Craumont, in my opinion, is much prettier under the sunlight. The

  nighttime view is just a chaotic scattering of light and smoke.

  But it really is , during the day. The buildings lining

  the main streets are decorated . Stone and brick

  isn't terribly interesting to look at, but they make it up with

  bright paints, decorated shutters, broad windows displaying all sorts

  of finery... and lots of flowers. Countless flowers, real and fake.

  Spreads of wildflowers in their flowerboxes sit near the steps,

  collecting the drippings from last night’s rain. Window boxes

  overflow with hanging vines, and in one case, a massive fern sits

  proudly at a blind corner. Some poor sod, nose buried in a book,

  walks straight into it and gets a mouthful of green for their

  trouble.

  And then of course, there’s the painted walls. Where the real

  flowers end, their impressions begin, climbing vines and beautifully

  impossible flowers bloom on the walls. A tradition that trickled

  through the Collapse, and one Craumont has embraced utterly. I find

  it hard to tear my eyes off a particularly breathtaking smatter of

  painted wildflowers.

  A pretty entertaining start to the day, at least for me and Helena.

  It’s pleasant enough for me to almost like Craumont. Just for a

  bit, though, and it makes my heart ache for the cities I’d made my

  home in the past five years. Anywhere but here, anywhere less

  burdened by memory. I'd even take the Ard Judician capital, and I

  quite literally tripped over a bureaucrat at least twice in my

  two-day stay.

  We don’t have much trouble finding Sharrow Avenue— not that I can

  really get lost, I've memorized every street— because I can smell

  the bakery well before it comes into view.

  That, and now that we can see it, it’s got a bunch of cute little

  tables outside and this lanky man shouting at half the passersby with

  more cheer than seemed reasonable. His embroidered apron just screams

  bakery, really.

  "They do wheat bread, some mornings. No potato flour at all,

  just like what we had last night. It gets really expensive, though."

  Helena tells me, taking a long sniff at the air. "It’s

  fantastic fresh out of the oven, and since I, um, fix Charlie and

  Marie’s aprons, they give me some for free sometimes.”

  I smile at that, lips held over my teeth. Back on the noisy main

  streets of Craumont, I can't just go around spooking the townsfolk.

  Er, cityfolk. There's a joke about dragons and Drakes in there, but I

  don’t plan to be a storybook villain raiding towns for gemstones

  and gold.

  "Huh. That's nice of him. You said it's not cheap around here,

  and I'll admit," I put a hand out, palm down, and wobble it in a

  'so-so' motion. "I'm not so keen on wasting coin on wheat bread

  every day."

  “Ah, I'm the same. I can't afford the more expensive food here,

  really...” Helena says quietly, putting a hand to a pocket. “Um,

  I feel like there was a but in your statement?”

  I snort, turning my outstretched hand into a thumbs-up before

  dropping it. "Yeah. Might pick up some extra for lunch and

  dinner while I'm here. I don't think I'm going to be in Craumont for

  more than a week, really.”

  We step to the side as a carriage rolls by, coachman ringing the bell

  a bit too loudly for my taste. At least they'd done their job of

  clearing the road, I suppose. The problem is when there's lots of

  them, bells ringing everywhere.

  "Did you come in by train, Ivy?" Helena asks suddenly,

  dragging me out of my internal whining. She has to crane her neck to

  meet my eyes, with how close we are, so I take a step to the side.

  I nod absently as we start walking again, taking care to step around

  what the horses had decided to deposit in their wake. I also pull my

  tail up, wrapping it loosely around my leg to keep it firmly off the

  street. At the same time, Helena's nose wrinkles, but I bat the smell

  away with a wave of Wind from my hand.

  "Thanks. Um, sorry, was I too quiet?" Helena repeats. Her

  eyes are focused on my hand. Probably staring at the scales and claws

  like everyone else, though they'll go away before long. Hopefully.

  I blink, shaking myself free of my thoughts once more. Focus, Ivy! "I

  guess you didn’t see my nod. Yes, I came here by train, and it was

  pretty late when I arrived. Why?"

  Helena pauses, tracing out a bunch of squiggles and lines with one

  hand. "Ah. Sharrow Avenue Bakery isn't... on the way between the

  Crawford Mansion and the station. How'd you see it, if you don't mind

  me asking?"

  "It's the Crawford Manor, not mansion," I correct,

  visualizing a map of the city. I need to figure out that trick with

  Lightning, leave little doodles in the air to draw out my path with.

  Okay, now to break this without getting a loud reaction from Helena.

