2019-09-07 - The Right Questions

It's a lovely Monday, the sun is shining, and the summer is still holding steady. Every day from here on out is borrowed time, and the PNW natives know it. They're all eyeing the weather forecasts, trying to sort out how much more blue sky they'll get before the fall and winter gray sets in.

The store's moderately busy as a result; it's a nice day to wander the outdoor collection, which is what some customers do. August is in his office, letting his employees deal with the people. He has orders to make, invoices to fill out, payments to process. The truly dull part of being his own boss, and the only bad part all in all.

Ully is at the front register and Thoma is bustling around outside, helping people find what they need in the greenhouses and canopy, or among the pots that form the meandering walkway among the full-sun species. The back office has a big window into it, so August is easily visible at his scarred oak desk, typing away at his tablet's keyboard.

When she arrives, it is with very little fanfare, slipping past a couple busily perusing one of the displays at the front before entering the main threshold of Branch and Bole.

Compared to yesterday, Isabella Reede looks less frustrated and tense - quick to anger, yes, but perhaps also quick to forgive. Whatever had vexed her in the earlier hours of yesterday is gone entirely, an easy smile playing on her lips as she waves a little bit to a mother and two children looking at another piece of merchandise on the other side of the store, before quick, businesslike strides take her to the front register. She sees August in his office, framed by his scarred oak desk, but from one professional to another, she is not a stranger to following the usual workplace protocols. This means, ultimately, walking up to the front of the house and to Ully.

She's dressed in her typical casual wear, though considering the promise of warmth, she has decided to forego jeans today in favor of a pair of short canvas shorts, comfortable sandals and a loose, burgundy linen top with spaghetti straps that form an 'X' between her shoulderblades, her dark hair bound in a loose knot at the back of her neck. Her moonstone pendant scatters fragments of rainbow sparks over red fabric, occasionally toyed with by restless fingers. Ully gets a smile.

"Hi," she greets, tone carrying with it subtle good cheer. "I was going to see August today about some Kaffir lilies I wanted to look at?"

Ully watches Isabella as she comes in, tracking her all the way to the register. He knows a customer on a mission when he sees one. He smiles, golden curls bobbing. "Sure thing!" He leans aside to have a line of sight into the office past Isabella, waves a hand, and August glances up. Ully points at her, and August nods, gestures for him to send her in.

Gesturing at a door with a STAFF ONLY sign taped to it, Ully says, "The door's not locked," and indicates the door. It's a straight shot to the office from the register. Inside is an old, chrome, fifties-era table with mismatched but comfortable used chairs arranged around it, some filing cabinets, and a wide variety of indoor plants: hoya, spider plants, a ficus, some lily-of-the-valley, and numerous air plants.

It wasn't a tree climbing day, so August is in a black and white plaid flannel over a dark gray t-shirt and black jeans. He's still in workboots, though, because you never know when you'll be tromping around in mud, even at the shop.

"Thanks!"

Isabella seems to have a good sense of direction regardless, easily following along Ully's gestures until she reaches the man's office. Curious eyes sweep over August's workplace, making note of the plants that decorate the interior space; the air plants, in particular, ensnare most of her attention, her head craning around to look even as her unwavering steps carry her on by. When she gets to his desk, her focus has left them, falling on the proprietor, himself.

"Hey, August," she says, unslinging her satchel from her shoulders and, if allowed, sinks into a seat directly in front of him. "How's work?"

"Hey," August says, gesturing at the chair. "Pretty decent. Which is good, we always need a little extra to bolster us through winter. People hate gardening in the rain." A sardonic smile of 'who knew?' which he only lets hand a half-second. He gestures behind him at a table that has a box of tea sachets, an electric kettle, and a coffee pot; under it is a minifridge. "Pear cider in the fridge, coffee and tea if you prefer those."

He nods his head out at the greenhouses. "I set aside a few Kaffir lilies so you could look through them, there's plenty more in the greenhouses if you want to look around some."

"Is there a downturn in the darker months?" Isabella wonders. She's never had to run her own business, these are concerns that she has never had to consider in her life, but considering the state of things without and within, it certainly makes sense that August would plan for such a thing if there are cyclical financial patterns to consider. She is not the expert Byron is, but she at least has a basic grasp of economics and the whims of supply and demand. The gesturing gets a grin of gratitude. "Coffee would be awesome," she says, though she waits, unsure for a second or two if she's to fix that herself; she doesn't want to impose on the man's office.

