The dining room in the West household was a symphony of quiet elegance.
Silver gleamed under the light of a small crystal chandelier, and the only sounds were the delicate clink of fine porcelain and the measured tones of polite conversation.
Mia, still mentally replaying the Heatherstone meeting, pushed a piece of roasted asparagus around her plate.
"...and so, I've joined a club." she announced, deciding a carefully curated version of the truth was necessary.
Her mother, a beautifully preserved woman with perfectly coiffed silver-blonde hair, looked up with interest.
"A club? At the Aethelstan? Darling, that's wonderful! Which one? The Junior League? The Daughters of the Founding?"
Mia took a sip of water. "It's called the Oxford Club. It's more of a… discussion group. We talk about civic issues."
_And conceptual authorities that can un-write reality. But you know, civic issues._
Her father, a jovial man with a kind face who had made his fortune in "aetheric logistics" which Mia had long ago decided was a fancy term for 'making things go zoom', beamed.
"A discussion group! That's my girl. Getting out there, engaging with the world. Making connections. It's all about the circles you move in, pumpkin. Very proud."
_If only you knew the circle, Dad._
Mia thought, imagining his reaction if she described The Anchor's terrifying intensity or The Quill's dramatic pronouncements.
He'd probably try to sell them a shipping contract.
"What do you discuss?" Her mother pressed, ever the social strategist.
"Oh, you know," Mia said, her voice breezy.
"Urban planning. The… uh… philosophical implications of modern infrastructure."
_And whether or not a person can have the magical ability to make you forget why you walked into a room, but in, like, a super-evil way._
"It's very stimulating. The members are quite… diverse."
That, at least, was true.
_A human glacier, a Shakespearean actor who'd escaped a royal court, and a mysterious, brooding leader who might be a god or just a very stressed librarian. Quite the diverse bunch._
After dinner, she escaped to her room, a sanctuary of soft pastels, overflowing bookshelves, and the comforting, doggy smell of Biscuit and Chester.
The two dogs thumped their tails in unison from the center of her canopy bed as she entered.
"Move over, you fluffy hounds." she murmured, squeezing onto the bed between them.
Mrs. Albright had been in, the room was spotless, her clothes put away, and a fresh vase of flowers sat on the windowsill.
She lay back, and Chester immediately plopped his head on her stomach with a contented sigh. Biscuit, the more energetic of the two, tried to lick her face.
"Stop it, you beast." she giggled, squishing his furry cheeks between her hands. His tongue rolled out happily.
"Okay, okay. So... The club. It's not boring. It's actually… completely insane."
She looked from one dog's earnest, clueless eyes to the other's.
"The Anchor—that's the grumpy one with the glasses. He probably thinks I'm a brainless peacock. But he thinks that about everyone, so it's fine."
"The Quill is like if a poem put on a wig and started giving lectures."
"And The Lonely Saviour… he's so serious. It's like he's carrying the weight of the whole city on his shoulders."
She sighed dramatically. "And now they're talking about 'authorities.' Not like, the police. But like… superpowers. But, like, boring superpowers. The power to hide… concepts? Who even thinks of that stuff?"
Biscuit whined in sympathy.
"I know, right? It's weird. But it's also… the coolest thing that's ever happened to me." She hugged Chester tighter.
"Fifteen dollars. That's all it cost. For that, I get to sit in a fancy room and listen to people talk about the secret magical rules of the world. Best. Purchase. Ever."
She thought about Mrs. Albright, so normal and kind, tidying up her room.
Unaware her late husband's keys opened boxes full of cosmic secrets.
The world was so strange and layered, like a cake where you bit into vanilla and found… well, she didn't know what. Something not vanilla.
"I have to be smarter." she told the dogs, her voice firming with resolve.
"I can't just sit there looking confused when they drop reality-shattering bombshells. I need to… I don't know, read a book about philosophy or something. Or maybe just pay better attention."
Biscuit sneezed.
"Thank you for your support." Mia said dryly.
She gave both dogs one final, thorough face-squishing, feeling their warm, solid presence anchor her.
However terrifying and confusing the Oxford Club was, it was hers. And as she drifted off to sleep, surrounded by her loyal, fluffy companions, she decided that whatever 'authorities' were, she was glad she'd paid her ten dollars to be in the room where people talked about them.