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Heather stood on the street corner, eyeing what was once The Gallery of the People. The ground was slick with cold winter rain. What’s the worst that can happen? she thought. He sends me away? She braced herself in the cold air and walked to the front door. She knocked politely twice and stood back.
A minute passed. She looked around. He’s in there. He’s never up and about later than this. She leaned in and knocked twice again. Just remember the script.
Another minute passed. She was getting ready to turn when the door cracked open. “State your business,” said a deep voice.
Heather smiled slightly. That’s an adopted voice, she thought. He wants me to be intimidated and leave. She smiled to herself. Not gonna happen.
“I know who you are,” she said plainly. “I don’t want to threaten what you have.” She looked pleadingly at Morty’s face through the cracked door. “I just have a few questions.”
The door quivered as though it would close. “Why should I answer your questions?” came the voice, still with a deep affectation.
“No reason,” said Heather sweetly. “But I’m not who you think I am, and I might be able to help you.”
“I don’t need help,” said Morty in his deep voice.
“Morty,” said Heather, pretending to lose her patience, “you don’t need help, but you could use it.” She glanced down, then met his narrowed eyes. “I have a job that needs two people. I need someone who can lie.”
The door swung open a few inches. “If you’re talking shop, you better come in,” he said. Heather pushed past him and into the building.
Inside, the gallery had been converted into a grand apartment. There were lounges and overstuffed chairs everywhere. Wooden clothing dummies held colorful, ostentatious outfits like the red-and-blue suit Morty was wearing. The counter area had been changed into a small kitchen area, and Heather could see a wide bed in the backroom.
“I like what you’ve done with the place,” she said casually.
“Careful now,” said Morty, scolding. “I don’t like being played with.”
“No game,” said Heather innocently. “It makes a better apartment than a gallery,” she lied.
“I like it well enough,” said Morty, glancing around. “So what’s the job?”
Heather smiled. He’s already in, she thought. He doesn’t know it, but he’s in.
“I’ve been working at the office for farm records,” explained Heather. “theres an opportunity.” She grinned performatively. “Were hitting them when theyre heaviest in coin.”
“Rookie mistake,” said Morty disapprovingly. “You hit them on the day it hurts most and they know you had inside information. Suspicion falls to who they knew knew about it. You take it, say, tomorrow night–it looks like bad luck. No further suspicion.”
Heather nodded, her eyes narrowed. “But they don’t know I know,” she said plainly.
“You don’t know that they know that you know,” corrected Morty. “Doesn’t mean they don’t know.”
“Fine,” said Heather. “We do it tomorrow night.”
“Well,” said Morty, “about that. I don’t know you. Why should I trust you? How do I know this isn’t a setup?”
Heather swallowed hard and put on a performative grimace. “I guess I can’t prove it’s not,” she said sadly, “but look–I really just want to learn from you.”
Morty cocked an eyebrow. “Learn from me?” He looked around suspiciously. “Learn what?”
“I’m a con too,” Heather said quietly. “But I’ve never talked someone out of a whole building before. I want to learn.”
Morty laughed wickedly. “Ah, come to learn from the master,” he said. “Hey, I recognize you now. You worked here, right?”
Heather nodded apprehensively. “Yeah, that was me.”
Morty chuckled. “I bet I totally messed up whatever you had going here,” he said, apparently proud of himself.
“It took me a while to find something to replace it,” said Heather emotionlessly.
“Well, that’s your next mistake,” said Morty. “You shouldn’t have an honest job if you can support yourself.”
“It keeps me from taking unnecessary risks,” said Heather. “I think it’s wise.”
“Keeping you from taking risks is holding you back, kid,” said Morty. “Knowing that every job is all that separates you from going hungry–that’s what keeps you sharp. Tell me, kid–”
“You keep calling me a kid,” said Heather fiercely. “I’m not a kid.”
“You look maybe fourteen,” said Morty.
“I’m eighteen,” said Heather. “I’m an adult.”
Morty shrugged. “If you say so, ki–sorry, what’s your name?”
“Heather,” said Heather, “but I work as Blossom.”
“Heather?” repeated Morty. “That’s not gonna work. You need a name for when you’re with folks like us.”