  "Someone tried to mug me, actually. Had to head down to a

  station and report it, which was a bit out of the way." I say

  the last part quickly, talking over the beginnings of Helena's

  alarmed exclamation.

  "Tried to mug you?!" Helena repeats loudly, and I wince as

  a few passerby turn our way. She lowers her voice and gives me a

  worried look before continuing. "And you're alright?"

  I eye the rapidly approaching bakery and decide it's a bit too far to

  use that to brush it off. "Of course I’m alright. I think I

  ruined my old rain cloak, though.”

  “Oh, thank the— um, the Gods.” Helena gives me a wavering

  smile, awkwardly patting me on the forearm. “That you’re alright,

  I mean.”

  Do I brag here?

  I should brag here.

  “He even tried to cut me up along the arm, right—”

  “Lena! There you are, sweetie! And with a lady on your arm, hmm?”

  That guy outside the bakery is looking our way now, fixing us with a

  beaming smile. More accurately, he’s beaming at Helena (Lena, I

  guess?) and giving me a weird side-eye. If it was supposed to be an

  intimidating glare, the effect is ruined by his massive,

  flower-embroidered apron.

  ...I can't really get mad that my bragging was interrupted, but I

  pout anyways. Inside my head, where nobody can see it, of course.

  “Charlie!” Helena speeds up, rushing into a gangly hug from the

  man that is apparently the Charlie she’d mentioned earlier.

  I just shuffle around, keeping a polite distance while moving myself

  towards the door of the bakery.

  “Lena!” Charlie says again with a chuckle, just as loudly as

  before. His voice is slightly shrill to my ears, and his earlier

  side-eye is turning into a two-eyed glance. It starts with my face,

  moving downwards until I feel his eyes lock on to my tail.

  I flick my tail to the side, giving Charlie a polite nod. Maybe I

  should just go inside, pick up some food, let these two do whatever

  it is?

  “Mind introducing me to your friend, Lena? I feel like I’d

  remember a lady like this.” He clicks his tongue, gesturing broadly

  at me.

  Now I’m just confused, and from the looks of it, Helena isn’t.

  I’ll need to get an explanation later.

  Helena— Lena?— shakes her head emphatically, stepping closer to

  me. “Charlie, this is, um, Ivy. She helped me out last night, and

  she’s very interested in your bakery’s menu. Right?”

  “Right,” I say, for lack of anything better to follow that up

  with. I stick out an arm in greeting, fingers splayed wide. “Nice

  to meet you, Charlie.”

  Charlie looks at it, looks at my claws, and clasps my arm with his in

  greeting. He recovers his bravado almost instantly though, fixing me

  with a mock-stern look.

  “And you’ll treat Lena right, I’m sure. A pleasure to meet you,

  Ivy!”

  "Charlie!" Helena hisses. "Cut it out! Ivy, come on,

  I'm getting hungry."

  As we separate, I raise an eyebrow at Charlie, drawing on every ounce

  of my otherwise useless etiquette and poise tutoring to loom. "I'm

  hardly going to court a woman I met last night, Charlie. And I agree

  with Helena here. Got any recommendations for breakfast?"

  Charlie takes a step back, chuckling and rubbing his forearm. Gods,

  did I bruise him? I didn't even squeeze.

  He does a spin on the spot, swinging the front door to the bakery

  open and waving us in. "If it's breakfast you're here for,

  girls, Marie and Celine will treat you right."

  A wave of delicious, mouthwatering scent washes over us, pouring out

  of the door. Baked potato, potato bread, mixed bread, wheat bread...

  lots of bread, really, but there's a sweet and buttery undertone to

  it.

  My tail is lashing, clicking against the ground, and Gods I'm making

  that weird rumbling noise. Focus.

  "Celine?" Helena echoes, now recovered from her earlier

  blush. "I didn't know Marie had hired an assistant."

  Charlie gasps dramatically, putting a hand to his chest. It gets a

  little smile out of me, one I make sure keeps my teeth covered.

  “Lena! Marie works for me, as you well know. I hired Celine, and

  you’ll love her, sweetie.” He winks in my general direction.

  I give him an unimpressed frown as Helena giggles, and I take that

  moment to slip inside, batting the bell hanging on the doorframe as I

  go. Goodness, it’s an impressive setup they’ve got here, and one

  that instantly brings questions to mind.

  If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  The polished stone floors are normal, and they’re clearly well

  swept. That’s fine. There’s a few curious customers, some of

  which are holding confections I don’t recognize. That’s exciting,

  even if a few of them are giving me the expected sort of weird looks.

