#cait callaghan

[pastedpast]

As I'm currently indexing this blog or, rather, meta-tagging posts in my new version of it on the Blogger website (I will post proper link as soon as it's finished), I decided to compile a list of all the women who feature (or receive a mention however fleetingly) within it. I have tried to trawl the blog ''with a fine toothcomb'', but I'm bound to have missed a few names - oh well! Here is the list as complete as I can muster. The women appear in (broadly) alphabetical order by first name. *** NB it is still a work in progress ***

VOCALISTS & MUSICIANS

Alice Waterhouse (flute) * Amy Winehouse * Angel Olsen * Annie June Callaghan * Ari Up & The Slits * Be Good Tanyas, The * Billie Holiday * Bjork * Black Belles, The * Cait O’ Riordan (Pogues) * Calista Williams (Bluebird) * Cindy Wilson & Kate Pierson (The B52s) * Cistem Failure * Clementine Douglas * Cosey Fanni Tutti * DakhaBrakha (well, 3/4 of them!) * Debbie Harry * Edith Piaf * Elizabeth Morris (Allo Darlin') * Holly Golightly * HoneyLuv * Katy-Jane Garside * Kelis * Kim Deal (Pixies & Breeders) * Maxine Peake * Maxine Venton & Mimi O'Malley (Captain Hotknives) * Meg White * Melanie Safka * Nico * Nina Simone * Patti Rothberg * Penny Ford (Snap!) * PJ Harvey * Rhoda Dakar (Special AKA) * Seamonsters, The * Siouxsie Sioux * Suzanne Vega * Tray Tronic * Trish Keenan (Broadcast)

VISUAL ARTS

Annegret Soltau * Anne Ophelia Dowden * Artemisia Gentileschi * Barbara Regina Dietzsch * Beverly Joubert * Camille Claudel * Clara Peeters * Dale DeArmond * Doreen Fletcher * Eleanor Fortescue-Brickdale * Élisabeth Sonrel * Elisabetta Siriani * Elizabeth Mary Watt * Ella Hawkins * Evelyn De Morgan * Frida Kahlo * Gertrude Abercrombie * Helen Martins * Kate Gough * Laura Knight (Dame) * Leonora Carrington * Lily Delissa Joseph * Liza Ferneyhough * Magdolna Ban * Mandy Payne* Mary Delany * Miina Akkijrkka * Ndidi Ekubia * Pamela Colman-Smith * Paula Rego * Rachel Gale * 'Romany Soup' * Sarah Vivien * Shirley Baker * Siirkka-Liisa Konttinen * Sofonisba Anguissola * Sonia Delaunay * Tish Murtha * Vali Myers * Vanessa Bell

COMEDY, DANCE & DRAMA

Alicia Eyo & Carol Morley ('Stalin My Neighbour') * Claire Foy * Daisy May Cooper * Gabrielle Creevy & Jo Hartley ('In My Skin') * Isadora Duncan * Jessica Williams ('Love Life') * Lesley Sharp, Michelle Holmes & Siobhan Finneran ('Rita, Sue & Bob Too') * Michaela Coel ('I May Destroy You') * Morgana Robinson * Samantha Morton * Yasmin Paige (Jordana Bevan in ‘Submarine)

WRITERS, JOURNALISTS, SCHOLARS & POETS

Agatha Christie (MBE) * Andrea Dunbar * Anaïs Nin * Angela Thirkell * Anna Funder * Anna Wickham * Edith Holden * Elizabeth O'Neill * Enid Blyton * Harriet Beecher Stowe * Helen Castor (Dr.) * Hilary Mantel * Janina Ramirez (Dr.) * Jeannette Kupfermann * Jenny March (Dr.) * Jenny Wormald (Dr.) * Lia Leendertz * Mary Oliver * Orna Guralnik (Dr.) * Rachel Beer * Susie Boniface * Virginia Woolf

HISTORICAL FIGURES

Anne, Queen of Great Britain * Anne Boleyn, Queen of England * Anne of Cleves, Queen of England * Boudicca, Queen of the Iceni * Cartimandua, Queen of the Brigantes * Catherine de’ Medici, Queen Consort/Regent of France * Catherine Parr, Queen of England * Catherine of Aragon, Queen of England * Catherine of Valois, Queen of England * Christine de Pizan * Cixi, Empress of China (aka  Empress Tz'u-hsi ) * Eleanora of Austria, Queen of France * Eleanor of Aquitaine, Queen of France; Queen of England; Duchess of Aquitaine * Eleanor of Castile * Eleanor Talbot ("The Secret Queen") * Elizabeth I Queen of England * Elizabeth Woodville, Queen Consort of England * Elizabeth of York, Queen Consort of England * Elizabeth Stuart, Queen of Bohemia * Hatshepsut, Pharaoh of Egypt *Hildegard of Bingen * Isabeau of Bavaria, Queen of France * Isabella I, Queen of Castile * Isabella of Aragon, Princess of Asturias * Isabella of Portugal, Empress Consort of Holy Roman Empire and Queen Consort of Spain, Germany & Italy * Isabella of France, Queen of England * Jacquetta of Luxemburg * Jane Grey (Lady), Queen of England for Nine Days * Jane Seymour, Queen of England * Juana (aka Joanna), Queen of Castile * Katherine Howard, Queen of England * Louise of Savoy, Regent of France * Margaret of Anjou, Queen Consort of England * Margaret of Austria [check which one] * Margaret Beaufort, Lady * Marie Antoinette, Queen of France * Mary I, Queen of England * Mary II, Queen of England, Scotland & Ireland * Mary, Queen of Scots * Mary of Austria [check which one] * Mary of Burgundy, Duchess * Matilda, Holy Roman Empress * Melisende, Queen of Jerusalem * Sophia of Hanover, Electress * Tatya Betul, Empress of Ethiopia * Theodora, Empress of Byzantium * Victoria, Queen of England & Empress of India

SAINTS & BIBLICAL/CHRISTIAN REFERENCES

Anna (wife of Tobit) * Apollonia (Saint) * Barbara (Saint) * Catherine of Alexandria (Saint) * Ecclesia * Eve (the first woman) * Felicitas of Rome (Saint) * Genevieve (Saint) * Godeberta * Jael * Jezebel * Judith * Lucy (Saint) * Margaret of Scotland (Saint) * Mary Magdalene * Rahab * Rose of Lima (Saint) * Synagoga * The Queen of Sheba * Thérèse of Lisieux (Saint) * Virgin Mary, The* "Whore of Babylon", The * Ursula (Saint)

MYTHOLOGICAL

Anat * Asherah * Astarte * Atalanta * Aurora * Baba Yaga * Circe * Chhinnamasta * Clio/Kleio * Demeter (Rmn: Ceres) * Dido, Queen of Carthage * Durga * Elaine of Astolat * Europa * Eurydice * Hathor * Hesperides * Io * Isolde/Iseult * Isis * Juno (Gk: Hera) * Kali * Kriemhild/Gudrun * Kudshu * Lakshmi * Persephone (Rmn: Proserpine) * Radha * Sabine Women, The * Sati * Sedna * Sirens, The (half-female, half-bird) * Three Graces, The * Valkyries, The * Venus (Aphrodite)

