Two weeks couldn’t pass by soon enough.
Two weeks, each day gnawing at him, pulling at his mind. When would Velvet notice her missing journal? When would she march into Ponyville and become this season’s villain?
At the very least, right now Spike had a chance to correct—or conceal—his crime.
His claws pulled against the edge of his blanket, only recognizing too late that he had opened a sizable tear with his fidgeting. He shifted to his side again, wondering for the thirty-first time why he even volunteered to sleep in his old basket.
Nostalgia…right. Spike pursed his lips. This wasn’t worth it; he should’ve asked to share a bed with Rarity.
The fins at the side of his head twitched. Twilight and her closest friends breathed peacefully through the night. Well…five were peaceful. Rainbow’s snore could probably saw through oak.
Spike’s eyes eventually fell upon the clock near the chamber door. His dragon eyes just barely made out a miserable two o’clock in the blasted morning. He grimaced before holding his breath, sitting up soundlessly before clenching his fists. The Malevolent Mistress wouldn’t be besting Spike the Brave and Glorious this time, no sir! He came prepared, thanks in no part to sixteen surreptitious cups of coffee.
A lethal dose? Please—for a pony, maybe. But he was going to milk his dragon metabolism for all it was worth. Besides, it had been a very long two weeks, no need to turn it into three.
A cold draft tickled Spike’s scales. Canterlot Castle had luxuries and amenities of every kind—but it was still a castle. He gave one last glance to his friends, their serene slumber beckoning him to join them in the dreamscape.
No! He was committed to this course! He had it all planned out, and it was now or never. It was the only way.
Not only did the Gala give Spike the perfect alibi to be in Canterlot, the events of the evening were sure to leave Twilight and her friends thoroughly exhausted. They had all returned to the VIP’s chambers late that evening in various states of ineighbriation—well, that word might only apply to Dash, the rest of them likely only had a slight buzz.
Spike couldn’t blame them. After dealing with that crazy green goo creature, anypony might have needed a few extra stiff drinks, and at least one hot shower. Of course, after Tree Hugger had settled him down, Mr. Smooze had turned out to be a pretty cool guy. Spike just thanked Mother Mare that Velvet’s journal wasn’t shiny. Taking an involuntary swim in viscous green goo was bad enough; chasing after a MacGuffin inside the goo before it got digested was another thing entirely.
Shaking his thoughts clear from the craziness that was this year’s Gala, Spike slipped the journal out from under his pillow. The cool leather rasped against his claws as he held it up in the dark. He almost regretted even picking it up in the first place.
Almost.
He had been innocent to some of the incredible storylines behind his adopted mother, but now? Now he thought he understood her better, and maybe feared her just a little more. The journal wasn’t heavy, but it weighed on his mind all the same. Past Velvet’s depression must have rubbed off on him.
Spike’s feet met carpet, and he carefully stepped on his toes, noiselessly making his way to the chamber’s door. One last thing, though: Spike plucked his messenger bag by the foot of the door and stuffed Velvet’s journal inside. After all, a boring old bag would attract far less attention than a book in his claw.
Okay, more like two last things before leaving.
Spike stepped over to Twilight’s writing desk, deftly unclipping her keys from a side pocket in her saddlebags before covering them in a tight fist so they wouldn’t jingle. He’d hate to have to smash the Sparkle house’s windows like a cat burglar.
He glanced one last time at the six beds behind him. Their breathing cadence hadn’t changed.. Thank Luna for alcohol…and, well, the workload of officiating in the Gala. He hadn’t been wrong when he’d guessed they would need to stay the night after such an affair.
As Spike pulled the door open, the base whispered across the fibers of the carpet. The hinges didn’t make a sound, but that was because he had snuck back during the Gala and applied some fine machine oil. Spike hoped that when all this was over, he wouldn’t be naming that door “Chloe” or something…
After clicking the doorknob back in place, Spike held his claws up to his face, releasing a relieved breath into his palms.
“Okay…” Spike smacked his lips and scratched his tongue with his teeth, while he waited for his eyes to adjust to the glare. Nothing but doors, light fixtures and various banners along the corridor. Oh—and the decorative weapons. Once more scanning the hall, and finding that the only shadows belonged to him, he turned to his left and made for the castle’s main staircase. He hadn’t just chosen the butt crack of Luna’s night because Twilight and friends would be fast asleep; it was also time for the shift change. Spike blinked. He was successfully sneaking! Velvet and Daring’s journal had actually taught him something.