  A rather attractive young lady is standing behind a counter

  absolutely loaded with bread and confections, her bright expression

  and sharp features somehow fitting perfectly with the oversized apron

  and poofy hat that holds her hair. That’s... well, that’s

  pleasant. The baked potatoes sitting on a rack next to her are

  looking pretty tempting, too.

  What confuses me is that there is a phoenix with a chef hat manning—

  birding— the ovens. They’re handling the big spatula-thing with

  surprising grace, using their talons and bursts of flight to move the

  thing around. I wouldn’t be shocked if they were powering the ovens

  using their own feathers, given that’s what the phoenixes running

  the trains did. So, yes, I have questions.

  Namely, how is this the first time I’ve seen a phoenix as a baker?

  And more importantly to my curiosity, what are those big

  spatula-things called?

  “Were you in business five years ago?” I say, keeping my

  questions inside my head. “I feel like I’d remember a place that

  looks and smells this good.”

  “And this one feels like you would be remembered, scaly one,”

  trills the phoenix, cocking their head to look at me. “We do not

  serve meat pies, if that is what you came for.”

  Helena’s sidled up next to me now, her conversation with Charlie

  apparently over. “Sorry, Ivy, she’s a bit... rude. That’s why

  Charlie does all the talking.”

  I snort. “I’m used to it.”

  “Marie, please don’t insult the customers,” says the girl at

  the counter with a bizarre amount of cheer, giving me a slight bow.

  “Welcome to Sunrise Bakery! We’ve got our full menu today, though

  I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for anything glazed. The sugar

  came in a bit late.”

  “Everything is so, oh dear,” Helena sighs, eyes trailing over the

  display of bready deliciousness before turning back to me.

  After a moment, I realize she’s beckoning me closer, so I hurry up

  to the counter and lean forward to inspect the bread.

  “Ivy?” Helena says quietly.

  “Yeah?” I hum, tail curling forward as someone shuffles past

  behind us.

  “Would you mind if I— um, if we— got a fruit loaf,” Helena

  mumbles. “Nevermind.”

  I sigh, straightening and pointing at a delicious looking jam-filled

  doughnut. “I’ll have two of those, please. And a fruit loaf.

  Actually— Helena, do you want a doughnut too?”

  And, after a little bit of thought, I add, “Helena, Lena, whatever,

  I’m rich. I don’t go around biting people’s heads off, and I’m

  hardly going to get mad about a .”

  Helena mumbles a few words, straightens beside me, and beams. “Thank

  you, Ivy. You’re too kind.”

  "No, I'm not. Just an apology, and entertaining a guest," I

  wave it off, looking away. “It’s what a good host does, right?”

  Obviously, I buy the “fruit loaf” as well, though Lena ends up

  picking a baked potato instead of doughnuts. Her indecision ends up

  being a huge help, too; her three minutes of fussing were enough time

  for me to figure out what pocket I'd left my money in.

  "It's mostly instinct at this point," I say to Helena

  around a bite of jam doughnut. "Years and years of practice does

  that."

  I splay out a hand for her on the table, palm facing up, and push the

  tiniest bit of Wind through it. It's a little awkward, since I have

  to sit sideways in the chair due to my tail, but I manage.

  "So, the logic of magic becomes an instinct, with time, when

  using your body as a focus. That's fascinating. Do you think that

  applies to standard magecraft as well? Or to concepts you aren't

  natively attuned to? I wonder..." Helena has her rant-expression

  on, eyes practically sparkling in the sunlight streaming through the

  bakery window. She puts a hand over mine and closes her eyes.

  I feel a tug in my gut, and after a moment of hesitation, I release

  my hold. Wind shivers up Helena's hand, shimmering green as she wraps

  her own magic around it.

  Her eyes snap open, and the Wind dissipates. "Oh, that's much

  easier than accumulating it in the air, but I don't think I could

  cast a single proper spell with it. Are you limited to magic around

  your person, or, um."

  "I don't really have much range, not without pouring on a lot of

  extra energy. It takes a bit out of me." I shrug. "Is this

  helping at all?"

  "It is," Helena whispers, a current of... something, under

  her tone. "Thank you. Structures are a little hard to visualize

  without a reference. A few more of these, and..."

  The bell on the doorframe jingles, and Helena trails off. Recognition

  sparks in her expression, and she carefully takes her hand off mine.

  "Oh, Restoration bless me! You're alright," says a man from

  behind me. "I figured you'd be here, Eiches."

