I didn't find anything else out that night, because despite trying a few times I simply couldn't get the memory to continue - clearly I hadn't actually died, but it was possible I'd come close enough that there was a certain... break in continuity... that made it hard to follow through. There were other things I could try, but it was late and I was shaken and Katrin needed real sleep anyway. In the morning we took our time getting packed up and I found a moment to fill Errod in, and then as we got going there was another distraction in the form of big angry lizards.

Big, in this case, meant about the size of a large dog rather than some dragon motherfucker, but that was still plenty big as far as I was concerned and there were half a dozen of them. I had one mind on overwatch, hovering almost twenty feet above the ground and slightly behind as if I was playing a video game, and it gave me just enough of a view that I could see them trying to be sneaky and position themselves.

As time slowed for me, I called out to Katrin. "Shields around Grunkle's mount!"

He was in the back, with a significant gap, and sure enough the critters were going for the straggler. They charged out and bounced off of an invisible wall, and then one of them got a throwing knife to the neck that sent them scrambling away to bleed out in the desert. Errod had already wheeled around, and he hopped off his moskar to draw his sword while it ran ahead and plowed into another of the monsters - its axe-like head hit with enough force that I heard something snap inside the lizard, and it was hurled aside.

It looked like the encounter was going to be a cakewalk, but as Errod approached one of the lizards opened its mouth to hiss and the air distorted. Errod's moskar turned and fled, and the shrub by Errod's feet withered and blackened. Thankfully, Errod's armor was made to negate energy attacks and was able to reduce the heat around him enough that he didn't burst into flames. His sword lashed out and ended the attacking lizard, but two more took its place and I wasn't certain his chain mail could absorb that heat attack for long.

I hucked another knife and hit, but the monster apparently didn't really care about their left lung and decided it would keep attacking. I didn't want to try with my ghost, as it was possible a magical heat attack could actually do something to it - and also I'd have to get my actual body into the threat range as well. Thankfully Katrin had wheeled around by then, and unleashed an absurd amount of lightning on the remaining lizards. One managed to scramble away into the desert, but the rest were cooked.

The whole thing took less than a minute, but then we spent almost an hour dealing with the aftermath. Errod's moskar was burnt, I had a hard time finding one of my knives, we had to argue about whether or not we should butcher the lizards, and Grunkle kept trying to insist that he shouldn't have to be in the back, even though he was only in the back because he was terrible at controlling moskar; they would mostly just stick with the pack, but if you didn't stop them you'd find yourself making frequent checks on suspicious rocks or plants that might secretly be delicious.

In theory, things like this shouldn't have any impact on whether or not I could work on recovering my memories. I had two minds, so one could steer the body and keep an eye out for violent reptiles while the other scoured the pile of mostly-useless scenes. But in reality, both of the minds were still me and I could only do so much before I needed a break. Getting closer to an answer should have been encouraging, it should have been exciting, but instead it was stressful.

Over the course of our many breaks, Katrin helped by making a list of things we'd learned:

Agents seemed to be after book, but were unconcerned when it was destroyed

Agents have numbered badges

Calliope stole from Greg's vault

When doing so, she took some boots and a memory altering device

The boots are unaccounted for, but Greg knew about them and didn't seem worried. Calliope was not wearing boots in the memory, but was wearing shoes that looked like they didn't fit. Had he already recovered them?

Calliope destroyed the memory device

Golden brooch (likely the one reproduced in the memory palace) was lost

Brooch was not stolen from the vault, was probably the "other item" the agent mentioned

Bill is useful to Greg somehow

Still unclear if Bill knew about magic, and if so if his memories were altered

It wasn't nothing, but it also wasn't anything immediately useful. I attempted to find my memories of the vault, but didn't have any luck and wasted a ton of time sifting through garbage just in case it was going to go somewhere interesting. It was the next day, when we were searching for some kind of shelter to make camp at, that I made some progress.

