The Letter of the Law

VP and BP Standings
Claire - 141 VP - 3100 BP - 2 Achievs
Erin - 134 VP - 8100 BP - 3 Achievs
Sam - 125 VP - 5900 BP - 3 Achievs
Emi - 113 VP - 11250 BP - 3 Achievs
Chloe - 106 VP - 8650 BP - 2 Achievs
Emily - 106 VP - 7600 BP - 3 Achievs (2 used)
Liesa - 104 VP - 4400 BP - 3 Achievs
Norah - 103 VP - 0 BP - 3 Achievs
Myra - 97 VP - 5000 BP - 3 Achievs
Marissa - 90 VP - 7000 BP - 3 Achievs
Dawn - 78 VP - 9000 BP - 3 Achievs
Riley - 77 VP - 8800 BP - 3 Achievs
Laura - 7950 BP - 2 Achievs

The first thing Andy noticed, before sound or sight or even the weight of Claire’s hand on his chest, was the smell of eggs. Not the kitchen kind—eggs still raw, maybe, or something sulfurous and sweet and slightly burnt. His head felt full of it, and by the time his eyes unstuck he realized Claire was pressed against his ribs, her body tucked in as if sleep alone could explain their proximity. Her hair was in his mouth. One ear—long, pale blonde, and indignant at its displacement—prodded at his jawline.

She was awake. He could tell from the way her fingers flexed, from the way she refused to look up. He wondered if she was counting her breaths, or if she was angry at the universe for not inventing a snooze button for sunlight.

“Good morning,” he said, voice rough from sleep.

Claire made a small, unhappy noise and nuzzled closer, burrowing her face into his shirt as if trying to tunnel through to the mattress.

“Just five more minutes,” she said. Her voice, usually missing from the world, was delicate and softer than he remembered. It felt like discovering a new species of bird in his own backyard: unexpected, oddly thrilling, and utterly wrong. “Please.”

He let her have the five. The eggs could wait. So could Laura, and the infinite, spiraling problems waiting for them both. He counted her breaths, which seemed to slow after the first minute, and wondered if anyone had ever actually measured the half-life of five more minutes. The thought made him smile; she would have written it down if she could see inside his head.

At five minutes, and not a second longer, Claire cracked an eyelid, then two. She peered up at him as if surprised he was still there.

“How long?” she said.

“Five minutes, fifty-two seconds,” Andy said, glancing at the bedside clock.

“That doesn’t count,” Claire said. “I spent half of it trying to remember if the word for the time before waking is hypnopompic or hypnagogic.”

“It’s the first one. I looked it up once.”

She made a contented, almost purring noise, and stretched a hand out over his sternum, fingers spread, like she was measuring his heart rate by osmosis.

He considered kissing her on the forehead, or on one of the ears that was now lying flat against the pillow. He settled for resting his hand gently on her back and closing his eyes. The smell of eggs was getting stronger. It was definitely eggs, now. Maybe French toast, if he was optimistic. Or maybe it was just Laura, learning to cook from scratch, as she had decided last week would be her new way of demonstrating adulthood.

“You’re going to make us late,” Claire said, voice muffled by his shirt.

“For what?”

“Breakfast,” she said.

He rolled to the edge of the bed, stretching as best he could with a sleepy Claire still attached. The bedroom was flooded with yellow-white light from the window, the sheets tangled from a night spent trying to sleep close together without overheating.

They disentangled and dressed in the silent, mechanical choreography of people who have learned not to ask questions about each other’s routines. Claire moved first, unselfconscious in her underwear, her tail poking out from the gap between shirt and waistband. Andy found it adorable.

They left the bedroom in quiet lockstep, like children sneaking into the kitchen before a parent wakes up. The smell was now a **** field at the threshold; Andy half expected to see black smoke or hear the blaring of a fire alarm.

But the kitchen was pristine, sunlight angling through the high window. The fridge was open. On the counter, a carton of eggs, a bottle of milk, and a stick of butter stood in perfect formation, ready for battle. Laura was already there: one of her at the stove, spatula in hand, wearing his old college hoodie and a determined look that reminded Andy, uncomfortably, of his own mother in crisis mode; and the other, barefoot, laying out plates and napkins at the table with the awkward precision of someone who had rarely set a real breakfast table before.

