Cool Zone Media. It's the Cool Zone Media book Club. I told you that's always been our jingle. I can't believe you all didn't believe me. It is the Cool Zone Media book Club, which is the only book club that you don't have to do the reading because I do it for you. I'm your host, Margaret Kildoy, and every week I bring you a story that I want to read you. Sometimes I just talk about books I think that'll come up to and sometimes I do whole weird radio plays and I think that'll come up too.
But what I do right now is I read you a novella that I wrote. I read you The Barrow Will Send What It May, the second book in the Danielle Kine series. This book was originally published Oh I don't know, in twenty sixteen, twenty seventeen from tour dot com. These were my mainstream published books. These sort of you know, started my career in many ways. I had several books that came out before it. I have a book called A Country of Ghosts, which is an anarchause you took
a book. I also have this book called What Lies Beneath the clock Tower, and it's legally distinct from Chooser and an adventure book, and it's an adventure of your own choosing book. I got a message from the Chooser and Adventure of the people in that trademark who informed me that I was not, in fact going on a Chooser and Adventure book tour. I was going on an Adventure of your own choosing book tour. And I wrote
them back and I said it noted. But when these two books, the first two Daniel Kine books, came out, you know, it was like then that I like got an agent and started having more people read my books and things like that, and so there's like a real particular love that I have for these books. I've probably talked about this already, but I'm not sure these books. Also, I've been writing novella's sort of set in this world, although without the magic, basically following Daniel Kine before she
was well before she transitioned it became Daniel Kine. I've been writing them for a very long time. They started as a way for me to kind of process my strange life of being a crosspunk traveler living in squats and doing forest defense and things like that, and I wanted a way to do that without writing actual memoir because at the time I felt like writing my actual memoirs would kind of be telling other people's stories without
asking them. And also there's some like crime related to some of those stories, and I didn't know how I felt about publishing stories that were like I do crime. Obviously, I've never done crime. I would never do crime. Oh, this would have been such a good place to transition to ads because the only crime would have been not taking advantage of these goods and services. But it's not time to transition to ads. Instead, it's time for me to start reading you this book, the thing that you
came here to hear me do. I'm going to start again with a couple paragraphs of the last chapter. Last chapter was chapter six. Thursday was pinned down behind the dumpster. Vacillis drew his pistol aloft, but Doomsday snatched it out of his hand and stepped outside, firing calmly. I don't think she was aiming to keep those guys pinned down. I think she was aiming for the guys themselves. They ducked.
Thursday ran zigzag. A shot shattered the glass of a window not a meter in front of him, but he got in through the door, and Doomsday slammed it shut. The firing stopped. I fucking hate gunfights. Dun Dun dum. Chapter seven. Nothing says well established squat like barricades and other defenses ready to deploy. I went through the building with a Sola and dropped thick wooden panels over every window upstairs. An argument raged. How are you feeling, I
asked a Sola. I'd rather be watching TV, Sola said, as she helped me get a steel bar in place over the front door. Yeah. I used to think I wanted a life of adventure. Now I just want to be left alone. Yeah, I felt that to my core. Sometimes I'd gambled everything on a life less ordinary. I had no savings, no long term partner, no home, no roots in any given community. All I had were stories and scars and vivid memories of moments too beautiful or
horrid to comprehend. Sometimes I wish I'd just had a little bit of peace instead. I didn't say any of that to a solo, though, because because me even pretending to understand where she was coming from, that was bullshit. I didn't know shit about shit. I'd never been kidnapped and murdered. Everything bad in my life, truly bad. I had stabbed and fought and kicked my way out of to varying degrees of success. Maybe we'll get through this, I said. I didn't sound optimistic, though, maybe she said
I hope. So it'd be cool to find out what happens in Voyager, find out if they ever get home. I looked out through the people. Half the town must have been gathered outside, no pitchforks or torches, just handguns and cars, the modern pitchforks and torches. I guess, which made us what Frankenstein's monster Dracula. If we were the monster, Frankenstein himself was out there somewhere in that crowd. He was out there, and he was lying to everyone, and
everyone was going to believe him. You can hide in there, Sebastian shouted, his voice muffled through the thick door. But we're patient, we can wait. I didn't want to watch TV and live a simple life. I wanted to kick open that door and walk out into that crowd and stab Sebastian Miller to death. That's what I'd do in a dream world, a world in which I could do anything. Bucket list be damned. There wasn't shit I could do.
