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The neon lights of Las Vegas blinked erratically, as though the city itself was winking at its visitors—tempting, mocking, and occasionally threatening. In the heart of the chaos, Stan Pines stumbled onto the sidewalk outside the Flamingo, his jacket askew and his face flushed from equal parts indignation and cheap gin.
“Don’t come back unless you want that nose broken twice!” barked a burly bouncer as Stan tripped over his own feet.
“Yeah, yeah, keep your shirt on, ya overgrown meatball!” Stan shot back, waving a dismissive hand as he adjusted his tie. His scam at the roulette table had been flawless—if you didn’t count the part where the croupier caught him palming the ball. Now he was broke, hungry, and nursing a bruised ego in the middle of the gaudiest street on earth.
The glittering cacophony of the Strip wasn’t helping his mood. Neon signs flashed promises of quick fortunes and questionable entertainment, while a steady stream of tourists bustled past, clutching drinks in novelty cups. Stan’s stomach growled, interrupting his mental list of revenge plans against the Flamingo.
A diner caught his eye—Lucky Lou’s All-Night Eats. Its chipped red sign flickered in defiance of its namesake, and a faint whiff of grease wafted through the door. Stan figured it was as good a place as any to regroup.
Inside, the diner was a haze of cigarette smoke and fluorescent lighting. A jukebox crooned a crackly rendition of “Shake, Rattle, and Roll,” and a few bedraggled patrons hunched over plates of waffles and hash browns. The air was thick with the smell of burnt coffee and regret.
Stan slid into a booth and grabbed the menu, squinting at the laminated options. Before he could decide between a $1.99 breakfast platter and a suspiciously cheap steak, a voice sliced through his thoughts.
“You planning to stare at that menu all night, or are you gonna order something?”
Stan looked up and froze. The waitress standing over him had pale skin, a mop of messy hair barely held back by a diner cap, and eyes that seemed to glitter with mischief. Her smirk revealed a single sharp tooth. The name tag on her chest read Marilyn Fakenamé, which he instantly pegged as a.. well, as a fake name, but hey, who was he to judge?
“Depends,” Stan said, leaning back in the booth with a grin that he hoped screamed ‘charming con artist’ and not ‘desperate loser.’ “Do you take IOUs?”
Marilyn snorted. “Sure, if you want it served with a side of get lost. Cash only, buddy.”
Stan groaned and slapped the menu down. “Fine, gimme the cheapest thing you’ve got.”
She arched a brow. “One burnt coffee and a side of broken dreams, coming right up.”
Despite himself, Stan chuckled. “Make it two sides of broken dreams, sweetheart.”
As Marilyn disappeared into the kitchen, Stan tapped his fingers on the table, trying to figure out his next move. His grand Vegas scheme had imploded faster than he could say “rigged blackjack.” He needed a new plan—and fast—before he ended up sleeping in a gutter. Again.
“Here you go,” Marilyn said, reappearing with a steaming mug of coffee and a plate of toast that looked like it had been charred over an open flame. She plunked it down in front of him and slid into the booth across from him, ignoring his surprised expression.
“What, you expecting five-star service?” she teased, propping her chin on her hand. “You look like you’ve had a rough night. Lemme guess—lost big at the tables?”
Stan grinned sheepishly. “More like I got thrown from the tables. Flamingo doesn’t appreciate a little creativity with their games of chance.”
“Let me guess,” Marilyn said, tapping a painted nail on the table. “You’re one of those guys who thinks the house rules don’t apply to you.”
“Only if the house catches me,” Stan shot back. “Which they usually don’t, for the record.”
Marilyn laughed, a loud, unrestrained sound that caught the attention of the other diners (quite a few diners, considering it was nearing three in the morning). Stan found himself grinning despite his sour mood. There was something magnetic about her.
“So what’s your story, doll?” he asked, sipping the scalding coffee. “You don’t seem like the type to settle for greasy diners and dead-end shifts.”
She smirked. “And you don’t seem like the type to settle for losing. Guess we both had a bad night.”
“Touche,” Stan admitted. “But seriously, Marilyn Fakenamé? What, were you out of ideas when they handed you the name tag?”
“Better than whatever your real name is, Mr. ‘Thrown Out of the Flamingo,’” she shot back, leaning closer. “Besides, I like keeping people guessing. Keeps things… interesting.”
Stan raised a brow. “You’re trouble, aren’t you?”
Marilyn’s grin widened, and for a moment, he swore her sharp tooth glinted under the fluorescent lights. “Oh, you have no idea.”
The jukebox sputtered to life with a new song, and the faint sound of Elvis Presley crooning “Viva Las Vegas” filled the diner. Marilyn drummed her fingers on the table in time with the beat, her eyes scanning Stan like she was trying to figure him out. “It’s… Stan Pines, y’know,” he said a little carefully.
She nods. “You know,” she said after a pause, “you’re not half bad company for a guy who probably can’t pay his tab.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Stan quipped, though his grin betrayed him.
She leaned back in the booth, her expression unreadable. “Tell you what. I’m off in twenty-five minutes. You stick around, and maybe we can find some real trouble in this town.”
