"Nah, it's for Al, right?"

"I noticed you were from out of town yesterday. Are you here to visit him?"

"How do you know him? Are you two family?"

"That's ridiculous, Wen! Look! They look nothing alike!"

"Are you staying with him now though?"

"Yeah! What's the basement look like? Have you been down there?"

"No way! She's probably staying in the loft."

"What's your name? My name's Earnie! And this is Wen."

"How old are you?"

"Where are you from?"

"Uhhh..." Sabre's eyes darted back and forth between the two as she was bombarded with questions so quickly that she barely had time to answer any of them.

As she was being given the third degree, the bell at the door jingled and a woman dressed in a crisp pantsuit stepped through. She had short dark brown hair, styled and curled like something out of a 1950's fashion catalogue and wide-brimmed hat that also screamed 'high fashion.'

"Ugh, this bitch," Earnie mumbled under his breath as the woman approached the counter.

"What can I get for you today Doctor?" Mr. Wren greeted her with a smile that was a little too wide to be genuine.

"Ginseng Tea," she stated in a commanding tone, "and if I may, Mr. Wren, how is your wife doing?"

His eyes narrowed slightly, but only for a second, before he immediately regained his composure.

"Quite well, now, thank you. Rosie will have your tea right out," he replied, handing her a receipt with gloved hands.

When did he put those on? Sabre wondered.

"Thank you," she politely accepted the receipt, but instead of sitting at the counter to wait for it, she leaned closer, "There were actually a few questions I have been meaning to ask you, if you have time to indulge me."

"But of course, Dr. Simmons," Mr. Wren said, his tone already dripping with impatience.

"From what I heard, your wife's illness was quite severe, yet you never brought her into our humble clinic. Surely there would have been something more we could have done for her to help expedite her recovery?"

"Perhaps, but the clinic is some distance from here, and Sister Irena made many house-calls to help care for her. She tends to her flock quite well."

"She does indeed... I wonder though, what might the Sisters' thoughts be on something like... witchcraft?"

At this point, all three, Wen, Earnie, and Sabre as well, were sitting at the corner table, huddled up and straining to hear the hushed conversation. Earnie's eyes met with his father's, and he gave him a menacing look, shaking her head ever so slightly. He sighed.

"My dear Doctor," Ernie's father replied, no longer making any attempt to hide his discontent, "I would think you'd know better than to be throwing around words like 'witchcraft.' How surprisingly unprofessional of you."

"Ah, yes, how true you are," she backpedaled, "After all, such a word is only used by the ignorant to explain that which they don't understand. So, I'm curious, would you help me to understand just how your wife has made such a miraculous recovery? I only ask because I have it on good authority that Sister Irena was not exactly the only one you sought treatment from..."

Earnie's eyes widened again.

No, dad. Don't do it, he mouthed an inaudible warning, and once again Mr. Wren sighed heavily.

"Ma'am," he said suddenly stern, "if you're referring to Alistair Dirk, it's true that he knows of many old folk remedies, some of which I understand, some of which I don't. And he did offer his aid, despite his well-known animosity towards our family."

"And why would he harbor any prejudice against such a lovely family as yours?"

Just then, the kitchen door swung open and a girl no more than twelve emerged carrying a small tray with a single cup on it.

"Your tea, Doctor," said the little girl.

"Thank you dear," she turned back to Mr. Wren raising her eyebrows, "I can't help but notice it's in a to-go cup."

"You're a busy woman, Doctor Simmons. I would hate to keep you from your duties. Again, I appreciate your concern for Pheadra, but she is recovering quite well, and I have nothing more to say on the matter."

The woman turned and walked out without bothering to say goodbye. Mr. Wren turned to Earnie the moment she was out the door.

"I hope you happy, Earnestine," he huffed, disappearing into the kitchen and slamming the door behind him, "and not A SINGLE WORD to your mother about this!"

What on EARTH was THAT all about? Sabre wondered.

The snow had resumed, and more heavily, on the walk back. Sabre was also being tailed by both Earnie and Wen, although she didn't remember inviting them. Sabre wasn't the most social person, but she did her best to engage in their idle chit-chat, but it was all about people she didn't know at all, which only made her feel even more of an outsider than ever.

