So there, and there, and that is that. To be allowed to do what they have done, and see what they have seen, and go free, remembering it. That is not one favor, but three, at least, and maybe more. Naomi knows that there is no way to balance this equation, with her life on one side and three of the folk’s favors on the other. Magpie’s eyes are like the black carapaces of beetles. Naomi does not know what she is thinking, what she wants. But then, what does Naomi know?

What matters is not always the value of the item, but the pain of losing it.

Naomi reaches into her bag and places her notebook on the table. “Call.” Her throat is dry, her own body resisting. “Three years of my life.” She would like to stop seeing Magpie’s mouth. Menagerie leans over, with his hungry fingers like tubes of wax, and turns Naomi’s pages.

And there are her words, her clippings, her bulleted lists, her hastily attempted sketches, her notes, and her notes, and her notes.

She is experiencing a state of grief and anxiety that makes her wonder, briefly, if she is going into shock. Probably not, though she is sure that people have gone into shock in this room. How often do these things, these mundane physical responses, disrupt the ordered flow of the game, where even the severing of limbs is convenient and bloodless?

Naomi should write that down.

Magpie turns over her cards.

Full Court, Blood Suit.

White Full Court wins. Naomi sees Magpie see this. Eyes like glass set in wax, but still, when she lays her hand down, Naomi sees the House see that it has lost.

Joy is sandpaper on the inside of her throat.

She reaches into the center of the table, with her hands all a-tremble, takes one of the peaches from the pot and bites it. You cannot think what figs my teeth have met in. How sweet it is; it wrings the dryness out of her mouth, and Naomi falls, closed-eyed, back into remembering.

[ ]’s head is in Ari’s lap. It’s hard to tell, now, whether he wants to be touched or doesn’t care. He cannot sleep anymore. Sometimes he rises at night and makes the floorboards creak. He has no depth perception; he runs into things. When Ari leaves him alone, he stares. He looks lonely, but Ari isn’t sure.