I wake to the sound of quiet chatter, slowly raising my head. Recognition of where I am escapes me at first, but the moment of confusion is only that, and the events of yesterday fill in all at once.

Every event does, unfortunately. The sudden return of memories causes me to lurch upright, centering my weight gracelessly into the divide between the sofa cushions.

"Oh good, you're awake," Kyra says, glancing up from her tea.

Yhana, who was initially faced away, turns to look as I groggily approach. "You uh, you have something on your face," she says, tapping her own snout.

I pause for a second, reaching up to fumble at the damp scarf wrapped around my face, before pulling it off and bundling it up a little too urgently and throwing it back onto the sofa.

"...Good morning!" Wow, Merion, so natural.

Yhana chuckles a bit at that, but Kyra seems more interested in getting her caffeine fix, understandably so.

"There's a bit of breakfast left, though it might have cooled off a bit by now," Yhana says.

"Oh wonderful, thank you, I'll just… I'll just go get that." I excuse myself into the kitchen, an immediately adjacent room left open to the dining space. They've got a gas stove, fancy.

Inside, on one of the counters, is a small plate of flatbread with a leftovers omelette on top, as well as a small pot on low heat nursing the remaining bit of peanut curry. Hardly matters where you go, it's a favorite among canines, but the particular aroma of this batch makes me think of Republic cuisine; flowery cardamom and warm cinnamon, and a little bit sweeter than other kinds.

Taking a cup from the dishrack, I start to carefully pour in some of the curry, but jump and end up spilling some as I feel Yhana's hand on my shoulder.

"Nothing!" I blurt preemptively. Good job, Merion, so natural! Keep it up! My brow contorts in frustration as long as I’m faced away but I force it back into something I hope is naturally neutral.

"Hey, what was up with the… what?" Yhana asks.

"The scarf, right? It's just dusty in here, and I get stuffy easily," I lie. I wish I could tell her but I'm worried about what measures Suraokh might end up taking if she figures it out.

"If you're sick, this is the capital. You don’t have to wait to get into a clinic here."

"Yeah, maybe I'll get checked out," I concede. Which I actually do plan on doing. Sort of.

"I'd better not come down with whatever you've got," she says, giving my shoulder a punch. "Feel better, okay?"

"Yeah, thanks." As she leaves the kitchen, I get back to getting myself a cup of curry, beginning to carefully pour once again.

So of course I end up spilling it when I, again, feel a hand on my shoulder. This one's metal.

"So how long you got?"

"Ah, fuck!..." I stammer, fumbling with the pot and placing it back on the burner before whirling around to face Kyra.

She's not even facing me, loading her dishes into the sink with her right arm extended all the way to me. As she lets me go, she ends up turning as well, leaning back against the edge of the sink and folding her arms.

"I was on something last night, so I need you to tell me if I imagined this one or not," she says. "After I left you alone last night, you left saliva on my hand."

"Yeah because you stuck it in my mouth," I shoot back. "Nice to meet you take two, by the way."

"Oh yeah hey, I'm Kyra," she says flatly. "Anyway, I watched it evaporate, and I may have gone in for a sniff.”

“Ew.”

“Hush. Now, something kicked in, and when it did, it made me feel all guilty and suspicious, and weird about my body. Are those feelings at all intensely, uncomfortably, complex-inducingly relatable to you for some reason?"

"Yeah, but not so loud!," I point out, glancing sidelong to the table where Yhana’s back is turned. “I’m not really supposed to talk about it but I wanna figure out how to tell her…”

"Don't worry about that, she can't hear a thing, the kitchen's got a Crane field. Don't tell her that though."

"... Right. What do you know?"

"I know that you need some ectoplasm coagulant, for starters, am I on the right track?"

"...Yeah, actually. How do you know wh--"

"I spend a lot of time in the local Ulgengir district, you're not a unique case but I can see why you're shy about it." She approaches, leaning in close again with her eyes narrowed. "Just imagine the things the wrong sort of person could do with you if you let that get bad enough."

