A Comedy of Ferrous [Worm/Mistborn]

[therewolf]

A Comedy of Ferrous

Spoiler: Introduction

The setting is Worm, with only the magic from Mistborn clumsily tacked on through powers.
It's also kind of a homebrew version of that, but the additions should quickly be obvious to anyone familiar with it.

Most things are explained in-story, but basic knowledge of the books/system would help it all make more sense.
You will miss some jokes and hints otherwise, if nothing else, and a few things might seem to come out of nowhere.

It is already finished—so hopefully nobody points out any too-glaring plot holes—and my plan is to post a chapter a week, mostly.
The chapters do get smaller, though, so that might change depending on feedback.

Also, feedback would be appreciated.
I'm curious to hear how soon people work out where this is headed, because some parts surprised me as I was writing them.

Take this however you want, but I got a lot of search engine referrals to mental health support hotlines while looking up stuff for this.
I promise there's a happy ending!

Allomancy metals chart, for reference.

Chapter 1: Lurcher

[Prelude]

—with a sudden snap, I was myself again, climbing unsteadily to my feet.

Okay.
The capes wouldn't help. Villain, or hero, or whatever the difference was supposed to be. I wasn't sure why I had expected anything else.
How could I do this? I might be strong enough to shift it around the engine block, maybe? Could only try.
Taking advantage of a sudden lull, I staggered across to the other side, kneeling down.
Where had all this blood come from? Was there someone inside when it got thrown? I couldn't worry about them, too.
"Be ready to move when there's room, okay?" I instructed.
Blue lightning was starting to dance all over the place, and who the fuck was doing that? Dauntless? We had to get out of here.
Bracing my legs, I pushed. The car finally moved, almost before I'd even touched it, more than I had expected. Ignore that—not important.
My gaze dropped.
"Emma?"
Things were really flying around now.
"Em—" I forced out, and I felt something come rushing at me from behind.

[Lurcher 1.1]

"—ma," I whispered, something thick and heavy filling my mouth.

I could hear, somewhere close, someone screaming.
Screaming abuse, screaming apologies, screaming for help—at theirself, to their mother, to their father, who I thought might all have been long lost to them in this moment.

It had been a little while, it turned out.

A nurse found me awake pretty quickly at the next check-in, explained where I was, explained he'd already explained this, and went to fetch other people.
I must have drifted away again then, before they got back.

I wasn't very aware of events for some more time after that, which I know is something I should be grateful for.
There are fragments, but they're not worth remembering, let alone sharing.
I was very fortunate in general. I heard that one a lot, too. Everyone seemed to have their own spin on it.

The next moment I clearly recall, I was babbling to another nurse—I think another, I'm not certain—about how I was fine actually and was ready to go home now.
When I realized this was happening, it was so surprising that I stopped talking and was left listening to the unfamiliar radio that I knew I hated.
Almost immediately I started back up again, saying much the same thing in much the same way but hopefully more convincingly.

Following a few more sessions of me arguing with various people that yes, I was awake, and had no intention of 'resting,' Dad came rushing in. He must have been informed sometime, I guess.
When I saw him, I gave a faint half-smile and felt so relieved—knowing at least he would believe me—that I immediately fell back asleep, which probably didn't help my case any.

After waking in the more usual way, however much later that was, I smiled at him again—it felt off with everything still attached, but he didn't seem to care—and then it was pretty much all over bar the paperwork.

[Lurcher 1.2]

Dad stayed while someone made arrangements to have all the monitors and such disconnected but, at my quiet request, left for most of the actual process of them doing it.

One nurse kept a surprisingly hot hand on my shoulder when they were removing the feeding tube, which left my nose and throat feeling dry, burnt, scratched, and oddly empty.
My mouth tasted disgusting. My tongue still didn't seem normal. Eating would feel a little funny at first.
They promised that would all go away soon.
When everything was out, I was just glad to be able to curl up and pull the thin sheets over my head until Dad got back.

