Oboe bellowed as she smashed through the furniture, shrugging off the ravens as she charged at Bassoon. Grandmother dropped Theo. She held her arms up to protect herself as Oboe slammed a fist into her, and sent that hateful old cow tumbling into the far wall.

Oboe felt big. Bigger than she ever knew she could be. It took everything she had to hold onto this form. It couldn’t last. She didn’t care. Her anger boiled. All grandmother did was hurt people. Oboe wasn’t going to let her hurt Theo, or Fife, or anyone else. She heaved hot, snarling breaths and stalked closer.

Bassoon was laughing. Of course she was laughing. There was something wrong with her. She was broken. Oboe felt broken all her life. She spent her whole life feeling like trash her family had thrown away. That was a mistake. She should’ve listened to Thistle. Oboe wasn’t broken, it was the Circle.

“This is delicious.” Bassoon pulled herself from the rubble. Whispers dived from above, fusing back into grandmother’s body. Her form was shifting. “Yes, give me a reason. I haven’t cut loose in a hundred years.” Claws erupted from her finger tips as the last Whisper returned. Her arms and legs twisted into reptilian scales. Her mouth unhinged, a forked tongue flicked between rows of jagged teeth. “Entertain me, and I will grant you the death you crave.”

She lunged, a dragon large enough to fill the room. Oboe dug her claws into her and she answered by sinking her teeth into Oboe’s shoulder. They grappled, ripping bloody streaks through one another.

The ceiling cracked. The room was huge, but not huge enough for two giant beasts. Oboe pulled back. Theo was dragging himself away, but was about to get stepped on. She reared back and rammed Bassoon with her horns, trying to push her away from Theo.

“What’s this?” Bassoon snapped her jaws, mocking. “Afraid I’ll hurt the poor, helpless little human?” Oboe strained to keep Bassoon back, but her strength gave out. Bassoon shoved Oboe off her feet, and turned towards Theo.

“A victor cannot afford to pity the weak.” Flames licked along bassoon’s snout. She filled her lungs to breathe fire.

“No!!” Oboe leapt, and clamped Bassoon’s jaw shut just as flames escaped, and wrenched her head away.

A smile curled on grandmother’s lips, she forced her jaw open and spat a torrent of flames all over Oboe’s hands. The pain ran up every finger, searing her flesh. The agony filled every sense, deafening like alarm bells and cannon fire. Oboe barely noticed as Bassoon hurled her into the floor. Her magic failed. Oboe shrank back to normal, flat on her back. She stared at her hands, stiff and scorched black.

“No one is owed survival,” Bassoon said, smoke billowing from her nostrils. “You take it, or you die.”

“Shut up!” Oboe said, cringing through the pain. “Just, shut up! I hate you! I hate how you think! I’d rather die than listen to you!!”

Bassoon rolled her eyes. “So be it.” She aimed her claws at Oboe’s heart, and stabbed.

Chains rattled. Oboe opened her eyes. A length of conjured chains coiled around Bassoon’s wrist and leashed her to the wall.

“What?!”

Another took hold of her right wrist, wrenching her arm back. Tattered, burning strips of silk spun through the air, changing into chains that took hold of her legs. More and more piled on, binding her.

“Sister!” A tiny worm on the floor was speaking. It was right underneath Bassoon, magic pouring out of it. “I can’t hold her! You have to hurry!”

“Oboe!!” Theo said. Oboe looked. He had dragged himself to the far end of the room where the sword had gone. “Take it!” Theo threw the blade, and it slid all the way to Oboe’s side.

The pain to move her hands was excruciating, but she forced her fingers tight around the sword hilt. The magic inside it howled up her arm, starving. Bassoon’s eyes went wide. She yanked an arm, shattering one of the chains. There was no time. Oboe jumped into a sprint, rolling past as grandmother slammed a giant fist down. Oboe hopped off her forearm, and thrust the sword deep into Bassoon’s scaly breast. A heart-rending scream split the air as Oboe pulled the sword out again.

“You… you…” Bassoon’s breathing went shallow. “No. How could… I can’t die. I won’t die!!” She thrashed. An ashen color spread through body from the wound. She reached to grab the sword, to take it and seal its magic away again, but Oboe pulled away. “You little weed! You useless, nameless, stupid piece of shit! I’ll kill you!”

The sword clattered to the floor. Oboe fell to her knees. Her whole body hurt; she had nothing left. Bassoon lurched closer and twisted her arm back to attack, but before she could bring it down it hardened and froze. Whispers exploded out of her body, desperate to escape, but each turned to stone in the air and shattered against the ground.

