Rooks rolled in her bed, half awake. The room was dark, signifying the continuation of night. Rooks allowed herself to drift back down into a dream.

The Fauchard hovered before the wormhole. The wormhole was not as she remembered. It was a swirling wheel of color, casting shades that were both warm and cool over the bridge. Blue traveled over the lower level and up to her level. Green followed; then, purple. Yellow, Orange, and finally red. The spin went on.

“We can’t shift the exit if it won’t hold still.” Inez shook her head, wearing what seemed to be an embroidered set of pajamas.

“Do we wait? Or is there something we can do?” Rooks asked.

Eder sat on the benches, that now rested next to the rail. The young man put his head in his hands, and Mr. Joto rubbed Eder’s arm. Rooks was surprised to see Mr. Joto out of her quarters. The glittering silver threads that ran through his dark fabric scratched along Eder’s tan skin. Rooks found it comforting, but almost every other girl she knew growing up preferred the softer style of plush fur.

“It’s alright,” Mr. Joto soothed in a high, gentle voice. “I don’t mind.”

Eder lifted his head, and Rooks saw tears in his eyes. She started in Eder’s direction.

“Curator,” Inez said.

Rooks stopped and faced Inez.

“We can make the wormhole sit still, but we need to satiate it with a sacrifice.” Darkness seemed to hover over Inez’s eyes. “Mr. Joto has volunteered.”

“I’ll miss you,” Mr. Joto put his fingerless paw to his heart and then reached for Rooks.

Rooks held up a hand. “Now, let’s hold on a minute. Why do we need to sacrifice anyone?”

Inez made a quiet sound. She looked to the crew below, and someone pressed a button.

I will spin, until the nearby stars burn out. I will spin, until the galaxies go quiet. I will spin, till I am tired of it. Give me a reason to stop, a true sacrifice. I will have something of you, Curator.

The message cut off, and Rooks realized it was a recording.

“Okay, but that doesn’t necessarily mean we have to trust it. We could…” Rooks glanced below.

One of the Scaldin stood there. It was a young man, with watchful eyes. Rooks burned with immediate embarrassment. For a Scaldin representative to be on her bridge, while she couldn’t get the wormhole to cooperate – it was a disgrace.

Rooks looked away from him and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Do we have any ideas?”

She felt a soft touch against her leg. She looked down and saw Mr. Joto. He reached halfway up her shin, and he titled his head way back to give her a look at his starry eyes and rounded ears.

“It’s okay. I can go.”

Rooks did not want to have this conversation in front of her crew.

Mr. Joto’s eyes seemed to glisten. “It’s the only way to get us all home. Won’t you make the sacrifice?”

Rooks bent to pick him up, and a shadow moved over her view. She searched for the source and saw the Scaldin man heading away, down the hall that led away from the bridge.

Pan strolled through a familiar zoo. She remembered it from her childhood, but it was new to Kat and Chara. Brynn had been before. She’d actually gone with Pan, on a job in search of a janitor’s spirit. The man had been a no show, but the Hokamilos birds had treated them to a perfect view of their love dance.

That was to say, she and Brynn had to watch the birds have sex. Pan had apologized. She had never seen the Hokamilos birds doing anything but, and she thought she might be to blame, as if Pan might be the Hokamilos’ goddess of fertility and love.

Those same birds waited right around the corner. Brynn gave Pan a warning look and slipped right past the enclosure. She wasn’t about to do that again.

The others were not so wise. They didn’t know that Pan’s presence ignited something in the tall, flightless birds’ breasts. Would the birds need to see Pan, or could the mood strike them, with her so close?

She adjusted her feathered headdress and hated her choice of costume for the festival. She had a long skirt of feathers, a bare midriff, and a gaggle of long necklaces where her shirt should be. It was meant to be a joke. She could blame the birds’ behavior on her costume and pretend she didn’t see Hokamilos sex whenever she entered the zoo.

Now, she didn’t feel so ready to shrug and laugh it off.

Pan slowed her pace and let the other arcanes, Kat and Chara included, step ahead. Irini ran, about to lose her almost vestigial innocence. Aria walked, head bent. Pan felt an out of time flutter in her heart. Aria didn’t need to see what was to come.

Pan almost sped her pace, but Sotir slowed his step and fell in beside her.

“Aria shouldn’t have to see this,” Pan said.

“See what?”

Pan narrowed her eyes. “The Lover’s card, courtesy of the Hokamilos birds.” She glanced left, then right.

Hagen walked just ahead and to the side. He seemed to be listening, perhaps waiting for a moment to speak to Sotir.

Well, he had just heard something Pan didn’t want him to hear, and she could think of no way to erase that knowledge, except by enticing him into one of the predator’s cages.

“Hagen,” Pan called. “Why don’t you skip the Hokamilos and go on to the Tari’s cage.”

Hagen startled, or pretended to. “No, I think I’ll see the birds first. Everyone else is.”

Pan glared at him. Something about him rubbed her the wrong way. Something about him often rubbed her the wrong way, usually it was his personality. Today, it was his personality and his attire. Hagen wore grey.

“You wore funeral clothes to a festival?” Pan scoffed.

“No.” Hagen’s outfit changed to white.

Pan felt her eyes widen.

Hagen hurried off, deeper into the zoo. Pan knew he wouldn’t end up in the Tari’s cage. She watched him leave and knew she dreamed because Sotir didn’t scold her about the hate and fire in her eyes.