Blood, Guts & Mystic Amulets

by StarlightRenegade71

Summary:

Dipper and Mabel Gleeful were having a wonderful summer, performing their stage magic show to sold out crowds, harvesting ingredients for arcane rituals, and preparing to summon a demon. When Gideon Pines and Pacifica Northwest attend one of their shows the Gleefuls perfect summer descends into chaos. Plagued with recently awakened psychic abilities, government coverups, terrible family secrets, and literal ghosts the four teens will have to learn to work together if they hope to survive until fall. Also there's a magical talking cat that really hates Dipper, for some reason.

Notes:

Welcome!
1. Horrors lie ahead.
2. Happy Halloween!
3. Yes, I’ve seen Riverdale.

Chapter 1: Mismade Girl

Notes:

Welcome!
1. Horrors lie ahead.
2. Happy Halloween!
3. Yes, I’ve seen Riverdale.

A small brown mouse squealed angrily in its cage. Mabel Gleeful dangled a morsel of cheese just out of its reach. She sat at a dressing table, cosmetics strewn about, pushed haphazardly out of the way to make room for the cage. A large mirror leaned against the wall, framed with lights, reflecting the pale teen with voluminous dark brown hair and too-bright blue eyes. Disordered racks of stage costumes and piles of magic props filled in the background behind her.

"Despite all your rage, you're still just a rat in a cage," Mabel sighed, chin rested in her palm, pretty features bored.

"It's a mouse, Mabel," Dipper sighed, from his seat at the adjacent dressing table. Her other half—both her twin brother and partner in their double act—carefully styled his hair, up and off his forehead, to ensure the pattern of birthmarks that looked just like his namesake constellation was visible. The celestial connection was a big part of their branding. The lore section in their souvenir guidebook—available for $70 at the ticket office or merch booth!—claimed that when they were born, a powerful seer had taken one look at Dipper's forehead and proclaimed it a good omen. They'd had a lot of fun making up bullshit for the lore section.

Mabel huffed and waved the correction off.

"Tragic, the state of your education," Dipper said. That made her laugh. The twins hadn't attended school regularly since second grade, such was the way of things when they ran Gravity Falls' most popular tourist attraction. During the tourist season they performed nightly, plus special matinées, even in the off season they did four shows a week. There was simply no time, or need, for school.

School…the large desk in the principal's office, boys pulling her hair, blonde hair styled to be as big as possible, the smell of hairspray and bourbon…

Mabel's stomach soured. She gave the mouse the cheese, finding no more joy in its futile struggle.

"Oh Mabel, what's wrong?" Dipper appeared in the mirror behind her, his face so much like hers, all sharp angles and startlingly blue eyes. A color more suited to radioactive paint, or toxic mineral sediment than human irises. It was their signature color, featured prominently in all aspects of the Tent's branding, including their costumes. Dipper was representing the brand with a silk button down shirt for the evenings show, and—nestled in a black ribbon bow tie—the same large amulet he always wore, bearing a blue gem that looked like a crystallized robin's egg. A twin to the amulet Mabel wore affixed to her headband.

---

"Do you wanna go to the Tent tonight?" Pacifica asked with a snap of her bubblegum.

The Gravity Falls Tent of Telepathy, run by the Telepathy Twins—the top rated attraction in town. 5 stars on Yelp! 10/10 on Trustpilot. 'In a world of hacky shacks, these twins are legit', read one review.

Gideon's dad ran one such 'hacky shack' and sure, most of the displays in the Mystery Shack were fake—terrible mismatched taxidermy creatures, bits of dog fur labeled as Bigfoot shavings, bobble heads that were probably made with lead paint, rocks that looked vaguely like the faces of presidents if you really squinted, haunted dolls bought in bulk, cheap plastic skulls, more than a few racist stereotypes, chunks of glass passed off as crystals—but Bud Pines was a business man, not a mystic. Gideon's mom, a successful corporate executive in New York, didn't like that Gideon spent 2 months a year with Bud working in his tourist trap, being exposed to all sorts of…unsavory ideas. However, she liked paying for cross country plane tickets even less, and the divorce agreement allocated a set minimum number of days Bud had custody, so Gideon got uninterrupted summers in Gravity Falls. A buttfuck middle of nowhere town surrounded on three sides by national forests, and on the fourth side by an Oregon state park. The town was popular with city folk who wanted 'a breath of fresh air' in the summer; and conspiracy nut jobs, drawn in by the rumors of 'mysterious disappearances' and cryptids in the woods in the fall. Gideon didn't believe in the supernatural, despite (or perhaps because of) his summer job. Even without believing all the horror stories, Gideon knew that Gravity Falls wasn't a normal town, it did have a statistically alarming disappearance rate, after all. That mostly came down to under-prepared hikers or drunk cliff divers, not aliens, Sasquatch, or roving packs of bloodthirsty gnomes, no matter what Shandra Jimenez's sensational pamphlets said.

"Why do you want to go to the Tent?" Gideon asked, his short, upturned nose scrunching in distaste. Not only was the Tent of Telepathy a direct competitor to his family business, but the twins themselves were creepy. "Don't tell me you've got a crush on Dipper Gleeful." For reasons he could not understand, most girls did. Girls did not have crushes on Gideon Pines, skin so pale and hair so blonde it was practically white, patchy orange freckles the only sign that he didn't have albinism or some other related pigment disorder. He was always slathered in sunscreen, even on the cloudiest pacific northwest days, and wearing a branded Mystery Shack hat with some sort of 'spooky occult symbol' on it; a spooky occult symbol that looked suspiciously like a very normal equilateral triangle.

"No," Pacifica scoffed. "I'm pretty sure he's gay."

Gideon cleared his throat and tapped the sign on the wall behind him; 'All Are Welcome #pridenw' in cheerful rainbow letters. "We don't discriminate."

Pacifica smirked and tapped the second sign posted beneath; 'EXCEPT GLEEFULS' scribbled in thick black marker. They dissolved into a fit of laughter, clutching stomachs and snorting. It was a moment before Pacifica could speak again. "I won tickets in a radio contest." She shrugged, pulling her long golden blonde ponytail tighter, ensuring the purple scrunchie was centered. Pacifica had hit a growth spurt since last summer, now tall enough to lean over the gift shop counter, her cut off jorts shorter than they used to be, purple windbreaker now normal sized rather than oversized. "I've never seen it. I'm just curious to see what it's…about, you know?" She settled into the nervous habit of picking the split ends in her hair. Pacifica Northwest had, perhaps ironically, grown up in the southeast. Florida, specifically. She'd only spent 6 months, over 3 summers, in the town and still considered a lot of its 'oddities' interesting. Gideon understood that, he used to run a blog about the 1983 Halloween Siege Coverup Conspiracy; until he learned that conspiracies were just government psyops to distract the masses from the real everyday issues keeping them oppressed. It had been a difficult lesson to learn as a fourteen year old. "There's all those freaky stories about the town, and the Tent, and everything. People at school keep asking me about it, so I want to do a little investigating," she said, eyes bright with enthusiasm. Pacifica never admitted that she had trouble making friends, but the fact that she spent her summers loitering around the Shack even though she didn't work there was a pretty big clue.

"What are you investigating? Maybe I can help," Robbie Dibbulizza said, descending into the gift shop from the 'employee break room', otherwise known as the Pines' living room. Gideon slipped off the stool, he was still short enough to need it, and stepped away from the cash register—not a modern electronic POS system, but a plastic drawer with a pocket calculator and hand written inventory tracking—letting Robbie resume his post manning the till. Robbie was nearly 22, taking a 'few gap years' before leaving for college. He had dark brown hair that he spent hours meticulously styling to look effortless and a chin just a bit too long for his face, he wore a salmon colored sweater vest over a light linen shirt, and, of course, khaki shorts and boat shoes—no socks.

"I won tickets to the Tent of Telepathy show tonight!" Pacifica beamed. "There's four, if you…maybe wanted to come?" Gideon saw the way Pacifica rounded her shoulders and bit her lip when she asked. It wasn't Dipper Gleeful, but she did have a crush on someone. Someone Gideon considered almost as dangerous.

"I'd love to," Robbie said, smiling broadly. "I haven't been there in years. The Gleefuls tried to throw me out once, y'know."

Pacifica gasped, eyes wide. "What did you do?" she asked, leaning forward.

"Did someone say Gleefuls?" Soos peaked into the deserted shop from the hidden door that lead to the 'corporate offices'—a parlor where Bud set up a rickety desk and kept a 3-drawer filing cabinet.

"Paci has tickets for the show tonight," Robbie answered. "I think there's an extra if you want it."

"Oh boy, do I!" Soos rubbed his meaty hands together. He was a big guy, pounds and pounds of muscle hiding under soft rolls, with thinning brown hair and permanent stubble. "Really gets the boss' goat when I post about supporting the competition." Soos had a reasonable social media following, owing to his short stint as a Football Winning Trophy holding NFL defensive back, and his soulful acoustic guitar covers of Top 40 pop songs. After an injury ended his football career only two seasons in, he'd actually had to use the finance degree he got while playing college ball. Bud had too many convictions to legally do his own accounting, so he kept Soos on the payroll, even though everyone knew Soos was skimming off the top.

"Aren't you really busy?" Pacifica asked Soos, laughing nervously, fingers digging into her thighs.

"No." Soos shrugged. Gideon knew that he was; another audit notice was coming due and the books needed extra cooking, but it would be a cold day in hell before Soos prioritized his job even the littlest bit.

"You coming, Gidkid?" Robbie asked.

"Fine," Gideon sighed. Pacifica was a few years older than him, and the summer was almost over. Her senior year was looming just a few weeks away. If she wanted to collect Gravity Falls' dirty secrets as social currency, he would help her with that.

---

Dipper removed the headband from his sister's hair, setting it carefully on the vanity before picking up her hairbrush—a heavy silver and ivory thing with badger bristles. An antique she'd stolen from some classless old woman's mansion during a dinner party they'd been invited to when they were fourteen.

"Tell me what's wrong," Dipper said, brushing his sister's long hair.

"Just…thought about Before."

Dipper's hands stilled. They didn't talk about their lives before Gravity Falls. It made them seem more mysterious to their adoring fans, but it also kept the memories away. Mostly. Sometimes they slipped free.