It should have been uncanny. It was uncanny, but what stuck in Andy’s throat was the almost tender coordination of it.

“Sit,” said the cooking Laura, not looking up. “It’s almost ready.”

Claire sat immediately. Andy followed, glancing from stove to table and back again.

“We’re having eggs,” Laura said. “With whatever was in the fridge. I think the blue cheese is okay if you scrape off the mold.”

“I didn’t know we had blue cheese,” Andy said.

“You’re welcome,” said Laura.

Claire made a face. “I like eggs,” she said, though her tone suggested she was preparing herself for disappointment.

Neither Laura smiled. One of her moved to the fridge and retrieved a bottle of orange juice, pouring out four glasses, and then stood at the far side of the table, hands folded. The other finished at the stove, plated a mound of scrambled eggs with an architectural flourish, and brought it over. There was, indeed, a blue tinge to the cheese.

Laura set down the spatula with more **** than necessary, then sat her bodies down in unison. Both looked at Andy.

He took a forkful. It tasted of salt and the tiniest hint of banana, and was somehow both overcooked and under-seasoned. He chewed, swallowed, and reached for a word that would keep the peace.

“They’re good,” he lied, then immediately regretted it.

Both of Laura glared.

Claire nodded. “It’s possible to say nothing,” she said, helping herself to a bite and making a show of chewing and swallowing before adding, “It’s fine.”

“Thanks,” said Laura, voice flat. “I’m trying to get better.”

“I like the blue cheese,” Andy said.

“The blue cheese is the only edible part,” Laura replied, but she let the topic drop. She ate her own eggs quickly, like medicine, then seemed to relax for the first time.

They ate in the kind of silence that feels packed with meaning, or at least potential energy. Laura looked from Andy to Claire and then back to Andy. “There’s mail,” she said, pushing a white envelope across the table. “It was on the floor by the elevator.”

It was addressed to “Andy and Consort,” in Harper’s now-familiar handwriting, blocky and confident.

“Did you open it?” Andy asked.

Laura made a face. “I considered steaming it open, but decided that would be unethical.”

Andy slit the envelope and pulled out the folded letter. The ink was dark, the script brisk. He hesitated, then read aloud.

To Andy and his lovely Consort,

I know Arabella only gives you spotty coverage of my seasons, but I did note this in my reply to your reply. I’m fine with you calling me by my English name. Between court and Aelene insisting that the children address me by my proper title, I hear Tyalangan hundreds of times a day, so I have defaulted to it. I hear Harper maybe once a ten-day, usually when Tina slips up (the lovable goofball).

If it makes you feel better, you aren’t the only member of the group currently panicking. My source of panic is obvious, but I’m mostly managing (sexy wives help). Caleb’s Host decided to fling a bunch of punishment level transformations at him and his because ol’ Lucy is a right bastard. Nick’s Host designed his crew’s latest challenge while having a bit of a nervous breakdown and her Producer decided to add a psycho living doll with giant scissors into the mix to further push [REDACTED] over the edge. Mark’s and Laura’s seasons has gone a lot more sporadic, too, which is rarely a good sign (though I would be less concerned about Laura than Mark). We all got our struggles; you are not alone in the whole existential dread thing.

If you want to include some of the potential newbies we’ve mentioned the group to in letters, my ward has her moments of panic even in these early days. Felix (who I believe wrote to you) is down to about two and a half Craigs, which is an improvement from starting with 5 Craigs, but is still bad. Ashley Pompadour is arguably worse off than Felix. Speaking of Craig, his inclusion was a mistake. I have realized it by now. That business will resolve itself soon enough. I am well aware of his actions, his thoughts. I realize how poorly he learned his lesson. The Producers like it when those destined to crash and burn are allowed to do so, no matter the collateral damage; they say it’s good drama. While Ms. E disagrees, she’s outvoted every time she tries for that rule change. I stopped him that night as soon as the rules would allow me. I apologize that I couldn’t do more. Maybe he will earn the second chance he’s been given with the reprieve I gave him. Maybe I will give him a final judgment. His time of reckoning is nigh. Needless to say, your letter will be delivered shortly, by my perspective.