WIVES, MUSES, CONSORTS & SIGNIFICANT OTHERS

Anastasia Romanovna (wife of Ivan the Terrible) * Anne Hyde (1st wife of James, Duke of York; she did not live long enough to see him become James II) * Anne Lovell (wife of Sir Francis Lovell) * Anne of Denmark (wife of James VI of Scotland/James I of England & Ireland) * Bella Chagall (wife of Marc Chagall) * Catherine of Braganza (wife of Charles II) * Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz (Queen of England as wife of George III) * Clementine Churchill (wife of Winston Churchill) * Diane de Poitiers (royal mistress to the French king, Henry II) * Emma Hamilton, Lady (mistress of Lord Horatio Nelson) * Evelyn Pyke-Nott (wife of John Byam Shaw) * Françoise Gilot (partner of Pablo Picasso) * Frances Grey, Duchess of Suffolk (mother of Lady Jane Grey) * Henrietta-Maria (wife of Charles I) * Lady Martha Temple (wife of Sir William Temple) * MacDonald sisters, The (Alice, Georgiana, Agnes and Louisa) * Marguerite of Navarre/Angoulême (sister of French king, Francis I) * Mary of Modena (2nd wife of James VI and I, King of Scotland, England, and Ireland) * Mary Shelley (mentioned as wife of Percy Bysshe Shelley, though a renowned author in her own right) * Mary Soames (daughter of Winston Churchill & wife of Christopher Soames) * Mary Stuart (daughter of Charles I and mother of the future William III) * Mary Watts (wife of George Frederic Watts, and designer and artist in her own right) * Olga Khokhlova (1st wife of Pablo Picasso) * Portia (wife of Brutus) *

2OTH CENTURY & MODERN DAY

Christabel Pankhurst * Emily Wilding Davison * Emmeline Pankhurst * 'Gulabi Gang' * Hannah Hauxwell * Helen Keller * Hilary Clinton * Liz Truss * Margaret Campbell, Duchess of Argyll * Mata Hari * Melina Mercouri * Nazanin Zaghari-Ratcliffe * Rahima Mahmut * Sylvia Pankhurst *

[dreamsofbrightstars]

Saturday Night's Alright

Finally! Chapter 8 is here!

The scene backstage was like nothing Sirius had seen before. Sure, he’d been to big rock concerts, even had really good seats in the front. But he’d never gotten backstage--not for lack of trying--so he didn’t know if the legendary stories about the girls and the booze and the partying were actually true. Until now. The room was packed with people, mostly scantily clad women. At least he thought they were old enough to be called women. There were the typical local politicos and society types of course, there to be seen and looking bored. The overly-enthusiastic Russian promoter from the previous night was there with his friends, popping back free shots of vodka. Sirius could hear him still declaring he was going to take Cait home with him that night. Not bloody likely, he thought.

Read the rest on A03

[spookyscribe]

My Writing

Hi! I decided to be fancy and have a pinned post of my work. My name is K.C. Lannon, and I write magical books with a Gothic touch inspired by my love of classic Victorian literature and the faery novels I read growing up. I incorporate themes of redemption, grace, hope, and sacrifice into my work. 

I co-author the Winter’s Blight series with author @mcaquila. It’s a young adult fantasy series set in a future post-nuclear-bombed England, where faeries and humans are at war. It’s a coming-of-age story that follows 17-year-old Deirdre, a changeling with unstable magic, and human half-Romani brothers Iain and James Callaghan as they try to warn the Summer Court of a deadly attack their father, General Alan Callaghan, is leading.

Book 1: The Changeling’s Fortune, free to read online. 

Book 2: The Renegade Son 

Book 3: The Waking Magic 

Book 4: The Shattered Mirror

Book 5: The Thrall’s Gambit 

Book 6: The Stolen Vow 

Book 7: The Queen’s Winter

Prequel Book 1: Beasts of London. Follow one of the Winter’s Fae Blight series antagonists, the charming and enigmatic Cecil Morris (AKA the Master and the Cait Sidhe), set in Victorian London.

Tempest Cursed: A Wuthering Heights Retelling

[dreamsofbrightstars]

Lost Summer Chapter 7!

Chapter 7 of Lost Summer is here! It’s been a while, I know. It’s been a hard few months, for all of us. Inspiration decided they were done with this pandemic bullshit and is sipping a cocktail someplace nicer than Northern California, waiting for us to wear our fucking masks and the (literal) smoke to clear, leaving me high and dry halfway through this chapter. After staring at it for the seven millionth time trying to move it forward, I realized I had come to a perfectly lovely stopping point for a chapter. So this day will come in two parts...I think! 

Enjoy xoxo

7

Cherry Bomb

Sirius sat in the sitting room of the suite, gazing out the window as he savored a cuppa. He’d woken early and tiptoed down the hall, hoping no one else was awake. The suite was noisy even with everyone still asleep, and he just wanted a few moments of quiet. Without realizing it, Sirius had entered a world brimming with music. It permeated every space, every interaction, no matter where the motley group went. It seemed there was always someone singing along with the radio or this weird little muggle device called a discman, or just reflexively humming whatever crossed their minds. Strumming a guitar, or tapping out a beat on the couch, or coffee table, or the floor. Music drifted through the walls and down the halls and through the cracked windows of the hotel. It was everywhere.

Keep reading on Ao3!

[dreamsofbrightstars]

Burn

I’ve had this in my back pocket for ages, waiting till I got a couple more chapters into Lost Summer and explained a little more about Cait before I posted it. Since that’s not happening (it’s coming along sloooowwwly), i figured what the hell. So here you go!  Enjoy! On AO3, too xoxo

A little strong language and implied child abuse.

July 

Cait inhaled sharply as she looked around the foyer of the old house. Sirius glanced over his shoulder. “Lovely, isn’t it?” he snarled, sarcasm dripping from his voice. He had been dreading coming back here ever since he had impulsively offered it to Dumbledore as headquarters. 

“Mmmmmm,” Cait hummed vaguely. She had the unpleasant feeling that she’d been there before. She hadn’t, not awake anyway. But it was disturbingly familiar regardless. She already knew the turn of the staircase and the weight of the door handles. And the house elf heads mounted on the wall, she’d seen those before too. Even the smell of the house, hidden below layers of mildew and dust and age, was familiar.

September

The kids had been gone for a fortnight and the house was eerily quiet. She didn’t like it. The old house was creepy enough on its own with its heavy furniture and musty smell and layers of dirt and dust. The layers of not-quite dark magic that she could sense made it worse, almost like the house was fighting it. Sometimes is was a low thrumming, an undertone, other times a keening so intense she thought her head might explode with it. The kids had brought life and light, drowning out the unhappy hum of the house. 

She’d tucked the sense that she’d been there before away in her mind that first day and tried desperately to ignore it, but it surfaced in the silence. She knew exactly where they were the moment they stepped through the front door, and no one had told her where they were going. She knew the heavy furniture and outdated wallpaper, the door down to the kitchen and the stair up to the sitting room, the gas fixtures and the awful row of  house elf heads on the wall. She’d walked these hallways with him, over and over again, in his dreams.

