Velveteen vs. The Multiverse

  Velveteen sat up, eyes wide, and looked into Dame Fortuna’s smirking face. “How did you do that?”

  “Most gamblers bet a little freer when they’re drunk, and not at all when they’re hung over,” said Dame Fortuna. “It’s not my most useful power, but it can come in handy when you want to keep the game going.”

  “I can do it, too, almost as well as Mama,” said Lady Luck.

  “Oof. Remind me never to go drinking with the two of you and the Princess,” said Velveteen. She swung her legs around, carefully testing their willingness to obey her commands. Everything seemed to be in working order, despite a faint, lingering dizziness. She stood. “Thank you.”

  “It’s no trouble at all, sweetheart,” said Dame Fortuna, taking her arm. “Now let’s have that lunch.”

  “Lunch” turned out to be a private table in the casino’s five-star restaurant, which they entered by walking past a long line of hopeful diners. No one said anything about their blatant line-jumping. Everyone was too busy staring at Dame Fortuna, and at Lady Luck, who was once more wearing her devastatingly beautiful work persona. Velveteen felt like a grubby favorite doll as she tagged along in their wake. Vegas might be easy on the eyes, but it was hell on the nerves, at least as far as she was concerned.

  Once they were seated, with tall glasses of cucumber water and a bowl of steaming fresh bread on the table, Dame Fortuna focused on her again. “Drink your water,” she said. “Then drink your refill, and drink the refill that comes after that. If there’s any chance you’ve been sunstruck, you’re going to want to hydrate.”

  “Hydration is a good idea regardless,” said Lady Luck. “This is a desert, after all.”

  The advice felt bizarrely practical coming from a heroine who was generally regarded as the living embodiment of good fortune. Velveteen sipped her cucumber water and tried to figure out how to raise the topic that had brought her to Las Vegas in the first place.

  Fortunately—no pun intended—Dame Fortuna did it for her. “So you’re going to look for Jolly Roger,” she said. “That’s a bold decision for a hero as young as you are. I’ve followed your career since it started up again, and I never expected anything this ambitious. Why the change of heart?”

  Velveteen hesitated before deciding that, when dealing with heroes who may or may not be the living embodiments of the world’s good fortune, honesty was the best policy. “I finally have something to defend,” she said. “I’m going to do my best to defend it.”

  “Ah. An idealist. I remember when I was an idealist—back when I was Lady Luck, and my lovely daughter wasn’t even a glimmer in a croupier’s eye.” Dame Fortuna broke open a bread roll, freeing the sweet smell of baked yeast. “You should have seen us in those days, my little bunny-eared heroine. We were gods. This world had never seen anything like us, and oh, how they loved us…”

  “So why doesn’t anyone know that you were part of the original team?” The question was out before Velveteen realized that it might be a dangerous thing to ask.

  Thankfully, Dame Fortuna just smiled. “I was never a member of The Super Patriots; my involvement was over by the time Supermodel decided they needed to be a brand. She couldn’t stand having another woman in her spotlight, and well…I’m good at seeing which way the wind is blowing. I cashed in my chips and got out while the getting was good. Sometimes I think I made a mistake. That if I’d stayed, Majesty might have lived, and Roger might not have disappeared the way that he did. But the past is another country, or so some people say.”

  “Judging by my roommate, the past is a whole different world.”

  Dame Fortuna laughed. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Now come. Let’s stop talking about this for a little while, and see if we can’t put some color back into your cheeks. I promise, no rabbit stew.”

  “Gee, thanks,” said Velveteen, and picked up her menu.

  “I don’t think this was a good idea,” said Fortunate Son, watching as Velveteen tried to balance three file boxes atop each other. “The Super Patriots are going to know where she got this info, and they’re not going to be happy about it.”

  “No, they’re not,” said Dame Fortuna. This time, her smile was a skeletal grimace, nothing like the friendly face she showed outsiders. “If they want to talk to me about telling my side of the story, they’re welcome to come to Vegas for a chat. I think they’ll be surprised by how ready we are for them.”

