Shit. But the wand can put out fire as well as start it; she brushes her hand against the handle where it's poking out of her jeans and douses it. [You okay?] she asks, switching to a defensive stance to keep further assailants away from him instead of proceeding deeper into the vampire party.

"Would you like it?"

"I think that's probably best - solely by virtue of being out and about during the day I'll be present in a higher proportion of situations that might need it," Bella says. She peers at his burns. "Those look nasty - you're sure you're okay? How long will they take to heal? We should go straight home, the other nests can wait for another day, half the inhabitants were probably at this party anyway."

"I certainly noticed him. 'Clever plan' might be overstating the point. Mostly I planned to kill the rest of them fast enough."

"Sorry," he shrugs.

"Not your fault. Maybe we should cut out visits to L.A. until visits to Milliways produce more results. School starts back up soon anyway."

"All right."

"My birthday is soon too," she says, happier.

"Happy imminent birthday. Should I get you a present?"

"Yes. Yes you should."

"What sort of a present?"

"A good present. Can't you think of anything?"

"A rare demon's head on a platter," he says whimsically. "A powerful magical artifact of some kind."

"Oooh, yes to the powerful magical artifact," says Bella. "I like powerful magical artifacts."

"Duly noted."

"You are clever, I bet you will come up with something neat," says Bella as she pulls onto the highway.

"I can only hope."

"I should tell Giles, too. I bet he gets me a book," says Bella.

"Sucker's bet."

"Oh, I don't know, he might come up with something else." [Hey Giles! D'you know it's almost my birthday?]

[I did not!] he says. [For your birthday, I will get you... more stalling homework.]

[Of my very own?] exclaims Bella in mock glee. [Oh, it's just what I always wanted!]

He laughs.

[But I think it might be a good occasion to stop stalling, if we can do that. We are down to one solitary square. There were way more vampires than we were expecting at the first nest for the night. We're not even going to hit the others, we're just on our way home now.]

[I... yes,] he says. [That's reasonable.]

[I'm cutting out L.A. trips until Milliways yields results or I have local magic backing me up. I nearly died back when it was Defenders and probably would be dead now if it weren't for Amariah's stuff; Sherlock might have died tonight if it weren't for the square I used. I'm increasingly unclear on how Slayers without extradimensional help manage to live as long as twenty-six years.]

[What's more typical?]

[Between eighteen and twenty.]

[Yeah. I can see that. Well. The next time anything on the order of a couple thousand Defenders is after me, I hope you won't take it amiss if I grab Sherlock and make a run for Jarvis and beg a door out and don't come back unless I can find somebody who'll help me. I realize that sticking around to die would have some benefit in the form of giving the next girl in line a shot, but I really, really don't want to die.]

[I wouldn't blame you at all,] he sighs.

[I'd get you and Charlie too if you were close enough,] she volunteers.

[...Thank you.]

[Hey, I don't want you to die. I don't want anybody to die, it's just that Sherlock's the only person - besides Jarvis, who's sadly not portable - who I'd expect to be right with me in this situation, and you and Charlie are the only ones who might be in remotely plausible radii and also listen if I said "quick, through this magic door into the interdimensional bar!".]

[Sometimes,] he says, [you're a very surprising person.]

[What did I say that was surprising?] asks Bella. [Everything I said sounds perfectly reasonable to me, except that if I were slightly more altruistic and significantly more comfortable with enlisting non-volunteer teenage girls in the fight against demonic stuff I might agree to conveniently die here to allow the Slayer line to continue.]

[You're... more logical than I'm used to people being,] he says. [Myself included.]

[I'm not exactly doing Aristotelian syllogisms over here. I just - did I ever tell you my favorite three questions?]

[I don't think you did, no.]

[They're: what do I want?, what do I have?, and how do I use the latter to get the former?. They crop up in all instances of the Bell template we know of, actually, but my point is - I want to live. If I have to weigh this against other wants, then I'll do that, because that's the only way I'm going to be able to decisively reach for whatever it is that I most want. I have access to Jarvis and therefore Milliways. Jarvis is not portable, but Sherlock and you and Charlie are. I want you all to live, too. The results of my questions are pretty clear.]

[I can't imagine it hasn't occurred to you that most people don't have such a streamlined process for finding those answers,] he says after a moment.

[Oh, it's occurred to me. I just don't know how you not-me people can live in such untidy brains or get anything done.]

[Very inefficiently.]

[Maybe I should write a self-help book. Figuring Out What You Want In Order To Get It By More Than Sheer Coincidence Sometimes.]