A series of nurses stopped in to say that they hoped I recovered completely soon. They wished all the best for me.
I didn't recognize any of them, but some of them felt vaguely trustworthy and likeable anyway.
It was strange and a little unsettling. Like my body had been making friends with people without my involvement.

"Shouldn't scar too badly at all if you keep up the aftercare," I was told as I poked at my face in the mirror.
I felt numb where I didn't feel dead.
"Great. So they won't interfere with my shaving?" I asked weakly.
The nurse looked pityingly at me, which was at least a small piece of normality.
Emma looked at me just the same way when I made jokes.

A doctor gestured happily at my shoulder.
"—some shards stuck in your upper back here, but don't worry, we got all those—"
"—body did most of the hard work for you while—"
"—not too much worse now than some bad cat scratches—"
"—see a fair number of Hookwolf injuries here, and—"
"—optimistic outcome, and with some rest—"
I sat there silently until she stopped speaking.

[Lurcher 1.3]

Dad was—being supportive. Being there for me when I wanted him. Which was not right then.
I felt weirdly hurt that he seemed to be coping so well. I had thought he considered Emma another daughter, the same way I once considered her my only sister.
He'd had more time, or more conscious time, to process things, I knew, but really. Would he have been able to behave this normally if I'd been the one he lost?
A part of me almost wanted to ask, and an even more shameful part almost wanted to test it.

I knew he was staying strong for me, and I knew how hard that was for him. He hadn't managed it for a while after Mom died.
Maybe the secret was simple experience. Wasn't that most of what being an adult was?
Maybe he had just got great at acting. Maybe his world had never actually gone back to feeling real, like mine didn't now.

Ever since I woke up, I had been plagued by visions.
Sometimes blue lines overlaid the world in random patterns, like I was sitting in the center of an LSD-fueled spider's web, all of it vanishing with my next eyeblink.
Sometimes lights flickered in Dad's head when he was watching me eat meals with him, but died away again almost immediately. That was relatable, at least.
Sometimes there would be a day between them, and in the hospital they could occasionally come in fits.
Either I had a superpower, maybe the worst one never recorded, or I was going mad. I wasn't sure which would be less welcome.
I didn't want to investigate if it was either, or neither, or both, only leave it as uncertain and undetermined as the rest of me.

This numbness was going to drive me insane, if I wasn't already.
Pain was your body's way of telling you something was wrong, wasn't it? I'd been taught that, and it had always seemed reliable enough before.
Something this wrong, extending this long, with no response from systems I'd never before had to question—? It made me wonder what else in me was failing, all unknown.

I was just so exhausted, constantly. I recognized the symptoms, of course, remembered how Dad behaved after we lost Mom.
Was that a crazy comparison to draw? I couldn't find the motivation to care about that, either.
I had no appetite, no desire to do anything. Sleeping felt like it took up all my time, and after waking I was still tired.

[Lurcher 1.4]

It took place on a weekend. I'd lost track of the exact day by that point, but I know they had arranged it that way so everyone could attend.
I think they might have been putting it off, hoping I would be able to—should I be grateful?
Dad dealt with my outfit somehow. I'd outgrown the one I wore to Mom's by about a foot.
Madison and Julia said something appropriate to me that I didn't quite catch. Anne had come back into town to be there for her parents. Dad and I stood with her and the rest of the family.
It's mostly all a blur to me now. Or maybe it was all a blur at the time and I'm remembering it perfectly. I'm not sure.
I don't recall anything of the actual service. The casket wasn't open, obviously, which I hadn't realized I was worried about.

My clearest memory from that day is of a gravestone.
The first date on it had been a constant in my life, for almost as much of my life as I could remember. When we were younger, I considered it one of the major holidays. It didn't belong there.
The second date—it should never have meant anything to me. It should have been just another Tuesday that I forgot nearly before it finished, only maybe momentarily remarkable for being the first day back at school.
Seeing them paired together—hurt. Like the second was tainting the first. Poisoning it. Bleeding the life away.
I don't know how long and how still I must have stood for it to have registered so clearly, but I felt like they were both carved into me too, now.