  “Besides, Sonny, we came out on top.” Lady Luck held up a DVD in a bright cartoon package. “The epic battle of the leprechauns vs. the plush denizens of the casino, available now from the gift shop for twenty-five ninety-five. They’re selling like hotcakes.”

  “The house always wins,” said Dame Fortuna serenely, and watched Velveteen carry boxes to the roof.

  The Princess brought her carpet in for a careful landing on the roof of the Jolly Roger Casino, knocking her tiara askew and frightening off a large flock of pigeons that had been enjoying the remains of a bag of birdseed. Velveteen waved before hoisting the first of the stack of file boxes and carrying it over to load onto the carpet.

  “Uh.” The Princess eyed Velveteen’s burden dubiously. “Do I even want to know what you’ve got there?”

  “Papers. Records. Maybe, if we’re really lucky, a treasure map.” Velveteen dropped the box before going back for the next. “Everyone was very helpful, except for maybe Fortunate Son, but ‘helpful’ isn’t really his thing.”

  “I thought you were coming here for information.”

  “This is information.” Velveteen picked up another box, stroking it lovingly. “This is what’s going to shift things in our favor. The people here are pirates, Princess. So I plundered.”

  “You plundered what, the admin office?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Well, was it worth it? Did you get what you needed?”

  Velveteen paused, remembering the malice that had sparkled in Dame Fortuna’s eyes when she talked about The Super Patriots, Inc. “I think it was,” she said, finally. “Now let’s go home.”

  “Mind if we stop for pizza on the way?”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “You want to bet?”

  Velveteen’s screams followed them all the way back to Portland.

  VELVETEEN

  Presents

  Victory Anna vs. The Difficulties With Pan-Dimensional Courtship

  AFTER TWO MONTHS OF SHARING her home, off and on, with the woman who might as well have been the love of her life—and very likely would have been, had the Snowfather refrained from using his powers to teach her a lesson she still did not fully understand—Victoria Cogsworth had had enough. She rose early, before there was any chance this world’s version of her beloved would have arrived via magic mirror from the North Pole, and lay in wait for her roommate.

  When Velma finally staggered out of her room and into the kitchen, following the alluring smell of fresh-brewed coffee, she was expecting, well. Coffee. She wasn’t expecting to find Victoria, already fully dressed and perfectly groomed, holding the coffee pot hostage.

  “We need to have a discussion about Yelena,” said Victoria.

  “Can it wait until I’ve had caffeine?” asked Velma. How anyone could look perky in a corset before noon was beyond her sleep-fogged ability to comprehend. Quite honestly, she probably wouldn’t understand any better once she was awake. At least this way, she could pretend she was still dreaming. Although there was a distinct lack of Tad and whipped cream in the kitchen. So dreaming was probably out.

  “No.”

  Velma whimpered.

  Sensing that any chance of a rational discussion was dwindling, Victoria relented and held out the coffee pot. “Oh, all right, indulge your vulgar addictions,” she said. “But after you have rejoined the ranks of the living, we must discuss Yelena. Agreed?”

  “Whatever you want,” said Velma, grabbing the pot and heading for the counter, where her coffee mug waited in the dish drainer.

  Vict
oria watched her go, frowning slightly. She hadn’t lived with Velma long, as such things were measured, but she would have had to be blind to overlook her housemate’s growing reliance on stimulants. Not just coffee, although that was the most obvious: there were also energy drinks, purchased and consumed while on patrol, and herbal supplements, most of which were questionable at best. “Are you feeling all right?”

  “Just tired,” said Velma, filling her mug. “I had a late night last night.”

  That wasn’t true: Victoria had been awake when Velma came in from her nightly patrol. It had been barely half-past midnight. As patrols went, that was the equivalent of taking a half-day at work.

  And yet all that was irrelevant, and did nothing to forward the discussion at hand. “Be that as it may, we have put off this discussion far too long.” Victoria took a seat at the kitchen table, folding her hands primly in her lap, and announced, “I have decided to court Yelena, and would very much appreciate your blessing.”

  Velma choked on her coffee.