Stan blinked. He hadn’t been expecting that, but then again, nothing about Marilyn seemed predictable. “You asking me to join you, or just making sure I don’t skip out on the bill?”
“Bit of both,” she said, standing and grabbing her notepad. “Don’t chicken out, Stan Pines.”
As Marilyn disappeared into the back, Stan downed the last of his coffee, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and grinned to himself. Vegas might have knocked him down, but he wasn’t out yet.
And something told him this wild waitress was just the kind of trouble he needed.
♤♤♤
The diner clock ticked loudly, an annoying reminder that Eda’s shift wasn’t over yet. She leaned against the counter, her chin resting in her palm as she stared out at the crowd of late-night customers. Her patience was wearing thinner than the cracked vinyl on the bar stools.
This wasn’t her life.
Or rather, this wasn’t the life she wanted. Eda Clawthorne was a powerful witch—the Owl Lady of the Boiling Isles, infamous and feared for her cunning schemes and her rebellious spirit. But now? She was Marilyn Fakenamé, waitress extraordinaire at Lucky Lou’s, serving lukewarm coffee and soggy pancakes to people who wouldn’t know real danger if it slapped them in the face.
All thanks to that stupid spell.
A month ago—though it felt like a lifetime—Eda had been working on her latest magical experiment, one that would’ve revolutionised transportation between the Boiling Isles and the human realm. Her prototype door—powered by a rare magical crystal she’d found in a cave in Spring Mountains, Nevada—had been nearly perfect. Nearly.
Instead of opening a portal, the door malfunctioned and dragged her through, slamming shut behind her. Worse, the crystal had burnt out during the process, leaving her stranded in the human realm without access to her magic—her glyphs didn’t work here. Something about the local environment interfered with them… or maybe it was her.
Eda had spent her first few days in a panic, trying every trick she knew to get back home. But eventually, survival instincts kicked in. She pawned off the last few magical trinkets she’d had on her when she arrived, but the human shopkeeper clearly didn’t appreciate their worth and gave her a pittance. That pittance got her a rundown motel room and a greasy uniform at Lucky Lou’s. Now, she was stuck saving up for the supplies she needed to find a new core and her way back.
She ran a hand through her messy hair and scowled at the cracked ceiling. The plan was simple: earn enough to buy a car, drive to the mountains, and find that cave again. She was certain she could find a new one, or at least, something there would recharge her door’s magical core. But earning enough money to get anywhere in this cash-hungry world? That was the hard part.
She glanced at her tips jar—half-empty, as usual. Human money was absurd. Why didn’t they just barter? What kind of world didn’t accept rare teeth or enchanted talismans as currency?
Her brooding was interrupted by the chef’s bell. She looked up to see two steaming plates of waffles and other goods, and delivered them to a table. She saw Stan, still in the booth, twiddling his thumbs.
“Still here?” she asked dryly.
“Yeah,” Stan said, leaning back with exaggerated ease. “I figured you could use some company. This place looks like it could put a guy in a coma.”
Eda smirked. She liked his energy—he was quick and had a confidence that matched her own. Maybe a little too much confidence. Still, he was more entertaining than the usual crowd.
“What’s your story, anyway?” she asked, grabbing the coffee pot and pouring him a fresh cup. “You don’t seem like the ‘work hard, play hard’ type. More like the ‘play hard and make up the rules as you go’ type.”
Stan chuckled. “You’re not wrong. Let’s just say I’ve had a rough week. I’m trying to get enough cash together to buy back… something important. And maybe set myself up with a little side hustle in the process.”
“Side hustle?” Eda raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
Stan leaned in conspiratorially. “You ever hear about the Lost Treasure of the Nevada Desert?”
Eda squinted at him. “No, but I’m guessing you’re about to enlighten me.”
Stan grinned and pulled a crumpled map from his jacket. He smoothed it out on the table, revealing a crudely drawn series of landmarks and an ‘X’ marking the treasure.
“This little baby’s a piece of history,” he said. “Rumor has it, a group of outlaws buried a chest of gold somewhere out in the desert. I’ve been selling maps like these to treasure hunters looking to strike it rich.”
Eda snorted. “So you’re scamming them. Classic. Let me guess—there’s no treasure.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say there’s no treasure,” Stan said, his grin widening. “Just none they’re gonna find.”
Eda chuckled. “You’re a piece of work, Pines.”
“And you’re not?” he shot back. “You’re telling me Marilyn Fakenamé is a straight shooter? Please.”
She tapped her chin, feigning innocence. “What, you don’t think I could be a humble waitress just trying to make an honest living?”
“No way,” Stan said, pointing at her. “You’ve got the look of someone who’s running from something—or someone.”
Eda’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before she covered it with a laugh. “Touché. Let’s just say we’ve got more in common than you think.”
Stan raised an eyebrow, but before he could press further, the chef yelled from the kitchen. “Marilyn! Break’s over! Table five’s waiting!”
Eda sighed and stood, but not before snatching the map off the table. “I’m keeping this,” she said. “Consider it payment for the coffee.”