[Lurcher 1.5]

We settled into a routine.

Dad had got me out of school indefinitely while I was in hospital. I think he used the old excuse that I'd been in a coma and the doctors had no idea when I would finish waking up properly. They bought it, the chumps.
He didn't push me to go back. I spent the free time watching TV on mute with my eyes closed. I told him the sound hurt my head, which wasn't even a lie. Everything seemed to.

I changed my clothes when Dad asked me to and washed my body when he insisted, quietly disconnected from the process.
Sometimes I would start to do something but feel weirdly off-kilter, like I had too few limbs.

"Taylor, time for dinner."
"Didn't we just eat?" I asked, reaching for the memory. "Macaroni?"
"That was Thursday, I think. Come get this while it's hot."

People had called at the house after I was released, but I'd told Dad I was tired, and he'd turned them away for me. I don't know who it was, but I couldn't deal with them right then.
My phone I powered off and left in my bedside table. Dad knew he could contact me with the landline.

Dad had been spending most evenings out with Uncle Alan. To make certain he was only drinking enough to cope, I think, or something else adult and responsible.
I was glad he could be there for him, that he could be there for someone, when neither of us had any idea how he could be here for me.

It was getting late into the afternoon.
I thought I should probably eat something so I could tell Dad that dinner wasn't the first thing I'd had today when he got home and made it.
I stood up—and the world lurched around me.

I sat right back down again, groggily, very aware of the pulse thudding angrily in my temples.
I knew this feeling, didn't I? I hadn't felt it in years, not since Mom had that talk with me not long after I first started my monthlies, but—
After a minute I stood up again, less quickly, and made my way to the medicine chest on top of the refrigerator.

Two pills and a half-glass of water later, I felt a small bead of energy unravel inside me.
I blinked, slowly. It couldn't be that simple, could it?
I looked at the blue lines stretching out strongly all around me, then re-read past the fine net shining through the box.

Iron.

[Lurcher 1.6]

I did eat in the end. Just a tuna sandwich while I gathered my thoughts together.

There were blue lines, of varying width, streaming out from somewhere around my breastbone—thousands of them, it looked like—in every direction around me.
One leading to the fridge was maybe a pinkyfingerswidth. A couple dozen thin threads from my charm bracelet, the charms themselves slightly thicker. Some spiderweb strands were even coming from my sandwich if I held it close, which was putting me off it just a little.

A lot of them wove their way through walls and travelled out I had no idea how far.
Or, wait, no, that wasn't true—I could feel exactly how distant any one of them was if I concentrated.
It felt like the butter knife in my real hand was being gripped by another one at the end of its line, and I was as aware of how far it ran as I was of the length of my actual arm. It was just another part of me.
If I gave it a mental command, I felt like I could also—and the knife damn near broke my wrist trying to fly towards my chest.
I could also kill myself any time I wanted, I suppose, which wasn't nothing.

Much more hesitantly, going around to the other side of the kitchen island first to be safe, I tried the same thing with the thickest line coming from the oven.
With a tiny twist of my mind, I was pulled suddenly towards it—and it juddered its way towards me too, if much less so.
Well.

After pushing the oven back into place—considerably more work with physical arms—I looked to the pool of power I could feel sitting comfortably in my stomach and, with another little brain-flex, completely tamped out the burning feeling that was slowly consuming it.
Suddenly the lines were all gone, and I blinked at how dull the world seemed without them.

On, off, on, off, on.
The lines were leading to everything metal around me, as far as I could tell.
Bigger objects seemed to have thicker lines, and I guess that matched up to a phantom feeling of heft to some of them that I hadn't quite been able to place before.
Moving closer to the source made a line brighten, and moving away made it fainten until it eventually vanished, which happened more quickly for the thinner ones.
There was one line per thing—usually roughly in the middle of the metal, but with an effort that point could be shifted.

Focusing on something a great deal weightier, out in the street somewhere, I gave another—much weaker, but more sustained—pull and felt my socks slowly slipping along the floor towards it.
The position of whatever this thing was didn't seem to change.

