Story:

They turned down a narrower street lined with parked bicycles and closely spaced houses. Ahead stood an apartment building with exterior corridors, a modest entrance, and a stairwell illuminated by a pale fluorescent light.

Violet stopped beside it. “Here we are.”

Peach looked up. Three floors. Of course.

They climbed the stairs, bags rustling against the railings. By the second landing, Peach could hear the bottles knocking together inside Violet’s bag. By the third, Butterfly had begun carefully lifting the cake clear of each step.

Violet produced a key.

Peach regarded the apartment door. An apāto. Naturally.

Somewhere between Seira’s ominous promises and Violet’s cheerful announcement of a safe house, Peach had apparently allowed herself to imagine something more dramatic. A hidden estate, perhaps. A secluded building behind protective wards.

Instead, a neighbor had left an umbrella drying beside the next door.

She really ought to stop supplying her own expectations.

The lock clicked.

Butterfly slipped inside first, set her bag down with a relieved little sigh, and found the switch beside the entrance.

Light flooded the room.

“Oh!” Her delight was immediate.

She looked from the ceiling fixture to the switch, then pressed it again.

Darkness. Another press. Light.

“No chant!”

Peach stood in the doorway.

Butterfly beamed at her. “The lights here don’t need a chant!”

Violet stepped inside, visibly pleased by her sister’s discovery.

“Very convenient, isn’t it?”

She put down her own bag and slipped an affectionate arm around Butterfly’s shoulders. Together they looked up at the ceiling light as though it had performed especially well for their benefit.

Peach stared at the back of Violet’s head and kicked off her shoes with as much dignity as she could recover.

“Stupid witch! Stop spoiling your sister and teach her some common sense!”

“But she’s enjoying herself.”