"Oh, hey, Marion," Alice said. She lay spreadeagled on the rug. "Let me guess. You're not mad; you're disappointed."

  "No, I am mad. It's myself I'm disappointed in for expecting anything different out of you. But what you pulled today..." Marion shook her head and let out another puff of smoke. "Whenever I believe I have you figured out, you always find a way to break through my expectations to newer depths."

  "Can we not do this right now?" The world was spinning around Alice, and she wasn't sure if it was because of the booze or the million simultaneous thoughts in her head. “Can't it wait 'til tomorrow?"

  "I swear to Greg you're doing this all on purpose just to spite me."

  "What are you even talking about?"

  "You know damn well what I'm talking about. Or have you already forgotten?" Marion put out her cigar on the desk and walked to where Alice was lying. "Look at me when I'm talking to you, young lady."

  Alice rolled her eyes and then made eye contact.

  Marion was doing that thing where she had her chin up and looked down at you from under her spectacles.

  "So?” she said. “Do you have anything at all to say for yourself?"

  "Sorry, drawing a blank here."

  "The memorial! Gregory Almighty, are you on something right now? Is it mushrooms? Fern? Or snow or whatever the kids call it these days?"

  "No, geez, why do you always say that?" Alice sat up, then lied back down again because her brain felt like scrambled eggs. "And who cares about some stupid memorial? Dad is dead. He's not gonna care I wasn't there and the people who showed up don't give a damn about him at all; they were just there to kiss each other's asses."

  Marion looked like she was about to snap. Instead, she sighed and sat next to Alice on the floor. She leaned back on the bed frame. "I know we say that funerals and anniversaries are to help the deceased gain admission points to get out of purgatory, but they're for the living as much as they are for the dead."

  The only thing Alice hated more than Marion being snippy was her not being snippy. That’s what was terrifying. Alice then said some words of her own that she rarely heard come out of her mouth: "I'm sorry, okay. There. It won't happen again, for all it matters."

  The two of them sat quietly for a while, which Alice hoped meant this whole thing was over. Or maybe Marion just didn't accept apologies so readily. The ceiling swirled in a hundred directions.

  Then, breaking the silence, Marion said, "I know things can be… difficult this time of the year. If you had come, I'm sure you would have seen just how much of an impact Nigel made on those around him, and that would have been a comfort on its own. You should have seen it. Claudette had this beautiful speech prepared. The High Priest brought a plateful of bacon – Oh Nigel would have loved that bit. Fulvio even played his bagpipes. And Lois did a – Alice, what's going on with you?"

  Alice was hyperventilating, her nerves palpitating under her skin.

  Marion grabbed her by the wrist.

  "Nothing's wrong, I'm fine," Alice said.

  "You are clearly not fine. Did you actually take something?"

  "No! I'm just... I'm just…” Having a panic attack, she realized.

  Those two-faced, backstabbing bastards.

  “Marion, I need to tell you something.” Alice pushed herself to her feet. “Something very important."

  "What is it? Out with it, child."

  "It's not good news. This will come as a shock."

  Marion looked Alice up and down. Her eyes widened. "I just knew this day would come. Do you even know who the father is?!"

  "What? NO, it's not that. "

  "Then what is it? Spit it out."

  Alice paced around the room, her hands wringing. Thoughts of that night flashed back. Was it the wine that was poisoned? But then she drank it too. She recalled all the things Dad said that night. About wine cellars and injured birds and… Trust no one. The words ringed in her ears, crisp and clear.

  Marion was the first one who found them that night four years ago, but Alice never told her everything he had said. The case was chalked up to a heart attack, the gold placed into Alice’s college fund.

  Come to think of it, who gave Dad that bottle in the first place?

  "I don't know what you've gotten yourself into this time, but whatever it is, you will spare no detail." Marion stood.

  Alice gulped. "What I wanted to tell you is... I've got a, uh, job interview?"

  "Really? That's not bad news at all."

  "Yeah, that's right. I'm thinking about applying to a guild. A position in a, uh, assistant project management marketing sort of job thing."

  "Well, it's about time. So, when is it?”

  "The what?"

  "The interview."

  “Tomorrow, it’s tomorrow.”

  “What time?”

  “…morning?”

  "Then what the heaven are you doing carousing at this hour doing Greg-knows-what. Are you trying to break your record for stupid decisions? And take a bath before you go tomorrow. I can smell the vomit on you, girl. And for that matter, why don’t you…"

  Alice tuned the rest out. She pretended to listen and nodded at the end of each sentence.

  "Yes, of course," Alice said at an arbitrary point in Marion's lecture. "Well, I think I should go to bed. Don't want to be late for tomorrow, right?"

  "Certainly. I'll see you for breakfast," Marion said, turning for the door. On her way out, she took one last look at Alice. "And one more thing. Happy Birthday."