Stan looked outraged. “Hey! That map’s worth—”
“Nothing,” she interrupted with a grin. “But thanks for the laugh.”
She disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Stan grumbling into his coffee.
Minutes later, Eda finished up the diner and stepped out into the cool air. The streets were quiet now, the neon lights casting eerie shadows on the pavement. She leaned against the building and pulled the map from her pocket, studying it under the glow of a streetlamp.
It was obviously fake, but it gave her an idea. If Stan could scam gullible humans with made-up treasure maps, maybe she could do the same—on a larger scale. She could create magical-looking artifacts, sell them to collectors or tourists, and make enough cash to speed up her escape plan. She didn’t need magic for that, just a little creativity and a lot of nerve.
As she folded the map and slipped it back into her pocket, exchanging it for a pack of cigarettes, she heard footsteps behind her. Turning, she saw Stan approaching, his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets.
“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” she teased.
“I was gonna ask you the same thing,” he said. “You looked pretty interested in that map back there.”
“Let’s just say it inspired me,” Eda admitted. “You’re not the only one who knows how to work a crowd.”
Stan tilted his head, intrigued. “What are you up to, Marilyn?”
Eda smirked. “Oh, just thinking about expanding my skill set. You know, to fund my… travel plans.”
Stan’s eyes narrowed. “Travel plans, huh? Where to?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she shot back. “But let’s just say I’ve got somewhere important to be, and it’s not here.”
Stan considered her for a moment, then grinned. “Well, if you’re looking for a partner in crime, you could do worse than me.”
Eda laughed. “We’ll see, Pines. We’ll see.”
♧♧♧
Outside Lucky Lou’s was deserted except for a few flickering streetlights and the faint hum of the neon sign that refused to quit. Eda leaned against the diner’s wall, a cigarette dangling from her lips. She wasn’t much of a smoker—it was more for the aesthetic. She liked the way the glow reflected off her sharp features, made her look like someone who didn’t take crap from anyone. Because she didn’t.
Stan Pines still stood a few feet away, hands in his pockets, studying her like she was an equation he couldn’t quite solve.
“You’re a tough nut to crack, Marilyn,” he said, his voice cutting through the stillness of the night.
Eda smirked, exhaling a stream of smoke. “And you’re about as subtle as a punch to the face, Pines. What’s your angle this time?”
“No angle,” Stan said, holding his hands up defensively. “I’m just trying to figure you out. You’re not like the other waitresses in this town.”
“Oh, you mean I’m not a small-town girl with big dreams of hitting it big in Vegas?” Eda teased. “Gee, thanks. You really know how to charm a lady.”
Stan chuckled, stepping closer. “Nah, you’re… different. Mysterious. Like you’ve got one foot out the door, but you’re stuck here for some reason.”
Eda’s smirk faltered, but only for a second. He wasn’t wrong, but she wasn’t about to let him know that. “Nice try, Pines. You’re fishing for something, and I don’t bite.”
“Well, maybe not yet,” Stan said, leaning against the wall beside her. “But I’ve been known to reel in the big ones eventually.”
Eda laughed, a sharp, throaty sound that echoed through the empty lot. “Oh, you think you’re smooth, huh? What’s your endgame here? You trying to scam me out of my tips?”
Stan feigned offense, clutching his chest. “I’m wounded! I’m just trying to get to know you, Marilyn. Is that a crime?”
“In this town?” Eda quipped, flicking her cigarette into the gutter. “Probably.”
They fell into an easy silence for a moment, the hum of the city in the background. Then Stan spoke again, his tone softer this time.
“You know, I don’t really have a place to crash tonight,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thought maybe you could help a guy out.”
Eda turned to him, her golden eyes narrowing. “Let me guess. You’re hoping I’ll invite you back to my place, and then you’ll find a way to mooch off me for the next week while you figure out your next scam.”
Stan raised a hand as if swearing an oath. “Mooch? Me? Never. I’m just saying, it’s cold out here, and I’m allergic to sleeping on sidewalks.”
Eda rolled her eyes. “Nice try. But I’m not some doe-eyed tourist you can sweet-talk into giving you a free pass. I know a con when I see one.”
“Is it a con if I’m being honest?” Stan asked, grinning. “Come on, Marilyn. You’re not gonna leave me out here to fend for myself, are you?”
Eda considered him for a moment, her lips quirking into a smirk. “Fine. But if you try to steal anything, I’ll break your legs.”
“Deal,” Stan said immediately.
Eda’s motel room was a tiny, cluttered mess—equal parts practical and chaotic, much like her. A half-finished contraption sat on the kitchen counter, wires and strange crystals spilling out of it. The couch was piled with books and clothes, and the walls were lined with a mismatched collection of trinkets she’d salvaged from pawn shops and thrift stores.
Stan looked around, taking it all in. “Nice place. Cozy.”
“It’s a dump, but it’s my dump,” Eda said, kicking a pile of newspapers out of the way. “Don’t touch anything sharp. Or glowing. Or, you know, anything at all.”