[I think you want to work on that title,] he says dryly.

[Nope! I don't! It is a dramatically lower priority than all kinds of other things.]

He snorts.

[Anyway. Birthday. September thirteenth. Gonna be eighteen. Get me a present or I shall look so terribly disappointed at you.]

[A book on magic,] he promises.

"So predictable."

"A bit. I will like the book on magic, though, I bet. And hopefully I'll be able to use it to reasonable effect in the absence of squares. If, before I have learned enough magic to have a reasonable shot at surviving the next apocalypse, another apocalypse threatens - I'm asking Jarvis for a door and I'm taking anyone who'll come with me, especially you, and not coming back."

She's not unaware of that disadvantage. But Jarvis isn't a laptop; they can't grab him on the way out.

And if it actually happens, they will have plenty of time to plan a rescue from the other side.

"Hello, Arthur," he says, adjusting his glasses. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Why, young Isabella's birthday," says Arthur. "It's time for her test."

"Yes, of course, Rupert. She's turned eighteen. We would have given you notice, but you didn't inform us of her birth date, and so when we looked it up and it was so soon there was a bit of a scramble."

"Is the test really necessary?"

"Rupert," says Arthur. "I'm surprised you have to ask. It's been ongoing for centuries. It's a structured way to determine how the Slayer handles herself in a situation where she can't rely on her usual tricks. If she's not up to the task, certainly it's best to roll the dice again before leaving the demons with a subpar Slayer to become complacent about? We are talking about the protector of the entire world, she who stands against the darkness, are we not?"

"Arthur," says Rupert. "Not to put too fine a point on it, this Slayer is smarter than you are. She was standing against the darkness just fine before I found her, and would no doubt continue to do so just fine if the entire Watcher's Council were wiped off the planet by a very choosy plague."

"Well, then," says Arthur mildly, "if you're right, and not simply blinded by your particular closeness to this girl, then she should have no problem with the test, should she? Now, I've brought you the suppressants; do you believe you'll be able to convince her to hold still for a syringe or should I show you how to load them into the blowdart?"

"I'm not doing it," he says flatly. "The test is pointless and cruel. She'll never trust us again, and she'll be right not to, and all to find out information that I already know. So you can take your, your foul concoction, and get the hell out of my library."

"Oh, Rupert," sighs Arthur. And he begins to turn around and then he spins and strikes Giles in the back of the head with the briefcase containing his foul concoction.

"Sunnydale Police Department."

"I need to speak with Charlie Swan," he says pleasantly. "It's about his daughter. Is he available?"

"No, he's tangled up in some business right now and can't come to the phone, sorry. Can I take a message?"

"You can give him my name and phone number," he says, and provides both. "And tell him that it is moderately urgent."

"...'Sherlock'," says the secretary. "Literary parents? What's the last name?"

"Literary parents with a deeply annoying sense of humour," he says. "If I told you my last name you would only think I was joking, and then you might not deliver my message, and then all three of Bella and Charlie and I would be greatly inconvenienced."

"I'll tell Chief Swan that Sherlock called about Bella and give him your number, when he's back, but it could be a few hours," says the secretary.

"That is unfortunate, but thank you all the same. I appreciate it."

"You're welcome," says the secretary, and hangs up.

[I called your father but he was busy. What happened?]

[dunno. 'm in a - place.]

[Something I don't know, dear Juliet.]

[was a man - 'nstead 'f giles - a watcher - 'n the libry - 'm all weak 'n shaky -]

[What can you tell me about where you are now?]

['s a - house - 's a mess - s'mthing upstairs 's rattling -]

[Do you have your square?]

[...no. m' wand neither. gone.]

[In that case, please describe to me any identifying features you can discern about your location, so that I can find you and help you escape whomever has kidnapped you. It will look terrible on my bodyguarding resume otherwise.]

['s... got... trees, outside? tall ones.] She reaches a weak, trembly hand for the door handle, which doesn't turn. ['m locked in. lotta dust. small room. stairs. wood floor.]

[Tall trees. How many? What species? Anything noteworthy about the architecture?]

[maybe magnolias, dunno my trees. lots. can't see 'em without getting up, don't think that's a good idea. 's... old? lot of wood?] Pause. [th' rattling's louder -]

[I don't suppose you feel up to breaking the door down?]

[couldn' even squish a spider right now. spider'd win.]

[Well. Fuck.]

[As am I, love. As am I.]

