Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I trust you, Sidriel.”

The man in the spotless white suit smiled convincingly as he shook hands with another man dressed exactly the same.

In the vast, sun-drenched office, nothing was darker than gold. And there was certainly no room for dirt. The staff—trained to be invisible to both mortal and angelic eyes—scrubbed it every two hours. The Boss was obsessively picky about cleanliness. A single coffee stain, a trace of garden soil, even a green smear from fresh grass on your immaculate suit would get you suspended for the rest of the day. Meanwhile, your desk would undergo immediate deep cleaning. Not everyone could withstand such discipline, but not everyone was lucky enough to work in the Heavenly Office. It was the highest privilege of the immortals.

And, unfortunately, Sidriel had that privilege.

“I’ll do everything I can to live up to your trust,” he answered with a gentle smile. He was certain the assignment—passed down from his boss, who served another boss, who in turn answered to the Supreme Boss—was nothing complicated. “One day’s work. A few hours, at most.”

What he didn’t yet realize was that the mortal world differed quite a bit from the idyllic order he was used to. To put it bluntly, it was chaos.

Buoyed by the promise of a promotion, Sidriel fluttered out of the office. In one hand he clutched the key that opened the gates to the mortal realm; in the other, a small but immensely important package. He hurried through the perfectly manicured garden—every branch and leaf trimmed into harmony—past the lilies, their pale faces turned toward him in quiet suspicion.

Chapter Text

“How about another round of shots?” Rick, the bartender, winked playfully at his most loyal—and by far most generous—customers.

The Tvair sisters showed up at The Purple Melon almost every night, leaving more money than Rick wouldn’t make in months of honest work. Not that they ever skimped on tips either—especially when they were drunk.

“I’m done,” sighed Mary, the elder sister, her damp white hair sprawled carelessly across the counter.

“Come on, just one more!” coaxed Barbara—her younger “copy,” not so much because she looked alike, but because she tried to mirror her in everything.

“Nooo,” Mary groaned, covering her face with her hand. She was still hoping to preserve the last drops of reason she had left. “We’ll have to face the driver, remember?”

“So what! The young have nothing to lose,” Barbara smirked. “Hit us, Rick!”

Rick nodded with approval and happily went to mix their order, this time adding a bit more vodka than usual. Enough to loosen up the rich party girls, but not enough to make them drink away their entire inheritance. Something had to end up in his pocket, too. A bus pass, breakfast at his favorite diner, more dog food—surviving in the city on a bartender’s wage wasn’t easy.

“You know what, you’re right,” Mary perked up, tossing her hair back from her face. “We’re young, which means we should drink ourselves stupid.”

“Exactly! Live every day like it’s the last!” Barbara clinked her glass against her sister’s.

“Live every day like it’s the last!” Mary echoed.

They drained their glasses mercilessly and jumped onto the dance floor, where the silver sequins of their matching short dresses caught the strobe lights, blinding the men and outshining every other woman. The Tvair sisters were desired by all. And if someone wasn’t impressed by their pretty faces, then the looming fortune of their grandmother—who, sooner or later, would kick the bucket—was reason enough.

“Bitch!” Mary suddenly spat out mid-dance.

Barbara flinched, raking her fingers through her wild red hair and darting nervous glances around.

“What… what did I do?”

“Ollie…”

“Who?”

“I fucked him,” Mary said, as if it were as obvious as the fact she was blonde. Then, lowering her voice, she added: “On your left, but don’t turn your head too fast… The bastard dragged his girlfriend here, even though just a week ago he told me all her photos were going in the trash because they’d broken up ages ago.”

Barbara ignored the warning and turned around, burning the couple with a scathing glare.

“In general, I don’t give a fuck—it was just a one-time thing. But lying to everyone the way he does, admit it, that’s disgusting,” Mary went on.

“You too?” Barbara whispered in shock, her cheeks instantly flushing red.

“What do you mean, too?”

“Well, uh… you slept with him...”

“And?”

Mary frowned, but Barbara didn’t explain. She just grabbed her hand and dragged her back toward the bar.

“We need another drink. And then we’ll tell her the whole truth. That kind of shameless lie can’t go unpunished, right?”

“Right, but—”

“Rick, another round!”

Mary shook her head, trying to make sense of what was happening.

“Fine,” she sighed heavily—we’ll sort this out later. “But why are we drinking more?”

“Did you sleep with Rick too?” Barbara leaned in, whispering into her sister’s ear, her hand resting on Mary’s shoulder.

“Ugh, no. He’s way too pathetic for that…”

“You think so?”

“Wait, are you saying you—”

“Forget it!” Barbara cut her off, dismissing the thought, and gratefully accepted the fresh drink. “Thanks, Rick!”

Mary had barely taken a sip before shooting her sister a doubtful look.

“So why are we drinking?”

“Oliver was… a little more than just a one-night stand for me.”

“Oh really? Two nights?”

“Four, to be exact,” Barbara muttered, not catching the sarcasm. She stared seriously into her empty glass. “And one date.”

“Oh…”

Mary couldn’t think of anything better to say, but she had to support her sister somehow, so she tossed back the burning shot in silence. Then she heard it again:

“Another round, Rick!”

She had no memory of how many drinks followed. Her wallet was empty, her head pounded to the beat of the music, pain stabbing at her temples, and her mouth was so dry she could barely speak—not that she’d have managed anything coherent. Barely keeping her balance, Mary staggered into the restroom, collapsed against the sink, and looked in the mirror. Three heads stared back. Not bad. If only one of them would actually work.