“I’m the queen!” Bassoon said, her mouth growing rigid. “I won’t die! I… can’t…”

Her face split, crumbling to dust. Oboe watched, stunned, as the mound that was her grandmother burst. The ash blew across her face, resting in her fur. The Fair Lady’s magic was snuffed out, like a roaring furnace that had gone ice cold. Oboe stared at the space Bassoon once stood. It did not seem real. She was dead, and they were alive.

Grandmother was right about one thing. Oboe felt no room in her heart for pity.

There was a pounding at the door. The barrier failed the moment The Fair Lady stopped breathing. All that kept the spriggan at bay was a deadbolt lock.

Oboe bent down to touch Fife. Her whole body ached. It hurt to try and use her magic. She pushed past the stinging pain and reached to undo the knot Bassoon had tied. The spell came loose, and Fife took the shape of a faun again. He grabbed Oboe as her knees gave out.

“You did it,” he said. “I can’t believe we’re alive!”

The doors burst open. Armed spriggan poured into the room. Oboe shoved Fife away and grabbed the sword. “Get Theo,” she said, stepping forward to block their path.

Épée was at the head of the guard. Her beak hung open as her eyes scanned the destruction. “What… what is this?! What have you done?!”

“You know what happened,” she said, pointing the sword at them. “You felt it. We all felt it.” Her breathing was labored. “She’s dead. I killed her.”

Heads turned. Panicked murmurs. Some weapons lowered, others were readied. Fife helped Theo to his feet, and brought him close. Oboe tried to remember all the fighting advice Theo had given her. There were ten guards to fight. Maybe more coming. The sword gave her a chance, but she was at her limit. Theo and Fife were battered too.

“Oboe!” Theo reached out to her, leaning against Fife. “Are you okay?!”

“I’m fine.” She kept her eyes forward. “Can you fight?”

He hesitated. “I…” No. He was too sweet.

“Forget it.” Oboe tightened her grip. Theo couldn’t stand to hurt anyone. He cared about everyone. That’s not what they needed right now. They needed someone who was going to do what it took to survive.

“This isn’t real.” Épée’s eyes had glazed over. “She can’t be dead. The Lady was perfect. How could someone like you have killed her…?”

Oboe swiped the air with the sword. “I’ll show you.”

Épée drew her daggers. “You nameless weed! We will have your head for this!!”

“Do you think I’m afraid of you!?” Oboe said. “I just killed the Queen of the Fairies. You’re nothing to me! If you think you can stop me where she couldn’t, then let’s do this!”

Épée was trembling. She exchanged terrified glances with her troop. Their postures wilted. A spear was thrown to the floor, and then a sword. Every weapon clattered to the floor and the spriggans cleared away from their door, bowing. Even Theo was staring at her in awe.

“Let the others know.” Oboe said. “We’re leaving.” Cadets scurried off to spread the word. Oboe marched past the cowering fairies, leading Theo and Fife out into the hall.

“Sister,” Fife said. “You just admitted to Queen Slaying. The Titled will hear of this. They will never give your name back.”

“They can keep it.”

Scouts spotted the Feymire forces slinking away into the Farbend before the King’s forces arrived to occupy the Fairy Circle. Their diplomats were abandoned, left in the capital to squirm. They were detained by the Knight Detectives for questioning.

“We’re going to have to redraw the maps,” Theodore said, leaning over the ramparts of the city walls. The Whirlwood was bigger now. The old spells around the Circle had died with bassoon, and space had unfolded. The Circle was no longer hidden. It was now a part of the valley just like it was hundreds of years ago. It stood out, with its palace of crysal, its shimmering lake, and sprawl of gnarled, verdant homes.

Prince Perceval joined Theodore. He seemed older now, dressed in his crown and robes. Together they stared at his changed Kingdom. “How did this happen?”

Fife stepped forward. “It’s all in the report I sent you. Forcing space to fold is costly magic. Bassoon must’ve taken a shortcut by tying the spells to her life force. It’s a common trick to save Fates. The tax payers will be furious when they hear about it.”

“No one cares!” Marla Whitesail said. Theodore had made sure the surviving knights from the investigation team were rescued and restored to human form. Though he was still worried about the spare Ranger Deputy uniform he had lost in the labyrinth which had not yet been recovered. “This was treason!” She prodded Fife in the chest. “You fairies secreted an enemy onto our doorstep! You plotted a coup! You killed Alex and Beverly! We need to teach the lot of you the Mother’s Justice! We should banish you, or lock you all up!”

