Dearest Lucille,

Where are you my darling girl? It has been ages since I have heard from you.

All is well in New York. The weather has begun to turn and everyone is hoping for a white Christmas in time for the annual party. We decided to move it from the Plaza to the Drake this year because they just put in a new mural window which we are told looks gorgeous at night. Your father and I do so wish you would come.

I ran into Parker Hamilton last week - he's divorced now, no children - and he asked about you. You should think about seeing him when you get home. He is as handsome and charming as ever. And now single!

I hear from Harold that you are still making regular withdrawals from your trust. Won't you tell us where you are? We do so miss you.

With love and affection,
Your mother

Lucy folded the letter back up and stuffed it in the envelope. The envelope was addressed to her post-office box. It wasn't as if they had no idea where she was. She was in Rhydin. They knew that. They just chose not to come find her. And she chose not to go home.

She sighed and set the letter down on her desk. Out the window of her apartment, she could see a New Haven park. It was a crisp fall afternoon, and children were chasing each other across the lawn. An old lady sat on a bench, feeding birds. And a young wizard seemed to be practicing some sort of magic under a tree.

So far it had only really rained in Rhydin. Lucy wanted snow. When would the snow come?

There would be snow in New York soon. Snow on the trees in Central Park. Snow dusting the brownstones. Blanketing the city in cushiony quiet. But the snow wasn't enough to draw her back to New York. And neither was Parker Hamilton. Lucy couldn't imagine anything her mother could say to get her to come home.

So it would be another winter in Rhydin. And Lucy would just have to make the most of it.

Mitsy!

Everyone is dashing off to St. Moritz after New Year's Eve! I know it's rather presumptuous of me, but I reserved you a suite at the Suvretta House - it's booking up and it just wouldn't be a snow season without you!

I know things have been difficult since the crack-up with Charlie, but it's been more than a year now. People are starting to wonder if you'll ever come back.

So pack up whatever boy-toy you're fooling around with and get your butt on a plane. It'll be fun!

xoxoxo,
A

Colin was gone by the time Lucy woke up in the morning.

She was hungover, her mouth stale, her tongue thick. She rolled over at the first wave of nausea. The light pouring in from the windows in her loft was much too bright. She lifted an arm from the covers and draped it across her eyes. And then she realized she was alone. "F*ck." She moved both hands to her head and slid them through her tangled mess of hair. Then she stumbled from the bed towards the bathroom, torn between going to the sink for water, or going directly to the toilet to vomit.

She should have known, once the drinking had started, that the night would end in tears.

In the sober light of day, she knew that what Ford had said to her at the bar the night before was cheap and manipulative. No man needed to be by her side twenty-four hours a day. She's not the last piece of pie in the fridge. She doesn't need constant defending. And if she wants to wait for Colin to get off work, even when it's on the wrong side of midnight, then she can do just that. And that doesn't say anything bad about her own sense of self-worth. It says something good about her relationship with Colin.

Doesn't it?

After brushing her teeth, and getting a fresh bottle of electrolyte enhanced water from the fridge, Lucy padded half-naked to the back window, the one that looked out on the alley. It took some effort, but she got it open a few inches, cold winter air immediately sucking into the room. Lucy stood in front of it anyhow, her hands shaking slightly as she lit a cigarette, smoke blown out into the cold.

And wasn't Ford interested in Peaches? That woman was a knockout if she'd ever seen one. And charming in that way lower-class Brits always were. She didn't know either of them well, but they seemed to suit each other. So what the hell happened at the end of the night? Why did Ford seem focused on her all of a sudden instead of Peaches? And why was Peaches blowing him off?

Lucy shook her head and blew a breath of smoke out the window. In nothing but a flimsy pair of slept-in panties, she was starting to shiver. But she ignored it.

What was she going to do about Colin? She knew she had a thing for him. A bad thing. Too much, too fast. She'd called it something special the night before, and she believed that. But special wasn't always good. A six-legged frog was also special, but you don't make it your pet.

But maybe it could work out. It's not always easy to find that kind of electric spark, and they had that in spades. Maybe Katt was right, and she should stop making excuses and just let herself go to it.

