Smoke and Memories
I’ve always lived upwind of those factories. Never smoked. Never even went near something vaguely dusty. Those are jobs for corpses, after all.
But for the last few days, I’ve been watching and feeling each breath. Every little cough became a suspicion—an incorrect suspicion, but a suspicion.
The place is old enough to have its asbestos laced walls crumbling. Non-electric, personal cars sometimes pass by in the streets. The ventilation is poor. And the books are even slightly dusty! All so many ways for me to invent a lung disease.
Yet, those inventions are excuses. I’m not supposed to think about Mistress Vincenza’s last apprentice—I might accidentally bring them up—so I think obsessively over anything else I can.
I put down Dialectical Necromancy, reaching for the phone and ringing my mother just to talk to someone who won’t remind me of the dead.
The operator music slowly hums away into my mother’s voice. “Hello?”
“Hi, Mom. Just me.”
“Catie! Where in the Ring have you been? One call is not enough for you to disappear!“ she yells.
“I f-forgot. Sorry. Anyway, I’m coming by in a few hours to grab my stuff. You can make me food or something.”
“That’s always why you call, isn’t it?“ A static chuckle rises from the phone. “I called your girlfriend to learn where you work. Maybe I’ll come by.”
“She’s not my girlfriend! And don’t come by!” I flip my head between the telephone and the wall, working myself up into being angry enough to shut the call.
I mean, I’m still going home. I want my stuff.
But I’m going to be really unhappy with her when I do.
I check to make sure my makeup’s still presentable, pull out some bank notes to buy a bag and afford the streetcar—I’ll need to exchange some copper crescents for that—and leave my room.
The strangest thing is happening on the first floor. Mistress Vincenza sulking on the desk. She immediately wipes her face and straightens up, but I still saw it.
“Catarina. Are you leaving for food?” Her breath is hasty, emotional.
“I’m picking up the rest of my belongings from h—my parent’s home.”
Her gaze isn’t praising. It isn’t judgemental. It’s like there’s a mirror between us, and she’s only staring at herself. “Do you need a ride?”
“I’m going to take a streetcar.”
“As my apprentice, your well-being is reasonably in my purview. Can you truthfully carry all you wish to retrieve?”
“I guess not.” I turn my head to stare at something else. “Does this mean you’re offering to take me?”
“I am.” She looks relieved as she makes for the door. “It will take half an hour to warm up; you’re watching me start it.”
I follow behind. “Are you going to teach me to… drive it?”
“You will be inheriting it.“ Her face twitches, and she looks like she made a mistake. “It’s possible that you will.”
Is all of this…? I guess it makes sense. I’m here to learn her skills and reach her own aptitude—who else to replace her? Ignoring that a good necromancer should be immortal.
She parks from across the apartment complex. “Take your time inside.”
“I don’t really want to bother—“ I forgot that I asked for dinner. I haven’t eaten, and I kind of want it. “Uh, you sure you don’t want to sit out in the lobby? It’s mostly nice.”
“You are too quick to offer suggestions like I’m not your mistress,” she hisses.
I put my hand on the door. “Wouldn’t it be customary for you to share a dinner with my family?”
Regret. Immediately.
In no way do I want her to associate me with my family.
“It would, wouldn’t it? She breathes, “fine.”
Fuck me. Absolutely. In every hole. And maybe some new ones for effect.
Against every possible better judgement, and in line with my avoidance towards confrontation, we walk together through the apartment lobby. She looks so far down on every hint of trash and every underdressed person.
The creek of the cigarette-smelling elevator sets her off the most. “This is where you live?”
“Yes, Mistress—formerly.”
She tightens into the corner. “...Why were you near the parlour? It was late.”
“I was meeting a friend in Curetta. The streetcar route ended just outside Avenale, and I decided to walk.”
“Curetta’s a university town. Were they a student?”
“Yes.”
“I’m… familiar with the town. I know the streetcar routes. What route put you in the way of my parlour?”
None of them. I didn’t take a streetcar. I walked home—any excuse to be away from there longer.
And am I supposed to say that to her? I was willing to spend hours walking if those hours weren’t at home? Right as we’re on the elevator there?