Fife bristled. “Your Majesty, I implore you, do not do anything so rash. Things are volatile in the Circle now that the Fair Lady is dead. Our government is in shambles. The Titled are squabbling to take control. Seeing soldiers in our streets has everyone on edge. Fights have already broken out. My people are scared. If you enact a mass banishment, there will be panic, or revolt. We need the Fount to sustain a population of this size. We have nowhere to go.”

The prince grimaced at the situation. “Theodore, would you like to weigh in on this?”

Theodore adjusted his glasses, the spare set he didn’t like as much. “Bassoon was responsible for this, and she’s dead. With Fife’s help, we’ve secured a great deal of evidence to identify co-conspirators. The City Watch has captured all the spies we are aware of, and have disenchanted the teleportation spells they were working on. I think it would be abhorrent to punish the entire Circle for the actions of corrupt leadership. Their government is unstable. We need to install a new leader of integrity and step away once things are secure.”

“I agree,” Perceval said. Marla threw her arms up in disgust behind him. “I want you in charge of this. You have the most experience working with the Whirlwood creatures, and I know I can trust you to be even handed. Take care so our friends in the Circle stay friends.”

Theodore sighed internally. Every day this job got bigger. Nevertheless, he nodded.

“Fife,” Perceval said. “You’ve been instrumental to averting a disaster. It took bravery to do what you did. You put yourself at great risk, and I hear you are being called a traitor. I want to assure you that the crown will do everything in its power to keep you and your family safe.”

Fife’s smile was grim. He gave a proper bow. “Thank you, your majesty.”

“Theo, I’ll expect updates on your progress. This matter is a priority. Let me know anything you need to make this work,” the Prince said.

“I understand,” Theodore said. “I’ll get started as soon as I’m able. There’s just a couple things I need to take care of first.”

A team of skeletons staggered to heft the three-tiered wedding cake up onto the long table.

“Careful with that, you numbskulls!” Giselle said, rushing to help them before it tipped over. They planted it together on the table. Giselle licked the frosting off her thumb and gagged at the taste.

Theodore looked over the food spread. Trays of strange ghast delicacies lined the tables in the churchyard alongside traditional human wedding foods. There were sweet cakes with dried fruits, ash-tarts with live worms, a simmering pot of spiced broth with beef balls, mandrake casserole and dry roasted newts with cricket. There was even entire barrel overflowing with chew bones. Theodore hoped it would be enough.

“Thank you for helping make this happen, Giselle,” Theodore said. “I know there are still villagers who are upset about this wedding.”

Giselle looked different than she did during the murder investigation. Her world-weary scowl had softened, and her black mourning dress was replaced with a floral gown. “They can be mad all they want.” She stuck up her nose. “The Parish owed me a favor, and this is the least I can do after what I did.” She shot a glare at the skeletons, who were picking at the hors d’oeuvres and idling.

“What are you doing?!” She said. “They’ll be coming out of the chapel any moment now! Get the band ready!”

Startled, the skeletons leapt to their feet and scrambled to scoop up their instruments. Giselle threw a torch into the bonfire pit and lit up the churchyard. Dina the troll leaned out the backdoor of the old stone chapel.

“Start the music! They’re coming out!”

With a last few frantic toots and string plucks to tune, the half dozen skeleton caterers burst into a blaring rendition of the song Joined by the Mother on a crashing tambourine, piping flutes, a hand drum, and a joyful violin.

The door swung open and the newlywed werewolves paraded out into the yard, hand in hand and both wrapped in a shawl together, with an entire swarm of creatures trailing after them. Shadow people, goblins, trolls, ghouls, terrors and bogeymen all flooded into the yard cheering and howling. The Parishioner was the last out the door, who looked like he was questioning all the life choices that led him to this moment.

“Your attention, everyone!” The priest said, raising his arms for quiet. The music petered out and the crowd calmed to a few errant whoops. “I will now remove the Joining Shawl, and reveal to you the couple who are joined now in the eyes of the Mother!”

He unpinned the clasp, and unwrapped the couple. “The marriage of Barghest Blackhound and Lola Newmoon is hereby sanctified. Henceforth they wished to be known as the Blackmoons.” He anointed them with scented oils to the rattling of the tambourine. “May the mother bless you with a long and happy life together.”