  Now that's a name. Sounds just like the letter H, but pluralized. Not

  nearly as cool as being named after a plant, in my opinion.

  Helena bites her lip. "Of course I'm fine, Jordan. Um, thanks

  for your concern?"

  Oh, that's quite a nickname she's got. From her sour expression, it's

  not her favorite.

  A few stamping steps later, there's a bulky man in a purple robe

  standing over our table. He's got short brown hair, brown eyes, and

  the tan of a farmer's kid. The sunburn of one too, with a big splotch

  of red on his nose.

  He stares at me for a moment, eyes flicking to the scales on my

  wrist, then down to my tail. I drag it across the ground as he

  watches, curling the tip to point up towards him. His lips curl, ever

  so slightly, but he visibly tamps it down.

  Jordan looks away, and turns to look at Helena. "You're not a

  full mage, Eiches, you're a tailor. Priest Dongbaek is worried about

  you. There's, —"

  Helena raises a hand, and sends an apologetic glance my way. "Helena.

  I'm Helena, you know I hate Eiches."

  I do my best to make a show of being relaxed, giving her a nod that

  is calmer than I feel.

  "Just teasing, Helena, relax." Jordan winks, shrugging.

  "But I’m still worried. You didn't see anyone at the Crawford

  Estate, did you? We couldn't get in last night to warn you."

  Oh, this is one of the intruders. Glad I locked them all out,

  honestly; this man is too punchable, and my temper was shorter than

  usual last night.

  "Warn me about what, Jordan? Um, the Crawford Manor has more

  defensive enchantments than City Hall or our church. I should be safe

  there." Helena sighs, looking down and away. "...you're

  making a scene. Please quiet down."

  Oh, so we are. Everyone's listening, I can see it in how they sit, if

  they aren't staring openly. Well, Marie isn't, but she's focused on

  baking.

  "That's the problem, Helena," Jordan insists at the same

  volume, waving Helena off. "Look. I know you aren't involved

  with the big stuff. But Amelia Crawford is back in town, and she's

  been trouble for us before. It's not safe to be up there."

  Amelia. I snort. "She'll be fine, kid. The House likes her, and

  I can make sure she's safe."

  Helena's expression is, to put it lightly, odd.

  "She’s been trouble?" Helena repeats, looking at Jordan.

  Jordan, however, is looking at me with a furrowed brow. "You’d

  want to stay out of this, Drake, trust me. Getting mixed up with the

  Dame is dangerous, and you wouldn’t understand just how dangerous."

  I incline my head, shoving down my instinct to stand up and snarl at

  the man. "That's a fair point."

  "What do you mean by trouble?" Helena says, louder this

  time. “Jordan.”

  "It's... complicated," Jordan says thoughtfully, "Some

  court troubles, years back. Don’t worry about it. They only really

  explained it to me last night. Just stay away from the Estate,

  alright? Now that she's back, we might even make some progress on

  the... nevermind."

  Helena stares at Jordan, something glinting in her eyes. Acting on

  instinct, I shuffle a boot forward to touch hers— I'm terrible at

  this reassurance stuff, but I can try.

  "Thank you, Jordan. Tell Priest Dongbaek I will be back before

  lunch. Um. Can I finish my breakfast now? You're making a scene

  still..."

  "I—" Jordan starts, frowning.

  I let a growl rumble out of my throat, just in time for Charlie to

  materialize behind Jordan.

  Charlie taps Jordan on the shoulder, and all that lanky height is

  suddenly being used to loom over the Restorer. "Sir. You're

  distracting my customers and scaring some of them away. Please

  leave."

  And, fortunately, he does. He even mutters an apology, though it was

  directed at the room rather than Helena. We eat in silence for a

  minute. I know the question is coming, and Helena is probably just

  gathering herself to do so.

  I'll do this on my own terms, I decide. Throw it all out there, see

  how long it takes her to run. Or, maybe I'll get lucky, and she'll

  ignore it like she does my scales and tail.

  "If you haven't—"

  "So who is—"

  We talk over each other, starting and stopping in an awkward game of

  bad nonverbal communication that devolves into a spurt of strange

  laughter. I can feel the tension ease around us, only to snap into

  place once silence returns.

  "You go," I say, waving at Helena. "You must have a

  few questions by now, huh?"

  "No, no. You go. I need to hear your side of, ah." Helena

  pauses. "I think we're talking about the same thing."

