Sunset blushed behind the turreted mountaintop, its reflection broken in the backyard pool. An inflatable cooler jostled on the water, its middle filled with slushy ice around an empty bottle of white wine. Rouge had finished it, and one of her friends ran inside the house, dripping carelessly, to return with another.

“Here, let’s make some room,” a burgundy unicorn said, lifting the empty bottle out and hurling it into the lawn, where it disappeared in the uncut grass. Using his teeth, he uncorked the bottle and filled everyone’s cups, sitting conveniently in holders on the floater’s rim. “What the heck is this?”

“Can’t you read?” Rouge asked. “That’s port. It says so right on the label.”

“Chocolate raspberry port, to be preeeeeecise,” the other pony, an amber pegasus, said. She slapped Colgate’s back with a wet wing. “No vinegar in this one, big blue.”

Colgate returned a false smile and lifted the bottle to see its label. The four of them, all Daturas, and all relegated to what Rouge called “the good life,” had spent the day shopping, eating, and having fun. It had started with a morning trip to the mall, getting new clothes and trinkets, and then a noon movie. They were kicked out of the theater when Rouge, already drunk, started an argument with the row behind them.

They moved to the streets and had lunch at a fine café, racking up a bill of two hundred bits from mixed drinks, and then skipped out on it. Running and laughing up a storm, they made their way to the park close to their neighborhood and invited themselves to a birthday party. Colgate remembered the sight of everyone’s hooves dancing on the grass, her own uncoordinated and numb from the pills she had been taking in increased numbers.

A stop back home for Rouge to grab another bottle of liquor, for Colgate to take more pills, and then they were back to the streets. One of the other Daturas, also drunk, hurt himself trying to push a carriage over on a dare.

The house where they wound up belonged to the pegasus, whose name Colgate did not remember, and she prodded Colgate with the bottle of port. “So, you gonna have some? Huh? Huh?”

“She can’t,” Rouge whined, leaning to one side and dunking herself in the water. She rose, laughing, and flipped her mane out of her eyes. “She’s on drugs.”

“Ooooooh, we’re telling!” the unicorn cried, and took a draught from his glass. “Whoo! That has some body to it.”

Colgate smiled again and waded to the side. A cricket jumped away at her approach, and she leaned on the decking, feigning being tired of keeping herself balanced in the water. She couldn’t see it from her vantage, but, on their approach, she had seen Whipped Cream’s house, the house she had vandalized a few nights ago. Police moved around the yard with cameras and notebooks, cataloguing her message. When she first noticed it, she was too high to think much of it. In the calming water, the cool numbness ebbing back out of her limbs and her head, understanding slowly filled her.

“Leave her be,” Rouge said. “She’s going through some shit. Honey, I swear to Luna, if you give me that look one more time, I’m gonna rip your wings off!”

The ponies laughed, and Rouge splashed the pegasus before falling backwards into the water again. Colgate’s nostrils flared.

Somehow, everything had gone wrong, and her sole advantage was that she seemed to be the only one who knew it. She wanted to blame Whipped Cream, and had for a little while, but closer reflection revealed the flaw in her reasoning. He had gone to the police instead of confronting her—not unforeseen, but disappointing—but her bad feelings had started before she knew that. The morning after she had thrown a rock through his window, she had awoken with a smile on her face, ready to relish her sense of newfound importance in the world.

By breakfast’s end, she was faking the smile, and only telling herself she had found that important place. Whipped Cream was a convenient target on which to put the blame for her loss of confidence, but the problem was inside her, a painful, silent admission as she took two pills at a time, washing them down with shower water. Something was missing. Whatever she had found that night was not there the morning after.

That was days ago; she had taken six pills today, and had a couple more stowed away in a bottle she had brought to the house, in case of emergencies. A fin of water hit her across the face, and she blinked and sneezed. More port was poured, and she climbed out.

Her path was not clear to her, but the immediate solution was, and she floated the remaining painkillers back to the pool. She took them with a swallow of pool water, then leaned back, savoring the feeling she knew was to come. The knowing was almost as good as the sensation itself.

She swished and swashed back to the group, a giddy smile back on her face, and splashed Rouge, who laughed and slapped her across the face with her lank, wet mane. Colgate laughed and pretended to be thrown back, landing on her back and sliding under the water. The sunset sky briefly wavered and wobbled on the other side of the pool’s surface, and she smiled to herself. “Whatever I was worrying about, it’s really no big deal.”

She pushed herself back up, the smile smaller. Her eyes darted from Rouge to the others, talking and standing much closer than before. “It’s not right. It’s not right, Cole.” She blinked water out of her eyes. Whether from the sudden stab of pessimism or a true lessening in the pills’ effect, one thing was sure: her good mood, as quickly as it had come on, was tarnished.

“I’m faking it again,” she thought.

Another splash turned her out of her introspection, and she looked drily at the other unicorn, his lips locked with the pegasus. Her wings flapped stiffly in the water, initiating smaller sprays that went unfelt. Colgate looked at Rouge, who stared into the yard with a queer look on her face, and then she looked at the floater. Dark wine had splashed out of overfilled cups to stain the rubber.

“Perfect,” Colgate thought, grabbing a cup. She saw the indistinct cotton ball of dying sun in the port’s surface as she tilted it up to her mouth and drank, the sweet and heavy wine seeming to fill her up long before the cup was drained. She sputtered and let herself fall back, spilling the rest, where it clouded the water around her head as she pushed herself back to the surface. Her head throbbed, and a part of her mind, the responsible part that had at one time been in control, suggested that she get out, but it was only that: a suggestion.

For half a moment, that elusive feeling hit her again. She had done something, she had taken action, and things would happen because of it. Happiness colored her thoughts, and then spread away, thinning like the wine that swirled around her middle.

“It’s working,” she thought, knowing even then that it was a lie. Even with alcohol on top of the pills—a bad idea, she knew—no new feelings emerged. No light broke through her foggy mind, no clarity of emotion or reason, as when she had destroyed Whipped Cream’s yard. She looked back at Rouge, who twirled slowly with her mouth open in distant-sounding song. She looked at the pair of lovers, creating a distinct shape against the pieces of house she could see behind.

The sun felt hot, the water thick and without temperature. Her head pulsed, and she looked back at the ponies; she had forgotten what she saw. The lovers embraced, Rouge had stopped moving. She looked again. Rouge stood still, and the lovers embraced.

She looked again, and the sun felt hot.

She looked again as blood slammed in and out of her head. Her breathing was slow and heavy.

Rouge fell forward and the lovers embraced.

The sun felt hot.

Colgate tried to move her head, but her eyes slid across the water, and nothing was done.

Her breathing slowed further.

A splash sounded like it had occurred from the end of a long tunnel.

Dark purple filled the pool near where she stood.

The second splash was much louder than the first.

Rouge sat in the hospital waiting room alone. The other two Daturas had left her once Colgate was gone; they were through the sliding doors before the gurney’s wheels were out of earshot. She tried to read a magazine, but only got as far as the second sentence before having to stop and try again.

Her best friend was incapacitated, but, more than that, she was far too drunk. Even throwing up all the port from earlier, ruining her friends’ pool, she was in no condition to make decisions for herself or for Colgate. When the ambulance came, all she could say was that Colgate had drank too much. She knew pills were involved as well, but no connections had made themselves apparent to her.

She wasn’t even sure why she was so set on staying where she was. She was drunk, and still fairly sick herself, but had enough self-awareness to know that she would be less than useless if anyone needed her. A vague sense of solidarity was the only conclusion she could grasp, but, the more she thought about it, the feebler it sounded to herself. Inside, there were only questions that she could not answer, while, outside, there was the support system of friends. In trying times, friends were truly one’s most treasured possessions. The Elements of Harmony’s example had taught her that.

The lobby doors opened, and she didn’t look until a shape stood over her. Blinking, she put the magazine down before regarding her visitor. A slurred “oh, shit” escaped her lips.

Fancy Pants cocked his head. “I’m sorry? I hope I’ve not selected a bad time, Powder.”

“Sorry, Mr. Pants.” She sat back and rubbed her eyes. “Wasn’t expectin’ ya.”

“How is she?” His voice was grave, and he took a seat beside her.

“I dunno. I guess okay, if they haven’t told me anything yet.”

“I understand there was a little too much drinking this evening.”

“Yeah… you could say that.”

He nodded. “Such is life.”

“Huh?”

“Can you walk? Let’s go outside. Fresh air can do wonders for a troubled mind, I’ve always believed.”

Rouge got to her hooves and walked beside him, trying to hide the sway in her step as the hospital pivoted around her. They walked a ways down the sidewalk toward a sleeping ambulance, and Fancy Pants leaned against it. “Breathe in, breathe out, Powder Rouge. One, two, three.”

She took a deep breath, then another, and her head cleared slightly. She smiled. “It does help, yeah. Thanks, Mr. Pants.”

“My duty, first and foremost, is to support my ponies.” He did not smile, but Rouge could feel the goodwill radiating from him all the same. “Is there anything I can do?”

“I don’t think so. They’ve got her in there, I guess. It’ll be okay.”

“For you, I mean. Anything you need?”

“A couple beers might be nice,” she thought, but didn’t say so. She just shook her head.

“A tragedy. I came over as soon as I got the news.” He sighed. “Such is life.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, the life of a Datura,” he said softly. His eyes were downcast, and he appeared to be speaking to himself. “Trapped in a seedy town like this, forced to comingle with the worst of the worst, it’s a wonder tragedies like this don’t strike more often.”