"You're uh, you're really crowding me…" I mutter, but as I try to move, she boxes me in with an arm on either side of me.

"You're very lucky I'm not that kind of person," Kyra adds, ending with a long note of silence. We just stare at each other, switching eyes to focus on from time to time, until finally she backs up and takes on a completely relaxed slouch like nothing at all happened. "Anyway, I'm actually headed there in a few minutes, did you wanna come along?"

"Ahhh… why not," I agree. It would be helpful to have someone who knows her way around and if she starts getting weird, I can cut my losses and divert to a hospital instead.

"Ayy, there you go. Now we're on take two, hey, I'm Kyra," she says, holding out her hand to shake again.

"Merion," I respond. As unused to her way of doing things as I am, I just go along with it. "I figured you might be more upset about this, considering your cousin’s been… exposed to it and all."

"I mean I'm gonna guess it's been her suggestion to eat you, right? ...She did imply that last night, right?"

"Repeatedly."

"Yeah, there you go. Anyway, this sort of thing usually isn't serious, no reason to alarm her over what might be nothing…”

“Oh you actually do get me.” I’m relieved but at the same time, the way she phrases it makes me realize this might be a little shitty of me. But Suraokh also very strongly implied she would be in more danger if she knew. I really hope Kyra will be okay.

“Hush. …so at worst she'll have another tonic to chug for a bit, and at best, it's mildly embarrassing for you."

“I guess that counts as assurance.”

"I'm a problem-solver, what can I say? Get whatever you need together, as soon as I'm out the door I'm going whether you're on my heels or not, mkay?"

Eyes still on me, she backs out of the kitchen, proceeding to back around the corner and heading to her room to prepare.

I stand there a moment, still trying to parse that interaction, before heading to the table with my food and begin to eat quickly.

"What's the hurry?" Yhana asks, watching me practically inhale half the omelet, rolled up in flatbread.

I lift a finger as I chew quickly, accidentally biting the side of my tongue but not slowing down.

"Heading out. Kyra's showing me around."

"Around the Ulgengir district?"

"Yeah," I reply, mid-bite into the remainder of the roll.

"Have you ever been to one before?"

"Grew up near one. My grandmother came here from Aenku so I was kinda raised with it."

"Really now?" she rests her elbows on the table as she leans in, intrigued. "Forgive me if I didn't catch that about you."

"Well, it wasn't a big district. Little island so it felt more like a farmer's market in scale. Just, a really exciting farmer’s market."

"So, you haven't been to a proper one, then?"

“I mean it was proper, it was just small,” I assert, surprising myself with how defensive I am about it.

“Alright, alright, but you haven’t been to a big one,” she rephrases.

"...I guess not, no. But I've always wanted to."

"Don't bite off more than you can chew, now. Kyra's in her element there."

"I'll be fine, don't worry about me."

"I worry about everyone," she insists.

"Merion, you ready?" Kyra calls from the door.

"I'll be back soon!" I say to Yhana, downing the curry in one go.

"You won't, it's a long ride," she chuckles.

"I'll be back later!" I correct, springing up to follow Kyra, grabbing my scarf on the way out.

Once out the door, I instinctively want to hurry to keep up with her, but she’s taking her time down the stairs, which I have no complaints about.

Neither of us prove to be much for words until we arrive at the station, which conveniently just now has a train pulling up. 

Even from outside, the interior of this one is a lot different than the one that brought us here. Benches running the length of each car, save for where the doors are placed, face inward towards each other. There are separate, tiny entrances to allow for benthic and mantler passengers, though as we board, I notice that it takes them to the same general space; grate-covered balconies with seating rest in the space behind larger passengers' heads.

Kyra and I pick a spot to sit and plant ourselves; there aren't so many other passengers out at the moment, thankfully. Most of the morning commute is likely over and done with, this late into it.

