Very often the most painful things we have to face come not from monsters or demons, but from the others around us. Ginger Beaumont knew this better than most.

Monday mornings were always a headache in the Beaumont household, but not for the expected reasons. Of course, there was plenty of dismay at the week having reset itself, and tiredness that seemed grossly amplified from the normal amount. There was the lingering sadness that weekends never seemed long enough, the regret that more had not been done. All of that was present in spades. But there was something unique in the Beaumonts' line-up: after a short reprieve over the weekend, Ginger's mother was going to be left home alone for the day again. A very unspectacular event in theory, but rather tricky in practice. The issue was that Ella Beaumont was quite slowly but quite surely losing her memory.

During Ginger's first few years at Briargate, it wasn't so bad. Ella had her good days and her bad days, but the good days still outnumbered the bad days, and there were plenty of days that Ginger would have labeled average days, and those weren't so bad either. But bad days were still bad days, and by late April of 1956, bad days were verging on really bad days. By then, there had been three cases of Ella wandering some odd corner of the town without a clue how she had gotten there or why she had come. All three of those incidents had happened on a Monday.

The most important rule was not to talk about it outright; that would be like jinxing it. There was plenty implied in the words and the gestures and even the silences of every Monday morning—or any morning, for that matter—and every member of the family knew it, but nothing could be blatantly stated. If there was anything that needed to be done—chores around the house, for example, or, if they were feeling brave, grocery shopping—Marcus Beaumont, Ginger's father, would remind Ella of it at least a half a dozen times, each with the same patience as the first. Little notes were scattered all over the house, written by husband as well as children for wife and mother, to remind her of anything they felt important for her to remember as the day progressed. But no one said anything about these things; no attention was called to them. That was a bad idea, for sure.

On the chilly Monday morning in April when the wind blew strong and steady from the south, Ella Beaumont's confusion was strong but, in Ginger's opinion, not too nasty. Ginger thought it had the makings for an average day. Her memory would be short and inconsistent, but she wouldn't get herself into any worrisome situations. (Ginger was perhaps right, but what did happen that day was worse than anything a bad day had doled out yet.)

The wind blew Ollie O'Brien to the door, dressed in an overly large sweater and a skirt that was much the same, pins on the sides of her skinny hips the only things keeping it from sliding right off. This was another not-talked-about ritual of Monday mornings; one of the neighbor kids would come to the door, just in case. Nobody really knew in case of what, but that did not matter. There was still a 'just in case' that hung around every Monday morning, painfully obvious, and it had to be heeded. Ollie heeded it this morning; she stood at the Beaumonts' front door rather sheepishly, twisting her hands together and scuffing a shoe across the ground. Her relief was almost palpable when she saw Ginger answer the door.

"Hey, Ollie," Ginger said merrily. She looked over her shoulder shortly. "We'll be out in a minute. Jordan has to brush his teeth."

An unenthusiastic shout came from somewhere in the house, but neither Ginger nor Ollie caught what was said. As if it were an exercise in symmetry, Jared Wilkins crowed something at Ollie's back from the sidewalk. Ginger did not catch that one either, but Ollie did, and she turned to where the other kids were gathered.

"Just a minute!" she called.

"You can come on in," Ginger said, stepping out of the way. "He won't be very long, I don't think."

Another mumbling shout came from somewhere behind her.

"I can't tell what you're saying," she called back. It was Jordan, she knew that much, but if he was trying to tell her something important, he was in trouble. She was not concerned; most likely, he was trying to assure them that he'd be quick.

"What's all this shouting about?" Ella Beaumont appeared suddenly out of the kitchen, looking around in light irritation. The expression disappeared when her eyes settled on Ollie; in fact, all expression at all seemed to vanish. Her face was blank for a moment or two, just staring at the girl next to her daughter. Gradually, her lips pulled down into a frown.

"Regina Babbitt, is that you?" she asked. Her eyes were slightly cloudy, as if her thoughts were elsewhere. As if her whole self was elsewhere, and this was merely a cheap projection. Ollie smiled kindly at her.

"No, ma'am, it's me, Ollie O'Brien," Ollie said, with the practiced ease of a person who had been through this a time or two.

Ella Beaumont stared blankly at her for a moment longer before shaking her head like she was chasing away a daydream. "Oh, of course, Ollie! Silly me; it's my mind these days. I never know where it's at."

"It's all right, Mrs. Beaumont," Ollie said.

"Of course you're not Regina, she hasn't been a young girl for quite some time now." Ella Beaumont continued as if she had not even heard the girl. As an afterthought, she added, "Neither have I." Her eyes took on that blank look again, as if the real Ella Beaumont were miles away. It was only for a second though, and then she shook her head again. "You just look so much like her, you know."

