27/ Farmer’s (That Dress’)
Stir
ヴィンテージスマイル
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27/ Farmer's (That Dress')
The bowl-cut priest leads us to the back of the church. From the small lectern in front of a small circle of blue plastic chairs, I guess this is the room they use to teach Sunday school or host bible study.
"Hot Chocolate?" The priest asks.
As we sit down, Mary thanks him. Phahn's hot chocolate's supposed to be to die for. Whatever, I missed my chance to speak up because honestly, Rider, you're going to break something clunking about if you keep materializing in that ridiculous suit of armor. Put on some normal clothes.
Phahn finishes making Mary's drink. He strides over, handing her two stacked paper cups filled with steaming brown liquid interspersed with feeble amounts of foam.
She thanks him then adds, "Inspiring sermon last night, Father."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it, Mary? And you Nadine?"
Phahn doesn't sit in a chair or move towards the lectern. He looms over us waiting for my answer.
A call to arms for the Masters against a common enemy while legitimizing his own summoning. That's not what he's asking. I didn't go to that event willingly. He asked my mom to make me go.
"No use in pretending. You failed to scare me."
The classic, take the girl to a ball to show her this isn't her world and can never be. But Phahn, that place wasn't any different from anywhere else I've been. Just gaudier.
"You're clever, Nadine Craig, but being clever doesn't mean Mary and you can defeat other Servants."
"We can't," I smile at Mary. "But we can help you defeat Saber."
"Little lady, what can that cook and yourself do against her flames, her dragons?"
Fuck that. These are eyes that see into the world. Masters, Servants, I want to tell Rider they're all the same, so there's no way we couldn't win. But we haven't won. Mary and I have lost every single encounter these past three days. Archer and Rider saved us against Berserker. Berserker saved us against the vampire. We were saved, not because they thought us valuable, but because they had more important things to do and in doing them, we happened to be saved.
"We might lack your combat abilities, but that perceived weakness of an Assassin whose presence isn't concealed has allowed us to easily form relationships with other Servants, for instance, Archer."
Sure, Mary may have stretched the truth, but the unease on Rider's ruggedly handsome face and the bowl-cut priest's approving nod is so worth it.
"Then why not parley with Archer?" Rider gently retorts.
"Because. . ."
"Because," I can take over here. "Because Rider, you're the one who saved us that first night."
Rider's about to open his mouth, but Phahn holds a hand up so I can continue.
"We might not be able to help you fight Saber, but we can make sure the battles are uninterrupted. You have people working for you, but a Master and her Servant have more influence."
Phahn wants to disagree, but all the Masters present saw Archer's expression when Rider rode out to confront Saber. The one way of proving he's the perfect hero is having stupid fights with everyone with only one arm.
"A valiant offering." Wow, quick reversal, Rider.
"What's in it for you two?"
To not die.
"We want your protection until both Saber and the vampire are defeated."
Rider nods, his armor creaking; Phahn's mouth forms a little 'o,'; Mary finishes her hot chocolate.
"We err. . . talked to someone. The vampire I asked Rider about last night attacked Mary and me. He's related to the Grail War isn't he? Like he's a Master."
"Nadine, if he is a Master, then as overseer there is no place for Rider and myself to. . ."
"That vampire defeated Mary." She looks away. "Rider told me last night you have a specialist, but do you think that specialist could beat Mary in a fight? And if it does turn out to be a Master. . . only a Servant can beat another Servant, you said that too, right?"
Phahn, you're a top negotiator? The first mistake of negotiating is assuming your opponent doesn't know everything that you know.
"Safe harbor to wait out the initial storm of the Grail War. Saber and potentially Lancer have their fates sealed. Caster and Berserker, no doubt ally in an attempt to defeat Archer. Your scenario creates two separate battlegrounds with you and the Archer as the last two standing."
Yes Rider, that's exactly what Mary told Laurent.
"This is only curiosity talking, Nadine. But, how are you and Mary going to beat Archer?"
I take a deep breath. The final card. Time to amaze them with what these eyes have seen.
"I'm not. As a god-fearing Catholic, I have faith the Church will clear my name."
Wait Mary, what?
"Oh?"
"History and the press haven't been kind to me, stripping me of my freedom for crimes I didn't commit. I'm a simple woman, Father, Sir Rider. I only want my good name back. From the size of the operation you have going in this town, I'm sure you got more than enough friends in high places to investigate why I was framed."
Phahn crosses his arms. "Rider?"
"With the lady's Presence Concealment, infiltrating the Mission becomes a real possibility."
The bowl-cut priest grins broadly, swallowing everything Mary said.
"May this be the nativity of a mutually beneficial relationship." Phahn extends his hand.
I reach out to grasp it but. . .
"But infiltrating the Mission, holy ground?" Mary sounds horrified.
Rider pulls out printouts and manages to stick them to the whiteboard with magnets. Bravo, seriously. Phahn approaches them. You'd think he was going to point something out, but instead walks right past Rider and continues circling the room. My hand dangles in mid-air, never grasping anything yet again. That's so dumb, pull it back.
"Saber's Master declared war on us this morning." Rider tries to explain.
Saber's Master, the rogue Church agent who decided to summon a Servant. From her picture on the whiteboard, she doesn't seem like a person who would put a kick-me sign on herself. Actually, I take that back. Her face might scream harmless Asian lady, but the way her straight black hair almost shimmers purple in the background light screams of an atrocious dye job you only get during a quarter-life crisis, halfway down a pint to Chubby Hubby while still in your PJs.
"But the Mission?" I ask Phahn before Mary can say anything else.
Rider answers instead. "This church was always meant to be a temporary base of operations until the position of overseer was rightfully transferred. I'm sure you understand, our Holy Mother never expected such provocation from one She trusted. Thus such an insult must be met with corresponding force." His voice is as rough as if his gauntlets were grinding against each other.
"An inviolable pact of nonaggression protects the overseer's church, a Grail War's only truly neutral ground. There is no need for additional protections. However, a few minutes ago, multiple bounded fields were activated around the Mission. Sacrilege aside, the Mission is no longer neutral; it should be considered a workshop. The offensive necessary to break through all the defenses will require all our ground assets and at least two Servants. One Servant to keep Saber at bay and the other to help sweep the interior for threats."
Mary swallows the lump in her throat. Despite her personal disapproval, she knows Rider, the paragon of good ol' Christian virtue is right. That's why they agreed with just enough resistance to keep stringing us along. The bowl-cut priest wasn't tolerating our request; he expected it and hoped for it. This is bad. But you knew that from the beginning, right? So nothing's changed.
"I've always told my generals preemptive attacks are the best strategy, especially to cut supply lines. Your infiltration of the Mission will be the keystone to our eventual triumph," Rider continues.
Phahn stops beside my chair and produces a small black box the size of my thumb and a long white candle. Did he pull those out from under his robe or collected them while circling us?
"You want us to bug the Mission and err. . . give it some mood lighting."
"That's an altar candle, dearie."
Phahn clears his throat. "Rider, their objectives."
"Our raid is planned for Saturday sundown. Madam, you'll want to place the device in the staff's private quarters, underneath their kitchen or dining table." He circles the corresponding location on the printout in red whiteboard marker. "Then, you'll replace one of the candles."
"Why the altar candle?"
Mary, Mary. If the listening device is for knowing when and how to attack, then the candle has to be for the other obstacle. Laurent would know how a candle could break magical barriers.
Rider answers, "The Mission, like most churches of its stature, has been consecrated. The diablerie Saber's Master has applied deceptively syncretizes with the consecration. Then what if the altar, the spiritual keystone of the Mission were to be reconsecrated? Why the evil shall be expunged and the church made holy once more."
Religious mumbo-jumbo aside but if you repeat something enough times, it'll start to make sense. Like, is replacing a single candle they probably bought from Costco really going to change the entire meaning of a ritual?
