Chapter 19
Quinn
Brit, Ravana, and I perched at the giant stone table in the Assembly Hall, a place that somehow managed to feel both enormous and cozy.
Tents, little nylon domed ones from my time, and hulking structures of fur and wool, sprawled across cracked tile, creating a mini tent city.
Rubble was politely pushed into corners while dust claimed everything magic didn’t bother with.
A guitar hummed from somewhere far off, tossing straw-colored sparks into the air like it was trying to flirt with the ceiling.
Someone sharpened their blade in time to its beat.
Warm air drifted up from the heat cone our table circled, but the cavernous room stayed sharp around the edges.
Even with people working and music drifting, the Assembly Hall felt ready to devour anyone who forgot where they were.
The Westwaters didn’t; they moved through the space in worn leather and quiet menace, like they were built for places that bite.
I reached into my pocket-void and pulled out the final stack of Intentions, nearly toppling the pile already in front of me as I set them on top. Instead of letting the duality of my new “home” weigh on me, I fixed my gaze on Ravana, who let out a low whistle.
“Impressive. Start answering them.” She flicked a pile, her finger going straight through it.
My head spun, but Brit swooped in like the competent adult I absolutely was not. We cleared a little space in front of me, and I yanked out my trusty pen and paper—no guys, no magic, just me raw-dogging reality. Honestly, I had not thought this whole running-away-with-Ravana plan through.
Channeling my inner Erick, which made my skin crawl, I started writing. Ten in, they already blurred together. I sighed. “Do I really need to answer all of these? I’m going to run out of paper… it can’t wait until I can make a scrawl?”
“It can’t,” Brit pressed her hand into her stomach. “You’re important. So important. This isn’t a game anymore.”
I scowled at my friend. “Brit, we don’t even know if I’m the reason you're cycling.”
Brit pursed her lips.
“But even if I am,” I cut her off. “We need to talk about how grumpy your hormones are making you.”
Ravana chuckled before rapping her knuckles against the table.
“I couldn’t have kids. But I can now.” Brit glanced at Joe, currently poking around the little pantry looking for food, before lowering her voice. “If it weren’t for all this.” She spread her hands. “I would ride Joe until he put one in me.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I didn’t need that visual.”
Brit smirked. “But now you got it.” She lightly bumped the back of my head with her palm. “So, Intentions.”
I groaned. “I already know I don’t want any of these.”
“And that’s why everyone thinks you're brainwashed.” Brit punched the table. “The Architect gave you shit. He made you work and fucked up so bad you jumped into bed with a Lawson.”
“That’s not at all what happened!” I threw my hands in the air.
“I was fine doing my part. If Xan had treated me like a princess, I would have gotten suspicious and probably run away. I don’t like being in debt to people, speaking of which.
” I batted my eyes at Ravana, who blinked at me as if I’d grown two heads.
“I’ve got money, assuming no one’s stolen it out of my room. ”
Ravana’s eyes widened, and she leaned forward. “Paying for my roof now? The Architect fill your head with that shit?”
I shook my hands in front of me.
“Of course he did. Cheap fuck.” Ravana grinned. “My people want to flash what you’ll get with a Westwater Intention, maybe I’ll let ’em.”
I put my head in my hands.
“Truth don’t matter, kid. Stories do,” Ravana said. “Right now, you’re the brainwashed girl who spread ‘em for the wrong man. Either let it ride or flip the script. Make yourself the player.”
I didn’t lift my head from my hands, but her words hit home. I’d almost died trying to finance my independence. Money helped, sure, but it didn’t mean squat against everything else. I needed to pull on my big-girl pants and start writing.
I picked up an Intention. “This one’s offering me exactly fifty-three sheep along with a pastoral cottage in Northumberland, wherever that is.” I thrust it at both of them, feeling ridiculous. “Is the rest of my life worth fifty-three sheep?”
Brit took the Intention and cleared her throat. “The Bewicks sure hope so.”
Ravana laughed. The rich tone echoed in the massive room. “Do whatever you want, kid, but don’t fool yourself. In The Pit, I spin a fighter’s story, and the crowd eats it up. That’s power. Right now, you’re acting like a pawn, letting everyone else spin yours.”
She was right. In my time, people made a living putting twists on stories and changing the perception of events. I wasn’t old Quinn hiding in a corner. Here, I was literally an event. A woman from the past with sparkly hair, possibly four boyfriends, who made dragons out of magic.
Was I a celebrity? Was this dystopian fan mail?