Ereshkigal is a tricky situation. The me that just came out of our final ceremony would be encouraging you to gird yourself for war. The years of going to war that followed make me want to pause, not just because you are resistant to the idea, but for practical matters. Killing a god is both extremely difficult and... cosmically messy. Typically, unless you are in their divine realm, you are facing a fraction of their true power, an avatar if you will. Killing an avatar, as difficult as it is, only banishes the deity from the realm for a year and a day. You feel like fighting a god every year for the rest of your life? One that will learn your tricks quickly? I doubt you win a second time.

Going for her properly would require invading her realm and fighting her on her home turf. You might be much, much stronger and maybe still more durable than me, but that is irrelevant against an immortal with millennia of experience. If you succeed, you create a cosmic vacuum. SOMETHING will fill it. Unless you personally want to rule a realm of the dead, I imagine what fills the void will be worse than who fills it now. I can squeeze in some battle training for you, if you truly want it, but it would be better to use your brain, not your brawn.

To address your actual concern, Arabella and Anna know more than they are letting on, obviously. I know less than them, but still know more than I will currently wish to share. My initial ideas for a work-around were shot down, basically one by one, in a behind the scenes episode; they said that there is an impossible loophole, but to speak it out loud would likely negate it. They need you to find it on your own; at most, they can make the path available. I think you can find it; you’ve done the impossible to save Laura in the first place. Here is what I am willing to risk sharing. Let’s see if they survive Arabella’s redactions.

The law invoked is clear. A life for a life. The life paid must be willing, and related to the life restored by blood or by marriage. In other words, Laura, you are the one to make the payment for the invoice. At most, Andy can be the payment. In case it isn’t clear, Andy, you should NOT be the payment. I know you may think it noble to offer yourself, but your Coevality gift would make it a Pyrrhic victory. Their lives are connected to you, Andy. All of them. Offer yourself up as the sacrifice, they all die. Your unborn children die. Even Samson dies. You don’t find the loophole and need to pay the demanded price, you need to find someone else. I am sure there is someone who qualifies that would be willing to sacrifice herself for Laura’s life and that person is closer than you think.

Onto happier things.

No season of Harem Hotel is complete without a wedding. Me and as many of mine as I can bring will be there. If you lack sufficient groomsladies, I am at your service, though I would not presume to take Sam’s position as Best Girl. Now, I will need to leave Tina in charge of the season (she’s my assistant) and then at least a few of the others to supervise Tina (I love her, but she’s not the most responsible of my wives; she’ll literally do ice cream for breakfast for toddlers). We’ll figure it out, but your suggestions feel like a good minimum.

Some advance warnings:
1) Alex will want to play a set at the reception. Maybe the bridal march, too.
2a) Daphne will expect “crab cake” as part of the dessert offerings; it took two weddings for the castle staff to pick up that eccentricity. Think the crab cake appetizer, just the size of an actual child’s birthday cake and frosted with squid ink flavored icing. Attached is Skye’s recipe. Try it on your own first at your own peril. It’s an... acquired taste.
2b) Daphne will also want to show off magic for Sam; she’s a little confused about the difference between a character sheet for the Pathfinder game and her actual “character sheet.”
2c) If you invite Marcie and Gina, maybe try to keep those two well away from us? Daphne’s been trying to make friends with Gina (with little effect?) and them being in the same room may not go well. Marcie licking a magic cactus while trying to flirt with you not well.
3) Eilistraee’s avatar is nine foot tall. She will refuse to shrink it down to a reasonable size. She will also sit up in the rafters if you let her. That is not a problem I will have to solve and I am glad of it.
4) I was promised Laura cosplaying me? The rehearsal dinner would work for that?
5) I am sure that Scarlet would be willing to play the masseuse as a part of a bachelorette party. It would take more effort to convince her to be a stripper for said bachelorette party.
6) Skye will also want to help with wedding prep. Smithing and/or baking. Send ring sizes and she’ll make wedding bands for everyone. She also needs Laura’s measurements for her kangaroo armor. Andi, Koala Warrior Princess needs her sidekick, after all.
7) Scarlet will need her exit transformation suppressed again. Skye will need both her Embarrassed Clothed Female and exit transformations suppressed again. If you are planning the whole multi-day wedding thing, Daphne would probably like Time for a Restock suppressed? She may want to show it off instead. I can get Arabella Alex’s list, though I don’t think she got anything too problematic. I suppose I could handle all of that myself now, if it wouldn’t offend Arabella.

