Charles followed the pull on his gut which guided him like a compass through the silent city streets.

"I should have never listened to James," he muttered under his breath. "She is going back in the cage when we get home, got it?"

Juliette nodded, jogging to keep up with Charles' long steps. "I'm sorry, Mister Abbot," she said, and Charles could hear the sorrow in her voice. "I feel like this is my fault. She seemed nice and I thought... I thought maybe..." She trailed off.

Charles felt a pang of guilt at Juliette's admission and wondered if she'd overheard his conversation with James the night before. "It's okay, Juliette," he said. "She tricked all of us. Now we just have to make sure she doesn't trick us again."

The little girl nodded, a determined look on her face. "Can you tell how far away she is?"

"Not far," Charles said, guided by the bracelet's magick. They were moving deeper into the city, past crammed apartment buildings, closed store fronts, and a few open pubs. Eventually, the pull led him to an alley.

He hesitated. Light from a nearby gas lamp barely lit up the entrance; everything beyond the first few feet was bathed in shadows. At the same time, the pulling sensation in his gut lessened. "She's stopped moving," he said, "but I can't tell if that means she's arrived at her destination, or if she's lying in wait for us."

"I got this handled," Juliette said. She flexed her fingers and lightning danced along the tips.
"I'm not letting her fool me a second time."

Charles looked down at the young girl. He was grateful she was there, but he still could not shake the feeling that he should be protecting her, not the other way around. He checked his pocket quickly, making sure the emergency potions he had taken from James' cabinet were all in order. He refused to go into this situation empty handed. "Be careful," he said, and together they walked into the darkness.

The wet stench of the alley stirred up memories Charles had tried to suppress over the years: sleeping in a doorway during a rain storm, scrounging for discarded scraps of food behind restaurants, watching his clothes change colors and wear down to the threads, and the gritty sensation that clung to his skin for weeks and made him wonder if he'd ever feel clean again...

The alley narrowed suddenly, and for a moment, Charles didn't know where to go. Juliette's lightning barely made a dent in the darkness, and the only thing he could feel was slop under his feet and the rough brick rubbing against his shoulder. But the tug on his gut was insistent, pulling him to the right even though there was nowhere to go.

Charles placed a hand on the wall, and that was when he realized the brick had abruptly ended and had been replaced by worn wooden slats: a door.

He grasped at a metal handle. Slowly, trying not to make any sound, he pulled back, but the door wouldn't budge.

"It's locked," he whispered. However, a second later he heard a quiet click: the sound of a locking mechanism turning.

Juliette's voice floated up to him: "Taken care of, Mister Abbot."

Charles couldn't see her, but he had a feeling the little girl was smirking.

He let himself smile, just for a moment, before reaching for the handle and pulling the door open.

The door led to a narrow flight of stairs. As they descended, the temperature dropped and the air smelled of mold. Juliette's lightning hissed like a fly and lit up just enough of the space for Charles to realize it was a basement. There were broken chairs, moldy tarps, and dead leaves scattered throughout.

And standing in the back corner of the room, eyes wide and reflecting the glow from Juliette's light, was Lillian.

She widened her stance and put her hands up, poised to defend herself. "What are you doing here?"

"I should be asking you that!" Charles said, taking a few steps closer. "You weren't to leave my house—"

"Stay back!" she snarled, stopping Charles dead in his tracks.

Charles looked down at Juliette who shook her head almost imperceptibly. The lightning danced between her hands—an impressive show—but Lillian was too far away for her magick to reach. As long as she's within ten feet of me, she had said in the parlor that morning, and Lillian was at least 20 feet away.

"Lillian," Charles said, trying to keep his voice calm, "I need you to come back with us."

"Get out!"

"Lillian," Charles said again, taking a small step forward, "we need to—"

He was interrupted by an unfamiliar voice floating through the darkness. "Lillian?" it said. Charles paused, initially thinking he had imagined it, but the thief froze at the sound as well. And it then it happened again: "Lillian? Who's there?"

Lillian balled her hands into fists. She stood silent for a moment and Charles could almost see her the thoughts swirling in her head. Finally, she whispered, "It's no one, Mother."

Mother? Charles thought, taken back.

"Doesn't sound like no one," the voice continued. Now Charles was able to locate where the sound was coming from: the back corner of the basement, from behind Lillian. "Come on. Let me meet your friend."

Charles watched as Lillian chewed on the inside of her cheek, unmoving.

"Lillian, I raised you better than this. I'd like an introduction."

This seemed to push Lillian over the edge. Her eyes locked on Charles and she yanked her head, gesturing for him to come closer.

Charles turned to Juliette first. "Stay back here," he whispered.

"You sure, Mister Abbot?"

He nodded, then took a few steps forward, his hand curled around one of the potions in his pocket just in case.

The thief kept him in sight at all times, and then, once Charles was close, leaned in. "If you do anything to her," she whispered, so quietly that Charles barely heard her words, "I will slit your throat."

