Chapter 73

~~Jack~~

Arriving in Jacob’s cave was a weird experience. Climbing out of the remains of a kine’s guts had been creepy as fuck, but not weird. It wasn’t exactly something Jack hadn’t figured the old Nosferatu had: sacrifice bowl, crazy symbols on the walls in blood, all the typical witchy witch stuff. The weird part was how there was a huge group of them, in what must have been a very private place. It had made him feel like he was crashing a séance or something. He was happy to get out of there.

Jessy, him, and Damien took a drive, and decided to drop by the Invictus HQ. There were thralls there they could feed on in emergency situations, and the three of them were beat up enough to warrant using them. Plus, they were the Right Hands of the Invictus, and had earned the right. The ride there was painful though, physically and mentally, and the three of them radiated depression with every long second.

Jack sat in the middle of the wide car, Damien and Jessy each taking a window. They all looked like they’d been through a war, and Damien’s bandages only added to the painful image.

“How’s your skull?” Jessy said.

“Throbs.” Throbbing was weird. He didn’t expect throbbing, since that was a function of blood being pumped through the body, irritated and swollen. The touch of air against the inner flesh and exposed bone insides, was agony, and every second he channeled his vitae as best he could into healing it. He could tell the inside of his skull was no longer exposed though, having healed somewhat, but the eye was still gone, the bone still a mess, and he kept a hand over the wound half in fear of something inside falling out.

She pat him on the back and smirked at him. “You did good, coming to my rescue that quick.”

“Not quick enough.”

“Speed wasn’t the issue,” Damien said. “Unfortunately, they were more than prepared for any intrusion. Even Jacob and his ... friend, were expelled.”

Nodding, Jessy put her hands on her knees, and looked out the window. “I was out for most of Jacob’s crazy rescue. But, I think I was submerged in ... inside Black Blood? Fucking hell.”

Jack winced. Did they want to let the driver know about this? Well, it wasn’t a secret, he supposed, since the monsters and the werewolves knew.

“My sire cut off his hand for the ritual. Disturbing. And now he owes Jacob, I guess. More disturbing. And ... and...”

His two friends sighed, and sank into the seats of the car, as did he. Better to wait until they were out of the vehicle to talk about that.

After the three of them had a meal, and nearly sucked each thrall to death, they took time to sit down in one of the secure conference rooms. A big table for only the three of them, but Invictus knew their shit, and had soundproofed it.

“I let Angela live,” he said. Yep, off like a band-aid. Except the band-aid tore off hair and skin with it.

Damien nodded. “That ... was a mistake, I admit.”

“Yeap.” Nodding as well, Jessy leaned back in her chair, and slowly spun it around in a circle as she looked up. The three of them were still very beat up, but they would heal faster now, and once dawn arrived, their sleep would wipe the wounds away, mostly. “Can’t blame you though. You’re young, and her mom was right there, right?”

“My age shouldn’t be a factor.”

“Well, it is.” Shrugging, she continued to spin, like a kid who couldn’t sit still. “Julias, Maria, and Michael all agreed to make you a Right Hand, knowing full well you’re young. Embraced at, what, twenty? And with barely a year of your second life under your belt. They knew shit like this would happen ... not that they’ll be happy about it.”

“Athalia, on the other hand.” Damien pulled out his short sword, and began to spin it along his knuckles. Working on his control and dexterity, probably. “She was right there, and she asked you to stop. And I saw, Jack, that you were going to ignore her pleas, and kill Angela anyway. Too slow, though. So now Angela lives, and Athalia will not be happy with you.”

“Yeah, thanks for rubbing it in.” Jack lowered his head to set his forehead on the table; very, very gently. Still couldn’t see out one side of his face, and the attempt to open his eyelid was enough to shock his body still with pain. He was getting used to pain, but getting sick of it, too.

“Just assessing the situation. We were developing a strange partnership with Azamel, but now that you’ve offended Athalia, someone Azamel holds dear, the relationship may be strained.”

“That reminds me,” Jack said. “Damien, you almost got yourself killed!”

“I ... I know.”

Jessy raised a brow. “Think we all fit into that bill.”

“Damien did a crazy rush move to save Fiona.”

“Oh! Oh!” Jessy stopped spinning, and leaned over the table toward Damien. “Did it work?”