At first she'd thought he was just showing off with all of those weapons and all that talk of violence. But he wasn't just showing off. That was who he was. And she wasn't sure she could handle it. It was scary, just like she'd told him. She didn't want to end up a widow or identifying a body at twenty-six. Her heart couldn't take it.

But it was also scary for other reasons.

She wasn't stupid. Men like Colin, living violent lives, prone to violent outbursts, often let that violence leak into other parts of their lives. At first, he's protective and caring, and his possessiveness is sexily alpha. But then the next thing you know he's turning that violence on you, and the front page of every tabloid in town has a police report picture of your face looking like hamburger meat.

She'd seen the look Ford gave Colin's rifle the night before. No matter what Ford had said about her waiting for Colin, that look -- that look was right.

Lucy sighed and crushed out her cigarette in the ashtray. She was falling for Colin. And maybe it was a mistake. But she didn't know how to stop herself. Or if she even wanted to.

"They're saying you've been committed, Luce. COMMITTED. Like insane. Bananas."

"I saw the blurb in the Post."

"So -- come to Switzerland next week. Bring a hot guy. Let them get a picture of you. And then it will be done."

"Why should I do that just to make them go away? Isn't that just feeding the beast?"

" --Don't you want to come? I miss you. I haven't seen you in forever."

"It's just easier here, Annie. I don't have to worry about any of that. I can just be me."

"Why is this always such a big deal to you? Just deal with it! Everyone just deals with it! You don't have to look at the papers, you don't have to read the sites. Just ignore it! Why is this such a big deal?"

"I don't know why. It just is."

"Then pop a goddamn Xanax and get over it!"

"Annie."

" --You're not coming are you?"

"No."

"Is it because you don't have anyone to go with you? Cause I can get you a guy. Or a girl. Whatever you want, Mits."

"I have someone. I'm with someone. It's not that."

"Then I don't understand. I don't understand what you're doing, I don't understand why you won't come home, I don't understand why this is the first time I've been able to talk to you in almost a year. Where are you, Mitsy!?"

" --Don't call me that. Annie, seriously. Please don't call me that."

"That's all you have to say?"

"Yes."

" --You know what, Lucy? If you keep doing what you're doing, you stay wherever the hell you are, by the time you come back, no one's going to care about you here either."

Text : 1/2/2013, 1955 : Hey pretty lady, sorry I didn't come home. Got tapped for a QRF set, we will be back on Saturday. Hope you're having a good time.

Text : 1/3/2103, 0655 : Damn it, I hate waking up and realizing I'm not next to you. I can't wait to get back.

Text : 1/3/2013, 1456 : This is fucking weak. I miss you, I just thought I should remind you, don't forget about Ducks :p

MAINTAINING YOUR IMAGE - Best Practices for Avoiding Negative Media Attention
by NuElite Media Consultants

1. Exit Transportation Carefully -- Do not scoot. Wait for your escort to come around to your door. Have your escort position himself between you and the cameras until you have left the vehicle. Keep your knees together as you swing your legs out, then stand.

2. Flash Test Your Clothing -- Use an industry standard flash and digital camera to ensure that your clothing is opaque.

3. Always Look Your Best -- Have a short daytime makeup routine that keeps you looking fresh and together even when running errands or going to the gym. Consult a stylist on proper attire for errands, dog-walking, gym classes, etc.

4. Do Not Engage the Paparazzi -- No matter how friendly they seem, no matter how recognizable they have become, the paparazzi are not your friends. They will take a picture of your bleeding corpse before calling an ambulance.

5. No Heroics -- Do not argue with a paparazzo. Do not approach, speak to, or touch them. Do not let anyone in your party approach, speak to, or touch them. If you do not want your picture taken, take appropriate cover and remove yourself from the situation as soon as possible.

6. Take Appropriate Cover -- Baggy clothing, over-sized hats, and frumpy sweaters are not a solution. Hold up your hand or a clutch purse, and duck your head. Wear sunglasses to protect your eyes. Your goal is to appear unruffled and sympathetic. The viewer should feel the desire to protect you.

