Additional content warnings for this chapter
Multiple transphobic and homophobic slurs, misgendering, family rejection, homelessness, torture, bladed weapons.
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Persephone’s heart nearly stopped at the sound of her uncle’s voice, but the woman he was addressing was unfazed.
“Cainewood,” Auntie Elle said dryly, turning to face him. “Charmed, as always.”
“Bloody Lambert,” Uncle Albert spat. “Come for the boy, have you?”
“I must confess,” she replied, “when I saw the guest list, I did hope that I might bump into my godchild.”
Summer inched closer to Persephone, but that only drew Albert’s attention.
“And you!” He stabbed a finger at Summer. “You’re one of Lambert’s deluded little harem, aren’t you?”
Summer’s eyes flashed. “I beg your pardon?”
“I should’ve known when I saw the surgery scar,” Uncle Albert continued. “Another pathetic little faggot from the fanny farm who thinks he’s a woman now!”
Auntie Elle paled at his words, but Summer bristled. And Persephone, for her part, found herself doing something she hadn’t done in years.
“That’s my date you’re insulting, Uncle,” Persephone said.
Uncle Albert froze for a moment, staring at Persephone. “They really have gotten to him, haven’t they?” he said to himself. Then he grabbed Persephone’s arm tightly. “Come along, boy. We’re leaving.”
“No!” Persephone tried to jerk away from him, but his grip was too strong.
“Now!” Albert yelled.
Summer stepped forward, grabbing Uncle Albert’s other arm, the one holding his cane. “Chase said—“
“Unhand me, you TRANNY WHORE!” Albert shouted, and he swung the head of his cane at Summer’s face.
Persephone shouted as the blow connected with Summer’s forehead; Summer stumbled back, swearing, but before Persephone could do anything—before anyone could—three burly, black-suited security guards were on them, holding Uncle Albert back, separating them from each other.
Persephone finally looked around. The party guests had noticed Uncle Albert’s shout; they were staring at the scene in shock.
The Lord Provost, the host of the party, pushed his way through the crowd. “My lord, ladies, gentleman,” he said diplomatically, “perhaps I can show you to a couple of sitting rooms while tempers cool?”
Uncle Albert stared at the man for a moment, then twisted away from the guards’ grips and straightened his bow tie. “Fine,” he growled. “Boy, come with me.”
Persephone looked from Uncle Albert to Summer and Auntie Elle, hesitating. The room was deathly silent; even the band had stopped.
“Now, boy! If you stay, they’ll try to make you like her!” The guards tensed as he lifted his cane, but he simply pointed it directly at Summer, who was climbing back to her feet, giving him a murderous glare.
All the years since she’d come to live at Duncraven, Persephone had waited patiently for the right opening to strike back. She still wasn’t prepared—she’d barely saved a quarter of the money she’d planned. But she was surrounded by friends and away from his fortified home. This might be the best chance she’d ever get.
She wasn’t going to waste it.
“They can’t make me something I already am,” Persephone said softly.
“What?” Uncle Albert demanded.
“I’m not your ‘boy’,” Persephone said, more loudly this time. “I’m not a boy at all. I’m trans, and there’s nothing you can do to change that!”
Uncle Albert tried to lunge forward, but the guards held him back. “Lord Cainewood!” the Lord Provost protested.
“If you ever set foot in my home again,” Uncle Albert snarled, “you’ll find out just what I can do to you. Boy.” He shook off the guards, turned, and strode from the room.
* * *
A few minutes later, Summer and Persephone found themselves in a cozy wood-paneled side room. Persephone shucked her tux jacket, popped her cufflinks, and undid her bow tie while Summer poured two cups of tea, adding two sugar cubes to one of them. They met at a sofa, where Summer gave Persephone one of the teacups and they sat down together.
Persephone smiled gratefully, and then did so again when she tasted the sugar in the tea, but when she set the cup down, it rattled against the saucer.
Summer set her tea aside too and wrapped an arm around Persephone’s waist. “How are you holding up, sweetie?”
Persephone leaned into her. “Like a poorly-balanced Jenga set,” she said, a little shakily. “I mean, I think it was the right decision, but…I’m homeless, Summer. That’s kind of a lot, y’know?”
“Yeah, I know. I’ve been there, actually.”
“Really?”
“Really. After I aged out of the foster system, I didn’t have anywhere to go.”
Persephone took her free hand. Good; if she was worrying about Summer, she wasn’t worrying about herself. “What did you do?” she asked.