"That's what I've heard," Ollie said gently.

Ginger was grateful Ollie was the one who'd come to the door that morning. She had more experience with Ginger's mother than the other kids did. She knew how to handle herself when...incidents like these popped up. Just as it seemed, Ollie had been mistaken for Regina Babbitt by Ella Beaumont before. Ginger thought she might have come to expect it, like she'd come to expect the people who weren't Ella Beaumont to point out her resemblance to Regina Babbitt (without actually thinking she was Regina Babbitt). Ginger wouldn't know anything about it; she'd never met Regina Babbitt. But, considering Regina Babbitt was Ollie O'Brien's aunt, Ginger didn't think it was too crazy an idea to say Ollie looked like her. Ginger's mother had gone to school with her, and sometimes, in moments of clarity, Ella Beaumont would tell Ginger that Ollie was the spitting image of her aunt in her schooldays.

"Well, I'd expect you're waiting for Jordan, yes?" Ginger's mother asked. Her face was more focused now, but a little soft around the edges. Ginger knew that meant to tread carefully; she could get confused when it was least expected.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Jordan called before appearing in the front hallway, grabbing a jacket off the coat rack. He only had one shoe on; he was holding the other in his hand. He smiled and greeted Ollie before attempting to put the shoe and the jacket on at the same time. He nearly tripped, but otherwise he was successful.

"You kids have a good day at school," Ginger's mother said, ushering them out the front door. Confusion took over her face for barely a second. "Is it Monday?" She chased it away. "Of course it's Monday, what am I saying? I'll see you two tonight."

Ginger thought, as she said her goodbyes and made her way with Jordan and Ollie to the group that she always walked to school with, that maybe today would be a good day after all.

***

Things took a turn on the way to history class.

Coming out of math class, Stephanie Procter plowed right into Ginger, nearly sending Ginger's books flying. A smug "bitch" hit the air like the tinkling of bells, just the right volume to ensure no teachers would hear. Ginger felt her cheeks heat up as she watched a platinum blonde ponytail disappear down the hall—of course Stephanie wouldn't want to stick around. Just in case.

Dexter fell into step next to her as she left math class, smiling crookedly at her.

"Awful rude language for the princess," he said lowly, craning his neck down to be closer to her height. Ginger chuckled lightly, and Dexter's smile softened. "Don't listen to her."

She smiled back at him, something weary but glad, and waited for Jared and Ollie to inevitably join them. When they did, Jared had Caleb's arm in one hand and Ollie's in the other, and Shannon trailed behind them, her face an intriguing mix of amused and unimpressed.

"Ollie smeared garlic in the doorframes to my house," Jared said without any prelude, and Ginger wondered how long he'd been waiting to say that. He hadn't said anything about it that morning on the walk to school, but they hadn't been alone then, and Shannon and Caleb hadn't been there. They hadn't caught the two of them before classes had started, so Jared had probably been saving this interesting and entirely bizarre tidbit for when the six of them were together. Jared's timing had always been important to him—part of what made him so funny, Ginger was willing to admit—so it was no surprise he held out until the opportune moment.

Dexter focused a look that was both exasperated and fond on the other boy, wrapping an arm around Jared's shoulders. "Sometimes I think you don't even know what you're talking about."

Jared scowled, but he didn't seem truly bothered. "You know what I'm talking about. The issue at my house."

A few days after Jared had broken the news of the dead canary in his house, he'd told all of them of the possibility that Judy had let someone into the house while she was home alone. There were still a lot of questions that had to be answered given that explanation—big, gaping questions that seemed to multiplying—but things lately had been a little too scary to scoff at over-cautiousness.

"I think the issue at your house is that Ollie smeared garlic in your doorframes," Caleb said seriously.

Jared snorted and rolled his eyes. "My mom thinks so. She can't figure out why half of our house smells like an Italian restaurant."

"I thought Judy told you she didn't let anyone into your house," Dexter pointed out, snickering slightly at Jared's comment.

Jared shrugged. "Just in case."

There was no need for Jared to say anything more than that. Ginger understood, and she believed the others did too. The group of them had been shaken up enough to hear what had happened to Pip the canary; it did not matter that it was not any of their houses. Ginger supposed that it just as easily could have been (could still be), and, at least for Ginger, that was not all. The whole thing felt unfinished. It felt like a warning, an omen. It felt rather like the cow head on Allison's birthday. She did not think that a dead canary was the end of malice.