Dairy products derived from cow’s milk is weirdly a luxury item here. Very high priced commodities. You’d think more people would raise dairy cattle. Your cows are being tended for. Your well-wishes will have been conveyed. Me and mine send wishes your way as well.

One more push, and you and yours will be free to move onto wider pastures.

Oh, and don’t be too surprised if Nyadia shows up to wherever you land with a boar the size of a horse over her shoulders once Erin’s kids are born. I hope Erin is not a vegetarian; Lazzorkats traditionally eat the heart from the boar straight out of the animal after giving birth to restore their strength. Nyadia won’t take it that far, but eating a boar’s heart the size of a human baby might still be daunting presented cooked on a plate.
Finally, I don’t have Aelene looking over my shoulder to see if I am following proper courtly protocols, so I can sign off with simply...

Regards,
Harper Pen Pal

Andy put the letter down.

He looked at Laura, then at Claire. He wondered, briefly, how many lives had been saved or destroyed by the contents of a single piece of mail.

Claire was the first to speak.

“I want to see the kangaroo armor,” she said, voice quiet. “Also the Koala Warrior Princess. Also the nine foot goddess.”

Laura considered this. “We already have a goddess in residence,” she said, “but I’m open to a second. If she sits in the rafters.”

Laura reached across the table, her hand moving with the careful assurance of someone who had spent an entire life in the company of someone else’s hands. She plucked a scrap of eggshell from Andy’s plate and set it down with a tidy little click.

Then, with perfect synchronization, both of her looked up. “I think,” said Laura, “that we need to talk about the first part of the letter.”

Andy nodded, and for a moment wished he could pretend not to understand what she meant. But he did. The kitchen went quiet, except for the slow, deliberate tapping of Claire’s spoon against her glass. Andy looked at both of her, then at Claire, then back at Laura. “We can talk about it.”

“Good,” said Laura, in perfect unison. “Because you’re going to have to tell me everything you know.”

Andy nodded. “You’ll have it.”

They left the empty plates in a heap on the counter and migrated to the living room, Claire carrying the letter as if it were a hazardous substance. The morning had shifted from pale gold to a more assertive daylight, the sort that dared you to pretend it wasn’t the best day of your life even as you were planning for your own cosmic disaster.

Andy collapsed into the couch, letting his head tip back, arms crossed over his chest. Both Lauras sat opposite him, one perched on the coffee table, the other curled in a papasan chair, legs tucked under. It was only then that he realized both Lauras had gone completely silent, their attention narrowed and synchronized, as if waiting for an announcement at a funeral.

Claire looked at the Harper letter on the end table, took a breath, and said, “I can start the sharing.” She looked at Andy, then at Laura, then folded her hands in her lap. Her voice was the measured, careful version she used when explaining a disciplinary procedure to a group of toddlers or when she’d cracked a rare book open for the first time.

Andy nodded. “It’s okay,” he said. “You can say it.”

Claire turned her eyes to Laura. “I have been researching, in the background, since the night before the Fifth Challenge. I was trying to make sense of all the references to debts, and what it means that you—“ She paused. “That you are here at all.”

Laura lowered her fork, not slowly.

“I wanted to be sure before I said anything,” Claire continued. “But the evidence is overwhelming. A cosmic debt exists against your life, Laura. It is owed to Ereshkigal as the price of your resurrection, because her Edict was used in it. Harper’s letter confirms it; so does everything Arabella and Anna have said, though not directly.”

Both of Laura now stared at Claire. For once, her postures were not perfectly mirrored: one leaned forward, the other back, but her eyes were locked on the same spot.

She looked at Laura, then Andy. “I have been researching every candidate who could possibly qualify for the role of ‘sacrifice’ under the law as stated. I have eliminated Andy as a candidate due to his Coevality Gift, which would result in a cascade of deaths if he were to die.”

Andy said, quietly, “Arabella also told me two days ago, directly, that she would stop me if I tried.” He didn’t elaborate. The way he said it made clear it hadn’t been a gentle conversation.