She rinsed her mouth, then struggled to fish her phone out of her tiny purse. But finding the driver’s number—while the whole world spun—and explaining where to pick them up tonight felt impossible.

“Fuck it,” she muttered, tossing the phone back into her purse—except it slipped and crashed to the floor at her feet.

“Fuck it,” she repeated, stepping over it.

In the end, she could just grab a cab off the street, like normal people do.

A dirty little yellow car. You can handle that.

Yellow? Dirty? For us? And we’re supposed to be normal people now?  her subconscious protested.

Mary gave up, slid down to the floor, and pulled her phone closer. No, another call wasn’t even an option—especially since the screen looked cracked now. Oh well. She’d gone through so many phones that she’d long since made it a habit not to keep anything important in them. At least not the ones she carried to clubs. She only had three numbers saved anyway: the driver, Barbara (in case she got lost again), and Gigi—the grandmother—but that was strictly for emergencies. Without a shred of regret, Mary tossed the phone into the trash bin.

And then, suddenly, it buzzed.

“Fuck off! Whoever you are, just fuck off!”

All her attempts to relax and pull herself together were ruined; the phone wouldn’t stop vibrating. Desperate, Mary crawled over to the trash and slowly reached in.

“Excuse me, ma’am, do you need help?” rasped an unpleasant little voice behind her.

Mary turned. Oh, perfect. Her so-called high school friend, the one she’d always despised, was standing there in very high heels, sneering down at her—Mary Tvair, the former prom queen—like it was the funniest sight in the world. Mary shuddered, suddenly feeling pathetic.

“Mary! No way!” Lacey feigned excitement. “Oh! Are you okay?”

If they were still in school, the story about the Tvair heiress digging through trash would’ve spread in minutes.

“D-dropped my phone,” Mary muttered, clutching the sink to pull herself up. “But who gives a shit. To me it’s what a candy wrapper is to you.”

Lacey’s face twitched, though her smile stayed plastered in place.

“How great that you’re here! We’ve got a table—Ethan, Lou, Reg…” She rattled off a couple more names from their old “popular” group. A bunch of idiots who’d only ever been popular because of Mary in the first place.

One thing was clear: they’d all just laugh at her. A pack of pathetic, two-faced losers.

“Maaary!”

The situation was saved by Barbara, who burst cheerfully into the restroom on her own two feet.

Unbelievable. How does she even do that? Mary thought—half irritated, half admiring—as she managed to straighten up herself.

Barbara’s pale cheek was marked by a red blotch, the shape of a human hand. But that didn’t seem to be what was troubling her. She was clutching her phone nervously.

“Gigi’s calling!”

“Shit! So it was her…”

“Well, girls, I’ll leave you to deal with your family drama,” Lacey finally broke the silence. “We’ll be waiting, Mary. Oh, and hi to you too, Barb. You can join us if you like.”

Barbara ignored her, stepping aside to let her out through the door.

“What do we do?” she was still waiting for Mary’s answer.

“Decline it. We’ll talk tomorrow. Right now we just need to get home.”

Mary lunged forward, but her damn coordination betrayed her again. She would’ve hit the floor face-first if Barbara hadn’t been right there to catch her.

“Come on!”

“You know, sometimes I don’t even regret having a sister,” Mary muttered, recalling the rare moments when they weren’t fighting over who’d eventually inherit Gigi’s fortune. “What happened to your face?”

“Oliver’s girlfriend didn’t buy it. Called me a slut. Honestly, I think they deserve each other.”

“Where is she? Calling you a slut is my privilege!”

Sensing Mary’s battle mode, Barbara hesitated—and lied.

“They’re long gone. Let’s go.”

Mary could’ve sworn she heard familiar whispers and giggles behind her. In the trash? How humiliating. So the Tvair empire has fallen? Tragic.

The fresh air hit differently than expected. It was supposed to sober them up a little. Instead, Barbara threw up, Mary fell twice into a flowerbed, and both of their heads spun empty, like the wind had blown out any remaining coherent thought.

“We’re not taking a cab!”

“Fine.” Barbara shrugged, fumbling for her phone in her jacket pocket.

“And we’re not calling Ben either!”

“Uh… so how…?”

“We’re taking the helicopter. Flying home like true Tvairs.”

“I already feel like I’m in a helicopter…”

“Let the broke assholes suck it!” Mary flipped the finger at the building that housed The Purple Melon on its top floor.

“Hell yeah!” Barbara laughed in wild delight. “Suck it, fuckers!” she shouted, raising her own finger, though she wasn’t entirely sure at whom. “You can’t afford this. But we can… By the way, where are we getting the helicopter?”

“Tvair Enterprises is just nearby,” Mary grabbed her hand. “They’ll let us through. And if not—I know how to get in.”

“Wait—you’re saying… you’re saying we should steal grandma’s helicopter?”

Barbara loosened her grip, hesitating. She might have been drunk, but she wasn’t too drunk to realize how much trouble that would cause.

“Let her freak out. Let her worry. Maybe she’ll drop dead faster.”

“Yeah…” Barbara whispered, battling her own inner no. “Maybe…”

Maybe I don’t want her dead? The thought flickered. The idea of being left alone with Mary one day was far scarier than their cold, stingy grandmother.

