"You're not going alone, Fifer o'clock and that's final!" Wolfcange shouted.

"Watch out, Wolfcange. You're starting to sound like a father," Fifer o'clock said with a smile and a twinkle in her eye.

"I'm the only paternal presence you've ever known," Wolfcange said his voice booming with emotion as his towering frame stood in front of her. He put his hand on her shoulder.

"Let the old man go with you," Nineteen-year-old, Oircer Clough, interjected. He was half-Tuvan, Aboriginal, Chinese and Indian. His hair was an ash-grey with a buzz undercut Mohawk hairstyle.

"Hey, watch it, kid. I can pound you into jello without losing my edge."

"Not in my garden." She looked at Wolfcange and Oircer with a warning look. Wolfcange let out a guttural groan.

"Just kidding, Wolfcange," Oircer said holding his hands up. "I'd feel better with you going with her than me. Maybe her chances going back into the Grove will fare a bit better than slim with an independent tracker and Alpha-Empath such as yourself."

"Look at you two, a one-hundred-year-old galactic beast who raised me from perdition," she looked up at Wolfcange putting her hand on his hairy cheek, which was made of celestial bodies. The irises of his eyes were constellations revealing his origins. "And an Heir-a-minister ...we both know where our hearts stand, don't we, Oircer?" Fifer o'clock said as she and Oircer stared deeply into each other's eyes, her fingers playfully dancing along the seams of his red and black clergy robes. His dark sorcery magicks sensed her soul like a beacon. It had the scent of white sage.

A burning black coil escaped from his lips and his vermillion-burgundy eyes turned into a red flaming abyss. She rested her fingers on the insignia of a group of trees symbolizing the Grove with a dagger-axe aflame among them on his clergy stole. "...Deciding what is best for me like I'm not here to be consulted about my own well-being." She looked at his cuffed sleeves with the matching symbol. "No, thank you. I don't need babysitters. I used to be an Heir-a-mistress, a member of that very Grove, may I remind you, in case you gentlemen have forgotten. I know my poison. So let it be, alright?" She walked away from them both toward a deeper part of her garden where the red pineapple, buttercup squash and blood lime were.

Oircer followed behind her into her hydroelectric-solar garden. There were labyrinths crossing each other, a meandering one with a Greek key pattern and one more made of tiles. Her garden controlled the temperature, weather and climate for the hybrid fruits and vegetables there. And as he searched for her, he felt each of these changes through the mazes. By the time he caught up with her, she was gathering some of those hybrid fruits and vegetables into a basket. He was both sweaty and ice cold. His hair was wet and mussed from the winds and intermittent rain. His robes were drenched and pressing against his skin. He sat down on the ground in exhaustion.

Fifer o'clock smiled, folding her lips to hide her amusement.

"If I knew you were trying to catch up to me, I would've led you through the Baltic Wheel Labyrinth. It has two entrances and exits."

"Oh, thanks. Maybe next time," he said rolling his eyes, swallowing hard almost out of breath.

"I wish I could eat something here in your garden," he said looking around at the cucumber-watermelon, pomegranate-Dorian, white and red dragon fruit, orangelo, strawberry bananas, lemon-apples, bubblegum berries to name a few making his mouth water with anticipation, "but I know it's forbidden for peoples of color to partake."

"Yes, but there's bodies of water everywhere," she pointed north, south, east and west. She led him to a river not far from where they were.

"Thanks for showing me 'round here a bit," Oircer said glancing around the garden, after quenching his thirst. What are you doing, Fifer o'clock?" Oircer asked her.

"Getting some food for tonight's dinner for Wolfcange," she answered.

"No, I mean risking your soul to go back into the Grove."

"Says the man who has no soul anymore since relinquishing it to the Grove to become an Heir-a-minister. I did it once when I was an Heir-a-mistress. I won't do it again."

"What makes you so sure, you'll be able to resist? You know how strong the Grove has become with even more heir-clergy involved collectively."

"Yes, I was born in the Grove, which made me less likely to refuse its insatiable and seductive thrall. But I know because I lost myself in it before and I don't want to put myself through that again. I didn't know there was a me without it. The unlimited power of being a spiritualistic sorceress, feeding my hunger for one soul after another shredded my existence. With less than an ounce of decency I had left and my time travel magic, I forged myself a soul from wine bottles and clay matter and was able to finally breakaway from the Grove."

"You had the strength and the magic to break free of the Grove. But those of us still part of the collective who don't have your kind of magic or resolve don't have that option," Oircer said with a downcast look.

"I was blessed to make it out alive. I took a shot in the dark with my own magic instead of the Grove's, and it worked. You don't need a soul to have a moral compass. The moral compass is here," Fifer o'clock said pointing to her temple.

"Charging ahead in the face of uncertainty, apart from the Grove's dark magicks was nothing short of brilliant. But going back there with JackabyRyan at the helm can throw all you've accomplished out of the window. He's become a MevoMaster."

"I made a promise to Bookneeders to save this musical child, SzsoSzso. I won't break it because of a risk to myself. And because I don't want him to repo my soul, either," she said walking out of the garden with Oircer by her side.