“You got that right, sir.”

“And Colgate was one of my more favored Daturas, too. I saw true potential in her. Why must this happen?”

“Just bad luck, I guess.”

“Yes, I suppose you must be right. That’s the bitch of it, Rouge. Even the best laid plans can come apart with a spot of bad luck.”

“I know how that feels, Mr. Pants.”

He smiled warmly at her, and she smiled back, still taking deep breaths. The air was helping, but she still felt ill. “How about you get out of there? I know you want to stay with your friend, but, as you said, they have everything under control. It will do you more good to get away and find some friends than staying and agonizing in that dusty old waiting room.”

“I guess so, sir.”

“Come on. I drove here. Shall I drop you off someplace?”

“Uh…” She quickly weighed the idea of going home against the idea of another bar. “Just home, I guess. That’s probably for the best.”

“Sleep will do you good,” he said, leading them back to the hospital doors. “Fresh air is good, but sometimes a restful night is better.” He brought them to a sleek, low, silver car, his cutie mark studded on the wheel arches. “This is the car I use to appear in public,” he mused, caressing it. “Hop in.”

Rouge climbed in and rested her head against the window as he drove them back to her house, where she collapsed in the front room and fell asleep.

Fancy Pants drove to the end of the block, parked, and cast his remote viewing spell, the same magic that Celestia used to watch the Elements. Through it, he saw Rouge lying prone on the floor, asleep. He cast it again and saw Colgate in the hospital bed with an IV and a breathing tube while nurses shuffled around her.

He drove out of one Canterlot suburb to another, the mountain rearing up behind him as he put more and more city to his back. It had been a long day, and he wished he could be driving the other way, up to his mansion near the palace, where his wife would be waiting for him.

Instead, he drove half an hour through thin nighttime traffic to a run-down house with an overgrown yard. A rusted washing machine listed to one side in the grass; it had been there for as long as Fancy Pants could remember. The house belonged to Ink Pearl, a Datura of thirty-four years, and a powerful member of his wife’s team. She was being groomed for an instrumental position in the coming battle.

Looking all around for other ponies to see, then lighting his horn and checking for standing enchantments in the area—there were none—he got out and knocked on the door, two pairs of quick taps, the standard Datura knock.

A dark purple unicorn with a messy, dark blue mane opened the door and let him in without a word. She had been asleep, he could see on her face, but he didn’t apologize, and she didn’t object when he sat on her dusty, sunken couch.

“Sir?” Her voice was the only bright thing in the house. It was clear and youthful, a singer's voice.

“Colgate and Powder Rouge have to go.”

She nodded and sat on the floor in front of him. “I’ve heard the names, but I don’t know them.”

“They’re both on my reject team. Rouge is an alcoholic low-life with a sycophantic streak, otherwise harmless, and Colgate’s a verifiable psychopath without her medication.” He smiled humorlessly. “The downward spiral has begun, and she’s pulling Rouge along with her.”

“I understand.”

“Colgate’s in the emergency room. I spoke to Rouge—just came from her house, to drop her off—but she was too drunk to volunteer any information. I’m guessing Colgate overdosed on those pills of hers. A little earlier than I was expecting.”

“Isn’t that good, though?”

“She was alive when I looked in on her, and I don’t like to take chances.”

“Yes, sir.”

He adjusted himself on her couch. “You don’t have anything pressing going on right now, do you?”

“No, sir.”

“I want you to get together with Chilly Clouds tomorrow and invent a trap at watchpoint sixteen. Do what you have to do, but I need them both dead, and I need it to look like an accident. Preferably an accident that one of them made.”

She paused. “Yes, sir.”

“Keep it simple if you can, but I’ll trust your judgment. No summoning and no creatures, though. I’ll have to put on a show of investigation afterwards, and I don’t want anything too glaring. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And I want it complete by the day after tomorrow. Lose sleep if you need to. She’s in the hospital right now, but, from what I know of her, I wouldn’t be surprised if she lets herself out early. I want to be able to send them both away immediately if that happens.”

“I will contact Chilly immediately, and we will begin tomorrow morning, sir.”

“Good. I’ll tell Fleur about this as well, and if you have any questions, ask her. Tomorrow, I’m going to be busy telling my ponies how much of a tragedy this is.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Questions?”

“Do you want me or Chilly to remain there and verify that they die?”

“No. I’ll check in on them myself.” An uncomfortable thought passed across his mind, and he wondered whether Ink could see it in his eyes. “And keep the collateral damage to a minimum if you can, but don’t make it a priority.”

“Yes, sir.”

Fancy Pants nodded sharply and got up to leave. “Good night, Ink. Have Fleur contact me when it’s ready, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sparing a look out the peephole, he opened her door a crack and slipped out to the disheveled front lawn. Greater Canterlot shone attractively above him, and he got into his car with a sigh. It would be at least an hour’s drive back home, and he thought about simply going to sleep at one of the spare Datura safe houses. He left the neighborhood, trying to remember which one was closest.

Colgate was allowed a soft breakfast the following morning. A vitamin drip still clung to her foreleg, but the nurse had removed her breathing mask at some point in the night, which she did not remember. She looked around the bedroom and knew immediately that she had missed her pills. Her skin felt clammy and her eyes burned.

She frowned at the nurse taking her vitals, distractedly spooning oatmeal around its bowl. Her horn had been left unrestrained, a detail that did not pass her by, even as fear and anger flooded through her mind.

“So, what happened?” Colgate asked quietly. The nurse looked comfortable in the room with her, and it told Colgate two things: she had not been a particularly difficult case in the night, and the nurse had been around long enough to develop her own quiet, worker’s confidence. Mild confusion and shame textured her voice as she posed the question, calculated to answer her legitimate concerns and mask the fact that she felt worse than she could ever remember.

“I was hoping you could tell us,” the nurse said. “The ponies who called you in didn’t know anything. Your friends?”

“Probably.” She saw the mare’s nametag, but, not wanting to give away her attention to the detail, asked her name.

“Echinacea. It’s a type of plant with medicinal properties.” She smiled at Colgate, who looked back blankly. “You’d been drinking, Miss Colgate, and it looks like the alcohol interacted with something else, but we’re not sure what yet. Do you remember what else you were doing last night?”

“Not what I was taking, but what I was doing. Diplomatic.” Colgate frowned and wiped drying sweat off her forehead. “Two can play at that game.” Another detail that did not escape her was the title Echinacea used: miss, not doctor. Either the nurse was subtly insulting her position, or didn’t know who she had once been.

“Deep breaths, Colgate. Colgate is okay, right? Or do you prefer Minuette?”

“Colgate, please.” She sat up and let the nurse hold the stethoscope to her back, sticky with sweat from the night. “I remember swimming with my friends. I think that was right around when I had to come in here.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Ummm…” She had been prepared to lie about her activities the night before, but found, as she was about to speak, that she didn’t need to. “I’m not really sure what else happened. I fell, I think. That sounds right.”

“Your friend said you had taken some pills earlier, or had been for the last couple days.”

She let Colgate lie back and noted something on a clipboard, and Colgate watched her.

“Can you remember what prescriptions you’ve been taking, Colgate?”

“I take…” A list of common prescriptions jumped to her tongue immediately, lies all, but she held back. “I’m trying to remember.”

“Something for pain, anxiety, anything like that? Have you ever had trouble sleeping?”

“I know I take something for my heart. Atto… something.”

“Atorvastatin?”

Colgate smiled. “That’s it. Eighty milligrams, once a day.”

The nurse noted it on her clipboard.

“But I hadn’t taken it for a couple days.”

“How long were you off it?”

“I wanna say around a week. I still had a while until my next refill, so I figured I’d space the rest out.” Adding a touch of uncertainty to her voice, she said, “I felt fine up until last night.”

Echinacea circled something, and Colgate glanced at it. Echo. Echocardiogram. “How did you feel last night?”

“Last night? I mean, aside from some dizziness, fine.” She paused significantly, feigning thought. “I was having some trouble eating, though. My jaw was just hurting up a storm.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, especially when I yawned. I don’t know why, but I was really tired yesterday.”

“Do you take anything else?”

“The odd ibuprofen for headaches sometimes, but that’s it. I took a couple yesterday for the jaw.”

“And how do you feel right now?”

“Kinda crummy, but okay. No pain or anything.”

“Hmm.” She looked at her clipboard for a second. “I’d like to have the doctor take a look at you this morning. We might need to run some tests, if that’s okay.”

“Sure. Do what you need to do.” She smiled warmly as the nurse left the room; everything she had told her was a lie, of course.

As soon as she was alone, she closed her eyes as a wave of goosebumps overtook her. She felt suddenly dunked in water, her sheets rendered invisible, and gathered them to her nonetheless. Her eyes rolled over as she tried to get a grip on herself, and she managed to after a minute. Taking a moment to relax, she then opened her eyes and looked out the window. She was three floors up, but facing away from the main street. A direct escape from her room would be impossible, she realized with a pang of anger.

Calm ebbed away as she tried to assess her situation. From the calendar on the wall, she saw that only a single night had passed. That she could not remember those intervening hours sent sparks of dread adrift through her mind.

“Rouge put me here.” Though there had been two other ponies, she had no doubt that it was Rouge who had taken her to the hospital. For a second, the thought of avenging herself on Rouge appeared, but it dissipated; though misguided, Rouge’s heart had been in the right place. She was not culpable to Colgate’s imprisonment.