Heather nodded. “You mean, like a name for other cons?”
“Criminals of all stripes,” corrected Morty. “For instance, you met me as Morty. That’s like your Blossom. You just told me Heather is your real name, which you shouldn’t have done. I won’t tell you my real name–that’s how you get caught. No, when I work with other enlightened types, I’m Xander.” He gestured to the wooden dummies along the wall. “And I believe you already know the lesson about clothes, right?”
Heather smiled thinking about the collection of dresses she had amassed. More options than Xander has, she thought.
“I’d say so,” she said. “I guess I just need more names for the clothes.”
“Names are surprisingly tricky,” said Xander. “You think about your professional name a while, and you let me know before we start the job tomorrow. See you here tomorrow night?”
Heather nodded. “Looking forward to working with you, Xander,” she said.
“Sure,” said Xander distractedly. “See you then.”
Heather nodded and turned, waving. She headed out the front door and heard it lock securely behind her. She smiled as, looking around, she saw the first wide flakes of snow begin to fall. The snow dissolved almost as soon as it hit the wet cobblestones, but as they piled up, there were soon drifts of snow coating the streets of Thistlewade.
That went surprisingly well, she thought. Unless he’s conning me and I don’t know it. She glanced around again and set off through the snow for the marketplace, where she always seemed to go when unsure of what else to do.
—
Heather wound past the various stalls in the marketplace and thought to herself. I used to come through here looking for things I could never hope to afford, she thought. Now, everything is boring because I can afford it. She eyed a jewel-studded hair clip and shrugged to herself. What would be the point? I live in an inn. I can’t sell that I’m rich enough for that without attracting trouble. She thought of the diplomat’s seal in her bag. Maybe soon, she thought. Doesn’t feel right yet. A curious vendor caught her eye, and she stepped off the main thoroughfare to investigate.
“Hawks like this can hunt any sized prey up to a decent dog,” said a grizzled dwarf. “With just a bit of training, you could hunt without having to move.” Appreciative “oohs” and “ahhs” went through the crowd. The dwarf grabbed a glass case and held it up. “This is a hedgehog,” he said, “but trained to sniff for useful food like a pig. You could forage for less feed.” He smiled theatrically. “And this,” he said, lifting a glass case with a linen sheet over it, “is something scary. Don’t make any sudden moves after I remove the sheet.” He pulled back the sheet to reveal a brown snake with black stripes and an angular head. “This is a special type of snake,” said the dwarf. “An asp, in fact. Her stings are incredibly lethal, but the sting is very enjoyable,” he said. “It was used for executions for a time in my land,” he added, “at least until hangings became the way of the land.” The snake blinked slowly in the muted winter light. A young boy craned his neck closer to the glass, and the asp struck violently at the glass, the boy jumping back. “Careful now,” said the dwarf, amused. “The glass will protect you, but I can’t.”
Heather smiled. The sting is very enjoyable, she thought. That seems important. But I definitely don’t need a pet snake. She stopped, and her eyes lit up. Pet, she thought. That’s what I need, is a pet. If only the inn would let me keep one.
She wandered away from the vendor and wrapped her cloak around herself more tightly. The winter wind was picking up, and she tried to watch where she was stepping as much as she watched the oncoming foot traffic. She dodged a puddle and looked up. It was her mother.
Maybe she won’t see me, she thought. Maybe if I slowly turn around, I can–
“Heather!” called Lily. “Is that you?”
Heather sighed and waved to her mother. “Hey, Mom.”
“What are you doing out with weather like this?” scolded Lily. “You’re bound to catch cold.”
“I’ll be fine, Mom,” said Heather. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“My leg is acting up,” said Lily, rubbing her left thigh through her skirt. “Old injuries always get worse when it’s cold.”
“Why are you out walking on it?” countered Heather. I didn’t see her limping just now.
“I needed to get some ingredients for soup,” said Lily.
Soup, Heather thought. The easiest way to stretch one day’s food into three. Some things never change.
“Well, I could bring them to you,” said Heather reluctantly. “You should be resting.”
“That’s very sweet, Heather,” said Lily, “but I’m obviously no longer your concern.”
