Indexing

by Seanan McGuire

  It had been a long damn day. There are workdays that fly by, and others that seem to last forever. This one fell into the latter category. Birdie was off somewhere licking her wounds, and things had returned at least temporarily to something approaching normal. The only narrative incursion reported in the area had been a Cheshire Cat, presumably looking for an Alice to latch onto, and it had been handled by another field team, leaving my team to finish the paperwork we’d been slacking on for weeks. I lifted a sheet of paper and scowled at it, like that would somehow fill in the rest of the blanks in my after-action report. It didn’t.

  “Anyone care to finish this for me so that I can go home and commit to a long evening of drinking hard lemonade and not doing paperwork?” I asked.

  Sloane didn’t even raise her head as she flipped me off. Andy scowled. Jeff, who was the only one of us who didn’t have a pile of paperwork to get through, laughed at me. I silently pledged to hate him.

  “It wouldn’t be so bad if you did it every night like you’re supposed to,” he said.

  “I do the important parts every night,” I protested. “The parts that can actually impact the narrative are filed with the Archives before I leave the office.”

  “Yes, and that’s why you haven’t been reprimanded or otherwise disciplined for setting a bad example for a field team, but that’s only a small amount of the job’s required documentation.” Jeff somehow managed to make the bureaucratic nonsense sound less like a lecture and more like normal human conversation. I wasn’t sure whether that came from his connection to the narrative, or whether it was something that was inherently him. “And before you ask, no, I won’t do your paperwork for you. I will, however, go and get more coffee.”

  I amended my previous pledge from hatred to adoration. “Coffee would be wonderful. Thank you.”

  “It’s the least I can do to keep you all from murdering me,” he said, and left the bullpen.

  “Think he’ll remember cream and sugar?” asked Andy.

  “It’s Jeff, and he’s fetching coffee for Henry,” said Sloane. “He’ll probably remember cream, sugar, biscotti, and a portable Starbucks.”

  Demi, who had been sitting silently at her desk during this entire exchange, lifted her head and asked cautiously, “Is that a thing his story can actually do?”

  “No, but he could probably build a Starbucks overnight if we hooked him up with a barista who was on the verge of starving due to a lack of available franchise coffee shops to work in,” I said. I tried to keep my tone light, despite my general irritation with the world.

  “Mouthful much?” asked Sloane. “I thought Snow Whites needed to breathe.”

  “Bite me,” I suggested genially. Demi had only officially been back with us for two days, and she was still jumpier than I liked. I was fairly sure we’d missed the Cheshire Cat call because it would have meant taking Demi into the field, and while I was grateful to have a little more time for her to get re-acclimated, I also knew that we couldn’t put off her full return to active duty forever. The narrative doesn’t work that way. If we tried to keep her behind a desk, the narrative would see her as a weak spot and go out of its way to force her back into the field. We needed to beat it to the punch.

  “I think that’s something that’s better left to our archivist,” said Sloane. Her voice took on that singsong quality that meant she was preparing to taunt me as she continued, “He’s a useful boy, you know. Have you come up with any new uses for him recently?”

  I reddened, aware that my blush would look like clown makeup on my snowy complexion. “Back off, Sloane.”

  “Make me, snow-bitch,” she said.

  “Please don’t make her,” said Andy. “We’ll just wind up with two more hours of paperwork if Henry assaults a teammate.”

  I sighed. “What’s really sad is that’s a legitimate reason not to hit her. Sweet Grimm, what I wouldn’t give for a distraction right now.” I dropped the paper I was holding, following it a split second later with my head. My forehead made a pleasant bonking sound when it hit the desk.

  “Ask and ye shall receive,” said Andy, sounding faintly amazed. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

  That was enough to make me lift my head again. Andy was staring wide-eyed at the space behind me. Sloane, who had finally looked away from her own pile of paperwork, was doing the same thing. I closed my eyes for a moment, sending up a silent prayer that whatever was behind me was not some horrible, dangerous beast, and opened them again as I turned.