She got up, tugging the IV needle with her, and yanked it out with a grunt of annoyance. As sleepiness, whether artificial or natural she couldn’t tell, seeped out of her body, pieces of thought began moving more quickly around her skull. She tried to hold onto them, first all at once with the thread that connected them, and then just the individual ideas as they surfaced. Like trying to catch bubbles in her mouth, no idea lingered long enough but to indicate that she was missing something greater.

She found herself at the window, staring through her reflection, eyes contracted in angry concentration. Rouge, and the hospital, and the pills: no chain of causality seemed to support what she felt. She needed out, needed to be away from the confining walls and the detached professionals that filled them.

Then, it clicked.

“Whipped Cream.” She looked around quickly, afraid she had spoken aloud in her revelation. “He’s smarter than I thought.” The mere college student, seeing her message on his backyard, had held back his true response and allowed himself to lose his pride in her eyes, hiding behind the police and waiting for her guard to fall, to spring and take her by surprise. “And it worked. It worked, Cole. Think about that.”

She could not. The entire plan took abstract shape in her mind, bereft of details but clearly and positively directed toward Whipped Cream. He had been the plan’s architect, she knew.

“Colgate? You should be in bed,” a voice said.

She turned to see Echinacea giving her a hard, but not too stern, look, and returned to her bed with a shrug meant to show innocent bemusement. Settling in, she plucked the IV needle off the sheets and replaced it to her foreleg.

“No! Sweet Luna, let me.” Echinacea tenderly removed it, switched the needle, and stuck it back in her leg. Colgate watched her eyes, trying to determine what had bothered her.

“What’s the verdict? How sick am I?”

“We’re going to run a couple tests on you. We think you may have suffered a heart attack last night.”

“Hmmm. That’s not good.” Pride flamed up and faded away inside her. She had gotten what she wanted, even down to what they thought had happened to her, but she could not relish the feeling.

Shadows lengthened in Roan, splaying its classic architecture out in battered angles down and across narrow streets. The sun was an orange bit that hung from every window like a pull ring, and ponies filled the city no matter where their taxi carriage wound itself. Twilight, Rainbow, and Fluttershy sat in a neat trio as they curved through town, while Applejack in her casket, disguised as a bundle of luggage, filled the back.

A large thunderhead menaced them from the west, and ponies were already preparing, setting up awnings over shops and stalls. Umbrella vendors seemed to be on every street corner, and the town’s pegasi were busy clearing the smaller clouds away so the city would not get too much rain at one time.

While Colgate was returning from her echocardiogram without any idea of how to handle her problem, or even what her problem was, Twilight stared straight ahead and tried to think as little as possible, mostly to maintain the casket’s disguise—difficult when out of sight. Inside the casket, she had brought a shovel.

They were dropped off at a train station near the edge of town, and from there walked two quiet miles into the desert, past red mounds of rock and into a striped cleft of riverbed. Twilight climbed through a combination of short teleports and regular, physical exertion to the other side, where the pegasi already had found a large patch of soft dirt.

Twilight dropped the luggage, removed the disguise, and opened the casket. Applejack stared back, her eyes bulging and plum-colored, her face misshapen as if packed with black powder. Found that way in the morning, she was a cause for revulsion, but not concern. Luna was halfway there, and the decomposition process had nearly stopped. Applejack’s face could be healed.

Twilight took up the shovel and started digging into the red dirt.

“We’re positive we won’t lose her?” Rainbow asked.

“I’ve marked the location on my map,” Twilight said, flourishing a small brochure out of her magical space. “And I’m going to bury her deep enough that the rain, if it comes, won’t wash her out.”

“I still don’t know what we’re going to tell ponies.”

“Who cares? Once we’re out of here, we never have to worry about them again.”

“Maybe,” Fluttershy said. “But it is a valid concern. Um, I’m not sure if you’ve seen it as much, Twilight, but a lot of ponies know something is up at the hotel.”

“I went for a fly this morning and had to answer like six ponies in the lobby,” Rainbow said. “That forma-whatever isn’t easy to hide.”

“Nor is the fact that every one of the Elements of Harmony, except Applejack, is known to be in Roan. A lot of ponies are picking up on her absence.”

Twilight let the shovel fall back and looked at the large oval she had cut into the earth before responding. “I don’t know what to tell you. I can’t do everything.”

“No, I’m not saying you should. I’m just saying… well, I don’t know.”

“No one’s blaming you for anything,” Rainbow said. “We just hope that this is it. Like, really, really it.”

“I don’t want to see her again until she’s up and about,” Fluttershy said.

“You can say that again.”

Twilight nodded and latched the casket shut, then walked around it one more time, searching for potential leaks. When she was satisfied, she magically encircled the patch of ground she had outlined and lifted it out, a six-foot wedge of displaced earth. Closing her eyes for a second, she branched another spell out and grabbed the casket, then lowered it into the ground and covered it. The process was done in less than a minute.

“That settles that,” Rainbow said. “You didn’t even need us.”

“I needed you,” Twilight said softly.

“Bye for now, Applejack,” Fluttershy said.

“We should get back.” She turned around and halted. Behind them, watching from a plate of sandy, red stone, Vanilla sat with a look of solemn ease. He shone like a second sun in the overcast desert, and did not rise to greet the three ponies. They walked to him.

“To answer your question, for the entire affair,” he said. In the desolate desert air, his voice just as much a physical sensation as it was a sound. Twilight’s ears felt full when he spoke. “I came in just as you were digging the hole with that magic of yours, Twilight. Or is it of mine?”

“It was mine,” Twilight said. “I can tell the difference when I use them.”

He nodded. “A fine skill to have, if not pointless.”

“Why do you choose times like this to intrude?” Fluttershy asked.

“It’s one of my more voyeuristic conceits, to watch ponies at their most genuine. The display of emotion attracts me.”

“That’s really creepy, you know that?” Rainbow asked.

“I applaud how you’ve handled this situation, Twilight. It can’t be easy, burying a best friend like that. Even if you know she’ll be back soon.”

“This was actually extremely easy,” Twilight said. “Getting to this point was the difficult part.”

“Hmm, now that is interesting. You’re familiar with the process of tempering metal?”

Twilight sneered. “You’re going to compare that to the last week for me, right? How I’ve responded to adversity by becoming a harder mare?”

Vanilla smiled serenely.

“Dr. Whooves beat you to it by about a mile. I stopped counting his metaphors for my life at six.”

“I love how quick you are, Twilight Sparkle. That quality, above all else, makes me regret my position with your enemy. You are dead right, of course. I was planning on making that comparison.”

“Why are you here?” Rainbow asked. “Is it good, or is it bad?”

“I can think of another question it would be fruitful to ask: what happened in Applewood? Even for all your intelligence, Twilight, that question has escaped you. You were preoccupied, of course, but, as you said, it’s over—at least, that’s the hope. The past is buried, quite literally.”

“Can you please answer the question?”

“Yes, of course. My apologies. Fluttershy? Nowhere to hide this time, my dear.”

“Her turn?” Twilight asked, turning her broad side to Vanilla as Fluttershy shrunk behind her.

“Her turn. Fluttershy, please, have I ever been known to poison my gifts? Look at your friends. Have they any reason to complain?”

Fluttershy looked at Twilight, then Vanilla. “No,” she said, just above a whisper.

“I have limited foreknowledge, something I know you know, Twilight. I give my gifts for a reason.”

“What about mine?” Rainbow asked. “All I do is… I dunno, tiny weather. Hot and cold, and rain sometimes, you know? What good is my thing?”

Vanilla nodded to her once, as if conceding her point, but said only, “Winter’s on its way.”

“Uh, hello? Sweaters.”

“Let’s get it over with, then,” Fluttershy said, walking out from behind Twilight. “Please don’t hurt me.”

“That is not in my control,” Vanilla said.

“Yeah, right,” Twilight said.

He shrugged, and Fluttershy sat before him. He didn’t bother to light his horn, but they could see from the way Fluttershy’s shoulders and wings seized up that he was filling her with his magic.

“While we’re waiting,” Vanilla said, “I’ll give you a little advice. This does not pertain to Discord or his machinations, but to the Mansel family. You’ve been wondering about them, Twilight?”

“I have, yes,” Twilight said. “But why should I trust you?”

“If you don’t, don’t, but I can tell you that ponies are correct to fear them. What the Astras have in ostentatious magic, the Mansels have in dangerous connections. Many of them are themselves quite dangerous.”

“Exactly how dangerous?” Rainbow asked. She had her eyes on Fluttershy, who had relaxed slightly.

“Discord likes to say he owns the Equestrian south, and particularly Applewood; I’ve heard him say it several times. Perhaps now he does, but the Mansels had it first. Not in any way you could see easily.”

“Did they have some sort of crime syndicate there?” Twilight asked. “And do they now?”

“Organized crime, yes, as well as drugs and illegal magic. I could give you the name of a drug lord in Applewood, if you’d like. Give you a little something to do on your down time?”

“We’ll pass, but I take your meaning.”

“They were also quite close to a fellow by the name of Pure Waterfall. Perhaps that name rings a bell?”

Twilight frowned just as Fluttershy stirred. Vanilla helped her to her hooves, smiling.

“That dam CEO,” Rainbow said. “He was with them?”

“A trusted associate,” Vanilla said, and winked. “Sorry, client. He oversaw their largest money laundering operation, you know. Ahhh, there’s an expression I’m more familiar with. Twilight, you wear concern well, did you know that?”