Heather scowled. “Mom, that’s not fair. It’s obvious you don’t want me at home–”
“And why should I?” pouted Lily. “You seem so much happier off on your own. Why should I destroy my child’s happiness?”
Heather sighed. “IIf that’s how you see it,” she said heavily. “I don’t want to argue.”
“Well that’s new!” cried Lily sarcastically. She glanced down, then back at Heather, and her expression was now more neutral. “Where are you working these days?” she asked after a moment.
“Down at the agricultural office,” said Heather guardedly after a second. “I record the yields of farmers.”
Lily frowned. “That sounds like honest work,” she said eventually.
Except for the part where I record incorrect amounts and pocket the difference, thought Heather.
“I’m not a monster, Mom,” said Heather, pained. “I’m just different from you.”
Lily seemed to consider this for a second. Then, suddenly, she said, “I never called you a monster.”
But you’ve always acted like it, thought Heather. You don’t have to say it when you say the rest of what you have to say. She slumped her shoulders. Not worth fighting.
“I guess you didn’t,” said Heather. “I hope your leg feels better.” She turned to walk away.
“Heather, wait,” said Lily. Her expression locked desperate for a moment and then settled. “You’re, what, seventeen now?”
“Eighteen,” said Heather. At least she was close.
“I missed out on the younger years,” said Lily. “I don’t want to miss out on these years too.”
Heather regarded her mother curiously. “You mean . . . ?”
Lily shrugged emphatically. “I mean . . . can you visit more often?”
Heather considered. I haven’t been to the house in three years. What’s different now?
“I can try,” said Heather. “I work weird hours now. But I can try to stop by.”
“Come by for dinner tonight,” said Lily. “Your father would be so pleased to see you.”
Heather thought of her father. It has been a few weeks, she thought. “I’m busy tonight,” she said, thinking of her appointment with Xander. “Tomorrow?”
Lily scowled for a moment, then nodded politely. “Tomorrow is fine, I suppose,” she said. “Now do get out of the cold.”
“And you get off that leg,” said Heather.
Lily smiled reluctantly, then chuckled. “I will,” she said.
The two women parted, Lily limping performatively down the street towards the market, and Heather heading back to her apartment for a costume change. And when Heather set out again, this time for the municipal district, the snow was coming down in great flurries that threatened to white out the world of Thistlewade.
—
Heather stepped out of the Agricultural Office of Thistlewade, straightening her long burgundy cloak. It had been a long shift–many farmers had rushed shipments to the city, fearing that the snows would damage their existing crops. But with a busy shift came benefits. Heather imagined that she could feel the weight of the coins she had netted in her knapsack. Good take, she thought. Zenna would be proud. She glanced around the square before her and made for the ramp down into the lowest tier of the city.
She arrived at Xander's fine apartment and knocked twice. A moment later, the door swung open, a stranger holding the door. It was an old man, his hair greying at the temples, in a swinging dark blue cloak, several golden baubles hanging from it.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Heather, gesturing behind her to the snowy drifts on the cobblestones. “I was looking for–”
“For me,” said Xander’s voice from the old man. Heather eyed him closely. The eyes, the nose, she thought. It’s greying powder.
“Hello, Xander,” she said quietly.
“Come in,” he said politely, holding the door open for her. “Do hurry, it’s chilly.”
Heather walked inside, stamping her boots at the entryway and sending clumps of snow on the ground. “You ready?” she asked.
“Fill me in,” said Xander. “All I know is that you have an idea.”
Heather smiled. “So, there’s a–”
“Wait,” said Xander. “You come up with a name?”
Heather looked down. A name, she thought. Who should I be?
“Don’t tell me you got nothing?” said Xander. “Nothing inspires you?”
Heather considered. Mask? Too obviously a con. Greenleaf? Don’t want to sound green. She thought of her time in the market, and she smiled.
“Asp,” she said finally.
“Ass?” said Xander, laughing. “That’s your name?”
“Asp,” corrected Heather. “Like the snake.”
“Never heard of it,” said Xander casually. “Why a snake?”
“Because,” said Heather, “its bite feels good.” She smiled devilishly. “It kills you, but you like it.”
Xander laughed mischievously. “That’s good, Asp, very good.” He looked her up and down. “Small, but scary. I think that’s it.”