Alone for a moment, she followed the pull of her mind, or of the house. She wasn’t really sure which. Padding softly down the stairs, she permitted her instinct to pull her past each floor, lower and lower into the bowels of the house. There was a cellar below the kitchen. Sirius didn’t like it when people went down there so they’d kept the door closed and hadn’t told the kids about it. No one had gone down, at least not that she knew about. 

Thankfully the kitchen was empty. She didn’t want to be waylaid, or have to explain herself. The unassuming door was past the pantry. She could smell the musty dankness wafting up from behind it. The ominous feeling threatened to overtake her, to force her back, as she reached for the key. Ignoring the dread and Sirius’ warning to stay out of there, she turned the old key and pulled the door open, tiptoeing down the narrow set of wooden stairs, wand lit. Miraculously nothing creaked to reveal her indiscretion. 

Standing still at the bottom, she allowed her eyes to adjust to the pitch dark. Her wand cast enough light to see the small stone room and the hallway that led away from it and the stairs. She crept along the hallway, trailing her fingers along the damp stone wall. She was afraid to touch it too hard, that her hand would sink and she would be stuck, or that the house would drag her in. 

What waited at the end of the hall was equally horrifying and expected. She took it all in for a moment, processing the reality of what was in front of her. The stone cell was just as she remembered it: narrow, about the size of closet, with black metal bars the shape of snakes in place of a door. There was a single torch bracket in the hallway, placed conveniently for the jailers, but otherwise there was no light or air to the cell. She knew that the torch was extinguished unless Walburga or Orion were present. There was a hole in the ground for a toilet on one side and some balled up, decaying rags that might have once been a blanket in the corner. 

The realization slowly washed over her, icy and mean. This was how he survived Azkaban. He’d had practice. She knew this, she’d seen it before. But she thought it was his mind designing a metaphor for the suffering. She didn’t believe it was real. 

But here it was. It was real. They had kept him here, like an animal. The terror a small child must’ve felt sitting in the pitch blackness, hearing the key scrape in the lock and knowing no one could hear him crying or screaming, and those that might didn’t care, pushed her over the edge. The emotion she had bottled from being in the house, knowing how much he hated it and the understanding of exactly why, welled up in her and she couldn’t stop it, couldn’t keep it in any longer. All at once her knees hit the stone floor and she was half-screaming, body wracked with sobs. How could they? How could anyone do that to a child? They were monsters.

Vaguely she was aware of quick footsteps coming towards her. “Cait?” Arthur. “What’s happened?” She felt him slide his hands under her arms and pull her up off the floor. “What is this place?” he asked as he looked around, bewildered.

She was sobbing so violently she couldn’t speak. She wanted to scream it until her voice was gone so everyone knew what those monsters had done to their own children, but she could barely breathe through her fury. From two floors up, the familiar shrieks of “Mudbloods! Blood traitors! Filth! Desecrating the house of my fathers!” filtered down.

“That bitch!” Cait wrenched herself out of Arthur’s hands and tore back up the cellar stairs two at a time. She burst back through the kitchen and up the stairs to the foyer where Walburga’s portrait was shrieking profanities at Tonks, who was struggling to close the curtains. “No!” Cait yelled as she pushed Tonks away.

“You bitch!” she screamed back at the portrait, wand pointed at directly at it. “What kind of vile excuse for a human being are you? Who does that to their own children?” The rest of the portraits jeered at this. Again, she was vaguely aware of footsteps, of others joining them. She was too focused in her fury and disbelief to care who it was.

Momentarily shocked at being screamed back at, the portrait went silent. The painted image of Walburga Black looked down her nose at Cait, examining her as if she was looking at something disgusting. “So you found it finally, did you?” she sneered.

“What the fuck?” That was Sirius. His voice was distant, as if he was in another room.

“I found her in the cellar,” Arthur explained, panting. 

Sirius eyes widened in surprise. “Love…” he started.

“Who does that?” Cait seethed at the portrait, cutting him off. “Why would you ever--”

“Children need to be disciplined properly,” Walburga answered coldly, the other portraits muttering their agreement.. “There’s nothing like a bit of solitary confinement-”

“That’s enough!” Sirius stepped forward, reaching for the curtains.

“No!” Cait grabbed his arm with surprising force and pushed him back. He could see her now, heaving chest and tear-streaked face. “How could you, you sick bitch! They were children!  They were your children!” She was screaming again, bits of spittle flying from her mouth. 

“Children require a firm hand,” the portrait shot back coldly. “We weren’t firm enough, as you can see by this disgraceful mess, this abomination, that claims to be my son. He’s an embarrassment to the House of Black, a stain on it’s proud history…”

Cait’s rage broke over again and she couldn’t hear her anymore. “Shut up, you horrifying excuse of a mother, of a human. How dare you!” Her own voice was distant now. She could feel Sirius trying to pull her away at the same time as she could feel the magic welling inside her, the separate pool that dreamers absorbed. It had only grown since she’d been in the house, absorbing the magic Molly cast to cook and clean, the practice spells visitors cast, and the residue left in the house itself. She could feel the wands of the others being drawn and pointed in her direction, but her eyes only saw the horrible portrait in front of her, mouth still moving with vile words, but she couldn’t hear it.

“You fucking cunt. Shut. Up.” Her hair had begun to streak violently with so much white she was nearly platinum, and move of its own accord, as if it were being buffeted by a breeze. The portrait’s mouth was still moving. Someone pulled Sirius away, saying “Stand back, mate.” 

“SHUT. UP.” But the portrait didn’t stop. Cait didn’t know what she was saying, just that she’d had enough of this foul thing on the wall. Her ears were ringing and she was still sobbing, and the magic threatened, like the terror earlier, to overwhelm and sweep her away. 

“Don’t burn the house down, Cait,” a voice called. Tonks. She’d forgotten Tonks was there, that her friend was the most recent target of the portrait’s vile tirade. The magic tingled at her fingertips. 

“...his life is a complete waste, a betrayal of everything my family stands for, the shame of my flesh…” Walburga’s tirade drifted back into Cait’s ears, wiping away the last bit of control she had. Burn, she thought. The raw magic ripped out from the tip of her wand directly at the portrait, taking every bit of seething hate Cait could direct at it. Her hand shook as she struggled to control it. Burn. The magic did her bidding, focusing only on the portrait, and it began to smoke around the edges. 

The woman in the portrait laughed maniacally, laughed because this little blood traitor sobbing like a child wasn’t capable of harming the portrait she had so carefully charmed. The laughter cut through the ringing in Cait’s ears, bringing an icy calm to her fury.

Burn, she thought again. As the portrait began to shrink slowly from the outside in, the painted eyes widened in surprise. The painted image began to scream in panic, increasing Cait’s rage. She wants sympathy after what she did to her own children? Cait thought incredulously, tightening her grip on her wand, which was growing hot in her hand. She let the magic coarse through her, watching the portrait smolder and shrink from the edges inward, watching Walburga’s body shrink with it, clawing wildly at the edges of the canvas as if she could stop it, shrinking until all that was left was her incredulous face as Cait forced the last bit of magic at it, obliterating the last vestiges of the evil hag from existence. 