Phahn's got that 'do you want to share with the class?' look on his face.
"What makes that candle special?"
"Here, Mary," Phahn hands her two identical-looking candles.
I seriously hate it when people pretend to use their hands as balances. You just have to hold them, not move your hands up and down as if that'll change your opinion.
"One is heavier." Her face blank from being deep in thought, Mary rolls the candle in her palm.
"Yes, that one has been partially hollowed and filled with a container of anointing oil a Saint had blessed. You'll want to place that candle in the leftmost or rightmost holder. Father Kelsey likes to light the middle candles for daily mass." He takes back the candle that's just a candle.
I see, so by adding an additional mysterious element, the magical barrier around the Mission will disappear. Two questions and I hope you have answers for these because seriously, I don't want to deal with amateurs. . .
"What if they just throw the candle away?"
"Nadine, the Mission replaces their altar candles on the last day of each month. There is no danger of removal."
"Then, what if it doesn't burn down to the oil?"
"Are you familiar with RFIDs?"
Weren't there dumbasses who declared themselves into thinking microchip implants would be the future but then phones came out.
"I don't see how barcodes solve bounded fields?"
"The candle Mary's holding has a sigil inscribed within it, similar to a RFID. With the right magical energy signal, it activates, breaking the candle."
In summary, get Mary into Saber's Master's base to plant a listening device and a magic candle. Okay, when did 'we'll keep Archer off your back' turn into mission fucking impossible.
"And you'll be distracting them while we do this?" I ask.
Rider shakes his head, "We attack once, Saturday sundown. Preemptive military action will arouse suspicion. But, little lady, do you know who is very interested in crossing arms with Saber?"
Once again, go ride yourself.
Didn't you just boast about how you always told your generals preemptive attacks were always the best strategy? Though I guess you can't really expect much thought from someone who has the same aura as my meathead of a brot— bother.
Enough about Rider. We can do this. We can do this, right? Because even Laurent said our best option was to ally with Phahn. I. . . haven't done anything. There I said it. I haven't done anything and I hate it. I hate it so much because even if I told myself that I would change, I would finally be someone else, all I've done is run away or lose.
"If we do this, the religious bodies that comprise the Church will immediately investigate my case," Mary says suddenly, her eyes snapping away from the candle.
"Pardon?" Phahn doesn't show it, but I know he's shocked.
"When we agreed to ally, we had no knowledge of such a potentially fatal undertaking. You're both undoubtedly chivalrous gentlemen, so you understand our current compensation is lacking. Therefore, will the Church exert its influence upon its member religious bodies to immediately begin an investigation of my case or not?"
But Mary, how are they supposed to investigate you without knowing who you are?
"Tall order, woman, do not think the Holy Mother shall —"
"Very well," Phahn smiles so widely you can barely see his eyes. "My higher-ups will want results first. We can begin talks on the parameters surrounding the investigation after the Mission is in our hands."
"After your candle is in the Mission."
The clang of armor against carpet does its best to ring through the room as Rider puts down his foot and attempts to use that ridiculous bulk of his to intimidate.
Mary holds her head high. "After your candle is in the Mission."
Phahn throws his hands up with a snort, "After the candle and the listening device are in the Mission."
"Thank you, Father, Rider. Now Nadine, dearie, I believe you were going to take me to see the Farmer's Market?"
Ew.
That wasn't badass. That was pathetic.
With pizza slices on paper plates, Mary and I try to carve a path through the main street turned to what romantic comedies think a subway platform looks like at peak-hour. Even if there are clearly marked yellow lines dividing the street into two, the sheeple amble forward and back in the center of the tar paddock, irrationally afraid that if they stop for a second for whatever reason, they'll inconvenience the person behind them. Boisterously brain-dead, you drink in the fairy lights and avoid eye-contact with the vendors because god forbid they'll magically hypnotize you into buying something you don't want. Don't get me started on the couples.
Mary takes a large bite out of the slice I paid for, crust first.
"A weekly night market, how romantic."
Never knew Mary was the one to gush over pathetic displays of a sociopathic general disregard for others in pursuit of an ideal so eloquently and poetically named "bae." Worst of all, they're definitely here, Krista and my brother. God, what am I going to say if I see them with my middle-aged ghost cook who happens to be great at negotiating breaking-and-entering deals with Catholic priests my mom definitely has the hots for.
"Sometimes the Master of the house would give us the night off to come to one of these. Support the town, see the sights, all that city air can't be good for you, just look at your skin. 'Course dearie, there always was the odd, new girl who dreamed of finding her Prince Charming in a local baker or a flower store owner, but the rest of us, the ones who lived by the agency were thankful for the time off, but nothing more."
Whatever, I can't believe how carefree everyone here looks, unaware their city has turned into a battlefield. Bread and circuses. Everything is awesome. If it wasn't, we wouldn't be having this Farmer's market where everything is awesome.
"Nadine, you haven't said a word since we got the pizza."
I got the pizza.
"You know, dearie," her face breaks into a gentle smile. "Sometimes I wonder if this is a dream and when I wake up, I'll be back on Bro— back where I was."
Lukewarm pizza grease mixed with slightly too salty marinara sauce slides down my throat as I swallow. Cardboard that fills you up — that's the modern world.
"If you like it so much, why don't you wish for a second life?"
She's too drunk on Tolosa's city lights to respond. They're too blinding; that's why she can't stay.
"The Grail tells me I died from a stroke. No matter the condition, I still remember being alone in that little cell trying to call for help, but quickly realizing no, no one will come and it's not your fault, you gentle fool. You've loved with all your heart, you've tried your best so many times, and this is the end. At least, this is the end, be satisfied Mary." She tries to laugh the stray thoughts away. "But I awake to a new world where everything is. . . is like this. And I'm, or rather, the memory of me is so. . . no way of putting it politely, I'm a joke. Nothing more than a tall tale told to children to scare them into behaving. My life ended in that cell. This is redemption, do you understand, dearie?"
She hardly said a word during lunch and now it's pity me, Nadine. I had a hard life, Nadine.
Why are you suddenly so blatantly obvious like everyone else? Phahn gives you a glimmer of hope and you start pouring your heart on to me. I'm done.
"Let's go home and figure out how we're going to get in touch with Archer."
I tilt the box carrying the candle towards Mary as I slide my paper plate into the trash can next to a booth that's more like a pop-up store you see at the college during Earth Day, selling overpriced second-hand clothes and accessories.
"Sorry for the bother. That goes with the compostables."
A bell-like voice that will never let you forget you've heard it before.
Whether she's in an aristocratic party dress or commoner athleisure, Caster is still —
"Mary? How divine! That dress brings out your eyes so well. And Nadine, Nadine correct? Heavens, I didn't recognize either of you. Let me help this dear customer first and then I'd love to have a chat."
Unsure what to do, Mary and I stand to one side as Caster works the register. By register, I mean an iPad with a card reader. And it's not just one dear customer, but a long line of women and partners with tired expressions until they see the woman at the register. I'd like to say the potential customers are all shapes and sizes but middle-aged women in Tolosa kind of have the same physique as my mom or at least anyone shopping at this store is aiming for that physique. Let's not start with the local co-eds they've hired to help with the store.
After a few minutes, it becomes apparent why the entire town and half the neighboring ones showed up at Farmer's tonight. I'm surprised no one's protesting a brand called Twin Towers. Maybe there would be more outrage at a New York pop-up. Or, more likely, everyone's too excited at being able to take home a Paris Fashion Week runway-ready outfit for a price that can give Lululemon a run for their money. God, the line is going around the block now.