  “Yes, we are.” I let out a long sigh, my tail drooping onto the

  floor. It'd be really nice to just bull through and not deal with

  this. But I’d let myself get tangled up with a member of the

  Restoration Church like the fool I am. Better to say it now than lie

  and get hurt more later.

  "Amelia Ivy Crawford," I say, eventually, tracing a talon

  along the surface of the table. I can manage eye contact, but it’s

  a bit hard to hold it. “That’s my full name.”

  A pause.

  "I... I prefer Ivy, and no, I wasn’t trying to hide my

  identity."

  "Okay." Helena says simply. "And the— the

  ‘trouble’?"

  There it is. I square my shoulders, drag my mood back from the brink,

  and nod. "Yeah. Back before I left, I caused a bit of trouble

  for...”

  I hesitate, even though I know damn well I’m going to tell the

  truth regardless. We’ve got enough eavesdroppers that it might even

  go in my favor. Or maybe the rumors will swing against me, like

  before.

  “The Crawfords left a lot of things to your Church. Things that my—

  that they didn’t think much about,” I say evenly. Gods, a whole

  year and a half of my life down the gutter, fighting fang and claw

  for things the Church had no right to take. “A lot of things that

  were mine legally, including my home. So I took them back, and I got

  in more than a few scraps because of it. Nothing more to it.”

  Not quite a lie, not quite the truth. But the details of my parents’

  madness aren't her business, nor would she believe me.

  "Okay. I thought you were, um, a cousin, or something.” Helena

  says, trying to smile in return. At least it isn’t weighing too

  heavily on her, I think? "...What about now? They're my family.

  I... I can’t really stand for it if you hurt them."

  “Are they going to try and steal my home again, now that I’m

  here?” I say bluntly, arching an eyebrow. “Are they going to wave

  that damned will around to get what they want? I can’t make

  promises, Helena.”

  Helena sighs, looking away.

  Finally, she stands up, using one hand to tug her long brown hair

  over one shoulder. "Ivy. I... um, I understand. I really do. But

  I'll need some time to think, if that's okay?"

  Something aches in my chest, burning like Adamantine's own flame.

  Come on, Ivy, she’s not saying no. "Sure."

  "I'm sorry, Ivy. I just..."

  I laugh dryly, waving her off. "Don’t apologize. Just take the

  fruit loaf and go, my treat. The Manor's still open to you, and it’s

  big enough we won’t need to run into each other while you think. I

  get it, don't worry about it."

  Something squishes in my other hand, oozing out and sticking to my

  skin.

  It's half a jam doughnut, I reflect dully, watching the bright red

  goop spread across my hand. Distantly, I hear the rustle of fabric,

  and the door jingling.

  I don't know why I'm surprised. Drake Magebloods like me are rare,

  rare enough to draw curious gazes... and the changes are enough that

  almost nobody recognizes me. Of course Helena wouldn't recognize me

  as an enemy of her Church. Gods, it looks like I was old enough news

  that Helena didn’t know of me, though there’s probably something

  else to that. But being okay with scales, a tail, and claws didn’t

  mean she’d be okay with Amelia.

  My tail slaps the floor, once, twice, three times. I really should

  growl, let those feelings out, but I don't want to bother the bakery

  more than I already have. So, deep breaths instead.

  "So you're Amelia," I hear Charlie say delicately. He's

  holding out a washcloth of some sort. "You had red hair before?

  White hair suits you so much better.”

  I stand up, taking the washcloth and using it to wipe off my

  jam-soaked hand. "Thanks, and it does. It was one of the first

  things to change when I started Delving— and I'm Ivy now, not

  Amelia.”

  Charlie snorts, taking the towel back and holding it carefully by a

  clean corner. “Sweetie, nobody would believe you’re that willowy

  little thing from the courtroom cases, even if you did break that

  poor priest's nose. Now, are you going to chase after your girl, or

  what?"

  I could, I realize. But she needs time if she’s coming back at all,

  and... well, I am here for a job, aren’t I? I’d nearly forgotten,

  somehow.

  Shaking my head ruefully, I bend down to pick up my day-pack.

  Hopefully Benny packed something for sticky hands. "No. I'm here

  to do a job for Craumont, believe it or not, and I think it's time I

  stop messing around."

  “Ooh, now there's a juicy detail!”

  I'm halfway out the door, bell jingling, when Charlie speaks again.

  "What were you hired for? I need some gossip!"

  That drags a proper laugh out of me, one strong enough for me to pull

  myself together and get on with it.

  "What do you think? They hired a Delver to look at a Delve.

  Holes in the World don't fix themselves."