The wind blew again, tousling their hair, cooling their heads, and scattering the unwanted thoughts.

“What are we waiting for? Let’s go!” Barbara shouted, suddenly inspired. “Helicopter! Fucking awesome!”

A white shadow glided down toward the dark city, slipping gently past the soft feathers of cloud. Dawn was still hours away, so Sidriel didn’t rush. The strange sights before him stirred both awe and horror.

Do people really live in these gray concrete towers? How do they even breathe? Where is everything the Creator gave them—forests, rivers, mountains? Have these beautiful birds flying ahead of me got nothing left to feed on? I wonder if the Boss knows…

And yet the lights piercing the night sky looked astonishing. And that building below—such unusual architecture, black marble. Was that even possible? A little lower, the scent of bread—sweet, delicious bread. He had never tasted anything like it. Music drifted up too. Not the harp he was used to, but something else. Many instruments blending into one. What is this? A symphony?

The streets were empty, quiet—but full of life all the same.

I wish I could dive into this, just for a day…

Blow. A hard blow to the chest. A couple of women screamed. His ears rang. His fingers opened—empty. The package!

But it was too late to think about that. Sidriel was already plummeting down at breakneck speed.

"What the hell was that?!" Barbara screamed in panic, her face twisted with horror.

Mary stayed just a touch calmer.

"A swan?"

"It was bigger than any fucking swan!"

"An overgrown swan?"

"I swear it was humanoid!"

"Barb, we’re drunk. Like, drunk as fuck," Mary tried to calm her, taking full control of the helicopter, since Barbara was basically useless at this point.

"I know what I saw!" Barbara insisted.

Mary’s head darted around in panic. Something was wrong. Everything was flashing red. They were going down, fast.

"Help me, Barb!" Mary’s neon-pink nails dug into the controls. "What are you waiting for?!"

"How? Nothing makes fucking sense!" Barbara started pushing random buttons, having no clue what she was doing. "How am I supposed to help?!"

The helicopter lurched sharply to the left.

"How did you help before?!" Mary shouted, panicking even harder.

"Um, I…" Barbara couldn’t remember doing much of anything, except desperately trying to keep her ass in the seat.

The cockpit wailed with alarms. Mary kicked the pedal with all her strength. The helicopter swung around so hard that their heads hit the windows. Skidding the tail across a football field, they took out the goalpost before crashing straight into the bushes.

By sunrise, they were escorted back to Tvair Enterprises by police. Could’ve been worse, they thought — at least they didn’t end up in a cell. In handcuffs. God knows for how many days. And in the crash they got off with just some bruises and a scare. The helicopter, though? Totalled.

The tall building now looked hostile, grey, and bleak. Just last night, with adrenaline pumping, it had seemed almost exciting. They could barely force themselves to cross the threshold. Up there, she was waiting. Overflowing with rage, ready for blood. The broken helicopter would cost them dearly. A week without money or a driver. Maybe two.

The police were talking to the secretary — a tall, handsome man in an expensive suit, smelling of expensive cologne, looking like some kind of Apollo. Not Mary’s type at all (plus she couldn’t shake the thought that he was fucking their grandmother), But Barbara often fantasized about him. Still, the secretary treated them coldly. When the cops finally left, he moved toward the guilty pair.

"Ladies. Please come with me," he said grimly.

"Hi, Seth!" Barbara waved flirtatiously, but he didn’t even glance at her.

He escorted them to the elevator, stepping in last in case one tried to bolt. But neither sister moved. Running was pointless. She’d find them anywhere — underground, in the desert, didn’t matter. Seth exhaled, calmly leading them to her office door. He peeked inside for a few seconds.

"Two minutes," announced the commanding voice.

"Ladies. Please wait here," Seth gestured toward the plush turquoise couches across the hall.

Mary flopped down with relief, savoring the velvet against her battered skin. Barbara sat stiffly in a chair, back straight, tapping her fingers against her scraped knee.

Bored, Mary found the TV remote and started flipping channels. She stopped at the New York news.

"Last night, a meteorite — or perhaps an unidentified object — struck this building behind me, smashing through the roof…" the reporter said, gesturing at a modest apartment block.

"And also my dad’s head," chimed in a voice off-camera.

Mary blinked. She had never seen anyone announce something like that so cheerfully.

A teenage girl stepped into frame.

"With us is eyewitness Anxunamun… uh…"

"Nawariq Al-Ghazhad"

"Anxunamun Nawa...no-one-really-gives-a-shit" — the reporter forced a nervous smile, her eye twitching. "Tell us briefly what happened," she said, awkwardly shoving the mic at her.

Anxunamun snatched it greedily.

"First of all, he’s dead. Yay! Second, uh, I think it was fucking aliens. Yeah! You know, I’ve always been waiting for something like this. I basically asked for it. For some cosmic shit to come down and… BUM. He wasn’t my dad anyway. I’m adopted!"

"Wow, a lot of revelations in one minute," the reporter wrestled the mic back, still smiling through gritted teeth. "But still, what exactly fell into your apartment?"

"Some really heavy little box. Looked like, you know, a regular Amazon package. I thought maybe a brick or something, but I opened it and it was completely… e-m-p-t-y. Can you imagine? As shattered head..."

"Okay, okay, thank you, miss… uh, Anxunamun. Could you show us the box?"

"It’s gone. Disappeared. Guess the aliens realized they fucked up and took it back. Can’t leave evidence lying around, right?"

