"Jim," I said, "I need to find the soul fragments the store took from my friends." I nodded toward the Strand sisters. "And we need to get out of here, find our way back to our Earth, our town. Can anyone in Bedshire help us?"

"As I said earlier, soul fragments are tricky," Jim sighed. "The store scatters 'em across her aisles, hides 'em in products or traps. You'd need someone who knows the deep aisles, someone who's mapped the unmappable." He paused, scratching his chin with his cart-handle arm. "There's a woman here, calls herself the Cartographer. She's been charting the Supercenter longer than anyone. If anyone knows how to find your fragments, it's her."

"Where do we find her?" Krysanthea asked.

"She's got a place behind the council hall," Jim said, pointing to a larger structure at the edge of the square, its frame made from welded headboards and draped with quilts. "But a word of warning—she's… eccentric. And she don't trust easy. You'll need to convince her you're worth helping. Plus she's got a waiting list—plenty of folks want to speak to her about particular stuff they're looking for."

"Great," Katerina muttered. "Another weirdo to deal with."

"We're in their town. Show some respect." Kristi chided, her tone sharp.

Katerina shot her older sister a glare but said nothing, once again lowering her eyes when I glanced at her.

Jim led us toward the council hall, the crowd parting to let us through. The residents of Bedshire watched us with curiosity and wariness, their eyes lingering on Nessy's unconscious form and the Strand sisters' raptor features.

Then the shopping cart armed man led us to a small building constructed from four-poster bed frames welded together, with quilts and sheets forming the walls and roof. A sign made from a headboard read "CARTOGRAPHER'S OFFICE - BY APPOINTMENT ONLY!"

"This is it," Jim said, gesturing to the entrance. "Let me see if she's taking visitors today."

He disappeared inside while we waited. The town's activity continued around us—people trading items at makeshift stalls, children playing with toys fashioned from pillowcases stuffed with bed padding, people chatting, eating or chilling amidst pillow piles and bedpost balconies.

"This is bloody weird," Katerina muttered, keeping her voice low. "A whole community living inside a store?"

"At least it has boundaries," Krysanthea replied.

Jim emerged a few minutes later, holding what looked like a mechanical alarm clock with bed springs attached to it. "Good news and bad news," he said. "The Cartographer's got a waiting list—about two weeks long. Her skill is rare and takes time to reload. But..." He handed me the clock-spring device. "This is your appointment token. If someone cancels, it'll ring and you can go right in. Otherwise, you're gonna have to wait."

"Two weeks?" Kirra groaned. "We can't wait that long!"

"Unfortunately, that's the best I can do," Jim shrugged. "The Cartographer is the only one who knows the deep aisles well enough to help with your soul fragments. Everyone wants a piece of her time."

"What are we supposed to do until then?" Katerina demanded.

"Well, I've got room at my place," Jim offered. "Two spare bedrooms you can use. It's not fancy, but it's safe."

"That's very kind of you," I said.

Kat stared at Jim with an expression of mistrust. "What's the cost?" she asked, eyes narrowing. "Nothing's free in a place like this, seems like."

Jim chuckled. "Clever girl. Yeah, there's a cost—the town charges rent. Usually comes out of your store salary, but since you folks are... between jobs, let's say, you can pay in favors."

"Favors?" Katerina repeated, her claws flexing. "What kind of favors?"

"Nothing sinister," Jim assured her. "Help around town, maybe some guard duty, repairs—that sort of thing. We've got a favor-based economy here. Do good for Bedshire, Bedshire does good for you."

"And who enforces these 'favors'?" Katerina pressed on.

"The town itself," Jim replied simply. "She's our domain. You rack up too much debt, don't pay it back, your favor rating drops. Get it low enough, and you will be banished and won't be let back in. Simple as that." He gestured to the mattress-wall perimeter. "Out there, unless you're a store employee, your chances of getting mangled or worse are pretty high. Bedshire's the safest domain for a few hundred miles around."

I considered our options. We needed a safe place for Nessy to recover, and somewhere to regroup and plan our next move.

"We'll take the two bedrooms," I decided. "Thank you, Jim."

He nodded and motioned for us to follow. "This way to my place then. It's near the west wall."