"It's because I brought up school, isn't it?" he asked gently.

"It's not important," Mabel said with a small shake of her head. Her features fixed in a familiar mask of haughty disinterest.

"We got out," Dipper said, resuming his brushing.

A white picket fence, gaudy fake gold earrings scraping his cheek, a string of suspicious fires in Houston foster homes…

"We escaped."

"And no one will ever hurt us again," Mabel finished the mantra. Their eyes met in the mirror and she smiled. Mabel didn't smile very often, not really. She had the fake smile she wore on stage, the one that didn't reach her eyes, but real smiles were rare. Dipper cherished every single one.

A smudge in her lipstick caught her eye and her smile fell. It took three different shades to create the peach/pink gradient that looked picture perfect and also natural. Mabel was like that, perfect at all times. It took her a moment to find the necessary tubes of lipstick on her disorganized dressing table, but only seconds to touch up the application. Dipper watched her in the mirror, still soothingly brushing her hair. They'd had to drop 'Teen Psychics' from their branding recently to avoid any undue scrutiny. Not because they weren't in their teens, but simply because they looked much older. While most people dismissed it as simply kids in too much stage makeup, many would agree there was something more to it. In the eyes of the skeptical public, always hungry to expose scammers and fakes, pretending to be psychics was fine, it was practically a requirement for a stage magic performer. A joke that everyone was in on. However, adults pretending to be teen psychics was too much charlatanry, too many lies with potential for nebulous harm. While it could be argued that no press was bad press, they didn't want to encourage people digging into their private lives, looking for government records, finding papertrails. If people believed they looked too old to be teens, they would just have to accept it. The truth never won out over public opinion. Though Dipper had to admit, he could see what they meant. They were both tall and slender, with none of the gangly awkwardness other teens seemed perpetually plagued by. It could just be genetics, but Dipper had suspicions that the magic they were toying with was affecting them, changing them and shaping them into something superior to what they were before.

Speaking of something superior, now was a good time to broach the subject of his latest plan with Mabel.

“So, I’ve been thinking," he mused, carefully brushing at a small snarl in her hair.

“You want to summon Bill Cipher,” Mabel finished, bored. She picked up one of her favourite daggers, the one with six blood red rubies set into the handle, a sure sign her mood was improving. He watched her in the mirror, balancing the point of the dagger on her finger tip. Her hands were the only part of her that wasn't polished to perfection. Sure, she wore nail polish, in their signature blue, but the polish was chipped and her nails were always broken and bitten. Her long, graceful fingers were covered with an ever evolving lattice work of old scars, fresh healing cuts, and a few minor burns. There were accidents in their line of work, it was unavoidable. She wore gloves on the bad days.

Dipper snorted indignantly, “What happened to not using our powers on each other?”

“I don’t need to read your mind to figure you out, dear brother," Mabel chuckled, pulling a red covered journal out of a drawer in her vanity. “I just know you.” She let the book fall open, right to the page describing the demon in question. “Also, you’ve bent the spine from looking at this page so many times,” Mabel cackled.

Dipper gave her hair an annoyed tug and studied the pages bared to him. The words ‘DO NOT SUMMON AT ALL COSTS’ taunted him.

“A dream demon, huh?” Mabel drawled lazily, tracing a finger over the diagram of the triangle. “What exactly are you aspiring to, Brother Dear?”

“Think of it as a birthday present, Sweet Sister.” Dipper placated his sister, his voice a deep rumble in his chest. They'd be seventeen at the end of the month, the perfect capstone to the summer season.

“Details, Dipstick,” Mabel snipped, running a finger under her eye, pretending to deal with a mascara smudge in a poorly disguised attempt at hiding her agitation.

Dipper set down the hairbrush and massaged his sister’s shoulders gently. Mabel bristled and feigned indigence but Dipper could feel her relaxing under his careful kneading.

“Imagine it, Mabel, if we can bind Bill Cipher we’d be untouchable. We could do whatever we wanted.”

“In fairness, we already do,” Mabel grinned lazily. Being small town celebrities had limited perks, but they'd still wrung every bit of praise and adoration they could from it.

“We could finally get out of the town, Mabel. Go anywhere, do anything. Anything you want. You deserve it all.” Dipper bent down and whispered in her ear, locking eyes with his twin in the vanity mirror. “When we’re done with this world, we’ll move onto the next one.” And no one would ever hurt them again.

“Alright, you have my attention." She grinned, leaning into his touch. Dipper ran his hands down her arms, feeling the soft silk of her blouse.

“Our powers are nothing compared to what we could do with this demon under our command,” he said, a dangerous smirk playing over his lips. "We'd be gods, Mabel."

"I can't help but notice that this journal has a warning not to summon, but no actual instructions about how to summon."

"I'm still working on that." Dipper admitted. "I can’t do it alone, of course.”

“Of course,” Mabel replied, “you can’t do anything without me.”

Dipper kissed his sister softly on the cheek before drawing himself back up to full height.

“The show should be starting soon, we better take our places. Telepathy Twins?” Dipper presented his arm for her to take.

Mabel replaced her headband with a satisfied smile. “Telepathy Twins,” she confirmed, allowing herself to be swept away from the dressing room.

Chapter 2: Invisible Touch

The Tent of Telepathy was a deceptive structure. The entrance was housed in a simple bell tent made of blue fabric, crowned with a one-eyed five-pointed star. The tent barely looked big enough for ten people, let alone the seventy patrons that attended the show every night, plus a handful of staff. It wasn't until Pacifica was inside that she could see that hidden behind the entrance tent was a wood frame pavilion, draped in the same fabric which housed the performance and backstage areas.

"Wow," Pacifica breathed, looking around in awe at the strings of fairy lights hanging from the ceiling. Looping bars of a simple melody played from tinny speakers. Gideon grabbed her arm, stopping her from wandering too far into the tent.

---

Mabel took her position stage left, ensuring her cuffs were buttoned and her skirt was smooth, while listening to the silly fun house music that kept the waiting audience complacent. Stage right Dipper carefully affixed his heavy cape, stealing a moment to wink in her direction.

School recess hidden in forgotten corners perfecting card tricks, playing cards sliding over his knuckles out of view…

The shows had started as much simpler affairs; born from a childhood fascination with card tricks and Great-uncle Stanford's passion for unpaid child labor.

The music died out and the lights dimmed—their cue.

With a small puff of smoke, Mabel and Dipper appeared center stage, arms interlocked, show smiles firmly in place.

Everything had changed when they found the journal. At first they’d been mystified by the discovery of real magic all around them. Gnomes, centaurs, zombies, shapeshifters. It had been all so amazing. The day before their 11th birthday they found the amulets. Twin gems of incredible power.

“Honored guests,” Mabel started, jovially.

“Good evening,” Dipper chimed, his lower pitch and good nurtured smirk adding a smokey contrast to his twin’s bubbly stage persona.

“Welcome to the Tent of Telepathy.” They intoned in unison. Applause filled the air and Mabel’s smile grew wider, feeding off the adoration.

“Prepare yourselves for a night of wonder.” Dipper flicked his hand and the lights pulsed brightly.

“Amazement.”

“Mystery.” The lights dimmed again.

“And magic,” Mabel finished, spawning a swirling blue orb in her palm.

With the power of the amulets, the second iteration of the Telepathy Twins Show was created. They moved past party tricks. They levitated audience members, read minds, created grand illusions, and—Mabel’s favourite—threw knives.

The glow off the foxfire made her dainty features look distorted and malevolent, but no one ever looked at her face for this part of the show.

“In this show you’ll see no wires or trap doors, just real magic.” Dipper lit his own blue orb, feeling the pleasant warm tingle of the amulet at his neck.

“This is my brother, Dipper Gleeful,” she said, raising her off hand to gesture to him.

“And that’s my sister, Mabel Gleeful," he said, sweeping his arm wide in her direction.

“And we’ve got a real treat for you tonight," Mabel said.

In a carefully practiced movement they threw the foxfire at the stage and vanished from sight.

Scant seconds later, Mabel strolled back onto the stage in her main costume; a black leotard with a black waistcoat and a blazer in their signature blue, long tails sailing behind her, top hat crowning her lush brown hair. The children in the crowd cheered as Mabel produced a rabbit from her hat. She always opened with the usual party tricks to warm up the crowd for the real reality bending stunts.

A flock of white doves burst from behind her and flew into the rafters. Magic tricks were always more about where the audience wasn’t looking and Mabel quickly followed with a crowd favourite as every child found a chocolate behind their ear. No one noticed the dead doves falling limp in the rafters.

Mabel gave a gracious bow and sauntered offstage. Dipper met her in the wings, hands brushing as they passed each other.

The crowd cheered as Dipper took the stage, and performed some of his favourite card tricks.

“Is this your card, ma’am?”

“Yes!” As if anyone could truly be surprised by Dipper’s mastery of the art, he’d been performing it for years. Cards appeared in impossible places; under chairs, stuck to the soles of shoes, on the flat brims of ball caps, in drinks bought from the concession 20 minutes ago, even appearing directly in the hands of audience members, or floating gently down from the rafters on an invisible breeze.

Mabel signaled him from the wings he began to wrap up.

“For our next trick, we’ll need a brave volunteer from the audience,” he said. Hands shot up, waving eagerly.

“Who here, would like to fly?” Mabel asked, joining him on stage, her top hat discarded, blue jewel catching the light.

“Now, for legal reasons, you must be over the age of 18 to fly, or have a parents permission.” Dipper smiled. A wave of children looked to their parents. A few parents held their children aloft, hoping to have them chosen by the magicians. Like offerings.

Willing sacrifices. Mabel thought, zeroing in on a small boy, about 6, in his father’s arms. With a theatrical flick of her wrist, she lifted the boy into the air. The child shrieked with joy as Mabel tumbled him above the heads of the crowd. Dipper had a teenage girl suspended in the air, she gave all of her friends high fives as she drifted past them.

“There are no wires," Mabel repeated. “Only magic.” A few more people were floated over the crowd, and deposited gently in the center isle.