I'd given up on the vault, and instead was trying to find more about the stupid brooch. That, at least, I had a clear picture of since there was a version of it in my memory palace. I concentrated on it as I searched, and while I still got some duds where I was probably just thinking about it or something, one immediately felt significant.

I was at the soup kitchen. I'd seen a lot of memories of the soup kitchen, and had consistently felt like there was some important memory I was missing there. This one, finally, looked like it had to be at about the right time based on my clothes, my hair, and the fact that I was being a good sport about the whole thing. This was after I had started to enjoy the routine of it, and was fully comfortable with Bill. That's not to say it looked like I was exited to be there - the soup kitchen was still as boring as ever.

We were done serving food, and Bill and I were in the kitchen doing dishes. They had these big sinks, and Bill was scrubbing the actual gunk out into the sink with a garbage disposal before handing them to me to dunk in the rinse sink, which was filled with sudsy water and a splash of bleach. The fact that the bleach smell wasn't bothering me meant this was probably prior to my near death experience.

"Okay Bill, you have to tell me your secret. I've gotten good at ignoring the people who act like I'm their personal servant, or bitch about it not having enough salt - or too much salt, or both. But I can't understand how you manage to smile and laugh every time someone asks for filet mignon like it's the funniest thing that's ever been said. I heard at least five times today, with various foods, and you seemed to genuinely laugh every time. It's a little scary, you know that?"

He smiled, and handed me another bowl. "The secret is, I mean it every time. Sure, there are better jokes. But... they're in a bad place in life, and they're joking. Most of them are homeless, in Phoenix, with it getting hot out already. I don't mean to romanticize suffering or anything - in a better world, a just world, we would take care of each other as a society and we don't - but I can still appreciate the resilience of the human spirit. The jokes, however corny, genuinely bring me joy."

I put the next plate on the stack next to me - someone else was originally standing at that spot drying things and putting them away, but they had wandered off and so the stack was getting a bit precarious. "Ugh. I would have preferred it if you'd just said you were faking it because you're a sociopath."

He flicked some water at me, but otherwise didn't rise to my needling. A woman cleared her throat, as if trying to get our attention, although in the process she knocked something loose and fell into a fit of horrible hacking coughs that made it sound like she was going to start spitting out ragged chunks of her lungs. Bill grabbed a glass of water and handed it to her, keeping his other hand on her shoulder as if preparing to hold her upright. She recovered after a second, and smiled up at Bill.

"I wanted to give you something, William dear." The 'dear' made her sound like a grandmother, and I tried to guess the woman's age. She was old for sure, seventy if she had aged poorly and a hundred if she had aged well. "I see you here, and I know you do other things for people other places, heard you worked with foster kids too - I was in foster care, of a sorts, though we didn't call it that - and I just love to see what great things you do and... I saw a doctor, got a free check because someone hit me with their car, and he looked me all over and said 'well Alice, sorry to say you've got about a year left' and then offered to get me a brochure on hospice, like I could do that."

Bill's forehead creased. "Oh Alice, I'm so sorry to hear that."

"Well don't be. I'm probably ninety by now, and have had enough good years to balance out the bad some, and anyway that doctor told me I was going to die in a year about... two and a half years ago? So I'm already overstaying my welcome. My mother only made it to sixty, and my sister was drank herself into a telephone pole when she was thirty-three, so I don't have any room to complain. But there was something..."

She reached into her pocket, and pulled out the golden brooch. "I used to share a cot at the shelter with old Mab, we were both so old and skinny we fit two to a single. And when she was going, from the 'rona, she gave this to me and said it was the only thing she brought over from the old country. Whichever country that was. And I feel like I'm heading out now myself soon, and if I die with this it'll just get pawned and... that seems wrong, somehow. It seems like I should give it away, and you... I just know you'll take care of it."

Bill didn't make a move to take it. "Alice, that's so kind. And it's a beautiful brooch, but I really couldn't."