7. Be Above Reproach -- No swearing, no hand gestures, no spitting, no clothing adjustments. When you are with a child, their safety and well-being is first and foremost.

8. Be Wary of Personal Photos -- Be aware of the pictures taken of you from within your social circle. Do not allow yourself to be photographed nude, or semi-nude, even for personal use. Recording sexual acts is strictly forbidden.

9. Safety First -- Do not do anything reckless to escape the paparazzi. DO NOT DO ANYTHING RECKLESS TO ESCAPE THE PAPARAZZI.

10. Acceptance -- You will be regularly photographed without your permission. Learn to expect it and accept it as the natural price for your privileged position in the world.

The handkerchief had been cleaned and pressed since the Feast of the Two Moons. Henry Wu had kindly lent it to Lucy during their walk together and she'd promised to have it cleaned and returned. So now it sat on the side table next to the front door, his initials visible on a neatly-folded corner, waiting there as if it was expecting to be taken somewhere any day now.

But Lucy didn't know what to do with it.

The package Henry had left for her at the Inn had no return address. The gift inside was lovely -- Shaoxing, a Chinese rice wine, in an elegant decorative bottle -- and the note that accompanied it was equally kind. Odd, but kind.

Still, Lucy didn't know how to interpret it. The tone of the note was friendly enough. In fact, it seemed to go to great pains to suggest that all that Henry desired was friendship. But didn't a gift to a woman usually imply a hope for more? If she responded to the gift, wouldn't that encourage his attention? And what if that attention was romantic in nature?

Lucy left the wine and the note on the kitchen counter. She didn't know when Colin would be back, but she wouldn't hide it. Nothing inappropriate had happened. And until she figured out what to do about it, she'd just leave them there.

She wanted to at least write Henry a thank you note. That was the polite thing to do. And, she had to admit, she liked him. He was charming during their brief time together. Funny, but not overly so, not trying too hard for it. He was good looking too. She was with Colin, sure, but she wasn't blind.

But even if Lucy wanted to send Henry a note, she couldn't. She had no idea where it should go. Unless she did what he did and left it for him at the Inn...

Dear Mr. Wu,

Thank you for the lovely gift. You did nothing at all unseemly. On the contrary, I enjoyed exploring the Feast with you. I was afraid I monopolized too much of your time.

I attempted to enclose your handkerchief but my envelope is simply too small. Instead, your handkerchief will remain as my hostage until we see each other once more.

Sincerely,
Miss Lucy H. Mitford

Mother,

You don't have to worry about me. I'm fine. I swear.

RhyDin is a good place to disappear. It's like a small, idyllic, medieval town in Eastern Europe, but you can't get here by car or train. It's cut off from the world. Things are at once sparklingly new, and terribly old. The people are unique -- they have a pioneering spirit and a fearlessness that I admire and hope to learn from.

I'm settling in fine here. There's plenty to do -- boutiques and art galleries. There's even a fashion week beginning tomorrow!

I'm also seeing someone here. He's a businessman, originally from California. And you don't have to worry -- he seems to be well-off in his own right. He's never once asked about the money. It's not serious yet. But he's good to me and he looks out for me. So you can stop dropping hints about Parker Hamilton.

I know it seems frustrating that you can't come see me, and that you can't call, and that all you can do is write. But I'm happy here. No one knows who I am. No one knows about Charlie. I'm nobody. So I can just be me.

I don't know why you gave Charlie my address here. I wish you hadn't. I can't, mother. I just can't.

Please don't worry. I'm not lost. I'm here.

Love,
Lucille

?It?s just provincial squabbling.? There was laughter around the dinner table, as silver clinked against fine china, gold rings against crystal glasses.

Lucy smiled politely, a bit of confusion remaining in her eyes. ?I thought -- I had heard that there had been some murders related to the uh -- the conflict??