She gets up if she has to, but ultimately, what all that results in is a cup of steaming brew in her hand and the archaeologist in her seat, blowing steam off the top of her cup. "I appreciate it," she tells him. "Though a tour would be awesome, too, if you have the time. I'm familiar with most of the businesses in Gray Harbor if they existed prior to my departure, but since you've only been here three years, I missed the grand opening of this place." Again, with that excellent memory. There's an appreciative sweep of her inquisitive stare in his office, especially towards the air plants, saying, almost wistfully: "Living things really do make a difference in a room."

The idea of exploring the greenhouses seems to brighten her expression all the more - she had admired them since she stepped foot in the place the first time, and she looks eager to see what they actually look like inside. But she makes no room to get up just yet. "I know you said to put you on the list yesterday," she begins, regarding the Matter. "And I would be happy to, so before I or we venture out to mingle in the open air with your customers, did you have any questions for me?" Good humor quirks on the corners of her mouth. "Unless you want me to talk you out of it."

"A noticeable one." August lets Isabella fetch her coffee, since he's not going to pretend to know the nuances of coffee doctoring per her own specifications, and as a local (to the region, if not the city) he's well aware that some people are quite particular. (Half a tablespoon of sugar, a touch of whole milk--no 2%, no cream. That's Thoma. Ully is almond milk and honey, of all the damned things.) "Not so bad it puts us in trouble; storms in winter get us decent tree work. Closer to break even, though, for a couple of months. Hence the," he gestures at the 'paraphernalia' section, "extras, we make that seasonal. Helps." He acknowledges this reluctantly, that people come to a garden shop to buy knick knacks for Christmas. So it went.

He nods in quiet agreement to her statement. "Can do for a tour. As to the rest..." He leans back in his chair, frowns. "I'm not getting talked out of it, don't worry." He sounds dead certain of that. "I feel like I only know bits and pieces. Something like, some folks wound up Over There, and came back with a container that had the bones in it. That container's missing, now, and the bones are clean so there's no indication of some of the events surrounding them. But as soon as they came across the border, the murders began." He raises his eyebrows. "And it sounds like only members of some of the long-time families are being killed, right now?"

She listens to the business aspects of August's establishment with open interest, though by the end of it and after a glance at the paraphernalia section, she ventures: "Has Byron Thorne tagged you for festival things yet?" Isabella wonders. "I know he wants to recreate a renaissance carnival of a sort during the Fall. That's going to require some ambience. He and I grew up together." As with most townies their age, though the young woman herself occupies a nebulous gray area between that and being an outsider, considering how long she has been gone. "Though considering the fact that he was with me when we barged in on the Addingtons demanding answers, I don't know if there'll be any full sponsorship hopes there from the number one family in the city. Knowing Byron, though, he'd be able to talk them into it."

His dead certainty plants some measure of open conflict on that expressive face; some part of her wishes that they had the room to screen away the help - the last thing she wants is for a comrade-at-arms in this entire affair to meet a grisly end. But at the same time, they can't afford to turn away the help either, and August has been nothing but a steady and knowledgeable presence, on top of his own ridiculous potential that she can taste even through the bitterness of her coffee, softened a touch by a bit of cream. The fact that he isn't scared off, no matter how afraid he is about what happens in Gray Harbor, is a relief. She is not so lucky on certain aspects of the city, by comparison.

"Rebecca Carr, Vyv Vydal and a few others found themselves through the Veil, found a box of bones begging to be buried outside of its version of City Hall, somewhere near some vandalized letters claiming that Billy Lives." The last part twists at her expression. "They took the box back through the other side and handed the bones over to the mortician, who handed them off to Doctor Penelope Faust - also a friend of Alexander's. I think I already told you that we examined the bones and found them scrubbed. But the return of them to this side triggered the Ghoul's rampage." She pauses, before she narrows her eyes. "After cutting a swathe through the town and killing members of both the Addington and Baxter families, including my mother, and after some considerable investigative efforts by Alexander and several others, we ultimately found out that the spirit of the Ghoul has been trapped inside of Thomas Addington, Margaret Addington's brother, for fifty years. In those fifty years, he's managed to keep him in check, because apparently some members of the Baxter family unearthed his bones and tried to take them someplace - I last know of them as being transported to my great-aunt's funeral home right before it burned down, and Alexander suspects that Margaret Addington had something to do with that small bit of arson, presumably so they could take his bones back and keep them out of reach, and that's probably how it ended up in the Veil. But much like with anything, Time tends to have an eroding effect. Thomas is getting weaker and the longer this goes on, the Ghoul gets stronger and stronger."