This would totally be a Krista thing. Get in line as a joke repeating 'every purchase gives a child a pair of shoes,' 'everything is just so cute and unique,' or 'so sustainable they're carbon negative' with ever-escalating voices, so everyone in line would know how lame they were for standing in line. If we got to the front of the line without being asked to leave, Krista would say "how about we look around; there might be something that goes well with your jacket."
Nothing goes with this blue ski-jacket. That's why I wear it. That's the joke.
We'd end up getting something because Krista would say you can't wait in line for that long and go home empty-handed. And now. . . with his neanderthal football attention span there's no way my brother's going to wait in a line this long for a girl he's going to, let's face it, dump before this Grail War ends.
"A thousand apologies for making you wait, my little bluebirds. There were oh so many wonderful people spellbound by my dear Estella's textiles. Conversing with them and learning their truths invigorate me so." With palms together and eyelashes fluttering like hummingbird wings, "Allow me, dear ladies. This way to the back, where my dear Estella, who I love as a true sister, has retired to."
At the Tolosa Famer's Market, the back of a booth means the back of a pick-up, but wow these are the people who waste money on glamping equipment. Four LED chandelier-lanterns hang from the pastel canvas ceiling illuminating a number of leather armchairs beside a glass coffee table to one side, and a wet bar on the other. Looks like an airport lounge ad.
"Chilled beverage?" Caster opens the fridge, filled with the glass bottles you see in a Whole Foods refrigerated section.
"I recommend the cider. Bottled last year at a little orchard outside our Windermere." Sitting next to the space heater (of course they'd have a space heater) in a dress that belongs in an opera or at least a Broadway production is the Princess of Silver, Estella, with a Kindle in her lap.
"Nadine, have you debuted?" Caster perks up.
Regardless of the name, sixteen is bitter. "I'm seventeen."
"Truly? Heavens, your mannerisms speak to a certain degree of learned maturity a lady does not accomplish until her twenty-first year."
Holding a tray of four wine flutes, Caster skips towards the coffee table. She's not actually skipping. Her walk was so gracefully lively there was no other way of describing it. She offers each of us our drink while curtseying. Mary's so taken aback she reflexively curtsies back, making Caster feel obligated to reply with another curtsey. God, Mary, you don't need to cover up your embarrassment with a sip of your drink before we even sat down. Now you got me doing it too. When I put the crystal to my lips, unsweetened apple juice fizzles, tickling my chapped lips. There's no sharp kick.
Oh. In Caster's mind, the modern debut means turning twenty-one. She was asking me whether I could drink or not. That's funny. A girl becomes a woman when society is presented to her now, not the other way around.
"Lovely cider. Crisp and tart. So refreshing after walking through the market."
"Oh no, Mary. You were not walking in such cold with only that dress. As your dear friend I couldn't, I shan't bear it if it were true."
Dry heat like a Tolosa noon wafts from the space heater. Not to mention Mary and you are Servants. You don't get cold.
"You're absolutely right, Caster. We can't leave our guests cold. Why don't you show Mary around the booth to pick out a jacket and introduce her to our talent? As illustrious Heroic Spirits incarnated in the modern era, you must have many things to talk about."
"Terrific idea as always, Estella."
Mary looks at me.
"Don't worry, Mary. Your Master will be well taken care of."
"Of course, Miss Estella." I guess they don't teach cooks how to curtsey with a crystal wine flute in one hand. Caster quickly takes Mary's arm and starts chattering about jacket stitching as she leads Mary through the partition to the front of the store.
Estella something Iselma, Princess of Silver and Byron's daughter. At last night's party, Rich said the princesses were modeled after the Sun and the Moon in an attempt to reach. . . damn, even in your head you still can't do it. Through true beauty. She's really pretty, almost iridescent. Her skin is almost every shade of porcelain blended together to create a soft glowing hue free of any blemishes. Free-flowing hair, a soft somehow natural grey-blue catches the hard LED light and glistens as if threaded with what hack poets describe as moonbeams. She's beautiful as a human, not █. Caster in yoga-class leggings, running jacket, and matching scarf still feels like she's still looking down on us from a different dimension. The women in line worshiping the register she's handling is a testament to that. The moon really can't shine without the sun.
"I'm sorry I missed you. Sit, sit," she leans over and pats the seat next to hers. "Caster was very enthused with Mary last night and I couldn't find a second to get away. I heard you had a very interesting conversation with Father though."
I wouldn't call it as interesting as the ones I have with Laurent, but I'm tired and that armchair looks much more comfortable than plastic Sunday School chairs.
"That's. . . a gift?"
She nods at the coffee table where I've set my empty flute and candle box.
Anyone should be able to see the candle through the box's plastic window. Now I'm closer, that Kindle screen has raised bumps, and where the logo should be are a series of raised buttons.
"A gift for my mom. She likes candles. She's, umm, an interior designer."
"How charming. I'd love to see her work. See what she can come up with for our pitiful space."
But you're blind.
"You don't need to look at me like others do when they realize I'm blind. We're magi; I might not be able to see you through my eyes, but I know you're running a little hot right now and I don't think it's just because of the heater."
Laugh. Politely. And then take a sip of your drink. Shit, it's empty, remember.
"But even magecraft has limitations. There are spells for universal translation and intent transference, but they're almost impossible to apply to visual media. I'd usually have Regina or Islo read me the financials for the company, but it's astounding what can be made with a few hundred thousand pounds of funding," she raises her braille reader. "Most magi would balk at this, but our Department Head found herself trapped within the Apple ecosystem a few years back so I shouldn't feel too bad."
I want so badly to believe this woman was one of those sheltered BBC rich ladies who spend their days watching polo and playing bridge. And like, eventually she'd meet a rugged down-to-earth working-man who had financial troubles but didn't want her money. He only wanted to show her what it truly means to live, like eating pizza and singing karaoke. Like fuck, after seeing Caster, part of me kind of hoped that fairytale ending was at least true for her kind. But hey, if this is second place, I think I like it better.
"I almost died once." Okay Estella, where did that come from? "A lot of people make that face when I start talking. I'm exactly the person who you thought I was but when my sister died there was a cover-up, and I walked up to the most powerful woman I knew, accused her of being my sister's murderer and asked her to kill me without any real plan, reason, or leverage. Do you know what she said?"
"You're an idiot, get out?"
That perfect, thin mouth curves. "My answer exactly. She on the other hand closed an eye and said, and I still remember it after more than a decade, 'So you're putting your own life on the line. Things really can't be easy with you these days, can they Princess? Under different circumstances I might have even taken a liking to such behaviour.' Talk about an insult." She almost spits.
Because that's not how you talk to a person. That's how little girls praise their dolls for keeping still while having their hair brushed. If the very first thing you offer is your life, you really don't value yourself, so what can you possibly be worth?
"I had planned to die alongside my father that night, but we were saved. Alive, but left with nothing, so I married my childhood friend. I'm glad I was saved. I had things I couldn't give up and a place I needed to reach, so with his family's expertise, the Iselma continued their quest as this. . ." She vomits out the last word, afraid of defiling her throat.
Unlike Caster, you're a strong, independent woman who can do everything but probably has a flaw that makes you actually relatable and therefore likable but never loveable. That's my mom's shtick too. You're just on a different level.
"That's me, warts and all." As if you've ever had a wart. "Now it's your turn, Nadine. What do you think about my father after your conversation with him?"
Take a person, shave off all her excess and you're left with a crescent moon. It's refreshing because you can feel what was once there, this supernatural charm that only now lingers, urging you to speak honestly.
"He really can't get over himself, can he?"
Estella nods and then with the softest hint of a smile, "Then, will you help me kill Caster?"
Will I, what?
Excuse me. You're talking about,
"Talking about killing my own Father's Servant. After the Clock Tower finished their investigation on the Iselma, my father was in ruins. Simply put, he had wagered all he had and lost. He's a broken man. You heard him yesterday, use the Grail to reach「」. For him, nothing matters."