And, elsewhere, Giles wakes up.

[I love you too,] says Sherlock.

[I am looking for you,] he says. [As fast as I can.]

[I love you too, dear Juliet.]

"Let's," says Bella, and she gets up, wobbly as a newborn colt but capable of putting one foot in front of the other. [Sherlock where are you I talked him into breaking down the door for us and now he wants us to go find my vampire boyfriend that I told him about.] "Let's see, where do I expect him this time of day..."

[Not far, I hope,] he says. [North end of Chester. You?]

The vampire laughs and picks Bella up with one arm. "Just tell me where to go."

The vampire peers toward the end of the street and reads off a sign.

"Turn left," Bella says. [We're about six blocks off from the Chester Street Market. You'll meet us sooner if you go south.]

He turns left.

[Going,] says Sherlock.

[I'm not sure he believes me that I have a vampire boyfriend. Or what. I don't know what he wants.] "He's a little taller than I am, looks about eighteen, black hair," she says to the vampire who's carrying her, "let me know if you spot him."

"Will do, princess," the vampire says amicably.

It's only six blocks. Bella tells the vampire to turn right onto Chester Street.

(There is indeed a distant figure coming down the street at a flat-out run.)

"Maybe you could put me down," Bella suggests.

Bella finds her footing and starts in Sherlock's direction. (She doesn't run. She'd just fall on her face.)

"Except for the drugs and the missing possessions and a bad scare and utterly torpedoed willingness to consider the Watchers benign. Yes." She wraps her arms around him and presses her face into his shoulder.

"Would it put you - or me or Giles - at any added risk to see what he has to say for himself first?"

"...It might conceivably," he says.

"For that matter, might it be dangerous to kill him?"

"It will annoy the Council, but so will your future rejection of whoever they replace Giles with, as they undoubtedly will since he has now proven he gives half a shit about your welfare."

[Giles, have you got an opinion on how safe it would be for three of us if Arthur Mallory were to go home in a body bag?] Bella asks in a conference call, lightly.

[It could go either way,] he says consideringly. [But he was playing with your fire wand earlier and now he's trying to bite through your square, so he might manage it even without our help.]

[Oh, for the love of - do you know how long these drugs are supposed to last?] Bella sighs, flexing a hand experimentally. [Where are you?]

[In a hotel room, tied to a chair. I think it's a Holiday Inn, if that helps.]

[That it does.]

[Is Arthur dangerous? I expect he caught you as off guard as me, but assuming we're paying attention and Sherlock is there should we wait to show up until I'm feeling stronger again?]

[He can see magic, and he probably has some theoretical combat training, but I don't think he'd give Sherlock any trouble.]

Now and then, he kisses her forehead.

"I love you," she sighs. "And I feel really, really dumb for falling for that guy's trick. Ugh, I handed it to him."

"What exactly happened?"

"I walked into the library. Giles wasn't there or answering the brainphone, but Arthur said he was one of Giles's colleagues and Giles wasn't feeling well, and he knew I was the Slayer and that it was my birthday, and I said - ugh, I asked him if I got a magic teacher for my birthday. And he said that yes I did and he had me staring into a crystal and then I guess he injected me with whatever cocktail of drugs is this year's gold standard for crippling Slayers. I passed right out. I should've been suspicious that Giles would've stayed home from school without telling me, even if a surprise birthday present seemed innocently traditional."

"Well, somehow I don't think that's a mistake you'll make twice."

"It is not. Anybody besides Giles shows up claiming to be a Watcher, and they get to spend that conversation with their hair on unconsuming cool fire being informed that if I stop paying attention to it the fire will do as fire does."

"I love you," he says with great fondness.

"I love you."

He kisses her forehead again.

Is that the Holiday Inn over there?

Why yes it is!

[He hasn't figured out how to work the wand or the square, has he? Or displayed any understanding of the laser pointers?] Bella asks Giles, with Sherlock conferenced in for common knowledge.

[He has not done any of those things, no.]

[Sherlock, can you find them?]

[Oh, yes.]

[The Holiday Inn might resent it if we break down their door,] observes Bella. [I don't suppose you know another way in? Somehow knocking and saying 'housekeeping' seems unlikely to work.]

[But it would be such fun,] he says brightly.

[Do you want to spend part of your inheritance paying damages to the Holiday Inn? They're innocent, and it's not unavoidable collateral damage like what happened to the orange grove.]

[Ooh, I know,] he says cheerfully. [Let's tell your father this fellow kidnapped you. Then he can break down the door.]