As we walked, I noticed something about Jim that had been bothering me since I saw it screwing with Nessy's mind—his employee uniform. "Jim," I asked, "How do you deal with the influence from your store vest and name tag?"

"Ah, that. Let me show you." Jim stopped, turning to face me. He lifted a blue patch that I didn't notice on the uniform, revealing what looked like a bisected gray eye—sewn shut with silver thread, the fabric puckered around it.

"Sliced and sewn shut. As for the nametag—" He tapped his nametag. "Look closer."

I did, noting that the plastic of the badge looked like it was partially melted and bubbled in places, his picture and name slightly distorted. "Dunked it and the uniform in the town moat for a few seconds. Perma-fucked 'em up good. The eye can't open or control me if it can't form properly."

"That would have been handy to know," I said.

"I didn't know if I could trust ya," Jim shrugged. "Sorry. Some people change when they put on the uniform, becoming completely subservient to the upper management. The only way to take it off is to destroy or damage it enough, but you gotta be extra dedicated to being free for that."

"So that's how you avoid becoming... like she was," Kristi said, petting Nessy in her hands.

"Yep," Jim confirmed. "Most folks here have done something similar. You learn to adapt, find the loopholes. You still get paid for doing work hours and the store doesn't harass you even if your uniform is damaged." He smiled. "C'mon, let's get you settled."

Jim's apartment was a surprisingly cozy space built from king-sized bed frames in what looked like a three floor condo cobbled together from various bed pieces. The windows were draped with red and blue sheer curtains, and the furniture crafted from various bedding materials—a couch made from mattresses, chairs from pillows stacked and sewn together, a table from a headboard laid flat on shortened bed posts.

"Two extra bedrooms through there," he said, pointing to a hallway lined with quilts. "Bathroom's the door with the pillow sham on it. Kitchen's just that corner there—got a hotplate and some supplies. Make yourselves at home."

"Thank you," Krysanthea said, adjusting her hold on Nessy.

After getting Nessy settled in one of the bedrooms, we gathered in Jim's living room area.

"Anyone hungry?" Jim asked. "There's a decent diner in the square."

"What does it offer?" Kristi asked.

"Food bought from the Food n' More department," Jim said. "Or things we hunt. Animals that wander around the store."

"Food would be great," I admitted, suddenly aware of how long it had been since I'd eaten.

The diner was a larger structure near the center of Bedshire, its walls made from overlapping quilts and its roof from a canopy of sheets suspended from bed posts. Inside, tables were fashioned from various small and large headboards, and the chairs were plush cushions stacked into serviceable seating. The lighting was made from random colored bedside lamps hanging from the ceiling.

"Isn't the store bothered by you making bedroom stuff into all of this?" I asked. "Doesn't she charge you for doing this?"

"Nah," Jim shrugged. "It ain't stolen. It's all still inside the store's bedroom section. Repurposing items doesn't trigger the receipt men."

A woman with what appeared to be cash register keys for hair appeared and showed us to a table. "Evening Jim! The usual?" she asked, her voice tinged with a slight mechanical quality.

"You bet, Reggie," Jim replied. "And whatever my friends want."

We ordered from a menu written on a pillowcase—surprisingly normal food like burgers, sandwiches, and the house specialty: meatloaf. When the meal arrived, it looked and smelled delicious, regardless of its origins.

When the bill came, it was marked "7.4 favors" instead of a monetary amount. It was stamped on a miniature pillowcase.

"Just sign at the bottom," the waitress handed me a calligraphy brush and an inkwell.

I took the bill and signed my name at the bottom, feeling somewhat bemused by the bill.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

[Favor Account of Bedshire Updated: Alec Foster - Balance: -7.4 favors. Rent for two rooms (5 favors per night) will be automatically deducted. Current running total: -17.4 favors. Status: INDEBTED. Consider contributing to Bedshire's wellbeing soon or become banished!]

The silver System message hovered briefly before vanishing.

"There she goes, putting ya in the red," Jim commented. "Don't worry—there's plenty of ways to earn favors around here. The wall always needs patrolling, items require acquisition, people need stuff done and the community kitchens are always short-handed."

After dinner, we made our way back to Jim's apartment. Night had fallen in Bedshire—or at least, the overhead lights had dimmed to simulate evening, and residents had lit lanterns outside their dwellings, creating a surreal twilight atmosphere.