And when she really thought about it, she didn't think that that was something she would have to say out loud.

"Is that really supposed to help?" Shannon asked, keeping her voice low. She glanced around at the other students in the hallway warily.

"I read it in the guide," Ollie said without conviction. Though Jared had let go of Caleb by then, he was still tugging her along, and that seemed to be the only thing that was keeping her moving. Shannon nodded and did not question it further, but she was still sending furtive looks at the students surrounding them.

There was silence between the six of them as they came out into the entry hall, headed for the steps to the basement. History was next, with Professor Diefenbaker. Ginger liked Professor Diefenbaker, even if she did not always understand him. Few did. But he was a kind, if eccentric, man, and he always seemed to be giving out good advice when it was least expected. Ginger liked that, the feeling that perhaps she was the only one who picked up on the small pieces of guidance he extolled. She was aware that he was prone to rambling, and there were those who found it insufferable—some even figured he was a little off his rocker—but Ginger thought that he always had something interesting to say. History was perhaps her favorite class because of it.

There was a large crowd gathering at the top of the stairwell that led to the basement. It was mostly second years—on their way to history but, for whatever reason, pausing on the trip—but Ginger could see a small cluster of teachers as well. Ginger's group was forced to a halt. The crowd was too large and well-packed to get through. It wouldn't have done any good anyway; Professor Diefenbaker was one of the teachers gathered there. There was a conversation being held between the teachers, but it was impossible to make out anything being said above the usual din of passing. The group of students shifted almost as a whole, trying to decipher what was going on. The entry hall was slowly starting to clear out as other students disappeared into classrooms and down halls, but the second years remained.

Even as the amount of students in the entry hall dwindled, the noise remained, as if the second years were trying to compensate for the missing voices. The teachers at the front were hushed and intense. It took Ginger to this moment to realize that Professor Diefenbaker was actually bodily blocking off the entrance to the stairwell. She felt a little silly; she should have realized that her peers were not lingering simply because they could. Professor Nadig was at his side, keeping a wary eye on the crowd of students. Professor Lorraine Chapman, whose classroom was the closest, and the custodian, Franklin Hosch, rounded out the group.

There were a few more seconds of waiting. Ginger turned to her friends at her sides and saw only confusion mirrored on their faces. None of the other students that she could see seemed to have any ideas of what was happening. Finally, Professor Diefenbaker turned and looked at something down the stairwell before nodding.

"Second years," he called, "we're having class outside today."

A confused murmur rippled up through the second years. Ginger looked at the person closest to her—Shannon, it happened to be—and could only raise her eyebrows. Professor Diefenbaker was heading towards the front doors without another word, not even checking to see if his students were following him. Professor Nadig had assumed his position in front of the stairwell, and she watched the students with such intensity that Ginger was a little intimidated. Professor Chapman had started off towards her own classroom, but Franklin Hosch remained, looking as if there were something pungent right under his nose.

The group of students began to shift their course towards the front doors—Professor Nadig's expression made it clear that she would not tolerate lingering. Ginger was jostled up in the momentum, not looking where she was going. She was staring at the stairwell, knowing she shouldn't but trying to glimpse behind Professor Nadig to whatever it was Professor Diefenbaker had been looking at before—

She should perhaps not have been as surprised as she was to see Headmistress Lea standing a few steps down from the top, but it was quite rare that Lea was ever seen outside of her office. She had one hand up to her forehead, fingers carded in her hair. There was a dark expression on her face, like a shadow had passed across it, but that wasn't it, Ginger could tell. She was turned partially away, looking down, and there was something off about the whole thing, something that didn't line up—

Ginger's stomach lurched and for one short second she stopped moving. It hit, as these things sometimes do, by surprise. It was almost as if she didn't have the full picture, needed more time to contextualize what she was seeing because it was just different. It was not in her usual daily realm of experience, but she finally saw it. There was blood on Headmistress Lea's hands. It made Ginger's gut twist in an uncomfortable and sickening way to see the blood mingled with strands of gray and black hair.

As soon as she realized what she was seeing, Professor Nadig moved in front of her view. Ginger could not say she was disappointed. She felt a hand, feather-light, on her arm and turned to look into Shannon's eyes.

"You okay?" Shannon asked lowly.

Ginger looked at her for a moment too long before saying, "Yeah, fine."

Shannon nodded, but Ginger did not need it spelled out for her to know that she didn't believe her. Ginger forced a smile not entirely dissimilar to a grimace and Shannon nodded again, like she was agreeing with something Ginger had not said.