It's all just paper anyway.
"Rich said, he reached. . . err. . . urgh, the Root."
"Yes," she brushes her cheek with the back of her hand, "Father did. That's why it's all the more inexcusable. Broken or not, I want the best for my father. You, Nadine, are a Master fighting in this Grail War for no doubt a wish you believe is important. Help me take my father home."
"Why me?"
"Magi, we decide the core of something and change it as fast as we can. My father's a prideful man. After these long years of continually having his pride stripped from him, all that remains is the pride of being prideless. You've heard him characterize the world and disparage everyone within it. A girl posing as a magus, you'll be a feast."
"What's in it for me?"
"Other than less competition? He'll agree to teach you, you know. Magecraft. Because you disgust him, he wants to prove your worthlessness to you."
"I-I need some time to think." Everything's spinning so I get out the chair, lift one side of the tent and just walk out into the night air. Estella doesn't try to stop me.
Spent too long in the tent with a space heater. Forgot the candle, whatever you need to — like there's a crushing feeling in my chest. Kill Caster, what the hell did she just. Your brain is on fire. You can't stop thinking it's all just bullshit. But Nadine, Laurent alone isn't going to. Why the fuck are there just so many people here, so many fucking. "Hi, would you like to try a sample?" But you're already helping Phahn and Rider. Breathe in. Breathe in. Breathe in. As always, always in, nothing out. To reject everything to become someone I want. But you're just a girl and no one likes you because they're too busy farming the market for clout. Master. Mage. Magic. These are the eyes that see into the world, the eyes that make you into a Magician's Egg. Decide the core and change it as fast as possible.
So I reject it. Master the contrary and simply brush away everything that has happened as mundane. A Master is a mage. A mage uses magecraft. This is why you are. . . now calm down and get your stupid bitch self an ice-cream sandwich from Cream. Desserts at Farmer's are always overpriced.
I find myself an empty table in the dining area and work on my scoop. Cookies felt too excessive after hearing about how the heiress of a magical fashion empire wants my help to kill her father's guardian ghost. She's doing it out of love. No doubt. She can't stand to see the dismissive drunk he's become. I don't blame her. If dad was here right now, he'd probably. . . tell me I should have gotten an extra scoop for him. He'd ask me what was wrong. Everything. He'd ask me if there was anything he could do. No, because you died and for all this talk, all this internal monologue, I haven't actually done anything. And honestly, I'm a little scared I'll never be able to do anything.
"Ummm, excuse me. S-sorry to bother you, but is it okay if like me and my boyfriend share the table. With you."
"Free country." I look up.
Even under the orange-red glow of the heat-lamps, you can still easily make out that banal freckled face. After talking with Estella, this girl looks like someone cut out a generic piece of scenery and slapped me with it. She doesn't exude Phahn's slipperiness, Rider's pompous nobility, Laurent's homeliness, or even Mary's quiet despondency punctuated with moments of fiery ardor. She could be any one of these family members or couples eating their street food. This is the first normie who's talked to me since the Holy Grail War started and I hate her for it.
"Thanks. Ummm, I'm Kayla. You go to school in Tolosa? I umm haven't seen you around. Before."
There's a lot of people in this shitty town I haven't met before. Like you.
"Mission Prep, then? Tolosa High, Nadine."
"Oh wow cool. Nadine, that's umm a really unique name. Really cool."
The baby name website my mom got it from said it was French for 'Hope' and look where that's gotten me.
"What about your boyfriend?"
"My boy—? Oh, yeah! Umm, his name is kind of long and he doesn't like using it since he says it's pretty umm pretentious. Like it's super funny when substitute teachers say it, yeah."
"I meant like where is he?"
"Oh gosh, sorry. I really hope you didn't like think I was like one of those girls who ummm yammers on about their boyfriends at the first chance they get, hahaha." She points to the food trucks and stalls as she sits down. "He's getting our tamales."
The last plastic spoonful of ice-cream eases the pizza grease slick in my stomach. Pizza twice in a day, no wonder I wasn't feeling great after the sparkling apple juice in Estella's pop-up. I'll just leave when her boyfriend comes. I bet he's just as sickening.
"Do you umm like play any video games?"
How dumb can you be to mistake a vacant stare through you as interest in your cartoon animal-covered phone case?
Muddy green eyes, sandy blond hair, bulbous nose, slightly hunched shoulders, vapidly hopeful expression on her red face. Just why? We could have sat in complete silence for two more minutes and then I'd get up and throw my ice-cream cup in the trash or her boyfriend with the apparently ridiculous name would come over and they could nauseatingly play beer pong while pretending I didn't exist. But you had to say something, you ridiculous girl in a spaghetti strap navy dress that your figure can't possibly fill. Because you don't, don't get it with your tamales, Mission Prep, and boyfriend. This happy little life where you probably go to the Farmer's Market every Thursday is as fucking hollow as those games you play.
"They're the stupidest waste of time. Press a button. If you press the right button at the right time something good happens! If you press the wrong button at the wrong time something bad happens. Everything else is a distraction or just meaningless background to make you want to press that stupid button just one more time. Just one more hit of dopamine or whatever brain chemical. You're a fucking gerbil on a wheel, running the same loop over and over again hoping for something different until you realize it's all the same bullshit. And you want me to pay for that? No, thank you."
No one looks at us. They're too busy with their own meaningless conversations about the weather or who did what when or how someone might react to this and that. Don't get me wrong, what I said and how I said it was just as meaningless. I can see that.
The girl, Kayla, shrinks in her plastic chair like I've slapped her across that pathetic, freckled face. That was bad. This is awkward. I end up crumpling the ice-cream cup in my fist. It's not her fault. It's not her fault you woke up to your best friend giving your brother a handjob which made you join a magical war. Great, now she's retreated to the comforting glow of her phone. No, she's just staring at it for a few seconds before putting it down.
While looking at the table with her face half crumpled, "Look, I-I don't know who you are and what you're going through but you can't talk to people like that especially in a public place or like anywhere. All I wanted to do was find a place for my boyfriend and me to sit. He's getting us food so I volunteered to find us seats because he's been really nice to me like he knew that I was cold and offered me his jacket and I want to show him that I'm a nice person too. If you didn't want me to sit here because you were having a bad day or whatever I'm sorry but y-you should have just said that and I c-could have sat somewhere else. And yeah video games can be like dumb but there are some really good ones that are like at the forefront of artistic expression in the way they errr integrate multiple forms of mediums to create unforgettable experiences for players. And I think you would know that if you had ever played a game or something because this isn't sexist or anything but you look like you're the type of girl who's too cool to try things and I'm not saying that's a bad thing because I used to be really scared of trying things too but then I started being myse— Sorry, that's beside the point. I don't know why you are the way you are and it's none of my business but whatever what I'm trying to say is that what you said was really mean because I just wanted to let you know that Rich from the Wrichmotifs is here in case you were interested in seeing him because at least at my school a lot of kids our age are fans and he's a really nice and inspirational person and I was really happy to see him and you've kind of just ruined my night."
Rich is at Farmers?
I don't understand half of what she said and why she said it. It's dumb. This is dumb. I have more important things to worry about. She's dumb. Like really dumb. I worry for her boyfriend. I need to leave, but I'm not going to let her have the last word.
"Hey, Kayla, right? That dress is too nice for a jacket anyway."
He must really be someone special if you're dressing like that despite what you actually look like. It doesn't suit you. Who do you think you are in those saved photos of yours anyway?
Crazy that I almost crack a smile. Somehow that barrage of nonsensical emotional diarrhea lightened my mood. Nadine Craig will become someone else, someone above this rabble who avert their eyes instead of looking straight into the world. Turning on my heel without looking back at the plastic tables and canvas umbrellas I walk back into the circus of a Farmer's Market towards the waving cook in her new jacket. Find Rich, then, let my Holy Grail War begin.