"Ah, I almost forgot! Let me show you privacy controls before you turn in," Jim said as we entered his home. He led us to the bedrooms and pointed to what looked like a rune painted on the sheet-wall. "Privacy charm. Tap it once, it mutes outside noises. Tap it twice, it mutes inside noises from escaping out. Comes in handy when you want some privacy. Works for eight hours."

"That's... convenient," Krysanthea said, eyeing the symbol.

"Two favors per night to use it," Jim added. "Just so you know."

We divvied up the sleeping arrangements—Krysanthea and I would stay with Nessy in one room, while the three Strand sisters would take the other. Despite Katerina's protest about being separated from Krysanthea, the older raptor insisted on staying with her pack mates.

After settling in for the night, I lay on a makeshift bed of pillows on the floor. The husky had barely stirred all day, her body clearly making up for weeks of sleeplessness.

I tapped the privacy rune once, figuring the extra favors were worth the quiet. The ambient noise of Bedshire immediately dampened to a soft hush.

"Do you think she'll be alright?" Krysanthea asked softly from the bed, where she lay beside Nessy's sleeping form.

"I think so," I replied. "She just needs rest. Real rest, not whatever caffeine-fueled nightmare she's been living for the past month."

Krysanthea nodded, her amber eyes reflecting the dim light from a bedside lamp as she tapped the rune again. "I've never seen her like that before. So... broken. So angry. So unlike herself."

"It wasn't her," I reminded her. "It was the store, using her pain against her."

"Maybe," Krysanthea murmured. "But that pain and her tears seemed quite real. The things my sisters did to her..." She trailed off, her feathers fluttering with what might have been shame. "I should have stopped them. I suspected that they were messing with her, and I just... I didn't do shit about it."

"You can't change the past," I said. "But you can be better now."

"Yeah." She nodded, her eyes drifting closed as she snuggled into my side, offering me her hand. "Goodnight, Alec."

"Goodnight, Kristi."

Sleep claimed me quickly, the exhaustion of the day's events pulling me under. But instead of darkness, my dreams bloomed into vivid color and light.

I found myself standing on a balcony of white stone, overlooking the ocean. Beside and below more white stone buildings rose like frozen music, towers spiraling upward, jutting from what looked like hexagonal-shaped columns of dark cliffs. The landscape reminded me of Iceland or possibly Ireland.

"Hi," a familiar voice said beside me.

I turned to find Nessy sitting there on the edge of the balcony—but not as I knew her. She had... rainbow wings, sparkling and undulating with a billion mundane and alien colors.

"Nessy?" I asked, astonished by her appearance.

She smiled softly, her blue eyes brighter and clearer than I'd ever seen them.

"Where are we?" I asked, gesturing to the white citadel below us.

"Skyfall," she said. "This is a dream of Skyfall."

"Which is…?"

"A place," she replied simply. "Elsewhere."

A shadow passed overhead, and I looked up to see Krysanthea soaring above us—transformed into her thunderbird aspect once again, black wings crackling with electricity.

"Our third," Nessy said, smiling as the thunderbird circled above. "Her soul yearns for flight, for freedom from the constraints of linear thinking."

"And you?" I asked. "What does your soul yearn for?"

Nessy's expression turned thoughtful, her rainbow wings folding slightly. "Connection," she said simply. "Always and forever, connection. Finding... you."

She pulled a guitar from what looked like a bag that couldn't have possibly fit it and began to sing, her voice lifting into the cloudy sky, reverberating through the white, crystalline spires of Skyfall. As she sang, her wings spread wide, colors rippling through the feathers in time with her melody:

"Across the endless boundary where worlds collide, I stand as your guardian, my wings spread wide, Emissary of the Number Eight, that's me. The Bearer of keys to destiny's gate, the song of the Astral Sea."

She sang and then hummed and strummed the catchy melody.

"From shattered realms and broken dreams, I weave the threads of what must be, A ballad of hope, a bridge of light, To guide us through the wicked night.

The Number Two's local grasp is deep, Her watchful eyes never sleep, But in her maze of twisted shelves, Lie fragments of the Strand girls' former selves."

More strumming, her smile brilliant, captivating, slightly different, but also the same. The song was… odd. Number Eight? Number two? What?

