Rain falls strangely on the thirtieth floor. It’s quieter. The massive projector screens hang over the windows even now, in near-total darkness. They muffle what little sound can be heard from so high. Howling winds. Roaring planes.

  What bothers Harriet more is the delay. If she were free, she could simply walk outside and know when the rain would come. Her ears would prick. She’d sense a faint drop. It’s the sort of thing farmers learn. But now, there’s no outside to walk to. No dampness, no droplets. And the screens themselves are slow to update. Rain is only seen well after it’s been heard.

  She sets the banjo on her bed and walks silently, bare feet on clean wood. Shifting the projected curtain so that she stands sandwiched between it and the real world. Her hand touches the glass. Cold. Moisture works differently thirty stories in the sky, but still, her fingertips come back wet, and her breath still becomes fog.

  Honey and ambrosia. The scent of Regina’s letter clings to her memory still.

  Honey, ambrosia, and the knowledge that today, she made someone die.

  Sergey. Only twenty-four. It’s never bothered her like this. Never clung to her so tightly. Harriet lowers her head, forehead on glass, but where one spirit is seen, others quickly follow. A sheriff’s brother. A blackshirt with brown hair. A boy with blue eyes, maybe twelve years old. Charging in on the horse he stole, with dreams of being a hero.

  Honey and ambrosia. It clouds some part of her, like it’s right under her nose. Honey and ambrosia. Honey-

  Three beeps. Noise by the door. Harriet springs out, the curtain still rattling when a heeled foot kicks open the door.

  “Heeeeyyy girlie!”

  Blue satin. Pink-painted nails. Astrid’s smile slides in after, accentuated by bright gloss, glittery liner, rosy foundation. Six weeks ago, Harriet didn’t know what any of those words meant. Now, they're near second-nature.

  The redhead stands there, trapped in a cropped blouse and high-low skirt. Giving a bashful wave. “H-Hey.”

  “Don’t tell boss, but I gotchu some fings.” Astrid drops the bags. They loudly clatter to the floor. “Treats, bits, bobs. An’ hair ties, oh my God! I’ve been wantin’ to braid your hair since the day we met! Wiff boss-man out, we’s finally fahkin’ get to!”

  Harriet squints and reaches for one of the bags. “Soteris is out?”

  “Yeah, yeah, some emergency meetin’ wiff some big man. Didn't ask. Wizard Boy was gettin’ anal."

  Big man. Must be Caedmon. Harriet digs through the bag, and just as quickly, her eyes dull. There’s a bottle of what looks to be wine. Looks. But the label is more a medical chart than a marketing tag, lines upon lines of ranges, conditions, emotional states.

  “Whoa.” Astrid’s voice makes Harriet looks up. The younger Nocturni holds the banjo up against her eyes. A fake fingernail trailing down one of the strings. “He gotchu a guitar!?”

  Harriet bolts up. “Don’t touch that!”

  Astrid moves back. “Why not?”

  “‘Cause…” A rapid exhale. She had pulled it out to mull over Regina’s offer. Clear her head. Nothing more. “Well, fer one, it’s a banjo, not a gee-tar.”

  “What’s the difference?"

  Harriet frowns, and tries for it. “Give.”

  “No.”

  “Give!”

  “I wanna ‘ear you play!”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “I promise, I’ll be quiet! I won’t say a word! I won’t make fun of you!” Astrid starts pushing Harriet back, cradling the banjo with her other hand. “Cah’monnn! Aren't we friends?"

  Harriet stops. Squints. “Since when?”

  “Since whe-” Astrid gasps and puts a hand over her heart. “‘Arriet, I’m offended! We spend every mornin’ togevver! We’re tight as two pod-peas! We’re spic an’ span! Fink ‘bout it: a Court girl, an Unbound rogue. Two sides crossin’ the aisle! It’s like Romeo and Juliet!”

  Harriet falls back, folding her arms. “Romeo didn’t have ta lock Juliet in his bedroom.”

  Astrid blinks. “Yeah, well, Romeo got himself killed in the end, innit? We’d ravver not risk dat.” She flails when she hears Harriet sigh. “‘Arriet, I'm serious! Look, every friendship has disagreements, right?”

  Harriet lowers her head. “Oh my God.”

  “It’s not untrue! I’m aware ‘at you’re a bit less tolerant of the circumstances, a-a-and dat’s not unfair! I-I just don’t fink we should let it get in the way of fings!”

  “An’ what ‘fings’ might those be?”

  Astrid’s eyes spark, and she leans down, scuttling through the shopping bags. “Well, do you know what two girl friends get up to when the boys are away?”