I looked out of the window, thinking, then turned it off again and started putting together dinner for myself and Dad.
It had been a little while since we'd had anything that took much time to prep.

[Lurcher 1.7]

Dad's relief at seeing me standing up and doing something when he got in was almost visible, but he didn't seem to want to jinx it by talking too close to the subject.
Instead, he told me about an E88 bust Silhouette had participated in that day with some full members of the Protectorate. It was an historic precedent of some kind, apparently, but I tuned out all the bureaucratic reasoning Dad seemed to think was so important.
I supposed I was happy someone was fighting them, if there had to be fights. I didn't feel any of it in me right then. I nodded along with him anyway.

That night, after everyone sensible was safely insensible, I willingly went outside for the first time in what felt like forever.
The only sounds were of the occasional piece of distant, fleeting traffic and the hum of the lamp standing over me.
I looked around. Was this too much of a risk?

I pulled softly on the top of the lamp post and felt myself rise from the ground for a second, shoes scuffing along the pavement a little until I was perfectly underneath it.
Held it again, longer, carefully not pulling in all the way, and I was hovering in place off the ground, head back and framed like an enhaloed angel.
I couldn't stop myself from letting out a sudden quick laugh, and then I dropped back down to earth.
Was I going to be able to—?

After a moment of hesitation, I took off at a run and started giving tiny, weak pulls up to metal posts and signs to get air, and parked cars and buildings well in front of me to build up forward momentum.
I fell into the rhythm of it surprisingly quickly, and once it evened out, I was skipping down the street like an expertly cast stone on water.
Worry stopped me from pulling too high up off the ground, about both how I'd land safely and the idea of making even more of a spectacle of myself than this, but it still felt like I was playing around in a better dream than any I'd actually had recently.
I trailed to a halt after a few minutes or a few hours, a surprising distance from home, to pant for air, which quickly turned into laughter.
My mind started racing, faster than I'd just been running. I had a power. Couldn't I find some way to use this, some way to help—

Suddenly I recognized where my feet had led me, and all the heat left my body.
Hadn't I seen what happened when capes tried to 'help?'

I took a deep breath in, held it until my lungs were creaking, then slowly breathed out.
No.

I might not be able to control everything, I might not be able to control them, but I could control myself.
Also—I didn't have just 'a' power, did I? These blue lines weren't the only strange thing I'd noticed.
What else could I do?

[Lurcher 1.8]

In the morning I told Dad I was going shopping, hoping to clear my head. Not an untruth. It was possible some superhuman ability I found would manage that.
He pressed some money on me, along with a kiss and a hug, and told me to remember my phone.
At this I rolled my eyes, informed him I was a teenage girl and didn't need any reminders about that from a very, very old man, then went to find wherever it had ended up.
I still wasn't completely used to carrying the thing, honestly. It didn't feel like any time at all since Emma had put all that effort into making him reconsider his issues with them.

At the drugstore I bought one of every different kind of supplement I could see and asked them if they kept any weirder ones in the back.
They did not, or maybe I just looked like a narc. I might have to hit up some of the asian places eventually, but this would do for now.
Making my way with my loot to the nearest fast food place, I ordered a BcRib and a banana shake and sat down to begin my experiments.

All the packets were spread out on the table, sorted by contents.
I put the ones marked as containing vitamin D to one side for last, because if I ate those all at once, it would probably be something like a 100x daily dose.
What was the toxicity of that? Could you even have too many vitamins?
I turned on my phone and set it to one side while it booted up.

First I repeated my test with iron, which had slowly drained down to nothing overnight, and was comforted to see my lines reaching out all around again.
Not a dream, then.

Two kinds of calcium pill were washed down with my drink to no effect.
I held my nose for the cod liver oil, and I wasn't entirely sure what to do with a powder called creatine but dumped it in my shake and stirred it meditatively with the straw.

