten with
Lola)
“AIDEEEEN!” Lola had been out in the forest for hours now, yelling and searching for Tea’s lover. “Birb I know you’re out here!” She was getting a little frantic in her search, wandering slowly away from the manor. It made her chest clench in fear somehow, but she had to find him, she had to help Tea. “AIDEN! I . . . I know you’re still mad at me, but Tea needs you!” She was met with silence. Lola huffed, she disliked the forest ever since the unicorn incident. But she had to try something, the Puppeteers being back was the cherry on top of a shitty pie. She sighed and continued her search.
--
Meanwhile, he watched. He had been keeping an eye on the manor for a while now, but he hadn't seen his former host since before he left her. “Oh Lola…what is possessing you to leave your Sanctuary?” He was curious, glad he could finally see her, but still, her leaving the cult wasn't going to help his plans in the slightest.
The chaos demon sighed, he had two options: he could take her now, while the cult was apparently in new turmoil, or he could wait and take the whole thing down in good time. Lola was his catalyst after all, so if he chose to wait (really the sensible option) he would have to make sure she stayed there.
Whether she wanted to or not.
It was with that mentality that he snaked through the trees, spotting a small cliff side, it was perfect, with the regeneration the former human now had, any injury would heal quickly and he could get her closer to the manor. He quickly used his shadows to shift them the form of the one she sought out, or something similar. He hadn’t met Aiden, but knew what the man looked like. He had woven them perfectly, putting the fake Aiden at the bottom of the cliff, and using more shadows to conceal it.
--
“Lola?”
Her sensitive ears caught a voice. Was it him? It sounded like Aiden, at least a little. Lola turned and ran towards the voice, spotting a figure between the trees. she recognized that build, she found him! “Aiden!” The smaller woman ran through the trees, towards the man until . . . .
Her foot met nothing.
She shrieked as she fell, her body hitting the cliff side, then ground with a painful thud and what she was sure was a crunch. Pain ran up her body in waves, she gasped, feeling blood tricking past her forehead and down her temple. It hurt pretty bad, she couldn't feel one of her legs. Lola whined, if any Puppeteer found her now . . . .
She didn't want to think about that, she had to heal this injury, and fast. But she was slipping away, darkness clouding her vision until she was met with crushing backness.
The demon formerly known as Alulle winced . . . he might have overdone it
--
Grane had been watching the manor through an ornate spyglass covered in carvings done by hand. If asked how he had gotten a hold of this magical item, he would never tell. Some secrets he thought best kept secret. It pierced through the spells meant to protect the home of the Candle Cult, allowing him a visual of the alleged rivals’ territory. He had followed Ant here, meaning to stay back but be available should his Puppet Master need him. So far Ant had not involved him, but he thought it better safe than sorry.
War had taught him that it was always better to be safe than sorry.
He had just finished his reconnaissance when he heard a woman screaming an unfamiliar name. An eyebrow ticked up, and he bristled. A woman? In these woods? Only a fool would venture into these woods. He didn’t need the spyglass to know something was afoot here.
Then he heard a crash and a thud.
The woman fell silent.
Grane moved quickly but quietly. He stepped over roots with precision, landing softly on moss. When he came upon the groove in the earth where the woman had fallen, it wasn’t difficult to see her.
She was stark white and blue against the dark forest floor.
And she had flames . . . on rabbit ears . . . .
Grane froze, sliding behind a tree and watching to ensure she was in fact unconscious. He also watched to be sure she was alone. When no one came forward to claim her . . . he actually felt a tremor of concern. It wasn’t in Grane’s nature to be worried over someone’s health. No.
That was his sister’s way.
He could almost hear her voice in his head. Don’t leave her like that, she said.
Bruna you know we must be careful, he conversed with the mental image of his beast.
And that mental image scoffed at him. Remember what Ant said: these are not our enemies.
He had found that hard to believe. He still did. We do not know that for certain, he thought. Grane was keeping his distance for a damn good reason.
But she could be hurt, his sister’s voice argued in his mind. He tried to block it out, starting to turn away and leave the white, rabbit eared woman on the ground. Then her voice returned full force, What if it were me?
And he stopped in his tracks.
What if it were Bruna?
There was a time . . . when it had been her. Only then she hadn’t been his sister.
She had been a part human, part cub left in the ditch with a broken leg.
Grane went even stiller at the memory. So long ago . . . before he’d been in battle. He’d seen battle then, but had not been in it. He had already learned to carry a weapon. He had already believed his one true path was to Valhalla, that the last color he would see would be the red haze of his rage.