“What do you mean, money laundering?”

“Twilight can tell you. Now, the choice is yours, of course, but you’d be better off not letting on that you know what I just disclosed. Elements of Harmony or not, that kind of knowledge can put a flashing target on your backs, and you don’t need one right now, not with my master amassing his forces in the cold, Equestrian south.” He bowed to them each.

“Wait. What did you do to me?” Fluttershy asked.

“Hm? Oh, I stacked some healing magic of my own onto yours. It might feel a touch different, but I’m not one to skimp on quality, Fluttershy. Count on that!”

“Different how?”

Lightning flashed from afar, and he was gone, leaving only hoofprints behind.

“You all right, Shy?” Rainbow asked.

“I… actually, I feel great. I feel like I do after a good massage.”

“Money laundering,” Twilight mumbled.

“Yeah, what is that?” Rainbow asked.

“I’ll tell you. Let’s get back before this storm hits us.”

While they were out, Rarity and Pinkie had gone shopping, and they had crowded the bed with bags of warm clothing, much of it fashionable, and a couple souvenirs. In their haste and excitement to get back from a fruitful day out, they hadn’t noticed the envelope on the floor, which Twilight picked up as soon as she entered.

“It’s done,” she said simply. “What is this?”

“Was that just there?” Rarity asked.

Twilight didn’t answer, but tore it open and pulled out a tri-folded sheet of decorated paper, thin as onion skin and marked in tight, precise lettering.

“Well? Don’t keep us waiting, Twilight!” Pinkie said. “Wait, let me guess! Discord taunting us? Celestia telling us why she can’t help again?”

“Neither,” Twilight said. “It looks like an invitation. To the… to meet the Mansels.”

“Let me see,” Rarity said, floating it over. “To Twilight Sparkle and the Elements of Harmony, you are cordially invited… and so on and so on… the Mansels’ office on Fourth Street and Inchworm Way, Sunday at seven p.m. Sincerely, Peaceful Meadows, business correspondent. No response necessary.”

“That was just chilllin’ there on the floor when we got in,” Rainbow said.

“How’d it get there?” Pinkie asked.

Twilight took back the letter and folded it neatly. “Let’s find the others. I think it’s time to switch hotels.”

Colgate sat through an X-ray, an echocardiogram, and a lengthy talk with the doctor about what she had done the night before, all of them yielding nothing to her in the way of escape plans. In the lengthy, but rare, moments when she was alone, she tried to imagine the steps to take to ensure her safe egress from the hospital, but, between the hot and cold flashes, sprints to the toilet to throw up, and general dysphoria, focus was impossible.

Even more frustrating, she knew she had the ability. She remembered Ponyville, playing the entire city off itself with a few well-placed lies and wounds. Even that morning, she had been able to concoct a small, but intricate set of lies to waste the doctor’s time, but, on her back in the hospital bed, nothing occurred to her scrambled mind.

Ideas flashed in and out like comets, some of them scintillating in their simplicity and brilliance, setting her heart to racing; and others laborious and intense, requiring effort from her that would unassailable in its unexpectedness. No single thought stayed in focus long enough for her to analyze it, and, at the end of the day, she had only pieces of disparate ideas, dust settled from her brainstorm.

Three things she knew for certain: Rouge was waiting for her to come home, Whipped Cream was to blame for her imprisonment, and the hospital staff would be on to her game by the following day. It would not take much scrutiny to determine that she was withholding the truth.

Someone was wheeling a cart down the corridor away from her, and she listened until the sound was entirely gone. As soon as it was, as soon as her attention was diverted, her thoughts spun away again, and more ideas exploded and collapsed until she fell asleep.

She woke up to breakfast, again, and Echinacea smiling at her. “Morning, Colgate. Sleep well?”

“Fine,” Colgate said. She felt sluggish, and her muscles hurt. Her head was gummy, her skin rubbery under the sheets and her short, blue fur. “Top of the world.”

“That’s always good to hear.” She set another bowl of oatmeal on a folding table. “Hungry?”

As the nurse took a deferential step away, several things happened at once. Colgate jerked away in bed as one barbed thought made itself strong in her still groggy mind: poison. The bowl and table overbalanced to spill onto the sheets. Echinacea cursed in shock and produced a roll of paper towels to clean the mess.

One thing led to another. From some buried catalyst in her psyche, Colgate followed the expanding thread of conclusions: the oatmeal was poisoned, which of course meant the breakfast from the day before had been as well, hence her soreness. The nurse was in on it, maybe following orders and maybe not, which of course meant that she and Whipped Cream were related in some capacity. The curse had proven that: she, displeased but not as surprised as she should be, moved with what seemed to Colgate to be exacting precision, as if in a parting shot. “You may have discovered my plan, but you’re still covered in hot oatmeal, Colgate. I’ll just take my time cleaning that up.”

And then, almost immediately, it was all gone. Only the suggestions of paranoia and fear remained, and Colgate watched Echinacea as she bustled around the room, shifting Colgate around to remove the sheets and then capturing someone in the hall to get her another set. She did not move from her tightened spot at the head of the bed, though, by the time the nurse had left, she could not completely remember what had been so frightening as to put her there.

She did not relax, but got up and paced around the room, noticing only after several laps along her small route that she no longer had the IV needle.

“They’ll come for me now. I did something strange, and they’ll want to know why. I don’t know why.” She turned around, half expecting the doctor to be watching her. “I don’t know why,” she mumbled, testing the phrase on her tongue. “I don’t know why.” It felt false to her, but that feeling also came with no explanation.

She looked out the window, then into the bathroom, then at the empty chair for visitors. Dread moved in as a tide, first at the edge of her cognizance, then receding, then creeping further into her thoughts. They were coming, though who they were was not yet known. The nurse, surely, and the doctor, but probably more than that. Ponies she had never met, perhaps.

She raced to the bed and got in. “If I stay in bed, they won’t know I know who they are. I’m just another dumb patient to them.” This, too, felt wrong: the sheets were too clean, too stiff. Normal patients didn’t need the sheets changed after only their first day. She beat at them and got up again.

She sat on the chair, put her head between her hooves, and traced nothing in the floor. She got up and went to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face, but stopped before she could get a ball in her telekinesis.

“They’ll know for sure then. Wet-face Colgate can’t hide anything. She’s too suspicious. Why the wet face, you might be wondering.” Water moved down the clean drain, and she ripped the faucet closed, rewarding herself only with another implicating sound of unrest. The pony in the mirror looked back with wide, watery eyes, and she looked over her back to see if anyone was behind. No one was.

“But they will be, and soon.” She exited the bathroom and looked at her room. Everywhere, she saw signs on her unease. The dent in the chair, evidence of her sitting where she shouldn’t. The sheets, already rumpled, indicating she had been up. The slick sink behind, showing she had run the water recently.

She smiled as a black hole appeared in her rapidly beating heart. It was the perfect trap, and she had walked directly into it. Everything in the room was so perfect, so regulated, that any aberrant behavior was recorded, not with nurses’ eyes or doctors’ notes, but by the very furnishing, designed to retain every slight imprint of her movement, of her plans. Whosoever saw the room would have no questions as to her intent, and her knowledge.

Eyes flicking rapidly around the room, heart hammering, Colgate did the only thing she could think of. She went for the door, opened it, and stepped into the hall. No one was around to look at her or question her, but she could feel eyes on her just the same as she traversed the corridor.

She had no plan. She was operating on instinct, on fevered adrenaline. Another chill was creeping over her, but she ignored it as best she could. She had no idea how much time she had to escape, but she knew her limit was short and shrinking.

“Perfect,” she said aloud, reaching out with her magic. A blue haze grasped the fire alarm’s handle and pulled down. She jumped, startled, when the screeching alarm turned on, then trotted away. Patients and staff spilled out of rooms around her while questioning voices rose up in the floors below and above.

For her, it was meaningless noise. While doctors and nurses helped escort patients out into the hall, many in wheelchairs or on gurneys, many with machines attached and wheeling disjointedly behind, Colgate walked purposefully toward the stairs, ears flat against the ringing alarm. She could feel the piercing sound slapping her chest as she approached the stairwell, the first to do so of a crowd accreting behind.

“Miss! Stop!” someone shouted, but she didn’t look back. She moved down the stairs, the sound even larger in the confined area, funneling and reverberating all around her, pounding on her head like her heart in its ribcage.

On the ground floor, she paused to take in the disarray. Orderlies and receptionists scurried all around, trying to direct patients and other staff to the front doors, so full of motion and jostling machinery that Colgate imagined it was only a matter of time before the way became impassable. Though she had worked in hospitals all her adult life, she had never seen a mass evacuation.

Someone collided with her, but she didn’t look as she tried to blend with the crowd of confused, frightened ponies. She could smell the sweat and medication, a smell she had come to associate with anxiety and tension; only in the direst of medical emergencies did those two scents have occasion to mingle.

Names flew through the reception area, ponies calling for doctors, for nurses, for friends, or for Celestia and Luna. Behind the eruption of noise and the flagrant blaring of the alarm, Colgate heard a thin slap and scatter of magazines slipping off their table. Hooves pounded the tile, and, outside, she thought she could hear sirens.

As soon as she was at the doors, she pushed past a wide-eyed worker helping a very ill looking pony shamble out. Without a second glance, she bolted into the parking lot, the only thing on her mind the inevitable pursuit of her captors. It wouldn’t take long for them to discover that there was no fire, and then the only things on their minds would be her name and whereabouts.