He wasn’t sure how to feel about that…
After a walk that seemed a bit too long for his liking, Spike peered over the balustrade near the top and studied the main atrium below. The silent emptiness seemed to swallow him. Just a few hours ago, this room was packed with ponies, tables, drinks, and hors d'oeuvres. Now? There wasn’t even a single drop of spilled Smooze.
Where were the guards? The maids and caterers were likely off shift, but what of Luna’s nightwatch? Spike swallowed, looking over his back. Shadows danced in the hall…or was that just his imagination? At any moment one of them might come alive, belching forth a batpony guard with fangs flashing to drag him to the dungeons.
Spike shivered. “Keep it together, Mr. Brave and Glorious! Just remember, if anypony crosses your path, I’ll just tell them I was heading to the kitchens for a midnight snack.”
Scanning the atrium one final time and detecting no movement, Spike crept down the grand staircase, keeping low until he finally made it to the ground floor. There was only about fifty feet to the main entrance. Looking at the archways to the left and right, feeling prickles on the back of his neck, Spike took his final step.
Any moment now…
Spike’s foot hovered, still several inches off of the atrium floor. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck as he started to rap his knuckles against the side of his head.
C’mon, Spike! What are you afraid of?
He rapped his knuckles a little harder.
Be like Velvet—she took adventure head on, and lived to tell the tale! She even saved Daring Do a couple of times! Spike drew in a deep breath. This was no time to get cold feet. He was going to march right across the atrium and head right out the main door.
A breath across his neck.
Spike whipped his head around. Icy blue eyes glimmered back. Somepony was standing behind him—somepony wearing a hood.
“WAAAUGH!”
Spike landed in a painful heap. His tail bunched up under his hind end. The echoes bounced off the stone and crystal walls, but he didn’t care. He screwed up his eyes, shutting them tight. Trembling, the messenger bag carrying the accursed artifact slipped from his sweaty claws. His breathing came out in chaotic, audible gasps.
Spike, the World’s Bravest DragonKnight, had been vanquished.
“Please! I-I-I’m sorry, Mom! Take it back—just don’t shoot me or zap me with your electricity…or run me over with Evy Junior!”
Seconds seemed like hours. Sentences gave way to wordless whimpers.
“Mom?” The hooded pony trotted over to Spike, using a hoof to pull him back to his feet. Her high-pitched, bubbly voice seemed to brighten the room just a little. “And what’s an Evy? Geeze!”
She brushed the hood backward and shook her head. A curly, neon pink mane poofed out, freed from its cage. Spike could’ve sworn he saw bits of confetti coming out of Pinkie Pie’s mane as she glanced aside, giggled to herself, then looked back at Spike.
“And you guys say I’m random.”
Spike’s shoulders sagged as he tried to calm down his breathing. “Pinkie? What in Celestia’s name are you doing sneaking up on me in a hooded robe? You shortened my life by like a thousand years!”
Pinkie rolled her eyes. “Well, duh! It’s cold in the castle at night! Do I look like I want to be turned into a frosty-freezy Pinkie? Ice cream is already cold enough!”
Spike raised a brow. “Okay…fine. Why are you sneaking around instead of sleeping?” Spike made a show of dusting himself off, trying his best to look nonchalant.
Pinkie chuckled as she leered back at him. “Well, I could ask you the same question. I mean, you even have a cat burglar bag!” She poked at it, and Spike pulled it back reflexively. “I mean, why do cats burgle, anyway? Ever thought about what a funny word ‘burgle’ is? Burgle burgle burgle burgle burgle burgle…not that I’d condone that sort of thing.”
“I…Well I used to live here!” Spike grasped for something more to add. “And besides…it's been a while since I’ve been able to say hi to Stella. We never cross paths anymore, what with her being a guard in the Nightwatch!”
There. That would make for a good alibi, right?