“ ... yes.” The Mekhet tried to hide the smile, but a small one got through.

“That is some guaranteed pussy.”

Jack lifted his head, and facepalmed; again, very gently. “It’s not guaranteed pussy, Jess. You can’t—”

“Sure, if Fiona was more of a feminist or something. But Fiona is a classic girly girl, who wants a man to rescue her, sweep her off her feet, throw her on a bed, and fuck her brains out.”

Jack stared at the Gangrel. The damn woman’s grin was big and unending.

“Jessy,” he said, “you are the most sexist person I know.”

“Pffft. Is it sexist if it’s true?”

“I...” Ok, weird topic, and he wasn’t exactly in a position to speak with authority. This was like a strange sort of sexual harassment from the boss, in a way, now that he thought about it. His senior making crass, rude comments about sex, and frequently. The Invictus had no HR department. And, just maybe, there was a little wisdom, in the asshole’s words.

“Um.” Damien squirmed a little, and twisted in his chair a bit. “I ... asked her to go on a date, when we escaped.”

“Aha!” Jessy slapped her palm against the table. All three of them groaned. “Shit, sorry. Arg, christ, my head.” Everyone took a moment to let the pain settle, before she continued. “I’m telling you, Damien, she wants the D.”

“ ... the D?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “You spend too much time on the internet.”

“I do not! I just ain’t some antisocial twerp, like you!” She shrugged at him, and pulled out her phone. “But I got this Twitter thing going, and people just keep posting the most random, stupid, nonsensical shit. And for some reason, I keep reading it.”

“Stop.” Jack reached out, and pushed down on her phone. “Really, stop. It’s not healthy.”

She rolled her eyes, but put the phone away anyway, thank god. “She’s just a girl, so be gentle with her, Damien. But at the same time, she’s got a huge sex drive, so, be gentle with her, but make sure to fuck her lots. Here, I’ll give you some tips.” Jessy got up, walked around the table, sat beside Damien, and put her hands on the table. “So first you got the clit, right? You can treat that with some love, get some juicy orgasms, but it’s really an appetizer to better stuff. You got the g-spot, and then there’s these sweet spots really fucking deep in there, and—”

Jack threw up his hands. “Ok! Back onto the serious stuff.”

Damien nodded, and a quick glance from him showed his joy at being rescued. “Did you learn anything we didn’t, Jessy?”

“Not much. You know the monster’s name is Sándor, and he’s working for Jeremiah. Called him master. I did see that old bat Elen do some especially fucked up shit, drawing symbols in the fucking air with Eric’s blood! And she was nuts. Talked about voices, and treated the body like it was some sort of ... machine, I guess, like it was some sort of special, magical machine? And she was going to do drawings and shit, and somehow learn things from Eric’s body.”

Jack and Damien looked at each other, and winced.

“Yeah, that ... kind of makes sense, I guess,” Jack said. “Based on the rituals, we got the impression she was doing something with ... bodies, and ... haruspex.”

“What’s—”

“Divination by entrails,” he said. “Movies and stuff like to pass it off as a horror trope, as if religions thousands of years ago did it to humans. They really just did it to animals, but ... I mean, if this woman is doing this to people, in a way, then there’s something to the trope I guess.”

“Fucking nasty.”

Nodding, Damien shifted away from Jessy a little, who was still in close proximity. “The problem now, is that the hunters are likely to rely on this monster’s lair as their headquarters, and something tells me we won’t be able to get back in the same way. Jacob and his spirit friend either.”

Jessy put up her hands, and almost slammed the table again. Everyone winced in preparation, but she stopped herself in time. “I vote we stop feeling bad about the situation. We came out on top! You rescued yours truly, and two werewolves to boot. I saw that a few of the hunters died, so that’s a win. And we learned a shit load about what the hunters are up to. This Elen woman was trying to use Eric for haruspox, and—”

“Haruspex,” Jack said.

“Dude, whatever. She was using him to get information about Azamel. And there was a specific line one of them said, that he was going to give them information he knew, and information he didn’t know. This Elen is fucking scary.”

They all nodded. She sounded scary, yeah, and the picture Jack had seen of her made her seem like some sort of old witch. The new knowledge only added to that image.

Jack nodded toward her. “The gargoyle monster. Tell us about it?”