My first fresh hit was from copper. It was exciting to see a second well of power forming, and I stupidly grabbed on and used it immediately.
What if it had turned me invisible? What if it had made my skull grow three sizes and glow in the dark?

It didn't. It didn't seem to do anything, actually.
Maybe it was making me a little calmer, but that could easily just be relief from not having accidentally outed myself as being a parahuman in the dumbest way possible.

Nothing from selenium, magnesium, any of the vitamins, or turmeric.
Hey, I think we had that in our kitchen somewhere—why did I just pay $8 for it?
Someone a few tables away was giving me a strange look.

Chromium got me another pool of possibility, but I kept the smile I wanted to beam out concealed inside my cranium and didn't touch it right then.
I was going to be so healthy after this. Though if I ever got conscripted to the Protectorate they'd have me doing brand deals for mineral supplements, there was no doubt in my mind.

The last thing I picked up there was from zinc, and it was what I'd been expecting to see this entire time.
Intricate arrangements of shifting lights appeared in the heads of everyone around me.

[Lurcher 1.9]

I ate the rest of my meal while I watched the pretty patterns and reflected on what I'd discovered.

Four metals, I was fairly sure. Was that enough to start drawing conclusions?
I should—eat metal? I should eat metal.
That felt weirdly right. Definitely more right than I knew it ought to.
Maybe that was a hint from my power?

I pulled over my phone—and could barely focus on the screen for all the bright ironlines shining from its components. Annoying.
I squinted down at it, then raised it above my head, then tried holding it a few inches away from my face.
I was getting looks again, the lights around me synchronizing their movements to match each other.
I blushed.

Turning my iron pool back off, I pulled up the periodic table. Let's see.
Calcium and magnesium did nothing, so it definitely wasn't every metal, disappointingly.
I didn't think I'd be working very far down the alkali column, although I vaguely remembered Dad having been prescribed some kind of lithium at one point. He said the side effects were awful.

The esoteric Tinker elements scattered around the chart would be well outside my price range, and I doubted anyone had even tested what happened to someone rich enough and stupid enough to ingest those.
With that thought, I looked up another version of the table that marked the elements by danger, with helpful tags in the legend like 'highly radioactive,' 'historically used as method of murder,' and 'reacts explosively with majority of human body.'
A couple of the ones I already knew as powers were marked as somewhat toxic, which was—a little concerning.

I did have a tentative sweep of the first row of transition metals, though.
My thumb ran over the others that weren't marked as being too deadly.

[Lurcher 1.10]

I walked what felt incredibly slowly, somehow already missing ironrunning.
Was this how capes felt? The urge to use your abilities openly, naturally, and the trapped feeling of knowing you couldn't?

There was a simple web of lights moving along close to the ground, about to pass by my feet.
I crouched down and pet the cat, making it butt its head into my hand and start purring, and a small grouping slowly revealed itself to me.
Hesitantly I reached out and gave a gentle pull.
That made them brighten more quickly, the purrs getting deeper and louder, and when I gripped them more confidently, it rolled over to present its belly for my attention.
It didn't suddenly seem any less happy when I let go, and the lights only slowly dimmed down again as my scratches trailed away too.
I sat there meeting its inquisitive stare for a moment, then stood up and let it be.

Catching up on my correspondence took the rest of the walk home.
Generic thank yous to the people sending generic condolences.
A more heartfelt response to Gram. I actually felt terrible for only just seeing that one. She should have called, not that I was in a great state to talk much.
Madison asking when I thought I'd make it back to school, everyone missed me. I wasn't sure I was the one everyone missed, but I found myself thinking 'soon' and was surprised to realize I meant it.
I sent her back a text saying so before I could change my mind.

[Lurcher 1.11]

Hearing the car pull in, I looked up and saw Dad's brain as he must have been walking up the porch steps.
I went to get the door for him.

"Taylor," he said with a smile when he saw me, part of his head kindling as I watched. "You're looking so much better."
I smiled back, momentarily confused by the unexpected tightness beside one eye, and the new lights got even brighter, without any influence from me.
"Walked home and got some air. The exercise did me good, I think."
"I'm glad to hear it," he said, and I could see that too.
We made our way to the kitchen, where I sat with my legs dangling off the stool.