"Hey," Wen paused, "It's not a big town. Before you know it, you'll have met just about everyone."

Her tone was comforting.

"R-right..." was all Sabre could think to say.

"Yeah! Sure you will! We'll be your friends!" Earnie, clearly the more brash of the two, swinging an arm around Sabre's shoulder, "Just stick with us lady! You'll be runnin this town in no time hahaha!"

Despite the fact thst her arm was gripping her shoulder firmly, it seemed to weigh like nothing at all, as if a bird had just pearched on her shoulder. She could feel that it was there, but also light as a feather.

"Pssh! Yeah right!" Wen replied, "You're one of the weirdest ones around!"

"So what?!" Earnie looked back at Sabre with a wink, "Nothing wrong being the token trans boy in town!"

"Oh, I see now," Sabre mused, "So you are a boy then."

"Well, I certainly like to think so," Earnie proclaimed confidently, but then sighed and let his shoulders sag slightly,  "but this place is such a backwater hick town, people still call me a chick all the time. I'm used to it."

"Well, that sucks," Sabre looked down at her feet and then wondered out loud, "You seem old enough to move out, though. Why don't you just move somewhere else? Bigger cities seem to be a little more... receptive, no?"

"Ah, well... that's-"

"C'mon let's hurry up guys!" Wen interrupted, "I wanna' get to Al's before my toes freeze off!"

"Don't worry 'bout it. I'm in good company," Earnie whispered to Sabre, "We're all a little crazy 'round here, hehehe."

When they finally arrived, Sabre was surprised to see that the window shutters were opened and the front door was unlocked, although the sign still said 'Closed.' The three of them burst through the door in a swirl of snow and wind before they could slam it shut behind them. Al was sitting behind the counter, leaning back in a barstool, with his feet up on top of the register.

"I see you picked up a few strays."

"Ohhh, surprisingly catty today," Earnie shot back.

"Today, and every day," Wen rolled her eyes.

Al ignored them and turned to Sabre, "Well? Did you get the coffee or not?"

"Oh! Um, yes, it's right here," she said walking up to hand it to him.

"Already put extra butter and a scoop of salt in it for ya'!" Earnie proudly proclaimed.

"Mhmm," was Al's only reply as he quickly chugged his drink.

"Okay, okay okay okay, wait," Sabre couldn't stand it anymore; she had to know, "Is... that a common way to take your coffee around here or...?"

"Oh, no way, gross," said Wen.

"Yeah Al's just a weirdo," Earnie chimed in, "Coffee by itself is too acidic for his sensitive wittle tummy-"

"Shut it!" Al threw the already empty cup at Earnie.

Well, they seem to have a good rapport, Sabre thought, somewhat sarcastically.

"And... the salt?" she asked, wondering if it was even worth asking.

"He won't even touch anything that isn't super salty or super bitter," Wen explained, while rummaging around.

"And just what do you two want anyways?" Al asked, in his permanently annoyed tone.

"Whaaaat?" Earnie asked innocently, "We can't visit a pal these days without having some sinister ulterior motive?"

"Everybody has ulterior motives," he said, slapping an old hairbrush out of Wen's hand, "Don't touch that."

This guy has some pretty serious trust issues, Sabre thought with a snort.

"Actually..." Wen started.

"Okay, here we go," Al rolled his eyes, walking over to the smelly chair by the stove and taking a seat, "C'mon then. Out with it."

Wen looked at Earnie, suddenly reluctant.

"That lady, Doctor Simmons. She was in the shop today."

"WHAT?!" Al jumped out of his chair, suddenly looking more pale than usual, if that were even possible, "What did she say? Where is she now?!"

Sabre was confused by his extreme reaction. Even though she'd only known him for a day or so, she'd thought she had his personality pegged quite well, calm, coy, cleaver, with a snarky sense of humor, a bit of a temper. But his reaction to this particular bit of news had suddenly thrust him into a hyper-paranoid wreck in a matter of seconds.