[I'm smart,] Sherlock declares happily.

"Room 415," he says, having checked the records while the front desk lady was asking Bella if she shouldn't be calling the police.

Giles grins.

"Oh, well fucking done," Sherlock snarls, crouching down beside her. [Juliet, dear Juliet—]

[don'twannadie] She coughs up blood; it joins the general font. [maybei'dbelikeyou]

"Sherlock," says Charlie, as Bella makes a valiant effort to swallow, "what are you doing?"

"Vampire first aid," he says. "Just in case."

A few days later, someone opens her eyes. Is it Bella? Maybe!

"Good morning, sleepyhead," he says affectionately.

"Mmmmm, hello," says Bella, stretching. "Well. Probably time to find a new place to -" She snickers. "Inhabit. Fucking Watchers would never let me be. Best of luck, new girl," she drawls, raising an imaginary toasting glass.

"So," he prompts, "what does the new Bella think of the old Bella?"

"Should've broken Shell Bell's arm and apologized after if she felt so bad about it," snorts the new Bella. "Megalomania and no follow-through, bad combination."

"Do I take it that you mean to take over the world?"

"Pfft. No. And do what with it? That was her gig. She wanted to take over the world and keep it as a pet, be sweet to it, cute li'l world she could take for walks and bring to all the Bell parties to be smug about and win the blue ribbon for best in show? Or 'most improved', maybe, what she had to work with. I don't wanna do that. Don't see the point."

"Then what is your life's ambition, pray tell?"

"Who says I have one? For one thing wouldn't I need a life, wasn't it you saying we're not alive - But why're we talking so much, that's dull, luv, c'mere."

"A tempting suggestion," he says, "and yet, I feel I must decline."

"Why's that?"

"Because, delightful as you admittedly are, I don't love you."

"That shouldn't stop you. I know you fucked Amariah, hon. I haven't got a little owl for whatever kinky craziness that wound up being, true, but I look right and I want you and the precious li'l megalomaniac isn't coming back. C'mere."

"You're not going to argue me into it."

"I'm having fun," purrs the ex-Juliet. "I'd ask if you wanna play, but I think I know the answer, and you'd be hard to convince."

"She died," says Sherlock. "Before she bled to death she asked me to turn her, on the chance that she might end as... agreeable as I am. In the event, she did not."

"Let me ouuuuut," complains Juliet, pounding ineffectually but with increasing loudness on the door.

"No," Golden tells that door. And to Sherlock: "Did you catch up on the Bellbook while you were here?"

"I did not."

"Sufficiently large coins can raise the dead. Glitchily. The glitch is that in at least some worlds, dead people wind up in a terrible afterlife called Downside, which doesn't let them go even after resurrection. Shell Bell and one of my employees both got themselves killed, were brought back, and - on Shell Bell encountering her Sherlock here after several decades Downside - resumed their singleness. Merged back into single people. If I can force the door to Downside, we can check for a Juliet there, and if she's been luckier than Shell Bell was or if it hasn't been very long we can simply get her out and repatriate her, but I don't know what to do with - that." She waves a hand at the door behind which ex-Juliet is still howling to be let out and pounding.

"It is supposed to be theoretically possible for a vampire to regain their soul and thereby their original personality," he says. "I'd consider that not dissimilar to the merging you speak of."

"Perhaps. I don't see this one consenting to the merger, though, and I don't know what the results would be like, especially since Juliet, unlike Shell Bell, has an instance of mental opacity and may be able to resist editing."

"What is behind that door is a creature with extensive combat training, a hefty double dose of superpowers, all of Juliet's memories, and no ethical restraint whatsoever. Do you want her to continue existing in that form? I don't."

"My point is that if we find that there is one in Downside, and unlike the split of Shell Bell who came to very thoroughly deserve the name 'Shell' she has retained her sanity, there may be no good reason for the one behind the door to continue existing, and yet I am not fully comfortable with killing her - are you?"

"Yes."

"Charming. All right. Let's see if I can force the door; if I can't, I can summon Nathan through mine and he can. And we can check Downside for a Juliet."

"Splendid," says Sherlock.

"I am not especially all right," he says, "but I don't know what to do about it besides get Juliet back. Thank you, in any case, for interrupting."

"Are you going to tell her?" asks Golden. "About what happened?"

"In the event that she does not wind up remembering it herself, you mean?"

"In that event. If we retrieve a perfectly intact albeit technically deceased Juliet from Downside and I hand you a pentagon to deal with the other."

