That night, I insisted on eating at home.
Unsurprisingly, Sunset Shimmer acted as if she thought it a good idea, that it would "save bits." I'd tossed together a bowl of primavera fried hay with carrots and squash I'd scrounged up at the back of the pantry. It wasn't very appetizing, maybe because the butter lemon sauce was a little off. My idea of a good meal was takeaway fish & fry, when I had a pegasus to fetch it from a rooftop dive or, when I had no bits, to graze somepony's fescue lawn before the goats arrived to mow it in the morning. I'd not been tutored in cooking other than, of course, to appreciate it when good.
Her fork clattered to the table when she finally brought it up.
Her red claret unsampled, her hair laying limply across her face as if she no longer cared about her appearance, not even making eye contact, she asked, "Remember the night you first slept over here?"
I had expected this, but it saddened me nonetheless. The mouthful I chewed became like sawdust, but I played the game. "Uh, huh."
Quiet, very quiet: "You brought nettle-ewe..."
I'd brought it under Running Mead's mind control. Despite her equivocation at the time, I felt certain it had been my chummy presentation that had introduced the idea that it might be reasonable and safe to use. Having destroyed it, and having warned her, hadn't dissuaded her from trying it. Thus had Running Mead lost the battle and won the war. I had thought he had no influence outside of the Lower, but now he'd dried up Sunset Shimmer's supply. He wanted a tamed princess' pet—and her trainer—the two of us.
I put down my fork with a click-clack. "I warned you."
"Don't tell me you didn't know."
"I knew."
Her eyes came up, and I could see the red rimming them. "Then you can get me some?"
"You need to go to your father and get help—"
She slammed her front hooves on the granite top, rattling the plates and silver. I jumped back as she shouted, "You don't know my father! He was against me living here alone and..."
I had read about addiction in Understanding Pony Behavior. Addict's logic. It was the addiction talking. I endured the rage, the tears, and the begging—as a sailor might bad weather at sea, with no choice but to survive it.
She wouldn't even let me hold her that night to ease her tremors. In essence, she'd sunk so low she wouldn't let me lean to support her. She wanted me to feel guilty and cave. In the end, I knew what I had to do and giving in, even if I honestly could, wasn't it.
The next afternoon at lunch, I left school and walked through the fashion district toward Ponyville Way, ensuring I was as visible as possible and obviously alone. If I was being watched by the constabulary, I saw no evidence.
I hoped that this meant Fellows and I had a deal.
I walked all the way to the very busy intersection of Alicorn and Ponyville Way. Sun caused the empire-style fortress-like sandstone edifice on one corner to throw a massive shadow. The News Building housed the Canterlot Inquisition and above, within the glassed-in faux crenelations, the magazine The Canterlotter. In the cool shade waited, I realized with a start, a mare that I recognized. She trotted up to me with her green mane styled in a casual flip, wearing a long dress and a smart ruddy bowler hat. She had indigo eyes, and on a closer inspection, no horn. Wearing a dress to conceal her wings must have hurt. The green dye would have hurt her pride. Her black and silver compact camera made her look like a tourist.
I told Streak, "Tell Running Mead he's won."
"I'm so sorry!"
We both sighed, watching lorries and taxis roll on by, not budging an inch as we forced hoof traffic to walk around us. Beyond the big windows, continuous rolls of paper whirred through a giant printing press. The rumble made it to the street. Ponies ran with pots of black ink, while a tour guide addressed tourists behind a glass partition. I wondered if any reporters noticed the newsworthy pair that stood just outside.
I said, "I know you are."
"The boss is very good at finding ways to control a pony." The wannabe furniture-moving magnate stared at the sidewalk.
"Try to believe me when I say he doesn't always get it right. We've got hope. The other day, I had to protect myself, and I'm sorry for what happened and for what you saw."
She dismissed it with a snort.
"Now, this is very important: Tell Running Mead I'm going to bring him Sunset Shimmer." I hesitated about the next part because I intended to infuriate him. I took a deep breath and added, "Tell him that's in exchange for my freedom."
"We're his possessions."
I was counting on that. I needed him to do his worst to me as his victim. I was no innocent, and if he acted and the constabulary saw it, and I survived, I would finally make the world a better place for myself and everypony else.
"Tell him I'll only give her to him personally or no deal. In person. Tailor can guide us. Tell him I have no scruples about protecting myself. Remind him what you saw in Rye Bald's flat." Again, calculated to incite anger.
She nodded wordlessly, possibly sadly and suddenly sick to her stomach as she ambled away.
I endured one more night of moaning and moping, and all sort of piss and vinegar. I wanted Sunset Shimmer desperate enough to do anything I asked, and I wanted Fellows ready. I hoped he was as professional as he seemed.
Sunset Shimmer didn't go to school the next day. When I returned to the ivory tower, I found her in the vestibule, draped over a gilt blue-velvet fainting couch she'd dragged over, waiting—as I'd read dogs were wont to do. Reddened green eyes followed me as I hung my saddlebags on the umbrella tree, before I knelt facing her.
I said, "I've seen roadkill that looks better than you."
"I'll take that as a compliment. I feel far worse, and you know why."
It was time to crack. I managed a sob and laid against the cushion, pressing my cheek against her ribs, laying my horn across her stomach. I could hear her heart beating, but at least she couldn't see my eyes as I lied. "I can't take this any more. It's tearing me apart!"
Okay, it wasn't entirely a lie. I hated seeing her this way and wanted the old arrogant Sunset back, who I now realized was kind of fun.
After a moment, I felt her stroking my mane—which oddly made me think of me holding her in the night. Her numbers moved sluggishly. She had the concentration to levitate hair, but probably not much more.
She said, "You can help me."
"I want to, and I know what you're asking for. I wanted to be the mare you thought I was, but I guess that was a dream after all. Could you consider getting real help? Do you really want me to introduce you to my world?"
Her heart beat faster; I heard it. "No pony is perfect, Starlight. Yes, I know it's hard for you, but I promise, I really promise, this time I'll be careful of what I take. I'll taper off. I've read what to do. J-j-just help me this once…"
In the dusk, after I had gotten her showered, fixed her mane, got strong tea and sugar in her to perk her up, and found eye drops to clear her eyes, we walked through the bailey gate from the castle, nodding at the guards who nodded in return. Minutes later, I led her on to the school quad, where she said, "Deep Thinker stopped selling. I haven't been able to find her in weeks."
Few ponies remained. Lights in the magic lab flicked on downstairs. A pair of roan ponies, the "conjuring twins" everypony called them, stood on the sidewalk awaiting a ride. I sat beside a tree, out of view of the street. The grass felt cool. Autumnal air rustled the leaves, and the spicy scent of a pepper tree drifted down. I asked, "You haven't got a clue, have you?"
"About what?"
I took out a compact I had bought this morning, along with a makeup brush, newly cut stencils, and a pump hairspray bottle. I checked that the black, brown, and white powder pots were in the proper order, wincing at the heavy gardenia scent of the cheap stuff. Leaving Zecora's, I had set Grimoire's cape on fire, melted my supplies, and thrown the special horseshoes deep into the forest. Even that hadn't ended the nightmare.
No wishes came true unless you acted to ensure they did. I forced down the resentment of what I had to do.
"Welcome to my world," I said.