"Oh, uh, I bought some supplements," I didn't really explain when he saw the stack on the counter. "Diet's been a little off lately. Thought I might be missing something, you know. Help yourself?"
"Well, as long as you didn't steal them," he said, holding up a bottle of molybdenum and looking at it doubtfully. "I suppose it can't hurt? Can you even have too many vitamins?"
"Yes, in fact," I said, having looked it up myself earlier. "But, uh, one of each is probably fine. And you should still have an actual meal instead of just eating your new treats."
He raised his eyebrows and looked patronizingly at me, his brain strobing (fondly?).
"Yes, dear."

"Speaking of exercise," I said as we were washing the dishes, gracelessly picking up a conversational thread abandoned hours ago. "I was actually thinking about starting to go running."

[Lurcher 1.12]

That evening I placed an order online for the more promising-sounding metals.
I'm certain it put me on a dozen Tinker watchlists, whatever claims of privacy the website made, but I wasn't knowledgeable enough to avoid that, if it even were avoidable.

Further testing alone, and some surreptitious attempts during dinner, had failed to find any obvious uses for either chromium or copper.
I made fairly large orders for those too, anyway, along with the iron and zinc I thought I would be using a lot of.
I'd work them all out eventually. It was nice to have a project.

That done and out for delivery—within 3 to 5 business days, would you like to pay just $20 to expedite?—I settled in to do some research.

Something I had wondered earlier turned out to be commonly-accepted wisdom within the cape community.
People almost always knew how to use their abilities, instinctually. If I felt a strange feeling of certainty about eating metals, I could probably trust it—within reason.

Another concern I'd had was somewhat settled by the theorycrafters.
A lot of powers gave you some immunity to any negative effects from directly using them. Pyrokinetics generally being immune to at least their own fire was the classic example, but there were a lot of other weirder ones.
I hoped mine covered something similar, because it looked like I was going to be guzzling semi-toxic substances regularly from this point on.

Narwhal was the most common argument against this, because she could hurt herself with her own shields.
I wasn't sure how relevant that really was. I suspected people on the internet just liked talking about the beautiful huge naked woman, even if she was Canadian. She came up surprisingly often in any discussion.

If nothing else, I thought, clicking through some pictures, I hope silver isn't one of my metals.
I didn't want to have to think of a way to explain to Dad why I'd turned blue and how that was normal and okay.

Turning into bed, I checked on my father. His lights reminded me of the static on an untuned TV. He was dreaming, I guessed.

I had woken up sometime the night before with the realization, fully formed inside me, that I couldn't tell Dad about any of this.
It took a second to connect why at the time, but now especially I was glad of my impulsive secrecy.
He did love me—I knew that, even before I could view it laid out so plainly—but there must be limits.
I really wasn't sure I could handle actually seeing his fear and distrust if he started to think of me as a cape instead of a daughter.
If I lost Dad, I didn't know what would be holding me here any more, and then who would be there for him?
It was a powerfully isolating thought, and it had taken a long while to fall back to sleep with it filling my head so uncomfortably.

That night I fell asleep watching him through my eyelids, wondering what my own feelings looked like.

[Lurcher 1.13]

In. Breathe. Out.

The teachers were being very accommodating. Exactly what they were told about my absence I don't know, but they were treating me like a kicked puppy.
I had missed a little work, but in a lot of classes that just put me level with most of the other kids. I would be caught up with the rest shortly. I shouldn't stress about it.