The chuckling continued around the table. George Adelson smiled patiently at Lucy. They?d met at an art opening a few months back, and he had drawn her into his social circle. Nearly everyone around the table was human, magicless, and exceptionally wealthy. They?d all come to RhyDin from an Earth that was familiar to Lucy, though some from centuries that were less familiar. But only Lucy had brought her money with her. The rest had exploited the knowledge of their origin to build vast fortunes in RhyDin.

Adelson was a shipping magnate who?d married a pretty blonde elf, Andranniel (whom he called Andy), who sat elegantly and silently beside him. James and Eleanor Montgomery were in the business of scaring the New Haven elite into buying purified water. And Gregory Laine sold stealth technologies to contraband runners in Star?s End.

Gregory smiled down at Lucy, a private smile as if he were trying to exclude everyone else from the conversation. ?Murders are, unfortunately, nothing new in this city.?

A servant stepped forward to refill Lucy?s wineglass, then retreated back into the shadows of the room. The other dinner guests were all older than her, though Gregory was close enough that she spent the better part of the evening fending off his advances. She?d been invited with a guest, but Lucy feared a dinner party like this would be the thing to finally scare off Colin, to put an end to his admiration of what he called her princess-like class.

?The Governor has released statements about it though, hasn?t she?? Another round of dismissive laughter answered Lucy?s question.

When they met, Adelson had immediately recognized Lucy?s naivete about the city, and along with Eleanor Montgomery, had tried to take Lucy under his wing. It hadn?t gone unconsidered to Eleanor that should she ever wish to return to Earth, having a Huntington as a friend would certainly go a long way to getting her into the right parties. Eleanor smiled patiently at the girl. ?These... people are barbarians. Uncivilized. What does it matter if they kill each other off here and there??

Lucy lifted her napkin from her lap and pressed it to her lips. Her eyes moved to Andranniel. The elf looked uncomfortable, her eyes dropping to her plate, but she said nothing.

?You just need the proper security, dear.? James Montgomery smiled across the table at Lucy. ?Let them deal with the riff-raff.?

?The riff-raff?? Lucy looked around the table.

Gregory reached over from his seat beside her to rest an arm on the back of her chair, and then leaned in intimately. ?You know. The magics. The animals. The halfies.? Each one was said with disdain.

Lucy looked down at her plate. Everything about this dinner should have been comfortable. The silk napkins, the fine china, the crystal glasses. This was the kind of evening she was used to. The kind of company she was used to. She?d spent many a night during the past year with this group. But suddenly, somehow, tonight everything about it was wrong.

She wanted to be with Dillon again. Back at the diner. The night he?d brought her back to light. He let her voice her fears. Reassured her. Lucy thought about the rumble of his voice. The way he piled food just so on his fork. The way he insisted, as he always did, that she just needed to find her power.

Dillon wouldn?t have dismissed the people of RhyDin so easily. And neither would Candy and neither would Peaches. There were good people here. Even if their lives remained a mystery to Lucy. Even if they sometimes frightened her. There were people here who reached out to her, who made sure she was alright, who were willing to protect her until she could protect herself. They didn?t tell her to buy her protection. And they didn?t tell her to do it at the expense of others.

She?d been wrong. She knew exactly who her friends were.

?I?m sorry to cut the evening short,? Lucy pushed her chair back from the table, startling Gregory into lifting his arm away, ?but I think I should be going.?

Adelson blustered, both he and Gregory getting to their feet as well. ?What? We?ve -- why we?ve barely finished dinner!? Adelson laughed, trying to smooth over the awkward moment.

?Yes, and it?s been educational. Thank you, George.? Behind her, Lucy could hear the servants beginning to move, and hoped that someone was going to collect her coat and purse. ?I?ve learned that money may buy protection in this city, but it doesn?t buy class. Enjoy the rest of your evening.?

MITSY'S MYSTERY LIFE

For the second year running, Lucy Mitford was a no-show at her family's annual Christmas Gala last week. The annual family bash is considered a must-attend among New York's social elite, but the post-party buzz was that Richard Mitford and his wife and heiress Dorothy Huntington Mitford greeted their guests without any sign of Mitsy.

