Night looked up from where he sat on the edge of the bed as the door opened soundlessly to admit his wife. He indicated the phone he held to his ear with a finger and she nodded, closing the door behind her in the same soundless way, despite the fact that she was doing it while carrying two steaming mugs.

Over the phone, the shuffling of papers stopped, and the voice of “Great Uncle” Stalwart came back on the line. “I found it, and I’ll be placing some phone-calls come morning. For now, keep yourselves safe, son. I don't trust how easily this principal is gaming the system. Sign nothing, say nothing, and instruct young Twilight that she is forbidden from signing anything they give her either without our lawyers reading it first.”

Switching it to speaker, he nodded. “I understand, sir. In the meantime then, Velvet and I will look into a different school…One of Cadence’s close friends is the administrator at the school Twily’s best friend goes to.”

Velvet passed him his tea. “Luna was very adamant that she did not like Crystal Prep’s…policies, and that should we ask it, Twilight would have a spot in her school within twenty four hours.”

The old man on the phone made a thoughtful sound. “Can she be discreet, Velvet?”

“I would believe so,” Velvet responded. “If nothing else, she is the one who cautioned Cady and Shining about Abacus Cinch having an unhealthy level of influence and encouraged them in being careful.”

More quiet. “What’s the school she oversees? I want to look into that, myself. Make sure.”

“Canterlot High School,” Night supplied. “It's a public school, but it has an amazing amount of supplemental programs for both gifted children and children who need extra help. Twilight would have gone to their Junior High, except the district lines were redrawn that year and she was placed in a different school.”

Stalwart made another humming sound. “If you trust this Luna to be discreet, go ahead and get the paperwork from her. Fill it out, but wait to turn it in until we are ready and give you the go ahead. In the meantime, son, make sure young Twilight is safe. I will be in touch in the meantime.”

With a click, the call ended, leaving the couple alone. Night set the phone down on his nightstand, and took a steadying sip of his tea. Velvet settled next to him, and he drew comfort from her closeness.

“What else did he say?”

“He got the fax of the letter the school sent us this morning. He’s furious, but we knew he would be.”

Velvet’s expression was more scowl than frown. “I am too. The nerve of them, trying to make us believe the whole altercation was Twilight’s fault, and they are doing us some kind of favor by covering for her!”

Rubbing the bridge of his nose did little to disrupt the throbbing headache that had formed behind his eyes. “That whole thing was so…” he searched for the right word with a tired mind. “…blatant in its threats. I can't believe they would actually put something like that in writing! Is the school really that arrogant?”

A warm hand brushed the back of his neck in a light touch. “Migraine?” Velvet asked him.

Night closed his eyes against the pain. “From trying to read that thing. It made me so angry that it just felt like the blasted words kept twisting on the page.”

His wife hummed in agreement, and the hand left his neck. He missed the soothing sensation, but a moment later the sound of the nightstand drawer opening explained why she had pulled away. “Take some tylenol, Lighty,” she encouraged, pressing the bottle into his free hand. “It helps. I actually think some kind of chemical was spilled on the paper they used—I kept getting this whiff of…metal and sulfur. Like some of Twilight’s early chemistry experiments in the kitchen?”

Setting his drink aside to shake a few pills into his palm, Night sighed. “Maybe that explains the insanity in that office, because this whole thing has been insane on their part.” Tossing the pills back, he washed them down with a swallow of tea, sitting in silence for a time with his wife. It had been a long day, no matter how he looked at it, and tomorrow…he wasn’t sure if it would be better or worse.

“How’s Twily?” he asked eventually.

Velvet had risen to change into sleepwear. “Subdued. It sounds like she talked to Gently about the park events finally, as well as yesterday, and that took a lot out of her emotionally.” She glanced towards him. “Gently and I talked briefly today. She did say that she is also concerned about the school environment and the effect it is having on Twilight’s mental health.”

Night’s brows furrowed. “Do you think she would be willing to put that in writing as a professional opinion?”

“I believe so. She also commented that she believes that the strong and supportive friendship Sunset and Twilight have formed is one of the primary reasons that her mental health is not suffering worse.” She ducked into the bathroom, but her voice carried easily.

He nodded, though she couldn't see him, and took the time to sip at his mug of tea, savoring the flavor this time. “This isn't the usual night time blend you make,” he commented.

She poked her head out of the bathroom briefly. “Oh, yes…On a whim I made the blend that Sunset brought us when we were all sick—maybe it's just a bit of whimsy, but just the scent of it seemed to help my headache.”

Giving her a thin, tired smile, he savored another sip. “It does feel like my headache is already easing off. Perhaps it's got something in it that is good for headaches.” Night adjusted his hold on the mug, the warmth seeping into his palms. “Speaking of Sunset…did Gently have anything to say about Twilight’s insistence that we not alert Sunset to this week’s events? I’m still not convinced we did the right thing by not letting her know…and with everything, I’m afraid Sunset might be hurt when she gets here and learns we didn’t keep her in the loop.”