“Fucker was huge! I mean, when he came into Eric’s apartment, he was just an average looking white dude in a hoodie, bit of gruff on his face, some sort of European accent, and he could punch like a truck. In the nightmare though? Fucker pretended to be a statue, and got the drop on us. It was like fighting off a god damn giant, and the fucker had four arms and wings, so it wasn’t like a normal fight, right? I got behind him though, and Eric and Clara transformed and ... and...” Jessy smiled, dreamily, and stared off into space.

Jack and Damien blinked at each other, before Jack snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Allo?”

“Er, yeah. Werewolves get pretty big, right? But I can’t help but notice a lack of dick and balls.”

Jack exercised every ounce of restraint he could, to not slam his fractured skull and ruined face into the table. “You noticed that, while fighting?”

“Course I did. I have eyes. I notice everything.”

Yeah, no bias there, none at all, nope. Jack rolled his eye, and the sensation sent pain through him as his muscles tried to rotate the missing eye.

“But... , “ she continued, “you think that, like, it would come out, if they got horny in that form?”

“Jessy,” Jack said, “I’ve seen those beasts fight, and I’m telling you, the last thing you want to be thinking in the presence of a werewolf in their fighting form, is sex. They are titans of aggression and animal instinct. They get caught up in violence like a human gets drunk. Blood drunk! You’ll ... you ... you aren’t listening to a word I’m saying.”

Jessy had her elbow on the table, chin in her palm, and had resumed staring into nothing, with a happy smile on her face. At this point he was sure she was half doing it just to torment him indirectly with her refusal to take things seriously. But he was also sure she really did find a nine-foot-tall beast of muscle, teeth, and claws attractive.

Clara had been kind of attractive too, in a way, he supposed. Transformed, she did still have the curves of a woman, just put on an eight-foot body, with a short layer of fur all over it. Not exactly his cup of tea, but when she licked him, there was definitely a hint of femininity to her that had grabbed his attention.

Ok, now he was definitely hanging out with Jessy too much.

“I’m worried about Tash,” Damien said. “She’s still in the nightmare, and while I think we all trust Fiona, not sure we feel that way about Athalia anymore.”

“Agreed,” Jack said. “But I think she’ll be fine. Athalia is too hurt to do anything, and I suspect she’ll be out of commission for days. Azamel needs us to help with the hunters, so she’ll push to make sure her Begotten don’t harm us.”

“Yeah, yeah ok.”

“You should visit Fiona.” Getting up, Jack stretched out, and regretted it. Old habits were going to kill him. He didn’t need to stretch, didn’t need to breathe, didn’t need to do any of those things that he should stop trying to do while his corpse of a body healed itself. “Tomorrow night, I mean, after we’ve healed. After she’s had a moment to heal, too, I assume. That includes you, Jessy.”

“W-What? Hey, I will, I will.”

“And please don’t get yourself killed trying to seduce a wolf.”

“He’s a werewolf, Jack, not an actual wolf, or tiger or bear or whatnot. They can talk and shit while transformed.”

That all sounded like an admission of going-to-tap-that from the Gangrel, and Jack smirked at her as he started his walk to the safety sleeping vault. Julias didn’t want them making any trips outside the HQ for the rest of the night, and he could most definitely understand that. Time to get some sleep in the Xnomina basement; safe and secure behind many walls with a hundred thralls armed and ready.

But, would any of that stop a Begotten? It seemed like they could travel anywhere, and even around barriers.

He did not look forward to the nightmares that idea was going to give him.

~~Natasha~~

Nightmares. She did not like nightmares. Nightmares were a hot button for vampires, even if they tried to pass them off, because of how bad torpor could get for many of them. They were all afraid of them to some extent or another, and all of them were afraid of the long torpor, and how those nightmares could twist their minds. Seeing nightmares as actual things in front of her, that she could touch and taste and see and smell and hear with crystal clarity? She had to wonder if the long torpor would bring her nightmares like this.

She, Fiona, and the enormous skeleton in her hands came out of the darkness, and into more darkness. If she didn’t see another shadow for the rest of her second life, it’d be too soon. But, at least this place had enough light to see by, and she groaned as she helped pull the giant skeleton into a graveyard.

It wasn’t a classic graveyard, but something more like an elephant graveyard, if elephants were a hundred feet tall. The bones! The bones were so massive, and they had tusks and stuff, giant skulls that belonged on ancient, dead gods. They sat upon the sands, so colossal, they may as well have been buildings.