  The door clicked shut, and footsteps descended the staircase. Alice found a slice of cake waiting for her on the desk. It was chocolate, Dad's favorite.

  Alice was playing dragon chess with her father in his room. Except the pieces were all people in real life. The king was Francesca, and the queen was the queen, while the other pieces were knights and various cardinals from the church's council. Each time Nigel captured a piece, he swallowed it whole.

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  Alice looked up and found that she was a pawn in a much larger game of chess played by the hundred-foot tall figures of Francis and Fulvio. She helplessly watched from the sidelines as Francis captured Nigel and gobbled him up. It was all she could do to cry out, but her mouth was sewn shut. Then Francis picked her up as well and dropped her into his maw. She plunged into the void, the darkness swallowing her whole.

  In a blink, she was sitting in a tavern. She rubbed her eyes and looked around. It was the Tipsy Tiger, alright. From the smell of cheap booze to the bawdy minstrel music down to every last dinner table, game of dice, and mug tower.

  When she turned back, a woman was sitting across the table.

  Green hair flowed around her face and over her almond skin like vines off a tree. Pointed ears stuck out of the bushy hair like twigs, and her eyes eased into a smile. Violet eyes so dark you could get drunk staring into them.

  Those were features Alice only ever saw in one other place — a mirror.

  "You’re an elf," Alice said.

  The elf woman’s eyes widened. “Who told you?”

  “Um…”

  The woman laughed. “I’m joking, loosen up a little.”

  “I will if you tell me who you are.”

  “Forgotten again, have we? Granted, it has been a while.”

  "What do you mean? Where have I seen you before?"

  "In previous dreams, silly. You just keep forgetting 10 seconds after you wake up."

  "Wait. This is a dream?" Alice looked around. Everyone went about their business as usual. Dice clattered. Mugs clinked. They laughed, jeered, and got into drunken fisticuffs. But when Alice focused, she noticed their hands were blurred and their faces blank.

  "Yeah, I know. Pretty cliché, right?” the elf said. “But what can I do? This is the only way they'd let me share custody, and believe me, I would have tried going down there myself, but I just cannot get away from my parole officer."

  The elf woman took a chug of ale and hailed a ghostly tavern boy for another. "You want another mug?" She said to Alice.

  "Excuse me, but what the fuck?"

  "You're probably right. Not the best idea to be drinking now." The woman snapped her fingers, and the ale in Alice's mug turned to water. "You're going to need to be sober for what I'm about to tell you next."

  "Wait. How did you—”

  "What I'm going to do to you is called inception. It's when an idea is planted in your head through a dream without you realizing it. When you wake up, the idea pops into your head, and you rationalize that it must have been your idea. Like when I say 'don't think about purple elephants' and now all you can think about is purple elephants, you get me?"

  "Wha…?" was all Alice could manage at the moment.

  Before the elf could answer, the ground rumbled, and an unholy light smashed through the windows.

  "Sweet Mother of Me, I don't have much time left," the elf said. "Guess I'll have to stick to keywords.” She grabbed Alice by the shoulders and rattled her like a salt shaker. “CHOSEN ONE CHOSEN ONE CHOSEN ONE CHOSEN ONE CHOSEN ONE."

  "You don't have to shout!"

  The elf stopped shaking Alice and looked her in the eye. "Beneath the deepest darkest room of the library. That's where they keep the prophecy. Go look for it."

  Reality crumbled around them. More blinding light streamed from cracks in the roof.

  "I don't understand any of this," Alice said.

  "You're an idiot."

  "You're an idiot."

  Alice squinted at the source of the voice. She raised a hand over the blinding light, and the image focused into the shape of Marion standing over the bed.

  Alice groaned and pulled the blanket over her head. “Ten more minutes.”

  "You will get up right this instant.” Marion ripped the blanket from her arms. “Or do you want to be late?"

  At least that's what Alice thought Marion said. It was hard to tell with the birds chirping so loudly.

  Suddenly, the world spun, and Alice landed face-splat on the floor. She stumbled to her feet with great effort and tried to look at Marion's face. Her mouth was still moving, and sounds continued to spill out of it, but Alice couldn’t understand what the heck she was talking about.

  "I'm sorry, late? Late for what?" Alice asked.

  ""By Greg, have you forgotten already? It'd be a miracle if any respectable guild was willing to hire you."

  Alice let the information process in her brain for a good few seconds until the moment of clarity hit. "Ohhh, right, right, right. The job interview. I didn't forget, I misspoke last night – the interview isn't until this afternoon and not this morning. You know how muddle-headed I can be." She tapped her knuckles on her noggin.