“Okie-dokie-lokie!” Pinkie reared back and plopped an explorer’s hat on her head. Spike’s eyes bulged as he looked from the pith helmet down to a compass that had somehow appeared in his claws. “While you’re hunting for Stella, I’m hunting for the exceptionally rare, the exceptionally mystical and dangerous Caramallow Mint Delight! Mmmm!” Pinkie’s tongue lolled out obscenely. “Deadly sugar comas…”
The world is full of deep dark mysteries—mysteries like: “how was Pinks this wound up at just after two in the morning?” Spike shook his head to clear it, before a pink hoof suddenly looped around the back of his neck and started to pull him towards the kitchens at the east end of the atrium. Spike could’ve sworn he heard the sound of a fishing line being reeled in.
He tried to pull away. “Well, what about the Night Watch? Aren’t you worried you’ll be caught?”
“Caught?” Pinkie audibly snapped away from Spike. “I could use an escort—right into the kitchens! It’s like those big box stores where all you want is an associate and there’s none to be found!”
“Big…box stores?” Spike scratched his head.
“So I sneaky-sneaked my way to the castle kitchens, all the while hoping to get somepony’s attention—come on, guys! You’re no fun at all!” Pinkie concluded by shaking her hoof at the archway leading to the kitchen. “And then I saw you.”
Spike gritted his teeth. How to lose the Pink One? He glanced aside. To even attempt to predict the Pink One’s thoughts was a fruitless endeavor, but it was tempting all the same. “So you decided to scare me half to death?”
“Not exactly... But if nopony’s coming after you shouted like that, then nopony is coming! This is the Canterlot Royal Guard, Spike!” There was a hint of a snicker in Pinkie’s voice. “They couldn’t even catch a Diamond Dog in a clown outfit!”
Pinkie’s chuckle transmitted itself to Spike. “Yeah. I guess not.” Twilight’s bad influence was striking again.
Wait, was that mist flowing across the atrium floor new, or…?”
A mare’s voice whispered from the mist. “If you two must know, the Night Watch doesn’t deem you a threat. Just…clean up after yourselves when finished, m’kay? Oh, and Stella sends her regards.”
Spike blinked, then jerked his head back to Pinkie. When did they start hugging each other and trembling? “M’kay!” they both replied. The mist wafted back the way it came.
Score One for the cool magics of the Night Watch. And…there was actually a Stella on shift? Huh.
Spike looked down at Pinkie’s leg. It seemed to wrap more like a noodle than an articulated appendage. He pushed her hooves off of him, mystified at how they wobbled before retracting to a normal length. Apparently, Pinkie’s hugs cause contact highs.
“Aaanyway…I already checked the kitchens earlier for s’more-flavored ice cream—they’d never heard of the stuff. Can you believe it?! How do the nobles live with themselves?!” Pinkie threw one foreleg into the air. It wiggled again, this time from the inertia…
Spike scratched the side of his head. The limb seemed to make a sound like bouncing jelly. Was he just hearing things?
The Pink Creature’s eyes widened at the offending appendage. “Well, that’s new.” She waved her foreleg again, this time more slowly.
“What’s new, rubbery hooves?” Spike studied the limb with consternation.
She waved the hoof back at him. “Nah. It’s just not supposed to make that noise.” Pinkie gasped, her eyes popping wide. “Oh, no! This is Stage One of Caramallow Mint Delight Withdrawal!”
“Cara—what?”
“You mean, you haven’t read about this in one of Twilight’s books?” Pinkie began raising her hooves upward. “Stage One: flaccid paralysis; Stage Two: mood changes! But then, there is the dreaded Stage Three!
“W-what is it?” Spike leaned forward—wait, why was he even invested in this subject? “Softening bones?”
“Bones? No, silly! SEVERELY UNSHORN FETLOCKS!”
Spike thought he could hear somepony chuckling down a corridor.
“But there is still time! Hurry!” Pinkie gathered him up again, this time making for the main entrance.
“But!” Spike sputtered, stumbling forward under Pinkie’s press. “Rubbery hooves!”
“Spike, you aren’t making any sense!” Pinkie spun around, prancing on strangely solid hooves. “Look. S’mores ice cream will do just the trick, but there is none of that here! If I can pick some up at the midnight market, an innocent life may be saved. We can’t afford escalation to Stage Four.”
Canterlot Castle’s empty atrium had a respite from the Pink One’s ramble. Spike planted his claws over his temples and shook his head. He could finally hear himself think.