Tash gently set Athalia’s arm down on the dark sand, and stood, staring. “Um ... if ... if the s-sun comes up here, will ... will it—”

“There is no sun here,” Fiona said. “This nightmare, as most, does not change. If Athalia and I were not Eshmaki, then perhaps there would be cause for concern. But we are monsters of darkness, and our lairs are always dark.” Sighing, exhausted, the spider woman let go of Athalia as well, and sat down beside a giant ribcage that was half buried in the sand.

Tash dragged herself over to her, and sat down beside her, each of them leaning back against a separate rib. Before her, was the endless desert, and the night sky, moonlight shining down on them all.

Total. Silence.

Tash strained her hearing as best she could, but all she managed to hear was Fiona’s ragged breathing. There was no breeze in this graveyard, and no movement or chirps from any insect, arachnid, reptile, bird, or mammal. No clouds above. The moonlight was strong, the moon itself full, and the nightmare held no barrier between her and the sky. Everything was laid bare, and all that remained of whatever had existed here before, was sand, and bone.

It was a nightmare, and Fiona said these chambers didn’t really change. So, it was someone’s nightmare? What poor soul suffered this?

“A ... Angela...” Athalia managed to say, her once raspy, banshee screams and shrieks, now reduced to a pained whisper.

“She’s alive,” Tash said. “I tried t ... t-to kill her. So did Jack. She ... she—”

“Is a monster,” the skeleton monster said, half of her enormous jaw still missing. “I know. But ... she’s ... my monster.”

All Natasha could do, was frown at Athalia, and lean back. What words could she say? Athalia seemed like an intelligent woman, and no doubt anything Tash said was something Athalia had struggled with already.

“I appreciate ... w-what you did, though,” Tash said. “You helped us a lot. And even ... fought your d-d-d-daughter.”

“Seeing her again ... stirred memories.” With a great, heavy sigh, the giant skeleton tried to move. Nothing, only a few twitches of her arm. “She was always a problem child, and moving from city to city only made it worse. I left her with an orphanage, and ... only made things worse, I suppose.”

Seeing a skeleton creature lament past decisions about her daughter was a very strange sight, and all Tash could do was nod. It wasn’t a problem she’d ever have to deal with; that was a vampire’s curse, the inability to have children. Begotten? Uratha? Far as I knew, they could all procreate, if they had sex in their human forms. Uratha probably could if they had sex in their wolf forms, too, with normal wolves; weird thought. Vampires didn’t get to have children, they had childer. Not the same thing, not at all. Taking a tiny bundle of creation, and helping it grow into a human? There was something special and magical about that. A vampire spreading vampirism was more like a virus spreading the disease.

“I can’t b-blame you,” Natasha said. “I ... have a childe. Vivienne. I ... almost n-never talk to her. She’s her own woman now, w-working for the ... Invictus. I ... I d-don’t ... yeah.” It was hard to convey the feeling of being inadequate at parenting. Harder, to convey the feeling of being inadequate at siring. There was no way to cross that communication gap, so Tash just shrugged, sighed as she pulled her knee up to her chest, and set her chin on it. “Will you be ok?”

“Yes. But ... I will heal faster, if you bury me.”

Tash almost let the weirdness of that request shock her, but then she didn’t. It was a graveyard, sort of, and Athalia was a skeleton when in the nightmare. Of course she’d want to be buried in order to heal herself. Some vampires did that, too, buried themselves deep where they felt more secure during the day. Gangrel could do it in strange ways, merging with the dirt and earth and stuff.

But burying a giant skeleton wouldn’t be easy. With a groan, she crawled over to Athalia, literally, and started shoveling with her hands. The sand was cool, in the moonlight, so at least there was that.

“This chamber seems sp-p-pecial,” she said. “Like, it was m-made for ... for someone like you?”

Fiona crawled forward beside her, and started cutting at the ground with her eight spider leg blades. They were sharp points, so not terribly good at shoveling, but it was better than nothing.

“Begotten have many chambers in their lairs, some more than others. I am young and have few, while Athalia has more. But we have hearts in our lairs, and those are precious to us, to our horror.”

Heart of the lair. Interesting. And valuable information.