“So the job,” said Asp, all business. “There’s a farmer who brings in lots of luxury crops. Goreman,” she said. “He’s growing all these fancy things that have high import rates.”
Xander held up a hand. “Import rate?”
“What the city charges to allow your goods to market,” explained Asp. “He keeps complaining about how high the fees are. I was thinking that we could get him to pass us a small portion of that fee for my entering it dishonestly and saving him loads of money.”
Xander nodded, then furrowed his brow. “Good so far,” he said. “But why do you need me?”
“In case he doesn’t like the plan,” said Asp. “Then I can stay at the job all nice and innocent, and nothing is lost.”
“So I propose the deal to him?” asked Xander. “That’s it?”
“I can’t do it myself and be sure I keep the job,” said Asp. “I’ve thought this through. It’s the only way to be safe.”
“Look, Asp,” said Xander impatiently, “you’re smart, obviously. You’ve been supporting yourself as a con for a while, I imagine.” He sighed. “You gotta get over this reliance on legal work. It’s only gonna hold you back.”
“You’re pretending to now know what I mean,” said Asp pointedly. “I get legal money from the job, and I get on the side money. I don’t know how you did what you did.”
“Did what?” asked Xander. “What secret do you think I know?”
“You picked this place, walked in, talked your way into owning it, and now it’s just your home,” said Asp. “What’s your cover story for owning it?”
Xander smiled wickedly. “You’re gonna hate me for saying it,” he said after a moment, “but it’s because I gave up on stable work.”
Asp exhaled angrily. “You’re right. I do hate that.”
Xander laughed. “Asp, listen–what was the last really big job you pulled?”
Asp thought about it. The machine shop lockbox, probably. But that was years ago now. Shit, is he right?
“I dunno,” she said finally. “You made your point.”
“Do this for me, Asp,” said Xander. “Or rather, do this for yourself. Let’s do the job tonight, and you quit your job at the farm office as soon as the money clears. Okay?”
Asp sighed. If it means moving up in the world, she thought. Fine. “Okay,” she said passively. “Assuming everything goes to plan, I stay at the office until Goreman’s paid up.” She gestured with her thumb over her shoulder. “Then I’m gone, and it’s all work from there out.”
“Relax,” said Xander playfully. “Dishonest work pays better. You’ll be working less for more payout. I guarantee it.”
Asp nodded. “Ready?”
“Ready,” said Xander. “Lead the way?”
Asp nodded again. “Follow me,” she said. And she led Xander out into the snowbank-lined streets, skirting towards the section of town known as Midford. City streets gave way to dirt paths, and the many buildings became simple pastures and fields. And by the time that Xander and Asp had walked silently along the quiet roads to Goreman Farm, she was already beginning to feel as though Heather were drifting away from her, the name Asp slowly settling in around her.
—
Asp kept her ear pressed against the fine farmhouse door.
“What I am proposing is less a legal matter, you see,” said Xander smoothly from inside. “I am discussing a moral matter.”
“You can dress it up any way you want,” said Goreman. “At the end of the day, you’re asking me to commit a crime.”
Stubborn bastard, she thought. He was all for it until he realized he’d have to lie.
“I don’t see it that way,” said Xander. “I am telling you that I can help you make more money, and without breaking any rules that the gods keep for us. Is it right that you should have to pay more for finer goods?”
“Well, no, Henrik,” said Goreman. “But what if we get caught?”
Oh, he’s in, thought Asp. That question means he’s in.
“We’ll never get caught,” said Xander. “I have someone on the inside who will make sure of it.”
“The old man?” asked Goreman curiously. “He’s in on it?”
“I won’t reveal my inside help,” said Xander playfully. “But you can rest assured that we work in the utmost of discretion.”
“It is the old man,” said Goreman. Asp smiled outside. “Well, I don’t know.”
“Is it a matter of the numbers, Mr. Goreman?” asked Xander.
“I mean,” began Goreman, “it’s not that exactly–”
“Then what is the cause of your hesitation?” asked Xander. “If you like the idea, and you like the money, what’s left?”
Goreman sighed. “So I pay you ten gold now, and you get me twenty gold in import tax cuts?” he asked.