Behind, voices expanded and moiled into a wall of sound that served only to propel her forward faster. As her trot became a gallop, an ambulance pulled up, and the driver sat in his seat slack-jawed at the emerging crowd while no one helped unload the injured passenger.

Colgate reached the parking lot’s edge and shoved through a bordering line of bushes, then took off down the sidewalk. Whether anyone could see her, or had seen her, left her mind. She was nearly free, and all other considerations disappeared in the presence of that grand idea.

Along the sidewalk, ponies were lining up to see the commotion, and a few ran forward to try to help the growing sea of infirm life. She slowed to a walk as she passed a grocery store, her heart straining and stinging. The chill had passed, and she felt momentarily well.

“Oh, crud,” she said, her throat dry. She had not given any thought to what would happen after she escaped the hospital, and had not realized that she had no idea where Rouge’s house was, or that she had no way to get there.

There was no turning back, though. That much she did know.

“You all right, lady?” someone asked. A mare around Colgate’s age stood at her nearby, undecorated carriage with a young pony by her side.

Colgate advanced, and the colt shrunk behind his mother, who stood up a little straighter.

“Are you okay?” There was a note of hesitancy in her voice, and Colgate looked into her eyes. Understanding, cold and hard, glinted there, and Colgate activated her horn without thinking about it. Ideas bubbled inside.

Keeping a straight face, but with teeth bared, she spoke slowly and clearly. “You tell him that I am going to see him ruined.”

“Wh—I’m sorry? What?”

She stepped around the mare, ignoring the frightened colt, and hefted a jug of fruit juice out of the trunk. Wordless, she slammed it into the carriage’s side, her blue magic’s rapid dissipation catching the amber liquid in a lurid relief against dark wood.

The mare screamed and backed away, and Colgate walked on. She could feel something tightening inside, something winding up. She realized it had been coiling in her since the hospital, but could only notice it in the freedom of the grocery store parking lot. The fire alarm had stopped, but sirens continued to crawl in the distance, skewered on the mare’s cries and the colt’s whimpers.

Someone called out for her to stop again, but she didn’t, and walked to the street. A line of cars and carriages waited at the red light, and, among them, she saw a taxi. The driver turned around with a cry of surprise as she stepped in, covered in juice and sweat.

“Take me to the Twisted Plum,” she said, leaning her head back on the seat. She felt hot all over, despite the cool air outside.

“Ma’am, I’m not—”

“The Twisted Plum. It’s a bar, I don’t remember the cross streets.” Not knowing whether it actually was, she added, “It’s nearby.”

He studied her for a second, then turned back to the wheel. “Sure thing, ma’am.” He spoke slowly, the voice of a pony weighing his options. “I think I know where it is.”

“I hope so.”

They began moving with the traffic, and Colgate started straight ahead, watching the cars and carts flow around them, drivers and pullers alike anonymous to her and her plight. It was a strangely comforting thought, that, just outside, there was a city of ponies who had no stake in her struggle. No one to share in her efforts, to conspire with or against her.

It was eleven on a Saturday morning, and Powder Rouge lay on her back, staring at the TV news, a bottle of wine on the table beside a purple stained glass and its cork. She had been up since nine and drinking since ten.

“We are just getting reports that the escaped pony has been identified,” the newsmare said, standing a distance in front of a massive crowd of visibly angry ponies. “She is on the run, and, hospital staff are saying, should be treated with caution.” A graphic of Colgate appeared on the screen. “She was last seen approaching the Golden Bough Supermarket on One-hundred Fifteenth and Sunburst. If anypony sees her, they are urged to call the police immediately. Again, she is to be treated with caution, as hospital staff says may be mentally unstable.”

Rouge rolled over and pushed herself up. Pouring another glass of wine, she looked out the slit in the drawn curtains.

“Mentally unstable?” she thought. “That’s not right. Cole’s just rowdy.” She thought of the painkillers that sat brazenly on the counter. She had received a strange look when picking them up, but nothing more, though she did remember Colgate’s advice that she get the next prescription from a different place. She had wondered why at the time, but hadn’t the heart to ask.

She looked into her wine glass and took a deep drink, hardly tasting the alcohol. She had purchased the bottle for five bits at the closest grocery store before breakfast. In a way, she reflected humorously, it was her breakfast.

“But she did burn that pony,” Rouge said aloud. “But that was just a joke.” She nodded and drained her glass. Her head was spinning pleasantly, and she fell back into the couch. She did not feel happy, but she was not worried. Equestria, and the Datura that occupied it, were distant, and not her problem. Colgate, too, was not her problem—for the time.

“Is she a problem?” The question startled Rouge, who had never thought of Colgate as anything more than a little strange, a little excitable. The ponies on the TV seemed to think she was a problem, but Rouge could not remember seeing anything like it in her own experiences.

She lost herself for a minute in the shape of the overhead fan, its blades static. She stared long enough for them to resemble holes in the beige ceiling, then leaned forward again, a habitual movement that brought her closer to her wine, then over and on to the floor. She closed her eyes.

Then, an instant hour later, she rolled over to a voice repeating her name. She opened fuzzy-feeling eyes to look up at Colgate, haggard, pale, and sticky, standing over her and speaking rapidly.

“Wait, hold on, hold on, good buddy,” Rouge whispered. She rolled over and knocked her head on the table. The wine bottle jostled.

“Rouge, you’re drunk.”

Rouge chuckled. “Yeah, you could say that.” She looked at her roommate again. “Hey, wait, you’re on the TV news.”

“Yes, that’s why I’m here.” She looked furtively at the door. “We need to go.”

“Huh?”

Colgate took a deep breath, but her voice did not slow down. “We have to get out of here, Rouge. Don’t worry, I already got my pills. They’re safe.”

“I’m not… I’m, uh, I’m not sure I’m following,” Rouge said, finally standing. She reached for the wine, but Colgate slid it away.

“Not now. I need you to focus and help me out. They’re going to find us here eventually.”

“Who, ‘they’?”

“The police, mostly.”

Rouge looked at the bottle. “Can I have that back?”

“We need to go,” Colgate said, smiling lightly. “Not far. I figure we can stay at a hotel or something.”

“Colgate, come on, it’s like five in the afternoon.”

“It’s noon.” A note of finality tinged her voice, and Rouge looked at her hooves.

“Well, I sure can’t drive us anywhere.”

Colgate appeared not to hear. She walked past and peeked out the blinds to the back yard.

“Cole?”

Colgate manipulated the pill bottle open and tipped a couple capsules onto the table. Without pausing for speech or thought, she went to the kitchen, grabbed a spoon and a glass, and set to work crushing them.

“What are you doing?”

“Rouge, we’re about to be in big trouble, so I suggest you think of some way we can get out of here.” She scraped the dust into her spoon and considered it for a moment before daintily snorting it.

Rouge observed the spectacle impassively. “I can get a friend to drive us somewhere, yeah. Like a getaway thing, right?”

“Let’s go!” Colgate cried cheerily. Her cheeks were aflame and her eyes and nose were running, but her smile was so genuine that Rouge had to return it before heading for the door—with one last check that her wine was still safely floating by Colgate’s side.

They didn’t lock the door behind them. Rouge stumbled across her lawn, once well tended, and Colgate moved behind with long, purposeful strides. She looked imperiously down the road and asked, “Who shall it be?”

“I got it, I got it.” Rouge trotted unsteadily down the sidewalk to the house on the corner, knocking for a full thirty seconds before a caramel-colored pony answered. Colgate lagged behind, lost in what she looked at, and, after a minute of talking, Rouge dragged her in.

Much like Rouge’s house, the caramel pony’s quarters were more sedate than Colgate was expecting. A table of art supplies occupied one corner beside a vacant cat bed, while a small placard reading “Bless This Mess” hung opposite. No signs of unrest or illicit activities marked the area, and Colgate could hear water running in the adjacent room.

“Sweet Dreams,” the pony said in a nasal voice, pumping Colgate’s hoof. “You probably don’t remember me. I’m a good buddy of Rouge’s.”

Colgate only smiled at her.

“You were both out of your minds that night. Hey, you’re that pony from the news!” She smiled and gamboled into the other room. “Sun goddess help me now, for I am a party to criminal activity!”

“Cut the crap, Sweet,” Rouge said. “Cole says we’ve gotta get going, like, yesterday.”

“Going?”

“As in vamoose.”

“Like, get outta town vamoose?”

“Cole?”

Colgate frowned at them. “Just away from the house for a while. We need to… ugh, like a motel or something. Something where we can lay low.”

“You heard her,” Rouge said. “Like a motel or something, so we can lay low. Hey, make it a place with a pool, though.”

Sweet Dreams rolled her eyes. “I’ll make it right up your ass. What makes you think I can just drop everything and drive your sorry selves around, huh?”

“C’mon, Sweet. Datura code.”

“No such thing.” She took a step back, grimacing. “Celestia, you stink. Have you been drinking?”

“Not much,” Rouge said. “Now that you mention it, though—”

“After we get to the hotel,” Colgate said. “You can get back to ruining your life once we’re in the clear.”

“Hey, Cole, quit doggin’ me.”

Colgate looked at her quietly for a second, then swung the wine bottle up with a whooshing telekinetic arc. It hit the ceiling and came open on Sweet Dreams’ carpet, spilling very little. She stared at Rouge, who stared back, shocked, and turned out of the room, her tail switching back and forth.