  Marion inspected her for a moment or two. "Well, if you weren't so drunk, then you'd be able to think more clearly. And don't even think about taking a shot or two before the interview. I know you might think it would help with your confidence, but trust me, it never goes how you..."

  Alice tuned out the noise and watched as Marion assaulted the bedsheets. Alice grabbed the blanket out of her hand, mid-fold. “I can do that myself. Leave me alone.”

  "Have it your way." Marion pushed the blanket into Alice’s hands and then trudged to the door. "Breakfast is downstairs, but I'm afraid it's gone cold by now since you slept in.”

  Alice stuck out her tongue behind Marion’s back. Yeah, it was immature, but who cares?

  “As for me, I’ve been called into a meeting by the council, so I won’t see you again until tonight.” Marion stopped by the door. “I expect a full report by then.”

  Alice’s lungs sank into her stomach. The council. Francis and the others. Was she complicit? Alice always hated Marion, but she could never imagine her doing something like—

  "Alice," Marion said.

  “What? Oh, yes. Of course, I’ll tell you all about it.”

  Marion gave her one more appraising look, then left.

  In the mess hall, Alice had the cooks give her a new, hot serving of porridge paired with some sausage. She dug into it with gusto.

  The events of last night were hazy, so she ran them through her head in chronological order and reached the part where she puked on the graveyard shrubbery. And now for the moment of truth. She tried to recall every word of what was said in the High Priest's room and mentally collated all of the information into a bullet point list.

  One: High Priest Francis, along with his right and left hands, Claudette and Fulvio, orchestrated Dad's death. Who knows how many others were involved?

  Two: They used poison to kill him, which tracks with how he died. The most likely culprit was the wine he drank; however, she had also taken several sips of it.

  Three: They intend to use the same poison to kill the queen.

  A thought occurred to Alice. So what if they succeed? The queen isn't exactly a saint, and her administration’s craptastic anyway. No one will miss her. If the church doesn't do it, somebody else will. But she remembered something else.

  Four: From the sounds of it, they’d been conducting ‘inquisitions’ on innocent folk.

  What was it her philosophy professor once said? When something bad happens in the world, it’s the bystander’s fault… or something along those lines.

  The doors swung open, and in came the lunch rush from the latest mass. A nun Alice knew passed by and greeted her. Alice returned the niceties but winced internally.

  Anyone was a suspect. She was all alone in the world, so what the hell could she even do?

  Alice continued her meal in internal debate, and by the time she finished, she had decided that the best way forward was to try to get some more intel before taking any hasty actions. Perhaps she could rappel down again tonight? Or maybe something else. It felt like there was something just on the tip of her mind but it was hard to think with this fricking hangover, so she resolved to just go back to bed for now.

  She got up, stepped out to the hall, and was standing face to face with the wrinkled mug of High Priest Francis. Alice’s soul left her body.

  “Alice! I didn’t know you still lived here,” said a cheery voice.

  Alice had been so distracted she didn’t notice the girl beside him, none other than her holiness herself, Francesca Filch. She wore a plain white dress, her blonde hair falling in waves over her shoulders.

  "Good morning to you too, France— sorry, Your Grace," said Alice. After the briefest moment, she added an awkward curtsy with her nightgown.

  Francesca brushed aside the curtsy with a wave of her hand. "None of that now. It’s been ages. How’ve you—”

  Francis cleared his raspy throat.

  “Right,” Francesca said. “Sorry, Alice, can’t be long. Got a meeting.”

  “Meeting?” said Alice.

  “High council business,” said Francis. “Nothing concerning you.” He squinted at Alice in that way he did every time he saw her.

  “Of course.” Alice bowed her head to the priest, if only to avoid eye contact with him. Her back was sweating like crazy now.

  "Chosen One business, as it were,” said Francesca. “Oops, might have said too much.”

  Chosen One. The phrase rang bells in the deepest recesses of Alice's mind.

  She blinked and realized she was staring. "Well then, I best let you get to it. I've got stuff to do too."

  Francis was already tugging Francesca away.

  "It was good to see you,” said Francesca over her shoulder. “We should talk sometime. Catch up.” She waved goodbye.

  Francis gave Alice one last glare from the corner of his eye.

  When the two walked away from view, Alice let out a breath and leaned on the wall to keep from collapsing. She decided that miracles did exist because how else was she able to go through that whole conversation without punching Francis?

  Chosen One. Chosen One. Chosen One.

  Why did those two words keep cropping up in her mind? Then she remembered Claudette’s outburst of saying the Chosen One wasn’t ready. Ready for what?

  Ready to fulfill her destiny? If so, how did that have anything to do with their planned assassination attempt? If memory served, they kept the Prophecy of the Chosen One somewhere in the library. It could be something worth looking into. Yes, a quick peek couldn’t hurt.

  At that very moment, a purple elephant popped inexplicably in her mind’s eye.