“Couch-surfed. A different friend every few weeks. Until I landed with Tabby, that is.”
That might have been the closest Summer ever got to directly lying to Persephone. The boy she’d been had been homeless, but he hadn’t stayed with friends—he’d hopped from bed to bed, manipulating women into taking him in, until the day he’d fallen asleep in a drunk girl’s dorm room and woken up in a basement cell. There had been other options, but they would have required asking for help, and he’d rather hurt others than accept a wound to his own pride.
Summer hated pretending that it had all been aboveboard. But her NPH had rewritten his victims into her friends, so that’s what she had to say.
“You won’t have to do that, though,” Summer said. “You can stay with me while you finish getting on your feet.”
“But that’s going to cost you money,” Persephone said. “Can you really afford it?”
“She could,” Elle Lambert said from the doorway.
* * *
Auntie Elle stepped into the room. A tall, muscular guy in a black suit—though the details were different, the vibe reminded Persephone of her uncle’s driver, Clive—had arrived with her, but he stopped at a gesture from Auntie Elle and instead closed the ornate double doors behind her.
For her part, Auntie Elle walked to the table with the teapot, her heels clacking on the hardwood floor. Persephone smiled at the sight of her; she reminded her of Christmas in her childhood home, when Elle would arrive on Christmas Eve with a stack of presents and stay in the guest room through Boxing Day. No assistants, no dates, no phone calls or emails—just family.
“Some years ago,” Auntie Elle explained, “Miss Nesbitt sustained a permanent injury while she was working for one of my charitable foundations. When she resigned, I arranged a reasonable pension.”
“Injury?” Persephone asked, looking to Summer. She silently raised her hand and wiggled her fingers, including the stump of her index finger. “Oh, right.”
“I’m not rich,” Summer said, “but…well, I probably couldn’t have afforded a flat near the Royal Mile on an electrologist’s earnings, and I have plenty left. Thank you, by the way, Ms. Lambert, for casually discussing my finances for me.”
Auntie Elle paused on her way to the sofa, blinked, and shook her head. “I apologize, Miss Nesbitt; that was indiscreet. It has been a…taxing evening for all of us, I’m afraid.”
“I suppose,” Summer conceded.
Auntie Elle crossed in front of Persephone and sat next to her, on the opposite side from Summer. One arm wrapped around Persephone’s back, resting on her shoulder; the other lifted her teacup so she could take a perfectly silent sip.
Persephone found herself relaxing even further as the familiar smoky scent of Auntie Elle’s perfume washed around her, mingling with the floral notes in Summer’s. Despite the stressful events of the evening, it had been a long, long time since she’d felt this safe around anyone.
Summer turned her attention to Persephone. “In any case, Ms. Lambert told me earlier that you have resources of your own.”
“I…I do?” Persephone said. “How?”
Auntie Elle daintily set her teacup down on the saucer. “Persephone, your uncle won custody of you. He did not win custody of your inheritance.That, I was instructed to hold in trust until you were free of his influence, as you are now.”
“He…he said everything had been absorbed back into the family assets. He didn’t…” Persephone slapped her forehead. “Of course he wouldn’t tell me. He didn’t want me to know!”
“Precisely,” Auntie Elle said. “Some of the investments have changed over the years, but the personal effects are in storage. The house in Buckhurst Hill has been rented out, but it’s still yours. And there are enough liquid assets to cover reasonable expenses for a number of years.”
She had money. She had her parents’ things. She had her childhood home. The wave of relief was so powerful that it brought a few tears to her eyes; she wiped them away and smiled at Auntie Elle. “Thank you,” she said, then she turned to Summer. “I suppose I won’t have to impose on you for long.”
It was almost a shame, though; part of Persephone had liked the idea of being Summer’s roommate. Summer’s expression suggested she might have similar feelings.
“Now,” Auntie Elle said, “it will take a considerable amount of legal work to dissolve the trust and give you direct control of its assets. But for the moment…” She paused. “Miss Nesbitt, do you still have a debit card for expenses?”
“Yes,” Summer said.
“I shall instruct Beatrice to raise its limit. Anything Persephone needs, report it as ‘Chase Trust’. Including a share of your rent for the duration of her stay with you.”
Summer nodded. Auntie Elle is so thoughtful, Persephone thought.
“That’s the future settled,” Summer said. “What about tonight?”