The music swelled back into a crescendo, and Barghest broke into happy tears. The host of creatures erupted into a jolly caterwaul and then descended on the buffet table like savages.

“I can’t believe you actually made it happen,” Barghest said, holding a tiny plate overloaded with tiny pastries. “I didn’t think you could.”

“It’s not as nice as one of the cathedrals in the city,” Theodore said, wishing he could’ve managed more.

“No. It’s perfect.” Lola said. “Thank you, Deputy.”

Theodore smiled, and excused himself. He searched the crowd but did not find who he was looking for.

“Has anyone seen Oboe?”

Giselle sniffed at a dish of seasoned cow eyes with distrust. “Your fairy friend? She brought the wine casks like I asked, but asked to leave. She seemed upset, so I let her go.”

Theodore furrowed his brow. “Which way did she go?”

“Toward the River Wander,” she said. “You ought to check on her.”

Nodding, Theodore left the party to search for her.

The wedding party was a rumble of music in the distance, bright with lantern glow against the moonless night. It was all so loud, so happy. Oboe had to look away. She didn’t belong there. Sitting, she peered across the river into the dark, and wished she could stop thinking.

Boots crunched along the river bank. A light had wandered away from the party and found her. Oboe blinked. Theo set his lantern down and sat next to her.

“…They started serving the food,” Theo said, leaning in to find her eyes. “There’s all sorts of interesting dishes. Have you tried ghast berries? I’d never heard of them. They scream when you eat them! Scared me half to death. You should’ve seen!”

Oboe hugged her knees. “I’m not hungry.”

Crickets sang on the far shore. She couldn’t look at him. He sidled closer.

“You seem upset,” he said. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She curled tighter. “Why aren’t you mad at me?”

“What?”

She looked up. “It’s been two weeks. You act like nothing happened.”

“What do you mean? There’s too much happening.” His laugh was anxious. “We have so much to do! The Circle is a mess. The fairies are fighting over who should lead. Others are angry about the military occupation. I’m terrified it’s going to lead to violence. The prince wants me to fix it all, on top of the backlog of work I’ve neglected since all this started! There’s hardly been a chance to breathe.”

Oboe clenched her lips. He was doing it again. “No, Theo, No. That’s not it. I lied to you! I turned you into a bug! I kept secrets from you! You almost died, and it was all my fault, and you act like you don’t even care!”

Theo stiffened. “You explained what happened. She manipulated you. When the time came, you did the right thing.”

“You told me not to hurt anyone,” she said. “I killed her.”

Pain flashed in Theo’s face. He shook it away. “She was going to kill us. You had no choice.”

“No.” Oboe peered into the dark. “I wanted to do it. I’m glad she’s dead. I hope it hurt. I hope the Mother of Magic makes her suffer.” Oboe let out a shaky breath and shivered from the cold. “Theo, I’m scared.”

“Scared?” He placed an arm on her shoulder. “Why?”

“Grandmother told me I’m like her. That’s why she picked me. She said I’m wicked, deep down.”

Theo shook his head. “I know you better than she did. That’s not who you are.”

It was hard to swallow. “…You said we need to fix the Circle, right? I don’t want to. I hate them. I shouldn’t, but I do! I want it to fall apart, I want them to suffer! I think that and I feel like her.” She shut her eyes to hold back the tears. “I don’t want to be like her, Theo! I don’t want to be like this! But maybe I am! Maybe this is the real me!”

He pulled her into a hug. Her face fell against his soft sweater, catching her tears. The embrace stole her breath.

“I’m scared too,” Theo said, and let go of a deep breath. “I don’t want to be like my father, but he’s part of me. I don’t want to kill anyone. But sometimes there isn’t a choice.” He sighed. “If it weren’t for you, we’d both be dead. Every time I’ve screwed up, you’ve been there to catch me. That’s how I know you’re good, Oboe.”

She gripped his shirt. “Will you catch me? Promise me you won’t ever let me be like her!”

“Only if you keep making sure I don’t do anything stupid.”

She nodded. “…Okay.”

“Then we’ve got a deal,” He said.

Oboe held onto him. She felt a spark of warmth come back in her heart. She still wanted to cry, but it was a better sort of crying. She wanted to stay like this forever.

“So.” Theo coughed. “The party is still going. I don’t know if there will be any food left, but there’s dancing.”

“Um.” She let go, embarrassed. “I don’t know how to dance.”