Pacifica was mesmerized. She had no idea how they did it. Gideon, who had insisted they sit in the very back, fumed next to her. On her other side, Soos clapped excitedly. Pacifica had hoped she'd get to sit next to Robbie, but things hadn't worked out that way.

“What you’re about to see is real, but it cannot hurt you," Dipper announced, adjusting his cape.

“We promise.” Mabel winked. She held out her hand, palm up. Dipper placed his hand over hers, palm up.

The illusion started small, a light in the twins’ hands that quickly expanded outward into a full scene of an opulent ballroom. Ghosts in tattered ballgowns and tuxedos waltzed around the room to unheard music. The crowd gasped and applauded. The twins performed a simple dance, their hands never separating. The illusion changed, becoming a bear wandering through the forest—the twins exaggeratedly shushed everyone, their hands still connected. A bird raced through the trees. The illusion changed again, becoming the deck of a ship in a storm. Silent winds raged around them, and the audience would swear they could feel the sting of the rain. The deck tilted sharply and Dipper stumbled, disconnecting from his sister’s hand. The illusion dissolved, leaving only the tent.

“That almost got a little dicey,” Mabel laughed, helping her brother back to his feet. “Let’s stay in the tent for a while.”

“You’re right. We’ve got plenty of other tricks we can do right here. But we’ll need another volunteer.”

Again, all the hands went up.

In the back, two hands remained resolutely down.

Pacifica Northwest and Gideon Pines, back again for the summer. They came to town every year, but Dipper could never remember seeing them in the Tent. With a smirk that was a little too dark for the stage, Dipper descended into the crowd. He didn’t look directly at Pacifica, but he felt the anxiety rolling off her in waves. He made a show of looking over the entire crowd for a volunteer, before arriving in front of Pacifica. Gideon stared at him, in what was probably an attempt at threatening. Dipper ignored him and offered his hand to Pacifica.

“Miss Northwest?”

She looked at him, nervously. The Northwest family had been major figures in the town, until they fell to ruin under...unclear circumstances. Or so Dipper’s extensive research into local folklore had told him. Pacifica always avoided him, as if she knew he wanted her secrets.

Two hands landed in his, Pacifica’s hesitant hand, and Gideon’s challenging grasp.

“Two volunteers, lovely!” Dipper beamed, taking them both up to the stage. The rest of the audience settled, a little disappointed.

Mabel pulled back a curtain to reveal an elaborately painted Wheel of Death, black with arcane designs—pentagrams, various styles of crosses, all seeing eyes—painted in their signature blue. Pacifica recoiled, but Dipper urged her forward.

When they reached the stage Mabel reached for Gideon anyway, leaving Pacifica to Dipper with a sly grin.

“While my sister prepares the Wheel of Death,” Dipper manifested a chair from thin air and sat Pacifica in it, “we’ll do a small psychic session.” Panic flooded Pacifica’s face, but with a small wave of his hand, he hid that from the audience behind an illusory mask of calm. “Now, Miss Northwest, don’t worry, I’m not going to read you, I’m going to open your mind’s eye and let you do the reading.” She looked skeptical, under her thick blonde fringe. Her hair was tied in a high ponytail with the same purple scrunchy he always saw her with. Her windbreaker had been out of style for years, but she never seemed to care. “Now you’re probably wondering how this is possible.” Dipper addressed the audience. “Aren’t the psychic arts incredibly hard to learn? Yes, but for one as powerful as myself, I can give someone temporary access to the realm of seeing. First, I’ll ask Miss Northwest a series of questions. Then, I’ll open her mind’s eye and ask again. Ready?”

The crowd cheered and Pacifica paled.

“What’s my favourite color?” Dipper asked. From somewhere behind Pacifica, the leather of the Wheel’s straps creaked.

“I don’t know. Blue?” Pacifica guessed.

Dipper didn't acknowledge her response, just continued with his questioning. “What was the name of Mrs. Jenkins’ first cat?”

“What? How would I even know that?” Pacifica threw her arms wide, gesturing incredulously.

“How many tacos did Soos steal from the Shack kitchen today?”

“What? Soos!” Gideon cried from behind him. Mabel tightened the strap a little harder than needed.

“Two,” Pacifica answered confidently.

Dipper smiled blandly, and took Pacifica’s hand in one of his own, his other hand pressed to her forehead. He took a deep breath and felt the energy gather around them. It was unbelievably easy to open someone's eyes to the unseen world, as simple as pulsing psychic energy through their skull, forcing the conduits open. Pacifica's mind offered no resistance, energy rushing through her as if the channels had been open, waiting. Dipper wiped away the calm illusion on her face and let the audience see Pacifica’s full panic as she looked around the tent, seeing things usually unseen. He let go of her hand, standing to his full height and paced across his half of the stage, commanding the space.

“What’s my favourite color?”

“Gold," she answered with certainty. She knew that to be the answer. She could probably see the wisps of Mabel’s golden aura leaking across the stage, he wondered if Pacifica would connect the dots. The way the gold mingled so fondly with his own green aura. Probably not. She seemed distracted, staring at her hands as she turned them over, back and forth, as if she'd never seen them before. In fairness, she'd never seen them surrounded in the swirling lilac aura she could see now.

“What was the name of Mrs. Jenkins’ first cat?” Dipper continued.

“Cupcake.”

“That’s right!” The woman cried from the crowd.

“How many tacos did Soos steal from the kitchen today?”

“Six.” She said, aghast, looking over the crowd, seeking the eyes of her traitorous (not quite) co-worker.

“And one more, just for fun: there’s a very nice lady here tonight, she and her husband just came from the doctor’s today. How many children are she and her husband having?”

Pacifica noticed the specifics of his wording and gave him a very pointed look.

“She’s having twins.”

In the crowd, Mrs. Browne gasped. Yes, correct. She was. Her husband wasn’t having any children, not really. Their attractive next door neighbor though...another story.

“Yes, twins, most auspicious. Speaking of twins, let’s see how mine is doing.” Dipper directed the crowd’s attention back to Mabel, who had Gideon strapped to the Wheel of Death, and stood on her marker, daggers glinting in the stage lights.

“Don’t worry, I’m a professional.” Mabel winked, flinging her first dagger. It landed near Gideon’s leg. He looked nervous, up there on the Wheel. Mabel threw four more daggers, all of them landing in different sections of the board. The crowd applauded and Mabel took an exaggerated bow.

“Dipper, if you would," Mabel invited.

Pacifica seemed rooted to her chair, so Dipper just left her there and strode over to the Wheel. He and Mabel paused for a few good photo opportunities, before he gave the Wheel a good spin. Gideon let out a sharp yelp when he began to invert. Mabel grinned, her face mostly turned away from the audience, so they couldn’t see the ruthlessness on her features. She flung daggers with practiced ease, and when her belt was empty, Dipper stopped the Wheel. The daggers formed a perfect halo around Gideon’s head and the audience clamored to see more.

“More? But I’m out of knives.” Mabel gave an exaggerated shrug. The crowd, knowing this game very well, was not dissuaded. So Mabel walked over to her brother and pulled a deck of cards from his pocket. Their gaze locked for a moment and they smiled warmly to each other, before Mabel skipped away, holding the cards aloft to the delight of the crowd.

Dipper’s attention snapped back to Pacifica, pulled by a pulse of horror in the psychic plane. The blonde looked at him with the full distress of Knowing. She was sharper than the others. He tried to ignore the creeping suspicion that bringing her on stage had been a mistake.

“Ahem, Dipper," Mabel called. He refocused on his sister, who motioned impatiently for him to spin the Wheel again.

“Oh right,” he mumbled and again sent it spinning. The crowd had a modest laugh at his mistake, and then Mabel unleashed the cards.

When she held the final card between her fingers, Dipper stopped the Wheel, letting the audience appreciate the precise placement of the cards lodged into the board, before she let the final one fly. It landed next to Gideon's face. A little too close, grazing his cheek. Not enough to bleed, but enough to sting.

The crowd erupted with cheers. Mabel offered a few quick curtsies before helping Gideon down from the Wheel. Dipper returned to Pacifica, pulling her up and taking the chair, heaving it over his head and out into the crowd, where it evaporated into a fine mist mid-flight. The four of them took positions front and center and bowed. Gideon and Pacifica needed some gentle coaching, but Mabel and Dipper, arms around each other and show smiles in place performed perfectly.

The two volunteers were released back into the crowd and the curtain fell.

Luminous house lights and the chatter of an excited crowd flooded the tent.

Mabel's stage demeanor fell away, stony frown replacing her show smile, she let go of Dipper’s waist and strode off the stage, her solid block heels clicking with severity.

“Mabel?” He hurried after her, concerned. She was usually in such a good mood after shows, for her to be upset was upsetting to him as well.

“We only have a few rules, Dipper,” she snapped, wheeling around to face him as he caught up to her. “We don’t use our powers on each other.” She held up one finger for emphasis. “We don’t do anything that might expose the source of our powers.” Another finger. “And we don’t bring anyone we have a crush on into the show.” A third finger.

“What?” Dipper asked, confused and vaguely offended.

“Miss Northwest?” Mabel mocked.

Dipper grabbed her wrist, “Let’s take this to the office dressing room,” he urged. Stage crew would be moving about backstage soon, and no one else needed to see this.

“Fine.” Mabel snatched her wrist back from her brother, but headed toward the office without complaint.

“It’s really not what you think, Mabel,” Dipper implored once the door was closed behind them.

“Oh yeah? You were so captivated by her you missed your cue.” She crossed her arms.

“I’m sorry, it was an accident, honestly.” Mabel didn’t look convinced. “I felt her attention in the psychic plane, and it distracted me. She’s sharper than most.”

“Why was she so focused on you?”

“Because I was so focused on you.”

“What?” Mabel paused. “You think she knows?”

“It’s a safe bet.” Dipper stepped forward, brushing Mabel’s hair back behind her ear. “She’s got a knack for the psychic stuff it seems, and we’re not subtle.” Dipper let out a small defeated laugh and pressed his lips to Mabel’s. She kissed him back eagerly, arms wrapping around his neck. They were both sweaty and tired and exhilarated from being on stage, and the feel of her brother’s body pressed against hers, heat rolling off of him so familiar and comforting she set aside her frustration and the implications of what Dipper had just told her for a moment and simply enjoyed the taste of him.

