[Two days later]

Eleanor sits in the school library under a sunny windowsill laden with spider plants, reading a book about the language of flowers. Across the room, her classmate Michelle Marin sits alone at a table, notebook surrounded by a small barrier of books, while she draws a scene from her previous night’s dream. Occasionally, she peers up over her literary ramparts at the girl under the window, collecting a few more details to add to her likeness emerging on the page. On this peering, she notices the leaves above seem to have shifted, the largest of the variegated plants now with its dozens of plantlets seeming to be reaching down towards her. She flips the page, starting a new sketch, and labels it, “October 30, 2:15, library” before she forgets.  

When the dismissal bell rings fifteen minutes later, she shoves her notebook into her messenger bag and re-stacks her wall of books in the cart next to her table where she’d found them. Eleanor, also returning her book, nods to her. “Hey Michelle,” she said, eyes still on the cart.

“Hey… Ellie, right?” Michelle answers, tilting her head, grip tightening around her bag strap nervously. 

“Yeah, yeah, you got it,” she smiled back. It was the second time this week they’d had this exchange. Maybe with a few more repeats, it’ll become less of a question. But she remembered my name!

“Which way do you go home? I have to go pick up something for my Ma at the hardware store. She said I could stop and get something at Goat’s if I want to.”

“Oh, I usually… well, I could go. Yeah, sure.” This is new. Gramma Jane wouldn’t mind. The crow might, though, but I’ll bring extra tomorrow.

The crow did not mind. Watching from the sky above, it trails the girls to Michelle’s errand stop and lands on the roof of the coffee shop across the street. Hidden by the oldest of the Veil’s protections, a small figure in a hooded cloak appears next to it, crossing its skeletal legs over the ledge. “Good afternoon, Fable,” it says.

“Mythos,” the crow returns the greeting with a head bob.

“Seems to be working,” Mythos says, looking down at the girls.

The crow bobs its head, “Yes, I knew you’d think of something, old man.”

The empty sockets of Mythos’ skull give nothing away, and the tongueless cannot tsk their annoyance, but the Veil has seen fit to enable one of its oldest children with all of the sighs he would need throughout his centuries once Fable joined him in dream guiding. He lets out a short one, more like a huff. “You’re not that young yourself, nightcrow.”

“Like I told you, that one is one of my favorites,” he continues, motioning a bony finger toward Michelle Marin, “She’s got diviners in her ancestry, and I think she’s beginning to see. A late start at 10 years, but I think I’ve got enough time to teach her before she’s too old to reach.”

“That’s a good match for my mystery Obscurling. What d’ya think she could be?”

Mythos rests his elbow on his knee and his skull on his fist, watching their respective cases. “Possession?”

Fable shakes his feathers out, “Then it’s the quietest specter I’ve encountered. I’ve been her guide since she outgrew Lullan.”

The skeleton agrees with a “Mmm. Yes, nothing would’ve gotten past a lullaby. What’s that?” he asks, motioning with his other hand.

Down on the sidewalk across the street, the girls have stopped in front of the hardware store’s window. 

The crow turned his head to get a better look at the flyer taped up in the window that has their attention.

“It’s spelled and they both can see it,” Fable squawks. 

Mythos’ jaw opens in his version of a grin. “Well, I’ll be. Ask, and the Veil answers.”

“I’m gonna go,” Eleanor tells Michelle, motioning to the show flyer she’d seen on Tuesday.

Michelle’s eyes widen. “I know it’s Halloween but don’t you have a curfew?”

“Well, I don’t actually know. My aunt’s never really said so. It’s never come up. But I don’t think she’ll be home anytime soon. She was just here last weekend.”

“No one’s home? You’re all alone?” Michelle’s eyes have grown to saucers.

“Yep. I used to live with my Gramma but she died three years ago. And now that I’m older and not really any trouble, Auntie Lou’s been traveling more for work.”

“Are you lonely or is it fun and cool?” Michelle asks.

“Both,” she answers without hesitation.

Michelle looks at the flyer and turns to her, “I want to go too, but I don’t know how to do it without getting in trouble.”

“You could say you’re staying over at my place, but they’d want to talk to my Aunt, right?”

“I will figure something out,” she says, pulling out her notebook and writing down “Badger’s Combe” with an underline and an exclamation point. Seeing a curious look on Eleanor’s face she adds, “I have a bad memory sometimes. Or, things aren’t always how I remember them?” she shrugs. “Something like that.”

Eleanor can’t help but think that she had the best memory out of everyone in their class but doesn’t want to argue. “So what’d you need to get here?”

“Oh, they ordered a part Ma came in for last week they didn’t have in. She said it’s not heavy. Plus she gave me money for Goat’s. If you don’t wanna come into the store I can meet you there.” 

The thought of being out of Michelle’s sight, out of Michelle’s mind, gave her an ache in her stomach. “I don’t mind coming in.”

The other girl smiled and held open the door. 

Fable took a quick swoop for a closer look at the flyer once they were inside and clacked his beak in annoyance, finding it nearly as illegible at eye level. He perched above the hardware store door as the girls left, bag in hand, and crossed over to the coffee shop. Mythos joins him silently in their continued observation. 

Goat’s, or “Le Café de la Chèvre” as the sign reads, one of the oldest businesses in Melitown, has the age and atmosphere of a Toulouse-Lautrec painting and the best espresso in the state. The temptation of its cookies is what the girls have come for, but it’s the proprietor the Obscure in town find the most irresistible of its charms.

“Good afternoon, mademoiselles,” purrs a voice from behind the counter as the bells on the door finish their greeting.

“Hello!” they return in unison, eyes riveted to the display case in front of the owner, too young yet to be struck with the inevitable infatuation of a willing heart when faced with the intrigue of an ancient distinguished devil.