Madison found me after fourth period, as I dispiritedly left math to go to the cafeteria.
"Taylor," she said, searching my face for something. "It's good to see you again."
"Hi, Mads," I welcomed her back hesitantly, a little thrown off by how formal she was acting. That seemed to settle something for her.
"Although," she continued, her voice raised a little for the benefit of the people staring and with flickers of calculation behind her eyes. "You look terrible. I knew Ems had secretly been dressing you every day."
Shock and embarrassment sprouted in the bystanders as they turned away, but when I laughed out loud, Madison only showed relief.
My mind probably looked the same, mixed with gratitude that she could still talk to me normally.
She bent down comically and leapt up to grab me around the neck, dragging me down a little into a hug and feeling extremely pleased with herself when I kept laughing.
"Come on, Tay," she whispered in my ear. "We're missing lunch."

In. Breathe. Out.

Testing for more powers had stalled out almost before it even began.
One of the first ones I'd tried, tin, was a success, which had set my expectations up in entirely the wrong way.

Tin was a bit of a nasty shock. Perpetually, it seemed.
It made all my senses incredibly—well, sensitive.
I could easily read in bed at night now, with no glasses and no illumination but what came through and around the closed curtains.
Counting the boy across the classroom's eyelashes was nothing, if I didn't mind charting the progress of his emerging blackheads and hearing his adenoidal wheezing too.
The real downside to this was that any loud noise or bright light or strong smell was, to somewhat understate it, overwhelming.
A weak winter's dawn was blinding, and the mild chill burned my lungs and took great, hungry bites out of my bones with every heartbeat.
My heart itself was distractingly loud. Even just the feeling of the seams and tags on clothes was unbearable after any sustained tin use.
Like with my other metals, there was some give in the amount I could burn at once, with a faster burn giving a stronger effect, but even at the lower end it was quite unpleasant.
I made the decision to keep practicing with it on my morning runs, and re-made that decision with every unexpected gunshot and backfiring car.
You could get used to almost anything with enough time.

In. Breathe. Out.

Madison seemed to be having fun making a small project out of me, which I didn't begrudge her much.
Making the rounds with her, I was touched to see how genuine most people were feeling inside, behind the awkward small talk I would have dismissed otherwise. It made it easier to accept their sympathy, with a grace that felt a little unnatural to me.
I knew I wasn't behaving completely normally, but I could also see that nobody was really expecting me to. I could see a lot of things now.
Maybe this would be an improvement?

In. Breathe. Out.

As disappointing as tin turned out to be, the lack of pretty much anything else on that front was worse.

After my parcels arrived—'girl stuff,' as far as Dad knew and was brave enough to pursue—I'd first confirmed that elemental metals worked the same as the supplements. I had a vague feeling there was some difference between them, but my power didn't seem to care.
I had slowly worked my way through all the safe ones and a great deal of the less-safe ones too by now, whenever I really needed something to distract me.
When silver did turn out to be a dud, I was almost disappointed.
I was giving serious thought to just breaking into a science museum with a fork.

In. Breathe. Out.

People, or teenagers at least, were surprisingly simple. I almost wanted to take over Emma's old role in our friend group.
'Oh please, Dionne, of course he likes you. Just watch the way his hypothalamus acts whenever he looks your way, he's embarrassingly obvious. Now pull yourself together and go talk to the boy, or do I need to work your motor cortex for you?'
I laughed at myself. No. Taylor Hebert suddenly displaying social competence would probably get her sent straight to the Birdcage.

In—no. Couldn't swallow. Spasming too hard. Spit.
That was my sign I was done for a while.

I knew I was drawing this out more than I had to.
I had a strong feeling about one metal that would work, though, and didn't think I was ready for what it would take to get it.
I'd just keep taking safe little nibbles out of the periodic table for the time being. There was no rush.

[Lurcher 1.14]

Seeing the loveglows in Dad's head always cheered me up. All I had to do was smile or reach out to touch him and he would brighten.
This wasn't even a power, really, I thought, or if it was, then it was one everyone was supposed to have. How much better would the world be?
"How's the running going?" he asked. "Caught anything yet?"
"Ha ha. It's going good, I think." The ironpulls were very natural-looking by this point. I was even comfortable enough to risk doing it along the Boardwalk, like I had originally almost-promised. "Relaxing. Maybe you should come some time. Futilely try to ward off the gray hairs a little longer."
He winced.
"I'm planning for my eyesight to get so bad I just can't see them. Getting there! And before you say anything else, you know full well that I need this gut to keep me from flying away on windy days." He looked at my plate. "Not hungry?"
"Sore throat. I'll get something later."