For almost two years, questions have been swirling about the location of the Mitfords' only daughter who dropped off the radar following her explosive breakup with Charlie Chandler. Mitsy was finally spotted in Positano last summer after rumors broke of a family blow-up over the new man in her life. Just days later, a photograph of Mitsy and a mystery man set the rumor mill blazing because of what many thought was an engagement ring on Mitsy's left hand.

But Mitsy has not been seen since, and, unlike previous years, the family has not released a statement about Mitsy's whereabouts, let alone her marital status. While theories abound as to Mitsy's location and the identity of her new man, none can be confirmed, and her life post-Charlie remains a mystery.

?The one with the one eye??

?That?s Dair.?

?And the one in the armor??

?Vathe.?

?And the one with the tattoos??

?That?s Colin.?

The ghost frowned. ?You got a few too many blokes in your life, if you ask me, love.?

?Are you counting yourself in that category??

The ghost laughed and looked at her. ?Fair point.? The two were sitting side by side on the back porch of her house, looking out at the ocean view.

?Mmph.? Lucy sipped some of her iced tea and bourbon mixture while the ghost looked on longingly.

?What I wouldn?t do for a bloody pint right now.? He tore his eyes away from her drink and looked back out at the water.

?You?re not helping.?

?Bloody hell, woman, what do you want from me??

?Your opinion! You?ve been watching me for months now, right??

?I told you, I couldn?t always see nothing. Loads of times there was just a bloody fog all about you.?

Lucy sighed.

The ghost rolled his eyes. ?You know you?re beautiful.?

?Right, but is that the only reason??

?Beauty not reason enough for you, love? Cause it is for most lads.? The ghost looked at her a moment, then he looked away again, shaking his head. ?You can?t see the way they look at you. If you did--if you could see them--it wouldn?t be such a surprise.?

She frowned and followed his eyes to look back out at the water. ?So it?ll always be that then--my looks, maybe my money.?

He shrugged. ?You also have that wounded bird bit about you.?

Lucy sniffed. ?Wounded bird??

?It?s hard to resist.? He glanced at her, then quirked a brow in amusement. ?Women are the same way, always wanting a broken lad to comfort and heal. Don?t say they?re not.?

She sniffed again, but she didn?t deny it. ?We?re all wounded in some way or the other.?

?Suppose.? He shrugged. ?Don?t think I was much wounded. Just a bloody drunk, I was.? Then he grinned. ?Maybe that?s why I had such a hard time with the lasses.?

Lucy looked away, trying to fight off a little smirk.

He glanced at her, then back out at the water. ?The first time I saw you cry--oof--I wanted to just--just take you up in me arms and make it all go away for you. I knew nothing about you--didn?t know your name or why you were crying--but what I wouldn?t have given to take it all away. Can?t imagine I?m the only man who felt that way.?

Lucy looked over at the ghost, her blue eyes watching him a long moment. Then she looked back out at the water. ?Tell me already.?

The ghost would have sighed if he had any breath. But eventually he just nodded. ?The one with the armor--?

?Vathe.?

?Too formal for you. He?s right fit--a charmer--if you like that sort of thing, but--? He jerked his ghostly thumb. ?He can jog on.?

Lucy nodded, watching him.

?Unless all you want is a good and proper shagging. Not saying you couldn?t use it.?

She shot a look at him.

He held up his ghostly hands and tried to look innocent. ?Alright, alright. The other one. The one with the eye.?

?Dair.?

?Yeah--don?t that bother you some??

?What??

?The eye.?

?No.? Lucy shook her head, then she pressed her lips together and admitted. ?Sometimes.?

?Bloke should try an eye patch or some such. Could be quite jaunty looking. Piratey.?

Lucy smirked. ?I?ll tell him you said that.?

?Nah.? He shook his head, and then he looked at her. ?He?s a good sort, it seems. Bit of a temper, eh??

?Yeah.?

He quieted a bit. ?You could have just--.?

?I know.? She cut him off, unable to bear the thought of what could have been. Then she admitted reluctantly. ?Maybe I should have.?

?Maybe.? The ghost watched her a moment. ?No use worrying on it now.?

Lucy nodded. ?Yeah.?