Velvet acknowledged him with a sound that suggested she was collecting her thoughts, so Night contented himself with finishing his tea as he listened to the familiar sounds of his wife’s nightly routine. After a few minutes, she came back out, stopping by his side of the bed to press a kiss to the top of his head. “She did, actually,” she told him, finally answering his question.

“And…?” he responded, wanting to know the rest. She wouldn't have deliberated this long if there wasn't more.

“She’s tentatively in favor of it, stating that Twilight’s reasoning was a mature and healthy one that encourages her to respect boundaries that are set, even under stressful circumstances…and because she believes it will be good for their developing relationship if both girls are able to realize that Twily can manage an upsetting and stressful event without Sunset’s immediate presence.”

Night Light sighed, setting his empty mug on his nightstand. “I still think I’m going to make sure I talk to Sunset and make sure she knows why we held off on contacting her,” he murmured. “I don't want to give her the impression that it was from lack of trust or that I didn't consider my promise to her important.” He paused for a moment, something about her words jumping out at him. “Evening star, did Gently actually say ‘relationship’ when referring to the girls?”

Velvet stretched out under the covers with a tired but relieved sound as she relaxed after a rough day. “She did, why?”

He joined her, holding one arm out so she could cuddle against him. “She’s always been a woman who is very precise with her language, so it just made me wonder…did she use ‘relationship’ instead of ‘friendship’ for a reason? Is it possible that Twilight finally got comfortable enough to be open with her about her and Sunset?”

His wife was quiet a moment. “Well..Twily did take Sunset with her to one of her recent appointments. She claimed it was to introduce Sunset as part of her ‘family and support system’ but there's always a chance…” She cuddled against him, resting a head on his shoulder. “So I suppose it's very possible--I know that I have been privately hoping that she did just that…but it's not the kind of thing I could really ask for details about from any of the people involved. I know Gently takes ethics and privacy extremely seriously though—she only ever discusses subjects about Twilight with me that I discuss with her first, and she’s very careful not to give away what they talk about. I can't imagine she’d consciously give something away…” Her tone turned wistful. “But maybe…it would be a good sign, wouldn't it, Lighty? I’d like to think maybe it's a sign that Twilight is getting closer to being ready to tell us…”

Kissing her forehead, Night reached over to flick off the light. “I know…I think…maybe it's okay to be hopeful, because we need it right now. Because maybe then this whole horrible event might have some small good come from it, if it means Twily finally feels comfortable enough with us to open about the fact that she and Sunset love each other in a way that goes beyond ‘best friends…’”

The office was dark, unnaturally so despite the winter clouds that reflected city light back down on the world around. The shadows hissed and writhed, baleful eyes winking in and out of existence as they seethed and roiled across every surface available in the space. From the abyss that covered the windows and blocked out the world beyond, the Master’s voice was cold and cutting as an icicle laced with dark magic. “You have missssscalculated, ssssssssidhe. Again. Thisssssss isssss becoming a pattern with you.”

Suppressing a desire to shudder, the being who went by the moniker of Abacus Cinch among mortal cattle managed to keep the facade of calm emotionless. Even so, it was a near thing as the fae displayed the precise amount of deference and respect due the dark power in the room, and not a whit more or less—never mind that deep in the dark recesses of their psyche, they felt neither of those things, only contempt at their required subservience and fear of the Master, who, even now, held the power to end them should He so desire. “My Lord, perhaps it is merely that the missive has yet to arrive at its destination? While we used a courier, they are still mortal messengers…mortals are…unreliable in an age when one is no longer permitted to so readily apply proper incentives for failure.”

Darkness billowed and swirled with sudden aggressive violence, reaching towards the figure and tearing away the glamor with grasping talons and hungry maws, the motion unending and dizzying to look upon. It hurt, tearing agony into the sidhe’s essence and leeching away magic that had been hard won, squeezed from the misery and suffering that the shades fed on, but they dared not react in any fashion. Weakness…was to be eaten…

Silence ticked on, until at last, the voice spoke again, in a way that spoke of anger barely contained beneath a thin veneer of control. “You are becoming quite adept at blaming othersssss for your failuressss, Itheadair.”

Keeping from flinching this time was harder, especially without the glamour to mask their face further. “Nay, My Lord,” they ventured, seeing the unpleasant potential in this conversation already. “My Honor will not allow me to speak less than truth to you, even should it cost me. I cannot lie to you, Master.” The words rang oddly in the air, but they were an incomplete truth—the sidhe did not lie, but neither was it the nature of their kind to speak the whole truth…

A fact the Master knew well.