Stan plopped down on the couch, pushing a stack of books to the side. “Got it. Hands to myself. So, what’s this?” He gestured to the contraption on the counter.
Eda’s eyes flicked to the device, and for a moment, something like hesitation crossed her face. But she quickly covered it with a smirk. “Just a little project I’m working on. You wouldn’t get it.”
“Oh, come on,” Stan said, leaning forward. “Try me. I’m a man of many talents.”
“Yeah, sure you are,” Eda said, rolling her eyes. “It’s… a way out of here. A ticket to bigger and better things.”
Stan nodded slowly, his expression surprisingly thoughtful. “I get that. Vegas isn’t exactly the land of dreams they make it out to be.”
Eda raised an eyebrow. “You saying you’ve got bigger plans, too?”
“Something like that,” Stan admitted. “Not that they’ve worked out so far. But hey, what’s life without a little risk?”
“Risk,” Eda repeated, her tone amused. “You sound like one of those motivational posters they hang in gyms.”
Stan grinned. “Hey, I’m full of wisdom. You’d be surprised.”
“Oh, I’m sure. You’re just a font of knowledge and charm, aren’t you?”
“You’re catching on, Marilyn. I’m the whole package.”
Eda shook her head, laughing softly. “You’re a piece of work, Pines.”
For a moment, their banter faded into silence. The city buzzed faintly in the background.
Stan glanced at Eda, his grin softening. “You know, you’re not half as scary as you pretend to be.”
Eda turned to him, her eyes narrowing. “Don’t push your luck, Pines.”
“I’m just saying,” Stan said, holding up his hands. “You’ve got this tough act, but deep down, I think you’ve got a soft spot.”
Eda snorted. “Yeah, and deep down, I think you’re actually an honest guy. Guess we’re both dreamers.”
Stan laughed, leaning closer. “You’re really something.”
Eda rolled her eyes, but there was a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Is that a good thing?” Stan asked, his voice low.
Eda didn’t answer right away. Instead, she leaned in, her golden eyes glinting with mischief. “Why don’t you stick around and find out?”
Stan’s grin widened. “Don’t mind if I do.”
Eda leaned back on the couch, her sharp smirk softening just slightly as she regarded Stan. The dim light of the apartment played across her face, and for a moment, the air between them felt charged—like a wire pulled taut, ready to snap.
Stan leaned in a little closer, trying to read her expression. “You know,” he said, his voice quieter now, “for someone who says she doesn’t bite, you’re doing a pretty good job of keeping me on edge.”
Eda quirked an eyebrow, her golden eyes shining playfully. “I don’t bite? Who said that?”
Stan blinked, caught off guard for a moment. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”
“You have no idea,” Eda replied, her voice low and velvety.
She shifted closer, the teasing edge in her tone giving way to something more serious. Stan hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to push forward or back away. But then Eda rolled her eyes and grabbed the lapels of his jacket, pulling him toward her.
“Oh, for Titan’s sake, Pines,” she muttered, just before their lips met.
The kiss was both fiery and chaotic, much like the two of them. Stan’s hands found her waist as Eda’s fingers tangled in his tie, yanking him closer. She kissed him like she had something to prove, all sharp edges and restless energy, and Stan found himself dizzy from it—not that he was complaining.
When they finally pulled apart, Eda was smirking again, her lips slightly swollen. “Still think I have a soft spot?” she teased, her voice a little breathless.
Stan grinned, his hands still on her waist. “I think I’m in trouble.”
“You have no idea,” she said again, pulling him up from the couch.
Together, they stumbled toward the bedroom, their laughter and teasing fading into something quieter, more urgent. The door clicked shut behind them, and the apartment was left in silence, save for the faint hum of the city beyond the windows.
The rest, as they say, was left to the Vegas night.
♢♢♢
The first thing Stan noticed when he woke up was the pounding in his head. The second thing he noticed was that he wasn’t alone.
He turned his head slowly, squinting through the slivers of sunlight cutting through the blinds. There, sprawled on the bed beside him, was Marilyn—or whatever her real name was—her wild hair fanned out on the pillow. The faint trace of a smirk lingered on her lips even in sleep, and Stan couldn’t help but grin. Clothes were strewn across the floor—his jacket draped over a chair, her uniform crumpled in a heap by the dresser. It was a scene of pure chaos, and it felt oddly fitting.
As if sensing his gaze, Eda stirred, cracking one golden eye open. “You’re staring, Pines,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep.
Stan chuckled, propping himself up on one elbow. “Can you blame me? You’re a vision of… uh, untamed beauty.”
Eda snorted, throwing a pillow at him. “Save it, Casanova. What time is it?”
“Too early for regrets,” Stan replied, ducking the pillow. “Not that I have any.”
Eda rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the smirk tugging at her lips. “You’re lucky you’re charming.”
“Yeah, I get that a lot.”
She pushed herself up, rubbing her face and looking around the room. “Well, as fun as last night was, I’ve got things to do today. Big plans.”
Stan sat up, stretching. “Funny, so do I. But you know, two heads are better than one. And two wallets? Even better.”