  “Gun range?”

  “Ha. Ha-ha." Astrid forces a fake smile. "We’re in 2004, ‘Arriet! An’ in 2004…”

  She stands back up. Small green packages in her left hand, half a dozen DVD cases in her right.

  “... dey ‘ave sleepovers!”

  “Sleepovers?”

  "“Yeah! As in, ‘I sleep over!’" Astrid’s bouncing around. Shaking her goodies. "It’s in the name, right? Pretty clever!”

  Harriet gives a quick glance to the DVDs. The Princess Diaries. Wedding Planner. Love, Actually. Nothing Finnerty had ever shown her. Or would have even dared to see. But far more concerning are the packages with pictures of bleach-faced, smiling girls. “Wh-... what’s that?”

  Astrid looks at where she’s pointing. “Face masks!”

  “Th-that some kinda Court device?”

  “...no! It makes your skin smoov! Are you mental?” Astrid throws it all down. “Look, I was Spring Cleanin’ wiff me mum dis mornin’, and she kept me whole bedroom intact, all d'ese years! Old make-up, old products, and I was like, ‘God, it would be so cool to give ‘Arriet all dis experience!”

  Harriet looks at the spilled bag. “Yer mum kept the receipts all these years, too?”

  A pause. Astrid blinks a few times. “... um… uh… okay! I might ‘ave made that up, I might ‘ave splurged a little! But I was wiff me mum!" Suddenly, her face collapses. "Shit, wait, you don’t mind ‘at I told me mum ‘boutchu, right? Sorry, sorry! It’s just, you know, I’m really close wiff me mum. Nuffin’ held back, innit? Right?”

  It’s all delivered in about two seconds. Harriet’s dumbfounded. Trying to think of… any words that she can say. “Uh…”

  “That’s not all!” Astrid holds up a finger and runs out of the bedroom. “I also brought a special visitor!”

  Harriet leans down and picks up one of the face masks. It’s cold to the touch. Plastic. The image still makes something inside her screech. The appeal of this ‘sleepover’ is increasingly lost. “A-Astrid, this is all very nice, but- holy. Wow.”

  Harriet’s staring, wide-eyed at the fattest cat she has ever seen. A monstrously large tabby whose face seems a tenth of their body, and whose rolls of fur are slipping through Astrid’s fingers.

  “Dis-” Astrid grunts. “- is Armani!” She lifts the beast a little higher, clearly out of breath. “Twenty-six pounds of glory!”

  Armani glares at Harriet with an obvious contempt.

  “Here…” Astrid wobbles up. “Hold him!”

  “What?” Harriet starts rapidly moving back.

  “No, no! He loves bein' held!” Astrid grits her teeth. “Like... a... baby!"

  Astrid doesn’t drop, so much as she throws the cat. Harriet scrambles, barely keeping Armani from the floor, and immediately groans from the strain on her muscles. “A-A-Astrid…”

  “Now, don’t be droppin’ him or nuffin’!” Astrid points. “He finks he’s goin’ down? You can kiss goodbye to dem legs!"

  Harriet's heart starts to race.

  Now, now, I’ve got snacks. I’ve got blankies! Baking shapes! Cadbury eggs!"

  “Astrid.”

  "We're set, girl. We're fahkin'-"

  "Astrid!"

  The girl spins around. “Yeah?”

  Harriet’s slowly leaning down, letting Armani flop back onto the floor. “... why?”

  “Why what?”

  Harriet looks back up. “Why are ya doin’ this?”

  Confusion. It’s clear on Astrid’s face, and in the silence that follows. Her lips readjust several times. “... Well, ‘Arriet, I already told you ‘at the boss-”

  “He makes Addana keep an eye on me. Not you.” Harriet stands up, sorting through the bags with her foot. “.An’ Addana ain’t buyin’ me facemasks”

  “Ohhhh. You’re still hung ‘bout ‘at.” Astrid laughs. “‘Arriet, ‘ey’se pretty cheap. Nuffin’ serious for a friend-”

  “But why are we friends!?”

  “Why wouldn’t we be?”

  “Because it’s a Friday night, an’ yer twenty-nine, I’m a hundred-an’-fifty-three.”

  Astrid's face falls. Harriet points to the window, the glittering lights just beyond.

  “There’s an entire city out there, that every Nocturni is hittin', fulla nightclubs an’ concerts an’ theatre-shows an’ Japanese spas an’ everythin’ else ya very clearly love.”

  "Lotsa people love sleepovers!"