  Unwilling to let something as petty as her conversational partner’s inability to breathe interfere with her planned script, Victoria continued, “I have drawn up a list of one hundred and three reasons why I would make an ideal girlfriend for your dimension’s version of Yelena. It’s annotated and simple enough that you should be able to read it unassisted, but I am willing to review it with you if you think this would sway you in the direction of assent.”

  “You used to date her alternate-reality self!” protested Velma, finally getting her breath back.

  “Yes, and that is one of the six items listed in the ‘negatives’ column,” said Victoria implacably. “It ranks just above ‘inconvenient height differential’ and just below ‘homosexual union still tacitly frowned upon by state and local laws,’ which I believe could make her uncomfortable with the idea of beginning a relationship with me.”

  “But that’s…it’s creepy, okay? You know her inside and out, and she barely knows you at all.”

  “Ah, but you see, that is where you are wrong.” Victoria leaned forward, eyes burning with an intensity of focus that Velma normally saw from her only when she was about to take the toaster apart. Again. “This woman is not my Pol. I admit that my physical attraction to her is at least partially based on how much they look alike, and on my intimate knowledge of her more private anatomy—”

  “Too much information, seriously,” said Velma.

  “—but if it were only that, I would have begun courting her weeks ago, and your approval, or lack thereof, be damned. This Yelena is different. She’s more vulnerable in some ways, and stronger in others. She’s lonely, even when she stands among friends. She needs someone.” Victoria looked down at her hands. For a moment, Velma wondered who, exactly, she was talking about: herself, or Sparkle Bright. “She needs me.”

  “Victoria—Torrey—” Velma paused. “I can’t make her love you.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t think so. If you want to court her, that’s between the two of you. But you should probably tell her the full story about you and that other Yelena. Starting something like this…I think you’re right. I think she’s lonely. And I don’t want you to mess things up by not making sure she understands exactly what’s going on.”

  “You’re very protective for someone who didn’t speak to her for years.”

  Velma shrugged. “We grew up together. She was my best friend. She still is. We may have let each other down, but that doesn’t mean I ever stopped loving her. It doesn’t mean I ever could.”

  “Well, good then.” Victoria stood, thrusting her hand out for Velma to shake. After a puzzled blink, Velma did just that. “Thank you for your candor. I assure you, I will not harm her in any way.”

  “Good to know,” said Velma, and watched as Victoria gathered her skirts and marched out of the kitchen like a tiny redheaded general marching off to war.

  Finally, she said, “That girl is really weird,” to the empty air, and sat down at the kitchen table to drink her coffee in peace.

  Victoria Cogsworth was a survivor. She had survived the total destruction of two worlds, and the uncontrolled passage through dozens of others. She had survived growing up as a lesbian in a culture where women who loved women were second-class at best. She had survived Oxford, for Epona’s sake. But as she carefully braided her hair into the appropriate plait for going courting, she wondered whether she could survive what she was about to begin.

  What if this world’s Yelena rejected her? Saw her as tainted, somehow, by her love for a version of Yelena who no longer existed, and never would again? What if she presented her suit, and was given nothing but scorn in response?

  “Epona favors those who seize the reins of destiny and ride it triumphantly into the future,” she said sternly to her reflection, and continued braiding her hair, working the plaits around the crown of her head in a tight style that would have made her intentions perfectly clear to someone from her home world. She smiled a little as she worked, allowing herself a pleasant fantasy in which Yelena was the one stranded in her world, under the laws of life and love that she had been raised with. Ah, it would have been beautiful.

  Tucking the end of the braid under the base, she stood and crossed to her carpet bag. It was worn and tattered, but it was all she had left of the life she’d been living since that beautiful world was destroyed. If not for Santa Claus, she wouldn’t even have had that much. She opened the clasp, pulling out the gold and green courting dress that was waiting for her on the top of the carefully folded clothing. Not for the first time, she wondered whose the bag had been before it came to her. At least there was no chance they would be coming to reclaim it: that was one positive consequence of the destruction of her second home world, at least.