Silence filled the foyer. The magic had obeyed her will, had only burned the portrait. All that was left was a streak of black soot up the wall where the portrait had been just minutes ago, and slightly smoldering curtains. The acrid smell of burning oil paint and canvas filled her nostrils. Cait was aware of her own breathing, panting from the effort of controlling the release of that much magic and the heart-wrenching discovery that preceded it, sweat and tears mixing on her face. She swayed slightly and dropped to her knees before collapsing face down, gulping down air, eyes closed. She rested her forehead on the mildewed carpet, trembling. The tears flowed quietly now, her energy completely sapped. 

“Everyone out,” Sirius barked. The sound of footsteps faded quickly away as everyone retreated, leaving them alone. He sat down next to her on the floor and pulled her up, cradling her gently against his chest. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m s-sorry I went into the cellar.”

“Shhhhh, it’s alright.”

“I kn-knew, but I didn’t think it was real.” Her voice quivered with emotion. “I didn’t think she really did that to you. How could she? She’s supposed to love you, protect you. How could she lock you up down there in the dark?” She was wavering again, unable to control the emotion.

“Shhhhh, I know.” He held her there for a long time, arms wrapped tight around her, tears flowing down his face. The display of fury on his behalf, directed at the person he hated most, that she knew what no one else-not even James- knew, opened up a well of emotion within him. That was how a mother should behave, how his mother should have behaved. A real mother would have never allowed his father to start locking them down there, wouldn’t have done it herself.

And she wasn’t revolted by him. She wasn’t looking at him as if it was his fault, that he deserved to be locked down there, the way his mother did. There was revulsion and fury--he’d never seen her that angry--but not at him. He’d never experienced that kind of love. Euphemia Potter had probably loved him that way, or close, but his angry, wounded sixteen year old self couldn’t recognize it at the time. This certainty that he was loved, that this small woman was trembling from exhaustion in his arms because she loved him unconditionally, elated and terrified him.

“How did you know?”

“I saw it, when you were falling apart in Azkaban the first time.” He looked at her in surprise. She’d never shared this. “The first time I had to intervene in your dreams I f-found you there, in that cell. She was there too, guarding it. Taunting you while you were curled up in the corner rocking back and forth, holding those dirty rags over your head and crying.” Cait was sobbing again. “You were flitting between a really small boy and a man, b-begging for her forgiveness and pleading with her not to extinguish the light. I had to duel with her to drive her back where she belonged in your subconscious. But I thought the cell was just your subconscious creating some sort of metaphor as a substitute, or mixing your cell in Azkaban, not that it was actually real, here, in this shithole house.”

“I could feel it when we arrived,” she continued. “I knew I’d been here before. Not really, of course, only in your worst dreams. But it was all familiar, the kitchen and Kreacher and the tapestry. All of it. I’ve been trying to ignore it, but it’s like the house is keening. Like it wanted me to find it. It’s so loud now that the kids are gone…” Another heaving sob cut her off. 

“Love, please. It’s alright,” he crooned as he stroked her hair. “It’s alright, Callaghan.” There were so many nights he’d done the same for Regulus, cradled him and soothed his cries after he’d been released from the cellar for some minor infraction typical of a small boy. It didn’t take much for their mother to lock them away for hours or, in her worst moods, days. Days locked in the dark with nothing to eat or drink. Occasionally Kreacher would appear at the bars offering some snide remark, then slink back into the darkness.

They both jumped at the gentle knock on the door to the kitchen. Molly Weasley pushed it open, a tray hovering in front of her. “I thought you could use a cup of tea,” she offered quietly. “Arthrur took the liberty of adding a bit of brandy.”

“Th-thank you, Molly,” Cait stammered, reaching gratefully for one of the two large mugs. Molly handed the second to Sirius and disappeared back downstairs. They leaned back against the wall opposite the scorch mark, sipping their tea and gazing blankly at the wall.

“I suppose we could get rid of the curtains,” Cait offered after awhile. The brandy--Arthur had a blessedly heavy hand--had steadied her. Now she was just bloody exhausted. 

“Mmmmm,” he agreed, waving his wand and silently vanishing them. He looked at her with a sly grin. “Maybe the house didn’t want you to find that cell. Maybe it really just wants to be redecorated.” Cait nearly spit her tea across the foyer as they both dissolved into laughter.

[dreamsofbrightstars]

Sympathy for the Devil

And Chapter 6 is here!

Check Lost Summer out on AO3

Sunday, June 19

Cait was seated at the writing table in front of the window, half-turned away from Sirius when he woke up. Rolling over onto his side to get a better look, he watched her as she bent over the desk writing in her little brown leather-bound book. He’d seen her doing this several times over the past week, assuming it was a journal of some kind. The pen--she used a pen like a muggle--was flying across the small page and her brows were furrowed in concentration, her pretty mouth turned down at the corners. It all made her look very cross, in opposition to the light streaming in through the large windows of the Old World-style hotel, framing her dark hair and illuminating her pale skin. That made her look like a goddess. Or an imp, curled up in the chair like she was with her legs tucked under her. Still in the tank and shorts she slept in, he had to work to keep his mind from wandering on to the other things he’d like to imagine her as, which were decidedly not holy. The only thing keeping her from suspecting him of having such devilish thoughts was the sheet wrapped around his waist, and that wouldn’t conceal much.

Aware of being watched, she glanced around at him. “Morning,” she said absently, still writing. He would have liked her to get up and slide back into bed with him. He’d woken earlier, before dawn, and found himself curled up behind her, one arm around her waist, not immediately aware of how he got there. There had been a flash of fear that he’d wandered uninvited into her bed in his sleep, until his brain kicked in and he remembered that she’d come to get him. His nightmare must’ve been pretty awful if she’d heard him from her room, and he wondered why Remus hadn’t woken him. Telling himself it was so he wouldn’t wake her, he’d stayed curled up with her.

“What’s got your knickers in such a twist already?” 

“Hmmm?” The pen was still flying across the page.

“It’s a bit early for that frown, don’t you think? Did you sleep alright?” He was curious if she was aware of his indiscretion. 

“What? Oh.” She looked up at him again, still frowning and snapping the little book closed. “I suppose it is.”

Sirius propped himself up on his elbow as she turned around and took him in. He looked so much healthier than he did a week ago, despite being painfully thin. It was amazing what regular food and proper rest could do for a person. The dark circles under his eyes had faded and his cheeks had started to fill out and regain some color. The handsome man she remembered from childhood was beginning to reemerge, making him the walking definition of heroin chick. All the stupid groupies would love him she thought, wondering how he would react to that kind of attention, when he interrupted her mid-thought.

“What were you writing about?”