The reporter straightened, inching away from the girl.

"Well, I’m sorry for your loss…"

"Oh, it's not such a big loss, you know."

Mary scoffed and switched the channel.

"Just another kid on high rambling about aliens."

"Wait!" Barbara rasped. "That’s… weird."

"What in New York isn’t weird? She doesn’t even have proof. Honestly looked more like a planned murder. Did you see how happy she was about that guy dying? Blaming aliens is a shitty cover."

"That thing," Barbara cleared her throat, but her voice stayed shaky. "What if it was… an alien too? What if it’s all connected? Their ship crashed and…"

Mary tensed.

"Nooo. You don’t believe in that crap. Please tell me you’re joking!"

"We don’t… we don’t know everything."

"Well, in that case, maybe we should find him…" Mary dropped her voice to a whisper.

Barbara’s pupils widened.

"Really?"

"Yeah, let him fuck you with his tentacles or… whatever else he’s got."

"You know, I think… there were wings."

"Ladies!" Seth’s sudden appearance made them both jump. "Miss Tvair is waiting in her office."

"That’s what you should be afraid of," Mary hissed as she got up. "Unlike your aliens, that fucking old bitch is real."

You will not get another dime from me! Not a single cent! This time you’ve crossed the line! So, my darlings, from this day on you’ll have to earn your pitiful existence all by yourselves.

Not a cent. Crossed the line. Earn. By themselves!

It sounded worse than any sentence. It sounded like an official declaration of rock bottom. Mary couldn’t stop the tears rolling down her face, soaking into the silk pillow in her favorite, luxurious apartment—an apartment they could no longer afford. What job could possibly pay for even a single month?

Somewhere behind the wall, Barbara was sobbing too. The world was terrifying enough with winged aliens in it—now she had to work? What other cruel trials awaited her young, fragile soul?

Still. I don’t want you to sink to complete depravity and become homeless, so you’ll go to the suburbs—to Tidgerbrook. There’s a manor left there. Our little residence. It needs repairs, but at least it’s a roof over your heads. Better than nothing.

Nothing. It's better nothing. Than living in some abandoned village, in a half-collapsed house. Mary walked to the window, touched the handle. Looked down. The height promised certain death. Height. Death. The thought made her sick. She stumbled back, pale. To repeat her father’s fate? Never. Besides—it was so…unattractive. Mary Tvair would never end up splattered on the asphalt like a steak, her guts on display. If anyone had to die, it was that stingy old hag.

Barbara was also standing by the window. The thought of death visited her for a brief second. "What if I crash down and crack someone’s skull? How awful." She discarded it at once.

As expected, the sisters had no money to pay rent, and they were in no state to earn it. Not that they even tried. They simply lingered, living out the last days of their luxury, eating the scraps of black caviar and drinking the dregs of their vintage wine. Their bank accounts had been frozen the very same day of the incident, so they were forced to spend their last cash on food. Selling valuables? Out of the question. Mary couldn’t stand the thought of anyone learning about their miserable circumstances.

"We can sell them to villagers for double. To them, they’ll be like museum artifacts," she reasoned.

Their favorite clubs didn’t see them anymore either. Rick even called Barbara, worried if everything was alright. The poor man still hoped for tips.

"Everything’s fine! Just a little unplanned trip. We’ll be back soon, don’t miss us! Bye-bye!"

Mary felt a painful twist in her chest at those words. Would they really come back? What if those savages ate them alive on the very first day?

Gigi was generous enough to pay for a driver. Ben had never seen Mary and Barbara so sober and…deflated. He drove them as far as the church—the road didn’t go further (surprising there was a road at all, thought Mary). To reach the estate they’d have to walk down a narrow, overgrown path. On those heels? Not an easy task, Ben thought, but an order is an order. He unloaded their luggage (four suitcases, three of which belonged to Mary), and without so much as a goodbye, slid back into the car and sped away.

"Asshole!" Mary pulled her black sunglasses down over her eyes, swollen from tears.

Barbara began to glance around.

"I think it’s not that bad," she tried to reassure.

"It’s even worse!"

Out of the church burst a short, skinny girl. It was hard to tell her age, but she looked a little younger than the Tvair sisters. She vomited right there on the church porch. Then came a shriek: "I told you! She’s possessed! A demon! Catch her!" The voice was grating and, by the sound of it, belonged to a woman.

Barbara winced.

"Well, one thing’s for sure—I’ve never gone to church with a hangover…" she said, faintly judgmental.

"I’ve never gone to church at all…" Mary whispered, pressing her fingers to the spot on her chest where a cross from her father once hung.

"What are you staring at?" the girl suddenly snapped, yanking off her headscarf and ruffling her chestnut hair. "And who the fuck are you?"

"We…" Barbara was about to defend her noble lineage, folding her arms across her chest with dignity.

"Rosalinda!" The scratchy voice grew louder, echoing inside the church.

The stranger wrinkled her nose. Barbara noticed a bloodstained knife tucked into the waistband of her skirt.

"Never call me that. I’m Linda! And if you tell that bitch where I ran, I swear I’ll gut you." With that, Linda vanished into the depths of the dark forest.

Mary gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.

"I’m scar-r-red of them," Barbara whispered.

Chapter Text

"Shriveled bitch!" Mary slid her black sunglasses down over eyes swollen from crying. "I'll have them drag your body down this slope when you die!"