He backed her up to her vanity, giving her something to lean against as he kissed down her neck. The mouse was silent in its cage, long dead from the poisoned cheese. Dipper hooked her leg over his hip, pushing their bodies closer together.

“How much of a threat do you think she is?” Mabel gasped. Back to business then. Dipper pulled back, and Mabel rested her head on his shoulder.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “She’s not like us, but I don't think she's an aspiring social climber. I don’t think she’ll talk.”

“Even if she does, I think we can weather any scandal. This town loves us. And if Miss Northwest has an ill-fated encounter in the forest, well," Mabel shrugged, "she’s just another statistic. Happens to the summer kids sometimes. Usually one or two each year.”

“Let’s not get too hasty."

“If you keep defending her, I might not believe you aren’t interested in her," she pouted.

“I’m not.” Dipper rolled his eyes, tipping her chin up to kiss her again. “You know it’s a silly rule, because I’ll never want anyone except you.”

Mabel offered him a bashful smile and pulled her brother in for another kiss.

Chapter 3: Assistant’s Revenge

There was no revelations from Pacifica the following day, or the day after. It seemed that the whole incident would amount to nothing. While Mabel commended herself for her abundance of caution, the Telepathy Twins shows went ahead as scheduled. All the seats in the tent sold out, cheers exuberant and applause deafening.

Mabel and Dipper exited the tent, flushed with the excitement of a show well done. They'd performed classics such as sawing people in half, floating babies in giant soap bubbles, and pick-pocketing no less than $1200 cash and 14 credit cards. No hiccups, no mishaps. The chattering of the oblivious crowd filtered through the air as they streamed out into the deserted streets of the sleepy town. Around the back of the tent, behind the 'restricted area' signs and illusion that hid the pavilion, it was quiet. Mabel swung her arms and kicked at pebbles on the gravel path as they approached the waiting Town Car. A shadow rushed from the darkness, heading directly for them. Dipper instantly moved in front of his sister, hand resting on her hip protectively.

"Telepathy Twins! Can I get a statement? What's wrong with this town? Is it ley lines? Is there any truth to the reports of unmarked mass graves in the woods? What about the cult that used to live in your house? Did you really make a pact with the devil from the bible?" the man cried, shoving a camera toward them. 'Man' was perhaps a bit of an overstatement. He was more of a gangly teen, with an iPhone in a handheld gimbal, flash on, recording. Another out-of-towner, come to investigate the town for his 4 youtube subscribers. The boy kept his eyes fixed on Mabel.

"No comment," Dipper growled, striking the boy with his shoulder as he stalked away, lifting his wallet in the process.

"Ow. What the fuck dude?" the boy whined.

"Don't mind my brother," Mabel stepped forward, batting her eyelashes, "he's so short tempered when he's tired." She draped an arm around the boy's neck, fingers on her other hand walking over his chest. "Why don't we go somewhere a little more…scenic?"

Mabel and the boy stumbled into the woods, she giggled and turned off his camera. "You don't make those kinds of films, right?" she teased. The boy excitedly pressed her against the thick trunk of a tree, kissing her with too much tongue and not enough grace. She went along with it, not that she needed to do much, the boy so self absorbed he didn't even notice she wasn't kissing him back. He pawed clumsily at her, unbuttoning her waistcoat before faltering with the smaller buttons on her blouse. She just watched over his shoulder, searching for the shadow of her brother between the trees, the telltale glint of metal in the dappled moonlight.

A curved sword blade burst from the boy's abdomen in a spray of blood, splattering over Mabel's clothing. The sword pushed further, nicking her chest before Dipper pulled the boy away, tossing him unceremoniously onto the forest floor. The impaled boy writhed, gasping and choking as blood poured from his mouth. He definitely had at least one punctured lung. Mabel spit and dragged the back of her hand over her own mouth, smudging the last of her lipstick.

"You hit me," she pouted, coming to stand next to her brother. It was a small wound, shallow and barely bleeding. She captured a few drops of blood on her finger tip and held it out to her brother as proof. He sucked her finger greedily into his mouth. "Apology accepted," she hummed, pulling her finger away from his eager tongue with a wet pop. His head dipped to her chest, licking the blood from the wound itself. Mabel hummed in pleasure, and then tangled her fingers into her brother's hair, pulling him away from her chest. A red smear stained his bottom lip, and she kissed it away.

"I hate watching anyone else touch you," he whispered. "It's always the worst part." He popped the buttons of her blouse open deftly, as if he did it all the time.

"I don't enjoy it anymore than you do, but it's such an effective method." His hands slipped into her shirt, callouses dragging over her soft abdomen. She pulled him down into a kiss. "No one can compare to you."

"I know," he said, hands squeezing her breasts over her bra.

"You really wanna do this now?" she giggled. The boy gurgled on the ground behind them. Dipper's answer was to reach under her skirt and tear her nylon pantyhose. He kissed her hard and she unbuckled his belt. With the same practiced ease of their stage show, they moved together. Her legs over his hips, arms around his neck, his hands on her hips, her back against the tree. The slick sounds of sex filled the tiny forest clearing, slapping flesh and wet kisses. On the ground, the boy groaned. Mabel moaned, letting her head loll back. The pale flesh of her neck an invitation her brother was only too eager to take, kissing and sucking over delicate pulse points. The light scrape of his teeth unavoidable in the midst of frantic thrusting. Her back arched off the tree as the tension pulled tight inside her, "Fuckfuckfuckfuck yes! Dipper, oh fuck, Dipper, I love you. I love you," she panted as the tension frayed. Dipper finished quickly, grunting promises of more when they got home, punctuated with sharp, hard thrusts.

Foreheads rested together, hot, gasping breaths mingling in the cool night air, they stared into each other's eyes.

"I love you too," Dipper whispered. Mabel placed a hand on his chest, feeling his racing heart under her palm.

"I know." She kissed him, slow and tender. He set her feet on the ground, tidying himself from their quick woodland tryst, while never breaking from the kiss.

"Now then!" Mabel straightened her clothing and fluffed her hair. "I hope you haven't damaged the pancreas." She looked behind her brother, where the boy had fallen. But he wasn't there. She refused to panic, smothering the burning wave rising inside of her. He couldn't have gotten far. Only a few feet in fact, crawling on hands and knees, before the sword that protruded from his chest had become lodged in the dirt. His limbs shook, weak with blood loss and shock. Ironically, the sword was the only thing keeping him from collapsing into the forest mulch.

Mabel loomed over him, and the boy issued a weak, pained gurgle.

"Your tenacity would be adorable, if it weren't so pathetic." She took the sword hilt in both hands and twisted. The boy cried out, and then went still. A sharp yank freed the sword from the ground, and a little shake had the body sliding off the blade, flopping into the dirt.

Mabel busied herself with dissecting the corpse, using the sword along with the set of knives she kept holstered around her waist. Vital organs were bundled into her jacket, drenching the beautiful blue fabric in blood. No amount of peroxide would ever be able to remove the stains, but no one was concerned with that.

Dipper found the boys discarded iPhone, reviewing the recent videos. It was the same nonsense that most people filmed about the town; lingering shots of the welcome sign, 'freaky' deer behaving like deer next to the highway(city people were so disconnected from nature), shots of the Tent with a breathy voiceover recapping the sensational stories about the Twins; that they'd made blood sacrifices to the devil for their powers, or they were aliens, or über rich frauds who worked for the New World Order and/or the Illuminati. There was a full recording of that evenings show, which—other than the videographer's obvious fixation on Mabel's nylon covered thighs—had nothing wrong with it. They allowed people to record their shows, encouraged it even. 'It's free marketing,' Great-uncle Stanford always said. There was nothing substantial in the camera roll. Except the final video, where Mabel lead the boy into the woods with a flirty smile. Dipper deleted that final video, ensured it couldn't be recovered, and checked for any other red flags. The last phone call had been nearly a week before, to a contact named 'Sam Weedman'. No texts to or from parents or significant others in the last few days either. A real loner. Social media revealed an inconsistent posting schedule, low engagement, and a 5 minute long 'Bigfoot hunting' livestream from the day before. Dipper sighed, it was like playing on easy mode with guys like this. A flash of blue foxfire raced over the phone, burning off any incriminating finger prints, and Dipper hurled the phone further into the trees. Just another tourist lost after a night in the woods. Happened all the time.

---

The day after the youtuber disappeared (but long before his disappearance would be discovered), it was sweltering. Gravity Falls’ climate was so temperate, that the rare day above 90 ground the entire town to a halt. Everyone with any sense would be at the lake, or the pool.

Whereas Gideon and Pacifica, clearly lacking in sense, were panting and drenched in sweat, standing in front of the imposing Roccoco façade of Aurelian Manor.

Pacifica had refused to get out of bed for days after their field trip to the Tent of Telepathy, hiding under the covers, curtains drawn. Gideon had come by everyday, but he couldn't coax her out of her blanket cocoon. When she was younger she would 'go to Sweatertown' when she was upset—which was just a whimsical way of saying she pulled clothing over her head and dissociated. Gideon thought she'd outgrown it, but maybe she just got better at hiding it. When he next visited, Pacifica was in the shower. Her aunt gave Gideon a plate of cookies and thanked him for looking after Pacifica so well. He ate cookies glumly and didn't tell her that he was doing a terrible job. Halfway through an episode of The Widdlest Wampire (Recut for Serialized TV With No New Content (I'm sorry, the executives won't greenlight anything that isn't a reboot or remake, I just need to feed my family)), Pacifica bounded down the stairs, damp hair held up in an iridescent purple scrunchie. She jammed a handful of cookies into her mouth, and demanded they go straight to the Gleeful's mansion. Never mind that it required hiking up a winding private road in a heatwave, she would not be deterred.

Aurelian Manor sat on the very edge of town, nestled into the forest, locked behind an imposing wrought iron gate. It had been built in the '70s, but designed to look much older, invoking the grand estates of late imperial Europe. The imposingly tall façade was painted a familiar blue, dotted with innumerable tall windows framed with towering white columns, all capped in gilded ornaments. A massive ornate fountain sat beyond the gate—triangular basin carved from white marble with three triangular tiers supported by carved human figures depicted in either supplication or revelry—an unsettling centerpiece of the circuitous stone driveway. Ostentatious and overblown, just like the Gleeful family, Gideon thought.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Gideon said, shaking drops of sweat from his hair and resetting his hat. Pacifica didn't answer, just stared up at a window on the fourth floor. Gideon followed her gaze, but saw nothing. Did the curtain flutter? He wasn't sure but it made him feel uneasy. "People tell stories about this house, they say it's haunted."