“It has been but a single day,” the fae being continued in the ensuing silence, “and the parents are known for doting on the girl, defective though she is. I remember well the sweet anguish that was supped on from the mother when the elder of their spawn attended our halls…how richly she grieved every failure, how prevalent her fears…it may simply be that their antics of late are that fear turned in a new direction. If so, they shall be easily brought to heel once more…with sufficient reminders.”

They could sense more than see, the claw like shadow that inched along the ceiling just behind them as if meaning to reach out and grab the sidhe…only for it to melt back into into the black morass consuming the room. “Is that what you would call it?” came the deadly hiss. “A sssssimple sssshow of missssdirected fear?” The sound of talons across crystal shrieked in the air, painful and shrill. “Wasss it missssdirected fear that dessssstroyed my sssshades, Itheadair? Or perhapssss you would blame that on the girl’sssss burgeoning gift, playing the fool and turning a blind eye to the sssstench of another magic sssseeking to undermine me?!”

True fear made the sidhe freeze in place. “Master, My Lord, I would never—!”

The shadows in the room swarmed, a pandemonium of invisible mouths and hateful eyes and chittering, hissing fury tainted with a touch of mad laughter, assaulting them until they could see nothing, feel nothing, except the horrifying agony of the darkness filling them, in until even the breath in their lungs had been replaced with an endless abyss. In all their centuries, the fae had never known such abject terror, such inescapable certainty that they were about to meet their end…

And then, in a mockery of mercy, the shadows released them, leaving the inhuman being to right themselves and try to recover some measure of composure. “The girl’sssss importance is the only reasssson why you sssstill sssserve, Itheadair,” the Master growled. “That growing power which sssshall be mine hasss made her role all the more irreplaceable, ssssomething that cannot sssstill be sssssaid for your ilk, sssspawn of Eire!” Those eyes bored into theirs, full of rage despite the now deceptive calm of the voice. “My power hassss become compromisssed becaussssse of you.”

Struggling now to maintain their calm, to not display the fear that had rattled them so utterly, even though their Master would sense it regardless at this point, the sidhe tried to speak in a level tone the words that they could not have stopped even if they’d wanted to…and they did very much want to. “If by my word or deed I have failed You, My Lord, then state how You wish amends made, and I shall carry out Your will.”

“Amendssss will be ssssimple, Itheadair,” the voice in the shadows began, smoother and calmer than it had been. “The bindingssss have been weakened from the outbursssssst, ssssignificantly. Mortal ssssouls are insssssufficient to fix it, sssso you will.”

There was an intake of breath that the sidhe could not stop, eyes going wider than they intended. The fear threatened to overwhelm them, the words almost hesitant. “Personally, My Lord?”

His voice became soft, whispering and sibilant behind one pointed ear, the feeling of smoldering embers ghosting over pale skin. “You are sssstill of usssse to me at pressssent, Itheadair….” The slight sound of the floorboards creaking under heavy footsteps echoed from one side of the room. “…but one of yourssss will now reinforce what issss Mine,” He finished, His voice coming from everywhere and nowhere.

The ancient fae did not relax, even as they cursed inwardly. They were already stretched thin, their underlings barely numbering three dozen, and this would cause more problems than it solved… not that the Master cared a bit about that. No…this was their punishment for something that wasn't their doing, for misdeeds that only existed in the mind of the warped being now holding it over their head. “As you…command, Master. Have you then made your selection?”

In the thick, impenetrable darkness, the high backed chair at the desk creaked, rotating around and causing papers to rustle faintly. “No, Itheadair,” was the haughty response, tinged with the faintest hint of smug, sadistic pleasure that said its owner knew exactly what it was doing. “You all sssserve My Will…but they are yourssss to manage. You will decide which to ssssacrifice to correct your error in judgment.”

Were it possible, they would wish a curse upon the mortal wretch for putting them in this position, all while frantically considering which among the underlings could be given up to the Master’s demands, and how to make it seem as though the selected candidate had somehow brought the fate on themselves…it wouldn't do for it to taste of a betrayal. “As you command, My Lord. When do you wish to carry out the ritual?”

The muffling effect of the shadows did nothing to mitigate the sudden, jarring sound of a slam, or the way the heavy desk jumped on the floor. Nor did it do anything about the smoky sulfurous smell that flitted past the sidhe’s nostrils. “NOW, Itheadair!!” was the command, unmistakably in its threat.

Bowing their head to hide the internal rage, they said in a tone perhaps a fraction too terse, “It shall be done, My Lord.” They dared not say otherwise, and with gritted teeth expended their own magic to call their servants to assemble, venting their fury in the only way available—by adding to the end of the command, “Whichever among you is slowest feeds the Master’s wrath!” That would have to suffice in directing the rest of their kind on where the blame truly lay.

*cackles maniacally*