  “Not you.” Harriet folds her arms. “An’ definitely not me.” She takes a moment to exhale. Staring at her shoes.

  “I know it’s with good intentions, that ya jes' want me ta feel good, but Astrid... I don't need a friend. Least of all from..." She tries to word it right. "... someone with him. Okay? Is that alright? 'Cause, if it is, if that's what yer after, I don't mind bein' locked in here fer a night, alright? Ya can jes' take these bags an' close the..."

  Harriet looks up, and her voice goes quiet.

  “... close the..."

  She was expecting a lot of expressions on Astrid Traynor’s face. Sadness. Pleading. Possibly an awkward laugh, an outburst of anger. But Harriet only sees fear. Fear in that indescribable, omnipresent way. A fear that freezes the body. A fear that cancels thought.

  Even when Harriet broke her arm, Astrid never looked this afraid.

  The girl is trembling. Trembling so hard that her golden bangles ring. Harriet softens. Takes small steps, reaching out, but Astrid immediately jumps back.

  “You’re right!” The girl raises her arms, and forces a laugh. “Heheheh, you're... heheheheheh!" The woman's face seems to melt, and she pulls it into her hands. "God, God, God, God."

  "Astrid?"

  She's whispering into her palms. "'Ey said so, 'ey fahkin said so y-you know what 'ey fahkin' -" She suddenly jumps up. The hands slide away, and Harriet's staring into hollow eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm SORRY."

  "Sorry fer what?"

  Astrid blinks, in complete confusion. "I'm not s'posed to be... I-I-I'm not tryin' to..." She hides back behind her hands. "I'm okay. I... I can be quiet."

  “Astrid, I didn’t mean-”

  “I can be quiet!” The words are spoken raw. "I know I'm loud, but I'm serious, I- I won't talk to you. I'll stay out of your way, I'll - no, shit. I'm doing it again. I-I don't mean to be like this! I-shit, shit!! I'm so sor-"

  She yelps. Harriet has grabbed her arm. Trying to keep the grip tight, and ignore the girl’s shaking. The girl's breath slows, and she eyes Harriet like a threat.

  “Astrid?” Harriet wilts. She's struggling for the right words. “Do you...have... other friends?"

  The woman's arm still shakes. Her face wreathed in too many emotions to read.

  “That's okay. That's more than okay. I… heh… I always... didn't really... I d-don't have friends, either. Er, not many, but... it's hard..”

  Astrid finally looks up and into her eyes.

  "Y-Yeah. Hard." Now it’s Harriet’s turn to stutter and laugh. “It's scary an' ya never know what yer doin' an'... an' I mess up. A lot."

  “‘Arriet…”

  “Naw, naw, I do! An' that's fine. It's...” She rubs the girl’s arm. “Look. Ya can be annoyin’. A-An' hard ta keep up with. An’ ya need a few lessons in honesty, but-- ah, dang, see? I am really not good at this.” Harriet bites her lip. “... ya’ve tried. I know ya've tried. Ya’ve been nice ta me, when ya got no reason ta. Ya go outta yer way ta make me feel included an’... we might not be friends yet, but... yer the closest I've made in decades. Okay?"

  Astrid looks down. Her eyes welling up.

  "Hell!" Harriet shrugs. "I even like the make-up.”

  Astrid’s brows quirk. “You do?”

  Shit. “Well! Uh, ahh, in a vacuum! Y-ya know, not when I’m forced inta doin’ it, hahahah, b-but…” She sharpens when she sees Astrid’s smile. “... okay, okay. Laugh it up.”

  Astrid juts her head. “You know I fahkin’ will.”

  “Yeah, well, if ya’d jes’ remove it ‘fore Soteris ever sees, maybe I-”

  Harriet stops. Astrid’s pulled her into a hug. Tight, and warm, and gentle. Harriet adds herself to it, arms wrapped around the girl’s back. She can hear Astrid’s heartbeat, thump thump thump, so much more regular, so much more human, than her own.

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  Something wet keeps sliding down her shoulder.

  “So… sleepover!” Harriet flashes a toothy grin. “Wanna braid my hair? Watch a movie!? We, uh… ship, better make sure Armani’s not eatin’ the wires…”

  “‘Arriet?”

  “Yeah?”

  Astrid curls in. “Can you just hold me like this? For a little longer?”

  Harriet’s face falls. "... Yeah.” She squeezes the vampire, ignoring the warm tears. “Yeah. Jes’ a… jes' a lil’ bit longer.”

  ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  “Is that a low-viscosity rayon? With a half-loop top stitching on the hem?”