She takes another quiet sip. "We have a few options but none of them exactly entail a completely happy ending and the risks are different for each one."

"He did," August says, confirming that with a nod. "And there's plenty of things I have in stock and can order for something like that. Should help to get the shop name out there."

He pulls a face at the Addington's possibly refusing any such efforts due to the current situation, chases it with a shrug. That probably couldn't be helped. And then he's listening to her explanation of the Matter, nodding at a detail here and there, squinting now and again.

Presently, he says, "I'm sorry, about your mother. And the rest of your relatives too," with a sympathetic wince. "What was Margaret Addington's plan long term? Just...wait for Thomas to die?"

His condolences drive a spike somewhere within herself that she isn't ready to acknowledge, having been kept so busy in assisting with the possible disassembling and resolution of the entire affair that she has yet to truly process her grief and its associated regrets. She has always been more prone to action than reflection, and sometimes to her explosive detriment.

But it is there and there remains, sitting hot and ready to burst, a mine ready to destroy everything surrounding it once stepped on by the right shoe. While Isabella keeps quiet for a few moments, her eyes focused somewhere past August's shoulder, it isn't as if she didn't hear him. She nods, eventually, meeting his eyes in the doing, finding it in her to acknowledge and appreciate it, though she doesn't trust herself to do so verbally without accidentally destroying something, takes a sip of her coffee and focuses on the very astute question he presents.

"Nobody knows. I have it on good authority that Erin Addington wasn't meant to be on the list - she's her grandmother's favorite. But Margaret happened to be talking to her brother at the time about how frustrated she was about some of her decisions lately and it may very well be that it spurred murderous intent. Thomas and Margaret are very close."

She lifts her eyes to look at August across the way. "Which means we can't discount the possibilty that some of the other killings were also inspired by some frustration or desire by Margaret to address certain problems. Enmity by the Addingtons towards my mother's family is alive and well in that house. While the Ghoul has a serious beef against the family due to their apprehension of him in the midst of his killing spree when he was alive, not to mention he is the son of the original Baxter couple's only daughter, it explains why the Addingtons and the Baxters are on the list - because the killer is an Addington's body and mind wrestling for dominance with a Baxter's mind and spirit. And when you're connected that deeply to someone for that long, it's easy to mistake the other's desires as your own. Add Margaret and her influence to the list..."

She takes a more solid swallow of her coffee. "I don't know why the Hendersons ended up as part of the victim parade but considering the pattern they're either Baxters or Addingtons, to some degree. We would have been able to confirm it but..." She sighs. "The only person we could have asked about that recently died - Doctor Faust. Complications with sepsis after she survived the Ghoul's attack the night her brother was murdered."

August remains quiet and staid as Isabella wrestles with that particular demon, nodding minutely in an acknowledgement that she can take whatever time she needs.

He grunts, scratches at his beard. "And if Thomas decided to trap him, well, I can't imagine releasing the Ghoul's going to be any better." He sighs. "So does that mean the power being used is...what, Thomas'?" He thinks back to Alexander's injury. "He's like me?" It occurs to him the second he asks it that Isabella might not know the answer, but he lets it stand.

"Right. The occultist with whom we were consulting, Doctor Kosimar - Minerva- has also advised against it, and we're both academics, we appreciate the value of an expert's opinion." Isabella's smile returns, however faint. "Something about how destroying the physical anchor that keeps him here will undoubtedly release him unchecked. While he's in Thomas' body, we at least know where he is. I can't imagine how our endeavors are going to pan out if he was let loose in the city as a murderous spirit."

She falls silent, considering August's question. "You mentioned last night you were the best at....mending? Yes. I believe Thomas is like you. And I believe the Ghoul is either like Alexander or has both of your skills. Thomas is a relatively gifted user...not as strong as your potential, from what I can sense from you anyway, so I can't discount both ideas, given what I've learned of the Talent's range, lately."