  Jeff was standing in the aisle of the bullpen, next to a redheaded, blue-eyed man in chino slacks and a white button-down shirt. He looked haunted and slightly rumpled, like he had just taken a long road trip with little preparation and less sleep. I found myself on my feet without fully realizing that I was going to stand. Old anger and fresh confusion warred for control of my actions, finally fighting each other to a draw.

  “Gerry?” I whispered.

  The smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth didn’t quite make it to his eyes. He looked so much older. He’d always looked older than me, but now … he could have been five years my senior. “Hey, Henry,” he said. “Long time no see.”

  A third contender for control of my actions rose: relief. “Oh my God, Gerry!” I cried, and started to throw myself at him, trusting him to catch me the way he always had, ever since we were little kids. Anger could come later.

  Sloane caught me instead. I didn’t know how she’d managed to move so fast, but she was suddenly there, her fingers an iron band around my wrist, holding me in place. “Not so fast, Princess,” she hissed. “Make sure our prodigal son knows the score before you go doing anything you’re going to regret later.”

  I froze. “Oh my God,” I repeated. This time there was no relief in the words. Gerry started to step forward, looking puzzled. I shied back against Sloane, shouting, “Stay away from me!”

  “Uh, Henry?” Gerry stopped moving. That was something at least. “What’s going on? Because I’ll be honest, I thought you might not be happy to see me, but I sort of expected a warmer welcome than ‘don’t touch me.’ I’ve had a really rough day.”

  “Oh, because you’ve given so many fucks about the sort of days we’ve been having,” snapped Sloane, keeping her protective grasp on my wrist. “How long has it been, Gerald? Eight years, and not even a Christmas card? We’ve had some pretty rough days ourselves.”

  “Could I get an introduction if we’re going to fight?” asked Jeff. He adjusted his glasses with one hand before looking Gerry slowly up and down, clearly taking his measure, or trying to. “I found him in the lobby with a visitor’s pass, asking for an escort to the bullpen. I thought it was best to bring him here, but I’d still like to know who he is.”

  Sloane started to laugh, although her iron grip on my wrist loosened not one bit. “Oh man, is the cobbler jealous? All right, Gerry, welcome home, and Snowy, I take it back. This is the best day we’ve had in months. Let’s see if he suggests a duel at dawn.”

  “It’s good to see that some things around here haven’t changed,” said Gerry wearily.

  “Some things never will,” said Sloane. “What are you doing here?”

  “Why are you restraining Henry?” Gerry countered.

  “She’s holding me back because there’s something I haven’t told you yet.” I straightened. “Sloane, you can let go now. I’m not going to fling myself at him.”

  “That’s not what you would have said a minute ago,” said Sloane.

  “I hadn’t had a chance to think things through a minute ago. It’s okay.”

  “If you blow us all up with fairy tale stupidity, I’m going to kill you,” she cautioned, releasing my wrist. Her fingers had left livid red marks on my skin. I rubbed it, feeling the beginnings of a bruise. Just what I needed.

  I took a deep breath, turned to the rest of the team, and said, “Everyone, this is my brother, Gerald Marchen.”

  “It’s ‘March,’ actually,” said Gerry. “
I changed it when I went into teaching.”

  Jeff blinked at him, looking utterly baffled. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. I’ve read Henry’s file, and—” He stopped mid-word, the reality of what he was about to say hitting him. Both Gerry and I watched him curiously, briefly united in the synchronicity of our twinship as we waited to see what he was going to do. Jeff swallowed, obviously making adjustments to the files in his mind, before sticking his hand out and saying, “Agent Jeffrey Davis. I’m a member of your sister’s field team, and a fully activated five-oh-three.”

  Gerry cast me a half-panicked sidelong look. I smiled. This, too, was totally familiar: the unprepared twin looking to the prepared one for the answers to an unexpected quiz. “He’s connected to the Elves and the Shoemaker.”

  “Oh. Nice to meet you, Agent Davis.” Gerry finally took the offered hand, apparently adding Jeff to his list of safe people. My heart broke a little as I watched.

  I wasn’t on that list anymore.

  And I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to be.

  “A pleasure,” said Jeff, shaking Gerry’s hand before pulling away.