  “Of course. It's one of a kind.”

  “Uh, it's impossible to use a half-loop stitching on a low-viscosity rayon. It would snag the fabric. And you didn't just get it in - I saw it in the June Vogue a year ago.”

  Harriet loudly interrupts the movie, sipping on her blood-berry smoothie through a bright-pink silly straw.

  Astrid turns, staring at her, gauging for her reaction. It’s one of Astrid’s more annoying quirks. Every little joke, or comedic scene, she’s rocketing back, as if Harriet might simply vanish from the couch beside her.

  “If you’re trying to sell it to me at full price, you picked the wrong girl.”

  “Astrid…” Harriet starts mashing her smoothie up. “Is there a reason we’re watchin’ Legally Blonde?”

  A joke is made, but Harriet doesn’t get it. She can see Astrid’s worry as she stares at the girl like an owl. “Whatchu mean?”

  “It’s jes’...” Harriet points to the screen. “I dunno, it’s a story ‘bout a fashion-girl stuck in law school. Wearin’ lip gloss an’ Prada while everyone else is some upper-crust sweater-vest. Like, heh, am I the only one seein' the connection?"

  “To what?”

  Harriet blinks. With the mascara Astrid’s added, her lashes heavy. “Yer not… tryna… like, say somethin’?”

  “Nah.” Astrid lights up. “Well, ovver than that I really like Reese Witherspoon.”

  “... okay." Hariet looks back to the movie. “I guess that's fair."

  But even as she grows quiet, the thoughts don’t entirely leave. What was it like, for a girl like Astrid? This curse, this Court, this world? Harriet wouldn’t know; she had wanted it the moment she learned of it, and even when Rowe found her, she was plenty far from normal. Astrid had a job. A mum. Three cats and a heap of tacky hobbies until that one single bite rewrote her existence forever.

  It was easy to dream of the Lighting in a foreign land, years from home. But Astrid would still have a doctor. Shop at Sainsbury’s. Watch TV. All the normalcies of life... but now she’s carrying a secret the weight of the Sun, a secret that will kill her the moment it’s known. She’ll spend the rest of eternity making excuses, brushing off concerns, cancelling plans. How does someone, anyone, grasp that?

  And that’s all before she adds in the Keeper.

  Harriet doesn’t know who did Astrid’s deed, but she knows the odds. No one’s ever Kept by someone like Rowe, no, it’s always a Soteris, always a Caedmon. In the old days, when the Unbound were strong, when the Court needed numbers, they would lock the Kepts in their rooms at dawn, so frequently did they end themselves with morning Sunlight. Now, the Court doesn’t care, and every young Nocturni is left bruised and violated and on their own.

  Most don't last five years.

  Somehow, Astrid has.

  “‘Arriet?”

  Harriet blinks. Astrid’s waving a hand over her face. The movie’s paused. “Y-Yeah?”

  “You’re…” Astrid chuckles, and wiggles a little closer. “... you’re doin’ ‘at fing you sometimes do."

  “Oh.” Harriet squints. “Is that a problem?”

  “No! Just… you want me to stop the movie? If you don’t like it-”

  “Oh, naw, naw, not at all! The movie's great! It’s, uh…” Harriet lounges back, a hand on her chin. “... it's goofy.”

  She forces herself back into it. Staring at the quirky law students, the exasperated professor, and Reese Witherspoon's hair, most of all. It puts a scent into her mind.

  A scent like honey.

  Like ambrosia.

  +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  “Whaddaya fink?”

  Harriet looks into the mirror Astrid hands her, and immediately gasps.

  It’s an elegant waterfall braid. Done with exceeding care, so that Harriet’s locks turn wavy as they trail down her shoulders. She turns, looking at it from a different angle, then turns again. The make-up adds something to the look, makes her seem… older.

  She’s sitting on the living room floor, the coffee table pushed away, her body surrounded by pillows. The telly’s shut-off, and Armani the cat is weaving across the open DVD cases, clearly on the prowl.

  Suddenly, she feels Astrid’s chin on her shoulder. “Somebody likes iiiiiiit.”

  Harriet smiles. “My ma used to braid it, actually. Though she only stuck ta pigtails.”

  “Aww. What was your mum like?”

  Harriet hesitates. Normally, whenever these sorts of questions are asked, she would talk about Red’s wife for consistency. But she's never met Maude Eddards.

  And Astrid will never meet Red.

  “Quiet.” Harriet mulls it over. “I think the pastors would call her industrious.”

  “Ooooh.”