“That’s okay.” He stood, and offered a hand to help her up. “I don’t either.”

Oboe swung Theodore off his feet as the music picked up. There was nothing to do but hold on as she spun, laughing as the violinist bounced between aching pulls of the bow to mad merry-making. It was like the happiest funeral dirge he had ever heard. She caught sight of the face he was making and let him fall against her shoulder, snorting and giggling at him. Apart from the nausea, Theodore was happy. After everything that had happened, it warmed his heart to see Oboe back to her old self again.

Burt the skeleton rattled his finger bones against his drum as the song came to a flourishing finish. “Alright. Looks like we wore you all out.” He handed the flutist a mandolin. “How about a slow one until you catch your breath? Any requests?”

“Entombed with you!” Someone called from the crowd.

“No! Do Hold my Claws by the Sweet Fiend!”

Lola pulled an exhausted looking Bhargest back into the yard. “Do you know Stars in My Dark?”

“Bride gets to pick!” Burt said and swept his arm into the air. Gentle, lingering string chords filled the air. The tambourine player startled Theodore with her deep, rich singing voice. Together, Theodore and Oboe wobbled in what he could only hope was approximate to correct.

Oboe pressed her cheek to his chest. Theodore felt a bit awkward. The song was meant for couples. He had to admit it was nice, though.

“Hey Theo?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. For everything. For being there. …I never had a friend like you. Or many at all, really.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah. Me too.”

“Um…” Her hands tightened. “Do you—“

The music stopped with a squelch, replaced with the sound of clanking chain mail. The singer trailed off into a mumble, staring. Theodore turned around to see the Knight Detective, Conrad Whitechain, marching onto the scene with a personal guard.

He assessed the crowd through narrowed eyes. “Why are there ghasts so close to the South Manor?”

Giselle pushed her way to the front. “They are guests here! What’s it to you?!”

Conrad gave her a skeptical look. “This is a violation,” he said. “Ghasts aren’t to come within a league of government farmland. We can’t risk it being spoiled by hexes.”

Theodore stepped away from Oboe. “There’s nothing to be concerned about! They’re trustworthy. I gave them permission!”

“Of course you did.” The Knight Detective rubbed his face. “Another of your questionable decisions. Which brings me to why I am here.” He reached into his drake-skin coat, and whipped out a formal document. “Ranger Deputy Grayweather. I’ve come to inform you that you are hereby stripped of your rank and authority.”

“What??” Oboe said. The surrounding ghasts gasped and murmured. There were shouts of ‘no!’ and growls. Conrad’s guards kept a hand ready at their sword hilts.

“What are you talking about?” Theodore said, taking the document. “I am on official orders from the crowned prince to resolve the crisis in the Fairy Circle!”

He tilted his hat up to glare blades at him. “Perceval’s authority is still provisional at best. He is a child. I don’t care if he pardoned you for your crimes. You abetted him in abandoning his duties. You put the whole kingdom at risk for reasons that still are not clear.” He sneered. “A man like you is not fit to serve Laien.”

“Says who!?” Oboe stormed up, getting right in Conrad’s face. “Theo is the smartest, most wonderful Ranger Deputy we ever had! I’m not letting you take him away from us!!”

There was nods and snarls of agreement behind her. The guards drew their swords.

“Oboe! Don’t!” Theodore said, eyeing the weapons.

“Why should I?! Do you hear all these awful things he’s saying about you??”

Theodore scanned the document, realizing what he was holding. It was a formal dismissal, signed by a Justice. The Knight Detective had found the same loophole Theodore had meant to use months ago. Theodore did not possess the Advanced Knight Training certificate, a mandatory credential for the position of Ranger Deputy. Conrad noticed the look on Theodore’s face, and smirked.

“You aren’t qualified, Grayweather. I want you out of the Whirlwood by the end of the week, or I’ll have you dragged out.”

“No!” Oboe stomped her hoof. “You can’t do this!”

“He can,” Theodore said, feeling faint. “This is binding, and effective immediately.” He wracked his brain to think of some way to fight this, but the law was firm and clear on the matter.

“This is just a start,” Conrad said. “You’re under investigation. I’m going to get to the bottom of your crimes. I won’t let a lying, treacherous sneak like you twist the fate of Laien.” He waved his hand, and the knights sheathed their swords.

“Until then…” He led his men away. “Enjoy your party.”

The wedding reception stood in stunned silence. The mood had been killed. Theodore stared at the dismissal form, wondering what he was going to do.