Eda tilted her head, studying him. “You proposing a partnership?”
“Why not?” Stan said, shrugging. “We’ve got chemistry, Marilyn. Admit it.”
Eda pretended to consider it, her lips curling into a grin. “Fine. But if you slow me down, I’m leaving you in the dust.”
By mid-afternoon, Stan and Eda were striding through the bustling floor of a gaudy Vegas casino, dressed to the nines and exuding confidence. Eda had swapped her diner uniform for a sleek black dress that accentuated her sharp features, while Stan wore his usual jacket and tie—now slightly less rumpled.
Their first scam of the day was a classic: counting cards at blackjack. Eda played the part of the mysterious high-roller, while Stan acted as her bumbling, slightly drunk husband. The casino staff paid him little attention as he wandered the floor, subtly signaling her with carefully rehearsed gestures.
Eda’s smirk widened as the chips piled up in front of her. “You’re not as useless as you look, Pines,” she muttered under her breath as he passed by.
“High praise,” he replied, winking.
When they’d pushed their luck far enough, they cashed out and moved on to their next venture: selling fake Elvis memorabilia to unsuspecting tourists. Stan had an impressive stash of cheap knockoffs he’d “acquired” over the years, and Eda, with her quick wit and flair for dramatics, proved to be an excellent salesperson.
“This guitar pick?” she said to a wide-eyed tourist, holding up a small, glittery piece of plastic. “Elvis used it during his final show. You can almost feel the King’s spirit radiating off it.”
The tourist hesitated. “How much?”
“For you?” Eda said, leaning in conspiratorially. “Just two hundred bucks. A steal for a piece of history.”
The tourist handed over the cash without a second thought, and Eda pocketed it with a grin. She turned to Stan, who was leaning against a nearby wall, watching her work with obvious admiration.
“You’re a natural,” he said as she joined him.
“What can I say? I’ve got the gift of gab,” Eda replied, tossing him a fake pick. “Your turn, partner.”
As the sun set over the Strip, the pair found themselves in yet another casino, celebrating their string of successes with drinks and laughter. Their chemistry was undeniable—Eda’s sharp wit perfectly balanced Stan’s unrelenting charm, and together, they were unstoppable.
“To the best duo in Vegas!” Stan declared, raising his glass.
“To easy marks and big scores,” Eda replied, clinking her glass against his.
They drank, laughed, and swapped stories of their wildest schemes. Stan regaled her with tales of his time selling sham miracle cures, while Eda shared embellished accounts of her adventures in the Boiling Isles—though she left out the magical details.
“You ever think about settling down?” Stan asked at one point, his voice unusually serious.
Eda raised an eyebrow. “Settling down? Me? Please.”
“Hey, I’m just saying,” Stan said, grinning. “You and me, we make a good team. We could do this forever.”
Eda laughed, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—something that hinted at more than just amusement. “Forever’s a long time, Pines.”
“Yeah,” Stan said, leaning closer. “But it’s not long enough when you’re having this much fun.”
Before Eda could respond, a raucous cheer erupted from a nearby group of tourists, who had clearly been overindulging. One of them—a woman in a sequined dress—stumbled over to their table, her tiara askew.
“You two!” she slurred, pointing at them. “You look like you’re in love! You should get married!”
Stan and Eda exchanged a glance, and for a moment, neither of them said anything. Then Eda smirked. “Married, huh? What do you think, Pines? You ready to make an honest woman out of me?”
Stan laughed, but there was a spark of something genuine in his eyes. “You know what? Why not? Let’s do it.”
Eda blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “You’re serious?”
“Completely,” Stan said, his grin widening. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in this town. Let’s make it official.”
Eda hesitated, her mind racing. They were drunk out of their minds. This was impulsive, ridiculous, and entirely unnecessary—but it was also the perfect opportunity. If she married Stan, she’d gain access to his car and his growing stash of cash, both of which were… crucial to her plan.
“Alright,” she said finally, standing and grabbing his hand. “Let’s do it.”
The Little White Chapel was as gaudy as expected, its neon lights casting a surreal glow over the proceedings. A man dressed as Elvis officiated, his exaggerated drawl barely intelligible over the giggles of the other couples waiting their turn.
Eda and Stan stood before him, grinning like fools as they exchanged vows that were half-serious, half-jokes. When it came time to kiss, Eda grabbed Stan by the collar and pulled him in, planting a kiss on him that drew cheers from the small crowd.
As they stumbled out of the chapel, newly minted husband and wife, Stan couldn’t stop grinning. “You know, I think this might be the best decision I’ve ever made.”
Eda laughed, slipping an arm around his waist. “Don’t get too comfortable, Pines. You might regret this in the morning.”
“Not a chance,” he said, pulling her closer.
♡♡♡
The motel room was quiet except for the faint hum of the old air conditioner rattling in the corner. Moonlight still spilled through the blinds, casting stripes across the chaos of last night—a bottle tipped on its side, clothes scattered haphazardly, and the faint scent of cheap champagne mingling with the lingering heat of the desert.