“Hey, you know what? I think I can spare a little driving,” Sweet Dreams said. “I think I’d be happy to get you two on your way after all.”

Rouge nodded sedately and picked up the bottle, looking at the spill and then taking another long swig.

“You should probably put that down, Rouge.”

“Yeah, you may be right.” She placed it back on the floor and went down a short hall to a living room, then to a garage where Sweet Dreams cranked open the rattling door. The sunlight revealed a large, empty aquarium tank, its glass speckled with calcification and its wooden stand rotting in places. She helped Sweet push it out of the way.

“As you can see, I don’t go driving much,” Sweet said. “Last time I did, must’ve been… eh, three, four years ago. Everything’s within walking distance now.” She tried to open the car door. “I know I’ve got the keys somewhere.”

Rouge followed her back into the house and looked for Colgate, who had disappeared elsewhere. She had never been in this particular friend’s house.

“Bingo, right where I thought they were! Get your friend, and let’s get out of here. Do you have cops after you?”

“If not now, soon,” Colgate said, stepping out from a different hallway. Sweet had already turned away, and did not see the pair of bulky crystals that hung in Colgate’s telekinetic grasp, entangled in dark brown straps and lashes. Rouge tried to give Colgate a questioning look, but the blue unicorn ignored it.

They climbed in, Colgate lying as flat as she could while making room for Rouge, who leaned her head against the window just as she had in Fancy Pants’ car. Sweet fumbled with the keys.

“So, I don’t want to pry, but what exactly happened?” Sweet asked. “Something at the hospital? The news wasn’t very clear.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Colgate said.

“I’d like to worry about it,” Rouge said, and hiccupped.

“I’ll fill you in when we get settled.” She took out her pill bottle as the car started.

“Boo-yah! Still works!” Sweet cried. “Okay ladies, comfortable? Keep your heads and limbs inside the vehicle at all times, no roughhousing, no—”

“You wanna get us out of here?” Rouge said.

“I’m working on it, I’m working on it.” They slowly rolled back out of the driveway, and Sweet gave Rouge a sour look as she checked her rear. “One last question, and maybe I should have led with this. Am I gonna get in trouble for helping you?”

“You shouldn’t,” Colgate said. “They have no idea you know me.”

“Good enough for me.” They sped west out of the neighborhood.

Sundrop Inn was a two-story L that embraced a small pool and faced away from the main street, its huge, plaster sign resembling a colorful teardrop overhanging a short, green lawn. A pair of overweight ponies inclined their heads simultaneously from their checkered beach towels as Sweet Dreams managed to curb her car on the turn in.

Colgate and Rouge jumped out looking like a pair of performers. Rouge wheeled and stumbled, taking in air in huge, fishlike gasps and occasionally leaning over an ashtray beside a streetlamp, while Colgate looked around with a manic glint in her eyes and an electric tension in her steps. She thanked Sweet tersely for the ride, and the room money Rouge had begged off her halfway to their destination.

Then, the car pulled away, banging a wheel arch as it clunked off the curb and leaving a trail of smoke in its wake.

Rouge was finally puking in an ashtray when Colgate entered the lobby. A lone stallion in a dark green vest was speaking with the single pony at the front, so Colgate sat to the side and took in her surroundings as best she could. She was still glowing from the powder she had snorted, and even though she was running low on pills, she was too euphoric to care.

The entire room was floored with white tile and walled with a wood pattern. A tiny table sat to one side, piled with magazines, across which she could see an empty dining room. An offset door stood open on the other side of the lobby to a maroon staircase.

“Honey, I’m home!” Rouge called out, throwing open the doors and slouching in. “Celestia, Cole, I gotta tell you, I’m actually feeling a lot better now.”

The stallion looked back at them nervously.

“I think I need like a, a shot of vodka or something. Something to get me straight, you know? Get my head in the game.”

“I’m sorry, can you please keep your voice down?” the stallion asked, not looking at her, his head high and stiff.

Colgate stood up, but Rouge reached out and put a hoof to her side. She sat back down slowly.

After the stallion left, they purchased a couple nights in the cheapest room they could on the bottom floor. It afforded them a view of the sandwich shop next-door and a queen-sized bed squeezed into an alcove. Colgate set the pulse crystals in the bathroom sink and began crushing up another pill.

“So, what’s the deal with those?” Rouge asked, looking around the room.

“I found them in Sweet Dream’s house. They were hanging over her mantle in one of the rooms.”

“So you took ‘em?”

“It’s the smart thing to do.”

Rouge tested the bed. “Is it?”

Colgate snorted the powder and came back out, stopping to wipe her nose on a corner of the sheets.

“And what’s this now? You’re snorting stuff?”

“It’s a quicker, more efficient way to introduce the painkillers, that’s all. They last longer too.”

Rouge thought for a long time, and Colgate turned on the TV. She was still on the news, but her face was calm as she watched the ponies report on her last known location.

“I don’t think they saw me get to your place.”

“Isn’t that what hurt you yesterday, though?”

“What are you talking about?”

“When you went into the hospital, Cole. C’mon, even I remember that.”

“That wasn’t yesterday, it was the day before.”

“Whatever, whatever, whatever.” Rouge lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “But that is what happened, right?”

“I mixed them with alcohol, which is a bad idea.”

“Ohhh, okay. I thought you had too many.”

“I can’t have too many, as long as I’m careful.” She rattled the bottle. “Besides, I’m almost out. I might need you to get me another prescription tomorrow.”

“Me?”

“Wait, no, you’re right, you can’t show your face in public. I’ll find someone else to do it. The check-in pony should be fine. He probably does it all the time, working at a place like this.”

“Are you sure you don’t wanna take a break first?”

“I am sure. These pills are perfect, Rouge. They enlighten me, they help me think straight. I can actually be myself when I’m taking them. Though the effects do wear off a little too quick for me. I’ll up the dosage on my next prescription.”

“Whoa, whoa, okay,” Rouge said. “Hold the phone.” She rolled over, and her question was muffled in the sheets. “Colgate, are you addicted?”

“Not even close.” She shook the bottle again, then placed it on the bedside table. “I’d know it if I was.”

They stayed up until eleven watching with growing dread as the news continued to break. When they turned the TV off and settled in for bed, the police had found Colgate and Rouge’s house, and were in the process of getting a search warrant.

Both mares were quiet. Rouge had sobered up, and lay with Colgate, gently stroking her chest fur as they listened to the sounds of traffic outside. Even though her head was clear, she didn’t feel well. It was her first sober night in several days.

She turned over, and Colgate moaned in her sleep. Her eyes felt solid in her head as she watched the ceiling, watched the hands turn on the clock. Eventually, at quarter past midnight, she got out of bed, grabbed her room key, and went into the hall. She went up the stairs to the second floor, then found a second staircase to the roof, something the pony up front had mentioned as the hotel’s most popular feature.

Chairs sat in sets of threes and fours along the roof’s edge, but Rouge was alone. She could see the stars and a piece of the moon behind Canterlot Mountain from where she sat in the corner beside the service staircase.

She had joined up with the Datura—of her own free will—seven years ago, and she had prided herself on a healthy level of ambition. She wanted to move up, but had no pretentions of ever being more than a small or medium-sized team leader. She had gotten close with her commander, and was well on her way to fulfilling the first step of her plan when she met Photo Finish.

Posing as a makeup artist, which fit her cutie mark anyway, she was hired to watch and protect Photo’s models, and Photo herself. The incident inducing the job had already passed, and there were no indications of further need for Datura involvement, but her commander was a cautious mare.

As with that commander, Rouge had gotten close to Photo, their personalities complimenting each other in a way that Photo found charming and Rouge found exciting. When they began socializing outside of work, Rouge fast discovered the side of Applewood that she had heard about and never seen, and, though she abstained from all the drugs, sex, and illegal magic that Photo and some of her other friends found so enticing, she did develop a taste for the wild and the opulent, which, for a while, she could rarely fulfill to her satisfaction.

She spent four months attending outings with Photo and the other socialites, enjoying the most expensive food, the most expensive drinks—a two hundred bit shot of scotch, once—and the most expensive company. Dancers and escorts frequently attended their parties, many ignored by Rouge, who did not know how to interact with them. Most of all, more than titillation or validation of money and power that seemed to so enchant her associates, it was the inundation in spectacle that she loved.

Photo Finish’s Hearth’s Warming party, the only one Rouge would attend, took place in Starlight Summit, a small but beautiful hotel off The Bright Road that Photo had rented for the occasion. Rouge and close to two hundred other ponies celebrated from late afternoon into the dawn of the next day, and the hotel was finally clean two days after that.

It was that night that Rouge had tried her first illicit drugs. She could remember stirring a soft, pink powder into a flute of sparkling wine and drinking it off to the side of the lobby. She could remember feeling exquisitely happy and calm as she swayed across a ballroom floor, watching as ponies grew and shrunk and corkscrewed all around her. Most of all, she remembered laughing as Photo, small as a mouse, tried to tell her something, and she put her ears to the floor to more closely listen.

Rouge watched as an airship appeared off the mountaintop and began its descent. She felt melancholy, and from more than the bittersweet nostalgia at the return of air traffic to her part of the world. The ship’s headlight beamed down to diffuse over Canterlot suburbia.

She spent the next months after Hearth’s Warming casually sampling everything Applewood had to offer in the way of dangerous nightlife. She and Photo grew more distant, and it was then that she discovered that Photo’s models were wilder than their employer. Where Photo would organize the astonishing displays of excess and then appear on the dance floor with a bloody nose and a stiff drink, her models went out at odd times of the night, took pills in bathrooms, tricked ponies into bar brawls, and went home with strangers.