My sudden adjustment in attitude must have shown on my face, because Brit literally beamed at me, while Ravana squeezed my hands. “Men run the board, but the spin decides who wins. Play it smart, kid. Be the player.”
I grinned. “I have an idea.”
Brit handed me the Bewicks’ Intention. I thought of Erick and his carefully worded ‘fuck offs.’ Without meaning to, I’d let him speak for me. Knowing Erick, he’d probably gotten off on it too. Never again.
I erased and wrote three times before the right words came out of my pencil.
Dear Hiring Director,
Your offer of sheep and cottage life sounds lovely, but as I know nothing about sheep and have only lived in cities, I’m unsure what I can add to your family.
If we find ourselves in a similar location, I would be happy to get a coffee and learn more about your life.
All the best,
Quinn Question
“What’s a ‘hiring manager’?” Brit asked after reading it.
“Someone who’s in charge of hiring,” I responded.
Brit gave me a flat look, and I grinned.
Ravana dropped my pad of paper with a snort. “Sweet as sugar, sharp as a knife. Makes ’em second-guess why they sent it in the first place. That’s spin, kid.”
Her compliments made me squirm, but Brit already had a royal-purple scrawl in my face. I read it twice before framing my response.
Dear Hiring Director,
What a lucky family! Well-endowed twins who share everything! They even come with an estate in the country and a townhome in London. My Barbie didn’t even come with those extras. I had to purchase them.
It sounds like you already have everything you need and more than you could possibly want. I’m unsure what I could add to your family to improve it.
If we find ourselves in a similar location, I would be happy to get a coffee and learn more about your life.
All the best,
Quinn Question
Brit cackled. “The Windsor family, who sent you that, were the royalty of England in BT. The world doesn’t work that way anymore, but they’re still stuffy as fuck. I’d pay gold to see their response.” She pointed at my paper. “What’s a Barbie?”
“It’s a toy.” I waved my hand. “They won’t know it either.”
Her brow arched. “You’ve got more teeth than I thought. Good.”
With genuine excitement this time, I found the next Intention and started reading.
The door to the main room opened and thunked closed, making me jump. Tall, thin windows on the left swirled with night as Brit’s moss green lit the table. I’d lost track of time answering my Intentions.
More lights winked into existence in pale pastels, along with murmurs of conversation as Ravana’s family gathered. Silas appeared around the heat cone. He lifted Ravana out of her seat and spun her in his arms before planting a massive kiss on her lips. Despite their rough edges, I melted a little.
“I know that look,” Silas said. “I’m not accepting contracts right now.”
I blushed. “No. Ah. I was just…”
The man smirked and dropped Ravana back into her seat before snagging Joe and exiting the room again. The area around the heat cone came alive. My stomach growled, and the chopping of food and banging pots became music to my ears.
“I built that man.” Ravana flicked an orange Intention, making it spark before it settled.
“He was already tied up in a contract. When I had my second son, my damn uterus came out with him. Westwaters said I was done. Useless.” She bared her gold fangs in a grin.
“Silas won Lacy in a pit fight. Didn’t know she couldn’t breed till after he signed. Dropped her the second he found out.”
I wrinkled my nose, suddenly not liking Silas as much as I had.
Ravana snorted. “He dumped her freedom in her lap because he couldn’t be bothered.
Cruel, careless, call it what you will. But it was still more than she’d ever had.
” For once, her grin turned warm. “She was my best friend. That’s how I met Silas.
Love at first sight, even if the world called it impossible, him bound to her, me a ‘waste.’ Took a year to break through that shit. But he learned.”
“He gave you a contract?” I asked.
“Fuck yes!” Ravana held her hand up, and Brit gave her a high five.
“And what happened to Lacy?” I asked.
Ravana barked a laugh. “Once Silas stopped measuring women by their wombs, he got real enlightened, had himself a whole damn parade of epiphanies. Lacy’s stunning, a genius with illusions, and she keeps The Pit running like clockwork.
I don’t mind sharing. She’s proof not everything has to be ugly in this world. ”
My platonic appreciation for Silas returned.
Ravana smirked, fingers rapping a steady beat. “No man’s born perfect. But you can train ’em with time, and the right oil.”
I blushed. “I’m not sure, um, meeting someone to change them is, ah, healthy.”
She smirked. “Hell no, it’s not healthy. But people change whether you like it or not. If the spark’s real, might as well see if you can grow the mess into something solid together.”
My heart fluttered. I liked that concept a lot. The ‘spark’ was not an issue.