As the train begins to move, she finally speaks again. "So what's your deal?"

"My deal? I'm pretty sure you figured out the whole picture in the kitchen," I say.

"No, not the ghost deal, the reaper deal," she clarifies. "Since apparently you're not one?"

"Oh yeah…" I bundle my tails close to myself; I've already gotten so used to them I've started to forget they're probably the reason I get the occasional strange look cast in my direction. "I'm not sure how much I'm at liberty to say, honestly. Or how much of it I've even been told right…"

"Well, give me the short version?"

"Basically, I made a deal with someone who isn't a god, who somehow had some stolen blessings to bestow, and he put them on me in exchange for coming here."

"Well, it's not the craziest thing I've ever heard," she assures. I appreciate how unfazed she is. "So what pairing do you have rattling around in there? The nine tails have gotta be Isammet's mark, but I can't figure out the other."

"Yeah, I've been wondering that too…"

"We've got libraries, you know. Maybe you can get some info there?"

Not a bad idea at all. A big enough library might even have chatterworks I could try to contact my family with. "I'll take a look, thank you."

I'm half-tempted to ask her what her deal is, but being that her deal happens to include a missing body part, it feels somehow more rude, so I hold my tongue.

At least, as long as she'll let me. "I can see by the way you're trying so hard not to notice my arm that you really want to ask about my arm," she says.

"Oh, I uh, I wasn't going to," I stammer.

"That's fine, I wasn't gonna tell you. It's more fun to let people speculate."

"...Okay."

"You've got a lot you could do that with too, you know. I'm not gonna ask about the spine but there's definitely a story there. Dozens, if you like."

"You make a good point…" even as I find the thought appealing, a realization butts in. "Wait, how do you know about my spinal apparatus?"

"Went over you with a metal detector while you slept," she says, too casually to call it an admission. "You're kitted the fuck out."

"It was… it was a necessity."

"Necessity's why we do it, right?" Kyra muses, twisting her arm like a rope one direction, then the other. "You don't just hack off bits of yourself for fun. Well, unless you're prince Nymraylu. You were on Yhana's crew, you met him?"

"Yeah, I did. He was nice to me, he wasn't so bad."

"He's a damn hypocrite," she asserts. "But at least he's a hypocrite with a good heart."

"It's really good…" Fuck me, I think I've got some feelings about the guy I'll need to address soon. We'll tuck those away for later and stare out the window to think about anything else right now, though.

Time passes the way it's known to do on occasion, and Kyra touches my shoulder as the train begins to slow. "Next stop is ours, get ready."

I stand up with her, bracing on a nearby pole as the brakes do their job, and we leave with the crowd. We emerge at the top of a gently sloped concrete platform, overlooking a vast garden that continues into the maze of tall buildings beyond, the abundance of pale flowers standing stark against the black veneer of the structures beyond. It's the typical Ulgeng look, but it wouldn't be complete without the lime-green glow cast over the whole ensemble by the numerous spirit lamps swaying from wrought-iron poles, filling the garden with a subtle whisper distinct from the sound of the breeze.

I'm already feeling a little homesick, nevermind the fact that the scale of this place is far beyond that of the single street on the coastline I used to know. I'm literally pulled out of my wistful moment before I get much time to dwell on it, as Kyra tugs at my scarf.

"Let's go, you can space out on your own time," she urges, heading down the slope.

As I follow after her, I take note of the district dwellers tending to the garden, clad in admittedly not very much, but what there is is very striking. Long ponchos, opened on the side, supplemented by colorful drapes of fabric in black, violet, and magenta to preserve decency, finished off with a smattering of preserved roses and thick-soled boots. They barely notice us of course; the respirator-equipped masks they wear all contain small heating elements burning a cone of resin that places them all in their own happy little worlds. Some might call it tradition, some might just be getting high, others still might be a little bit into it; I'll clear it up for you right now,  it's all three. Ever since this whole chain of events started, I have sorely missed my mask, but replacing it isn’t a priority right now.