Pacifica stared up at that fourth storey window. A man stood there watching them, his head cradled in his hands, his neck little more than a bloody stump. "It is," she said.

Chapter 4: Coins Through the Table

Mabel and Dipper started the day in the Manor's expansive garden, rehearsing the final script for the autumn show. Once the morning mist had burnt off and the oppressive heat set in, they retired to the pool. Dipper floated serenely on his back in the water, amulet hanging from a chain around his neck; and Mabel, headband in place, sat on the pool edge legs in the water, while a folding hand fan—suspended in the air as if by magic—waved a small breeze over her.

“Um, hi?” Pacifica called, rounding a hedge. Gideon followed close behind, glancing nervously over his shoulder like he expected something to jump out and attack him.

Immediately Dipper was out of the water. Mabel snatched the fan out of the air, moving to stand next to her brother. Gideon looked at them, Mabel in her blue one-piece swimsuit with a long black lace coverup, Dipper in his matching blue swim trunks and wondered if they ever wore a different color. Pacifica knew that they didn’t.

“I hope I don’t have to tell you that our home is private property," Mabel snipped, waving her fan in agitation.

“The maid let us in,” Gideon countered.

Dipper snorted, “She should know better.” Somehow, even sopping wet he was still intimidating.

“We told her that we were your friends," Gideon added.

"She should definitely know better," Dipper said.

“I may have...blackmailed her a bit.” Pacifica blushed.

“How did you do that?” Mabel asked, blue eyes alight with curiosity. She stepped toward Pacifica, studying her.

Pacifica shuffled back, trying to avoid Mabel's scrutiny. “She’s hiding from her husband, I sort of lied and implied I might know him.”

“And how would you know that?” Mabel asked. The Gleefuls, of course, knew that. Stanford, always with a nose for a deal, had arranged a new identity for the young runaway, in exchange for her new signature on a twenty year indenture contract. The twins would inherit any time left in the indenture, in the event Stanford died before it expired. Mabel fanned herself as she circled their guests. Gideon watched her nervously.

“You did this to me!" Pacifica pointed aggressively at Dipper.

Mabel smacked her hand with the fan. "It's rude to point."

Pacifica rubbed her stinging hand, but wasn't deterred. “You made me see things in the show, and I can still see them.”

The twins stilled. The jovial curiosity drained from Mabel’s face and she looked back at her brother, worried.

“This has never happened before,” Dipper conceded. “Usually the eye closes before the next morning.”

“It’s been days!” Pacifica cried “The things I’ve seen...” she trailed off.

Mabel snorted, “We know, believe me, we do.” Her fan closed with an echoing snap, so loud it made Gideon jump. Mabel looked at him with annoyance, and then she noticed the red scratch on his cheek. “Oh, did I get a little too close with my card?” she asked, leaving Pacifica and moving to place a delicate hand on Gideon’s cheek. “I do apologize.” Gideon smacked her hand away before she could touch him. Mabel's lips pursed and her entire demeanor soured. “Our show was a little off because of a rogue psychic," she bit out, attention shifting back to Pacifica.

“Please, I just want this to stop,” Pacifica pleaded. She looked worn down, dusky bags under her eyes, high ponytail slanted off center, the subtle dishevelment betraying her distress.

Mabel looked back to Dipper and a silent conversation was held, so subtly that even Pacifica couldn’t understand it.

“Have Beatrice bring tea—and yourselves—to the study," Mabel said, and then looked over the sweaty state of their guests, her lip curling in disgust. “Feel free to throw yourselves in the pool first. We’ll be down once we’ve dressed.” She sighed, and strode into the house without looking back. Her brother followed, but not before giving Pacifica and Gideon a measured look of warning.

“Are you sure asking them for help is the best choice?” Gideon asked.

“I’m sure,” Pacifica said resolutely, taking a fortifying moment to adjust her scrunchie before heading for the house.

Mabel flounced into the study wearing a blue sundress and a long sleeved black shawl. Her brother followed, in black shorts and a blue collared shirt, his amulet on a simple black bolo tie. A pitcher of iced tea with lemon slices sat in the center of the table. Pacifica and Gideon perched awkwardly on wing back chairs.

“Lovely,” Mabel mused, pouring herself a glass of tea. “Please, help yourselves.” She relaxed into her own chair and her brother poured three glasses before taking his seat.

“Did you know," Dipper started, “that the Northwest family was heavily involved in the founding and early governing of Gravity Falls?” Pacifica looked uncomfortable. Mabel drew her knees up to her chin. “Then, after only 80 years, the Northwest fortune evaporated, and many of the family left the area entirely.”

“I know my family history," Pacifica soured.

“Then you know that the town was founded by a cabal of seers, and something caused the Northwests falling out with and subsequent expulsion from this group.” Her face told him that she hadn’t known that. “In all my research, I haven’t been able to find out what happened, but the fact of the matter is that psychic powers have historically run deep in the Northwest family.”

“Why are you researching my family?” Pacifica asked, voice shaking.

“I’m not. I’m researching the history of this area, it just happens that your family are key players for a brief period of time.”

“Why are you researching the area?” Gideon challenged.

“There’s powerful forces in this valley, I want access to that power.” Simple. To the point.

“Well I don’t,” Pacifica interjected. “I want this to go away.”

“You’ve been given a gift,” Mabel sighed. “Something most magic practitioners have to train years to achieve.” Jealousy colored the edges of her words. She didn’t have a natural knack for seeing the unseen, her skills trended more toward telekinesis. It made sense, Dipper was always more of the thinker, she the doer, but she didn’t like being second to anyone, let alone third.

“I don’t want to be like you,” Pacifica snapped. And then demurred. "Sorry." She hadn't meant it to sound so harsh. She was just exhausted, she couldn't remember the last time she'd slept through the night.

Mabel huffed and turned in her seat, throwing her bare legs over the armrest. Dipper, instinctively, reached over and ran his thumb over his sister’s ankle.

Immediately, the twins’ attention snapped back to Pacifica. Dipper pulled his hand away, as if burned. Pacifica blinked cluelessly for a few seconds, before understanding bloomed over her features.

“Oh," she bleated a sharp, surprised laugh. “Look, I could pretend I’m going to blackmail you unless you help me,” she looked directly at Dipper, “but you’d see right through me. We all know that’s a losing battle. I don’t care about your weird...thing. What happens in Gravity Falls and all that, but I’m going back to the Everglades in a few weeks, I can't bring this with me.”

The twins shared a significant look. Their magic show empire was supported by (and ensnared in) a complex web of secrets, and if any of those secrets were to become known, the entire structure could collapse. The most foundational and closely guarded of all their secrets was that they had no magical powers of their own, everything relied on the amulets. The amulets were more then serviceable, but they had their limitations. Namely, that they didn't work outside of Gravity Falls and its little patch of Oregon forest. They'd tried to take the show on tour once, and they'd been reduced to nothing but teenagers with card tricks and pretty baubles. Pacifica had real power, artificially awakened, yes, but inborn and organic. They couldn't even begin to predict if her psychic abilities were geographically influenced, and even to give her that false assurance would open a path to speculation they didn't want to risk.

"Are you guys doing, like, a twin telepathy thing?" Gideon asked.

The twins too blue eyes slid, in perfect sync, to look at him. "Just a regular telepathy thing," Mabel said. Gideon convinced himself that the shiver that ran up his spine was just because the air conditioning had chilled his sweaty shirt, and not that he was…actually scared of her, or anything.

“I’ve never tried to close an eye before,” Dipper admitted.

“Surely, an important skill we should develop," Mabel sipped her tea, deliberately looking nowhere in particular.

Dipper set his glass on the coaster and stood. Pacifica looked nervous, and Gideon reached across to take her hand. She smiled at him appreciatively and ignored Mabel’s scoff across the table. Dipper took her other hand, and just like in the tent, placed a hand on her head. He took a deep breath and Pacifica watched the vivid blue energy pour from the amulet at his neck, enveloping them. So that was how it worked. Gradually the energy dissipated and Dipper quirked an eyebrow up at her. Pacifica sighed, still seeing the tendrils of blue energy clinging to him, and shook her head.

“Dammit,” Mabel muttered, slamming her glass down and exiting the study in a huff.

“We shouldn’t have come," Gideon said, standing.

“She’s getting something to help,” Pacifica said, looking at the closed door Mabel had disappeared through. Gideon reluctantly sat down. Dipper chuckled, returning to his own seat.

“It’s a shame you don’t want these powers, you’re a natural.” He picked up his tea again. Pacifica didn’t answer.

Mabel returned clutching the red journal and placed it delicately on the table, a six fingered hand shone on the cover with a thick black ‘3’ written on the center.

“This journal catalogues many of the strange creatures in and around Gravity Falls, hopefully we can find something to help you,” Mabel said, sitting on the floor and flipping open the cover.

Pacifica nudged Gideon, who reluctantly pulled open his knapsack and pulled out a matching red journal, numbered ‘2’.

“If not in that one, then in this one,” Gideon said, avoiding eye contact with anyone in the room. Mabel and Dipper exchanged surprised looks and then grinned. Pacifica tried to ignore the comparison to hungry carnivores that entered her thoughts unbidden.

They settled into work.

“Here!” Mabel said excitedly, pointing to a page in her journal.

“A talking bobcat?” Gideon asked, skeptically.

“Lynx are traditionally linked to clairvoyance in many folklore traditions all over the world,” Dipper said, taking the journal from his sister and slouching in his armchair as he read. “There we go.” He flipped the book around for the others to see, pointing at a passage written in clear script

The Lynx has roamed these woods for eons, offering insight and prophesy for those who seek it out

“Perfect!” Mabel beamed, leaping to her feet. “We just have to find this Lynx and it can help you!”

“Yeah!” Pacifica jumped up, equally as excited.