The bowl-cut priest leads us to the back of the church. From the small lectern in front of a small circle of blue plastic chairs, I guess this is the room they use to teach Sunday school or host bible study.
"Hot Chocolate?" The priest asks.
As we sit down, Mary thanks him. Phahn's hot chocolate's supposed to be to die for. Whatever, I missed my chance to speak up because honestly, Rider, you're going to break something clunking about if you keep materializing in that ridiculous suit of armor. Put on some normal clothes.
Phahn finishes making Mary's drink. He strides over, handing her two stacked paper cups filled with steaming brown liquid interspersed with feeble amounts of foam.
She thanks him then adds, "Inspiring sermon last night, Father."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it, Mary? And you Nadine?"
Phahn doesn't sit in a chair or move towards the lectern. He looms over us waiting for my answer.
A call to arms for the Masters against a common enemy while legitimizing his own summoning. That's not what he's asking. I didn't go to that event willingly. He asked my mom to make me go.
"No use in pretending. You failed to scare me."
The classic, take the girl to a ball to show her this isn't her world and can never be. But Phahn, that place wasn't any different from anywhere else I've been. Just gaudier.
"You're clever, Nadine Craig, but being clever doesn't mean Mary and you can defeat other Servants."
"We can't," I smile at Mary. "But we can help you defeat Saber."
"Little lady, what can that cook and yourself do against her flames, her dragons?"
Fuck that. These are eyes that see into the world. Masters, Servants, I want to tell Rider they're all the same, so there's no way we couldn't win. But we haven't won. Mary and I have lost every single encounter these past three days. Archer and Rider saved us against Berserker. Berserker saved us against the vampire. We were saved, not because they thought us valuable, but because they had more important things to do and in doing them, we happened to be saved.
"We might lack your combat abilities, but that perceived weakness of an Assassin whose presence isn't concealed has allowed us to easily form relationships with other Servants, for instance, Archer."
Sure, Mary may have stretched the truth, but the unease on Rider's ruggedly handsome face and the bowl-cut priest's approving nod is so worth it.
"Then why not parley with Archer?" Rider gently retorts.
"Because. . ."
"Because," I can take over here. "Because Rider, you're the one who saved us that first night."
Rider's about to open his mouth, but Phahn holds a hand up so I can continue.
"We might not be able to help you fight Saber, but we can make sure the battles are uninterrupted. You have people working for you, but a Master and her Servant have more influence."
Phahn wants to disagree, but all the Masters present saw Archer's expression when Rider rode out to confront Saber. The one way of proving he's the perfect hero is having stupid fights with everyone with only one arm.
"A valiant offering." Wow, quick reversal, Rider.
"What's in it for you two?"
To not die.
"We want your protection until both Saber and the vampire are defeated."
Rider nods, his armor creaking; Phahn's mouth forms a little 'o,'; Mary finishes her hot chocolate.
"We err. . . talked to someone. The vampire I asked Rider about last night attacked Mary and me. He's related to the Grail War isn't he? Like he's a Master."
"Nadine, if he is a Master, then as overseer there is no place for Rider and myself to. . ."
"That vampire defeated Mary." She looks away. "Rider told me last night you have a specialist, but do you think that specialist could beat Mary in a fight? And if it does turn out to be a Master. . . only a Servant can beat another Servant, you said that too, right?"
Phahn, you're a top negotiator? The first mistake of negotiating is assuming your opponent doesn't know everything that you know.
"Safe harbor to wait out the initial storm of the Grail War. Saber and potentially Lancer have their fates sealed. Caster and Berserker, no doubt ally in an attempt to defeat Archer. Your scenario creates two separate battlegrounds with you and the Archer as the last two standing."
Yes Rider, that's exactly what Mary told Laurent.
"This is only curiosity talking, Nadine. But, how are you and Mary going to beat Archer?"
I take a deep breath. The final card. Time to amaze them with what these eyes have seen.
"I'm not. As a god-fearing Catholic, I have faith the Church will clear my name."
Wait Mary, what?
"Oh?"
"History and the press haven't been kind to me, stripping me of my freedom for crimes I didn't commit. I'm a simple woman, Father, Sir Rider. I only want my good name back. From the size of the operation you have going in this town, I'm sure you got more than enough friends in high places to investigate why I was framed."
Phahn crosses his arms. "Rider?"
"With the lady's Presence Concealment, infiltrating the Mission becomes a real possibility."
The bowl-cut priest grins broadly, swallowing everything Mary said.
"May this be the nativity of a mutually beneficial relationship." Phahn extends his hand.
I reach out to grasp it but. . .
"But infiltrating the Mission, holy ground?" Mary sounds horrified.
Rider pulls out printouts and manages to stick them to the whiteboard with magnets. Bravo, seriously. Phahn approaches them. You'd think he was going to point something out, but instead walks right past Rider and continues circling the room. My hand dangles in mid-air, never grasping anything yet again. That's so dumb, pull it back.
"Saber's Master declared war on us this morning." Rider tries to explain.
Saber's Master, the rogue Church agent who decided to summon a Servant. From her picture on the whiteboard, she doesn't seem like a person who would put a kick-me sign on herself. Actually, I take that back. Her face might scream harmless Asian lady, but the way her straight black hair almost shimmers purple in the background light screams of an atrocious dye job you only get during a quarter-life crisis, halfway down a pint to Chubby Hubby while still in your PJs.
"But the Mission?" I ask Phahn before Mary can say anything else.
Rider answers instead. "This church was always meant to be a temporary base of operations until the position of overseer was rightfully transferred. I'm sure you understand, our Holy Mother never expected such provocation from one She trusted. Thus such an insult must be met with corresponding force." His voice is as rough as if his gauntlets were grinding against each other.
"An inviolable pact of nonaggression protects the overseer's church, a Grail War's only truly neutral ground. There is no need for additional protections. However, a few minutes ago, multiple bounded fields were activated around the Mission. Sacrilege aside, the Mission is no longer neutral; it should be considered a workshop. The offensive necessary to break through all the defenses will require all our ground assets and at least two Servants. One Servant to keep Saber at bay and the other to help sweep the interior for threats."
Mary swallows the lump in her throat. Despite her personal disapproval, she knows Rider, the paragon of good ol' Christian virtue is right. That's why they agreed with just enough resistance to keep stringing us along. The bowl-cut priest wasn't tolerating our request; he expected it and hoped for it. This is bad. But you knew that from the beginning, right? So nothing's changed.
"I've always told my generals preemptive attacks are the best strategy, especially to cut supply lines. Your infiltration of the Mission will be the keystone to our eventual triumph," Rider continues.
Phahn stops beside my chair and produces a small black box the size of my thumb and a long white candle. Did he pull those out from under his robe or collected them while circling us?
"You want us to bug the Mission and err. . . give it some mood lighting."
"That's an altar candle, dearie."
Phahn clears his throat. "Rider, their objectives."
"Our raid is planned for Saturday sundown. Madam, you'll want to place the device in the staff's private quarters, underneath their kitchen or dining table." He circles the corresponding location on the printout in red whiteboard marker. "Then, you'll replace one of the candles."
"Why the altar candle?"
Mary, Mary. If the listening device is for knowing when and how to attack, then the candle has to be for the other obstacle. Laurent would know how a candle could break magical barriers.
Rider answers, "The Mission, like most churches of its stature, has been consecrated. The diablerie Saber's Master has applied deceptively syncretizes with the consecration. Then what if the altar, the spiritual keystone of the Mission were to be reconsecrated? Why the evil shall be expunged and the church made holy once more."
Religious mumbo-jumbo aside but if you repeat something enough times, it'll start to make sense. Like, is replacing a single candle they probably bought from Costco really going to change the entire meaning of a ritual?