And then he would feast with warriors.
But then . . . there was this little wolf girl . . . and with her . . . .
Bruna had not always been the Valkyrie in his own private Valhalla. That had come with time. He had had to get used to the notion that he may never make it to Thor’s side. As Viking culture changed and shifted and faded over time, he stayed close to the only two things he saw as constants.
War.
And Bruna.
Not even their true names had been as constant as war and his sister.
What if it were Bruna?
Grane drew in a deep breath, shoulders rising gradually before falling again with a powerful exhale. He turned back towards the cultist lying vulnerable on the ground.
Because if it were Bruna, that’s what he would do.
--
“You weren’t supposed to follow us!”
“Awww, but you would have missed me.”
Bruna growled, but Rory didn’t let up. If anything, he grew more persistent as he followed her around the little hotel room. “Grane will be back soon. You should leave before then.”
“But I miss the grand ole bear.”
Will you miss being scruffed and thrown from the window of this three story building? Bruna thought. “He’s not gonna be happy to see you,” she sang.
“Bruna, my dearest brown wolf,” he slung an arm over her and she resisted the urge to bite it, “have you not wondered what fascinating things lie in those woods your gray bear is searching?”
She had, but Rory didn’t need to know that. “Grane will tell me.”
“Or—”
“No—,” she pointed at him.
And he took that hand in both of his as he continued, “—you could go see for yourself.”
Bruna pulled her hand free. “Rory!”
“Bruna!” he mocked.
She snapped her teeth, eyes flashing gold as she snarled in a much more feral manner this time. “I will not disobey my brother in new territory!”
“You ruin all my fun,” Rory declared as he adjusted his sunglasses.
The sound of the card unlocking the hotel door reached their ears. Rory’s fox ears perked up as he turned to look at the door. His tail stood straight out and she could see him bristle as Grane entered their room.
Carrying a . . . .
Bruna perked up. “Is that a cultist?!” she asked very loudly, bouncing on her toes and moving forward as Grane elbowed the door closed behind him. She paused as Grane laid her out on the bed. “Is she okay?”
“I think just unconscious. Bad fall,” Grane declared. The Master looked up, and a glower crossed his face as he saw Rory. “What are you doing here?” Rory didn’t answer. “Wipe that stupid look off your face.”
Bruna turned to see what Grane was talking about, and saw Rory staring at the rabbit eared woman on the bed. The fire fox was completely still, all visible fur bristling as he watched the white individual dressed in blue. He didn’t tear his gaze away.
And Bruna sensed that behind those sunglasses were wide eyes.
“That’s . . . one of the cultists?” Rory asked tentatively.
“If I say yes, will you go back where you came from?”
In an instant, Rory gulped . . . and straightened. His fur flattened, but so did his ears. Bruna could tell all of these actions were forced. He was far from his typical calm self. “One,” he pointed to Grane, “no. And two,” he pointed at the woman on the bed, “definitely no.” He wiped his nose and sniffed loudly, as if catching a distasteful scent. “If that’s what this cult has to offer,” he gestured to the entirety of the woman lying on the bed, “no wonder ye olden Murican Pups were screwed.”
That piqued Grane’s interest. He folded his arms across his broad chest. “And why is that now?”
“A, those are underworld summons branded onto her body. I don’t know about you, but that stuff belongs in a Necronomicon. Not branded into skin. B,” he actually shuddered, full bodied like he was freezing over at the thought, “she’s got Ancient in her. And Ancients . . . don’t touch those. Ever.” His teeth clicked once before he was gesturing towards the door. “Your turn. Take her back where you found her.”
Bruna jumped on that notion. “No! She’s clearly—”
“Trust me! Put that thing back where it came from—”
“No.” It was Grane’s firm answer that made the room go silent. “She stays. If you do not like it, you leave. She is unwell. We will show her proper hospitality.”
Bruna beamed at her brother, but couldn’t help but hear the darkness in Rory’s tone as he uttered, “Suit yourself.”
--
The first thing Lola felt upon waking was a splitting headache. The next thing was her mouth moving to form the last name she had been calling out for. Then came the pain of a broken ankle. Finally . . . the last thing she expected to feel . . . was a bed.
A soft bed.
Her eyes opened slowly, and she flinched at the lights in the unfamiliar room. When unfamiliar voices were added, she tensed up immediately. “Do not strain,” a deep male voice said.
“Can you hear us?” She nodded. The second voice was gruff, but decidedly feminine. That voice didn’t grate on her ears, which were pinned to her head, as much. “What’s your name?”
