Chapter Text
Luz was in bed, or the closest thing they had found that passed for a bed, and Camila was cleaning. She had dug the bedroll, and the broom, out of the hidden depths of Eda's basement, past the point where the Emperor's Coven had given up. And all the other kids were, finally, back with their own parents. Even Hunter, which may have rendered all those interlibrary loans for books about cult deprogramming moot.
She was reasonably certain that Darius and Eberwolf would do a better job anyway. They at least had first-hand experience with leaving a cult. The same cult, even. That had to count for something—more than the library books, at least. Mostly Camila had just learned how far out of her depths she was.
The rhythmic scraping swish of bristles on hardwood stilled and Camila leaned against the broom. Gently, so as to not crush the straw, and she tried real hard to drill into her memory that she needed to check in with Darius. It was the sort of thing she'd tell her phone to remind her of, but its battery had given up to ghost before Luz had introduced her to Eda, whom—
Well, Luz was a kid. She had mentioned once that Eda was attractive for her age, but Camila had been too busy holding back a laugh at how earnest Luz had been with the backhanded compliment to absorb what she had said. And there had been photos, of course, but Eda had looked startled in them, either dragged into frame or looming above Luz at an unflattering angle.
Nothing that had captured her vivacity, the way she had filled the room once she had stopped sweating and avoiding Camila's eyes while also trying to look contrite for a crime Camila had forgiven her for months ago.
Even if she had been able to hold onto that grudge, it would have died at first sight. Eda was just, so.
Married. Totally married, and deep within the honeymoon phase. And Camila shouldn't be thinking about Eda, she should be trying to remember that she had to talk to Darius.
It was looking as if she'd have plenty of chances to remember and forget again. Maybe she'd even have time to visit them—she hoped she would have time to visit them. She couldn't keep cleaning forever. She was too old and too out of shape for that. The pinch in her lower back hadn't abated with her brief break. Camila arched her spine and groaned as it popped. But if the entire house was a dusty as this room, she was looking at weeks of cleaning stretching out before her.
Probably not past midnight, though. This was a special occasion, and if anyone asked, she was going to tell them it was because she had problems sleeping in new places, so she might as well spend her insomnia productively.
She had to earn her keep somehow—she couldn't just rely on the good graces of Eda and, if that ran out, Luz's friends' parents.
This was not a situation Camila had ever wanted to find herself in. She had spent her entire adult life working towards stability, especially after Luz was born. Especially after a youth spent haring after one capricious whim only to drop it a few months later in favour of another.
Especially after she moved them to Gravesfield, chasing a better hospital, only to lose her husband as well as her support network.
She beat the dust out of a corner with extra vigour, though really what she needed now was a mop. The years and countless footsteps had ingrained the dust into the hardwood, but she was sure that, with a little effort, she'd be able to lift much of it out. The floor was too scuffed and scarred to shine again—not without refinishing, at least—but she'd be able to make it presentable. Bring out some of those warm oranges and yellows she could see lurking behind the grey dirt and the cleaner squares left behind by rugs.
It was honestly a shame, the state of the room. It was gorgeous otherwise, if a bit chilly from one window being smashed in and the other seemingly never having had glass in the first place. The room would get good light in the morning, unlike Camila's bedroom back home, which was dark no matter the hour.
"What are you doing up?"
Camila was too tired to jump, though her sluggish heart skipped a beat. The surprise was enough that she stumbled over her words and her racing heart turned the statement into a question. "I, uh, couldn't sleep?"
Hooty looked at her, critical through bleary eyes. "You're still dressed in the same clothes as yesterday."
"These are also my pyjamas." And they were, frankly, growing rank. She had tried washing her shirt in the sink earlier, but the water never warmed and she was afraid that she now just smelled like damp sweat. And also dry sweat. Her jeans were uncomfortably stiff as she hadn't been brave enough to stand around in the kitchen in just her underwear. She shrugged, trying for nonchalance. "Even if her wardrobe hadn't been stolen, I don't think I could borrow anything off Eda."
Or Raine, for that matter, but given the state of the castle, their clothing situation was probably as dire as Camila's. Worse, since since Camila's was out of reach in a closet while theirs was buried under rubble.
But Raine at least fit within the neat confines of family within this house. Camila bit back a sigh that would have raised more questions with Hooty than she cared to answer. She'd take being a third wheel over a single mom with six teenagers under her roof, four of which were dancing around each other, making her a fifth wheel anyway.
Now that had been enough to give her grey hair.
"Well, that's fair." Hooty tilted his head and his nightcap flopped over one eye. It didn't seem to bother him. "But you also look like you haven't tried to use them as pyjamas; there isn't a wrinkle in sight. Have you even tried to lay down?"
Her clothes were horrendously wrinkled, of course, and Camila narrowed her eyes at him.
He wilted. "I was trying not to be creepy." He looked like, if he had hands, he would have made air quotes around 'creepy'. "It, apparently, freaks people out that I know everything that happens in the owl house. Which is why," he rushed on, in a supremely obvious bid to keep Camila from confirming or denying the creepiness of that revelation, "I know you haven't even sat down since everyone else went to bed. I know we're not up to our usual hospitality standards, but you did find beds for you and Luz in the basement."
Two sleeping bags and handful of yoga mats, all of which she put under Luz's sleeping bag, did not count as a bed for anyone over the age of twenty-five. Her bones were much too old to sleep on bare floor.