"You could, and can, and will. Give it to some nice young lady you fancy, or donate it to charity or... something. It was given to me by a dying old lady, and as a dying old lady myself I just feel I should keep the tradition going."

I had come around to look. It was gold, a bit wobbly around the edges and etched with a complex pattern. The pin on the back wasn't a modern style; rather than a springy needle that hooked into place, it was more like a sewing needle attached to a thin chain. Two holes on the back would hold it in place somewhat once you stabbed it through fabric between them. I made a copy and shifted it to my other mind, and when I compared it to the one in my memory palace it was fairly close. I hadn't recovered a perfect memory back when I created the memory palace, so it wasn't surprising that it didn't match exactly.

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Bill looked at the brooch again, and then at Alice, and then nodded. "Sure, Alice. I'll take really good care of it. Um. My hands are still a bit sudsy and greasy, hang on."

He wiped the flecks of orange grease onto a paper towel, but then looked at his hands in dissatisfaction and pulled out another towel and laid it on the counter. Alice laid the brooch on it and he wrapped it up, tucking it into his pocket before giving Alice a hug and telling her again that he would treasure it. It was clear I wanted to ask to see it, but Bill kept me working on the dishes.

This was the problem with my recovered memories: I now had to choose between skipping out of this one and trying to find another, and sticking with it even though it was possible nothing else would happen. I was better at slow motion than fast-forwarding, so I'd have to just watch myself do dishes for gods knew how long - and use the bathroom, and drive home, and read or watch television, and... it was a huge commitment. But on the other hand, I'd had such a hard time finding this memory that I figured it might be worth it.

In the real world we'd found a spot to camp, and I was multitasking by twisting long metal corkscrews into the ground to tether the moskar. Normally we would have used trees, but we'd reached a part of the desert where those were in short supply; I was even starting to see some sand dunes in the distance. Arizona was a desert, but not only had I mostly been in the city it was also not at all the sandy sort of desert. Lots of little scrubby bushes, and trees, and cacti. This was my first time seeing actual sand dunes in person.

In the memory we finished the dishes, Bill chatted with a few people, and finally we headed to his car. Bill opened the glove compartment and pulled out a little wooden box, almost the exact right size for the brooch. "Hah, I knew it!" He said. "I made this at a workshop, showing kids how to build bird houses and stuff. It's been rattling around in the glove compartment forever." He dropped the still-wrapped brooch inside and closed the lid.

I asked to see it, but Bill shut me down. "Alice may have a lot of time left, despite what she said. And family might show up, and... I don't want to go giving this away just yet, or have anyone accuse us of damaging it. So it stays in the box. If you like old jewelry, you can come antiquing with me next time."

I could remember what I was thinking - jewelry from the antique store wouldn't feel as interesting as a dying gift from a mysterious old woman. Still, I'd nodded and not pressed the issue. I almost abandoned the memory again, but I stuck with it and was rewarded. When Bill was watching the road intently in preparation for a left turn, I saw memory-me reach down and pull the brooch out of its box, leaving the paper towel behind. I twisted myself sideways as if I was just looking out the window, but really I was holding it up to my shirt and trying to see myself in the side mirror.

"Hey kid," Bill said, and I held the brooch behind my back as I turned to face him. "I don't feel like cooking tonight, you want to do frozen dinners?"

I saw a pained look on my face, and as the memory was absorbed I realized what had happened. I'd turned too quickly, and that needle on the back of the brooch had slid right into pad of my thumb. I schooled my face quickly, and nodded. "Yeah, sounds good. We stopping on the way home, or what?"

"Nah," Bill said, "You've been patient enough today. I know you're eager to get some personal time in. I'll drop you off."

I slid the needle free and held the brooch more carefully, but the damage was done. I could feel the blood, smearing all over the brooch. He had wanted to keep it clean and safe and I was getting blood all over it. I couldn't just put it back, not without cleaning it first. We rode the rest of the way home in silence, and then I jumped out and made sure to keep my hand out of sight. I'd applied pressure against the brooch so it wouldn't bleed more than it already had, so the upholstery of the car had been spared. Again, unlike in some memories I could feel what I was thinking: I just needed to clean it, and then if I didn't have a chance to get it back in the box I could just hide it under the car seat or something.