  “It is a vain soul who thinks only of her appearance,” she chided her reflection, as she pinned her green feathered fascinator into place and studied the overall effect of her outfit. She looked…quite good, really. Perhaps appearance alone would be enough to make her suit plain.

  If not, there was always the classic combination of poetry, flattery, and flowers. Victoria retrieved the bouquet of clockwork flowers that she had been working on all week and turned to head for the bathroom, where the mirror Jackie Frost used most often for transport to and from the North Pole was waiting.

  Dealing with Yelena’s daily commutes to and from Santa’s Village had eventually necessitated a series of compromises between the residents of the house and the residents of Winter. The mirror, which would normally have responded only to requests by Jackie herself, was now rigged with catchphrases provided by the Princess. One would open a connection through which conversation could occur; the other would unlock the mirror for transit. While they all knew that Jackie could come and go regardless, she had been respecting the arrangement since it was put in place, and shower-related incidents had decreased dramatically.

  Victoria positioned herself carefully in front of the mirror, pausing to adjust the angle of her hat before she cleared her throat and said, “Mirror mirror, on the wall, please would you complete my call?”

  Frost spread across the inside of the mirror with disturbing quickness, signifying a connection to the Winter, rather than a connection to the Princess’s Crystal Glitter Unicorn Cloud Castle. Victoria waited with ill-concealed impatience until the frost cleared, and was replaced by the puzzled, blue-skinned face of Jackie.

  “What’s up, gear-girl?” she asked.

  Victoria, who would have taken those words as a dire insult from virtually anyone else, smiled. She had grown fond of this world’s Jackie Frost, in part because of her unflinching honesty, and in part because she was so different from the cold, uncaring Frostbite. “May I have passage?”

  Jackie stared for a moment. Then she laughed. “I’m sorry, it sounded like you were saying…”

  “I am saying I would like to visit the North Pole, that I might fairly present my suit to Miss Yelen
a,” said Victoria, her back ramrod straight with the effort of retaining her composure.

  “Uh…no. You being here messes up Winter something awful, remember? You’re all attuned to holidays that died centuries ago, and never existed in this world in the first place.” Jackie paused. “You’d think those would be mutually exclusive things, wouldn’t you?”

  Victoria grimaced. “As you say. Well, then. Is Miss Yelena available?” she asked.

  “Sure, Stripy the Rainbow Clown is kicking around underfoot,” said Jackie easily. “Why are you asking? Does Vel want her for something?”

  “No, I…” Victoria took a deep breath. “I do. May I speak with her, please?”

  “Wait.” Jackie looked at her, seeming to take in the carefully selected outfit, the hair, and the clockwork roses for the first time. “You said you wanted to ‘present your suit.’ Are you serious?”

  “Exceedingly so.”

  “You realize she’s never actually done this before, right?”

  “And I have ‘done this’ precisely once, with a girl who never was. I believe that while I may have marginally more experience in this arena, it is, for the most part, irrelevant.” Victoria took a deep breath. “Please, Jacqueline. If you have ever been a friend to me, be a friend to me now.”

  Jackie groaned. “Sweet Santa, you people are going to be the death of me…wait here. I’ll go get her.” She walked out of the frame, leaving Victoria to face an empty room painted in glacier blue and snowflake white. It was quite nice, if a bit chilly-looking.

  This is a terrible idea, she thought. There is no way she will accept my suit. I should run now, while there is still a slim chance of retaining my dignity. Immediately on the heels of the first thought came a second: I would be a fool to reject a second chance at the greatest happiness anyone has ever known. I will be open. I will be honest. And she will love me, or not, as Epona wills.

  “Um, Victoria?”

  The sound of Yelena’s voice snapped her back into the present. Victoria brought her head up, forcing herself to smile as she presented her bouquet of clockwork roses to the glass. “Hello, Miss Yelena. If you do not have other plans this evening, I wondered if you might do me the signature honor of joining me for lunch at one of Portland’s fine dining establishments, followed by a rooftop stroll. I am assured that the views are incomparable, and the forecast indicates a seventeen percent chance that it will not, in fact, be raining.”