She blinked at him, hesitating to absorb his question, when a glint of mischief struck her. “You’re asking what I write in my journal?” she cried in mock offense, hand over her heart. “You expect me to flippantly share my innermost private thoughts? My hopes? My dreams? With a man I hardly know? And here I thought you were a gentleman! How dare you mislead me in such a manner?”

He burst out laughing at this display of false indignation. “Forgive me, my lady! I didn’t mean to offend thee!” Unable to suppress her own giggles long enough to continue, she tossed a throw pillow at him. 

“Oy! I’m at a disadvantage here!”

“Really?” she snorted. “You’re on a bed full of pillows!”

“But I’m half-starkers!” They dissolved into laughter as he tossed the pillow back at her. 

“Everything alright in here?” came a voice from the partially open door. They both stopped laughing and straightened up immediately, like two kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar, as Remus stuck his head in. Taking in a half-naked Sirius and a scantily-clad Cait, Remus’ eyebrows shot up his forehead.

“Everything’s fine, Professor,” Cait replied primly, trying not to look at Sirius. Her cheeks took on a lovely pink hue as she shook her hair over her face, fighting a grin. 

“Right,” Remus nodded, clearing his throat uncomfortably. They watched silently as he pulled the door closed behind him, waiting till his footsteps faded to burst into giggles again.

“His ears musta’ been ringin,’” she said through her giggles.

“What?”

“I was writing about him.”

“You were?” Sirius straightened up, curiosity renewed. Along with a twitch of jealousy. “Why?” 

“The conversation we had last night about him getting fired. It bothers me,” she said quietly, brows furrowed and mouth downturned again, getting up from the desk chair. Sirius was distracted by her bum as she walked across the room to check the door. “I think he’s full of shite.”

Surprised, he sat up, sheet pooling around his hips, knees bent outwards and heels touching. “You don’t believe him?”

“No. Not at all,” she said, turning back to face him, arms crossed and a hip cocked to one side. “Dumbledore went out of his way to recruit Remus, and worked bloody hard at it. Remus is an excellent teacher and he was really happy there. There’s no way he was fired.” 

“How do you know that he’s a good teacher?”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Really?” The disbelief rung through her voice. “Is there anything else you can picture Remus doing? He was born to teach.” Sirius nodded his agreement with this. Remus had always been the most studious of the Marauders and was often chosen to tutor other students. He was good at it. “Besides, I’ve known Remus a long time. He was my tutor for years,” she continued, frowning again. “He’s the whole reason I made it through my second and third years, and why half my cousins finished too. I know as well as you do when he’s lying.”

“So what do you think happened?” 

Her frown deepened, and she sighed deeply in resignation. “I think he quit. Remus has spent the past thirteen years actively cultivating a deep sense of self-loathing. He’s done quite a job convincing himself that he’s worthless and unlovable, that no one wants him around, despite my family’s best efforts to convince him otherwise. If Snape ‘let it slip’-which is shite-that he’s a werewolf, he would have pre-emptively quit. He would immediately assume that the whole world would object to his presence at Hogwarts.” 

Sirius stomach twisted in anger at the thought of Snape outing his friend. Clearly the promise he made all those years ago didn’t matter now that they were adults. “Lots of people would,” he growled. 

“Of course. But Dumbledore wouldn’t have hired him if he wasn’t ready to shield him from those people. He makes a habit of telling the Governors and just about everyone else to stuff it.”

Sirius considered this. It concerned him deeply that his friend had gone this far down a path of self-loathing. He always knew it was a possibility, Remus had always been predisposed to think people didn’t want him around. His reaction when confronted by his friends about his “furry little problem” had confirmed that. Sirius would never forget the range of emotions that crossed twelve-year-old Moony’s face that night he, James, and Peter had revealed what they knew. The terror deep in Moony’s eyes had struck Sirius in particular that night, followed by disbelief that his friends would choose to remain his friends despite knowing he was a werewolf. His eyes drifted to the window, a fleeting smile crossing his face at that memory. His friend deserved so much more, so much better than life had given him. All three of them did.

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The suite was quiet for the first time all morning. Most of the Callaghans had dispersed, either to take in the sights of St. Petersburg or work on the details of the upcoming shows. Remus was reading a book in the suite’s sitting room when Sirius found him. The thought of Remus quitting Hogwarts because of Snape, coupled with Cait’s description of his self-loathing, had eaten at Sirius all morning. He drifted in front of the fireplace, arms crossed, contemplating the man in the chair. 

“Why did you quit?” The question tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop it. 

Remus didn’t look up from his book, but Sirius saw his eyes abruptly stop moving across the page. “Quit what?” 

“Hogwarts. Why did you quit?” 

The golden eyes momentarily flicked upwards. “I told you, I was fired,” he said slowly. Sirius saw his fingers clench the book.  

“Bollocks.” It was moments like these that he was keenly aware of James’ absence. Despite all his impulsiveness, James was far more diplomatic than Sirius. He would have known how to approach Moony without making him angry. Sirius just cut to the chase, feelings be damned. And now that he’d started there was no turning back. 

Remus lowered the book slowly, carefully marking his place. Sirius knew him better than anyone left on earth, he knew he couldn’t perpetuate this lie. Sighing heavily, he looked up at Sirius. “You know I couldn’t stay.”

“That’s not what Cait thinks.”

“Of course she doesn’t,” he said derisively. The events of the previous night hadn’t been forgotten. Remus was privy to several of Cait’s secrets and, given her history of proclaiming Sirius’ innocence and her early intervention in his nightmare the previous night, he was deeply suspicious. The idea of someone wandering through another’s mind was something he found wildly invasive, so he was particularly irritated that she might be dream walking Sirius without permission. 

Sirius felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he shot back.

“Cait is prone to unrealistic optimism. She thinks the best of everyone in every situation.” Clearly Remus did not think this was one of her finer qualities.

Sirius frowned. This was not the impression he had, although he had only known her a week. “She seems to think Dumbledore worked rather hard to recruit you, and that he would have defended that decision.”

This was true and Remus couldn’t deny it. His irritation broke the surface. “What difference does it make?” he spat, clenching the arms of the chair. “No one would have wanted me there and it would have undermined my ability to teach effectively. What was the point of staying?”

“Or you could have made an impression on the next generation of wizards, taught them that werewolves aren’t all that terrible.” 

Remus snorted at this. “She’s rubbing off on you.”

“What’s wrong with that?” 

“Oh, nothing,” Remus replied, managing to keep the sarcasm in his voice to a minimum. “You two just seem to have become rather close in your short time together.” He eyed Sirius pacing the room. 

“Mmmmm,” Sirius hummed, avoiding Remus’ gaze. It came out as a low growl. He had been expecting this from Remus or Donnie, but didn’t anticipate it so soon. Maybe he should have, given Remus walking in on them and his clear irritation with Sirius’ question. 

“You’re sleeping together?” Remus asked. It wasn’t like him to ask such a bold question, but he was annoyed. Sirius abruptly stopped pacing when Remus spoke. “I know it’s not my business, you don't have to answer,” he amended quickly.

“Yes, we’re...sleeping together,” Sirius answered. It didn’t sound right though. “Not like that. Sharing a bed.”