“Well, I’m off!” Pinkie snapped a quick salute. Her voice regained its telltale bubbly tone as she started bouncing out the door. “See ya later, Spi—”
“Wait!” Spike ran forward, thrusting his arm out to catch the side of the massive door. Turning her head to face him, Pinkie paused mid-bounce. Spike’s eyebrows furrowed. Her hooves weren’t even touching the—never mind. Just say your piece. Don’t question the Pink Creature.
“This market…” Spike tapped his fingers. “Where is it?”
Pinkie’s body turned to orient itself correctly under her head before she plopped back down, sitting back on her rump. She pointed a wobbly hoof to the west. “There’s one on Honeybee Street, beside the detective office…though, that’s kind of a ways. It’s the closest Stop ‘n’ Trot.”
Now that changed things. Spike stroked his chin. “I, uh, also want a s’more...thingy—” Spike pointed a finger north.“—but I know a Barnyard Bargains that’s closer!”
“Ooh! Ooh! Filthy’s Franchise! In that case…”
Pinkie’s tail twitched, then came to life. Spike yelped when it lifted him from the floor. It felt like sitting on one of the hay bales in Applejack’s farm, only softer—as if there was nothing under him to support his weight. Pony tailbones weren’t this long, right?
The tail-seat then inverted, sliding Spike down onto Pinkie’s back. “Point me at ‘em, Spike!” declared Pinkie. “To adventure! Weeee!”
“Hold on, remember I’m just a — whoa-oa-oa-oa!” As the World’s Bravest DragonKnight rode his mount into the sunset-colored streetlights of Canterlot, his bottom clenched.
If only the Pink Creature came with seatbelts.
Luckily for Spike, Pinkie Pie eventually slowed down enough for him to dismount and walk alongside her the rest of the way. He was relieved that Pinkie followed his suggestion, thereby providing him an escort to the convenience store located much closer to the Sparkle residence. The Canterlotian night was chilly, but at least he had company. Though, said company threw away any semblance of stealth and beat the concept mercilessly with a rubber hose.
Random story Number Four was in full swing. “Party cannons? Sign me up anytime! I’ve raised that technology to an art form. But Icing throwers?” Pinkie waved her wobbling hoof as she ambled through the street. “Even I’m not silly enough for that. Who makes that sort of stuff: a mad scientist? A mad baker? A mad bakentist?!”
A pause—the chilly night air thickened around Spike and Pinkie. Spike realized Pinkie was waiting for his reply. “Uh, bakentist…right.”
“Well it turns out…she actually was a mad scientist. Marine Sandwich: madder than a hatter in a moth convention! Who’d da thunk it?” An airy chuckle escaped from Pinkie’s face, eyebrows contorted in a mix of annoyance and amusement. She finally gave a fond sigh. “You should’ve been there, Spike. She was blasting everypony with this weird icing that froze you in place like…well…actual ice!”
Spike gave Pinkie a soft “heh” and managed a somewhat weak smile. At this point, Pinkie’s talk was more for herself rather than Spike, but eh, no harm in humoring her.
“I-I mean, you don’t expect a world-renowned celebrity chef to cackle stuff like ‘Nyeh heh heh! You all called me mad! Now you’ll serve as my culinary masterpiece…forever!’” As Pinkie waved a hoof upward into the air, her voice adopted a rasp—the same kind that Spike would sometimes hear on TV during Marine’s many, many talk show breakdowns. “It’d be like…if it turned out Trixie’s dad was part of the mafia! Or, or…say Fluttershy’s mom was some kind of soldier who wanted to silence ponies who knew of her dark past as a—”
Spike cringed and rubbed his neck. Pinkie’s ramblings hit the head of a nail she didn’t know existed. He was dealing with somepony else’s mother.
At the corner of Spike’s vision, Pinkie jerked her head to Spike. “Buuuut enough about me.” Spike’s ear fins perked as Pinkie’s tone shifted audibly. “What was a little dragon like you doing all alone in that big, big castle? Bag or no bag…”
Pinkie’s eyebrows creased toward each other, her face softening along with her tone. Spike felt his face heat up a few degrees, but all he could reply with was a warbly hum.
Pinkie grinned as her gaze grew distant, narrowing her eyes at something down the street. “Hmm, looks like something in that noggin of yours is keeping you up at night!” She turned and tapped a hoof at his head. “Well, you know what Granny Pie always said about opening the blinds to make the germs go away!”
Spike stopped. “I…do?”