Bill pulled away, leaving me in the driveway, and as soon as he was gone I took my hand from behind my back to get a better look at my pilfered brooch. I did a double take. It wasn't bloody at all. Not a drop on it. I rubbed at it, idly looking at the pattern, and accidentally smeared a bit of blood on it.

"Ah, shit. Somehow I keep it clean and now I've messed it up." I headed inside, but by the time I got to the sink the brooch was already spotless. "Where the fuck did the blood go?"

I set it aside and washed my thumb before putting a band-aid on, and then stared at the brooch for a moment longer before tucking it back into my pocket and going upstairs where I laid in the bed and examined the crack in the ceiling as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. Clearly I was deep in thought. Bill came home at some point, and after dinner and chores I snuck out to see if the box was still there. Unfortunately he'd moved it, so I carefully "lost" the brooch near where the box had been sitting. He would find it next time he cleaned the car, and while it would be a little suspicious I would have plausible deniability.

I walked back towards the house, and hesitated. I could see that I was rubbing the band-aid, and probably thinking about the mystery of the disappearing blood. After a moment, I turned back around and went to the car, retrieved the brooch, hesitated again, put it back, and hurried to my room. I kept the memory running, but mostly it was just me writing some Jake Ross fan fiction - worse, it was a self-insert called "Calliope Smith and the Shield of Light" which nearly killed me with embarrassment. It was... not good.

It was well into the evening in the real world, with everyone tucked away in their bedrolls and my body sleeping, when I saw something else finally happen in the memory. It was well past my bedtime, and I was finally getting into bed. I peeled off my clothes and threw them in the corner, and heard a soft thump. Curious, I padded over and picked up my shirt and there it was, staring at me. The brooch. I had put it back in the car. I was sure of it. I turned it over in my hand, and then finally put it in the desk drawer and got into bed. I didn't fall asleep though, not for a long time.

Huh. That was some pretty advanced magic. Had I linked it to myself with my blood, maybe? Even so, it teleporting to me was wild. It was possible that was what it did - if it let the wearer teleport, having it able to teleport back to them when lost would be a very cool feature. It was no wonder I hadn't given it back to Bill - hell, maybe I couldn't give it back to Bill, if it would keep returning. But even if I could, there was no way I would have given away a magic item that had fallen into my hands. Well. Bill's hands.

The memory tried to shift, and this time I let it. If it was taking me somewhere, if I'd found some connection, I wanted to see it.

I was in the same alleyway as the memory where I burned Jake Ross and the Shattered Crown, but it was daytime instead of early evening. Tony, my old drug dealer friend, was there in his usual spot. As I got closer I tossed him a bag of fast food, and he caught it with a grin.

"How the tables have turned! Calliope Ross is bringing me food now?"

I'd forgotten that I gave him that last name. Clearly the me in the memory had as well, as she winced some. "That's not my real last name."

"I'm shocked," he said in perfect deadpan, "just shocked that the homeless kid who wouldn't stand closer than ten feet to me didn't trust me enough to tell me her real name. You look good, Callie. Real good. You got your shit figured out?"

"I'll be a billionaire by Wednesday," I said - it was Tony's usual line.

"Ay! You and me both, girl."

"I... yeah, things are good. I'm living with my old case worker, actually, after I got nabbed by Paul Blart he picked me up. He's a good guy. Too good, sometimes, but that's okay. How about you?"

He shrugged. "You know. Making money. Saving up. I'm starting culinary school after this summer."

"Wait, really? You're pulling my leg."

He grinned, but it wasn't quite his joking grin. "It started with pot brownies, believe it or not. But yeah, I've been saving up."