“Why?”

“Why what?” 

“Why are you sharing a bed, Sirius? Cait has plenty of money. She can afford hotel rooms with more than one bed.” Sirius briefly explained the situation with the hotel room in Nice. Remus listened patiently for Sirius to explain further. When he didn’t, he pushed. “But that doesn’t explain how you ended up sharing a bed. The hotel room had a sofa, didn’t it?”

“Two,” Sirius replied. 

“So?”

“She started on the sofa. I had a nightmare the first night,” he admitted grudgingly, starting to pace again. “She woke me and I bit her head off, so I offered to share the bed with her. The next night she had a nightmare so we ended up sharing again.”

“Cait had a nightmare?” Remus asked sharply. “What kind of nightmare?”

“Yeah, about her parents. It’s odd, though,” he continued in an attempt not to disclose more details of her nightmare. ”She’s very...comfortable? To be around, you know? Like I know her. I can’t figure it out. It’s not bad. Just...strange.” He couldn’t quite articulate it to Remus, this feeling that he had about Cait.

“Strange, wouldn’t you say, for two people that have just met?”

Sirius stopped pacing and  looked out the hotel window onto the street below. “Do you know how I ended up in her bed last night?” he asked after a moment. It bothered him that he couldn’t remember.

“You don’t remember?” 

“No,” Sirius replied slowly, turning back to his friend. “Didn't I wake you?” 

Remus was watching him carefully, eyebrows raised, suspicions solidifying rapidly. “No, you didn’t. I was still awake when I realized you were having a nightmare, but Cait came to get you before I could roll over to wake you up.”

“But how could she have heard me, if you didn’t?” 

This was enough for Remus. He unfolded his lanky frame from the chair and strode to the doorway. “Cait,” he called. A muffled response floated down the hallway. “Would you come here a moment? I’d like to ask you something.” There was an edge to his normally mild voice. Sirius had dropped into his vacated chair, so he moved back toward the windows.

The sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway and Cait appeared in the doorway a moment later, leaning casually against the frame. “Wotcher,” she said in a light voice, but she was eyeing Remus warily and didn’t come into the room.  The chair Sirius was occupying was placed in a corner so its occupant could have a full view of the fireplace, the skyline through the windows, or the doorway. He had a perfect vantage point to observe this interaction.

Remus turned to look at her, scowling, arms folded tightly across his chest. “How long have you been dream walking Sirius?” he demanded. 

She froze in the doorway, blue eyes staring intently at Remus. All at once it clicked into place for Sirius. All those calm, seemingly dreamless nights. It was her. He knew it already, knew when she told him in Nice. That’s why he felt like he knew her, why he was so comfortable with her. Simultaneously, Sirius watched her body language shift from cautious to slightly panicked, reminiscent of a cornered cat. Her hair, which had been pulsing gently when she appeared in the doorway, was getting lighter by the second as it streaked with white and yellow. 

“What are you on about?” she said finally, voice full of warning.

“Don’t play dumb,” Remus snapped, his voice much sharper than Sirius thought necessary. “How long have you been toying with him?”

Her hackles rose immediately. Both the wolf and the dog could smell the shift in her demeanor. She straightened up to her full height--which was not very tall--chin tilted up defiantly and eyes narrowed. “How dare you!” she hissed. 

Clearly the cat and the wolf were not going to play nice today. Sirius had sensed the tension between them immediately at the barn in Finland. He could smell the subtle shift in Remus’ demeanor when she was near, not entirely sure what it was that made it different but aware of wariness on both sides. This confrontation was about to turn ugly and Sirius knew he needed to head it off. 

Jumping out of the chair, he strode between them, facing Cait. “It was you. The nights I didn’t have nightmares, in the summers.” It was simply a statement. She had no choice but to look at him. Her expression shifted slightly from angry back to wary, and something else that Sirius hadn’t seen in her eyes before. Fear, maybe.

She stared into his grey eyes, exhaling slowly. Inexplicably they both knew she wouldn’t lie to him. “Yes.”

“For how long?” With his certainty came intense curiosity.  

Apprehension washed across her face. “Since you got arrested,” she admitted reluctantly.

“Since he got arrested!” Remus spluttered. His temper had been steadily rising, his cheeks were a mottled red and he was standing stick straight, livid. “You’ve been dream walking him for thirteen years! Invading his mind, manipulating his thoughts—“

Sirius cut him off. “Why don’t I remember you?”

She sighed. “Because I put a memory charm on you. I thought it was cruel to let you remember, when you had to wake up in hell. And I’ll be damned if I was going to give the Dementors something to feed on. So I let you remember the peaceful feeling, but not the specifics.” She was biting her lip, brow furrowed with worry. 

“Can you undo it?”

“Of course. But it might be better, gentler for your mind, not to do it all at once.”

“That’s not the point,” Remus interrupted angrily. “Why were you dream walking him?”

She rounded on him, face twisting from apprehensive to back to fury in an instant. “Because me da asked me to! And, Remus, this is not the way we go about revealing ourselves to those we’ve dream walked! The knowledge that someone real has been in your dreams can be just as dangerous as seeing yourself when you’re using a time turner!” She was advancing on him, pointing her finger into his chest, Irish brogue as hard as Sirius had heard it yet. “People can go mad, try to kill the dreamer or themselves. You’ve just put the stability of your oldest friend at risk by revealing me this way, and potentially put me in danger. You might find the whole concept of dream walking a violation, but that doesn’t give you the right to fuck with anyone else.” Remus backed away from her, looking torn between anger and shame.

Sirius stopped her tirade with a hand on her arm and one on Remus’ chest. “I already knew, Remus. Why did Patrick ask you to?”

Fury not quite subsided, she rounded back on him.“Because he knew you weren’t guilty! The Ministry would let him see you or speak to you, they were just shipping you off to bloody Azkaban with no trial or anything! Dumbledore and Mad-Eye were bloody useless. How the hell else was he supposed to figure out what happened?” She inhaled deeply and walked across the room, away from both of them. “It was a last resort, he’d never asked me to dream walk anyone before. Quite the opposite, really. So I did it, and it confirmed everything he’d already suspected. Then he asked me to keep an eye on you, to make sure you were alright. So I’ve watched your dreams ever since.” 

“Watched?” Remus asked sarcastically, an eyebrow cocked in disbelief.

“Mostly,” she replied, chin tilting defiantly again. “I only truly interfered twice. Both times you were about to go mad, so I pulled you out of it,” she explained, turning back to Sirius. “But mostly I just watched, and gave you some respite from the nightmares when I could.” She was looking at Sirius now, blue eyes steady. He knew she was trying to gauge his reaction, read whether he was angry or not. 

“When you could?”

“The sleeping draught. I told you Pomfrey gave it to me longer than she needed.”

Sirius nodded. “You told me the other night.”

“I can’t dream walk when I take a sleeping draught, that’s why your dreamless nights were mostly in the summer. And, I think, Dumbledore suspected that I was a dream walker and didn’t want me causing trouble, so he had Madame Pomfrey give it to me longer than she really needed to.”