Charles' heart pounded in his chest and he nodded his head in understanding.

Threat made, Lillian turned around, revealing what had been behind her this whole time.

What Charles initially thought was a pile of discarded blankets revealed itself to be an older woman. Her skin was as dark as her daughter's, but where Lillian's thinness disguised strength, this woman's emaciated frame reflected her true state. Her cheeks were hollow, her temples sunken in, and her threadbare dress appeared three sizes too big. Yet despite her sluggish movements, her eyes were kind and curious.

"Mother, this is Charles Abbot," Lillian introduced. "Mister Abbot, this is my mother, Madame Marie Bisset."

Charles knelt down and reached for Madame Bisset's hand, which she withdrew clumsily from the blankets draped around her. He kissed the top of it gently; her flesh was dry and cracked but smelled of talc and roses. "Lovely to meet you, Madame Bisset."

Lillian's mother let out a short laugh. "My eyesight isn't as good as it used to be, but my my, aren't you handsome."

Charles couldn't help but grin. "Lillian," he said, "you didn't tell me your mother had such good taste."

"Mother," Lillian said, glaring down at Charles, "Mister Abbot was just leaving."

"Such a short visit?" Madame Bisset croaked, but then she nodded her head and closed her eyes. "Nice to meet you, Mister Abbot," she said, settling down for what Charles assumed was a nap.

Lillian escorted Charles back to the base of the stairs where Juliette was waiting. After checking to make sure her mother couldn't hear, Lillian whispered, "Now you see why I left. I can't just live in your house, pretend everything is fine, and leave her alone."

"She needs a doctor," Charles said.

This was apparently the wrong thing to say. "You think I don't know that?" Lillian snapped. "Don't you dare imply that I can't care for my mother. I've done whatever it took to make sure we got by. And I made sure she saw a doctor." She set her jaw out. "It's all the same, though. There's nothing they can do to help her. Or any healer, for that matter. She's wasting away, dying from the inside out." She blew out through her teeth and mumbled, "She doesn't have much time."

The weight of her words hung in the air, making Charles shift uncomfortably. He looked around the basement and decided to change the topic. "Is... this your home?"

She shook her head. "It's just an abandoned basement. I don't think the owner of this place even knows it exists. We've been here for about a week. We move around every so often, don't get too comfortable in one place."

"I understand."

She laughed, a dry hollow sound. "I doubt it."

"Actually, I do," Charles said, a little indignant. "I was homeless once, when I was a kid. James and I lived on the streets for about two months. I know it's not exactly the same, but I do understand. At least a little more than most."

"Didn't know that," Lillian muttered before glancing back at her mother. "Anyway, now you know. I can't help you with those cultists. I have my mother to look after, and the only option for us is to leave this city."

"Can your mother even travel?"

Lillian pressed her lips together. "She has to."

"Lillian," Charles whispered, "we both know that won't work. That's why you asked me to remove your memory, right? You knew you couldn't flee. So you did the second best thing to protect yourself."

"You don't know what I'm capable of. I'll make it work."

"You'll make it work. But what about your mother? Is it fair to shuttle her around like this? When..." He hesitated, then said quickly, "When you don't know how many days she has left?"

"There's no other option," she said, turning away from him to hide her face. But she wasn't fast enough; Charles saw a tear fall from her eye.

Charles' gut stirred. He remembered his mother lying on her death bed, wasting away all those years ago. It had been horrible to watch, but his mother had at least been comfortable, in a house with a roof, and warm, dry sheets.

"Bring her to my place," Charles said.

Lillian laughed, a harsh dry sound. "So you can use my mother as blackmail? No thank you."

"I wouldn't do that," Charles insisted. "She would be there as a guest."

"After the way you've treated me? Sorry, but I don't believe you."

Charles didn't know what to say to convince her. All day, all he had wanted was for her to trust him and nothing had worked.

Then again, I didn't trust her either, he thought. But now, seeing the way she acted around her mother, he felt with near certainty that she wasn't acting. For all of her skill at pretending, he could see the truth in her movements, in the way she looked at her mother fondly and her stubborn refusal to put her at risk. She was telling the truth. So how do I convince her that I am too?

He slipped his hand into his pocket, unsure of what to say to convince her, and his fingers brushed against the potion vials he had brought with him. And then he had an idea.

He pulled the bottles out, looking for one in particular in the purple glow of Juliette's light. When he found it, he uncorked the top, and a distinct, putrid smell permeated the basement.

Lillian reacted immediately to the scent, clamping her hands over her nose and mouth so as to protect her from the brew. "Truth potion," she whispered behind her cupped hands.

Juliette seemed to realize what was going on first. "Sir, I don't think this is a good—"

"Bottoms up!" Charles announced. He lifted the vial as if giving a toast, and then he pressed the bottle to his lips and drank it all.