“Fiona,” Athalia said, “don’t tell her ... about things she doesn’t need to know about.”

“Friendship is founded on things like trust,” Fiona said.

The skeleton grunted her disapproval, and the spider woman shrugged, but listened. No more info for Tash then. Hearts to their lairs? The heart of a building was a room, so she must have meant a room in her lair, a chamber, like the one they were in.

It took time to dig enough of the sand out of the way for the huge skeleton creature to get herself submerged. They only got her halfway into the sand, before Athalia set her enormous arms and head down against it. With a little wriggling, she got herself a little deeper, and nodded.

“Thank you,” the skeleton said, face down, head mostly submerged. Creepy. “We will talk ... again, I am sure. That Begotten working ... for ... Jeremiah ... will be a great threat.”

“Your w-w-welcome, bye.” She got up, and held out a hand to Fiona. The spider lady walked beside her, her spider legs all pressing to the sand behind her, but also her human-ish legs tip-toeing along the sand on their points. Fiona seemed to usually walk on her spider legs only, so, she was hurting pretty bad. A spider monster’s version of limping.

Once they were a ways away, Fiona guided them to a shadow behind one of the larger, strange, alien corpses, and again plucked at the darkness with her claws. Like before, she someone pulled open the shadow, like opening a door, and she motioned to the empty black she’d created before her.

“This burrow will lead into shadows around Bloodlust. I’m afraid a different burrow will be ... hard to make, right now. Is that close enough to where you’ll be going?”

“Y-Yes, it is, thank you. Will ... will you be ok?”

Fiona nodded her crown of horns, and gestured to the dark tear in reality she’d created. It was as natural to breathing to these monsters, moving between the dark corners of the Earth. “Burrowing out of that gargoyle’s home would have been difficult in that situation, but my lair is connected with Athalia’s. I can get back home easily.”

Home. Fiona called her nightmare home. That was a key difference between monsters and the other paranormals, she supposed. As far as she knew, the Uratha, for Avery’s pack at least, they all considered normal, physical, planet Earth to be their home, like the vampires did.

Her home was in the tower of the most powerful vampire she knew; her boss, too. And her boss would be dying for an info update.

With a nod and smile, she waved to Fiona.

“T-Take ... take care of yourself. I think D-Damien likes you.”

She laughed, and ran a clawed hand along one of the massive horns on her head. “I ... I think you’re right.”

“Oh! Um, I m-mean, more than just b-b-because he rescued you, but also—”

“We’re going on a date, soon.” The spider monster smiled at her, a very Fiona smile, and pushed her through the black.

Bloodlust it was, the alley outside, in the darkest corner.

Ugh! No more dark! No more dark things, no more shadows, no more black, obsidian, onyx, raven, jet, ebony, none of it!

She limped out into the fake lights of Dolareido streets, and sighed relief as she found herself able to actually see everything without having to squint or focus. It wasn’t a far walk to the Elysium Tower, and this close to it, she didn’t need a buddy to travel safely. Limping sucked, but a ten minute limp was a small price to pay to get to the safety of the Prince’s walls.

But, first, check in. She pulled out her phone and sent the Prince a quick message informing her she was on the way. And a message for her boyfriends, saying she was alright, and that they better be alright too. And finally, most importantly, a message for Jessy.

~Hey Jessy. I’m back in Dolareido. Heading to Elysium Tower now.~

~Hey Tash. We need to hook up and chat! Need to thank you for the rescue.~

~Thank Jack.~

~I did, no worries. Your boys alright?~

~They’ll heal ... I think. And Eric?~

~He went back to his place. I got a bunch of ghouls guarding him while he sleeps. And the Invictus are going to be guarding the area from now on.~

~Smart, but after what happened, I think it’ll be some time before the hunters make another move against us.~

~Probably, but I don’t want to risk it.~

~Getting attached to Eric?~

~I think I am.~

~He strikes me as a monogamy lover, Jess.~

~Hey, I can try monogamy!~

~I think I remember you detailing to me, frequently, how much you dislike the idea.~

~Yeah well ... fuck you, that’s what.~

Tash rolled her eyes. Jessy didn’t really understand how much the tone of her words didn’t come through in texting, and instead of her sounding fun and spontaneous, her aggression sounded mean and harsh. But Tash was used to it by now.