Claire nodded once, as if filing the confirmation. “Second, I have eliminated most others for lack of blood relation or marital status. The next closest viable candidate, in theory, would be your mother, Sarah, who is currently in the Hollow Garden. She cannot volunteer at this time because she has no agency. Unless she recovers before the end of the season, she remains unavailable.”

“But if she remains unavailable, and if no one else comes forward,” Claire finished, “the law is satisfied by taking you. No matter how much you resist, Ereshkigal will take you at the end. Unless the loophole Harper described is found.”

Andy watched Laura’s face—both of her faces, both bodies—and saw the processing, the effort it took to absorb the logic. He could see the echo of Claire’s voice hitting both at once. Both Lauras had set down their mugs; both pressed their hands flat on the table, the knuckles white.

“Who else is available?” Laura asked, the question coming out brittle.

Claire shook her head minutely, as if bracing herself for the blowback she knew would never come from Laura, but might come from herself. “No one else is by blood. The law is inflexible. Marriage candidates are impossible because Andy cannot sacrifice himself.”

“Which means,” Andy said quietly, “the loophole is the only route left.” Andy felt its gravity. He heard the echo of it in Laura’s selves, each of whom sat perfectly still, neither blinking. It was a particular talent of Laura’s to absorb a horror in total silence, to let it pass through her like a cold, invisible rain, until she had catalogued every implication and filed it away for private despair.

Claire, sensing the shape of the silence, tried to fill it. “There may be a loophole. There nearly always is. The law can be baroque, full of exceptions and edge cases. I’ll start looking immediately. There’s always an exception, somewhere.”

Andy nodded, but the tightness in his chest did not lessen. If anything, it grew sharper and more specific: he recognized the feeling from the time before, when he had first learned that Laura was dead. Now, the stakes were the same: her actual, resurrected self, the living Laura who sat before him twice over. He tried to imagine a universe in which she was gone again and felt an immediate, involuntary protest from the marrow of his bones. He could not bear it; it was not bearable.

“Do you want me to talk to Arabella and Anna?” Claire asked, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. She looked at Andy as if requesting permission, then at Laura as if requesting forgiveness.

Andy caught Laura’s gaze; both of her faces were perfectly impassive, masks of thoughtfulness. In the old days, she would have wanted to solve the puzzle herself, would have barricaded her feelings behind sarcasm and wit. Now, it was as if she were afraid of moving a single muscle, for fear of breaking the spell that kept her present in this room. Andy felt the urge to touch her, to reassure her with physical presence, but did not act on it.

“Let’s work on it here,” he said. “We can always ask them when we know more.”

Claire nodded, taking the implied burden as if it were lighter than it was. She looked at Laura, and behind the analytic calm, Andy could see the flicker of guilt and a ****, pleading hope—hope that there was a solution, hope that her intervention would be enough, or that it would not be needed at all. She looked at Laura, trying to read her. “I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner.”

“You did it right,” Laura replied, both voices in perfect synchrony and timbre. It was eerie, but not unnatural, as if this was what she was always meant to sound like. “I’d rather know, even if the news is bad. At least you had something to share.”

That was the thing about Laura, Andy realized: she never resented the messenger. She wanted the truth, even if it was a torpedo aimed straight at her own hull.

They all sat for a long moment in silence, broken only by the wind outside, and the slow, irregular ticking of the wall clock.

Eventually, it was Claire who moved first, pushing back her chair with careful deliberation. “I’ll get started. I’ll search every precedent, every possible edge case, every grammatical ambiguity they ever argued about. If there’s even a one-in-a-billion chance, I’ll find it. If you need me—if anything happens, or you want to talk—I’ll hear you.”

She hesitated before leaving, as if waiting for someone to request her presence. No one did. Instead, she squeezed Laura’s nearest shoulder, a gesture of brittle normalcy that radiated the vastness of everything she wanted to say but could not.

Andy watched her go, then turned to Laura.

He moved around the couch. Both of Laura’s bodies leaned into him at once, and for a moment, he just wrapped his arms around both of them, unsure which one he was comforting and which one was holding him up.

For a long time, Andy just held her. Both of Laura’s bodies folded in, neither speaking. He could feel the identical tension in both sets of shoulders: the barely-leashed fight or flight, the need to analyze and the need to run away from the truth.