It took a couple of seconds for Spike to decode Pinkie’s metaphor. Pinkie had stopped. One glance at her revealed that her ears had folded behind her head. Her voice dropped low, almost to a whisper. “But…only if you want to talk about it.”
Spike let out a long breath. He rubbed the film of sweat off his palms, and wringed his claws around the strap of his bag. “Uh…well…so…what do you do if you’re asked to keep a secret, but you think it shouldn’t remain a secret?”
Pinkie narrowed her eyes at Spike—a probing look, yes, but nowhere near as piercing as Velvet’s gaze from last time.
Hopefully.
She jerked her head back toward the road, narrowing her gaze again. “Surprise parties are everything to me, Spike! Twilight would know…heck, you’d know. You both got one when you first arrived at Ponyville! It’s worked on everypony before, after all!”
Oh no, she’s wandered off to that weird place again.
“But…Twilight’s different.” Pinkie stared off into the distance; her tone flattening out even more. She started walking again, this time at a sedate and pensive pace. Spike hurried to follow. “And it’s not just because she’s a princess. Remember the picnic on the day of the Smarty Pants incident?”
Spike scratched the fin at the side of his head. “What are you getting at?”
“Well, let’s say I decided to make the picnic that day a surprise, instead of telling Twilight ahead of time.” She gave Spike a significant look. “How do you think she would’ve handled it?”
Spike glanced downward again, this time crossing his arms. “With the way I could hear her brain cells snapping and popping while she talked to the puddle?”
Apparently, Pinkie didn’t wander off to that weird place after all. “Uh huh. For a pony like her—one who’s always feeling like there’s a deadline or grade hanging over her head—the last thing you want to give is more things to worry about.” She then narrowed her eyes on him. “You didn’t Pinkie Promise to keep that secret, did you?”
“Wh-what? No, I’m not the one keeping any secrets, I just happened to…I mean...” Spike hissed and rubbed his eyelids. “What I-I’m trying to say is…there wasn’t anything about sticking a cupcake into my eye.”
Pinkie stopped again and extended a hoof toward Spike. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me about it. What you have to do, though, is weigh the benefits and risks of spilling the chocolate chips.”
“You mean beans.”
Pinkie scoffed and waved her hoof. “Ew, no! Chocolate chips are better. But yeah…” Pinkie paused and stared down the street again. “Keeping a secret for somepony else is harder than keeping your own secret. Remember when Twilight was trying to hide your crush on Rarity?”
Spike frowned, but then he recalled the image of Twilight dumping her head inside a potted plant. He smiled ruefully. “What does this have to do with surprise parties, though?”
“Not everypony appreciates a surprise party. Not every secret should be kept. But surprise parties are fun! And secrets have their place. There’s no one-size-fits-all answer here, Spike.” Pinkie shook her head before she started walking again. “I might not be able to answer your question for you, Spike but you know who can help?”
Spike gulped. “Um…uh…the pony who's keeping the secret in the first place?”
“Uh huh!” Pinkie nodded, then scratched her mane. “This isn’t about ‘Mom’ being about to run you over with an Evy, is it?”
Spike gaped. “I…invoke my Right Against Self-Incrimination.”
Pinkie shrugged, then glanced upwards. “Do you remember Twilight’s Friendship Report after we first met Photo Finish?”
Spike gulped and looked down. “Being a good friend means being able to keep a secret. But you should never be afraid to share your true feelings with a good friend.” There was barely any intonation in his voice.
“Bingo!” Pinkie pointed her hoof up, and Spike could’ve sworn he heard a ‘ding’ come from it. “If you’ve got doubts that it’s still a secret worth keeping, who better to talk it over with?”
Talk…to Velvet? He’d rather make like Night Light that one time and tell Luna that her stars were out of alignment. And yet… Spike couldn’t deny Pinkie’s words. Of all the things Pinkie said tonight, why did this have to make the most sense? “I’ll…I’ll try.”
“That’s the spirit!” Pinkie then nudged her head to an intersection a few yards away. “Uh…which way?”
“Oh, let’s take a right.”
In a few minutes, Barnyard Bargains sign came into view. The store’s tacky, familiar jingle faded into existence when Pinkie and Spike passed through some kind of proximity sensor. A pegasus stumbled out, slipping something into her saddlebags before she took wing, wobbling side to side before she righted her path. Spike cringed as her hooves clipped a rooftop antenna.