Great Ring, please save me from myself.
“You don’t have to answer,” she whispers.
I lift my eyes up, daring to look at hers. I’ve never noticed their hue, soft and pink. Unpatronized—the kind had by Ringborn without consorts. “Thank you.”
The elevator rattles, door opening.
I lead her. “Room three one zero. Top floor. The view’s a bit luxurious.”
“It must be if you could have such high dreams.”
That was a… joke. It’s gentle. She’s given ones which treated me as… someone tolerable, but this one treats me as though I’m worthy of smiling.
“You’re acting a bit weird,” I comment.
She bites, “keep your words in line. I am your mistress, not someone you speak casually to.”
“Sorry.”
I instinctively check my pockets for the key that I absolutely did leave in my old clothes at the Parlour. I should’ve… Can’t now, I guess. I just knock on the door.
My mother’s the one to open it. “Catie! You look…”
I can’t tell if she’s stunned or disappointed.
She pulls her sight off me and onto Mistress Vincenza. “Are you Lucia?”
“No! Absolutely not,” I rush.
“Is Lucia your… I’m Mistress Vincenza Nasciowa. My apprentice here is your daughter, I assume?”
“Yes.” My mother steps back and invites us inside. “It’s Cecilia de Alioni. Her father is still at sea, but some of Catie’s brothers are joining us.”
“I will be present for the dinner if you have one, but I won’t be eating,” Mistress Vincenza says.
“I’ll have it ready in twenty minutes, if you want some then. Just sit down and… you can switch the radio as you like.”
“The hospitality is appreciated.”
Laid out before us are all the greatest reasons I have to be embarrassed.
A crowded space. Brothers with clothing so worn that my interview ‘dress’ retroactively seems regal in comparison.
There’s even a whole brotherless pile of clothing on the couch in case Mistress Vincenza was avoiding eye contact.
“Welcome back, Ca—Woah.” Vivian, the worst of my brothers, puts down the model ship he’s been working on. “You look completely different.”
That’s a small relief; I spent an hour on makeup this morning. “I’m supposed to.”
“You’re not completely different,” Mistress Vincenza comments in barely a whisper.
“I know. But I will be, won’t I?”
“You can.”
Vivian stumbles, “I thought you were a steel apprentice. You’re actually… Wow.”
Mercurio, the even worse worst of my brothers, leans down next to the radio. “You still sound like a wounded sparrow. What station?”
“I chose it on the way; you can choose it now, Mistress,” I say.
“Did I need your permission to choose for myself?” She orders to Mercurio, “thirty-two point seven.”
I can hear my mother make a desperate bid for cleaning the kitchen as I leave to ‘my’ room. I’m just glad I don’t need to take another turn cleaning anything here anymore.
Being in the place alone makes my heart plummet. It’s theoretically larger than the dorm, but it’s shared between three people. I’m never truly me when I’m under eyes that somehow feel more judgemental than Mistress Vincenza’s.
At least the blanket is colorful, and it’ll make a lovely sack to stuff my books into. Some crescents go in as well—no clothing. Don’t really need that anymore; I can just spend an hour each night cleaning my one good dress in the bathtub. I’ll keep the…
I thought I owned more.
I lived here, eighteen years. What’s there to show for that?
Unless Mistress Vincenza ever shows interest in pay stubs or my diploma… I didn’t need to come back home. I didn’t have much of anything to bring back, from here or to here. Nothing called for this journey but a sense of obligation. Fuck.
I leave the room, dragging my limited belongings atop the floor. “Oh. Mistress. You were waiting out here?”
She looks down the hallway towards the main room, leaning on the wall. “For you.”
“Why?”
She weakly sighs. “I know you, somewhat, and am comfortable with you as an apprentice.”
I bite my lip. “I’m sorry for trying to make you accompany me. This isn’t an appropriate setting for… you, is it?”
“The parlour isn’t in the best condition either, and I’m used to these places.
” The briefest smile flickers over her, but then her face is dragged down by something I can’t identify.
“It’s not unreasonable for an apprentice to stay in regular contact with her family.
Even if they don’t show interest in the arcane, the parlour can host them if you ever wish. ”
“I won’t…” I laugh awkwardly. “I don’t know what we’re going to do until dinner.”
