The day brought no headache or hangover, merely the sleep which Jasson has so desperately craved. He'd passed out with Scott, and maybe Clara? Either way, Jasson was quite sure that he had no alcohol tolerance. It had only been a few sips and suddenly the world was swimming.
Maybe the alcohol had compounded with the exhaustion?
Either way, Jasson was feeling better. All the way from opening his eyes to opening his phone. It was out of power. Right. His old light crystal had broken.
Jasson let his arm drop, phone flopping out as the seeping gray filled his soul. He wasn't okay. Just because his lights were on didn't make him less dead than his phone.
Sunlight streamed across his bedroom, lighting the wardrobe and desk. A gust of wind howled outside, contrasting the stuffy air in the room. A tray of hot food had been left on the desk. It wafted to Jasson. His stomach growled.
Jasson rolled over, knocking his phone to the ground. For a moment, Jasson considered picking his phone up. Considered getting up and grabbing some of the food. Maybe open the windows a bit.
He pulled the blankets tighter and dug his nails into his forearms. Then, with nothing else to do, Jasson teared up.
I hate myself, Jasson thought, why can I never just…do something right?
Soaking in his malaise, he watched the shadows change, shrinking as the sun approached noon. Time stretched, seconds of agony and hours gone painfully fast.
The door burst inward.
"You are getting up!" Petra declared, Clara behind her, "And we are going home."
Jasson gripped his sheets, mind flying as his nerves lashed against the intrusion.
"NO!" Jasson buried himself deeper, "Leave me alone."
Jasson winced as he heard Petra suck through her teeth. She was upset. Why was she always upset? And now of all times. She would launch a tirade upon him. Berating him for not being good enough.
But the explosion didn't come.
"Pick him up, Clara." Petra said, "You're missing a lot, Jasson. Harriett went to go check on the cats already. The Duchess is sending a shipment of lumber this afternoon, which Scott is escorting. The furniture arrives in a few days. We are not waiting for you, and you are not going to miss this event Jasson Boar. Winter is here, and the Manor is calling. Time to finish what we started."
Clara lifted Jasson easily, and Jasson curled up. He released the sheets as Clara carried him through the door. As he looked back, he saw Petra picking up his phone. Petra met Jasson's eyes, and Jasson looked away.
Why did she have to look like that? So…worried. Jasson hated when his mother kept worrying about him, and now he had friends like that. Why?
Jasson didn't want to have to be strong all of the time.
They entered an elevator, woven wood cage. A marvel of magic which he had not properly seen last night. Jasson looked around, but thoughts were interrupted as a sweet bun was shoved into his mouth, the pastry smearing across his face. He wiped the food off his face as best he could, then tried to chew with a dry mouth.
Food. Food was good.
"There you go," Clara said, "Sorry about the mess, but we couldn't wait any longer."
The elevator opened up as Jasson chewed, and they entered the welcoming hall. Jasson chewed and swallowed, and Clara wiped his face roughly with a napkin. Jasson itched to wash his face properly, but Petra had rushed ahead. Out the door. Into the sun.
And the wind.
Cold bit through Jasson's clothes. Like the wind from the storm, it whipped and reminded Jasson that he had grabbed a nice sweater from the Wet Rat Inn. From home. It had been in his backpack.
And it was buried beneath the rubble beside the Basilisk.
Ah well. Jasson thought, sagging on Clara's shoulder. At least I filled up my locker first.
Just as Jasson had resigned himself to being luggage all the way home, they stopped. There was a carriage, simple and unadorned, and a footman holding the door open.
"Everybody in!" Petra said, "Our days of walking are over."
****
The kittens had been neglected. Practically forgotten after their extra helping of food before Petra and Clara left for the dance. Nearly two whole days left alone.
And clearly, they had had a ball.
Harriett stood on top of the highest Manor wall. A portion of an archway which Petra had managed to stack before they left, the first stones of the grand doorway. Below were the mangled and half-chewed corpses of hundreds of monsters, placed on the proverbial welcome mat of the house.
Two sleepy giant kittens curled in the kitchen. One flaming, the other covered in frost. The mattresses burned and steamed, soaking wet, and the roof-tarp was nowhere to be seen.
Harriet's approach to the mountain was the easiest yet, practically a walk in the park. Most of the traps Petra had set were gone, leaving craters or mounds and a few scattered monsters by each. Harriett scratched her head.
Why had so many monsters attacked their mountain home? It wasn't enough to actually threaten them. Was it supposed to have been a distraction?
The kittens perked up, turning idly to watch the road up the mountain. Harriett turned herself and spotted a carriage slowly climbing up. It was one of the Peckishire gift carriages. And out front, walking before the carriage, was Petra. Scanning the ground for her detonated traps. The horses kept trying to go around Petra, but Petra would glare at them. Accusing them of cutting in traffic.
Harriett left her little fantasy and ran up, not even concealing herself.
"Don't bother." Harriett said, "The monsters triggered all of the traps in the roads. And in the woods. Really, the only ones left are on the lake bottom."
"Why did monsters attack?" Petra said, "There was nothing here except for the cats."
The fire kitten, still unnamed after all this time, approached slowly. Mewing softly. A small wound scabbed over his face.
"I'm just glad that the rain kept the forest from burning," Harriett said, "You should see the swaths this one laid. Great fields of ash and bones."
The carriage pulled past them as Petra waved them forward. Harriett saw Clara and Jasson inside, but no Scott. Harriett sighed. Last night had been too short of a conversation.
"You know," Petra said, "One of the major attacks was monsters invading from the sewers. And the rain was flooding the river flowing through the city. That river would have washed them up here, just like those cabbages."
Harriett nodded and said, "They probably climbed up here to get dry. Then got too dry, heh. We'll need to mount a search and destroy in the neighboring area."
"Or just finish the house," Petra waved them after the carriage, "Come on. We've got work to do before Scott gets here with the lumber."
Harriett followed, then froze and groaned. Of course.
Petra said, "What?"
"It's just that," Harriett sagged, heart dropping like a childless swing, "You and Scott will be able to build this place easily. It…it was supposed to be hard. Jasson promised a race to winter, desperate deals and bleeding fingers. Every room a struggle, every warm refuge a victory. We would suffer a tragic fire and then miraculously make a humble hut to survive in. It would all be worth it. But…it's going to be done before the end of the week. Isn't it?"
Harriett watched Petra stop, watched her process emotions which were all too familiar. Confusion. Disbelief. Humor. A deaf pity.
By the time Petra made a response, Harriett was no longer there.