Rouge knew it had been good fortune that she was pulled from her position when she was, and treated her indefinite confinement to the Canterlot suburbs as a vacation. She was quick to make friends with the other local Datura—Fancy Pants had introduced them personally—but slow to reacquire the habits she had left behind in the big city.

Moderation and safety. So it had been for her and her friends for close to two years.

She watched the sleeping neighborhood, which looked huge to her tired eyes, even though she was only two stories off the ground. She tried to see the Twisted Plum, but could not find it.

A chilly wind swept across the rooftop, and she shivered. Winter was approaching, with it the memories of her enchanted life in the diseased heart of Equestria. She sometimes saw pieces of herself in Colgate, and, she had been unnerved to discover earlier that evening, more pieces of her old self in her own reflection. Brushing her teeth before bed, and sober, she had realized that she could not remember the last week very well. It was a feeling she remembered before being removed from the Applewood team.

“Cole’s different, though,” she thought. “She’s a special case, with the crazy pills coming along before these ones. We’re not that much alike.” Alone on the rooftop, the thought gave her no comfort.

They had a late breakfast in the hotel café, spent a little time in the hotel pool, and returned to their room, completely lost as to how to proceed with their lives. Colgate had taken three pills that morning, and Rouge was irritable from lack of alcohol.

Their room was unlocked, a detail that neither gave much attention as they entered, but was quickly explained when Fancy Pants stood up from the bed and shook their hooves.

“Ladies, it’s your lucky day,” he said, smiling and patting Rouge on the back. “I know the last couple have been tough. I am so pleased that you’re feeling better, though, Colgate.”

“Much better, yeah,” Colgate said, watching him closely.

He laughed. “I’d have thought your dip in the pool would have woken you up a bit more than that, my dear! No matter. As I said, I have very good news. The time has come at last for you to act on the information you’ve so diligently been gathering for me.”

Rouge only looked at Colgate.

“Here.” He floated a note over to them, its envelope sealed with the official Datura seal—what Colgate assumed it to be. “This contains your directions, as well as the train tickets required to go out there and back.”

“I’m confused,” Rouge said.

“A mission, my friend. I have an assignment for you at last.”

Colgate hissed air through her teeth.

“Where are we going?” Rouge asked.

“You need to get out to watchpoint sixteen, ten or so miles northwest of the city limits. There’s been some strange activity there, and I need you to check it out.”

“What kind of activity?” Colgate asked. “Tartarus activity?”

“No, no, nothing so severe,” Fancy Pants said. “The closest gateway is several hundred miles away, and not your concern. I suspect the standing enchantments at the watchpoint are beginning to fail; they do that from time to time. Go up there and do a magic inventory, let me know which enchantments are still in working order. I’ll send one of our mages up there as soon as you get back to me.”

“When would you like us to do that, sir? Shall we go immediately?” Rouge asked.

“Tomorrow, actually,” he said, nodding to her. “I don’t want anyone seeing you leave so soon after I do. Besides, you’ll be needing to prepare yourselves.” His smile shrunk. “I couldn’t help but notice all your things are still back at the house.”

“Yeah, there was a bit of a snag, sir.” She hopped up once. “But we’ll get it done for you, Mr. Pants. No worries. You can count on us.”

He smiled again, his eyes crinkling up as he did so. “That’s exactly why I chose you for the task, Rouge. And you, Colgate. I know I don’t come around as much as I should, and I apologize. I appreciate what you do for the team every day.”

He looked at them both, Colgate’s high wearing off and Rouge shaking with excitement, then left. He sang softly to himself as he disappeared down the hall.

“Watchpoint sixteen? What in the world is that?” Colgate asked.

“I can’t believe he didn’t just string us up,” Rouge said, wide-eyed and releasing a shaking breath. “Like, ho-ly crap, that was close. Cole, he has no idea how bad we screwed everything up.”

Colgate looked at her for a second before recognition dawned on her face. “This is our chance to get out of this, isn’t it?”

Rouge slit open the envelope and dumped out the map and the train tickets. “Our ticket out of trouble! The Pants saves us yet again!”

Twilight, Octavia, Vinyl, and Rarity rode the elevator with Peaceful Meadows, the pony who had followed Twilight to the mortuary. She met them at the entrance to the underground and had driven them in a dented, off-white car deep into the darkness under the Roan they knew. Everyone else had remained at their new hotel, unpacking and working out answers to the questions they knew would follow them. Twilight wasn’t sure which position was worse, theirs or hers.

The meeting was scheduled at seven p.m. in the seventh-floor boardroom of Mansel and Company, a stucco tower draped in a shaft of dying sunlight. They were in the deepest parts of the caverns under Roan, which Peaceful Meadows referred to as “the cradle of power.” Twilight heard the reverence in her voice as she named it, and the pride as well.

The elevator released the five mares into a carpeted corridor of glass walls, showing a small office of suited ponies on phones, at typewriters, or pouring over records. Voices were soft, and a couple ponies greeted Peaceful Meadows, who nodded only. She wore a green-grey business suit with a silver bola tie, and a pair of half-moon reading glasses that underscored her unimpressed eyes whenever she favored her followers with a look.

Through the boardroom window, they could see the floor of the city, the buildings that seemed to rise out of an abyssal darkness to grasp at the cavern ceiling, far away, but not for them. Looking up, they could see a space of only twenty feet from rooftop to ceiling, and then the sweeping pink feathers of clouds across a periwinkle dusk sky.

Peaceful Meadows took her seat beside three unicorns, each in his or her shade of gray. The youngest, a green-eyed stallion with a slick, sharp mane and a disarming smile, rose to shake their hooves. His chiseled musculature was not quite hidden inside the charcoal outfit.

“Campari Mansel,” he said, meeting each of their eyes in turn. “At your service. This is my mother and father, Mr. and Mrs. Mansel. CEO and CFO of Mansel and Company.”

“Twilight Sparkle,” Twilight said. “As you know.”

Campari smiled, and his parents stared at her as one.

“And this is Rarity, Octavia, and Vinyl Scratch. My friends.”

“Could the other Elements not make it?” Mrs. Mansel asked. Her blonde mane was short and wavy, its tips just touching the collar of her suit, and a diamond winked on a ring that tipped her horn. Her voice was softened with age, but her tone brooked no nonsense.

“There was some business that needed to be attended to. They asked me to convey their apologies, though.”

“And we convey our forgiveness,” Mr. Mansel said. Beside his wife, who filled her suit, his thin shoulders appeared sharp and severe. His face was lined, but not wrinkled, and his teeth were too perfect for his age. He showed them when he spoke. “Please, seat yourselves. Would you like anything to drink? We have water in the fridge. Soda. Tea.”

“Water is fine,” Twilight said. She opened the fridge under the window and removed a bottle, not looking. A trick she had practiced in the hotel.

Rarity was the first to take a seat, and Mr. Mansel nodded to her.

“Are you enjoying your time in Roan?” Campari asked. His eyes twinkled as he rested his hooves together, clicking them softly under the table.

“It’s been lovely,” Twilight said. “I wish we had more time to spend here.”

“I know it. This city has a certain charm, a depth of character, that I’ve not seen anywhere else. Do you like minotaur food?”

“I don’t believe I’ve tried it.”

“You’d know if you had.” He chuckled, and Twilight politely did as well. “There’s a small restaurant just a few blocks north of here—on the surface, that is—that isn’t very well known, but serves the best minotaur food I’ve ever had. Why can I not remember the name right now? Ah, no matter, it’ll come to me. But, anyway, I suppose I should tell you why we wanted to meet you.”

“You wanted to know why I was seen entering a mortuary,” Twilight said. “And then, presumably, why there was so much trouble surrounding that mortuary the very next day.”

“Trouble?” Mr. Mansel echoed.

“You mean the police activity,” Mrs. Mansel said.

“I do remember hearing about it,” Campari said. “I didn’t think that had anything to do with today’s meeting, though. Perhaps I’m mistaken?”

Twilight looked at Rarity, who looked ahead, nervous.

“It’s no secret that we knew you were here before you had gotten yourselves settled. Word travels, and it seems like it travels twice as fast where you all are concerned. Am I right?”

Mr. and Mrs. Mansel smiled, and Peaceful Meadows watched the window.

“I imagine you are. Ponies tend to pay attention to us,” Twilight said.

“How could we not seize the opportunity to meet the Elements of Harmony when they choose to drop by our city?” Mr. Mansel asked. His voice was liquid, his face peaceful, his movements thoughtful. Even the inquisitive tilt of his head was a languid, measured act.

“Your city?” Octavia repeated.

“Yes indeed.”

“We owe you a debt of thanks for what you’ve done for the country,” Mrs. Mansel said. “For what you continue to do.”

“Too true,” Campari said. “Too true.”

“So you wanted to thank us for everything we do,” Twilight said.

“At seven o’ clock on a Sunday,” Rarity added.

“We do apologize for the inconvenient time,” Mr. Mansel said. “We’re having meetings up here all day. I promise, we did everything we could to select the least of the possibly difficult times. We know you, too, have busy schedules.”

No one spoke. Peaceful Meadows glanced at the clock on the wall and adjusted herself in her chair, and Campari continued to smile greedily.

“Well, it’s been nice meeting you,” Twilight said, moving to stand up. “But, if that’s it, then we’d like to get going.”