Hooty was still talking. "—why aren't you using it?"
Camila blinked rapidly. She had lost track of the conversation. She was so fucking tired, so much so that she couldn't even math out how long she'd been awake for. Thirty-six hours? Or was she getting close to forty-eight? Was it even humanly possible to be awake for forty-eight hours? She couldn't remember her college record, just the warm bliss she had felt when she had finally crawled between the sheets.
Right. They were talking about beds. It was time for her canned excuse.
"I don't sleep the first night at a new place."
"You're not even going to try?"
"Nope." Camila turned back to her cleaning, but the floor was as good as she could make it. She started scraping off globs of congealed wax instead. "It'd be a waste of time, what with the mess the Emperor's Coven left behind. It will take a lot of elbow grease to get this place livable again."
Hooty quavered in midair. "I don't know if we can blame all of this on Belos."
Camila looked down at the heavy wax buildup. "Ah."
"It is nice that you're getting the place clean, though!" He was very perky, even for Hooty.
"Thanks."
"But perhaps—"
"There's no time like the present."
He sighed. "Even if I tell you that I can't sleep until you sleep?"
"Nope." Camila didn't believe that attempt at manipulation for a second—also, she made it a policy to never give in to such tactics. "Guess you've got to find a way to shut me out of your brain." Also, there was no way he actually listened to everything happening in this house. The others had spoken in hushed voices when they didn't want Hooty to overhear. He had shown no signs of noticing that subterfuge and he lacked the subtlety to politely pretend not to hear.
He frowned. "I suppose."
"That's right." Camila gave him a little shooing wave. "Off to bed you go."
"Orrrrrr."
"Or?"
Hooty darted away, only to return moments later. Hopefully just moments, or Camila was at the microsleep stage of sleep deprivation. He was holding a mop and a pail in his beak, though, and he had exchanged the nightcap for a plaid kerchief. He spat out the mop and bucket, somehow not slopping any of the sudsy water onto the floor.
"Or I can help you clean!"
Camila blinked. She wasn't sure if she was doing that too often or not enough. Her eyelids felt like sandpaper.
"Okay," she said, though it was superfluous. Hooty hadn't bothered to wait and was already happily—and haphazardly—slopping water near the entrance of the room.
Which was the wrong direction to mop in, of course, but that mattered less when one didn't have feet. It probably didn't matter at all to a witch if they had a palisman.
She turned back to scraping at the wax buildup. It had to have been years since anyone had even attempted to clean this shelf.
"Soooo." Hooty was clearly the sort who couldn't appreciate a good, companionable silence. "What made you decide to do some post-midnight cleaning?"
"I already told you," Camila said. "I can't sleep the first night in a new place."
"That's why you're not in bed, not why you're cleaning. I don't think I've ever seen someone clean in the middle of the night before."
So Eda didn't stress clean then. Not surprising—if she did, there would be less passive neglect in her house.
"Someone has to. And I may as well pull my weight, if I'm going to be here for awhile. There's a lot of clean up to do on the entire island, not just this house, and I don't intend to sit around while everyone else breaks their back."
"Fair enough," Hooty said, though it didn't sound like he believed her. He also looked rather gleeful. "The Collector really did a number on the island. It's great that he's turned all the people back into people, but there is still so much carnage."
"Yeah. And there needs to be a lot of healing, which is gonna be tough with all the reminders of this mess." Camila leaned against the wall and listened to the house shift—and the soft patter of small feet on hardwood. Someone else was up, not that Hooty had noticed. Camila knew she should check on them, to make sure that they were okay, but she barely had the energy for this conversation. She wouldn't be able to skirt around the emotional landmines with one of the kids.
Besides, it wasn't Luz's footsteps. It was callous, but Camila really could not muster the energy for anyone other than Luz right now. And if it was King, he would be seeking out Eda and wouldn't want to talk to Camila anyway. If it was the Collector? He needed such delicate handling and Camila was certain that she'd bungle it at the moment. It'd best to wait until morning.
"I think this room is looking pretty good!"
"Huh?" Camila's head jerked up. Her vision had gone fuzzy, but as she looked around, the room looked hardly better than it had five minutes prior. Wetter, and that made the floor gleam in the moonlight.
"I think we can move on to the next one."
"Sure." She'd come back and finish cleaning once Hooty had grown bored. She lifted a foot. "I'm sorry that I'm about to ruin your mopping."
"You won't!" Hooty said, too close and too loud. Camila's other foot left the floor and she squawked, jamming her hands into feathery fur that felt, freakishly, like bark. She didn't like it, but she disliked the swooping in her stomach even more as Hooty carried her out of the room and into one adjacent.
She collapsed to the floor as soon as her feet brushed against it, uncaring that her clothes were gaining a new layer of filth. This was fine, totally fine. Didn't even matter that there was dust getting into her hair. She could wash it out, if they ever got hot water again, but she could not wash away the sensation of propelling through the house on the back of an owl worm. Dune had nothing on Hooty. Even riding bitch on a palisman was less horrible than that.
"I'll gather the cleaning supplies!"
Camila didn't look up. "Okay, thanks."
She was just going to lie there, pressing a wood grain pattern into her cheek, until Hooty came back. Just until her stomach settled. Which would be easier if she closed her eyes to stop the room from spinning and focused on her breath and—