The wind was still strong and chilly as history class was given, but no one—not even Stephanie Procter—complained. It was near the end of the class period before anyone gathered up the courage to ask why class was being held outside, and the answer that was given was immediately accepted even though it was vague and barely helpful. Perhaps the students could feel something in the air, because when Professor Diefenbaker said, "There's a little issue that needs to be taken care of in my classroom," no one asked anything else.

As it was, however, Ginger could not help but wonder just how big of an issue was being dealt with.

***

Unsurprisingly, speculation on what had happened in the basement was the only topic that was touched on during Ginger Beaumont's walk home. All of Professor Diefenbaker's classes after second year history were held outside, and the basement ended up being completely barred off. Neither Ginger nor anyone else, it seemed, had seen Headmistress Lea at all for the rest of the day, but Professor Nadig had been practically everywhere at once, ducking in and out of classrooms, whispering messages to teachers, talking to select students, and generally looking as if she was trying to keep the world from ending. No one, not the teachers she spoke with or the students she talked to, seemed willing to say what was going on. Ginger got the feeling that the students, at least, did not know.

"You know what it's gotta be," Jimmy Wilkins said as he and his younger brother, the Beaumonts, the O'Briens, the Graces, and Dexter Bradbury made their ways home together from school. He acted as if he was only talking to Archie O'Brien, Ollie's oldest sibling, but he was quite aware that everyone was listening intently. This whole conversation probably fell under the category of Things They Were Not Supposed to Talk About, but Jimmy was always a little lax with certain rules. Archie looked steadily at him and raised an eyebrow, nodding imperceptibly, as if to say that he did in fact know, but he sure wasn't going to be the one to say it. Jimmy took care of it for him, looking around at the group warily, gauging what should be said. Finally, he just sighed, shrugged, and said, "This whole vampire business. Something must have happened related to that."

"I think anyone could have told you that," Archie said good-naturedly.

"Oh, be quiet," Jimmy said dismissively. "I'm sure everyone knows it. Really makes all of Professor Nadig's efforts seem useless."

"But what do you think it could have been?" Eve O'Brien asked. She was the only one willing to insert herself into the conversation between the two boys even though, in a way, all the people present were a part of it. "I mean, why wouldn't they tell us? They told us when Lester Ames disappeared. I thought Headmistress Lea...you know, wants to make sure the students are properly warned."

Archie shrugged. "Maybe they will. Some other time."

"Or maybe whatever happened was so awful that they don't think we can handle it," Jimmy said, nodding sagely as if he had made some deeply profound remark.

"Worse than a skull in a cabinet?" Eve asked doubtfully, and Ginger caught the way her eyes flickered back to where she, Ollie, Jared, and Dexter were walking. "They told us about that, too."

"Well," Archie said slowly, "I think they only told us about that because the rumors were getting out of control. And because the police were wandering around the school for a while afterwards."

Eve sighed but nodded, relenting. Ginger could remember the time after Dougie Wein's skull had been found; the police had been there, and it was one of the most tense times at Briargate that Ginger had ever seen. She had had to speak with an officer herself, as had the other six who had been in that basement storage room with her. She remembered constantly feeling as if she were walking on eggshells, not wanting to be caught doing or saying the wrong thing. The whole school had felt it. It was almost irrational, that fear that at any moment someone might find out exactly what kind of school Briargate was, because so what if someone did? It wasn't a crime. It wasn't even just immoral. If anything, it was just a preference someone in Authority had to keep the gifted community a secret from normal society. That was all. But Ginger hadn't been able to shake the feeling, and she could tell just from voices and faces that most of her peers hadn't been able to either.

In the end, it hadn't mattered. After a week or two the police had disappeared, off to track down leads elsewhere. Much like in the case of Sarah Benadine, not a great amount had been discovered. Ginger had never said it, but she had a feeling that the Clearwater police's suspicions had never really left Briargate even if they themselves had.

"I guess we'll just have to wait and see," Archie said after a long, drawn-out pause. "Someone might tell us something eventually."

"Eventually," Jimmy echoed, and to Ginger's ears it sounded a bit ominous.

The group turned onto Minerva Boulevard now, that long, open road of gravel and rocks. The Twin Eyesores stuck out at the end of it like sore thumbs. The neighboring houses—houses belonging to her family, Jared's, Dexter's, Wylie Grace's—seemed sad and small in comparison, as they always did. There was nobody but them around; there was never anybody around at this time of day. The last stretch of the walk, the part on Minerva, always seemed the longest, and it seemed even longer today in the eerie silence that had settled.