Phahn's got that 'do you want to share with the class?' look on his face.
"What makes that candle special?"
"Here, Mary," Phahn hands her two identical-looking candles.
I seriously hate it when people pretend to use their hands as balances. You just have to hold them, not move your hands up and down as if that'll change your opinion.
"One is heavier." Her face blank from being deep in thought, Mary rolls the candle in her palm.
"Yes, that one has been partially hollowed and filled with a container of anointing oil a Saint had blessed. You'll want to place that candle in the leftmost or rightmost holder. Father Kelsey likes to light the middle candles for daily mass." He takes back the candle that's just a candle.
I see, so by adding an additional mysterious element, the magical barrier around the Mission will disappear. Two questions and I hope you have answers for these because seriously, I don't want to deal with amateurs. . .
"What if they just throw the candle away?"
"Nadine, the Mission replaces their altar candles on the last day of each month. There is no danger of removal."
"Then, what if it doesn't burn down to the oil?"
"Are you familiar with RFIDs?"
Weren't there dumbasses who declared themselves into thinking microchip implants would be the future but then phones came out.
"I don't see how barcodes solve bounded fields?"
"The candle Mary's holding has a sigil inscribed within it, similar to a RFID. With the right magical energy signal, it activates, breaking the candle."
In summary, get Mary into Saber's Master's base to plant a listening device and a magic candle. Okay, when did 'we'll keep Archer off your back' turn into mission fucking impossible.
"And you'll be distracting them while we do this?" I ask.
Rider shakes his head, "We attack once, Saturday sundown. Preemptive military action will arouse suspicion. But, little lady, do you know who is very interested in crossing arms with Saber?"
Once again, go ride yourself.
Didn't you just boast about how you always told your generals preemptive attacks were always the best strategy? Though I guess you can't really expect much thought from someone who has the same aura as my meathead of a brot— bother.
Enough about Rider. We can do this. We can do this, right? Because even Laurent said our best option was to ally with Phahn. I. . . haven't done anything. There I said it. I haven't done anything and I hate it. I hate it so much because even if I told myself that I would change, I would finally be someone else, all I've done is run away or lose.
"If we do this, the religious bodies that comprise the Church will immediately investigate my case," Mary says suddenly, her eyes snapping away from the candle.
"Pardon?" Phahn doesn't show it, but I know he's shocked.
"When we agreed to ally, we had no knowledge of such a potentially fatal undertaking. You're both undoubtedly chivalrous gentlemen, so you understand our current compensation is lacking. Therefore, will the Church exert its influence upon its member religious bodies to immediately begin an investigation of my case or not?"
But Mary, how are they supposed to investigate you without knowing who you are?
"Tall order, woman, do not think the Holy Mother shall —"
"Very well," Phahn smiles so widely you can barely see his eyes. "My higher-ups will want results first. We can begin talks on the parameters surrounding the investigation after the Mission is in our hands."
"After your candle is in the Mission."
The clang of armor against carpet does its best to ring through the room as Rider puts down his foot and attempts to use that ridiculous bulk of his to intimidate.
Mary holds her head high. "After your candle is in the Mission."
Phahn throws his hands up with a snort, "After the candle and the listening device are in the Mission."
"Thank you, Father, Rider. Now Nadine, dearie, I believe you were going to take me to see the Farmer's Market?"
Ew.
That wasn't badass. That was pathetic.
*****
With pizza slices on paper plates, Mary and I try to carve a path through the main street turned to what romantic comedies think a subway platform looks like at peak-hour. Even if there are clearly marked yellow lines dividing the street into two, the sheeple amble forward and back in the center of the tar paddock, irrationally afraid that if they stop for a second for whatever reason, they'll inconvenience the person behind them. Boisterously brain-dead, you drink in the fairy lights and avoid eye-contact with the vendors because god forbid they'll magically hypnotize you into buying something you don't want. Don't get me started on the couples.
Mary takes a large bite out of the slice I paid for, crust first.
"A weekly night market, how romantic."
Never knew Mary was the one to gush over pathetic displays of a sociopathic general disregard for others in pursuit of an ideal so eloquently and poetically named "bae." Worst of all, they're definitely here, Krista and my brother. God, what am I going to say if I see them with my middle-aged ghost cook who happens to be great at negotiating breaking-and-entering deals with Catholic priests my mom definitely has the hots for.
"Sometimes the Master of the house would give us the night off to come to one of these. Support the town, see the sights, all that city air can't be good for you, just look at your skin. 'Course dearie, there always was the odd, new girl who dreamed of finding her Prince Charming in a local baker or a flower store owner, but the rest of us, the ones who lived by the agency were thankful for the time off, but nothing more."
Whatever, I can't believe how carefree everyone here looks, unaware their city has turned into a battlefield. Bread and circuses. Everything is awesome. If it wasn't, we wouldn't be having this Farmer's market where everything is awesome.
"Nadine, you haven't said a word since we got the pizza."
I got the pizza.
"You know, dearie," her face breaks into a gentle smile. "Sometimes I wonder if this is a dream and when I wake up, I'll be back on Bro— back where I was."
Lukewarm pizza grease mixed with slightly too salty marinara sauce slides down my throat as I swallow. Cardboard that fills you up — that's the modern world.
"If you like it so much, why don't you wish for a second life?"
She's too drunk on Tolosa's city lights to respond. They're too blinding; that's why she can't stay.
"The Grail tells me I died from a stroke. No matter the condition, I still remember being alone in that little cell trying to call for help, but quickly realizing no, no one will come and it's not your fault, you gentle fool. You've loved with all your heart, you've tried your best so many times, and this is the end. At least, this is the end, be satisfied Mary." She tries to laugh the stray thoughts away. "But I awake to a new world where everything is. . . is like this. And I'm, or rather, the memory of me is so. . . no way of putting it politely, I'm a joke. Nothing more than a tall tale told to children to scare them into behaving. My life ended in that cell. This is redemption, do you understand, dearie?"
She hardly said a word during lunch and now it's pity me, Nadine. I had a hard life, Nadine.
Why are you suddenly so blatantly obvious like everyone else? Phahn gives you a glimmer of hope and you start pouring your heart on to me. I'm done.
"Let's go home and figure out how we're going to get in touch with Archer."
I tilt the box carrying the candle towards Mary as I slide my paper plate into the trash can next to a booth that's more like a pop-up store you see at the college during Earth Day, selling overpriced second-hand clothes and accessories.
"Sorry for the bother. That goes with the compostables."
A bell-like voice that will never let you forget you've heard it before.
Whether she's in an aristocratic party dress or commoner athleisure, Caster is still —
"Mary? How divine! That dress brings out your eyes so well. And Nadine, Nadine correct? Heavens, I didn't recognize either of you. Let me help this dear customer first and then I'd love to have a chat."
Unsure what to do, Mary and I stand to one side as Caster works the register. By register, I mean an iPad with a card reader. And it's not just one dear customer, but a long line of women and partners with tired expressions until they see the woman at the register. I'd like to say the potential customers are all shapes and sizes but middle-aged women in Tolosa kind of have the same physique as my mom or at least anyone shopping at this store is aiming for that physique. Let's not start with the local co-eds they've hired to help with the store.
After a few minutes, it becomes apparent why the entire town and half the neighboring ones showed up at Farmer's tonight. I'm surprised no one's protesting a brand called Twin Towers. Maybe there would be more outrage at a New York pop-up. Or, more likely, everyone's too excited at being able to take home a Paris Fashion Week runway-ready outfit for a price that can give Lululemon a run for their money. God, the line is going around the block now.
This would totally be a Krista thing. Get in line as a joke repeating 'every purchase gives a child a pair of shoes,' 'everything is just so cute and unique,' or 'so sustainable they're carbon negative' with ever-escalating voices, so everyone in line would know how lame they were for standing in line. If we got to the front of the line without being asked to leave, Krista would say "how about we look around; there might be something that goes well with your jacket."