“Not to be a Debbie Downer, but I don’t want to go hiking in this heat,” Gideon said. Everyone paused, silently agreeing.

“I can wait until tomorrow,” Pacifica said. “It’s a bit late to head out today, anyway.” Agreement went around the room and Gideon stood.

“So we’ll meet tomorrow.” He was so eager to leave.

Dipper set the journal back on the table. “Yes, bring sturdy shoes and protein rich snacks.” He began collecting empty glasses onto the tray.

“Gideon.” The boy jumped as Mabel addressed him, possibly the first time she’d done so without malice. She picked up the third journal, and held it out to him. “I propose an exchange, for the evening, you can read up on the Lynx, or anything else that catches your fancy, and we can do the same with your volume.” Earnestness warred with deviousness in her tone, and Dipper supposed even she didn’t know exactly where her motivations landed.

Gideon looked to Pacifica, hoping for an out, but his cousin just nodded encouragingly toward Mabel’s outstretched arms. Gideon hesitantly held the book out, and quickly snatched the third journal to his chest, as if afraid Mabel would simply grab both and run away. If his behaviour offended her in anyway, she didn’t let on, simply took the second journal and paged idly through it.

“I wonder where the first journal is. We found that one hidden in a secret compartment in the woods,” Mabel mused, peeking up at Gideon, asking for his input.

“Um, that one was buried next to the elementary school. I liked treasure hunting when I was young, so when my parents took me to the playground, I would just run around with a metal detector. All the metal embellishments on the cover set it off."

"Is the merman real?" Pacifica asked excitedly.

"Everything in the journals is real," Dipper said, "but some of them are dead." Pacifica's face fell. The merman was dead. Dipper had made sure of that, after Mermando had tried to use him as an incubator for his clutch of mer-eggs.

"I always thought it was a hoax, like there was only one but it was labeled '2' to make you think there were others. It just seemed so over the top," Gideon admitted.

"Just because your father peddles hoaxes doesn't mean the rest of us do," Mabel said offhandedly. Seeing Gideon's irritation, Pacifica stepped in.

"Do you think there’s a fourth? A fifth even?”

“Unlikely. There’s blank pages at the end of 3, and it ends quite abruptly.” Mabel’s eyes caught a page that interested her quite a lot, but she kept her face carefully impassive and kept flipping.

“Alright, we’ll see you tomorrow morning at the Trembley Trailhead,” Pacifica confirmed, grabbing Gideon by the wrist and pulling him toward the door.

“Should one of us show them out?” Mabel asked, staring at the closing door.

“Pacifica can manage,” Dipper dismissed.

“This is quite a lucky break,” Mabel said, returning to her floor seat, and flipping through the journal.

"That Gideon Pines brought the journal we had no idea where to even start looking for right to us?" Dipper sat back in his chair, peering down at the book.

"Yes, and that he's such a skeptic." Mabel flipped to the page with the header ‘Mystic Amulets’, which included diagrams of their favourite accessories. “According to this, the amulets were buried about 20 feet from the journal, but he only found one.”

“How nice of him to leave them for us.”

“He probably took these warnings about soul corrosion and hair whitening seriously,” Mabel laughed, pointing to the page.

“Do you think he’s figured it out?” Dipper asked, eyes skimming the description.

“Pacifica definitely has,” Mabel dismissed. Dipper raised an eyebrow, inviting her to elaborate. “She was staring at your amulet when you tried to close her eye.”

“Of course she could see that. I didn’t even think about it,” Dipper admitted. He'd been careless, that would have to be corrected.

“I’m not worried. She'll accept any explanation we give her, call it a 'focus' or something, she'll let it go. Gideon doesn't want to know, if that changes, so will our approach.” Mabel flipped to a new page.

“Do you trust them?” Dipper asked with poorly concealed interest.

“Trust no one,” Mabel recited, "but I know where the power lies in this arrangement, and it’s with us.” Trust no one. A mantra taken from Journal 3 that had served them well during their time in Gravity Falls. "Dipper, look!" She pointed excitedly to a diagram of the top-hatted triangle demon that had been dominating his thoughts. "You were right that 3's entry was a continuation."

"Triangulum entangulum? What a lame incantation."

"Oooh Dipper wants to get entangled with a triangle! BillxDipper!" Mabel gasped. "Bipper." He smacked her head playfully. A knock sounded on the study door and Mabel quickly tucked the journal under her skirt.

Beatrice poked her head into the study. “Master Stanford is wondering if you’ll be taking dinner in the dining room this evening.”

The twins were rarely home for dinner, preferring to spend their evenings at the Tent. Stanford ate in the formal dining room every evening, even though they never had guests. He just liked the overblown ritual of it. Thankfully, he stopped short of enforcing any sort of dress code.

“Great-uncle,” Dipper greeted, taking his seat to the left of the head chair. Stanford Gleeful was an old man—gruff and boxy with square glasses and fingers full of gold rings—who had made his fortune during the Vegas heyday back when all the casinos were owned by the mob. Naive people believed he'd been lucky, skeptics believed he'd been a card counter. He chose to not clarify that he hadn't made his fortune at the tables. Despite rumors that he was a polygamist, Stanford had never married and had no children of his own; besides a few staff and the ghosts in the North wing, he lived entirely alone. He'd been content to remain that way, until he was promised significant tax breaks for taking in his nephew's 'high needs' children. The twins had been ten years old, blacklisted from the Texas foster system, and steps from state institutionalization when a social worker dropped them off at the opulent, isolated mansion nestled in the woods.

“I hear you had friends over today,” Stanford cut straight to the point, jamming another piece of steak into his mouth.

“Associates, rather," Mabel supplied, pouring herself a glass of red wine.

No place set for her for meals, a stinging slap when she reached for the serving spoon, Dipper sneaking his uneaten second portions to her, stomach punched until she threw up, ungrateful, unworthy, undeserving…

There were always places set for the twins when Stanford took meals, despite their lackluster attendance. They had arrived to empty places once, and Dipper had put a salad fork through Beatrice's forearm about it. She never neglected to set dishes out for them ever again.

“I don’t care what you kids do, as long as you don’t jeopardize the show.” Great-uncle Stanford was a hands-off sort of guardian, which suited the twins just fine.

“We would never,” Dipper assured, pouring his own glass of wine. “The Tent is of the utmost importance to us.”

“Good.” Stanford chewed and swallowed. “You know, it might be a good idea to appear more relatable to the local kids. Apparently they like to spend their money on 'authentic experiences'.” He slid easily into shop talk and Mabel and Dipper chimed in and agreed at the appropriate moments.

For the finale of the show that night they'd played 'Find the Mabel', a frenetic interactive game where Mabel ran through the tent and Dipper tried to guess which patron she was hiding behind. The patrons always gave Dipper the answer, but Mabel was never there when called upon, disappearing in front of their eyes, and appearing on the opposite side of the crowd, or up in the rafters, or from behind Dipper on stage. The game was a crowd favourite that always netted a lot of online chatter, and pawnable pickpocketed jewelry.

Notes:

Merry...Christmas? I guess.

Chapter 5: Clearly Impossible

Morning arrived earlier than Pacifica would have liked. It seemed like she had just fallen asleep when Gideon arrived at the door. By the time they made it to the trailhead she had only just managed to emerge from her zombie-like morning daze. Mabel and Dipper were already there, dressed in stylish moisture wicking long sleeved shirts (of course in their signature blue), amulets clipped to the belt loops of tactical looking black cargo shorts, and top of the line hiking boots. Pacifica smiled at them earnestly, and Gideon looked apprehensive. Mabel greeted them and handed the borrowed Journal 2 back to Gideon.

“You’re done with it already?” He seemed surprised.

“I didn’t want to strain your goodwill.” Mabel smiled. Dipper had been up late into the night photocopying and annotating pages while Mabel dozed nearby. The twins felt that holding the second journal any longer was unnecessary.

“It’s a long hike to the Lynx’s territory, so we better get going.” Dipper said, the impatient edge in his voice sending a clear message. Gideon swung his pack down, removing Journal 3 and giving it back to Mabel, who tucked it into her brother’s pack. Then, Mabel giggled and started onto the trail, running a flirtatious finger along her brother’s jaw as she passed. Gideon looked nervously to Pacifica, who just shrugged and set off down the trail after the twins.

They’d been walking for no more than 20 minutes when Pacifica suggested they play a game.

“I’m not playing I-Spy,” Mabel snapped.

“No, no. I think you’ll like this one. It plays to our strengths,” Pacifica assured. Gideon tugged on her sleeve, a warning. “It’s called ‘Fortunately/Unfortunately’. Gideon and I will obviously be team ‘Fortunately’, and you just have to come up with an ‘Unfortunately’ counter to our statements.”

“I’m listening,” Mabel conceded.

“Fortunately, the weather is cooler today," Pacifica said.

“Unfortunately, I still have heat rash from yesterday," Dipper soured.

“Fortunately, you can magic that away,” Gideon piped up.

“Unfortunately, it doesn’t work like that," Mabel laughed.

“Fortunately, statements in this game don’t have to be true,” Pacifica smiled.

“Unfortunately, you’ll find my dear brother lacks creativity.”

“Fortunately, the scenery is beautiful,” Gideon jumped in, hoping to prevent Dipper from growing aggravated.

“Unfortunately, it’s infested with gnomes," Dipper said.

“Fortunately, I think a leaf blower could launch them into the stratosphere." Pacifica held up a finger, like she'd just solved the greatest scientific mystery of her generation.

“Unfortunately, none of us packed a leaf blower,” Dipper again.

“Fortunately, we have telekinetic powers!” Mabel gestured excitedly to herself and Dipper.

“She took our turn!” Gideon protested.

“Unfortunately, there’s two of you, and 87 gnomes.” Pacifica kept going, without missing a beat.

“Fortunately, I never leave home without a full set of knives,” Mabel countered.

“Unfor—” Dipper started, but all four stilled when a commotion sounded in the trees next to them, something that sounded like dozens of small bodies careening through the bush.

“Did that sound like it was... running away?” Gideon asked, and they all looked at each other, hesitant.