“Maybe you should start taking that again,” Remus offered, noting footsteps in the hall and feeling a bit mean. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Sirius said you had a nightmare.” 

“Who had a nightmare?” Connor asked as he strode into the room.

“Cait did,” Remus replied, crossing his arms across his chest. He knew he shouldn’t. Cait’s nightmares had long been an issue of concern and mentioning it now was bound to cause trouble, but it was intensely satisfying to get under her skin. She scowled at him as Connor turned to look at her, eyebrows raised. 

Switching to Irish, he asked, “What kind of nightmare?” Concern filled his face as he looked at his cousin. 

“The usual,” she responded, also in Irish. Connor frowned. 

“Been awhile since you had that, yeah?”

“Yeah, a bit.” 

“You alright?”

“Fine.” There was a finality in that one word that even the non-Irish speakers understood. She was not going to discuss it any further. Connor stared at her for a moment longer then nodded in acknowledgement and turned to Sirius, reaching under his coat.

“Donnie asked me to give this to you,” he said as he handed him a long, thin box. Sirius took it from him, bemused.

“What’s this?” 

“Dunno, he didn’t say.”

He carefully removed the lid and stared into the box, shock washing over his face. Transferring the lid to the same hand as the box, he lifted a long, slim, dark brown stick of wood from the box, carved with filigree and runes. He was staring at it as if unexpectedly reunited with a long lost friend. A wand. His wand. It felt warm and familiar in his hand, and a deep sense of relief washed over him. He had his wand back. He didn’t need it, obviously. He’d managed to learn enough wandless magic to protect himself and take his animagus form, but it felt good to have it. HIs magic would be accurate and much more powerful.  “Where did he get this?” 

Connor shrugged. “Mum, probably. Came by owl this morning.” He turned to Cait. “It’s time for soundcheck. Let’s go.”

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The Leningrad Rock Club was a converted theater in the center of St. Petersburg. It had a narrow floor area, with a bar in the back and a small stage in the front. The curtain served as the backdrop and reeked of years of stale cigarette smoke. Judging by the scars on the floor there had once been seats, but they were long gone. The ornately decorated--and deteriorating--ceiling rose cavernously, three stories above the floor. It was also, as Connor had warned them on the way over, run by the FSK and wired to the teeth.”So watch yourselves, yeah? He’s Claude, nothing else. No mistakes.”

Their equipment, including Rick’s modified drum set, had already been brought in and set up. Donnie was familiarizing himself with the small, outdated control panel when they arrived. He looked up as they filed in. “Hurry up and play somethin’, would ya? I’ve no idea how this thing works. All the bleedin’ labels are Russian.”

“Can I convince you to open with Jailbreak?” Cait asked as they settled into their places. 

Connor looked up in surprise. “You want to open with a cover?” He was grinning. 

Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “Yeah. I’d like to play a few covers, actually.”

“Like?”

“Wasted, of course. Out Ta Get Me. Maybe Public Enemy Number One.” 

Connor was chuckling openly, and Rick was grinning too. “You trying to tell everyone what you’re up to?” Rick asked. Connor shot him a warning look.

“Nah,” she grinned back. “Just set the tone.”

“Right. The tone,” Connor said sarcastically. Cait stuck her tongue out at him.

Looking over at Sirius she called, “Hey, security man! What’s your favorite band?”

“The Stones,” he answered immediately. Singing their songs was one of the things that kept him sane in prison. She already knew this, they’d talked about it on the way to FInland.

“Good choice. What’s your favorite song?” 

He contemplated that for a moment, turning to look at her. “Sympathy for zee Devil,” he replied with a grin, remembering the French accent this time. 

The club was crowded and people were still filing in ten minutes before the show, buzzing in anticipation. Apparently it had been a smart move to book Cait. The show had sold out in a matter of hours, people lined up around the block to score tickets. Donnie had already refused a second show three times. A thick haze of cigarette smoke now hung over the crowd and the smell of stale beer permeated the cramped and noisy space. The buzz filtered back to Sirius, Connor, Jeannie, and Remus, who were gathered around Cait in the dingy little room that served as a dressing room. Donnie and Danny were out in the club under the pretense of setting up. Really they were canvassing the crowd, looking for wizards, aurors, FSK, and anyone else suspicious or looking to cause trouble. 

Cait was examining herself in the dirty mirror on the wall. She was dressed in tight jeans, a black tank top, and black motorcycle boots. Her long hair was loose and wild. Her eyes were heavily lined with black eyeliner and she had a smear of scarlet lipstick across her mouth. There was a small skull ring with ruby eyes on her right ring finger, over the small diamond band Sirius had noticed her wearing in Nice. It was a simple, fierce look that reminded Sirius of the muggle rock concerts he dragged James and Remus to in the 70s, all of them high on the thrill of sneaking out and going to muggle clubs. He got brutally punished more than once when he was caught sneaking back into his parent’s house. 

Rick slipped into the small room. “Alright, Cait?” he asked. “You good with the set list?” He handed her the sheet of paper the three of them poured over that afternoon during sound check. It’d started out as a clean sheet. Now it was wrinkled and torn, with lines scribbled out and illegible notes in the margins. Rick also had several more clean sheets of paper and a black sharpie. 

Cait took the sheet. Sirius could see her eyes moving over each line, lips pursed, as Connor looked over her shoulder. “Can I have that?” she said, gesturing to the sharpie. She scribbled something in at the bottom.

“That’s it?” Rick said, taking the sheet back and looking at her insertion. She nodded. “Alright, I’m doing the final list. No more changes.” He sat down at the single table wedged into the room, head bent low over the paper.

They could hear the buzz or the crowd growing steadily louder. Sirius, sitting on the dingy couch, watched Cait bounce restlessly around the room. She’d spent the past hour doing vocal exercises, playing her guitar in short bursts, checking and rechecking her gear and her appearance, fussing over her lipstick or eyeliner. He wasn’t sure if the restless energy was nerves or impatience. 

A loud knock on the door made her jump. All of them turned toward it as a stocky, well-muscled man entered. The collared shirt he was wearing clung to his well-developed chest and arms, and had one too many buttons undone. There was a gold chain around his thick neck. His ironed jeans were American--a rare commodity in Russia--and tight enough to display his thick quads. It all gave the impression of a short bodybuilder with a buzz cut and Magnum PI-style mustache. 

“Good evening!” he greeted them enthusiastically in heavily accented English, palms upturned and arms spread wide. “Welcome to Leningrad!” His eyes locked on Cait, who had frozen mid-step, and he threaded his way through the room toward her. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Callaghan.” He smiled widely as he blatantly looked her over. Unsmiling, she took the hand he proffered, her eyes registering only the slightest flicker of surprise as he raised it to his lips. “I have been looking forward to this.” Cait nonchalantly flashed two fingers at upper arm with her free hand. Her signal for help. Connor, the more seasoned security guard, was next to her before Sirius could get off the couch. 

“No visitors allowed pre-show,” he said, his lanky frame looming a good six inches over the newcomer.