  Gerry turned to look at me again, expression turning quizzical. “Now do you want to tell me why Sloane—hi, Sloane—”

  “Hi, Gerry,” said Sloane, with a little wave. “Go fuck yourself.”

  “—decided to go all human chain on you when you tried to give me a hug?”

  “About that.” I kept rubbing my wrist. It gave me something to focus on beyond the betrayal I knew I was about to see in his eyes. “She didn’t want me to touch you because … well, because you were almost Rose Red.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” From him, the statement wasn’t sarcastic: it was an honest request for me to tell him what was wrong, what he was missing about the scene. “I’ve lived with that story for my entire life.”

  “I know. But I …” I hadn’t even been thinking of my brother when I ate the apple. I hadn’t hesitated to sink my teeth into the forbidden fruit and change both our lives forever. To be fair, it had been eight years since I’d seen him. Not thinking about my brother was practically a daily activity. “I’m a Snow White now. For real. My story’s gone active.”

  Gerry blinked at me. The betrayal I’d been expecting didn’t appear. Instead, a quiet, resigned understanding flooded his face and he shook his head, stepping forward to wrap his arms around me. I stiffened. We were almost the same height, and I could see Jeff over my brother’s shoulder, staring at me with a bemusement that echoed my own.

  “Don’t worry, Henry,” said Gerry, still embracing me. “You can’t activate my story. It’s taken care of that all on its own.”

  I tried to pull away. “What?”

  “A bunch of deer showed up on my campus this morning. They were looking for me. Don’t ask me how I know that. I just do.” Gerry tightened his arms, refusing to let me go.

  “I don’t have to ask,” I said. I stopped trying to get away. If he needed something to hold on to, I could play that role, at least for now. If he was falling into his story, he had just become my responsibility. “When they come for you, they’re impossible to ignore.”

  “Yeah, well. I’ve been ignoring them for weeks. Birds in the bushes outside my apartment, a runaway horse that someone had been transporting to a vet until it somehow got out of the trailer and wound up standing in front of my car—standing.” Gerry laughed unsteadily. There was an edge of madness to the sound that I didn’t like one bit. “That thing wasn’t standing. It was posing, like it thought I was going to swoon and jump onto its back and let it carry me off into the sunset.”

  “Gerry …”

  “I thought I got away from all of this.” He finally let go, taking a step back and running one hand down the side of his face. He needed a shave. Glaring at me now, he asked, “Is this really your fault? Did you wake up my story by waking up yours?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I didn’t have a choice. It was activate or die.”

  “The solo Snow White narrative doesn’t line up precisely with the Snow White and Rose Red narrative,” said Jeff, stepping up on my other side and looking coolly at my brother. “Four-two-six versus seven-oh-nine. If anything, Henry activating in solo mode should have made it impossible for you to go active, unless you were somehow suited to a different story. Once she ate the apple, the Rose Red door should have been closed to you.”

  Gerry eyed him, the same mistrustful look he’d worn since we were children, identical in all but coloration. Me, black and white and red all over, like a kindergarten joke; him, rosy cheeked and red haired and somehow just as subtly wrong in his pinkness as I was in my pallor. “Well, it’s pretty obvious that didn’t happen. So can you tell me why it didn’t?”

  “No,” said Jeff. “But I can start pulling files, and together, we can probably figure it out. If you’re willing to trust us.”

  “Like I have a choice?” Gerry raked a hand through his hair, leaving the short red strands sticking up in all directions. “Shit, Henry. I never wanted to be a fairy tale.”

  “You know what, asshole?” Sloane was suddenly in front of me, sliding her legs over my desk as she eeled her way into the conversation. She planted her hands on her hips, the back of her head virtually blocking my view of Gerry. “None of us signed up for this. You got that, right? Everyone in this room has had their life fucked up by a fairy tale at one point or another. Some of us are being fucked right now, while you watch. At least you got out for a little while.”

  “That was unnecessarily graphic,” murmured Jeff.

  “Shush,” I said.