"I feel like we'll croak first," Barbara murmured, barely breathing.

The losses between them were significant: broken heels, scratched ankles, bites from unknown insects—including on the backside. And that was before they even reached the family manor.

They had to split the four suitcases evenly, even though only one actually belonged to Barbara, but she didn't make a fuss. Some of Mary’s rags might fetch a decent money.

"It looks bigger than I thought!" Barbara exclaimed as she finally emerged from the undergrowth.

Now she could properly take in the two-story house that belonged to them, sprawled in the shade of tall trees.

The gloomy stone walls had withstood the test of time, and under the peeling paint a glimpse of former grandeur still showed through. The faded family emblem remained on the front door: a stag skull gilded in gold. It was surprising that no one had touched the house over the years, as if the ivy had guarded it from intruders. What if there really was a treasure trove inside? At the thought, Barbara visibly brightened.

"This is going to be… atmospheric!"

"Ugh, fuck, what a dump," Mary snorted and limped toward the wide moss-clad entrance.

Inside was worse than she’d imagined: flaking wallpaper, furniture from another era buried under thick dust and cobwebs, a nauseating smell of neglect and damp. The floor creaked and sagged underfoot; the stairs looked downright dangerous. As for a TV—there wasn’t even a hint of modern tech. How many episodes of her favorite show would she have to miss?

"I have no words," Mary said quietly. She clutched her head and simply sat down on the floor.

Barbara, however, set off enthusiastically to explore the ground floor. Soon she found something she deemed truly worth attention.

"Look, there's a wine cellar!" She boldly peered down the steps. "Ooh, we’re lucky—there’s something left…"

She emerged a while later with a dusty bottle dated from the '60s and generously handed it to her still-shaken sister.

"As a professional, I don't need a corkscrew," Barbara said with a grin.

They stretched out against the wall beside each other. The burning drink sobered them up a bit.

"So what are you going to do?" Mary asked. She was in utter despair. "Work?"

"Work?" Barbara scoffed. "No way. I say we get married. Money or no money, well-off men care about names…"

"Exactly — names! Marrying means losing it. Becoming some Mary Pig-fucker," Mary’s face twisted with disgust, "no thanks! Besides, where would you find a decent match here? In this godforsaken hole?"

"Well, first of all… let's not limit ourselves to one hole. We can still go into New York on—on public transport."

At the words public transport Mary puckered and took another swig of the wine. It was strong; she grimaced again.

"And what's your strategy?" Barbara asked, a little hurt that her idea had been rejected.

"We have nothing left, Barb," Mary exhaled heavily, "except to devise the perfect, impossibly flawless murder plan…"

"You think we're smart enough for that?"

The question made Mary feel even more pathetic. She was convinced Gigi had raised them deliberately like this: spoiled and short on brains, incapable even of hiding behind a wardrobe without being noticed.

"No, I don't think so…" Mary admitted, taking another gulp. "So… we'll have to shove our pride up our asses and beg for mercy."

"But how?"

"With tears, on our knees! We need money, at least…" Her gaze snagged on a dusty candlestick on the mantle. "At least enough to run some goddamn electricity in here!"

"You're right there… Luckily we have a fireplace, so we won't freeze tonight!"

"And? I'm not going to gather wood!"

"So am I!' Barbara bristled. Then she found, in her view, the optimal solution.

They removed some loose floorboards and made a fire in the fireplace. They made a modest dinner from their last provisions: leftover Roquefort and a crusty baguette. They had so little food that in a couple of days they'd probably be forced to eat each other—because pride wouldn't let them go to a local diner.

In the end, Mary had to make the greatest sacrifice of her life: public transport—the only way to reach Gigi Tvair’s opulent residence on Staten Island. Four transfers, foul-smelling train cars, subway and bus stops, drifters shuffling everywhere—the nightmare nearly broke them. They huddled in the farthest corners, hid behind huge hats, and rode with wide eyes, barely breathing and blinking.

They hadn’t gone through all this just to walk away when no one came to the door. They battered the gilded doors with every ounce of strength until finally they heard a click.

A remarkably beautiful young woman appeared before them. Expensively dressed, perhaps a touch old-fashioned but far from tasteless ("old-old money," Barbara decided). Her golden locks framed her face in soft waves.

"Good evening. How may I help you?" she said with a smile—one of those gentle, soothing voices that made Mary’s teeth grind.

"I didn't know our old lady preferred girls too."

"Oh no, I'm… her caretaker," the stranger hurried to assure them and immediately held out a hand. "My name is Bree. And you must be her granddaughters, Mary and Barbara?"

Receiving only a curt nod instead of an answer, Bree invited the girls into the house. They immediately started whispering behind her back.

"Do caretakers usually look like that?"

"I could be a caretaker too," Barbara grumbled. "If she offered me money."

"Do you think we should kill her?"

"Definitely—I've heard these upstarts end up with everything!"

Bree turned quickly, her smile never leaving her bright lips. "So, what brings you here?"

"We'd like to speak with our grandmother," Barbara cleared her throat and said. "Could you call her?"

"I'm sorry, but Miss Tvair hasn't been feeling very well lately. I don't think she's…," Bree paused, searching for the right word, "in a state to receive visitors."

"Is she dying?" Mary asked, peering hopefully into the caretaker's eyes. That would have been the best news they'd had in days.

But alas.

“Oh, the doctor says it’s nothing serious. You didn’t have to worry so much.”