The smell of incense fills the air as we enter the wide streets that weave between buildings; lined with descending shutters allowing them to open up to the air, blurring the line between indoors and outdoors as residents deem it, welcoming in the thin purple fog that rolls through the whole district, catching that striking green light as it does.

Live music clashes with itself at the plazas we pass through, eventually adopting each other's melodies as seamlessly as people transfer from one endless revel to the other with their seemingly bottomless reserves of stamina; I promise you they'll only grow more vigorous at night.

Despite the wave of liveliness that surges through the general area, it's far from disorderly. Those making their way through, resident and visitor alike, are able to flow through the crowd perfectly unimpeded. Which is great, except even as I flow through just the same, I still have no idea where I'm going on account of the lack of signage. That’s normal too, of course, but at home, I knew everyone by name, mask, and the spirits that drew closest to them. Here I've got none of that familiarity to rely on.

"I've got some business to attend to, do you think you'll be alright to navigate on your own?" Kyra asks.

"Oh, given sufficient time…" I say with an uncertain chuckle. "Where should I look for you when we're both done?"

"See that cooking circle over there?" she asks again, indicating it with her tendriled hand, nestled into a constructed alcove at the plaza's edge. "You'll find me there. If I'm not there when you arrive, give it time, I'll show up."

With one last reassuring glance from under her electric-blue hood, she splits off to parts unknown, leaving me to get my bearings. Just me now, so it’s time to look for an exorcist. I spend several moments standing there trying to even begin to figure out how I’m going to do that. If the architecture was here before an Ulgeng community, the street planning generally goes unmodified, save for the black marble obelisks which some of the stonework has been transitionally replaced with. The unchanged layout might be useful for a local, but I still haven’t gotten used to the way streets intersect in Iyakamraa, like the overlapping footprints of the crows that have naturalized to the district.

I stop for directions a few times, which takes me into one of the larger towers in the area. It’s only after several minutes of looking around that I realize what I’m looking for is not here, but in the next building over. I don’t like how the plank bridge between windows flexes underfoot, but it seems to hold my weight. Either it’s cheap wood, or I’ve gotten a bit heavier than I thought.

Stumbling in past a resident heading the other way, I receive a friendly if surprising shoulder pat that helps keep me from barreling me into the center of the hallway. Figuring out where I am, this appears to be a building that might have been used for storage once; some of it might still be, but many of the alcoves have been settled in like spacious market stalls arranged in an ascending spiral.

It doesn’t take long to find a promising venue; no writing to indicate them, but all the signs of a practitioner, most prominent among them being the luminous vith crystals shaped into charms, stored behind tinted glass in displays flanking the curtained entrance so as not to interfere with the passage of ambient spirits.

I almost don’t respond to the next person to touch my shoulder as I make my way to the alcove with anything more than an absentminded nod, but the choice to do more is abruptly made for me as their touch turns into grip, turning me sharply.

“Excuse me, I’m– Oh.” The polite face I would have worn immediately crumbles to make way for my reflexive irritability to erode through as I see who it is. “What brought you out of hiding today?”

“Not hiding,” Suraokh refutes, “just very busy. What do you think you are doing?” He takes his hand off me, but motions me to follow him to the windows again, finding one without a walkway to get some relative privacy. He's dressed for the locale, that is to say, hardly at all; his gray, plush body, inoffensive yet unsettling, is back on display save for the shoulder-width hat and the collared poncho he wears, the built-in scarf hanging down to knee-length.

“I think I’m looking into some kind of therapy so I stop decaying into thin air.”

“Yes, the unforeseen complication. How involved is this therapy going to be?”

“I don’t know yet; as much as it needs to be? I’m trying to keep things discreet like you asked, though.”

“That will be difficult to ensure. After all, you already let it slip to someone new today.”