“I spoke to the Lord Provost a few minutes ago,” Auntie Elle said. “Cainewood has been escorted from the premises and will not be allowed to return. Possibly ever. It seems this is not the first incident—just the first that became physical.”
Persephone wouldn’t have to see Uncle Albert again tonight. She’d never have to fear his temper, never have to obey his rules, never have to ask his permission, never have to perform the gender he expected of her. She felt a hundred pounds lighter—only now that he was out of her life did she fully realize how oppressive he’d been.
“Good,” Persephone said, dearly hoping that the next time she met him would be at his funeral.
“We, on the other hand, are welcome to use this room for as long as we need, and to return to the party if we wish.”
“Do you want to go back?” Summer asked Persephone.
She shook her head. “Now that Uncle Albert’s gone, there’s no reason we need to stay,” she said. “And I want out of this man drag.”
“Alright,” Summer said. “We can just head home, then.”
Home. Home wasn’t a cavernous stone castle anymore; it was a cozy urban flat full of house plants and trans girls. Persephone grinned. “Home,” she agreed.
“Before you leave,” Auntie Elle said, “I have a gift for you, to celebrate your transition.” She pressed a soft kiss to Persephone’s temple, then stood and offered her hand to Summer. “Miss Nesbitt, if you could accompany me?”
* * *
There’s no way, Summer thought, that Elle has to leave to fetch a gift. Elle Lambert didn’t need to carry things; she had people for that. That meant this was a pretense—a way to interact with Summer without Persephone present.
Was it important or was it salacious? Summer would have to be careful to make sure it was the former. As much as she’d like to pretend that the big bad chaser had crossed a line earlier, the truth was that her reactions had invited the kiss. She would simply have to be more careful not to send any unintended signals.
First things first, though. Summer turned to Persephone. “Are you going to be alright if we leave you alone for a few minutes?”
Persephone squeezed her hand. “I’m a big girl,” she said, and she let go.
Summer leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “Take care,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”
Then she withdrew the hand wrapped around Persephone and took the one offered by Elle to stand. She let go as soon as she was on her feet; there were no good reasons to continue holding Elle’s hand and quite a few bad ones.
Score one for self-control. And ignore the number on the opposite side of the board.
When they left the room, the Peckinville man by the door saluted but stayed behind. Elle must have assigned him to guard Persephone, not herself.
“Why the guard? I thought Albert wasn’t coming back?” Summer asked.
“Just a precaution,” Elle said.
She led Summer through a door at the end of the hall, where they found themselves walking through a dimly-lit room full of cubicles. Loads of posters tacked to the walls and partitions, some of them old enough for the ink to start fading; Summer got the vague impression they were ads for events held here, though it was difficult to see the details in the gloom.
“You must understand, Miss Nesbitt, that I have been alone for a long time.” Elle pushed open a door marked WAY OUT and they began descending a stairwell. “I lost my blood family when I sided with your Sisters against them. Then I lost my chosen family when Dylan and Ford were killed and Persephone was stolen from me.” On the ground floor, they emerged into a small, but richly decorated, private lobby. ”But now I have her back, and I am not inclined to risk her unnecessarily.”
An usher pushed open a heavy door, and Summer was blasted with near-freezing air as they stepped outside. By the time they reached the curb, a black BMW had rolled up to meet them; a woman got out of the driver’s seat and rounded the car to meet them.
“Summer!” she said. “It’s been too long!”
“Grace! Hi!” Summer gave her Sister—Elle’s personal assistant—a quick hug. “Still seeing that Greek swimmer?”
“Goodness no, that was ages ago!” Grace said. “I’m seeing this Brazilian helicopter pilot now. Nothing quite gets my heart racing like a flight!” At a glance from Elle, she opened the back door of the car.
“Miss Nesbitt,” Elle said, inclining her head, “may we speak for a moment?”
Yup—definitely a pretense. “Sure,” she said. Elle got into the car first, sliding across the bench seat; Summer followed, keeping plenty of distance between them, and Grace closed the door behind them. “What’s this about?”
“Cainewood struck you,” Elle said. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” Summer said. “I was holding his arm; he couldn’t get much momentum behind the swing. Why?”
In the front, Grace climbed into the driver’s seat again, but the car remained still.
“I’m worried that he may be more dangerous than I thought,” Elle said. “Not just to Persephone, but also to you. Did you hear what he said about you?”
“Nothing I haven’t heard shouted at me on the streets before,” Summer said. “Well, almost nothing. ‘Fanny farm?’ Are posh transphobic boomers even less funny than the normal ones?”