“I’d like to change my statement,” Dipper said, primly. “Fortunately, we’ve scared them off.” Pacifica tried to hold back a laugh, and failed, snorting out her laughter. Mabel joined her, both laughing heartily. Dipper stood, grinning, quite pleased with himself.

“Unfortunately, that won’t be the only threat in these woods,” Gideon said, part game, part serious.

“Fortunately, we’re the scariest thing around.” Mabel, show smile in place, paraded for Gideon and Pacifica. Dipper caught her gaze, and her expression shifted, just slightly, and he knew she really believed it.

The fell into an amiable rhythm, playing Pacifica’s game, no longer on teams, just shouting out whatever came to mind.

“Fortunately, I’m an alien and your human telepathy won’t work on my alien physiology,” Gideon countered some outrageous point from Pacifica.

“Unfortunately, your alien physiology can’t digest human food, and you’re starving to death on this planet.” Dipper.

“Fortunately, we have alien rations from when your advanced scouts crashed.” Mabel.

“Unfortunately, I’ll have to cooperate to get them," Gideon finished, and they all laughed. Pacifica had greatly misjudged their 'strengths', as she put it, because Gideon was far more dour than she gave him credit for. Mabel, meanwhile, could make even an empty glass half full…though it was sometimes best to ignore what she filled it with.

“Look!” Pacifica hissed, throwing an arm out to stop their advance. Dipper and Mabel both fell into defensive stances. They didn’t sense anything, which was almost more unnerving. Pacifica pointed eagerly.

A young doe stood in the trees, just off the trail, foraging on low lying foliage with heavy wheezing huffs. Pacifica and Gideon smiled, and Dipper let himself relax. Until he noticed Mabel was still tense next to him, licking her lips and turning a blue spectral knife over and over in her hand. With a simple thought, Dipper snapped a twig he spotted next to Pacifica's foot. The deer startled, its head swinging up to search for the source of the sound.

Or its heads, rather. Like so many animals in the surrounding forests, it was malformed. A second head was conjoined to the side of its face, bursting from a neck little more than a lumpy tumor, boneless and parasitic. The second head tilted at an unnatural angle, mouth not quite able to close, eyes turned ever skyward, seeking a heaven it would not be permitted to enter.

"Jesus Christ!" Pacifica cried, leaping back. Dipper put out an arm to catch her before she got too close to Mabel's knife. The deer bolted into the trees.

"I told you," Gideon chided, "there's industrial waste in the river! Causes defects in the animals. I suspect in the people also. You don't drink the tap water, right?"

"We've got some real messed up gators back home, but it just seemed so peaceful," Pacifica said, hand on her heaving chest.

Mabel nodded to her brother, and disappeared into the trees.

“Let’s keep moving.” Dipper nudged Pacifica forward.

She startled again, realizing his arm was bracketing her shoulders. She took one step and then slipped a nervous look back at him. “Mabel?”

“She’ll catch up. Just needs a few minutes," he assured her, easily. They carried on. Pacifica and Gideon chattered about the statistically significant occurrence of malformed animals. Dipper made sure to stay in Pacifica's peripheral vision, while slowly increasing the paces between them. She glanced over her shoulder at him repeatedly, before letting herself slowly fall into step with him.

"I’m surprised you don’t have more questions,” Dipper said, filling the silence that Pacifica left while she struggled to find something to open the conversation.

“About what?” she asked. There were genuinely so many questions she didn't know where to start. A sharp, intentional, thought punctured her mind. “Oh, your relationship with your sister.” So low on her list, but his self-centered interest made sense. “Not my business. You both seem into it, so I'm staying out of it.”

“That's a stunningly open minded position.”

"I'm hiking up a mountain in hopes of becoming more closed minded," Pacifica chuckled. "It doesn't make sense to me. She's so…intense, but you clearly love her a lot."

“No, I suppose it wouldn't make sense to you. There's a lot you don't know."

"And yet, so much that I know against my will," Pacifica groused.

"Yet you can’t see the past. There’s nothing mystic about the past, just facts about events that occurred.”

“But Mrs. Jenkins’ cat?” Pacifica asked, genuinely shocked. Dipper laughed.

“I ask the question out loud to trigger her memory, so you can read the fresh thought. Thoughts are unseen, therefore you can access them, and the future is in flux, so you can see it’s potential,” he explained. Fascinating…

“So if I asked you a question and made you think about something..?”

“Mabel and I have been training for years to defend ourselves against others with similar powers. You’ve got a lot of raw potential, but I’ve got finesse. By all means, try.”

Pacifica knew the undercurrent of threat in his words was real, and laughed nervously. “Hey Gideon!” She ran to catch up to her cousin, she grabbed his arm and drew close to him as they kept walking. “If something happens to me, Dipper did it,” she hissed. They both looked back to see Mabel emerging casually from the brush and falling in step with her brother. He said something to her, and she casually flipped her hair.

“Pacifica, do you think we made a mistake coming out here?” Gideon asked, turning forward, praying the twins hadn’t noticed their scrutiny. Pacifica hesitated. She hadn’t thought so when they set off, but now she wasn’t so sure. A small clearing sat just ahead on the trail, maybe a nice place to take a break, Pacifica thought. A nice place to get the twins to let their guard down and then run away.

A feeling of dread was descending over them, so oppressive Pacifica found it difficult to even lift her feet. Gideon felt his back was slick with sweat, and he was sure someone was staring at him, whether it was Mabel or Dipper he couldn’t be sure. He knew if he looked back, it wouldn’t lead to anything good. They slowed rapidly, and soon Mabel and Dipper’s footsteps were right behind them. He could feel hot breath on the back of his neck. Pacifica was panting, doubled over, trying desperately to pull herself together. Gideon bit back a cry.

The twins overtook them, with slow, deliberate steps. Pacifica looked up at Dipper through her bangs, and saw him gazing severely over the landscape. For a moment, she saw what all the girls were talking about when they gushed over how good looking he was. His strong jaw set with determination, blue eyes alight with resolve, shadows under his angular cheekbones, a few strands of his carefully styled hair falling loose. Moreover, he looked older, like something otherworldly and ageless had overlaid his features.

“Lynx,” Dipper called, voice resounding with command. Mabel ignited a blue fire in her palm, uncanny light dancing over her features. Their steps were slow, but the fact that they could even stand, let alone walk, was astonishing. “We come here seeking aid for one of our friends cursed with Sight.” Dipper raised his own hand and ignited a fire. Pacifica noticed their other hands were clasped tightly together, shaking slightly.

The dread evaporated all at once, and Pacifica fell to her knees, gasping for air. A stinging mixture of sweat and tears dripped from the point of her nose, into the dirt. Dipper lowered his hand, fire going out. Mabel followed his lead reluctantly.

“Is she really your friend if you are the one who cursed her?” a voice asked. It thrummed with something inhuman, and seemed to come from all directions at once.

“An acquaintance, and an accident,” Dipper conceded. “A party trick gone wrong.”

A large wildcat looked down on them from the rock outcropping above. Pacifica had grown up living in and around national parks and nature reserves, she knew what animals looked like. She knew this animal looked wrong. Rich orange fur spotted with brown, tall, sharp ears, large green eyes that held far too much intelligence for an animal, or even a human. It hadn't moved, so much as 'appeared', in a relaxed posture that almost resembled a housecat 'loafing', forepaws crossed over each other like it wanted to appear refined and polite. Black fur extended from the points of its ears, but rather than the short tufts of a usual lynx, the fur was nearly a foot long, defying gravity to rise up into the air. Like horns, Pacifica thought, and then pushed that thought away quickly. Not fast enough, apparently, because the too large cat turned its head to look directly at her.

“Though truly, one must wonder how much one can curse a Northwest,” the voice continued from all directions. The cat’s mouth didn’t move, but it was clearly the source. “Considering the burden of curse they already bear.”

Pacifica had so many questions, but not enough energy to ask them. She struggled up to one knee, leaning heavily, in an incidental bow. “Please, I just want this eye closed again. You’re my only hope,” she blurted.

A long silence followed as the Lynx studied her, and she fought the growing urge to throw up.

“I am the most powerful psychic in this realm—much more powerful than your fox fire ‘friend’,” Dipper bristled, “and I know it cannot be done. However, I will try to make you feel better about the journey.” The cat hopped down in front of her, and Pacifica—thoroughly exhausted—didn’t even flinch. The massive round eyes, more yellow than green up close, stared into hers, a large paw engulfed her hand, claws scraping featherlight over her skin. She tried not to think about how easily the claws could tear through her skin, leaving only ribbons of tendon and muscle in their wake. It was the sort of thought that would only frighten her pointlessly, but a small part of her was worried about giving the cat ideas.

Pacifica felt a tug in her mind, like a door trying to close, but the hinges were seized. “It cannot be done,” The Lynx repeated. “The Northwests have seen too much to ever unsee.”

“What can I do?” Pacifica asked, voice shaking as fresh tears fell.

“Do not fret, child. I can teach you. To focus. To block. To control.” The Lynx twitched as if it also felt Dipper’s attention spike. Behind the Lynx, Dipper stared with open avarice. “But only you.” Pacifica nodded. “Come back here, alone, when you wish to begin.”

The Lynx pressed its forehead against hers, and everything went black.

---

When Mabel awoke, she was in the Lynx’s clearing, with the night sky above her. Galaxies spilled across the sky, a reminder of how vast and cold the universe was, of how small she was within it. Her brother lay next to her, their hands still intertwined. Gideon lay to her left, unconscious in a heap. Further down the line, Pacifica was silent. Mabel seemed to be the first to awaken.

The night air was cool, and she could feel twigs in her hair. She could wait a while for the others to wake up. Mabel carefully removed her hand from her brother’s and sat up, then she methodically began removing twigs and leaves from her hair.

Mabel liked the forest at night. She and her brother had spent many nights trying to lose themselves in the woods when they’d first arrived in Gravity Falls. That was how they stumbled upon the journal. The discovery of which had inspired them to spend even more time in the forests, hunting magical creatures and eventually learning to use their powers, away from prying eyes and expensive furniture. The woods at night felt like a second home to Mabel. Her first home being the stage, of course.