August tries not to feel too smug that he guessed correctly on the whole 'just yanking the Ghoul out is maybe not a good idea' end of it. He makes a low sound of agreement with regards to Minerva. "She knows her stuff as far as that all goes. If she says we shouldn't, then," he shakes his head.

He nods. "Mending, making plants grow, fixing things." He tilts his head as far as the Ghoul's own personal abilities go. "Does the Ghoul still...have power, as a ghost? If Thomas is close to me in terms of..." he waves a hand, "however you want to measure it, then he could do everything that's been happening from the edge of town without breaking a sweat." And what if the Ghoul did have power--could it amplify Thomas'? Would the effects combine? A chilling thought.

August rubs a hand over his face. "Okay. So what are the current plans, and what do you need most help with?"

"We wondered about that," Isabella tells August. "You know Alexander and his experiments." Something strange slips through her low contralto, and while it's usually evident that she feels deeply for the investigator in spite of her casual facades, what he does when it comes to exploring his Talent tends to slip some uncertainty and worry in her that she is unable to hide. "We thought about whether ghosts have enough of a mind to be able to track them. The seance proved that they do have a mind to touch, and I think it stands to reason that if they have a mind that can be touched in that way, no matter how incorporeal, then it's feasible that they can do what we do. The Ghoul in life was a Baxter...and I know very well that the Talent runs in the family." She and Alexander burn like like nearby stars, and her twin had potential, talent and skill. Her mother was like August.

"Though that's all conjecture in the end. Like I mentioned, and like what you can confirm, and from what I discovered from Lilith in the hospital when Alexander was admitted, a healer doesn't need a reader to locate a specific person if they're powerful enough and they can reach that person, so long as they're within range. It's also very possible that the Ghoul is just possessing Thomas and using his talents to kill. We just don't know. There's a lot we don't know still."

There's frustration there, bubbling underneath the surface. Her patience is on its last nerve, though she takes a quiet inhale, and seizes on the mantra advised by her psychiatrist friend.

"The current plan is to try and figure out how to create a box to trap the Ghoul in. He flips his shit at the idea of trapping him in a box, so if we can do that and consign him to an eternity of suffering, I wouldn't be opposed to it. But the seance also told us that Minerva, Alexander and I were the 'wrong three' to trap him in the box. Alexander took that to mean there's a 'right' three people somewhere. Byron thinks they have to be Addingtons, maybe Thomas' descendants, if not just because the man was able to keep the bastard at bay for half a century. It's a theory I share. Alexander doesn't necessarily believe they have to be Addingtons, and Lilith also has an idea that it might not need to be Addingtons, but people with the right level of power who can wield one of the three....facets. Aspects? What I mean is she thinks we need a healer, a mover and a reader to trap him in the box. All I do know about these three people though is the fact that they can't be Baxters. The Ghoul doesn't think any of his relations are a threat."

She exhales a breath. "If we can't do that, Plan B is to make sure that Thomas gets committed in an asylum located within the Veil." She pauses. "My information says that place isn't ideal, either. I think there's something akin to a Faustian arrangement between the Addingtons and the...Them." Unconsciously, she grips her fingers tighter into her cup. "The Shadows. Alexander believes that place feeds them."

August rubs his chin. His power's been slow growing, like an aspen grove looking to carpet a mountainside; over thirty years it's been spreading and shifting, with one tree in particular looming over the rest. And just like an aspen grove, it's nowhere near done growing. "So then that sounds like he could be using his, or Thomas'--or both." He lets out a long, slow breath. "Well that sucks for trying to deal with him."

He gives Isabella a sympathetic look for the frustration. "Well, maybe we don't need those answers for sure. Sort of like the one puzzle--one of us always tells the truth, and one of us always lies?" He raises his eyebrows to see if she follows. "Turns out you don't need to know which is which to get what you want. You just have to ask the right question. It won't necessarily give you all the answers, but it might give you the one you need." A helpless lift of one shoulder. "Sometimes that has to be enough."

He leans forward and folds his hands at talk of real possibilities. "So, there's some sort of 'three'. Three Addingtons, three aspects--" he tilts his head, "three people not from Gray Harbor?" He lets that sit, moves on, "And then, some sort of appropriate...box. Which explains the pine." He bites his lip, thoughtful. "I know about that place. And, from what I know about it, it's definitely a...farm, of sorts. For Them."