“That’s right,” said Xander. “You say the word, and the money starts coming in.”
“Fine then,” said Goreman. “Do it.”
“You won’t regret this,” said Xander. “The payment?”
Asp heard Goreman moving around inside. “A little privacy?” said Goreman.
“My eyes are closed,” said Xander.
Asp heard some sounds, rummaging around and a drawer closing.
“Here,” said Goreman. “Ten gold pieces. This better be worth it.”
“It will be,” said Xander. “Now, you have a lovely night, Mr. Goreman.”
“When will I see you again?” asked Goreman.
“You won’t,” said Xander, his voice nearer the door. Heather retreated to some high reeds away from the door. “But the money will come in.”
“Very well, Henrik,” said Goreman. “Good night.”
Xander pushed the door open and strode outside. He eyed a wet pile of snow and stepped around it. He walked down the muddy path back to town. Asp joined up with him a minute down the road.
“That went pretty well,” she said.
“Not bad,” said Xander.
“The ‘you won’t regret this’ was a little much,” Asp said.
“It works,” said Xander passively. “You’d be surprised.”
“The more he resisted, the more confident you got,” said Asp. “How did you do that?”
Xander laughed. “You gotta be the opposite of their energy,” he said. “They get quiet, you get loud. And vice versa. You gotta balance out to two average people.”
Balance out, she thought. Worth a try.
“About your share,” said Xander. “Since I did the heavy lifting, I want a bit extra.”
“It was my job!” said Asp sharply.
“And you’re my apprentice,” said Xander pointedly.
“I’m not your apprentice,” she said. “I asked for a little help.”
“Then you’re my student,” said Xander. “Look, you get some, just not all.”
“But it was my job!” insisted Asp.
“Then you should have done it yourself,” said Xander. “First rule of working together: you negotiate shares before you work.”
“Fine,” said Asp. “But if we work together again, the terms are gonna be different.”
“‘If?’” asked Xander. “We just made a load off of nothing. Farm data?” He laughed bitterly. “We’re too good together to make a score and leave it behind.”
“If,” repeated Asp. “I’ll come back by if I want your help again.”
“If you say so,” said Xander. “I expect to see you back in a week’s time.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” she said. “My share?”
Xander smiled and counter three of the gold pieces into Asp’s hands. “There you are,” he said playfully. “Three gold’s not bad for having an idea, right?”
Asp shrugged. I guess he’s right, she thought. It should be enough. “Not bad,” she conceded. “See you ‘round.”
“Later, Asp,” said Xander, turning sharply onto the cobblestone road before them. “Don’t spend it all in one place!”
Asp smiled ruefully to herself. It’s all going to one place, she thought. She hurried home, dodging piles of snow and splashing in muddy puddles as she went. Good thing we did the job today.
And she crept tiredly into her room at the inn, falling onto her bed, asleep before she could bundle the covers around her.
—
It was noon the following day. Huge puddles were everywhere, and city workers were still pulling sheets of wood onto heavily-trodden walkways so that people could pass by without stepping into halfling-deep puddles. Asp carried a reed basket with a folded cloth overtop along one of these walkways, hearing the incessant clomp clomp clomp as footfalls landed on the boards. At least it’s warming up, she thought, rubbing her arms. Probably the last snow of the season.
She climbed the walkway up the ramp into the municipal district. Open-coated men carefully carried barrels on their shoulders down past her, breathing heavily and creating puffs of frosty air before them. I hope I’m not late, she thought and hurried on.
She arrived outside the Thistlewade prison and looked around. There were perhaps a dozen strangers standing apart from one another around the entrance. I’m not late, thought Asp happily. She let the basket sway slightly in her hand and watched the door.
A few minutes later, the door swung open. A sour-looking man with a grizzled beard stalked out of it, sighted a middle-aged halfling woman, and walked towards her. A moment later, a young boy, probably eleven years old, walked uncertainly through the door, hesitated, then jogged to a middle-aged man, who hugged him tight. A woman with long blond hair stepped outside and walked forward, staring at the ground. Asp waved to her but couldn’t catch her attention. She walked over to intercept the blond woman.
“Hey Agnes,” said Asp gently.