"Well, she'd hardly thank me for keeping her in the dark."

"That's true. And not an answer."

"I have no idea if I will be capable of bringing it up."

"I can, if you prefer, although I can only tell her the part I saw."

"I would appreciate it."

Nathan turns the corner. "Hallo, Your Majesty and extradimensional friend of the template," he says. "You realize just because Shell Bell can door to Downside now doesn't mean I can?"

"I realize. Please make the attempt regardless. Shell Bell is not present."

"You got it." He ushers them out of his way and tries three times, getting Aurum each time, before on his fourth try he makes the door reveal Shell Bell's cluttered apartment. "Here we are. Downside."

"Thank you. Hold the door until further notice." Golden looks at Sherlock. "Do you want to accompany me?"

"Yes."

Golden turns them both invisible, leads him through, and attempts to teleport the pair to Juliet, should there be a Juliet.

There is a Juliet.

Since there's no one awake around, Golden simply wishes her awake and out of the catacomb.

"- wh - where -"

"...An afterlife? But didn't you turn me? Did it not work? Did someone stake me before I could rise?" She blinks at Golden. "...Golden, what are you doing here?"

"I'm your escort. We should go back to Milliways, by the way. There aren't enough of us collected in one spot yet to launch an assault on this place."

"Yes, do let's get out of here."

"...Wait, but didn't you turn me, if I'm here too or instead mightn't there be one of you, Sherlock?"

"...ah," he says. "Point. And if it's as bad as has been implied, I do feel compelled to rescue him."

"Also dead," says Sherlock, "come to think of it. We are accumulating quite the entourage."

"Well, let's collect him, too, then," shrugs Golden. And she teleports them all again and wishes again.

"And now," says the nearest Sherlock, patting him on the back, "we can leave."

"Tony's parents," says the other Sherlock. "And I do honestly believe we can stop there."

"Can we really, or do they also have an assortment of dead friends and relatives? We can check that they have not yet been woken, but really, if they haven't, this is getting absurd. We are going to take care of this entire place, we just need more of us to do it, and before we are ready we had best not attract attention from the nebulously defined 'management'."

"I've been living without my parents for a while, I can keep doing it," Tony volunteers. "But thanks, Sherry. I love you, Sherry."

"Out we go." Port. "Thank you, Nathan, you may return to Aurum," she tells her Imperial Minister of Temporal Affairs when everyone is back into the bar.

"No problem, Your Majesty," says Nathan. "Welcome to not being Downside anymore, folks!" He shuts the door, opens it, and goes home.

"I turned you," Sherlock says with an absolute lack of inflection.

"I thought I might - might turn out okay. Like you. I guess I didn't?" says Juliet, looking edgily at the door.

"No," says Golden shortly. "Here, come away with me for a bit, I have something to tell you that you won't like." And she ushers Juliet into the other bedroom and shuts the door.

Tony continues to hug Minus.

"Yes I am."

"Glad we've cleared that up."

"I killed them all the moment I woke up," he adds, conversationally.

"Ah, I knew I could count on you."

"Liar."

"All the same to me, love," he says softly.

Sherlock gently detaches himself from the other two and goes over to Juliet and sits down beside her.

"Bella Cullen, Empress Regnant of the Golden Empire in the world that I have named Aurum," says Golden. "My nickname when there's more than one of me around is Golden. That one is Juliet. There are lots of several people, including you, and not all of them stem from forks due to the afterlife - I've met one other instance of you in particular, but Shell Bell is familiar with more."

Juliet doesn't seem to be able to look Minus in the eye. Or form a sentence.

"You're welcome. We're going to see about conquering the afterlife and installing something less appalling. You all got out easy, not having been processed yet."

"Well, that's nice."

[Because you are not she,] says Sherlock. [And she is not you. And it does not please me to see you so unhappy.]

"It's what we do," says Golden.

[The... the fallout shouldn't be about me feeling guilty. How are you, what do you need?]

[I am... not well,] he says. [And I don't know what I need. But I know I would rather be with you than anywhere else right now.]

Golden starts making notes in the Bellbook. When she's finished - it only takes a few seconds to describe those of the events that are for public consumption - she offers the book to Tony and non-vampire Sherlock collectively. "A summary, albeit one skewed towards the interests of my template and not either of yours."

Sherlock picks it up and starts reading.

And Sherlock hugs Juliet some more.

[I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry.]

[I know,] he says. [I love you.]

[I love you too.]