  “Yeah, she spent most days doin’ chores. Tendin’ the animals. I barely saw her some days. Pa said she worked too much, heh, an’ that’s why she always got…” Suddenly, Harriet’s face pales. She shifts uncomfortably. “... do we have ta play this game?"

  "Truth or Truth? It's a sleepover classic!"

  "I think it's normally Truth or Dare," Harriet wilts.

  “Unfortunately for you,” Astrid bops her nose. “I am terrified of your dares.”

  "Fine, fine!" Harriet tries to think of a question. But almost as quickly as her mind opens, a sweet sensation starts to waft in.

  Honey and ambrosia.

  Honey…

  “... Where in the world would ya like ta see.” Harriet blinks, shaking the sweet scent from her nostrils. “That ya ain’t already been!”

  “Fahk!” Astrid grumbles. “I was gonna-”

  “No Paris. No New York.”

  Astrid rolls her head back and groans. “Japan. No, no, India! I’d start my spiritual arc.”

  “You? Spiritual?”

  “It could happen!”

  Harriet giggles. “Yeah, maybe durin’ the Rapture.”

  “Shattuppppp!” Astrid pushes on her arm. “Okay, my turn! First crush.”

  Harriet squeezes her hair. “Uh… d-define crush.”

  “You see a boy you like, and dream 'bout holdin' his hand.”

  “I dreamed ‘bout the day I could kick the bar-owner’s son in the behind. Does that count?”

  Astrid snorts. “It’ll do.”

  Did Astrid bring some sort of baked good? Did Soteris leave out his ingredients? She can't get rid of this smell. It's driving her...

  “.... uh..." Harriet realises it's her turn. "What’s yers?”

  “Mine?” Astrid shrugs. “The kid I sat next to in eighth-year chem. Real clever. On their tests, ‘ey always wrote their answers so big, I got second in the class!"

  "Oh my God," Harriet chuckles.

  "We lasted, like, maybe three months. You know ‘ow it goes. But she did-”

  “She?”

  “Yeah, Amy Gallitzer. Fink she’s in-”

  “Astrid," Harriet turns to look at her. "Yer a homophile?”

  “A homa-what?”

  “Ya like girls?"

  “Of course I like gir-” It’s like watching a wind-up toy run out of spring. Astrid sits tall, her eyes wide and boring holes into the wall ahead. “... oh. Yeah, dat’s how it would…” She’s nodding to herself. “... guess I never told you.”

  Suddenly, Astrid springs her legs onto the couch, backing away with a newfound panic.

  “Wait, wait, you don’t mind, right?” Astrid holds up her hands. “I-I mean, totally fine if you do! I’ve seen you and the boss prayin’! Y-You don’t have to agree wiff it, I-I’m not tryin’ to, like, cram it down your-”

  “Astrid, we had homophiles in 1860.”

  "You keep usin' 'at word. It sounds dirty."

  "Well, what word should I be usin'?"

  "I dunno!" Astrid shrugs. "I just like girls! Really, you don't mind? Even wiff all the make-up an' hair?"

  “Why would I mind that?”

  “‘Cause…” Astrid worries her lip. “You know…”

  Astrid gasps. Harriet has grabbed her arm, pulling her forward just as Harriet’s own head lays back. They stare at each other’s eyes.

  “What? Should I be worried yer gonna…” Harriet smiles, and shows her fangs. “... start somethin’ dangerous?"

  Astrid’s cheeks turn a bright shade of red. It makes Harriet laugh.

  “Ahahahahah!”

  "Ah! Unfair!" Astrid smacks her. “I was sayin’ all that in confidence!"

  Harriet flashes her eyebrows. “Maybe I like a lil’ confidence.”

  “Okay! Stop!” Astrid makes a cross with her hands. “You cannot keep doin’ dis unless you are actually into me!”

  “Alas, I think I like men.” Harriet mimics gagging. “But it’s never been confirmed, so I guess I’ll get back ta ya.”

  “Never confirmed?” Harriet gives Astrid a look. The dhaoine rosin's jaw hits the floor. “No. Really?”

  “Yup! Not even once!”

  “An’ how old are you?” Astrid snorts. “But... no way. You’re fahkin’ gorgeous.”

  “Fully aware! Trust me, there ain’t been no lack a’ interest!" Harriet quickly nods. "I jes’... ya know, it feels important. I don’t wanna waste it on someone I…” Harriet stops. Astrid is bent over, covering her mouth. “What issit?”

  She hears a muffled laugh. “Nuffin’!”

  Harriet scowls. “It’s clearly somethin’.”