Eda stirred first, blinking at the ceiling. Her wild hair was even messier than usual, and she smirked at the memory of the night before. Stan Pines, you really know how to put on a show. Turning her head, she saw him sleeping next to her, his tie still half-loosely draped around his neck like a last remnant of his usual bravado. He snored softly, one arm thrown over his face, the other resting on the pillow.
Her smirk faded as practicality kicked in. She propped herself up on one elbow, scanning the room. Stan’s jacket was slung over a chair, one sleeve draped carelessly to reveal the bulge of car keys in the pocket. His wallet, fat with whatever cash he hadn’t squandered yet, sat on the bedside table.
This is your chance, Eda. Take the keys, take the cash, and get out.
She hesitated for a moment, watching him. For all his bluster and charm, there was something strangely endearing about Stan. He was clever, resourceful, and more fun than anyone she’d met in ages. But this wasn’t her world, and she couldn’t afford attachments—not with Belos’s goons breathing down her neck.
With a sigh, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, careful not to make a sound. She reached for the jacket first, fingers brushing against the leather as she slid the keys out of the pocket. One down.
The wallet was trickier. She leaned over the bedside table, her hand hovering just inches away from it when—
“Going somewhere, doll?”
Eda froze. Stan’s voice was groggy but sharp, his eyes now open and fixed on her. He propped himself up on one elbow, his usual grin notably absent.
“Just, uh, grabbing some water,” Eda said, feigning nonchalance as she slowly pulled her hand back.
Stan’s gaze flicked to the keys in her other hand, and his jaw tightened. “Funny, didn’t realize the faucet needed a set of car keys.”
Eda sighed, dropping the act. “Alright, you caught me. I was just gonna borrow them for a bit. You’ll be fine, Pines.”
Stan sat up fully now, his face a mixture of hurt and anger. “Borrow? Don’t kid yourself. You were gonna take off, weren’t you? Use me, ditch me, and drive off into the sunset.”
“Come on, Stan,” Eda said, her tone light as she tried to deflect. “You knew this wasn’t forever. You’re good, but I’ve got bigger problems to deal with.”
“Oh, I knew you were trouble the second I saw you,” Stan snapped, swinging his legs over the bed. “But I didn’t think you’d stoop this low. What is it? The money? The car? Or am I just your patsy for the week?”
“Look, it’s not personal,” Eda said, folding her arms defensively. “I’ve got people hunting me down, alright? Dangerous people. Staying in one place isn’t an option.”
Stan stood, his height making the small room feel even more claustrophobic. “And what, that means you can just screw over anyone who gets in your way? Real classy, Marilyn… or whoever you are.”
Eda’s sharp retort died on her lips when she noticed movement outside the window. A faint shadow flickered against the wall—a figure standing just beyond the parking lot’s edge.
Her heart sank. They found me.
“Stan,” she said, her voice suddenly low and urgent. “We’ve got company.”
He frowned. “What are you—”
Before he could finish, a golden beam of light streaked through the window, shattering the glass and narrowly missing them. Eda tackled Stan to the floor as the beam scorched a blackened streak across the far wall.
“Stay down!” she hissed.
Stan blinked, his anger replaced by confusion and alarm. “What the hell was that?”
“Belos’s goons,” Eda muttered, crawling toward the shattered window. She peered out and saw the scout—tall and menacing, its mask gleaming under the flickering neon lights. It raised its staff, another orb of golden energy crackling to life.
“Move!” Eda shouted, dragging Stan toward the door just as another blast obliterated the bed. Smoke and debris filled the room, and the acrid smell of scorched fabric stung her nose.
Stan scrambled to his feet, coughing. “You’re gonna have to explain this later!”
“No time!” Eda snapped, shoving him toward the door, and into an elevator. They burst into the parking lot, the scout close behind. Eda yanked open the driver’s side door and slid in, fumbling with the keys.
“Shotgun!” Stan shouted, diving into the passenger seat as the scout unleashed another blast. The car roared to life, and Eda slammed her foot on the gas, sending them careening out of the parking lot.
The tires squealed as they tore down the darkened road, the scout’s golden energy bolts zipping past the car and illuminating the desert in brief, terrifying flashes.
Stan gripped the dashboard, his face pale. “What is that thing, and why is it trying to kill us?”
Instead of replying, she yanked the wheel hard, sending the car skidding off the road and into the open desert. The vehicle bounced and jolted over the uneven terrain, but the scout was relentless, its staff glowing ominously as it pursued them.
Eda reached into her jacket and pulled out a small, jagged crystal. It pulsed faintly, its edges gleaming with residual magic. “This’ll have to do.”
Stan stared at it. “What the hell is that?”
“A last resort,” Eda said. She jammed the crystal into the dashboard, and the car shuddered violently as a surge of energy coursed through it. The headlights flickered, and the engine roared with newfound power.
“What did you—” Stan began, but Eda cut him off.
“Hold on, Pines!” she shouted, slamming the gas pedal to the floor.
The car shot forward like a rocket, leaving the scout momentarily stunned. Eda grinned as the distance between them grew, but her victory was short-lived. The crystal began to overheat, sparks flying from the dashboard.