Irritation flashed across the man’s face. “I am not a visitor,” he said coldly. “I am the promoter. And I am here to welcome Miss Callaghan to the Leningrad Rock Club.” He turned back to Cait, whose hand he was still holding. “I am looking forward to getting to know you,” he said in a low voice, one he apparently thought was seductive, as he stepped even closer. The man was not much taller than she was and Cait held her ground, refusing to be intimidated, but her chin tilted dangerously. 

“Fine,” Connor retorted. “No one but band and security allowed pre-show.” Searching for a way to undermine Connor, the man looked around the room for Jeannie and Remus, irritation flashing over his face again when he realized they were gone.

“Of course,” he said smoothly, recovering himself and turning back to Cait, still uncomfortably close. “You must be preparing for the show. Please let me know if there’s anything you need. Anything at all. I will see you afterwards.” He kissed her hand again, finally letting it drop. Turning to leave, he looked around the room. “I’m looking forward to an excellent show.” There was a touch of menace in his voice that Sirius, who had moved within arms reach of the man, didn’t care for. The door clicked shut behind him.

“Gross,” Cait sighed, wiping her hand on her jeans. 

“Curious that he called it Leningrad, yeah?” Connor remarked. “Bet he’s FSK.”

Rick stood up from the chair. “He’s going to be a problem. Someone should tell Donnie.” It was Donnie’s job as a road manager to run interference with the club owners, promoters, and other business types, and he was damn good at it. 

“Jeannie already has,” Cait said, still staring at the dressing room door. “She made him the minute he walked in.” The two of them had spent far too much time trying to fend off handsy and entitled photographers, agents, and fans to not know walking sexual assault when they saw it. She had watched out of the corner of her eye as Jeannie, swearing quietly in French, slipped out of the room with Remus in tow, knowing she would make it through the crowd to the sound booth and Donnie much faster if she was accompanied by a man. 

“Well,” she said, shaking her shoulders out, “on that note, are we ready to do this thing?” There was a general murmur of agreement as they gathered themselves. Cait pulled Connor and Rick into a group hug. “Mr. Sleaze wants a good show? Let’s blow the roof off this motherfucker then.”

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There was no introduction, no indication that the band was about to take the stage until the house went dark. The crowd burst into gleeful cheers and shouts. The pitch darkness lingered just a moment past comfortable, letting the crowd quiet just briefly, only to be broken by a shout of “One! Two! Three! Four!” from Rick and a simultaneous explosion of lights and music. The music hit the audience like a sonic ton of bricks, instantly whipping the seething, swirling mass of repressed humanity into a violent-looking, joyful release. It would’ve scared the hell out of the Party stiffs if they’d actually been there. Sirius loved it immediately.

The music was simple, raw, straightforward rock-n-roll. Like her, there was no bullshit. There was very little showboating and the guitar solos were brief. The lighting was basic, the backdrop was simple, and the only thing exploding was her. The most interesting thing was Cait’s transformation when she stepped on stage. Sirius was accustomed to a woman who was constantly thinking two steps ahead and always looking over their shoulders, perpetually on edge. The pre-show nerves vanished once the lights went down, replaced by a commanding front woman. Her voice had a slight gravelly texture to it, something that didn’t come through when she spoke. 

They didn’t open with Jailbreak, but worked it in early in the set. She looked over at him, eyes wide and grinning, as she shouted “Breakout!” and ripped into the solo, as Sirius howled his appreciation along with the rest of the crowd. The sheer joy that she drew from playing, from belting out the lyrics, would have been evident to the dead. On stage she was free, joyful and lost in the music.

Sirius was just as surprised to see Connor, so stoic and reserved, let loose on stage. Connor had been fairly staid for the past 24 hours, quieter and more reserved than his garrulous brother and smart-mouthed cousin. He’d expected Connor to channel John Paul Jones and linger back by the drum kit, but he too came alive on stage. He wasn’t at all shy once he opened his mouth either, belting out the choruses and backing vocals and playing up the crowd, smiling at all the girls and leading the crowd clapping the beat. He and Cait played off each other well, clearly enjoying themselves. Sirius, relegated to the side of the stage so he was out of sight, found himself envying this freedom and attention. 

The first 45 minutes of the set had been fast and furious and the crowd was starting to get out of hand. Beer bottles were flying over heads and onto the stage, people were crowd surfing (a new one for Sirius, it looked fun. He thought James would have loved it), and the crowd was surging backwards and forwards, mashing the people in the front. He snapped into focus, eyes roving between the band and the crowd, alert for any signs of trouble. All of sudden Sirius noticed Cait wave Connor over to the drum riser during a solo. The three of them were shouting and gesturing, but couldn’t make out what they were on about over the music. They were supposed to play another cover next, a song he didn’t know called Out Ta Get Me.

As Cait and Connor moved back to the front of the stage, she threw a glance his way, shaking her head. Her makeup had started to run a little from the sweat pouring off her. The club was miserably hot, with little ventilation and no air conditioning. Sirius wondered momentarily if it was worse for the band under the hot lights, or in the swirling mass of the crowd. They switched gears without warning, bursting into a cover of the Rolling Stones’ Gimme Shelter. Sirius let out another whoop--it was one of his favorites. Connor deftly took the lead vocals, his rich, clean tenor an unexpected foil to Cait’s smokier voice.

“Brilliant,” came a voice next to Sirius, over the music. Phil and Joe had joined him stageside. “They needed to bring it down a notch or the place was going to blow.” Remus, who was keeping Sirius company, nodded in agreement.

“Out Ta Get Me would’ve been ugly,” Joe agreed.

They played for another hour, bringing the crowd up and down with them. She took the crowd with her on an emotional juggernaut, the lyrics swinging from ecstatic shouts and rebellious snarls to shrieks and whispers of pain. Sirius could trace the path of her relationship with her husband and her losses through the songwriting, differentiate the songs from her first album from those of the second. It was fearless in its rawness, laying her wounds bare. He and Remus both cheered appreciatively a third time when they closed with a punk rock cover of Sympathy for the Devil. This must’ve been her last minute addition to the set list, since he hadn’t heard them talk about it at sound check. He tossed his head back, eyes closed, and sang along with the rest of the crowd

Just as every cop is a criminal

And all the sinners saints

As heads is tails, just call me Lucifer

Cause I’m in need of some restraint

So if you meet me, have some courtesy

Have some sympathy, and some taste

Use all your well-learned politesse

Or I’ll lay your soul to waste

Pleased to meet you, hope you guessed my name

But what’s puzzling you, is the nature of my game

[dreamsofbrightstars]

Hello! How did you come up with the idea for Cait and dreamwalking?

Oh, that’s a good one...Cait has been an evolution, merging one story with another and a little bit of me, what I’d like to be, and the life I might like to have. Her ability to dreamwalk is directly inspired by Egwene al’Vere in the Wheel of Time series. I hadn’t read the books in at least 15 years when Cait began to take shape in my head so I’m not sure how closely their abilities align. It also wasn’t something I read about a lot in the fandom, which made it more interesting to explore.

Thanks for the ask, @magic-girl-in-a-muggle-world ❤️