“Spike?”
“Yeah, Pinkie?” He looked over to find the pink pony giving him a level stare.
“Don’t let me catch you ever flying under the influence. Promise?”
“I don’t even have wings, Pinkie.”
“For now…” Pinkie sing-songed. “Promise me.”
“Yeah, uh… Cross my heart, hope to fly; stick a cupcake in my eye!”
They stepped through the door, Pinkie trotting forward to peruse the shelves while Spike pushed the door shut, getting a gust of biting wind to the face for his trouble. When he turned around, Pinkie was already down an aisle, her eyes twinkling as they darted between three bottles of caramel sauce: two on her hooves, and one wrapped in her poofy prehensile bangs.
Spike placed a hand on the door, his breath freezing in his chest. He glanced back at the dark streets of Canterlot. Could this be the moment to give Pinkie the slip? One leg stepped to the side, the muscles coiling with tension.
“Spike?” Pinkie’s ice blue eyes were looking right at him. “Before you go, I have a question.”
How did she… Oh, right. Pinkie being Pinkie. Spike’s heart had already plummeted to his stomach, but he swallowed anyway and gave a weak smile. “Uh, sure?”
“My favorite is Hay Shires!” A third voice butted in from behind a shelf. Both Pinkie and Spike jumped. “Celestia’s Reserve is too pretentious. My dad always said that when in doubt, go for Hay Shires.”
Once Spike’s heart stopped racing and he took several deep breaths to suppress the urge to scream, the owner of the voice stepped forward. His jaw fell open. “Minuette?”
With a gasp, Pinkie plopped the caramel bottles back on the shelf and pronked to the light blue unicorn mare, giving her a squeeze that made her tired eyes bulge out a little. “Hi, Mini! Okay, two questions: one, what are you doing here, and two, you know Hay Shires puts way too little cream in their caramel, right?”
Minuette rubbed her eyes, then levitated a steaming paper cup. “To answer your first question, somepony forgot to restock our supply of coffee, so my supervisor asked me to…well, you know. And as to your second question…what?”
“Is this your normal shift?”
Minuette shook her head, yawning before she cracked a smile.
“…wow.” Pinkie let out a low whistle. “On Gala night? What kind of no-good meanies do you work for?”
Minuette gave a weak wave of a hoof. “Eh, one of my co-workers discovered one of Star Swirl’s old time spells last night. And since I’m the only pony in the library who specializes in time magic…”
Pinkie’s plot had plopped on the polished floor, wide eyes and upright ears absorbing Minuette’s story.
She raised a hoof. “Okay, Minuette. Hold that thought! Spike?”
Pinkie was looking back at him. His claw back on the door—how did she know just when to look? He lowered his hand and waited. Pinkie’s face broke into a small smile.
She scratched at her mane for a second before grinning. “Tell her I said ‘Hi’ alright?”
Shaking his head, Spike smiled before snapping off a salute. “Will do, Pinkie. Until we meet again?”
“You’re only a block and a half away. Good luck!”
“Thanks, Pinkie. You’re the best.” Spike breathed a relieved sigh. He didn’t know how this would’ve worked if he had tried to lose Pinkie entirely. At least she was supportive…
Spike slipped outside. He gave a final wave before he ran down the street, huffing as tiny, trembling legs carried him towards the Sparkle household. Time to go lone wolf.
Dodging the harsh yellow glare of streetlights, the dark, forboding Sparkle estate towered over Spike. On its polished white wall, two front windows stared down at him, while the front door taunted him—beckoning him to enter its maw. A film of sweat formed on Spike’s claws.
‘W-what was I even thinking coming here? Mom came out on top against all those mercenaries and monsters. What if she thinks I’m a burglar?”
He could just picture it: Velvet coming around a corner, horn glowing as she aimed a shotgun at his silhouette in a darkened hallway. Shaking his head to clear it, he gritted his teeth. He had come this far…
“W-wait.” Lowering his voice to a harsh whisper, Spike looked left, then right as he shivered in the middle of the sidewalk. “I’m going to need more cover!”
Spike’s dragon eyes zeroed in on a tree beside the Sparkle estate: a cypress with thick branches and leaf cover. One limb passed close to an attic window. He hustled out the streetlights’ way and snaked across the grounds. He looked around again, his heart fluttering with every step. The Sparkles hadn’t acquired a watchdog since he was here last, right? Or Celestia forbid, an automated taser drone.