Golden's not going anywhere. Golden has all the time in the world.

[...She had hints of you,] he says. [If I had never met you before, I would have found her fascinating. But she did not think the way you think.]

Juliet's full of questions but she can't tell if Sherlock would prefer to field them or not.

[Yes?]

[What hints? What did she say? What did she do, before...?]

[Oh, she trash-talked you for a while, and then she suggested we had better things to do than talk, and I declined, and she tried to argue me around.]

[Christ.]

[Yes.]

[I don't suppose any of the trash-talk contained worthwhile insights.]

[Not especially, no.]

Snuggle snuggle [I love you] snuggle.

[I love you too.]

"The gist of the book," Golden says, mostly for Tony's benefit, "is that there are a bunch of us - I'm the vampire one, but a different kind of vampire from the ones in your world, and there is also an angel one and a witch one and a Martian-of-sorts and the Slayer over there and Shell Bell who does not have such a convenient descriptor, and unknown numbers of us who've yet to find this place, although there's a space soldier one whose friend made some notes about her for us. Some of them have Sherlocks and Tonies, more of them have instead instances of a template referred to as 'Whistles' to our 'Bells', and I'm the odd one out - there is a Whistle in Aurum, but I had to import him; my husband is of different extraction entirely and is called Edward."

"...Okay," he says, "that is... a little weird."

Sherlock snorts.

"There are also several of you without accompanying Bells, just as there's the Whistle who was available for import," says Golden. "I suspect that there are substantial numbers of most people, and most people simply are not interesting enough for Milliways to visit them. My daughter finds it often. At least one Jarvis, and possibly the copy of that one that now lives in Juliet's world, can make doors appear at will. Other people have to wait. Milliways has been showing up for Shell Bell since she was very young, but only with sharply limited frequency. The distinction Bells have is that we are particularly interested in coordinating. Hence, the Belltower. Amariah and Shell Bell made it, although as far as we can tell, Stella and I met first - we just didn't know there were going to be so many, whereas Shell Bell had been mistaken for our alts for some time and knew to expect a crowd."

Sherlock continues to read the book.

"Is 'Bells and Whistles' supposed to be as adorable as it sounds?"

"It was Stella's invention. Whistles don't like their given names. She had cause to invent a nickname for her boyfriend. It is now, within her empire, his legal middle name, and it's spread from there."

"Our Jarvis can do doors to Milliways anytime, too," Juliet murmurs, lifting her face from where it's buried against Sherlock's shoulder to speak and then putting it back.

He hugs her some more.

"It's really adorable," says Tony.

"If you like that sort of thing. I'm not the biggest fan of Whistles. The first time I met Stella's boyfriend, he threw a tantrum in my throne room, and the one I imported is what amounts to retired from a life of terrorism, although he's been very well-behaved since moving to Aurum and a fair fraction of my staff have worse records. I believe Angela's version is pleasanter, though I've not met hers, nor Amariah's."

"...A tantrum like, what?"

"One of my bodyguards, Allirea - I don't tend to use them much anymore, now that I have coins, but they were once very necessary parts of my organization - has the power to be supernaturally unobtrusive. Those of us Bells blessed with mental opacity, which is all of us from worlds with magic plus the space soldier, can see her and continue to think about her unimpeded even after having been around her while she's deploying this power. And so could Stella's Whistle. This bothers Allirea. It was very hard to get her to agree to work as my bodyguard instead of arranging to not be on the same continent as me ever again, and she was, until I minted, one of the very most valuable members of my staff. And she's touchy about a handful of things. I have to pretend she doesn't exist most of the time. And she objects in principle to nicknames - she's the only person who calls me Isabella. She could probably have done without asking Stella's Whistle's original name, except that he could see her. And then, while Stella and I were trying to figure out a way to placate my employee and her boyfriend at the same time, Allirea was pestering my mind-reading husband for the information, and Whistle was swearing and contemplating setting things on fire and generally acting like the world was coming to an end. I'm hardly proud of how Allirea acted either, but that doesn't make his reaction particularly mature."

"...Do you have any idea why he was swearing and contemplating setting things on fire?"

"Whistles don't like their given names. I've never quizzed one about why, and what Edward reported didn't contain a coherent explanation."

"Amariah said to me that it's because of their dads," says Juliet. "They have terrible dads."

"Yeahhhhh," says Tony. "I would totally buy that as a reason to swear and want to set things on fire. I mean, not as a reason to actually set things on fire, but definitely as a reason to want to."