“Uh, Marilyn?” Stan said, his voice tinged with panic. “I think your magic doodad’s about to blow!”
“Yeah, I noticed!” she yelled. She pulled it out (it burnt ), and flung it out of the window onto a rocky outcrop. It promptly exploded in a spectacular burst of flames.
The scout was nowhere to be seen—either it had been caught in the blast, or it had retreated for now. She pulled over.
“Well,” she said, coughing, looking at her severely burnt hand. “That was fun.”
Stan turned to her, his expression exasperated but grudgingly impressed. “You’re out of your damn mind, you know that?”
“Yeah,” she said, brushing dirt off her jacket. “Can you drive?”
Hours passed. The desert stretched out endlessly before them, the rising sun painting the Nevada mountains in fiery hues of orange and gold. Stan gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white as the car sped down the winding road. Beside him, now, Eda was hunched over the half-repaired magical door, muttering to herself and occasionally smacking the contraption like it owed her money.
“Care to explain what exactly we’re doing here?” Stan asked, his voice sharp. He hadn’t forgotten the betrayal back in the apartment—or the fact that Eda had dragged him into a situation that now included armored goons shooting golden death beams at them.
“Fixing my ticket out of this mess,” Eda snapped without looking up. “Just keep driving, Pines. We’re almost there.”
Stan glared at her out of the corner of his eye. “Oh, sure. I’ll just keep driving us to who-knows-where while you fiddle with your magic alien door that can change in size. Totally normal. Definitely not regretting my life choices right now.”
“It’s not alien, it’s witchcraft,” Eda corrected, exasperated. She paused her tinkering to glance at him. “And for the record, you should be thanking me. If it weren’t for me, you’d still be back there explaining to the armored meathead why you were helping a wanted fugitive.”
Stan scoffed. “Yeah, real grateful. You know, for someone who just got married, you sure don’t make a great partner.”
Eda flinched at the word married, but she quickly covered it with a smirk. “Oh, come on, Stan. Don’t tell me you were serious about that whole ‘soulmate’ thing.”
Stan didn’t respond right away, his jaw tightening. “You know what? Forget it. Let’s just get this over with.”
They finally reached the base of the Spring Mountains, pulling off the road onto a narrow dirt trail that wound through a desolate canyon. The air was crisp and still, the only sound was the crunch of gravel beneath the tires.
“This is it,” Eda said, pointing to a jagged outcrop of rocks that jutted up like broken teeth. “Pull over here.”
Stan stopped the car, cutting the engine. He climbed out and immediately shielded his eyes from the glare of the sun. The place was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that made his skin crawl.
Eda wasted no time, dragging the magical door out of the car and setting it up on a flat patch of ground. The contraption looked like something out of a fever dream—half wires and gears, half glowing runes etched into smooth, dark wood. It buzzed faintly, its edges shimmering like heat waves.
Stan crossed his arms, watching her work. “So what’s the plan? You just… open this thing and disappear?”
“Pretty much,” Eda replied, crouching next to the door and fiddling with something embedded in its frame. “Wait here.”
She disappeared into a small cave for about ten minutes. When she returned, her arms were filled with the same crystal that she threw out of the window earlier, only they were glowing brighter. “This door will take me back to the Boiling Isles. Once I’m there, I’ll be able to lose Belos’s goons and figure out my next move,” she explained, mostly to herself, as she replaced the crystal.
“And what about me?” Stan asked, his voice hard. “You just leave me here? After everything?”
Eda paused, her hands stilling for a moment. She didn’t look at him. “You’ll be fine, Stan. You’ve been on your own before. You don’t need me.”
“That’s not the point!” Stan snapped, stepping closer. “We were supposed to be a team. Or at least, I thought we were. But the second you get what you want, you’re gone.”
Eda finally looked up, her expression unreadable. “I didn’t ask for a partner, Stan. You were just… convenient.”
The words hit him like a punch to the gut, but before he could respond, the door let out a sharp whirring sound, its frame glowing brighter. Eda stood, brushing dust off her hands, and stepped back.
“Looks like it’s ready,” she said, her voice carefully neutral. “Thanks for the ride, Pines. And the… other stuff.”
Stan shook his head, his voice low and angry. “That’s it? That’s all I get?”
Eda opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, the air around them shifted. A faint golden glow appeared at the edge of the canyon, growing brighter by the second.
“Oh, great,” Eda muttered. “They found me.”
Stan turned, his eyes widening as another of Belos’s scouts stepped into view. The figure raised its staff, a swirling orb of golden energy forming at its tip.
“Get down!” Eda shouted, grabbing Stan and shoving him behind the car just as the blast hit the ground where they’d been standing moments before.
“You weren’t kidding about these guys,” Stan said, his voice shaking slightly.
“Yeah, no kidding,” Eda shot back, peeking over the car. The scout was advancing, its staff glowing ominously. She turned to Stan, her expression serious. “I need you to distract it.”
“Distract it? Are you nuts?” Stan hissed. “That thing’s got a magic death stick!”
“Exactly,” Eda said. “Which is why you’re gonna buy me time to use the door.”