[Lurcher 1.15]

I knocked at the door like I was a stranger.

Emma and I had got our ears pierced together in early middle school.
We put together a complicated scheme, probably based on some TV show she'd seen, where I tried to convince her dad mine had agreed and she tried to convince mine hers had.
The actual appointment and piercings themselves were all arranged by our mothers, who were never fooled by anything in their lives as far as either of us were aware.

"Taylor!" I was greeted. "You know just to come in, hon. Come along, let me feed you. You're looking so thin."
"Hi, Aunt Zoe," I said around her hug. "I already ate, thank you."
I cringed a little inside at the idea that she might be trying to—mother me? I wasn't certain about the patterns in her head and was scared I would accidentally do something that touched them off in the wrong way and hurt her.

I didn't have much jewelry of my own.
All—or almost all—the things of any real quality were keepsakes of my mother, and I wasn't prepared to burn Mom's wedding ring for power quite yet.

"I was wondering if I could see her room, just for a little while?"

Emma, though, had something perfect.

[Lurcher 1.16]

Aunt Zoe was sitting in the kitchen, alone, thinking only sad thoughts.
I put her aside, tried to forget where I was, and went to Emma's dresser.
Nothing had been touched.

These earrings were a gift from a relative Emma hadn't liked very much. The earrings might actually have been the cause of that—I couldn't remember right then. They were so expensive that she'd had to wear them any time they visited or whenever they were attending the same event together.
She had even begged me to take them as a gift myself, I recalled fondly, rubbing my thumb over them, sure that it was the only way her parents would let her get rid of the ugly things. I'd heard so many rants about all the outfits they didn't go with, whatever that meant.
Somewhere, she was probably glad she wasn't buried with them.

Feeling like the biggest piece of shit in the world, I filed off a piece of a golden spike from one, slowly worked up some spit, and swallowed it.
A pool of power appeared inside me, like I knew it would.

I sat tailor-style on Emma's bed and burned.
Two figures, similarly seated, appeared opposite me.

[Interlude: Alan]

I didn't want to look anywhere right then, and I ended up looking everywhere instead.

My eyes landed on Taylor.
She was shockingly pale and drawn, unsteady on her feet. Lifeless. The sole color to her was from the still-fresh scars framing one side of her face, standing out lividly.
It was strange to have to use my eyes to know she was there. Normally you'd hear her first and only have to look around for—my daughter. Not far, though.

Zoe was crying openly now. I pulled her closer, gently, and laid my hand on her stomach, rubbing my thumb across it to soothe her.
She gave out a harsh sob.
Oh. My hand stilled. I used to do that when she was pregnant with Anne, and then again with—
When had I last thought of that?

She and Taylor had spent two-thirds of their lives as each other's shadows, and I was certain that ratio would only have grown. Annette used to joke that the pair of them had forgotten how to walk with only two legs.
There was a lost look in her eyes as she stared down into the grave and an unfamiliar expression in the set of her mouth as her gaze moved around the crowd too.
You both wish it was her in that coffin, a spiteful little voice whispered in my ear.
I gave her my best attempt at a smile. She was a perceptive girl, sometimes. I hoped it wasn't obvious to her.

God, but I was all over the place today. This was supposed to be one of the grieving steps, wasn't it, the laying to rest?
I didn't think it was working. Could I stop this and try again another time?
My mouth opened, about to speak, but a lowing sound I didn't recognize came out instead.

I felt like if I broke down now, I wouldn't stop breaking down. I'd have no foundation left to build back up on, and I still had my responsibilities.
Danny and I had talked about this. He understood. I didn't even resent that his daughter was the one who had come back from the dead.
Zoe leaned farther into me.

Spoiler: Note

I did not promise a happy beginning!