“I–”

“Relax. She is not a threat. She does not have the capacity to be a threat,” he assures, albeit backhandedly. “As long as she is interested in keeping your secret, I have no reason to interfere. But your caution only counts for so much, you can see. How well do you think you can manage regular visits with an exorcist before questions start to pop up?”

Sentences begin and end unfinished in my head in rapid-fire, but all that comes out is a sigh. “You’re right. What’s the best course of action then?”

“I will help you medicate. Stock up on things here.”

“I mean I was gonna get myself a charm and some ectoplasm coagulant anyway.”

“That’s good enough,” the kangaroo approves. “I’m counting on you to be smart.”

“Here’s a smart idea then,” I say, pulling my condensate battery out from its protective pocket. “You mind doing that thing you did for Nym? Just in case I need more as time goes on, you know.”

“Give that here,” he concedes, taking both ends of the transaction leads from me. His mouth unsews itself, and he gently bites down on the electrodes. I can feel the bulky contraption vibrating in my hands as he does his thing, setting diodes alight until it’s at capacity.

“Be gentle with that,” he warns. “It shouldn’t explode as long as you handle it with care.”

“I’ll be fine. Thank you, by the way.”

“Don’t mention it. To anybody.” That’s what I get for trying to be genuine, I suppose. His red glass eyes stare into mine with such authority for how lifeless they are. “Tomorrow is the day.” 

“Tomorrow what?” I ask. “Jen’s ship gets here?”

“Good, you follow. I will come get you when it is time.”

Suraokh steps up onto the sill of the window, and tips out. Though I rush to see how he’ll land, he vanishes the moment he’s gone from my line of sight, taking in only the cascade of vineborne flowers dripping off the sill to the streets below.

I sigh again, shaking my head, but really, all things considered, that wasn’t such a bad visit. He could have been so much less helpful than that but he actually did give me some solutions. And of course, financial aid. The display on the battery has ceased to function properly, instead randomly flickering numbers at me, so I’ll see just what this can afford me.

Parting wispy curtains to enter the shop, I'm greeted by shelves of goods lining the walls; more charms hanging from pegboards, special blends of herbs and resin packed into cones, as well as the specialized masks to burn and inhale them, marked to denote their curative purpose.

Stands of talismans rotate freely in the middle of the space, roughly dividing the space to leave five spots for those receiving treatment here. They're seated against the left wall, attendants preparing arrays of things to assist them with. Incense burns and bowls of fluid ripple as the patients receive intravenously-administered medicine. Most of them are holding a hot drink and swaddled with blankets to keep them comfortable. Keeping morale high is an important part of the healing process, whether it's possession or disease being treated.

On my way to the counter at the back, I find a little charm pendant in a wooden sheath that twists to unlock. The engagement of a spring pops out the crystal, emitting a rosy light in a perfect globe, unobstructed by things that should otherwise cast shadows. This will do. It's not an unusual sort of item for anyone to be carrying.

The coagulant is easy to find too, but identifying it takes me a moment. Directions are written on the dark glass bottle in Xemba and five Aenkuane languages, but between my tenuous literacy in Xemba and my rusty Akmat I'm able to piece it together. This isn't really for consumption; strongly advised against, in fact, but what's the worst it'll do, kill me? Well, yes, according to the warnings, but they're late to the execution.

The shopkeeper is in conversation with one of the therapists, but they realize I'm carrying a battery instead of trading goods. They motion for me to slot my cables into ports on the condenser on the countertop, and they press a few buttons with hardly a glance. Pale blue strands of luminescent mist are pulled into the condenser, raveling into a smaller sphere than I had expected; they're letting their wares go for cheap. Condensate successfully transferred to their own battery, they fish around for a paper bag, motioning to it inquisitively. I give them a nod, and they pack the bottle and charm in, folding the bag over and sliding it toward me.

Clasping my hands in a grateful gesture, I take the bag and sidle back out of the shop to make way for the next customer.