Once she was able to run her fingers through her hair again she tossed it, trying to resurrect some of it’s usual shape, but knew it was a lost cause. Oh well, she wasn't planning to see anyone who would judge her hair that night. A spectral dagger manifested in her hand, feeling the comfortable fox fire warmth of it, and the solid weight she willed it to have. With a well practiced flick of the wrist, the dagger flew into the dark of the trees. In the distance, the distinct sound of a lifeless bird hitting the ground rushed back to her. Mabel smiled, feeling warmth blossom in her chest. She manifested another dagger, and another, and with distinct effort, a third flickered, trying to manifest.

She still used steel knives in her shows, because—well, because she had so many from collecting them for years, but also because manifesting more than two spectral daggers at a time was an immense challenge. The third dagger vanished and she sighed, tossing the other two into the trees. Two more dull thumps followed.

---

“Gideon,” someone hissed. Gideon swatted them away. It was too dark to be awake, he knew that without even opening his eyes. His dad was always trying to get him to do chores around the Shack at ungodly hours—early to bed, early to rise—Gideon refused.

“Gideon!” Someone was shaking him now, someone who didn’t sound like his dad.

“Pacifica?” he muttered.

“You have to get up, we’re still in the forest.” His eyes sprung open, he was face down in the trail dirt and it was dark. Gideon rolled over, confirmed—yes, Pacifica. The Gleeful twins stood in the background, speaking in hushed tones to each other. He looked at the stars. It was almost 3am.

“My dad is going to kill me," he muttered, dragging his aching body into a sitting position.

“We need to head back. Did you bring your headlamp?” Pacifica asked, her own was in her hands.

“Yeah, just...let me take a leak first.” Gideon blinked the sleep from his eyes and started rooting in his pack for his headlamp. Once it was affixed and turned on, he stumbled into the brush. His mind raced to piece together the events of the day while he relieved himself next to a large tree. Shadows warped and jumped around him, he dismissed it as a trick of the weak light from his headlamp until something brushed his ankle. Gideon flinched, frantically casting the beam of his lamp over the ground, where a red fox screamed at him and disappeared back into the brush.

“What the—?” Foxes usually didn’t come within touching distance of humans in the woods. Something else demanded his attention, probably the same thing that had tempted the fox so close...birds. At least 30 dead birds scattered on the ground, small songbirds mostly.

“What the fuck?” Gideon bent down to look closer. Pacifica had told him that sometimes when it got really cold in Florida some lizards would freeze to death and fall out of the trees. Maybe the heat had done the same to the birds. The red splash on the breast of a non-red breasted bird told him that probably wasn't it. It was hard to see in the dark, but the bird at his feet seemed to have died from a single puncture through the chest, by something that wasn’t there anymore. Maybe something that had vanished into thin air. Gideon felt a chill run up his spine. Red splashes of blood dotted some of the birds' breasts, but he couldn't see it on all of them. Part of that was because it was dark, part of it was the panic crawling up his torso, forcing acid from his stomach where it threatened to burst from his throat, squeezing his lungs that tried to breathe too fast, twitching his shoulders to and fro, making the beam of his headlamp sway erratically, ears ringing, head swimming—

“Gideon, are you done yet?” Pacifica’s voice pierced through the night air. Pacifica! He’d left her alone with the Gleeful twins. Dread again.

“Coming!” he yelled, quickly putting his dick away and running for the clearing.

Mabel Gleeful stood, chatting idly with Pacifica, blue fire in her palm—they couldn’t just use headlamps like normal people, could they? Of course not. Her freaky brother/lover stood with her, hand delicately on her waist. Gideon did take a small thrill from seeing that Dipper's hair had completely deflated.

“Let’s get going,” Gideon announced, drawing everyone’s attention. Then standing there, awkwardly, waiting for the Gleefuls to take the lead.

After a tense moment, Dipper shrugged and started down the trail, lighting his own fire. Gideon trailed behind Pacifica and Mabel as they chatted.

“My aunt and uncle will be so worried,” Pacifica fretted, chewing on her thumbnail, an old nervous habit.

“Sorry if this isn’t my place to ask, but don’t you spend the summers with your father?” Mabel seemed almost like a normal human when she talked to Pacifica, Gideon thought. He couldn't be around her without feeling agitated, it had been bothering him most of the day, and the horror of the birds had him even more out of sorts.

“Kinda,” Pacifica admitted. “He lives with them. He used to swear up and down that he'd never come back here, but he…the divorce was really hard on him.” Pacifica stared at the ground, embarrassed.

“Our great-uncle is our legal guardian," Mabel said, an understanding smile on her face, or Gideon assumed it was understanding, the dancing blue flame made her look ghastly. Mabel opened her mouth to speak again, when suddenly the pieces clicked into place.

“Mabel, why do you smell like blood?”

Mabel looked back at him, her mouth set in a thin line, disapproval unmistakable in any lighting. “That’s hardly an appropriate question to ask a lady," she said curtly, “especially one who’s taken an unplanned paranormal nap on the forest floor for hours. You’re old enough have learned about menstruation, I trust?”

Gideon felt shame crawl up his neck. “Sorry.”

She turned away from him. “I was going to say,” she addressed Pacifica again, “I understand what it is to have parents you can’t count on.” Pacifica smiled at the other girl, relief clear on her features.

---

The trek down was quicker, aided by the decreasing elevation and sense of urgency. No games were played, and no stops were made. They burst out at the trailhead to the sounds of a gathering search party.

“They’re at the Blackwing trailhead," Dipper announced.

Gideon was running before he even finished the sentence. “Dad?” Pacifica hurried after him.

“We should go.” Dipper turned to his sister. “There’s no good reasons for four teenagers to be in the woods all-night and I’m not in the mood for a cover story.” He pushed his hair back, even though he knew it wouldn’t stay.

“You’re right.” Mabel watched the shifting shadows through the trees. “There’s no way Stanford is part of that party.”

The Manor was dark, and all of Stanford’s cars were in the garage.

“You can’t be surprised, Mabel. We regularly stay out all night," Dipper told her, as he closed the door. They’d always been appreciative of the fact that Stanford cared so little about their comings and goings, and their activities in general. It was useful, but Mabel wasn’t thinking about utility, she was thinking about the intrinsically flawed concept of a nuclear family.

Parents shouting downstairs, an argument he wasn't supposed to hear, a father whose face he couldn't remember…

Mabel sighed, “Let’s go upstairs, I have presents.”

Aurelian Manor had an absurd number of bedrooms, 23 in total. When they first arrived, Mabel had assumed the Manor was originally a hotel. Or, rather, a money laundering front disguised as a hotel, considering it contained far more rooms than the local roadside motel and all the town's bed & breakfasts combined, none of which were ever fully booked. However, the Manor had always been planned as a private residence, and its rooms weren't organized into coherent hotel blocks, but scattered across various floors and wings, seemingly at the incomprehensible whim of its designer.

Stanford had built the Manor, the official plans in the civic library listed him as the primary architect, so he, presumably, knew why it was so large and its floor plan so strange, but he refused to offer any sort of explanation or justification when asked. 'I'm the rich eccentric on the edge of town, leave me alone!' was his standard response. Rumor said the Manor had been built as a compound for either a cult, or an artist collective (and really how different were those two things?). Stanford staunchly maintained that he'd always lived alone, despite the fact that the development permits listed the 'Lucipher Art Collective' as a direct beneficiary of the proposed construction, and there was a quote from him in an old tabloid about the collective relocating to Kansas in 1984, he claimed he'd never been into 'that hippie bullshit', and the only art he appreciated was con artistry (and sad clown paintings). The twins had, of course, investigated his secrets and lies, but only far enough to have sufficient blackmail fodder; just in case their darling Great-uncle ever tried to revoke his guardianship and turn them out on the street. Dipper preferred to adhere to the philosophy that it was best not to poke a sleeping bear, while Mabel's philosophy was that the bear would wake up eventually, have a rifle of sufficient caliber within reach. They found ways to compromise. The Manor's strange floor plan had benefits, having enough space for each of them to have multiple offices and work rooms; such as Mabel's sewing and prop construction rooms, Dipper's library complex, that included multiple studies that he rotated through, seasonally, to always have the optimal light; and Stanford's personal room allocation included entire blocks of secret locked rooms. Which were different from the secret hidden rooms. Which were different, still, from the hidden sealed rooms in the North wing, which had been boarded up and wallpapered over to look like a solid wall.

Ostensibly, Mabel and Dipper had their own bedrooms, but in practice the canopied king sized bed in the suite assigned to Mabel was 'their bed' in 'their room'. Mabel took off her pack and sat in the center of the large bedroom. Dipper took a moment to light the lanterns and turn off the overhead lights. His sister hummed a tune while she pulled containers from her pack.

“Here.” She smiled, holding out a small cloth bound package. “Deer teeth.” Internal organs, viscera and congealing blood filled the containers. Dipper took the package, feeling the teeth through the cloth.

“Excellent. I've been needing lungs.” The amulets gave them immense psychic power, but they dabbled in other forms of magic as well. Magic that required ingredients.

“I’m going to shower, can you store this?” she asked.

“Of course.” Dipper caught Mabel’s hand as she stood, pressing a kiss to her palm, the scent of blood still clung faintly to her skin. He didn’t want to let go. Mabel tugged her hand playfully. “Stay a moment.” He pulled her down into his lap, cradling her face and kissing her deeply. “You know I’d always look for you,” he whispered hoarsely.

“You just never have the chance, because I’m always at your side.” She smiled, kissing him playfully.

“And you’re so powerful you’d never need my help anyway." He ran a hand through her hair.

“I always need you," she sighed fondly.

“I’m always here for you,” Dipper promised, arms wrapped around her loosely, leaning his head against her shoulder. “Always.” They sat quietly in each others arms, letting the silence of the Manor cocoon them in their small world.

“How about,” Mabel started, “I help you store the ingredients, and then we take a bath? There’s still twigs in my hair and I don’t want to take care of it all myself.”

Dipper laughed, letting his arms fall. “Sounds like a lovely idea.”

Notes:

there's a stealth cameo of my current hyperfixation in here (that i originally grabbed specifically for this fic, aaaaaaaand then it took over my life. whoops. it be that way sometimes.)

anyway, happy new year! i intend to post the next update sooner, and not attached to a major holiday, for once.