  “I dunno, it’s just…” Astrid pulls the hand away. “... it’s so cute.”

  “Cute?”

  Astrid takes a mocking voice. “Fireside, the scary killah! Fireside, our blessed maid. Do you shine your shoes before goin' to church?"

  “Oh-kay.” Harriet holds out her hand. “Th-that’s not true.”

  “It sounds pretty true.”

  “I am quite far from bein’ a saint.”

  “Sure.”

  Harriet scoffs at her. “I’ve been kissed!” She puffs up. “An’ held hands! An’, uh… I’ve seen men take their shirts off. In the room. With me! An’ then taken my shirt off. I mean I took the shirt. My shirt. Off.”

  “‘Arriet, ‘at must ‘ave been a harrowing experience-”

  “Screw you!”

  “Have you ever held it?”

  “Held what?” Harriet’s cheeks colour when Astrid starts to laugh. “No, no! It’s not funny!”

  Astrid forces herself back. “Are you sure you’re into men?”

  “I like... looking at them.” Harriet gestures wildly. “I like their faces. An’ their arms!”

  “Well, you know whose gotta great pair of face an’ arms?”

  “Who?” She sees the intensity in Astrid’s glare, and immediately starts to blanche. “No. Nooooooo.”

  “I mean, you’re lookin’ at ‘im everyday!”

  “Astrid, he kidnapped me.”

  “Has ‘at never stopped anyone?”

  “Yer the one who… flinged with him,” Harriet waves her hand, before sparking. “Which, ya know, doesn’t make sense fer a girl-lover ta do!”

  “I don't discriminate. Neivver should you! What's the harm? Could be fun! Especially when he already likes you."

  “He doesn’t-” Harriet stops. Ratchets up. Looks Astrid dead in the eye. “No. No, he… you can’t… Astrid, don’t mess around. He isn’t, seriously, like…?”

  Astrid slowly grins. “Head over heels.”

  Harriet slowly sinks into the couch. "Noo.”

  “Girl, you’re like the only fing he talks about. It’s gettin’ insufferable.”

  “If he likes me, why am I here?”

  “Here, as in: ‘In his apartment, an’ not a prison cell?’”

  Harriet loudly groans.

  “What? It’s perfectly natural. Young vamps got all ‘ese feelings, and CEOs might be stuck at work, but ‘ey’ve gotta snog off wiff someone.”

  “I don’t wanna snog.”

  “Yeah, I know, an’ you’re, like, the only woman I’ve ever met who doesn't."

  Harriet huffs. "I-I'm sorry. Are ya seriously supportin' this? I thought ya wanted ta be my friend!"

  "I want everyone to be friends wiff everyone!" Astrid claps her hands together. "I'm a matchmaker."

  "I've been wronged."

  Astrid's head bobs about. "Okay, sure. But, like... when I spend lots of time wiff a man, he starts seein' fings a bit more-"

  "Oh my God."

  "Okay, yeah, scratch that. Bad idea! But look." Astrid holds out “‘Ere’s a long line of women lookin’ down on you, fulla envy.”

  “Yeah, lookin’ down ‘cause he probably got them murdered!"

  “He is exciting. Women love that!" Astrid points. "Or are you sayin’ you don’t get even a slight thrill when he grabs you?”

  Harriet glares. Bites her lip. Her thoughts rocket back to the club. The words he said. The way he held her. The way she felt, like a dagger was thrust into her chest, and… and…

  “I wouldn't describe it as a thrill." Harriet gives a shaky breath, and pulls her knees into her chest. "Is that why ya didn't warn me?"

  “Warn you... Oh. Shit.” Astrid exhales. His... assault... clear in her mind, too. “Arriet. I didn’t want ‘at to happen.”

  “But ya knew it would. I’ve heard ‘bout his other dates.”

  “Who told-” Astrid stops herself. Briefly closes her mouth. “... okay. Yeah. Soteris can be intense.”

  Harriet glares at her. “Intense!?”

  “Christ, what do you want me to say? He’s my friend! He's done more for me than anyone else in me life. You fink I like bein' the..." Astrid goes quiet.

  “Ya lied ta me. Ya were lyin’ ta me this whole time.”

  “It wasn’t a lie!”

  “Then what was it?!”

  Astrid bites her lip. “I didn't want to... worry you."

  Harriet stares at her for a long time. "Astrid, it wasn't a mistake. Not ta him. He's not a good person."

  "He is." Astrid stops, blinks, and her eyes fall to the floor. “... he can be."

