Chapter 29: The Godmother's Game - Part 1
Principal Crane's summons arrived two days after Halloween, delivered with the casual authority of someone who expected immediate compliance. Private training session, conservatory, after hours. Optional in the way that refusing would mark me as uncooperative rather than independent.
Mentor-manipulator-protector wants to play teacher.
This should be interesting.
The conservatory at midnight felt like a botanical cathedral dedicated to something darker than photosynthesis. Exotic plants cast twisted shadows that moved independent of light sources, and the air carried scents that belonged in places humans weren't meant to survive.
Perfect setting for advanced shadow manipulation.
Crane waited beside a training dummy that looked disturbingly realistic, her expression suggesting she was about to reveal knowledge that would change everything I thought I understood about my abilities.
"Mr. Bason," she said without preamble. "Your shadow work during Halloween was... illuminating. Artistic applications suggest deeper understanding than typical combat training provides."
She watched. Of course she watched.
"You wanted to discuss proper training?"
Her smile could have been approval or threat assessment. "I want to show you what you're capable of. Your shadows can animate anything that casts darkness. A powerful ability if you learn control."
Animation. Shadow possession of inanimate objects.
She guided me through the technique with hands-on instruction that demonstrated intimate knowledge of shadow manipulation—not theoretical understanding but practical application that suggested personal experience.
How does she know this so specifically?
"Focus on the connection between your shadow and the dummy's shadow. Not control, but invitation. Ask it to move rather than forcing compliance."
Invitation versus domination. Interesting distinction.
I extended my consciousness through shadow networks, finding the training dummy's cast darkness and... requesting cooperation. The effect was immediate and unsettling—the dummy moved with fluid grace that belonged on a dance floor rather than training facility.
Shadow puppet. Literal shadow puppet.
The success was exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure. I'd just learned to animate objects through darkness manipulation, creating a parallel to my Familiarity Mode that made my skin crawl.
Controlling things. Always comes back to controlling things.
"The parallel to your other abilities concerns you," Crane observed with unsettling accuracy. "Good. Power that troubles you won't corrupt you. It's the power we're comfortable using that becomes dangerous."
Wisdom wrapped in manipulation. Classic Crane approach.
But also genuine insight about ethical power use.
"How do you know shadow manipulation this intimately?" I asked directly.
Time for answers. Real answers.
Her expression suggested she'd been waiting for that question. "Because I've been preparing for this war longer than you've been alive. And because the abilities you think are unique... aren't as rare as you believe."
Convergence candidates. Multiple convergence candidates.
She's not just training me. She's training an army.
Wednesday's emergency midnight meeting felt like tribunal as she spread photographed evidence across Eugene's and my desk with the systematic precision of someone building a prosecution case.
"Breaking and entering via Thing's lockpicking assistance," she announced without shame. "Full intelligence gathered on Crane's student files."
Student files. Personal files on everyone.
The photographs were damning: detailed power assessments that went far beyond official evaluations, vulnerability analyses that read like targeting data, and most disturbing, notes labeled "Convergence Candidates" that classified students like military assets.
My file: flagged with all three abilities despite careful secrecy.
Note: "Critical asset for coming confrontation. Requires careful management to prevent defection or sacrifice."
Eugene's file: "Organizational capability exceeds power level. Support role, non-expendable."
Enid's file: "Alpha emergence ahead of schedule. Possible catalyst connection?"
Wednesday's file: marked simply "Primary."
We're not students. We're weapons.
Enid paced with barely-controlled wolf aggression, alpha instincts triggered by evidence of pack manipulation. Eugene processed the betrayal analytically, probably calculating tactical implications and resource assessments. I remained perfectly still, the way I got when deciding whether to fight or flee.
Found family under threat. Institutional threat.
"She's been cultivating us for something specific," Wednesday synthesized with clinical precision. "The Unmaking she mentioned—we're supposed to be soldiers in that war."
Soldiers. Child soldiers.
Expendable assets trained to fight cosmic horror.
"Question remains," Eugene said with unexpected steel in his voice. "Do we confront her or do we run?"
Fight or flight. Classic survival response.
But running means abandoning other students to whatever's coming.
"We confront," I said. "Together."
Crane didn't deny the evidence or deflect our accusations when we presented her with Wednesday's intelligence. She just looked tired, like someone who'd been carrying impossible weight for longer than any person should.
Truth time. Finally.
"Yes," she said simply. "I'm preparing you for war against something that wants to erase outcast existence entirely."
Confirmation. Direct confirmation.
"The Unmaking is coming—an entity or force that considers supernatural beings errors in reality. It will attempt to remove us from existence completely."
Cosmic horror. Existential threat to all outcasts.
"You four specifically have the abilities and bonds to potentially stop it. I've been collecting 'convergence candidates' at every school I've administered—outcasts with extraordinary potential. Most died before they could be prepared."
Most died. Casual admission of student mortality.
How many children has she sacrificed for this war?
"You're the first group that might actually survive," she continued with the matter-of-fact tone of someone discussing weather patterns.
Eugene asked the tactical question that cut through everything else: "Did you let Helena continue her extraction attempts?"
Pause. Significant pause.
Answer enough.
Wednesday's voice dropped to lethal quiet: "You sacrificed students to test our response capabilities."
Three students lost powers. Temporary damage for permanent intelligence.
Crane met her goddaughter's fury with steady gaze: "Three students temporarily lost powers versus potential extinction of all outcasts. I made the calculation you would have made."
Pragmatism versus ethics. The eternal conflict.
She's not wrong about the calculation.
That's what makes it terrifying.
We left without agreement or rejection, just silence pregnant with betrayal and terrible understanding. The complexity was paralyzing: she was probably telling the truth about the threat, but she was definitely using us as weapons.
Mentor-manipulator-protector. All three simultaneously.
"And we stay because leaving means being unprepared when The Unmaking arrives," I whispered to Eugene in our dorm.
Trapped by necessity. Can't trust her, can't abandon her.
Wednesday's text arrived moments later: "We use her resources while building independent intelligence. She taught me manipulation; time to apply the lessons."
Strategy. Turn manipulation against manipulator.
Enid voiced the fear none of us wanted to acknowledge: "What if we become like her? What if fighting monsters makes us monstrous?"
Power corruption. Always comes back to power corruption.
I pulled her close, shadows wrapping around both of us protectively: "Then we watch each other. And we stop each other before we cross that line."
Promise. Mutual promise to preserve humanity despite inhuman circumstances.
We fell asleep in complicated alliance with our mentor-manipulator-protector, aware we were pieces in a game we barely understood, determined to survive long enough to change the board.
Found family versus cosmic horror.
At least the odds were getting interesting.
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