“...Forty-two point two hosts radio plays. They should be starting a new episode in a few minutes, after the ad reads.”
“Forty-two point two? What genre of plays are they?”
“Space opera.”
“Fun.” It’s probably an appropriate time to smile.
Mistress Vincenza raises her own in return. “Did I mention that it’s unusual for Stella to not… Never mind. Let’s get to your radio play.”
I can’t understand a word.
The fact that the station was mixed language and switched between Roversellan and Lawrinian plays went unmentioned, and then I felt like I shouldn’t bring it up or complain. Mistress Vincenza is paying attention to it without issue.
I think the storyline is vaguely romantic? There were some rocket noises and gun shots, but the dialogue seemed affectionate.
“Dinner’s ready!” my mother calls.
“Finally. Your taste in drama is awful.” Mercurio tosses down his newspaper and leaves.
Vivian recoils from his little ship. “Don’t say that in front of her!”
“Oh, sure, I won’t. I’m behind her back, actually.”
I study Mistress Vincenza as we join the table for any offense. None, yet. She still looks strangely… happy.
Four plates are laid out: pasta and complimentary ‘broken’ fish. Probably the only positive of Dad being missing for so many weeks of the season.
My mother looks anxiously at Mistress Vincenza as she pulls out a cigarette. “Are you sure you don’t want any?”
“I am,” Mistress Vincenza says, wincing.
“Uh, Catie, do you want to talk about your job? For the table.”
I don’t think any question asked of me at dinner was ever timed to not be when I was juggling hot pasta in my mouth. I let the rotini burn my throat and answer, “it’s not interesting. I just shelve and direct patrons.”
“Currently,” Mistress Vincenza adds. “Catarina will be undergoing a full arcane education as well.”
“What kind of spells will she do?” Mercurio asks.
“Necromancy. Animating the corpses of loved ones into ignorant laborers and torturing specters. She will do just fine.”
He stares at me. “I don’t see it. Why did you pick her?”
My mother snaps, breath laced with smoke, “Mercurio de Alioni, do not insult your sister.”
“I mean, look at her. We’re not even Ringborn.”
Mistress Vincenza chimes, “I’m confident with my choice of apprentice. Do you wish to insult my intelligence by insinuating I don’t even know who I took in? I do. And I’m content.”
I focus my eyes on the plate. She chose me since no one else bothered. She might not say it, but I know Mercurio’s nothing but correct.
He continues, like her words weren’t final enough, “Catie, name one thing about necromancy.”
“The city of Avenale alone has nearly a thousand practitioners?”
“A second.”
I try to remember a quote from the book… “The art of necromancy is reflected in the fundamental shape of the Great Ring, and the music can be interpreted as—“
Mistress Vincenza moves her hand slightly closer to me and interrupts, “I’m glad you’ve been reading, but you don’t need to prove your value as a possible necromancer to him. Only me. And I’m already confident.”
Confident. When did I earn that?
Vivian speaks up. “You did really transform her! She’ll really be great,“ he awkwardly and uncharismatically postulates.
Mistress Vincenza burrows her sight into the empty table beneath her. “I’ll start warming up the engine. It’ll take half an hour, so don’t rush your eating.”
“Oh. Okay, Mistress,” I whimper.
She stands up, pushes in her chair, and leaves without a protest or word from my family.
Mercurio grabs his head. “You’re gonna get your organs harvested, Catie.”
“Don’t say that,” my mother interjects.
“It’s true! A powerful woman descends on this family just to take the youngest child? The girl who passed out sorting meats? Catie’s getting exploited somehow.”
“I’m not! She’s kind. She’s sweet.” Sometimes… I focus my head and continue, “the hours are short, and she’s generous with her benefits.”
“All the worse! What do you think she’s trying to get you comfortable with? When will she introduce you to necromancy with a ritual to tear out your soul? Necromancers probably gain power from eating souls. Will she find your body appealing when you let her extract your heart?”
Fuck this.
I stand up and leave. I don’t bother to listen to their yelling. I don’t bother to even grab my things.
I don’t need to consider anything about this place ever again.