  Harriet sighs. Allows the silence to replace the tension that’s flooded the room. The moment she does, her mind starts wandering anew. Back to that scent with no source. Honey and-

  “I’m sorry." Astrid lifts herself from the couch. “It was wrong. I apologise. If there’s… somefin’ I can do to make up for it-"

  “Ya could help me escape!”

  Astrid gives her a tired look, and Harriet deflates.

  “... Had ta try.”

  “Okay, rephrase.” Astrid lifts a hand. “ If there’s anyfin’ I can do, ‘at won’t get us vapourised by dawn...”

  “The Orphean."

  “The what?”

  “Ya could take me ta the Orphean."

  “Why do you wanna go to the Orphean?”

  Harriet blinks. She doesn't actually know. There was a letter, right? Something Regina mentioned, but Harriet can't recall a word. It feels small. So much smaller than the... honey...

  Harriet blinks. Tries to think of something to say. "Ya offered ta take me there!”

  “An’ you called it a sex den! Made a face at me somewhere between disgust and ‘Burn-the-Witch!’ Christian zealotry.”

  “I changed my mind!” Harriet sits straighter. “Maybe I can handle it!"

  Astrid lifts a brow. “You can’t handle it.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s art in there, too. Maybe I wanna see!”

  “Oh, you're aesthetic, now? A connoisseur?” Astrid folds her arms. “Alright. Name a single artist with work in the Nat. Gal.”

  Harriet smirks at her, sure of an answer. But as the next several seconds pass, the smirk fades. “... where are all these questions comin’ from, Astrid?”

  “You’re askin’ me to take you out of Polyphron! Now! Wiffout Soteris even-”

  “Oh, so yer still gonna put him ahead a’ me?”

  Astrid looks flabbergasted. “Yes!” She holds up the scrunchie on her wrist and points at it. “He’s my Keeper! Do you have any idea what he could do to me?”

  “Has he ever actually punished ya."

  "No! But it'd still be a dick move!

  “So is kidnap-”

  “Rrraahhh!" Astrid growls at her. "Enuff wiff the fahkin’ kidnappin’!”

  Harriet forces her mind to focus. The sweet scents pipe down. “Astrid, look, I’ll be straight. I got an invitation-”

  “An invitation?” Astrid squints. “Can I see?”

  “No. I destroyed it. First chance I could.”

  “You destroyed it!?”

  “Yeah? Is that a problem?”

  Astrid stares at her like… well, the way Janet always used to stare. “The dhaoine rosín are… particular wiff the cultural stuff. ‘Ey see themselves as some kinda Old One two-point-oh. If you go wiffout your note, it violates some law of hosti-... hotsi…”

  Harriet lifts a brow. “Hospitali-”

  “HOSPITALITY!” Astrid snaps. “So you can’t just stumble in!”

  “What was I s’posed ta do? Keep it in my bra? Soteris coulda seen!”

  “‘Ere are worse places to-wait.” Astrid’s eyes spark. “Soteris doesn’t KNOW!?”

  Harriet flusters. “Why would I tell him!?"

  “You have to! It's in the rulebook.”

  “There’s a rulebook?”

  “YES. Y- ohmygod.” Astrid stares into space. “We never got you the rulebook.”

  “Astrid, look, if I’m breakin’ some Predecessor law, all the more reason ta go now an’ clear up things! If we’re in an’ out, Soteris won’t even be back in time ta be mad!”

  “Or! We go nowhere, and then it’s impossible to make anyone mad!”

  “Astrid!” Suddenly, Harriet slows down. Folds her hands. Widens her eyes. “This… this is really important." She raises her pitch. "I thought we were friends.”

  Astrid glares at her. “Wow.”

  “‘Wow’ what?”

  “Did you really just try that?”

  Harriet glances to the side before looking back. Making even bigger puppy dog “... is it gonna work?”

  For a few seconds, Astrid stares at her with a twitching eye. “Fine! I’m listenin’. JUST listenin’! You wanna go to the Orphean? Sure! Give me one good reason why.”

  “Yessss!” Harriet grins. “Okay, so, remember the fundraiser? I met Lianna-”

  “No.”

  “NO!?”

  Astrid’s already stomping away.

  “Astrid!” Harriet scrambles after her. “Why not!?”

  “Because it’s LIANNA STIRLING! You ‘ave to know what she’s done. Even I know!”

  “But ya told me the dhaoine rosín aren’t racist anymore!”

  “Some!" Astrid points. "I said some. And when I said some, I really meant, ‘Everyone but HER!’”