"I think," Wen said, hesitantly, "It sounded like she was asking Mr. Wren about you..."

His eyes went wide, and he twirled around to face Earnie, "AND?! What did he say??"

"Nothing! Nothing I swear!"

"You expect me to believe that?! Bullshit! Your parents are racist as fuck! They hate me!"

"Wait," Sabre interjected, "What do you mean racist?"

From Sabre's point of view, both Al and the Wren family looked white to her, unless there was ome sort of clan rivalry that she was unaware of.

"You!" Al pointed at her, "You shut up and stay out of this!"

"Hey! Chill the fuck out dude!" Earnie scolded, "She's got nuthin' to do with this!"

All the while Al was rushing to shutter the windows and turning off lights. Wen sighed and went to the back room to grab some firewood. Al locked and deadbolted the door, while Sabre edged cautiously behind the counter. Wen lit the fire, and it started crackling in the old cast-iron stove. Al jumped back.

"Fuck! Tell me when you're gonna do that shit!"

"Sorry. You turned off all the lights, and it's always freezing in here anyways."

"Well just make yourselves at home then why don't you!"

"Don't mind if I do," Earnie replied, plopping down on a stained, overstuffed pillow near the fire.

For a few minutes, everyone was silent while Al crouched down and proceeded to have a silent panic attack.

"Okay," he finally said, taking a deep breath, "It's okay."

After a long pause, and a few more deep puffs from is vaporizer, he turned to Earnie, "Thanks... for giving me a heads up. I-"

"No thanks needed bro," he interrupted, holding up his hand to put a stop to whatever potentially sentimental thing that was about to happen, "Despite what my parents might think, we're all in the same boat, right?"

"...right."

"You owe me a drink, though," he said with a wink, "and I'll take one for my girl Wen here too."

He sighed, "Extortionist."

"Sabre," Wen asked, somewhat startling her, seeing as how she'd pretty much just been told to shut up and mind her own business, "Fancy a drink?"

"Um..." Sabre looked at her old flip phone, almost 2 p.m.

"There's a mini-fridge right behind the counter there."

So there was. She hadn't noticed it before, but when she opened it she found it was fully stocked with bottled Guinness and another brand she didn't recognize. The girls helped themselves, and Earnie grabbed a Guinness and handed it to Al, who was currently sweating bullets in the chair by the fire. He was in the process of removing his button-down shirt. Sabre shrugged, and grabbed a beer as well.

Sister Tulla looked out the window of the study.

"Looks like the snow's picking up again," she mused, "I do hope Sister Irena doesn't have trouble making it back."

"As do I," Father Allen nodded, now seated comfortably in an armchair by the fireplace, warming his hands.

Tulla bit her lip.

"Don't fret, my child," he soothed, sensing her anxiety, "Why, you know as well as I do that Irena is as tough as nails. And in more ways than one."

He smiled, and they both chuckled.

"Right you are Father, as always."

"Ahh, now that I must contest. I am not always right, and it's a foolish person who would believe that they are. No man, or woman, for that matter, is infallible. Although, I must admit, in my experience, women are right much more often than men."

"Oh, Father Allen! Shame on you! How could you be so severe in your judgement of your own sex?"

He chuckled again and shrugged helplessly, "I'm simply stating the truth I have seen from my own experiences. The greatest folly of mankind is the belief that they could not possibly be wrong, and, simply put, it's a trait much more common in men."

"You never cease to amaze me Father," Tulla sighed, wondering if this sort of predisposition is what was keeping him from becoming a Bishop.

"Well, I can only assume that you are easily amazed," he teased, "Would you mind handing me that book there?"

"Of course, Fath-"

Tulla was so startled by the sound of the huge oak doors of the chapel being smacked wide open that she jumped, dropping the book. Father Allen leaned forward in his chair to peer through the doorway of the study curiously. There stood Sister Irena, covered in snow, her legs and arms spread in a wide stance as the wind whipped snow through the door and in spirals around her.

"Sister..." Tulla said hesitantly.

"My dear child," Father Allen stood from his chair, concerned, "Are you alright."

Irena huffed, out of breath, and looked up slowly.

"We have a problem."