There. That wasn't so bad. I guess I should probably look for Kyra now. Retracing my footsteps, I find the plank bridge has been removed through the window across the way; maybe they decided it was a danger after all. Whatever, no matter, I can take the ground route.

Ah, but I say that like someone who has any sense of direction at all. It takes me even longer to get back to the plaza we agreed on, just in time to teeter back away from exasperation with my situation. I think I preferred the district at home. Given any choice, I couldn't live in a city like this.

The aroma of the outdoor kitchen helps me find it, even amid the powerful incense smoke that visibly clouds the plaza. It's the usual blend though, just keeps the mind nice and loose; probably the thing that helped me deal with the crowd in the first place.

Kyra, on the other hand, seems to be on something else. I spot her on the right of the circle, near the back of the alcove formed by shelf-lined walls, stocked with spices and staple ingredients for free use. Operating blind, her mechanical arm travels along the shelf, bringing ingredients around to a resident she's cooking with. I can't hear what she's saying, only that she's saying it as fast as she's moving; her words are muffled by the burner-equipped muzzle she's wearing.

I stand near the gap in the pantry walls that I entered through, not wanting to interrupt her, but her quivering pupils eventually do dart up to me. She utters a greeting and waves with a pep I haven't seen in her before, but immediately dives back into adding things to the cooking pot. She makes one last exchange with her antlered buddy, bumping knuckles with them, and they motion to someone on their right whose represented animal I can’t place to start loading little wrapped parcels into a paper back to pass it to her. Cradling it in one arm, she uses the other to unfasten her mask, taking a deep breath of air to clear her head, and seeming to come down almost immediately. Placing the mask on the granite rim of the circle, she fishes into one of her deep pockets before producing a small jar of nondescript seasoning, setting it on a shelf, and then starts to approach me.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt, you can take your time,” I say.

“Nah, we’re done for now,” she dismisses. “That’s gonna have to slow cook for a while, I didn’t intend to stay that long. Tamale?” She digs into the bag, handing one of the parcels to me; on closer inspection it’s parchment paper to protect them from the ambient air better than their husk alone could.

“Love one,” I accept enthusiastically, already beginning to unwrap it as I follow after her. “What’s in these?”

“For some reason, apricot.”

“Apricot?... Why?” It’s not like I wouldn’t destroy a sweet tamale but that’s a weird choice.

“Txeren there has been making adjustments to a concoction that radically changes how we perceive flavor, among other things; he was in the middle of working on these when I joined up with him, and they’re not bad sober either.”

Pulling the paper aside, undoing the little twine of husk around the midpoint, I take a tentative bite. Pleasantly earthy, with just enough tart to cut through it and make way for the sweet. The fat in the dough ensures the longevity of its floral aftertaste, as well. Despite my initial reaction, it’s… not bad. “Huh. This kinda works.”

“He knows what he’s doing. If he doesn’t, he knows how to figure it out fast.”

“Sounds like a neat guy,” I say between mouthfuls. I stop chewing as thoughts begin to bump into each other, though. “Did you come all the way out here just to cook?”

“After what I have to do out here, I’d better get to cook a little. Don’t worry about the specifics and I won’t worry about yours, alright?”

I shrug. “Fair’s fair. Next time I’ll try to wrap up sooner, if there’s room around the fire.”

“Always is. …Hey come here for a sec,” she urges, weaving in behind me.

“What for?” I ask, but she braces her left arm on my shoulder, bearing down as she loses stability and I try to quickly compensate for it. “You uh… you doing okay?”

“Yeah, the come-down is rough, ideally I'd be in a food coma before now. Just walk me back to the station, okay? I’ll steer you.”

“...Sure you don’t need real help?”

“Yeah this is good, this is good, just lemme steer.”

“...Okay.” Resigning myself to a temporary role as a crutch, we continue our slow march back toward the gardens. On the bright side, nobody is really paying attention to us too closely. Plus, the weird tamale makes everything better. I can already tell one won’t be enough.