Agnes started. “Oh, Blossom,” she said, composing herself. “Fancy meeting you here.” They resumed walking away from the prison.
“I heard you were getting out today,” said Asp soothingly. “I thought you might want to see a friendly face.”
Agnes laughed lightly. “Yeah, I guess I should,” she said, her voice distant.
“Hey, uh, the guards were pretty tight-lipped,” said Asp. “Why’d your sentence get stretched? It was a whole year!”
Agnes breathed in sharply, then sighed. “Doesn’t matter,” she said in a low voice.
Asp furrowed her brow. Why doesn’t she want to talk about it?”
“Okay,” she said slowly, “where do you wanna go first?”
“Food,” said Agnes. “I haven’t had real food in ages.” She glanced at Asp. “What’s with the basket?”
Asp blushed. “It’s for you!” she said. “A getting out present.”
Agnes giggled, her face suddenly brighter. “You dork.” She pulled back the cloth. “Some snacks, a new set of lock picks, a fancy coinpurse–” She poked at the coinpurse, and it made a clinking sound as three gold pieces’ worth of small coins shifted inside. “Is there money in here?” she asked, serious.
Asp tried to look innocent. “It’s stuff you’ll need to get started again,” she explained. “I know your keys got taken, and I knew you’d be hungry but have no money, and you’d have no place to stay, so I thought it would be nice to have all that when you get out.” She shrugged. “Don’t you like it?”
Agnes smiled gently. “You’re a real friend, Blossom,” she said.
Friend, thought Asp numbly. A real friend.
“It’s Asp now,” she said delicately.
“You’re not Blossom anymore?” asked Agnes. “You get burned?”
“No,” said Asp firmly. “I’m Blossom to the world, Heather to my family, and Asp to people like us.”
“Smart,” said Agnes. “If I could keep all those names straight, I’d do it too. But I would never learn to answer to another name.”
“It just takes work,” said Asp. “Anyway, it’s Asp. With a P.” She smiled. “Where to now?”
“I got a line on a job when I was inside,” said Agnes, looking up and down the street. “I gotta go meet somebody.” She pointed down the road toward the Vineyard District. “See you ‘round.”
Asp put on a smile. “See you, Agnes,” she said weakly.
Agnes turned and took a few steps, then stopped. She turned and held up the basket. “Hey, thanks for the gift,” she said happily. “You’re the best.”
Asp’s smile became genuine. She watched as Agnes turned and walked away. She looked at the footprints Agnes had left behind and sighed. A moment later, she nodded softly to herself and began to walk towards the lower class neighborhoods.
She stepped up to her parents’ door and knocked twice.
“Is that you, Heather?” called Lily. “Come in.”
Asp opened the door and walked inside. Her father was reading the paper at the table, scratching at the grey hair on his head. Lily was stirring a pot of soup which looked practically clear. Her face was creased, most especially on her forehead, making her look concerned.
“Hey, Mom,” Asp said. “Hey, Dad.”
Cedric looked up and smiled. “Sweetie!” he cried. “So good to see you.”
“Heather, take off your coat and sit down,” said her mother. “We were just about ready.”
Asp took off a heavy coat and a wool jacket and hung them on a hook by the door between her father’s coat and her mother’s shawls. She brushed at her dress, a tight green number she had picked up recently after a successful score. She stepped back around into the kitchen.
“So, Heather, how have you–oh,” said Lily. “Well, look at you.” She pointed to Asp.
“You’ve, um, grown,” said Cedric politely.
“Filled out, you mean,” said Lily. “When did this happen?”
“I’m an adult now,” said Asp as though entertained. “You missed the part where I became a woman.”
“I know the impulse, my dear,” said Lily disdainfully, “but just because you can dress like that doesn’t mean you should. I mean, you’re practically begging for strange men to approach you.”
“I don’t know what parts of town you go to,” said Asp. “I have no trouble like that.” Internally, she was fighting to stay confident. She had noticed glances and more than glances in the last year as her body had finally caught up to her mind. They made her uncomfortable. When men were the ones looking, anyway. But why should I change my behavior because of someone else’s?
“Heather,” said Lily calmly, “I will tell you again. You shouldn’t dress like that.”