“Not so fast, Bruna. She hit her head.”
“L-Lola.”
The woman let out . . . a yip? It was . . . a noise she remembered Tea making. That noise sounded threatening on the tongue of anyone other than the giant. She felt her skin sprouting goosebumps as her hair stood on end. “You’ve been hurt. Is there somewhere we can carry you?”
“A hospital,” jested (it was a jest, right?) a third voice. It was lighter than the first, but masculine still.
“Who,” Lola began, “who are you?”
“We are Puppeteers, Lola.”
Her eyes shot open. Her head was pounding, but that didn’t stop her from launching into an upright position. Her ankle was broken, but that didn’t stop her from bounding for the door.
The . . . creature that caught her around the waist . . . .
She let out a rabbit squeal at the very sight of fox ears.
“Let her go!” the one other feminine voice in the room declared. Lola glanced about and saw golden eyes.
Wolf eyes.
“Give her to me, she will hurt herself further.” The fox man struggled to hold onto her, but soon she was passed into the arms of a tall, burly man.
The human.
The Master.
Another squeal as she was lifted off the ground. “Listen please!” pleaded the girl.
But Lola was already begging, “Put me down!” over and over again.
Until the Master set her on the bed. She froze there, heart beating rapidly, ears flat, and eyes wide as she stared at the surrounding people in frozen terror.
The human, wolf girl, and fox man stood on each side of the bed. She was surrounded.
By . . . predators and Puppeteers.
“Now Miss Lola,” the fox man declared. She eyed him as he spoke. His fur was standing. Was he going to strike? “We are simply here to help.”
“You were lying in the woods unconscious,” her eyes darted to the human. “I did not want to leave you there unprotected.”
“There’s no need to be afraid,” now she stared at the girl. “We just want to help.”
“Is there someone or somewhere we can carry you where you will feel safer?” the human asked.
Lola didn’t know how to respond. Her throat closed. She tried to think, but even her mind seemed frozen. The one thing that shook her out of her horror was that she didn’t feel any other source of pain aside from the raging headache that was the concussion or the destroyed ankle.
Meaning there was no fresh brand on her body.
That was enough to shake her throat open. Enough to get her questioning. Her heart still hammered and she was still breathing rapidly, but she was now able to speak.
And so she did.
The first question out of her mouth, “What chapter?”
“European,” answered the Master.
Tea had said that was a trustworthy chapter. Mostly. She heaved a breath before asking, “Names?”
“Grane.”
“Bruna.”
“Not important,” said the fox. She stared him down, and got the feeling the others were too judging by him relenting, “Rory. Not a Pup, but a friend.”
No friend of hers, Lola thought. Finally she asked, “Time?”
“Past noon,” Bruna answered. Lola thought carefully. Tea would be at the shop, but . . . could she trust them to take her there? What choice did she have? She trembled slightly. She was afraid to but . . ., “You have little reason to trust us, we realize,” Bruna began. “But I promise you,” she held up her wrist, exposing her rather . . . gentle brand for Lola to see, “we mean you no harm. Let us help you.”
“As much as you will permit us,” Grane said.
Lola remained frozen. Surrounded by a fox, a wolf, and a Puppeteer, she could do little else than stare in fear. But . . . .
They simply stared back.
They’d given her no reason to trust them . . . but they had also given her no other discernible reason to fear them.
Her mouth was moving before her body was ready. “Candle Shop. Please.”
The three exchanged looks. She then watched carefully how they would interact with one another, and learned rather quickly . . . .
That she appreciated Grane. “Stay put,” he ordered his beast.
Bruna scoffed. “But why?”
“Because you’ll be safe here.” He then turned his gaze upon Rory. “Especially with you watching over her, am I correct?” he asked pointedly.
To which Rory responded with a shrug. “Whatever.”
Lola’s head spun as she was scooped up, Grane barking the order, “Don’t endanger her, fox.”
“I would never.”
“Wait,” Bruna ducked around the two, then reappeared again with a hooded jacket and fuzzy slippers. “This’ll hide the ears and feet. So it won’t look weird in public.”
The gesture was strangely kind to Lola. As she was bundled up and carried outside, she glanced over her shoulder at the two beasts left behind.
And somehow . . . she managed to convince herself that trusting them wasn’t a mistake.
--
Rory watched Grane carry Lola away. Rory had already decided that if his two companions decided to return to Europe, he was going to stay behind.
He didn’t like what he sensed in Lola. Not one bit.