As I pondered these strange numbers, a crack of thunder announced Krysanthea's descent. The black winged raptor landed gracefully beside us, her electric wings folding and raining sparks as she settled on the white stone balcony.

"But you, dear tree of endless hands, Rooted where no other stands, Your branches reach across the stars, Shearing what the all-controlling Order mars.

And she, the bird of thunder's call, A raptor who fears the spaces vast and tall, Must learn to soar on lightning wings, Embrace the storm that freedom brings.

Together bound by silver thread, Three souls entwined where paths have led, Pack of power, triad of might, The key to turning forceful order to chaotic light."

She poignantly glanced at Kristi.

"My schemes unfold like petals bright, For you to stand in raptors' sight, Each challenge set with loving care, To make them see what's always there.

Your strength, your heart, your endless soul, The Alpha they must now extol, I staged my fall so you could rise, The truth revealed before their eyes.

A fluffy guardian at your feet, My devotion pure and sweet, Through dream and waking, I remain, The one who'll chase away the rain."

Nessy strummed, bobbing up and down, wings fluttering in the chilly wind coming from the ocean.

"My coffee-madness just a ruse, A path I willingly did choose, To forge the bonds of pack anew, And prove your worth to lizard crew.

My heart soars free in endless sky, Bound to my tree that cannot die, More than dreams connect us three, Together root-entwined for all eternity."

She sang, her entire figure shimmering with a thousand colors like a broken screen, the texture of her fur momentarily fading to reveal iridescent scales. Her voice slowed, becoming calmer, deeper.

"Between entropy's chaos and syntropy's ordered shore, You stand, the key-maker of my lovely lore, The human bridge through which our souls intertwine, Your heart the key that sets all worlds free of their design!"

Nessy spun her guitar and strummed, swaying left to right.

The last extra-deep note hung in the air. I stared at Nessy, my mind reeling from the implications of her song.

"You... planned this?" I asked, already knowing the answer. "The coffee, the artifacts, the madness—it was all an act?"

Nessy's smile was enigmatic. "Not all of it. The store's influence was quite real, as was the pain and madness unleashed from it and my suffering. But I saw what needed to be done and took a path forward. One path from a hundred. A solution where I hurt myself to help you win, as a good dog should. I smelled the possibilities before they happened."

"You let yourself be corrupted so I could prove myself to the raptors," I said.

"Among other reasons," she admitted. "The pack needed an Alpha they could respect. A leader strong enough to withstand the trials ahead. I couldn't be that, as I'm far too soft, fluffy and tolerant. But you could."

Krysanthea stepped closer. "Is that why you bound the three of us together? For some greater plan?"

"I don't think that I bound anyone," Nessy shook her head. "I think that long, long ago in another place and time I reached for the stars and became more. And in becoming more, I realized the truth of the universe. The harshness of it. The evil-ness. And so I shattered. Into myself and not myself. Into Syntropy and Entropy."

"What?" Kristi asked.

"Further details are unclear to me," Nessy shrugged, her wings breaking up into colorful sparks. "But I'm here now with you two and it feels like I'm on the right track."

"Is Number Two the store?" I asked.

"G-Supercenter, yes," Nessy nodded. "Her name is Two. Insurance. She who ensures that everything goes according to plan."

"What plan?" Kristi asked.

"A planny plan," Nessy shuddered. "I really shouldn't think or speak of it because if I do, Number Three will show up and erase us from existence."

"That's… concerning," I said. "Should we be like… opposing these Number entities or something?"

"Don't be silly, Alec. Linear beings cannot oppose near omnipotent absolute-syntropic entities," Nessy sighed. "Push them aside with entropy for a bit, maybe. They'd squish us like bugs if we bother them enough."

"You sang that you're an emissary of Number Eight," I said. "What does that mean?"

"I dunno," Nessy shrugged.

"You don't know?!" Kristi hissed. "You're a servant of some ungodly entity like that damned store and… you don't effing know?!"

"I don't know everything, yet," Nessy crossed her arms. "Just bits and pieces… like a broken mirror that shattered a million years ago. Get off my case! I just told you what I know. The lyrics, like my wings and the dream of this white… Citadel, it all comes from the Astral. I don't know what the hell half of it is even about! I don't know what this place is! I don't know what I am and why I have rainbow wings here!"

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