Asp felt herself shrinking in front of her mother. She glanced to her father. His face was sour, but he was silent. No, she told herself. Balance her out. She’s calm. I won’t be.
“You know what, Mom!?” Asp thundered suddenly. “I think you’re afraid that I will meet some man, and we’ll fall in love, and we’ll have our own family, and you won’t be able to control me anymore.”
Lily looked shocked. “You think I can control you?” she asked. “When was the last time I controlled you?”
Asp glared at her mother. You think every moment I was with you wasn’t enough? It wasn’t enough that I let your expectations control me even when you weren’t around? Tears jumped to her eyes. “You’re controlling me right now,” Asp said bitterly. “You want to change what I wear, and how I feel, and how I talk to you.” She pointed an angry finger at her mother. “This is why I left, and this is why I’m leaving again. Because you can’t just let me be myself.” Asp stomped to the door and donned her jacket.
“Good,” retorted Lily. “Run off into the night. We don’t even know if you’re homeless these days, little girl.”
Asp silently put on her coat. She turned to the door.
“Heather, this is silly,” said Lily from the kitchen. “Can’t you talk to us for one night without blowing up?”
A tear slid down Asp’s cheek. She pushed the door open, and the cold air made the tear sting against her face. She stepped outside and began to trudge off along the least muddy path she could find.
The door swung open behind her. She turned. It was her father, slipping into his coat. He jogged a few paces to Asp, wincing as his steps landed. “Heather,” he said sadly.
“Hey, Dad,” she said, sniffling. “Sorry I couldn’t make it through dinner.” She chuckled ruefully. “Or even to the first bite.”
“Sweetheart, it’s okay,” said Cedric. “Your mother doesn’t like that she’s missed out on you so much. Seeing you now, different, grown up . . .” He sighed heavily. “It’s hard for her.”
It’s hard for you too, she thought. But you won’t say it.
“I get that, Dad,” she said. “But it’s the same story every time with her. I’m not good enough. End of story. It gets really old.”
“Do you have a place to live?” Cedric asked suddenly. “I don’t know if you would tell me if you didn’t,” he said slowly, and her eyes began to tear up again. “I just want to know you’re safe.”
“I’m fine, Dad,” she said, shivering slightly in the cold.
“I’d rather know the truth than think you’re okay and be wrong,” he said.
“You never questioned me telling the truth before, Dad,” she said after a moment. “I’m telling you the truth. I have nothing to worry about.”
“You have a place of your own?” pressed Cedric. “Not a public place?”
“I have an inn room,” said Asp. “It’s a good place.”
“I wish you had something of your own,” he said. “I could talk to the boss, see if we could build you something small at a discount.”
“No,” said Asp quickly. I hate handouts. It doesn’t feel good unless you earn it. “No, I’ll find a place. For you.”
He smiled. “Good,” he said. “When you feel like another try, come by for dinner.”
Asp laughed in a burst. “I’m sure she’ll have forgotten all about it by tomorrow,” she said playfully. “I’ll come by then.”
Cedric laughed too. “Take care, sweetheart.” He waved a hand at her. “Good night.”
“Good night, Dad,” she said. “See you soon.”
He smiled and turned, heading inside. She watched him go and turned to leave when she could hear her mother’s annoyed voice coming through the house’s frame.
Asp turned and walked out of the neighborhood to the market and walked a wide ring around the marketplace, one block away from it. Which one is going to be my new place? she thought. I’ve saved enough that I should be able to upgrade from the inn. She considered rows of quiet houses, some rickety and others solid, and frowned. There’s something wrong with all of these. Foundation problems, bad window settings, uneven doors. She smiled. It’s a good thing Dad taught me to look for all that. She rounded a corner and began to check the houses for problems.
After half a block of failures, she saw a row of brand new buildings, rounded squarish buildings with large windows and colorful doors. A sign before them read, “Thistlewade Acres Apartments - Fair Rental Rates for New Homes - Reduced Rate with Down Payment.” Asp smiled. It’s not a free home like Xander managed, she thought. But it will do.
And so Asp walked home in the cold night to gather her things and spend her final night at the inn.
I bet I never spend a night in an inn again, she thought happily as she finished packing. It’s all looking up from here.
You can read the next chapter here!
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