James was right—the taste was horrendous and burned his throat on the way down. But as the liquid settled in his stomach, he felt an odd sensation spread throughout his whole body. It was a sense of calm, a sense of ease, despite the fact that the hairs on his arms prickled.

"Ask me anything," he told Lillian.

She looked wary. "Anything? You sure about that?"

"Not really." The words came out of his mouth in a rush, without him having time to hold them back. "I'm afraid you'll ask something personal."

Shit, he thought, realizing that perhaps Juliette had been right. The young mage was currently staring up at him in awe, shaking her head like a disappointed parent.

Lillian, meanwhile, stared at him curiously. "Did you mean it when you said you'd take my mother into your home?"

"Yes." The word bubbled out of his mouth without any effort.

"Will you be kind to her? Treat her like a member of your own family?"

"Yes. Yes."

"Will you use her as blackmail to get me to do what you want?"

"No."

"And the cult I saw... are you or your brother involved?"

"No, we're not."

She paused, and Charles could tell she was considering asking one more thing. After a few seconds of silence, she looked him straight in the eye and asked, slowly and carefully, "What are you most afraid of?"

Charles tried to stop himself from speaking, but it was useless. His mouth moved on its own accord, air rushing past his vocal cords and forming words. "Losing everything I've worked for," he said, "and James and I ending up back on the streets."

He realized his response was rather insensitive—after all, his worst fear was what Lillian was living everyday—but she didn't seem upset. Instead, she nodded her head, seemingly pleased.

She turned back to her mother, cracking a rare smile. "Hey Mom," she said, stirring Madame Bisset from her slumber. "Ready to see how the other half lives?"

Charles called a carriage and together the three of them escorted Madame Bisset inside. Juliette used her telekinesis to make the woman lighter, but she was so thin that Charles didn't think it made much of a difference. Once the four of them were safely inside and jostling along the midnight streets together, Charles watched as Marie peered out the window. Her sleepy eyes were now bright and curious as she took in the city from a new perspective.

When the carriage arrived at his house, Charles went inside on his own to wake James.

His brother answered his bedroom quickly. Charles had a sneaking suspicion he hadn't gone to sleep after their encounter earlier. "Yes?" James asked. Charles could hear a layer of ice in his voice, but also the underlying concern as his brother's eyes swept him up and down, no doubt looking for any new injuries he might have accumulated in the past hour.

"James," Charles said, "first and foremost, I need to apologize for how I behaved last night. It wasn't right of me to treat you that way when you were only trying to help."

This caught James off-guard. The blond raised an eyebrow. "Okay. Apology accepted. But I'm assuming you have an ulterior motive for waking me in the middle of the night—"

He must have still had a touch of truth potion in his system as the words came out of Charles' mouth in a rush. "Lillian has a sick mother who's been living on the streets and I invited her to stay with us."

James was silent for a moment, processing what Charles had just said. "I was not expecting that," he admitted. "Although I must say I'm happy you both have come to some sort of mutual respect." James then turned to head back into his room. "I'll get dressed and check her out."

A few minutes later, they had escorted Madame Bisset into Charles' chambers. James had offered up his room, but Lillian said she'd prefer to stay with her mother, so they were rooming together.

Once she was settled into bed, Madame Bisset ran her long fingers along the duvet. "Beautiful," she murmured. Then, looking up at the crowd that had assembled around her, said, "I used to be a seamstress, you know. I did a lot of embroidery... before these darn fingers stopped working on me."

"I wish I could do that," James said, setting down a few potions on the side table. "Embroidering is a skill that, sadly, I do not possess."

"A gentleman wanting to embroider? Be still my heart," she said, looking at her daughter. "You're right, dear. We do live in a progressive time."

"Mother, please just rest," Lillian said. "And take the potions Mister Abbot gives you."

"You can call me James," he said. Then, pointing to the potions, said, "I admit, some of these do not taste great. But I can mix them into fruit purees to try to mask the taste. And you don't have to take any of them if you don't want. I'm afraid they won't heal what ails you, but they might help you to feel a little better."

"I don't have much of an appetite right now," Madame Bisset said, "but I will make an effort in the morning. I think, for now, I'll just rest."

"Understood," James said. "I will check on you then." And then, with a nod, he excused himself from the room.

Charles was about to follow him out when Lillian suddenly grabbed his arm. 

"Mister Abbot," she whispered, not looking him in the eye. "I just wanted to say thank you. For taking her in."

"It's fine," Charles said. The truth potion had mostly worn off by now, but he still felt some residual effects, leaving him relaxed. "And you can call me Charles."

Lillian looked hesitant, but after a moment she said, "Tomorrow, we can talk. About the memory and... what I saw."

Charles' eyes widened in surprise, but then he nodded. "Whatever you wish."

Lillian gave him half of a smile and then Charles, knowing he was dismissed, left the room.