~I’ll talk to you later, Jess.~

~Later.~

With a small chuckle, she walked up the stairs of the tower’s front door. She waved to the man at the front desk, and started her way down the stairs in the back. Down a few flights of stairs, and into the Prince’s main experiments room, where she usually found the Prince doing her work. Not there. Hmm. Shrugging, Tash moved down another flight of stairs, and poked her head into the Prince’s favorite lounge room, the one with the dragon fountain. The lights were on, and set to white. Thank god, light.

“Natasha, my dear. Please, sit, relax. I am glad to see that you are safe.” The Prince was sitting on the couch, but where she would normally be reading, she was sitting with nothing in her hands, body turned and staring at the fountain, her back snug to the couch.

“Prince, you seem d-distracted.”

“Oui. Julias has informed me of the results of your mission. It displeases me that the entity Black Blood has involved itself so ... acutely.” With a sigh, she looked Tash’s way, and a frown graced her otherwise preoccupied expression. “Your leg?”

Tash was sitting, and the Prince noticed the bad leg. Impressive, and it made Tash smile. “It br-broke, when the hunters ... blew up the door we were going t-to open.”

“These hunters are frustrating, are they not?” Sighing again, the Prince leaned back on the couch, and looked up. “I have dealt with hunters many times through my life.”

“You have?”

“Indeed. None of them have been as tenacious, as well prepared, or grouped in such a large number as these. There were times, two centuries ago and before, when mobs would gather and burn down a vampire’s estate, under suspicion they were a vampire. One of the few times superstition worked against us, not for us. I feel like I am in a similar situation, where a mob has come to burn down my estate; in this case, my city. And no vampire, no matter how strong, dismisses the threat of a hundred peasants with torches; or in this case, flamethrowers and molotov cocktails.”

It was easy to forget that Antoinette wasn’t always the modern, mature, Prince of Dolareido. There was a time when she was young, learning her power, developing her connections in the Ordo Dracul, and growing her fortune and kingdoms. What sort of mistakes did Antoinette make when she was younger? Opening a door with explosives on the other side, probably not, but there was probably a similar comparison somewhere. Maybe, like she said, she opened a door to a bunch of peasants with torches.

The thought put another small smile on Tash’s lips. Antoinette making mistakes was a hard thing to imagine, and forcing herself to picture it helped put her boss in a more relatable light.

“Please, describe to me details that Mire may have left out.”

“Um, s-sure. The descriptions we have of Jer-r-remiah and Angela are accurate. But, I noticed, w-when they were retreated from ... B-B-Black Blood’s intrusion, that they are trained.”

“Hunters are notorious for developing skills a typical kine would not.”

“Y-Yes, but they were trained like ... like professionals. They had formations, signals they m-made with their hands, and they knew how t-to respond to chaos quickly.”

“That is a step above the typical hunter.” With another sigh, Antoinette pulled some of her wavy hair over her shoulder, and began to slowly comb it with both hands. “Most hunters are one, maybe two, sometimes three individuals, rarely with any training at all. But they train themselves, learn through trial and error, and become formidable. Never a professional though, as you describe.”

“Have ... have you known many hunters?”

“I have met several, in my life time. Some are from an age I cannot remember. But, perhaps eighty years ago, I met one. A man, with every classic issue you could imagine from a hunter. His wife had been killed by a Kindred only days after their wedding, and the man witnessed it. He went down a rabbit hole, buried himself in the lore of our kind, and of other paranormals. For ten years, he dedicated his life to hunting us, after he realized it was impossible to expose us to the public.” Kindred had their fingers in the police, media, and governments. Exposing them through those means would be borderline impossible. “A hunter’s life had destroyed any chance I had of speaking with the man. Ten years of dealing with monsters — and I do not deny that there are many Kindred worthy of the descriptor — had rendered him unwilling to communicate. In the end, I was forced to kill him.”

“You ... you sound sad, about-t-t that.”

The woman lowered her eyes to her fingers and hair, and went silent for a moment as she watched her fingertips coil the ends of white strands. “ ... I am, dear Natasha. He did not deserve death. A part of me wonders, if these hunters we kill do. From what everyone has told me, Jeremiah and Angela sound worse than the hunter I met, by far. They sound like...”

“L-Like psychopaths.”

The word earned the Prince’s glance, and nod. “Yes, that they do.”