Nothing goes with this blue ski-jacket. That's why I wear it. That's the joke.
We'd end up getting something because Krista would say you can't wait in line for that long and go home empty-handed. And now. . . with his neanderthal football attention span there's no way my brother's going to wait in a line this long for a girl he's going to, let's face it, dump before this Grail War ends.
"A thousand apologies for making you wait, my little bluebirds. There were oh so many wonderful people spellbound by my dear Estella's textiles. Conversing with them and learning their truths invigorate me so." With palms together and eyelashes fluttering like hummingbird wings, "Allow me, dear ladies. This way to the back, where my dear Estella, who I love as a true sister, has retired to."
At the Tolosa Famer's Market, the back of a booth means the back of a pick-up, but wow these are the people who waste money on glamping equipment. Four LED chandelier-lanterns hang from the pastel canvas ceiling illuminating a number of leather armchairs beside a glass coffee table to one side, and a wet bar on the other. Looks like an airport lounge ad.
"Chilled beverage?" Caster opens the fridge, filled with the glass bottles you see in a Whole Foods refrigerated section.
"I recommend the cider. Bottled last year at a little orchard outside our Windermere." Sitting next to the space heater (of course they'd have a space heater) in a dress that belongs in an opera or at least a Broadway production is the Princess of Silver, Estella, with a Kindle in her lap.
"Nadine, have you debuted?" Caster perks up.
Regardless of the name, sixteen is bitter. "I'm seventeen."
"Truly? Heavens, your mannerisms speak to a certain degree of learned maturity a lady does not accomplish until her twenty-first year."
Holding a tray of four wine flutes, Caster skips towards the coffee table. She's not actually skipping. Her walk was so gracefully lively there was no other way of describing it. She offers each of us our drink while curtseying. Mary's so taken aback she reflexively curtsies back, making Caster feel obligated to reply with another curtsey. God, Mary, you don't need to cover up your embarrassment with a sip of your drink before we even sat down. Now you got me doing it too. When I put the crystal to my lips, unsweetened apple juice fizzles, tickling my chapped lips. There's no sharp kick.
Oh. In Caster's mind, the modern debut means turning twenty-one. She was asking me whether I could drink or not. That's funny. A girl becomes a woman when society is presented to her now, not the other way around.
"Lovely cider. Crisp and tart. So refreshing after walking through the market."
"Oh no, Mary. You were not walking in such cold with only that dress. As your dear friend I couldn't, I shan't bear it if it were true."
Dry heat like a Tolosa noon wafts from the space heater. Not to mention Mary and you are Servants. You don't get cold.
"You're absolutely right, Caster. We can't leave our guests cold. Why don't you show Mary around the booth to pick out a jacket and introduce her to our talent? As illustrious Heroic Spirits incarnated in the modern era, you must have many things to talk about."
"Terrific idea as always, Estella."
Mary looks at me.
"Don't worry, Mary. Your Master will be well taken care of."
"Of course, Miss Estella." I guess they don't teach cooks how to curtsey with a crystal wine flute in one hand. Caster quickly takes Mary's arm and starts chattering about jacket stitching as she leads Mary through the partition to the front of the store.
Estella something Iselma, Princess of Silver and Byron's daughter. At last night's party, Rich said the princesses were modeled after the Sun and the Moon in an attempt to reach. . . damn, even in your head you still can't do it. Through true beauty. She's really pretty, almost iridescent. Her skin is almost every shade of porcelain blended together to create a soft glowing hue free of any blemishes. Free-flowing hair, a soft somehow natural grey-blue catches the hard LED light and glistens as if threaded with what hack poets describe as moonbeams. She's beautiful as a human, not █. Caster in yoga-class leggings, running jacket, and matching scarf still feels like she's still looking down on us from a different dimension. The women in line worshiping the register she's handling is a testament to that. The moon really can't shine without the sun.
"I'm sorry I missed you. Sit, sit," she leans over and pats the seat next to hers. "Caster was very enthused with Mary last night and I couldn't find a second to get away. I heard you had a very interesting conversation with Father though."
I wouldn't call it as interesting as the ones I have with Laurent, but I'm tired and that armchair looks much more comfortable than plastic Sunday School chairs.
"That's. . . a gift?"
She nods at the coffee table where I've set my empty flute and candle box.
Anyone should be able to see the candle through the box's plastic window. Now I'm closer, that Kindle screen has raised bumps, and where the logo should be are a series of raised buttons.
"A gift for my mom. She likes candles. She's, umm, an interior designer."
"How charming. I'd love to see her work. See what she can come up with for our pitiful space."
But you're blind.
"You don't need to look at me like others do when they realize I'm blind. We're magi; I might not be able to see you through my eyes, but I know you're running a little hot right now and I don't think it's just because of the heater."
Laugh. Politely. And then take a sip of your drink. Shit, it's empty, remember.
"But even magecraft has limitations. There are spells for universal translation and intent transference, but they're almost impossible to apply to visual media. I'd usually have Regina or Islo read me the financials for the company, but it's astounding what can be made with a few hundred thousand pounds of funding," she raises her braille reader. "Most magi would balk at this, but our Department Head found herself trapped within the Apple ecosystem a few years back so I shouldn't feel too bad."
I want so badly to believe this woman was one of those sheltered BBC rich ladies who spend their days watching polo and playing bridge. And like, eventually she'd meet a rugged down-to-earth working-man who had financial troubles but didn't want her money. He only wanted to show her what it truly means to live, like eating pizza and singing karaoke. Like fuck, after seeing Caster, part of me kind of hoped that fairytale ending was at least true for her kind. But hey, if this is second place, I think I like it better.
"I almost died once." Okay Estella, where did that come from? "A lot of people make that face when I start talking. I'm exactly the person who you thought I was but when my sister died there was a cover-up, and I walked up to the most powerful woman I knew, accused her of being my sister's murderer and asked her to kill me without any real plan, reason, or leverage. Do you know what she said?"
"You're an idiot, get out?"
That perfect, thin mouth curves. "My answer exactly. She on the other hand closed an eye and said, and I still remember it after more than a decade, 'So you're putting your own life on the line. Things really can't be easy with you these days, can they Princess? Under different circumstances I might have even taken a liking to such behaviour.' Talk about an insult." She almost spits.
Because that's not how you talk to a person. That's how little girls praise their dolls for keeping still while having their hair brushed. If the very first thing you offer is your life, you really don't value yourself, so what can you possibly be worth?
"I had planned to die alongside my father that night, but we were saved. Alive, but left with nothing, so I married my childhood friend. I'm glad I was saved. I had things I couldn't give up and a place I needed to reach, so with his family's expertise, the Iselma continued their quest as this. . ." She vomits out the last word, afraid of defiling her throat.
Unlike Caster, you're a strong, independent woman who can do everything but probably has a flaw that makes you actually relatable and therefore likable but never loveable. That's my mom's shtick too. You're just on a different level.
"That's me, warts and all." As if you've ever had a wart. "Now it's your turn, Nadine. What do you think about my father after your conversation with him?"
Take a person, shave off all her excess and you're left with a crescent moon. It's refreshing because you can feel what was once there, this supernatural charm that only now lingers, urging you to speak honestly.
"He really can't get over himself, can he?"
Estella nods and then with the softest hint of a smile, "Then, will you help me kill Caster?"
Will I, what?
Excuse me. You're talking about,
"Talking about killing my own Father's Servant. After the Clock Tower finished their investigation on the Iselma, my father was in ruins. Simply put, he had wagered all he had and lost. He's a broken man. You heard him yesterday, use the Grail to reach「」. For him, nothing matters."
It's all just paper anyway.
"Rich said, he reached. . . err. . . urgh, the Root."