Placing a hand over her heart, Barbara breathed out in relief. Mary truly believed the woman was a genius—a born actress.

“If you’d like to tell her something—”

“We would still like to see Grandma in person,” Mary insisted, forcing something like a smile. “Just to make sure she’s really all right.”

“Fine. I’ll try to talk to Miss Tvair,” Bree agreed, leaving the guests to wait in the luxurious foyer.

No one came for a long while. Mary even entertained the idea of swiping something from this “museum of luxury.” Anything could be sold at auction to buy them at least a week of carefree living.

Then Gigi herself appeared, wrapped in a fluffy pink robe, made up and coiffed, with a fresh manicure. She had taken her time, Mary thought irritably.

“I know why you’re here,” she announced before they could open their mouths. “And you’ve already heard my answer. No more money!”

“But, Gigi—” Mary cried, squeezing out a tear, “this is unfair! We’ll die in that house—”

Taking the previous night’s conversation far too literally, Barbara theatrically dropped to her knees.

“Your Majesty!” she whimpered, clutching the pink feathers of their grandmother’s robe.

“Cut the circus out! Get up! Right now!”

Barbara jumped to her feet.

“Sorry…” she mumbled.

“Wipe your tears, your snot and spit—that doesn’t work on me anymore—and get out of my house!”

“We don’t need much, just the funds to fix up our family manor…” Mary said as gently as she could.

“No, darling, it’s all pretense. You’ll piss it away, drink it, smoke it away on the very first day—I’m more than sure of it. I want to see real progress. Show me you’re ready to change. Prove you are worthy heirs of the Tvair name, that you can earn money and manage it sensibly. Only then can I be sure the business I’ve painstakingly built will survive after my death. Only then will you gain access to the family assets. And your damned money.”

“What about seed investment, Grandma?” Mary bit her lip. “We have a couple of business ideas.”

Barbara grinned. “We can open a brothe—”

“Get the hell out of my house!” Gigi screamed so loudly the walls of the mansion seemed to tremble along with her granddaughters.

No one even dared to mention taxi money. Both girls flew out of the house and, under the disapproving stares of the guards, trudged toward the bus stop. The return trip no longer felt as terrifying; they were slowly getting used to life among what they called the local cattle.

“Don’t you think that guy’s following us?” Barbara pointed out a man impossible to miss: dressed all in white, he sat three rows back and seemed to emit a faint glow. He wore a hat matching his outfit and—surprisingly—dark sunglasses.

Mary confirmed she’d seen the suspicious figure more than once.

“He rode with us this morning, too,” Barbara reminded her. “Maybe Gigi sent him to watch us?”

“She wants to see progress…”

Progress. Changes. Each sister interpreted those words in her own way. Mary decided they at least had to pretend to be working; Barbara decided what they really needed first was money. And so they split up, each following her own plan.

Barbara tucked her bright, voluminous hair under a silk Louis Vuitton scarf, slid on sunglasses, grabbed her best accessories (and not only hers), and set out to explore the town she expected to endure for—hopefully—two or three weeks at most.

The town was small and quiet, and the people had seemed untrustworthy from the very first day. Pepper spray and a small folding knife turned out to be excellent companions. Her feet carried her to the marketplace, the most lit part of the street, where she carefully spread her accessories out on another Louis Vuitton scarf. Mary had told her that for provincials, any of their things would look like treasures. Yet after a whole hour, not a single person stopped to buy. The setting sun burned unpleasantly against her back, sweat dripping down her face. She was beginning to suspect that maybe trade didn’t quite work the way she’d imagined, but decided to wait just a little longer.

“Good afternoon,” said a voice from above.

Barbara almost didn’t believe her ears. A person!

“Uh… good afternoon…”

She looked up and saw a tall young man, his face mostly hidden by thick curls.

“Are you selling these things?” he asked, looking slightly embarrassed under her scrutiny.

“Yes.”

“This bag…” He pointed at the pink one.

“Birkin. Leather. Original.”

“Right,” he nodded, as if unimpressed. “How much?”

“It’s very expensive, and it’s an exclusive model, but I’ll sell it for five thousand.”

“Five thousand?” he exclaimed, rubbing his forehead. “Well… you’re unlikely to sell it here for that.”

“You think so?”

The words cut deep. The bag wasn’t even worth a third of the price she’d named. On any other day, she’d never dream of letting it go so cheap. But now... how long will she have to stand here?

“How much would you pay?” Barbara asked, biting her lip.

“Seven hundred. That’s all I’ve got.” He glanced into his wallet.

Barbara nearly had a heart attack at that number, but managed to hold her composure. She clenched her teeth and almost admitted defeat.

“Thousand!”

She had never haggled before, but the taste of it was unexpectedly sweet.

“Seven hundred—and I’ll owe you a hundred more.”

“You… you’re keeping it for yourself?” slipped from her dry lips.

“Pink? Are you kidding? It’s for a friend. She’ll love it.”

Barbara nearly cried. A Birkin for eight hundred dollars. But her stomach twisted with hunger, and damn her empathy—this whole “a gift for a friend” angle was… touching.

“Nine hundred?” she tried one last time.

“Hey, you!” A plump woman stormed out of the bakery. “You, yes, you! Get out of here! You want to sell stuff, you pay for a stall. Otherwise—scram!”

At that exact moment, the young man casually brushed his hand against the rifle slung over his shoulder—something Barbara had only just noticed, though it had been there the whole time.