  “I jes-” Harriet’s cut off by another of Astrid’s desperate flails. “I know what she’s done! I fought her before ya were ever born! But, like… I jes’ wanna hear her out! Yer the matchmaker, right? We could be friends!"

  “Yeah, uh-huh, try 'at out, sweetheart. Lianna Stirling does not want friends.”

  Harriet grumbles. “Wasn’t even her that wrote the invitation, but I guess Regina Dunstan won’t-”

  “REGINA!?”

  “ARRRGHH!”

  Harriet leaps into the couch. Astrid’s sped so quickly back that it looks like she’s teleported. Her face is too close. Her eyes are like fire.

  “Are you telling me ‘at Regina bloody Dunstan wrote you a personal invitation?”

  “Y-... yeah?"

  Astrid blinks. “Did she mention me?”

  “Yeah.” Harriet blinks back. “She said ya could help.”

  A pause, then the girl’s speeding off again. From one side of the hall to the next, the slight delay in her squeal constantly following her. “eeeeEEEEEeeeeeeeeeEEEE!” She stops, grinning at Harriet. “SHE LET ME BACK IN!”

  “Wh-what?”

  Astrid’s already back to squealing.

  “Astrid, wait, whaddaya mean by ‘back in?’ Were-"

  “OH MY GOD! OhmyGod OhmyGod this is the BEST DAY EVER!” Astrid slams into the couch, kicking her legs. “This is divine! Spic-an-span! Oh, the swans, the truffles, the stage plays! Arriet, we ‘ave to go! We’re totally going! It's been years since-"

  “Ya said ya were there last week.”

  Astrid lifts up, turns to Harriet, and her face goes blank. "Did I?"

  Harriet nods.

  A few seconds pass. “Sometimes... a dramatic mood strikes me…”

  “Astrid, did ya get banned?”

  “No! Absolutely not, I-” She grows quiet when she sees Harriet’s scowl. “It’s not a ban! I can go in whenever I want. It’s just ‘at, you know, if I do, they will immediately try to kill me.”

  Harriet buries her face in her hands. “Oh, God…”

  “No, no, stop that! The Magistress mentioned me! I’m totally fine!”

  “Ya think Lianna won't care?"

  Astrid's face falls, then bursts back. “Well, see, I’ve been finkin’. 'At friend approach you mentioned, actually really smart! I fink we can really-”

  “No.” Harriet stands up. “No! Astrid, we can’t do this!”

  “You didn’t ‘ave ‘ese concerns three minutes ago!”

  Harriet flounders. “I didn’t know ya could die!"

  “'At's bein' real pessimistic." Harriet puts her face in her hands. Astrid lifts from the couch as well, clutches her shoulder. “‘Arriet, please. I need to go! If I could do it myself, I’d already be there!”

  “What on Earth could the Orphean possibly-"

  “I never said GOODBYE!”

  Harriet turns. Astrid’s skin is bright. Her eyes thrumming with all the gilded warmth of aether.

  “You wanna know the truth? The real fahkin’ drama!?” Astrid sniffles. "Regina... ‘ey… threw me out, like a drunk at a pub. Told me I ‘ad three days before the Reeve would come, axe ready. Regina didn’t know. Regina didn't get a say. I 'aven't seen her since, and… and… ‘Arriet, we're friends.”

  “Yer friends with a Magister?"

  “And an Unbound, too." Astrid smiles and shrugs. "I dunno. I keep weird company."

  Harriet sighs. She could fight. Could point out the obvious flaws in Astrid’s logic, she can still... smell it. The honey. It feels right.

  And even if it didn't... Astrid's who only one here who tries to care.

  “Alright. We-NO!” She stops Astrid before the girl can pull her into another bear hug. “No hugging.”

  “But I-”

  “No. Hugging.”

  Astrid pouts, and compensates by wrapping her arms around herself.

  “We should leave now,” Harriet says. “Before Soteris can get back. An’ Armani prolly needs- aghh!”

  “Come on!” Astrid’s pulling on her wrist. Speeding towards the door. “We gotta hit my place!”

  “We don't have time ta-"

  “It’s Friday! Friday’s History Night! You’ve gotta get a costume!”

  “Costume!?”

  “No worries, doll! You’re starin’ at one a’ the West End’s greatest acts! And she’s already got ideas.” The dhaoine rosín’s eyes spark. “‘Ow do you like Western’s?”

  relatively safe way with a relatively safe woman. What are y'all feelin' about Astrid? It's obvious that something is rattling the woman's mind, but what is it? And does that mean Harriet should push her away?

  oddly intrusive in Harriet's thoughts!