Stan stared at her like she’d lost her mind. “Oh, sure. Let me just throw myself in front of the homicidal wizard while you make your grand escape. Sounds great.”
Eda grabbed his shoulders, her eyes locking onto his. “Stan, listen to me. I can handle this, but I need to get back to the Boiling Isles. That’s the only way I can stop them from hunting me—or worse, dragging you into it. You distract the scout, and I’ll get us both out of this mess. I promise.”
For a moment, Stan hesitated. Then, with a resigned sigh, he nodded. “Fine. But you owe me. Big time.”
Eda grinned, her sharp tooth glinting in the sunlight. “Deal.”
Stan stood and waved his arms, shouting at the scout. “Hey, tin can! Over here! Come and get me!”
The scout turned toward him, its staff crackling with energy. Eda used the distraction to slip toward the door, her hands flying over the controls. The frame shimmered, and a swirling portal opened, revealing the otherworldly landscape of the Boiling Isles.
She turned back, her gaze briefly meeting Stan’s. For a split second, she considered taking him with her. But then she shook her head. He didn’t belong in her world, and she couldn’t risk dragging him into her mess any further.
“Thanks, Pines,” she murmured under her breath. Then, louder, “Hey idiot, come and get me!”
And just before she slipped away, “My real name is Eda–”
Stan turned just in time to see her disappear, the goon following close after, and the door closing behind her with a soft whoosh.
Stan dove behind the car as the canyon was filled with a blinding flash.
When the light faded, the scout was gone, and so was the door, and so was… she. Stan sat up slowly, coughing from the dust kicked up by the explosion.
She was gone.
He leaned against the car, staring at the spot where the door had been. A part of him wanted to be angry—to curse her for using him and leaving him behind. But another part of him… missed her already.
“Figures,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head. “The one person who could keep up with me, and she’s from another dimension.”
With a sigh, he climbed into the car and started the engine. The road stretched out before him, empty and endless, and for the first time in years, Stan Pines wasn’t entirely sure where he was headed.
♤♧♢♡
The Nevada sun dipped below the horizon as Stan Pines gripped the steering wheel like it was the only thing tethering him to reality. He drove aimlessly into the desert.
His head was spinning, and not from the leftover alcohol still buzzing in his veins. She was gone. Marilyn—no, Eda—had vanished into thin air, taking with her the strange, magical door and every ounce of trust he’d managed to muster in years.
She used me, he thought, and it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Played me like a damn slot machine.
He replayed the last 48 hours in his mind: the banter, the scams, the way she’d made him laugh harder than he had in years. For a moment, he’d let himself believe they were a team, that they could’ve had something real. But no—she was just another grifter, like him, only sharper, quicker, and apparently from another world.
“I should’ve known better,” he growled, slamming his fist against the dashboard. “Never trust a woman with teeth like that. Hell, never trust anyone at all.”
The road stretched out endlessly before him, the Vegas skyline fading in the rearview mirror. The neon lights, the scams, the whirlwind romance—it all seemed like a fever dream now. He told himself he’d forget her, erase her from his mind like any other bad deal. But even as he swore it, he knew it wasn’t true.
“She was something else,” he muttered, his voice softer this time. “Sharp tooth and all.”
The Boiling Isles were as chaotic as ever, their twisted landscape a stark contrast to the barren Nevada desert she’d left behind. Eda Clawthorne stood atop the jagged cliffs overlooking Bonesborough, the familiar hum of magic filling the air around her. The rush of being home was undeniable, yet her thoughts wandered to the human realm she’d just escaped.
With a flick of her wrist, she conjured a small flame and examined the ring still on her finger. She hadn’t even noticed she’d kept it until now. A cheap piece of metal, hastily purchased during a night of reckless celebration. She chuckled to herself, twirling it absently.
“Six-hour marriage,” she muttered, grinning. “Not bad, even for me.”
She tossed the ring aside, watching it tumble down the cliffs before disappearing into the abyss. It was a relic of another world, one she didn’t need anymore. Still, as she made her way back to the Owl House, she couldn’t shake the image of Stan—his ridiculous grin, his relentless charm—he matched her in every way.
Eda plopped onto her favorite chair, propping her feet up on the cluttered table. She picked up her mug of apple blood and took a long sip, smirking as she remembered the scams they’d pulled together. The quick-witted banter—they’d made a hell of a team, even if it was temporary.
Humans, she thought, shaking her head. Too easy to fool. Too soft.
But deep down, she couldn’t ignore the twinge of guilt that crept into her chest. Stan wasn’t like the others she’d swindled over the years. He’d looked at her like an equal, someone he could trust—even after she’d broken that trust. For a split second back in the canyon, she’d almost considered taking him with her. Almost.
Too much baggage, she told herself, setting the mug down with a clink. He’d never survive here anyway.
With a wave of her hand, she summoned a stack of old blueprints for her next invention, eager to throw herself into something productive. But even as she worked, Stan’s face echoed in her mind.
“You weren’t so bad, Pines,” she muttered, “You weren’t so bad.”