“Eight hundred!” he repeated firmly.

“All right, deal!” She quickly packed the rest of her things into the suitcase. Facing off with the furious townsfolk seemed terrifying, and her chances of survival weren’t great anyway.

“By the way, I’ve never seen you here before. You from New York?”

“Yep!”

“Almost forgot—I’m Sebastian.” He held out a hand, covered in deep burn scars. “Since I’ll owe you, I figure you should know my name.”

“Barbara,” she replied, and, not seeing any money yet, didn’t bother to take his hand.

“Oh, right,” Sebastian fumbled for his wallet. “Sorry about that.”

When the long-awaited exchange finally happened, Barbara felt a little happier. Even if the deal was a disaster, at least she could feed herself and her sister—assuming Mary wasn’t doing any better.

“So what's that on your…” Barbara couldn’t stop staring at the rifle dangling so casually behind his back. Were they all savages here?

“Knew you’d ask,” Sebastian said, brushing back his bangs to reveal another awful burn scar. “This? Just… fell asleep drunk in a fireplace.”

“No, I meant—”

“Seb!” a female voice called out. “What are you doing here?”

As soon as the girl came closer, Barbara recognized her. The lunatic from the church, the one who had threatened to gut her. Thankfully, Barbara’s things were already packed, and her knife was squeezed tightly in her hand.

“Uh, hey, Linda,” Sebastian tried to hide the bag behind his back but quickly gave up, handing the gift to its rightful owner. “Guess I ruined the surprise, huh? Well, here—it’s for you.”

“Holy shit! No way! Where did you—? I mean… why’d you spend so much?”

“Your birthday’s coming up. Which makes it exactly ten years of our friendship.”

Linda looked so happy that she seemed far less threatening than the day they’d first met. But Barbara still didn’t dare engage. Her attempt to melt into the background failed miserably and only drew Linda’s attention.

"Excuse me, haven’t we met before?"

"Uh, yeah, I think so," Barbara admitted, realizing there was nowhere left to run. She pulled off her sunglasses. "We met once."

"Oh, it’s you!" the girl suddenly brightened. "I—"

"I remember your name. I’m Barbara Tvair!" Barbara now announced proudly.

Sebastian raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Tvair? Oh. That’s… That’s your family’s manor across from the forest?"

"Well, yeah! My sister and I live there now."

Maybe it wasn’t exactly something to brag about, but she did anyway. What could she do if these weirdos were impressed by nothing but a last name? Maybe Mary hadn’t overestimated its importance after all.

"So, the prophecy is coming true?"

Barbara’s eyes darted nervously, goosebumps ran across her skin. Prophecy? What prophecy? But Rosalinda and Sebastian immediately burst out laughing, not giving her time to savor her new role.

"No, are you serious?" Rosalinda was nearly crying with laughter. "Really?"

"What’s going on?" Barbara was the only one who didn’t find it funny.

"Forget it! You could drop by the museum sometime this week, if you’ve got the time and want to… have some fun," Rosalinda suggested.

Sebastian glanced at his wristwatch in horror.

"Wow, almost four already! I’ve gotta run, or I’ll be late again."

"Okay, go..."

"Uh…" He paused for a second, then politely added just two words: "Barbara! Thanks!"

But Linda wasn’t in any rush.

"I think he likes you! I’ve never seen him so… alive."

Barbara had no idea what she meant. Sebastian’s face barely expressed emotion at all, not to mention that part of it…

"Sorry if I came across a little rude," Linda spoke again, her voice softer, velvet-like now.

A little? — Barbara thought to herself.

"It’s all my… foster mother’s fault, really. She thinks I’m possessed by a demon. Well, I'm more like... obsessed. Whatever. If you ever want to hang out sometime, in the forest, I’m down."

Making friends here was definitely a smart move, but the phrase “in the forest” paired with Linda’s masochistic little smile was less than reassuring.

"Yeah, maybe sometime," Barbara politely brushed her off.

"I’ve got no one here besides Sebastian. The locals are kinda… too religious," Linda chuckled. "If it weren’t for him, I’d have gone insane already. We have to sneak off into the woods just to hide from those idiots and be ourselves, you know?"

"I’m Catholic," Barbara smirked, hoping that might help.

"You’re a Tvair," Linda reminded her. "And your family’s bloodline held some very powerful witches."

Barbara scratched the back of her head — she had never dug so deep into her family history. Odd that some random street girl knew more about her heritage than she did herself.

"Don’t worry, we just hunt wild birds sometimes. Sebastian’s a total sweetheart. He probably wouldn’t kill you even if he wanted to. It’s just his look, you know. Not his fault, it’s all because of the fire at his house..."

"House?"

"Yeah, his house burned down. He tried to save his family."

This detail upset Barbara a little. For a split second, when she’d heard from him “fell asleep drunk in a fireplace,” she thought she and Sebastian might have something in common. She had a knack for getting into disasters, and if not for Mary, she might’ve ended up just as badly. But his real story was much deeper and much sadder.

"I’m sorry he had to go through that."

"Yeah, poor guy."

"Well, I should go too. Okay?"

"How about the weekend?"

"Yeah… some weekend…" Hugging her suitcase, Barbara backed away quickly.

"Well then, like it or not, you’re already caught in my web, Barbara Tvair," Rosalinda muttered with a sly grin as she watched her go.