“Of course. Don’t let us keep you,” Campari said, rising to shake her hoof again. “I understand that mortician was rather put off when he contacted you, is that not so?”

Twilight retracted her hoof.

“And then you lost something, Twilight. May I call you that?”

“Miss Sparkle, if you please.” She sat down again, ignoring her friends’ looks.

“Miss Sparkle. He did speak to you, correct?”

“We spoke, yes.”

“Were you able to recover your lost item?”

Twilight licked her lips. “I’m not sure what item you’re referring to. We lost nothing.”

Campari looked at his parents, who said nothing.

“We lost nothing,” Twilight repeated.

“My understanding was that you left something valuable in that mortician’s care.”

“Could have been a social call,” Peaceful Meadows said.

“Ah, that makes sense. Are you a social pony?” He looked at her friends. “I suppose you must be to show up with two of the largest musical names in Equestria. Miss Melody, I must say, I’m a fan.”

“Thank you,” Octavia said.

“We’re social ponies as well, Miss Sparkle,” Mr. Mansel said. “We have friends all over Equestria. I shouldn’t have to tell you the value of friendship.”

“It’s the cornerstone of our business model,” Mrs. Mansel said. “Good friends and good connections, that’s what made our company into what it is today.”

“Who do you count as friends?” Campari asked. His green eyes glinted for a second in the light from outside.

“Well, the princesses, of course,” Twilight said guardedly.

“Yes, the goddesses. That’s two friends we have in common, then.”

Twilight hesitated.

“There must be more than that. Ponies we may know about?”

“Photo Finish,” Rarity said.

“Ah, we know of her,” Mr. Mansel said. “We’ve met before. Not she and I personally, but she and the family. I’ve heard she’s an interesting mare.”

“She’s okay,” Twilight said.

“When did you meet?” Rarity asked.

“Three or four years ago,” Mrs. Mansel said. “She reached out to us on a matter of business, but I hope you don’t want to know more. We keep our clients in the strictest confidentiality.”

“Of course,” Twilight said. She smiled thinly, and the Mansels all looked at one another.

“Well, it looks like we might have one up on you, Miss Sparkle,” Campari said, smiling warmly. “We’re also friends with a certain number of the princesses’ royal court, and several politicians in the other cities.”

“And some other strong businessponies,” Mr. Mansel added. “Do you know who Pure Waterfall is?”

“I’ve heard the name,” Twilight said, averting her eyes for a second before looking back at him, determined to keep her stern exterior intact.

“Have you heard the news, I wonder?”

“There’s been an accident,” Mrs. Mansel said.

“A—really?” Twilight said.

“And I’m afraid it was quite fatal,” Campari said.

“It was recent. You should have been traveling between Applewood and here at the time,” Mr. Mansel said.

Twilight looked back at them, waiting for them to continue.

“The Astras too,” Vinyl said softly. “Twilight forgot them.” In the boardroom, her voice was perfectly clear.

“Yes, we’re friendly with them,” Rarity said.

Campari looked to his parents, and Mr. Mansel sat back in his chair. “Yes, we’ve heard that. Lucky for you. That family is powerful.”

“They’re the most powerful family in northern Equestria,” Twilight said.

“We are aware of that,” Mrs. Mansel said, inclining her head.

Again, no one spoke, and Twilight looked at the clock.

“The news of Pure Waterfall’s death does not inspire any reaction?” Campari eventually asked.

“Why should it?” Twilight asked.

“He’s your friend, not ours,” Rarity said. “I would think the reaction should be yours.”

“We have reacted,” Mr. Mansel said. “This meeting is a part of that reaction.”

“Is it?”

“We were hoping you could explain what happened,” Mrs. Mansel said.

“Why would we know?” Twilight asked.

“You can stop wasting time at any point, you know,” Peaceful Meadows drawled.

Twilight smirked. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Consider your position,” Mrs. Mansel said lightly, still smiling. “And consider what we already know—the mortuary, for instance. Applejack. Yes, we know about that, and our most sincere condolences for her passing.”

“It’s in the business’ best interest to know where the Elements of Harmony stand on their journey,” Mr. Mansel said.

“What does that have to do with Pure Waterfall, though?” Rarity asked.

“He was one of our higher-value clients. The Mansels look after their clients—another important piece of our business model. We pride ourselves on our integrity.”

“It seems like it’s in your interest to know about us before actually meeting us,” Twilight said, quietly doubting her own words. “Why? We would have been comfortable speaking openly about this.”

“If that is so,” Mrs. Mansel said, “then you have my sincere apologies, but this seemed too delicate a situation to approach head-on.”

“Don’t tell us that this is entirely a matter of the heart for you, Miss Sparkle,” Campari said. “You’ve done well to cover yourself.”

“What are you implying?” Octavia asked, and Vinyl put a hoof on her.

“Nothing.”

They were silent, and Twilight looked at the clock again. She could feel their eyes, and her friends’ eyes. They had discussed the meeting on the way over, and agreed that Twilight would handle the speaking. She, of them all, felt most confident in her understanding of their position. Sitting under the Mansels’ collective gaze, however, that past confidence felt inferior to her need to be out of their boardroom.

“Pure Waterfall tried to stop us from something important,” Twilight said at last. “I’m not sure what happened to him, but I know that he wasn’t successful.” She looked at Mrs. Mansel, mustering a little of her former hardness. “Ponies rarely are when they get in our way.”

“A bold claim,” Campari said. “I appreciate that in a mare, Miss Sparkle.”

“One that goes without saying,” Mrs. Mansel said. “Naturally, if anything were to befall the Elements of Harmony, or even one of you, there would be retribution from Canterlot, and probably elsewhere as well.”

“I’m not sure it does go without saying,” Twilight said.

“What are you implying?” Mr. Mansel asked. “Anything?”

“Nothing.”

He smirked.

“I’m tired of this,” Mrs. Mansel said. “This dancing around the topic. Miss Sparkle, where were you on the evening of Sunday, September fourth?”

Twilight felt her heart skip a beat. That had been their last night in Applewood, the night that Discord’s and Vanilla Cream’s magic had sprung to life and woken up the dam.

“I’m waiting for your response.”

“We were… in flight, between Applewood and Roan. I think.”

“You weren’t still in Applewood?”

“Is this a meeting, or an interrogation?” Octavia asked, ignoring Vinyl’s motions to quiet her.

“Miss Melody, this is an open meeting,” Mrs. Mansel said. “You are free to leave whenever you want. Right, Miss Sparkle?”

Twilight nodded.

“Would you like to leave now? Or would you like to conclude our business?”

Twilight looked at Octavia, her mouth dry. The company owners had her pinned with their eyes, and Campari continued to smile his rogue’s smile. “We came to speak with them, so that’s what we’ll do. We’re finishing this.”

Octavia glowered at her, then at the Mansels.

“So, the fourth?” Mrs. Mansel repeated.

“Between cities,” Twilight said again.

Mrs. Mansel smiled again, still kindly, though Twilight could see the venom in her expression. “That’s funny. The report I have indicates that you were still in Applewood that evening. Your last evening, as it turns out.”

“What report?” Twilight asked quickly.

“A report on your whereabouts, your comings and goings.” She half-laughed. “I suppose, in the interest of honesty, I can tell you we’ve had this report for a long time.”

“Since Nightmare Moon,” Mr. Mansel said. “Or shortly after.”

“Mansel and Company likes to know where the current bearers are at all times,” Mrs. Mansel said. “It’s nothing personal. It’s business. I’m sure you saw your likenesses in Applewood, and those of previous bearers. Our business has a moderate standing with many of the hotel and restaurant chains there.”

“So you know we were there still,” Twilight said.

“And staying at Apogee, yes. Well, you seemed to be. You weren’t actually seen there after checking in.”

“There were some complications.”

“And that’s no surprise,” Mr. Mansel said. “Trouble does follow you, after all.”

“Perhaps you can enlighten us,” Mrs. Mansel said. “We’ve been trying to figure out what happened that night. Current reports are unclear, as no one who was there then has had time to get into good contact with us. Except you.”

“Another question we’d like answered,” Mr. Mansel said. “Though that’s more personal curiosity.”

“Yes indeed. But, business first, Miss Sparkle. I’m sure you were involved when Pure Waterfall passed on. There was a large disaster, I know, and I know the Elements are drawn to large disasters.”

“No point in lying about this,” Peaceful Meadows said. She hadn’t looked away from the window once since the meeting began.

“How do I know you haven’t already concluded what happened?” Twilight asked. “How do I know you’ll believe me, even if I tell the truth?”

“Were you planning not to?” Mrs. Mansel asked.

“No, I was… that is, I was planning on being honest and open throughout this meeting. But I can see you weren’t.”

“I don’t know if I like what you’re suggesting, Miss Sparkle.”

“Maybe you can clarify your point,” Campari said.

Twilight sipped her water. “I mean to say that, well, I don’t think you’re being completely honest either. You strung me along, knowing already where I was and what I was doing.”

“The intention was to encourage your honesty without presenting an intimidating front,” Mrs. Mansel said, her smile still fixed, still kind.

“Well, it didn’t work.”

“Yes, we can see that,” Campari said. “Perhaps we should start over?”

“No,” Mr. Mansel said, rising. “We’ve wasted enough time with these ponies. This meeting is concluded.”

They all shook hooves, and Rarity uttered the only pleasantry in the room. Peaceful Meadows walked them out of the building and drove them back to the surface, where the evening sky had waned to a bruised blue.