“‘Fanny farm’ isn’t a transphobic slur,” Elle said. “It’s an old nickname for Dorley Hall.”
Summer’s breath caught. “How old?” she asked quietly, though she knew what the answer would be.
“It predates our administration,” Elle said.
“Fuck,” Summer breathed.
“Indeed,” Elle said dryly. “Cainewood was a particularly enthusiastic patron of Grandmother’s operation. His involvement stretched back more than twenty years, and ended only when we took over.”
“He was a piece of work even by that lot’s standards,” Grace said grimly. “He came calling once when I was there. He had a girl put in a private room; then he went in with a bloody sword and…well, he left her with some wicked scars, but thankfully nothing worse. He had enough self control for that, at least.”
“I—I know,” Summer said, swallowing heavily as she made the connection. “Persephone. He cut her cheek two weeks ago, but he kept it shallow. It’s nearly healed.” She thought about the other scars she’d seen when Persephone had tried on her first dress. “And I don’t think it was the first time, either. Fuck.”
For a moment, nobody spoke. Grace looked stricken; Elle looked positively murderous, which was even more frightening on a woman who had probably been involved in a number of murders.
It was Elle who eventually broke the silence. “From what I’ve heard, Cainewood was already callous as a child, and even more so after his father died and he inherited young. But his involvement with the Hall seems to have nourished all of his worst qualities—his misogyny and bigotry, yes, but especially his cruelty. He learned there to crave the terrified obedience of his victims—until he lost access to them. He’s sought that kind of power over others ever since.”
“And he…he said I’m from the ‘fanny farm’,” Summer said. “He knows I’m a Dorley girl.”
“Precisely, Miss Nesbitt. You’ve been clocked—by a man who’s spent the last twenty years dreaming of finding a woman like you.”
Summer swayed a little; she felt slightly dizzy. Elle grasped her shoulder to steady her.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Summer said. “What do we do?”
“You’re safe for tonight,” Elle said, squeezing her shoulder. “And probably for a few days after; it would take a little while to make a move. But very soon, you and Persephone should make your way to Dorley Hall.”
Dorley Hall? Like all graduates, it’s what Summer had been taught to do; if they were ever in danger, Beatrice had promised them, the Hall would take them in, protect them, help them set things right. But Summer didn’t even want Persephone in the same country as the basement—and Elle had told her less than an hour ago that the basement was exactly where she thought Persephone ought to be.
“No,” Summer said. “Not the Hall. Not with Persephone.“
“Su—Miss Nesbitt,” Elle corrected herself with a hint of irritation, “it isn’t safe here. For either of you.”
What excuse would Elle accept? “We—we can’t risk her discovering the program. It would break her trust in both of us. She might run off on her own, put herself in even more danger.”
“Then you will have to keep her from finding out.”
“But we don’t even know if the old bastard’s going to do anything at all. We could end up having to disclose her over nothing.” She hates the distance I’m forcing with last names; I’ll let her off the hook. “Elle, it’s not worth the risk!”
Elle paused for a moment, thinking it over. “You’ve made appropriate preparations?”
“Of course,” Summer said, almost offended. “I am a Dorley girl, after all.”
“Then fine,” she said, shaking her head. “You’ll stay here until it’s clear whether Cainewood is making a move. Grace, could you ask Beatrice to send the girls a care package?”
“On it, Ms. Lambert,” Grace said, picking up her phone.
“Thank you,” Summer said, leaning back in her seat. “Both of you.”
“Anything for my girls,” Elle said. “Now, I really do have a gift for Persephone in the boot. Shall we?”
Summer opened the door and the two of them slid out, then popped the trunk. There were a pair of large, glossy green boxes with red ribbons on them.
“These are enormous,” Summer said, lifting a long, thin box in her arms. “What the hell did you get her?”
“The outfit I would have chosen for her if she’d been able to come as herself,” Elle answered.
Summer paused. “You do seem to enjoy treating new girls as your dress-up dolls,” she said flatly.
“Summer,” Elle said softly, “I must confess, when I chose your dress nine years ago, I did have a prurient interest in it. But there was more to it than that. It was also simply satisfying to help a girl discover how stunning she can be. It always is. One such as yourself, I’m sure, can understand that?”
She could. It was the same thing she’d felt when Persephone saw herself in the mirror for the first time.
Why did Lambert have to be so damn relatable?