Meanwhile, Mary had decided to unleash her entrepreneurial genius. She picked what seemed to her the most decent place in town and strutted proudly inside.

"I’ll turn this dump into a Michelin restaurant," she muttered under her breath with satisfaction.

"Good afternoon, sweetie, how can I help you?" A plump woman fussed behind the coffee machine.

"I want to be the boss here!"

"The boss?" The woman barely stifled a laugh. "Just like that?"

"My name is Mary Tvair. If you voluntarily make me the boss, I won’t have to fire you when I come back here next time. So… who can I talk to?"

"Well, honey, this is my diner, and your name doesn’t mean squat to me! Let’s start small, and maybe then we’ll think about a promotion!"

"What?" Mary’s face showed no intention of backing down. "You’ll regret this when I buy this place out…"

"How about you buy it first, huh?"

Mary pursed her lips. She didn’t have the money now, nor the option of begging Gigi. She knew nothing about “career,” so she agreed to the owner’s little trick.

"Take this coffee over to those guys. Maybe you really do have talent!"

Mary grabbed the tray with disdain. Terrified of smudging her nails, she barely carried it to the table and dumping it onto the clients.

"Would you mind being a bit more careful?" Coffee spilled everywhere, and the young woman at the table angrily reached for napkins.

"No," replied Mary (the freshly-hired waitress) with complete indifference.

"You ruined my wife’s sweater!" the man protested.

"She can buy another one. Or what, you can’t spare two bucks for some cheap shit? Coffee’s worth more — especially served by hands like these…"

"How dare you? That was my late grandmother’s sweater!" The woman’s eyes brimmed with tears.

"Congrats on her death! But I hope that’s not all she left you in her will."

"Ah!" Her face turned red with rage. "Susan! Susan!"

"You’re an idiot!" the man snapped.

"Shut the fu—"

"What’s going on here?" The plump woman rushed over.

"Susan, thank God… Who did you hire? She’s completely incompetent! A total fool!"

Mary only smirked, knowing insults were a sure sign of good business skills. At least, that’s what she figured, since she’d heard plenty of rude words thrown at her disgustingly wealthy grandmother.

"Mary!" Susan shot her a ferocious look.

"Miss Tvair, if you please," Mary replied smugly.

"Get out of my diner, Miss Tvair! Right now! I’m sorry, Haley, Marcus, she doesn’t even work here."

"Gladly." Mary spun on her high heels. "But when I come back, bitch—and you can be sure I will—I’ll return as a queen, and you won’t be here anymore!"

"Are you threatening me, you little brat?"

"No, just warning you."

With her head held high, Mary marched toward the door. She was nearly knocked over by a young man rushing back, apparently from his work break.

"Sebastian!" Susan barked. "Kitchen! We’re drowning in work! And hurry up, stop scaring off the customers!"

Poor, poor boy, Mary thought. When I’m the manager of this diner—and now it’s a matter of principle—you’ll have a much more dignified position than working in that stinking, greasy kitchen. She hadn’t yet figured out what exactly he’d be doing in her future restaurant. Truth be told, she never really considered how her favorite Michelin restaurants actually functioned.

Outside, darkness was already falling. Mary quickened her pace, eager to leave the town center and retreat to her godforsaken manor, away from the eyes of these disgusting people. Never again would she humiliate herself like this. Even if she didn’t have a cent in her pocket.

She was already near the path leading home when someone grabbed her arm. Mary screamed at the top of her lungs, but it did nothing to help. No one lived within miles of the Tvair estate—these lands belonged to the family too. Horrified, Mary looked up and realized it was the same white figure from the bus. She shrieked even louder.

"I… I’m making progress, I almost found a job, I—" she stammered once she caught her breath. "Bitch, I’m trying!"

"You crashed into an angel?" The man’s voice, hidden behind his hat, was disappointingly pleasant.

"What the fuck? Angel? I don’t know your gangster lingo! Be more specific."

"A helicopter belonging to 'Tvair Enterprises' collided with another flying object at night. You were the pilot?"

"Barbara was…" In her panic, Mary couldn’t get another word out. She’d only meant to recall her sister’s alien theory and say she was right, but this worked even better. If these really were some extraterrestrial freaks, better to pin it on Barbara.

"Barbara?"

"Yep."

"And where were you?"

"I was high..."

"I know that! Do you remember where exactly did it happen? I mean the location!"

"Uh… In Brooklyn?"

"In Brooklyn? Where?"

"Brooklyn is for suckers. I never fucking go there. How the hell should I know?"

The man released her arm and stepped back. Barbara, meanwhile, was trembling in a nearby bush, seething over her sister’s betrayal but too frozen with fear to move. Only one thing mattered now: she wasn’t crazy. That night, they really had struck something—or someone—that looked like an angel. And unlike Mary, she had a good guess where over Brooklyn it might have happened.

Now it was a matter of survival. She had to talk to this being, distract him from her, make sure he held no grudges—and didn’t take the case to some Higher Court where the sentence might be a lifelong curse.

"Forget our conversation," the hypnotic voice faded slowly into the night. And with that, Mary calmly wandered back home.

But Barbara didn’t forget.

"Dr. Barnes?" The panting trainee nurse caught him in the hallway, her young face etched with fear and unease.

"Yes?" the doctor answered with the weary tone of someone long indifferent to everything.

"Our John Doe has regained consciousness!"

"And what did he say?"

"He… escaped," she whispered.