The pot brownies had to just be recreational. I wasn't super clear what Tony was selling, but I knew it was some sort of pill. He never elaborated on it, other than to tell me it was a bad idea and I should never get started on anything harder than pot. I only heard him actually selling it a few times, and every time he'd ask first if they'd had it before, if they knew what they were doing. The one time it was a younger kid - early twenties, probably - who lied badly about being experienced he told them to fuck off and get wasted a safer way. It seemed like he was fine selling drugs, but didn't want to be the one to get someone addicted to whatever it was the first time.

We chatted a little longer, with me telling him about Bill and what I'd been up to over the past year. Finally I got to what I'd clearly been wanting to talk about. "This is going to be silly, but I want you to take it seriously. It's for a book I'm writing. Let's say, just for the sake of argument, that magic is real. I don't... I haven't decided why nobody knows about it, some conspiracy or something. But it's real, and..."

I proceeded to tell him, basically, what had happened. There were some changes, and I didn't get into what kind of magic the brooch did, but it was pretty accurate.

"Ah," he said, "that's a good twist. A stolen valor thing, I like that."

"What do you mean?"

He looked confused. "Is that not what you're going for? I mean, look, I don't read a lot but even I know the whole 'chosen one' thing. And you're saying this kid, clearly based on you, stole the magic thing from a guy, clearly based on this Bill dude you were telling me about. Right?"

"Yeah, that's about it."

"Calliope. Kid. You're not a chosen one. You're... I like you, but you're the comic relief at best."

Hey! "Whoa, I'm absolutely main character material. I'm... I'm practically a plucky orphan!"

He laughed. "Isn't the chosen one thing all about them being... chosen? Were you chosen, in this scenario you're writing? Or was it given to Bill?"

I sighed. "Jesus, Tony. Bill is the most boring man alive. He wouldn't know what to do with something like this anyway. He doesn't read fiction, he doesn't daydream, he doesn't have hobbies. He wouldn't even know how to begin to have an adventure. I'm... choosing myself, in this story, which is something a main character would do. I've got agency. Drive. Shit like that."

Tony looked thoughtful. "This Bill guy, he's... attractive, charismatic?"

"Sure, if you like beige."

"He's kind, likes to help people out?"

Oh no. "Yeah..."

"And he's in okay shape? And not too old?"

I could feel the panic setting in as I started to see Tony's point. "He's like thirty-something, and... yeah, he's actually really fit."

Tony nodded, satisfied. "So you have a healthy, athletic guy who is attractive and charismatic, and who spends all his time trying to help the less fortunate. Callie, that sounds like hero material to me."

"That's... no. Because. Listen, if you met Bill you'd understand. Also, I throw knives and explore collapsing buildings and live on the streets! Sometimes. I am clearly the protagonist here."

"Calliope, you're a street urchin. Comic relief. Also, you're just as much villain potential as you are a hero. How much shit did you steal out of that office building you were living in?"

"But I've been good lately!"

He arched an eyebrow. "Because of Bill's influence?"

"... No..." Except it absolutely was. I had been staying out of trouble, and not running away, and not getting into fights, and starting to actually enjoy the charity work. And it was all because of Bill. "Okay, yes, fine, he makes me be a good person and it's rubbing off. Okay? But... damn it." I clearly couldn't think of a 'but'. There wasn't one. The brooch should have gone to Bill.

"It's fine," Tony said, "you don't even need to change the story. Like I said at first, it's a good twist. Stolen valor, or... stolen destiny, maybe. The chosen one is just totally unaware, ends up staying with his boring life, and the scrappy thief has to be a chosen one when the... I don't fucking know, elves or whatever show up to ask for help."

I nodded, but I had a hollow look to me. The idea that I'd stolen Bill's destiny, his chance for greatness, wasn't sitting well. The memory faded, and I found that even after everything that had happened, I still wasn't sure what to think. I had all these fate threads, right? I was secretly not even human, though I hadn't known it at the time. Surely the brooch really had been for me, hadn't it?

Hadn't it?

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