"Yes," she brushes her cheek with the back of her hand, "Father did. That's why it's all the more inexcusable. Broken or not, I want the best for my father. You, Nadine, are a Master fighting in this Grail War for no doubt a wish you believe is important. Help me take my father home."
"Why me?"
"Magi, we decide the core of something and change it as fast as we can. My father's a prideful man. After these long years of continually having his pride stripped from him, all that remains is the pride of being prideless. You've heard him characterize the world and disparage everyone within it. A girl posing as a magus, you'll be a feast."
"What's in it for me?"
"Other than less competition? He'll agree to teach you, you know. Magecraft. Because you disgust him, he wants to prove your worthlessness to you."
"I-I need some time to think." Everything's spinning so I get out the chair, lift one side of the tent and just walk out into the night air. Estella doesn't try to stop me.
Spent too long in the tent with a space heater. Forgot the candle, whatever you need to — like there's a crushing feeling in my chest. Kill Caster, what the hell did she just. Your brain is on fire. You can't stop thinking it's all just bullshit. But Nadine, Laurent alone isn't going to. Why the fuck are there just so many people here, so many fucking. "Hi, would you like to try a sample?" But you're already helping Phahn and Rider. Breathe in. Breathe in. Breathe in. As always, always in, nothing out. To reject everything to become someone I want. But you're just a girl and no one likes you because they're too busy farming the market for clout. Master. Mage. Magic. These are the eyes that see into the world, the eyes that make you into a Magician's Egg. Decide the core and change it as fast as possible.
So I reject it. Master the contrary and simply brush away everything that has happened as mundane. A Master is a mage. A mage uses magecraft. This is why you are. . . now calm down and get your stupid bitch self an ice-cream sandwich from Cream. Desserts at Farmer's are always overpriced.
*****
I find myself an empty table in the dining area and work on my scoop. Cookies felt too excessive after hearing about how the heiress of a magical fashion empire wants my help to kill her father's guardian ghost. She's doing it out of love. No doubt. She can't stand to see the dismissive drunk he's become. I don't blame her. If dad was here right now, he'd probably. . . tell me I should have gotten an extra scoop for him. He'd ask me what was wrong. Everything. He'd ask me if there was anything he could do. No, because you died and for all this talk, all this internal monologue, I haven't actually done anything. And honestly, I'm a little scared I'll never be able to do anything.
"Ummm, excuse me. S-sorry to bother you, but is it okay if like me and my boyfriend share the table. With you."
"Free country." I look up.
Even under the orange-red glow of the heat-lamps, you can still easily make out that banal freckled face. After talking with Estella, this girl looks like someone cut out a generic piece of scenery and slapped me with it. She doesn't exude Phahn's slipperiness, Rider's pompous nobility, Laurent's homeliness, or even Mary's quiet despondency punctuated with moments of fiery ardor. She could be any one of these family members or couples eating their street food. This is the first normie who's talked to me since the Holy Grail War started and I hate her for it.
"Thanks. Ummm, I'm Kayla. You go to school in Tolosa? I umm haven't seen you around. Before."
There's a lot of people in this shitty town I haven't met before. Like you.
"Mission Prep, then? Tolosa High, Nadine."
"Oh wow cool. Nadine, that's umm a really unique name. Really cool."
The baby name website my mom got it from said it was French for 'Hope' and look where that's gotten me.
"What about your boyfriend?"
"My boy—? Oh, yeah! Umm, his name is kind of long and he doesn't like using it since he says it's pretty umm pretentious. Like it's super funny when substitute teachers say it, yeah."
"I meant like where is he?"
"Oh gosh, sorry. I really hope you didn't like think I was like one of those girls who ummm yammers on about their boyfriends at the first chance they get, hahaha." She points to the food trucks and stalls as she sits down. "He's getting our tamales."
The last plastic spoonful of ice-cream eases the pizza grease slick in my stomach. Pizza twice in a day, no wonder I wasn't feeling great after the sparkling apple juice in Estella's pop-up. I'll just leave when her boyfriend comes. I bet he's just as sickening.
"Do you umm like play any video games?"
How dumb can you be to mistake a vacant stare through you as interest in your cartoon animal-covered phone case?
Muddy green eyes, sandy blond hair, bulbous nose, slightly hunched shoulders, vapidly hopeful expression on her red face. Just why? We could have sat in complete silence for two more minutes and then I'd get up and throw my ice-cream cup in the trash or her boyfriend with the apparently ridiculous name would come over and they could nauseatingly play beer pong while pretending I didn't exist. But you had to say something, you ridiculous girl in a spaghetti strap navy dress that your figure can't possibly fill. Because you don't, don't get it with your tamales, Mission Prep, and boyfriend. This happy little life where you probably go to the Farmer's Market every Thursday is as fucking hollow as those games you play.
"They're the stupidest waste of time. Press a button. If you press the right button at the right time something good happens! If you press the wrong button at the wrong time something bad happens. Everything else is a distraction or just meaningless background to make you want to press that stupid button just one more time. Just one more hit of dopamine or whatever brain chemical. You're a fucking gerbil on a wheel, running the same loop over and over again hoping for something different until you realize it's all the same bullshit. And you want me to pay for that? No, thank you."
No one looks at us. They're too busy with their own meaningless conversations about the weather or who did what when or how someone might react to this and that. Don't get me wrong, what I said and how I said it was just as meaningless. I can see that.
The girl, Kayla, shrinks in her plastic chair like I've slapped her across that pathetic, freckled face. That was bad. This is awkward. I end up crumpling the ice-cream cup in my fist. It's not her fault. It's not her fault you woke up to your best friend giving your brother a handjob which made you join a magical war. Great, now she's retreated to the comforting glow of her phone. No, she's just staring at it for a few seconds before putting it down.
While looking at the table with her face half crumpled, "Look, I-I don't know who you are and what you're going through but you can't talk to people like that especially in a public place or like anywhere. All I wanted to do was find a place for my boyfriend and me to sit. He's getting us food so I volunteered to find us seats because he's been really nice to me like he knew that I was cold and offered me his jacket and I want to show him that I'm a nice person too. If you didn't want me to sit here because you were having a bad day or whatever I'm sorry but y-you should have just said that and I c-could have sat somewhere else. And yeah video games can be like dumb but there are some really good ones that are like at the forefront of artistic expression in the way they errr integrate multiple forms of mediums to create unforgettable experiences for players. And I think you would know that if you had ever played a game or something because this isn't sexist or anything but you look like you're the type of girl who's too cool to try things and I'm not saying that's a bad thing because I used to be really scared of trying things too but then I started being myse— Sorry, that's beside the point. I don't know why you are the way you are and it's none of my business but whatever what I'm trying to say is that what you said was really mean because I just wanted to let you know that Rich from the Wrichmotifs is here in case you were interested in seeing him because at least at my school a lot of kids our age are fans and he's a really nice and inspirational person and I was really happy to see him and you've kind of just ruined my night."
Rich is at Farmers?
I don't understand half of what she said and why she said it. It's dumb. This is dumb. I have more important things to worry about. She's dumb. Like really dumb. I worry for her boyfriend. I need to leave, but I'm not going to let her have the last word.
"Hey, Kayla, right? That dress is too nice for a jacket anyway."
He must really be someone special if you're dressing like that despite what you actually look like. It doesn't suit you. Who do you think you are in those saved photos of yours anyway?
Crazy that I almost crack a smile. Somehow that barrage of nonsensical emotional diarrhea lightened my mood. Nadine Craig will become someone else, someone above this rabble who avert their eyes instead of looking straight into the world. Turning on my heel without looking back at the plastic tables and canvas umbrellas I walk back into the circus of a Farmer's Market towards the waving cook in her new jacket. Find Rich, then, let my Holy Grail War begin.