He hustled to the tree, rubbed the sweat off his palms, jabbed his claws into the bark, and pulled a few times. Sturdy—it’d do nicely.
In no time at all, Spike had climbed up to the branch he had marked as his goal. Sure enough, the branch crossed almost to within arm’s reach of the window. A ladder would’ve meant far less exertion and risk, yes, but that would’ve just attracted more attention. That, and…well, Spike didn’t exactly have a pocket dimension or something like that to keep a ladder in.
After creeping along the branch, Spike pushed a tuft of leaves down, just enough to keep the rest of him hidden while he studied the layout of the Sparkle estate’s west side. A window to the attic, lit from inside, loomed closer. Now that he was closer, his goal—and for that matter, all of the windows—seemed to be just a little further out of reach from the branches. Spike smacked his lips. No matter: at least he wasn’t under a spotlight anymore, and the tree made for a good, concealed observation post.
No signs of anypony awake. They must’ve left the light on. Part of Spike wanted to jump down and head straight for the front door, but another kept him clinging onto the branches.
Maybe there was somepony awake? He made up his mind to wait thirty minutes. If the light remained on the entire time, then they were likely in bed and had forgotten it. Spike retreated from the end of the branch, leaned onto the trunk, and sat down. “It’s not like you’re breaking into Queen Chrysalis’s hive or anything,” he reprimanded himself with another harsh whisper. “This is one of my childhood homes, and these are ponies I can trust! Right?”
Spike’s head drifted downwards. The stare Velvet gave him two weeks ago flashed in his mind. What was really behind that stare? Did she trust him?
Frankly, he wasn’t sure if he could trust himself.
Spike limply took Velvet’s journal out of the bag. He stared at its cover from his slumped posture. Two weeks of hiding somepony else’s semi-shady past was nothing compared to that somepony else hiding that past for more than twenty years. Velvet couldn’t have been doing this only for herself. There had to be some other reason.
But what could it be? And going back to Pinkie’s point, what would happen if Velvet’s secret got out?
His mind and stomach tied itself into knots trying to come up with an answer to the question. But…nothing. Spike didn’t want to admit it, but Pinkie was right.
He’d have to talk to Velvet…
…sometime…
…someday.
Spike glanced back at the direction of the Barnyard Bargains, puffed out a strained breath, then returned his gaze at the Sparkle Estate. Time wasn’t so much a concern right now. Pinkie would have his back.
Some light from the streetlamps leaked through the cypress’s leaves. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for his vision to read Velvet’s scrawled account. Thus far, he hadn’t had enough opportunity to finish the darn thing. Could he actually return it before seeing it to its conclusion? Hiding a book from the Princess of Books for two weeks hadn’t been easy. Heck, with Twilight calling him every other hour, he’d spent more time hiding it than actually reading it. He’d be glad to slip this burden off his shoulders.
But without finishing? Something stirred him to press on to the last section. Maybe it was the fact that tonight would be the last time he’d see the journal, and his gut wanted him to make it count. Maybe for all the unease the journal gave him, reading it was somehow…therapeutic.
Dear Journal,
Fuck…when did that pegasus smash through the window of the Vanhoover hotel again? Three days…four days…a week ago?
Whatever…point is, I kinda get now what Daring meant when she told me that “most ponies would crack in the first leg” back in the San Palomino Desert. And it’s not even just because of Evy or Rapids or…
If I knew how to write sighs in a book without coming across as a total nerd, I would.
I should’ve thought of this sooner. I should’ve thought of this while I was still on the train. I should’ve thought of this before I lied to Night Light. But better late than never I suppose.
Why does Daring Do do what she does?
Sounds like a Magic Kindergarten tongue twister, I know, but…like, what pushes her? What fuels her? It’s crazy enough to jump into an action movie come to life once, but Daring…she made it her life’s work. How does she not crack after two billion bullets, three million explosions, one thousand collapsing ruins, and a hundred fallen allies?
I guess I’ve been so busy getting enraptured by that same action movie come to life that I’ve never really stopped to think about its wider purpose.
And Celestia, do I have a lot to think about…
How I ended up here…
Why I ended up here…
Would I ever see my Night Light again…