  Sloane didn’t appear to have noticed our interjections. She took a step forward, revealing Gerry’s startled expression as she poked her finger at the center of his chest. She was taller than he was, her five eleven virtually towering over his five seven even without the platform boots she was so fond of. Even if she’d been shorter, her tone would have been enough to make a brave man shrink where he stood. “We didn’t ask for this. We didn’t do anything to deserve it. We didn’t volunteer, and we’re not being punished for things we did in a previous life. We got screwed, and now you’re getting screwed too. Boo-fucking-hoo. It’s not Henry’s fault, so back the fuck off, lover boy, or I’ll give you something to be upset about.”

  Gerry blinked at her. The collapse began at his chin, which dropped down until it almost met his chest. His shoulders sagged, and then his knees began to buckle. I started to step forward, but Sloane was already there, slinging her arms around his waist and holding him up against her. Gerry didn’t fight her. Instead, he twisted, burying his face against her shirt and beginning to cry silently. He’d always cried like that—silently—ever since we were kids.

  “We’ll be in the break room if you need us,” said Sloane, with uncharacteristic gentleness. Still holding my brother up, she turned and led him away, first out of the bullpen and finally out of view. I stayed frozen where I was, feeling colder than any time since I had eaten the apple, and wondered what the hell we were going to do next.

  Demi, of all people, broke the silence, saying hesitantly, “I thought Snow White and Rose Red was about two sisters.” We all turned to look at her. She reddened, and said, “I read a bunch of fairy tales right after I joined the Bureau. I thought it would help me understand what we do here.”

  “Did it?” asked Jeff.

  “It just confused me more,” admitted Demi. “Fairy tales are weird.”

  “Did you read the one about the bird, the mouse, and the sausage?” asked Andy. “Because I have to say, that’s when I decided I was leaving the research to the archivists and sticking to my fieldwork. I can only convince people that fairy tales aren’t real if I’m not gibbering in a corner somewhere.”

  “Fairy tales rarely cause actual madness,” said Jeff. “Demi’s right, however: the Snow White and Rose Red narrative normally fixates on twin sisters. If you were connected to the story, Henry, you shouldn’t have been able to wind up
connected to seven-oh-nine. The only thing they have in common is the name and coloration of one of the two sisters. I don’t …”

  I was suddenly glad Gerry was out of the room. It didn’t make the explanation easier, but it did mean he wouldn’t be glaring at me if I said the wrong thing. “Gerry’s my brother,” I said. “We don’t know which of us is older, because our mother died when we were born, but we were found together in her hospital room. We were identical, except for the coloring. That’s part of why the ATI Management Bureau took custody of us immediately. You find two babies, one a redhead, one with black hair, both with the same blonde mother and brunet father—”

  “What?” asked Demi.

  “It doesn’t take a genius to know that they’re fairy tale–bound,” I said.

  “But you can’t have been identical,” said Demi. “Identical twins are always … you know.”

  Jeff, who had already figured out the situation, winced and looked at me, waiting to see how I would react.

  Luckily for both of us, this was a conversation I’d had before. It didn’t make me angry anymore. It just made me tired. Gerry was my brother. Anyone who met him could see that. So why did the world keep requiring me to explain the situation? “Identical twins will always have the same assigned birth gender, and that’s what the story keyed off of,” I said. “I guess even the narrative isn’t smart enough to look into the mind of a newborn infant and know whether it’s dealing with a boy or a girl.”

  Those first years had been rough on both of us. Geraldine and Henrietta Marchen, the darlings of the fairy tale foster care system. We’d been placed with a pair of agents who had the space and relative career stability to take care of us—Andrew and Maya Briggs, who had been with the Bureau for twenty years, and who had chosen not to have kids of their own because they still had lives to save. It seemed like providence to everyone involved. A couple who had always wanted children would finally get to have them, and two little girls who needed a home would grow up safe and loved. It was perfect.

  Perfect, except for the part where Andrew Briggs was a dyed-in-the-wool conservative who hated ATI incursions not because they were dangerous or because they got people killed, but because they were unnatural. Maya didn’t fight him. Maya never fought him, not even when he slapped Geraldine for telling him that she wanted to wear jeans to school instead of dresses, not even when he told us that we’d go to bed without supper for a week if either one of us said word one about wanting to cut our hair. He had his perfect home, his perfect wife, and his two perfect little girls. He wasn’t going to let either one of them be flawed.