The Graces' house was first, followed by the Wilkinses' and the Bradburys'. Ginger's own house was the closest to McKenzie House and Boulder Hill, both of which flanked a circular roundabout that would take a person right back into town. Across the street was the Kraus farm, a place Ginger hadn't seen anybody inhabiting since a few weeks after Thanksgiving. For all she knew, Samuel Kraus had just moved away. She was too nervous to ask. Ollie gave her half a smile as she slipped into her house for the night before turning to continue on with Archie, Eve, and Em.

"How was your day?" Jordan asked her as they peeled jackets off and tossed their shoes to the side. The house was quiet, and Ginger wondered absently if her mother had gone to lie down. Her father wouldn't be home until late.

"As eventful as anyone else's," Ginger said with a shrug. Jordan smiled ruefully and nodded. It was highly likely that his day had been quite similar to hers. She smiled back at him in a way that matched his before hanging her jacket up.

Ginger made her way into the kitchen, a bit surprised to find that the counters had been cleared of old mail and bits and bobs that had collected just from a kitchen in use. Ginger's mother least favorite thing to do was cleaning, not because of the act itself, but because she was always afraid that she would forget where she put something important. Ginger's father usually took control of the brunt of tidying up—and he never seemed to mind—but it couldn't have been him today. It made her smile to see; she thought perhaps it had been a good day after all. She heard shuffling on the steps and thought that her mother must have gone to lie down, just as she'd thought, and she'd awakened when they'd come in. Maybe she should ask about the cleaning, see if her mother's day went well.

Ella Beaumont appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, and just like that everything came toppling over. Ginger's mother's eyes hit her like bolts of lightning; she felt shaken right down to her core. She knew, of course, she'd seen that look a million times. She knew exactly what it meant. Later, the few people she told would suggest that perhaps she was overreacting, seeing something that was not there, but Ginger knew.

She wasn't sure how long it lasted—maybe seconds, maybe years—but for some amount of time, her mother did not know who she was.

Ginger found she could not speak, could not say a word. She could only meet her mother's confused eyes, could only see that her mother did not recognize her. Never before had Ella Beaumont trained this gaze on someone close to her, and certainly never on her daughter. Ginger's hands felt clammy. It was a small comfort when Ella Beaumont finally blinked her eyes and looked at her daughter, recognition on her face.

"Oh, Ginger," she said, and for one second Ginger was terrified she would say something like, 'I didn't know it was you.' Mercifully, she didn't; she merely smiled absently and asked how Ginger's day was.

Ginger blinked. "Fine."

"Good," Ella said. "I cleaned up some in here today. I thought it was getting awfully cluttered. I hope I didn't put anything in the wrong place."

"N-no," Ginger said. "I mean, I'm sure it's fine."

Ella's smile turned sad and she looked at the clean counters almost wistfully. Ginger wanted to ask about it but she didn't know if she wanted an answer. Ella drifted out of the kitchen before she could truly decide one way or the other. Ginger remained, staring dumbly at the spot her mother had left. She stood there for an indeterminate amount of time, just watching, feeling something she could not quite identify. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard someone knocking on the door.

"Oh, Ginger, dear, it's for you," Ginger's mother called. Ginger jolted. "It's Ollie O'Brien."

It took Ginger a moment to move. She was surprised to hear that, and her racing thoughts combined to leave her nearly dazed. She regained her head quickly however, and she hurried to the front door, mystified as to what Ollie would want so soon after they'd parted. Her mother was holding the front door open when Ginger got there but said she'd leave them be, turning in the direction of the living room. Ginger was immediately struck by how nervous Ollie looked; it seemed to radiate off of her. She clutched a few folded sheets of paper and played anxiously with them, shifting from foot to foot like she was standing on something hot.

"Hi, Ollie," Ginger said. "Everything okay?"

"Hi, Ginger," Ollie said, looking around her. "Um, I wasn't sure who to go to. My parents aren't home—you know that—and I didn't know if I should tell my siblings. But—well, I just thought that maybe—I don't know, maybe we should talk to Dexter and Jared, I'm not sure—"

"Ollie," Ginger said gently, cutting her off. "What's going on?"

Ollie worried on her lower lip for a moment and then held up the papers that she was holding. "I, uh, just found these. I think someone should see them."

Ginger eyed the papers warily, already knowing she was not going to like whatever was on them. She couldn't see anything yet—they were still folded—but they looked old, and for some reason that hatched an uneasy feeling in her chest.

"Come on in," Ginger said, stepping out of the way. What she'd hoped would be a good day was sure to become the opposite.

***Well, here's a long one, but I actually whittled it down a lot from what it originally was. Thanks to everyone who voted and commented, and yay to the second place finish in the Rebel Wars!***