She gets it. There's a smile, suggestive that she's familiar with the scenario he's describing. "The old riddle," Isabella tells him. "With the life or death doors, with the guard that always tells the truth and the one that always lies. You might be right, August. Maybe that's what it's going to take."

Her expression sobers. "And let's hope that it is. Enough, I mean."

Three people not from Gray Harbor?

She blinks, and leans back, giving August a quiet, assessing look. "...that's a possibility, too," she murmurs. "And one I didn't think of." She, too, eases forward on her seat, to set her coffee cup aside and lifts her fingers to brush against the ice-cold bite of her moonstone's white-gold setting, the gem absorbing the ambient light and enhancing the striking glow of its adularescence. "Gray Harbor was established through the Baxters and Addingtons, this entire affair was all spurred by a feud...but its influence ends outside of the city limits. You might have something there, August. They're all working theories but it can't hurt to try and cover all the bases as much as we can while we try and look for more information."

After a moment, she reaches for the cup again. "Minerva's researching how a box like that can be built, and if we had the methodology, maybe we can start thinking about avenues as to how to pursue it. The asylum is..." She presses her lips together. "Honestly after everything, I don't doubt for a second that you or Alexander aren't right in that regard. The fact that Margaret Addington can apparently find it without trouble, and the fact that she knows she can get her brother committed there, speaks of some kind of familiarity, at the very least, with the place. We know the Ghoul was confined there, so an arrangement between the family and them seems likely."

She chews on her bottom lip. "When we met with the Addingtons, Thomas went on a drunken rant, about how we thought we knew everything and how we've done nothing to protect this town, but they did. I can't help but wonder if they made some kind of deal with the Shadows to do that. To protect the town, though I'm sure that came with some stipulations about their wealth and prestige also. Lilith also said that maybe all of that has a power source of some kind and if we only knew where it was, we can destroy it, or interfere with it. I have a few guesses, but if I'm right, finding it won't be a problem, accessing it is."

She closes her eyes and sighs. "But that's a bridge to cross another time. The immediate problem is the Ghoul." Looking over at August, her smile turns rueful. "You know, I really only got involved with this because Alexander thought there was a curse dogging my mother's family. We either die, or vanish - the ground in Gray Harbor doesn't have any Baxter graves. I wanted..." To protect my mother.

She falls quiet at that, before she takes another sip of her coffee, to drown the yawning sense of a second great failure that threatens to swallow her whole. "Anyway, that's the task list as it stands."

August points at her. "A feud, right. Which might mean the only way to end it is from outside the feud." His expression darkens at the idea of a bargain with Them for the town, and he rubs at his eyes. "Well that makes a certain kind of twisted sense. How a rich family can be from," he gestures at a wall, "a town as small as this. Sure, logging's good money, but there's more going on than just that with them."

He lets out a long, slow breath. "But that feud might be at the crux of his rampage. I mean, maybe not, but, it sure doesn't sound like the people who dug up his bones were up to any good. And obviously the Addington's aren't, if they have a deal with Them. So maybe the Ghoul is just all of that coming home to roost."

He ducks his head a moment. "We all get sucked in one way or another," he says, carefully. "But--yeah. We'll get to those things too. First, we stop this asshole."

He sighs, gets up. "You've given me plenty to think on. So while I let that simmer on the back burner in true academic fashion, how about that tour, and your lilies for Erin."

"That's still the huge question mark in the end," Isabella tells August quietly. "Why dig up the Ghoul's bones? Rebecca Carr's side of the family had him disinterred with the help of Easton Marshall's uncle." There's something there, a spark of fury, lighting up her emerald-and-gold eyes. "And then transported them to my great-aunt's funeral home, and presumably the Addingtons set it on fire to get their hands on them. Unfortunately when I asked Miss Carr whether she could ask any family members, she said no. That they know nothing. We're just going to have to keep that question at the back of our minds, for now."

With the conversation of the spooky stuff at an end, the archaeologist seems relieved to table it for now. She's been deeply immersed with the Baxter curse from almost since her return, occasionally, she needs a break. So she rises from her seat, flashing the man a grateful look. "Let's," she says, flashing him a grin - and one that banishes her earlier serious, intense expression, though some of those elements remain. "I want to see what colors they come in. Hopefully Erin will like them."

And with that, she'll follow August on that tour.