Finally, she pulled back, and settled on the cushions on either side of him. “Did you catch what she meant?” Laura said, quietly. “Not just about me.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I did.”

Laura drew in a breath. “Claire thinks the sacrifice path is closed,” she said, “because she’s just counting you, me, and my Mom. But it’s not closed. It’s wide open.” She looked at him, blue eyes sharp and dark, then let the next part fall like a verdict: “Marie. Myra. Riley. All in this building.”

Andy didn’t flinch. “I know.” Andy looked at her, then took her hand. “Marie would do it. She’s cared for Sarah all this time. She knows who you are. And she knows you’re the only hope to bring your Mom back. If she were told, she’d say yes, even if it means giving up every second she just started to allow herself with Myra. She’d do it, and she’d tell herself she was happy to do it. It would destroy Myra, but Marie would do it anyway.”

Laura’s grip on his hand was painfully tight now. He didn’t pull away.

“Myra would probably say yes, too,” he went on. “She’s spent her whole life trying to be redeemed. She found Marie and actually started to feel like she could be forgiven, but if she knew the cost was you, she’d throw herself on the altar. Not because she doesn’t want to live, but because she thinks the only way to balance the books is to die for you. And she would mean it.”

Both of Laura now sat upright, hands balled in her laps.

“Riley would do it if she knew the truth,” Andy said. “She sacrificed herself in the paintball challenge without being told. She’d do it again, even if she’d just been reunited with her mother. If she was told, ‘Laura lives if you die,’ Riley would do it. She’s that loyal. And she’d do it with her eyes open.”

He hesitated. “Your Mom would say yes without thinking. If she woke up, she’d just need to be told, and it wouldn’t even be a choice. She’s your mother. And you’d have to live with her gone, this time by choice. This time so you could have a life.”

Laura covered her mouths with both left hands. The other hands reached for Andy’s, fingers trembling.

He waited until she was ready, then said: “There’s something else I think is going on. Something Arabella’s done since the start.”

Both Lauras looked up, as if bracing.

“Arabella must have known the debt would possibly come due,” Andy said. “Think about it. She’s spent the whole season assembling everyone who might pay it, bringing them into arm’s reach of you. She couldn’t say it out loud—she’d break the rules—but she got every piece onto the board. Marie. Myra. Riley. Even your mother, kept close in the Hollow Garden. Every person who might say yes, if it came to it, is right here, now. It’s how she’s keeping her promise to your Mom—protecting you, even when the only protection is that you have a fighting chance, and someone else dies in your stead.”

Both of Laura went perfectly still, as if stunned by the enormity of it. Andy could see her processing, the girl she’d been and the woman she was.

Laura’s voice was rough. “There’s no version of the sacrifice path that doesn’t destroy someone we love.”

“No,” Andy said. “There isn’t.”

Laura let go of his hand, both bodies at once. She pressed both palms to her face, then lowered them, eyes shining.

“If we tell any of them,” she said, “it’s the same as making the choice ourselves. The agency rule is bullshit. You tell someone the only way to save a life is by sacrificing yourself, you’re compelling them by love or guilt or whatever else. There’s no way to do it that doesn’t break something.”

She looked at him, ****. “I don’t want to be saved that way. I don’t want to save myself by killing someone else. I don’t care what the law says. I don’t want it. I don’t want you to try to save me if it will cost someone else. You have to promise me that.”

Andy didn’t respond immediately. He stared at the rocky bluff below, where the ocean slammed itself into oblivion every few seconds, and thought about promises. He thought about times he had tried to keep them, and times he had failed. He thought about what it meant to be responsible for another person’s happiness, and what it meant to let them go.

“I promise,” he said, knowing it was a lie, but also knowing it was the right thing to say. “We’ll find the loophole,” he said.

“What if we can’t?” Laura asked. “What if we run out of time?”

He looked at her, really looked, and didn’t let go. “We find it. That’s the answer. We find it, or we break the rules. I’m not letting anyone die for you. Not even you.”

Laura made a sound—half a laugh, half a sob. She lifted her head, both faces determined. Andy kissed one, then the other, and for a moment the tension snapped, replaced by something steadier, heavier, but cleaner. If they were going to save Laura, it would be on their own terms.