?You haven?t mentioned the lady, love.?

?The lady?? Lucy lifted a brow, then she realized. The one everyone referred to as Arts. The beautiful spider-like blonde. Lucy?s expression turned thoughtful.

?Aye, the lady.? The ghost smirked watching the expression change on her face.

Lucy looked over at him. ?Well??

?Dangerous. She looks at you like you?re lunch.?

She laughed and shook her head. ?Everyone in this town looks at me like that.?

?Nah. Not--? He paused, trying to remember the name. ?--not Dair.? He watched her. ?He looked at you like you were the bloody King?s feast. And he were starving.?

Lucy stared at the ghost a moment, then she looked back out at the water. ?And Colin?? Her eyes welled with tears as she spoke his name.

The ghost watched her, frowning, and he softened his voice when he answered. ?I don?t think you need me to answer that, love.?

She held on for a moment, but then she broke before him, tears starting to roll down her cheeks. She turned away, bending over her knees and holding herself. The ghost sat beside her, quiet, unable to do anything for her but sit and watch her cry.

He shoved her into the darkness of the alley. She stumbled towards the brick wall, face first, her hands coming up to catch herself. He pressed his body against her back, bending his head, his face in her hair, inhaling the scent of her. ?So sweet.?

His hands grabbed at her hips, shoving her against the wall, positioning her. ?You scared?? He stuck his boot between her heels and pushed out, forcing her legs apart.

She shook her head, drunk, spinning. His breath was hot and rancid against her neck. ?You should be.?

He scraped the soft skin of her thighs with his rough hands as he dragged up her skirt. The delicate lace of her panties tore off with an easy tug. He kept a hand in the middle of her back, pressing her face and shoulders into the brick, and he lifted the other hand to her mouth. ?Open up.?

She parted her lips, tasting the dirt and grease on his fingers, wetting them in her mouth. He pulled them out and brought them down between her legs. Her eyes closed, wincing at the feel of him forcing into her.

?That?s a good girl.? He brought a hand up to her throat, tightened his fingers around it. She was out of control, out of breath, reeling from the pain of it.

And it felt good. The pain felt good. It felt right. This was how she deserved to be treated. This was what she deserved.

His fingers dug into her bare hip.

She gasped. ?Harder.?

It was the arresting image that had Lucy crouching on a New Haven sidewalk surrounded by broken glass. What was left of Vera?s Boutique was cordoned off across the street. Beside her, another business was busy boarding up its broken windows while Lucy shifted her shopping packages and tried to pull a poster off the cement.

Lucy shook free the shattered glass to reveal the image beneath. A red fist clenched around the neck of a spitting snake. Rising, Lucy?s brow furrowed curiously as she considered the poster in her hands. The image was rage. But not personal rage. Systemic rage.

Making no sense of the cyrillic at the bottom of the page, she turned it over, her brows lifting at the screed. Blood will run if it must.

?Lucy?? Standing at a place already cleared of glass, her young driver reached a hand towards her, intent on helping her through the mess unharmed.

She looked up, and relaxed her shoulders. ?Yes, thank you, Sean.? Her heels picked carefully along the sidewalk until she was near enough to offer her shopping bags into his extended hand. ?Do you know what happened here??

He deftly shifted her bags from one hand to the other, glancing at the poster she kept with her. ?An explosion last night, ma?am.? Taking her hand now, he guided her through the wreckage towards the waiting car. ?No one was hurt.?

?But the shop was destroyed.? She looked back down the street to the Watch?s yellow caution tape. ?Some of these--these other businesses too. The cars.?

Sean opened the back door of the black sedan, still negotiating her packages. ?No people though.? His hand out still, guiding her into the back seat.

Lucy nodded. ?Right. Of course.? She settled herself in the back, the poster resting on her lap. ?That?s the important thing.? She didn?t look as Sean shut the door after her.

Blood will run if it must. Her eyes read those words over and over again, paying little attention as her driver stowed her shopping in the trunk, returned to the driver?s seat, started the car, and began to drive her in the direction of her home.

This post is related to the recent explosion in New Haven described here.