You want to go upstairs and join the argument, I asked, no, Asola said, I'll stay down here, keep an eye on the door. If I'm going to die again, I'd rather be first, and I'd rather be surrounded by books. I nodded, then plodded up the stairs into the angry chaos and right into an ad How would that even work? Like just like walking up the stairs. Maybe there's posters on the wall. Maybe the posters on the wall of the library contain verbatim all of the words that you're about
to hear from our sponsors. I think that's the most likely thing. And we're back. The argument was split into two camps. Thursday and Vasillis wanted to get out onto the roof and try and shoot Sebastian. Brynn. Gertrude and Vulture wouldn't let them. Doomsday was sitting cross legged on the floor pouring through the Book of Barrow. She refused to acknowledge the conversation. I don't see any other option, Thursday yelled. Dying in a standoff with innocent people isn't
an option either. Vulture said, come on, you know that this is bullshit, I said, once I got the gist of what was going on, quit arguing it's just making everything worse. Well, what else am I going to do when these idiots won't let me at least try something? Thursday asked. Thursday, I said, I approached him, Adrenaline kicked into my system, almost the same as when I'd approached Sebastian angry armed men, and this was when I usually trusted. Listen to me. We're a team, right, Maybe, he said,
we've made it this far right. You saved my life and freedom, didn't you. Yeah, he said, save it again by calming down, by not doing something stupid. Fuck, he grumbled. The longer we wait, the worse the situation is going to get. Maybe, I said, maybe not. But if there's one thing I learned while traveling, if you've got a losing hand, it's better to shuffle the cards and draw all new ones, even if the new ones might be worse. That's not how poker works, he said, Yeah, I know,
but it's kind of how life works. Everything is shit right now, but in here, for the moment, we're comparatively safe. We don't have to act this second. We can just get ready for when things change. When is that? I don't know, I said. Maybe everyone will get bored. Maybe Sebastian will say something damning and they'll figure them out. Maybe they'll all go home tonight. Maybe Doomsday will figure out something good in that book. Or maybe one of
us will think of something. Or maybe those rednecks will set this place on fire, Thursday said. Or maybe the magic Feds will show up and kill all of us, maybe, I said Thursday side, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled you all. I don't know what to do. Doomsday without standing up from where she was, reached out a comforting hand and held on to his calf. If we're going to hunker down, she said, anyone want to make us some tea? I hate being barricaded inside a building with
enemies outside. I also, for what it's worth, hate that this is something I know about myself because it's happened more times than I could count. Thanks property laws for making my way of life illegal. There's never enough air or something when you barricade the doors. There are always too many people, both inside and outside, when you barricade the doors. We'd waited half the day already the sun was high overhead. When I'm fighting off a panic attack,
I go into scientist mode and observe my body. I think to myself, how am I feeling? As specific as possible, how and where exactly is the worry manifesting in my body? How long does each wave last, and how intense is it on a quantifiable scale like from one to ten. This serves two purposes. First, it gives me something to do. Just the act of trying to track my feelings distracts me enough to break out of the worst feedback loops of anxiety. Second, it gives me a database of sorts
that I can refer back to. Okay, I could say to myself, you're having one of your existential loneliness panic attacks. Expect three major waves with a high water mark of seven on the panic scale, one every three to five minutes, each one lasting roughly a minute before ebbing back down to a level four, or if it's a false alarm medical panic attack, that's good for a single eight, followed
by a descending secession of waves until it's over. Knowing what I'm in for keeps the panic from controlling me utterly. It knocks each panic attack down one to four increments on that scale. This was the old barricaded inside a building with cops outside panic attack. Well, in this particular case, it wasn't cops. It was armed strangers and an evil magician,
which was better in some ways. They didn't have the institutional authority to lock me in a cage for the rest of my life, but was overall kind of worse because Sebastian was not what could be called a rational actor, and it was impossible to tell what he might do with the power he had. So that was the kind of panic attack. I had the worst kind A couple of the waves they hid up towards nine, maybe ten.
A wave of panic that hits nine. It just takes me right out of scientist mode and right into that prison called my own head. I sat on the couch closest to the door, my head between my knees, and tried to count my breaths. I couldn't. I tried to drink my tea. I couldn't. It was all just too much, for way too long. It was all just too much. Can I join you? I looked up Vacillis. The past few days had wrecked him, and he looked it. The darkness under his eyes had reached the skeletal stage. His
hair was a frightened, uncombed mess. His lip quivered under his mustache, a nervous tick. Yeah, I said. He sat next to me, but not rudely close. I can only imagine what you think of me, he said. I didn't say anything. I didn't mind him opening up to me, though any distraction at all was welcome. For example, the way that you're about to be distracted out of the story by an ad transition, and if you have cooler zone media, you'll only be distracted by the ad transition.
But if you don't have cooler zone media, you're about to be distracted by the ads themselves. And we're back. Every excuse I could tell you, it would sound like something Sebastian would say. That's part of what's eating me alive, seeing all the parallels between me and him, I want to say I've lost everything, because in a lot of ways I have. Heather was my world. I wasn't hers, but she was mine. I just accepted that dynamic while we were together. I knew she was going to leave
me one day. That wasn't what I thought he'd tell me. I lifted my head to listen better. When you all came to town, I thought, this is it. She'll leave with these people. I accepted that, but of course the reality is so much worse. I'm sorry, I said. I thought for a moment about what I was apologizing for. There's this thing when people die where people always blame themselves. I may be hyper aware of that being what people usually do, because I do the opposite. People die and
I absolve myself of guilt. Clay died, and yeah it was partly because of a demon, but I'm sure it was partly because of loneliness. And I know he loved me non romantically, and I loved him non romantically. But I didn't keep up with him as well as I could have. I chose solitude. I chose the road over him. We can't save one another, Vascilla said. I know we can't. But if I could go back, knowing what I know now, I would have stuck with him, and I bet you
anything he'd still be alive. And I bet you anything, i'd be happier than I am right now. So that's what I've avoided thinking about. And with Heather, she made her own choices. You can't blame yourself for that. I wasn't blaming myself for Heather's death. I was blaming you and Bryn. If i'd been in any other mood, I might have taken that badly or pointed out as botched attempt to save her. Instead, I just nodded, which is bullshit, of course, Vascilla said, mostly bullshit, But it's true. If
we hadn't been here, she'd be alive right now. It's not our fault, but it's still causation and not correlation. What do you call that life, he said, chaos? Yeah, I understand Sebastian. I understand what he's thinking, what he's feeling. I know magic. I don't have a natural aptitude, but I've been studying it for years, and I can perform most rituals if I've got the right book in front of me. Now, I've got a book here in my
apartment that could bring Heather back from the dead. I could sacrifice myself to bring her back, but I won't. And I know why Sebastian grabbed other people instead of doing it himself. Why is that? Because Sebastian didn't want Gertrude alive for her sake? He wanted her alive for his sake. It wasn't that he wanted Gertrude to feel the summer air on her skin one more time. It was that he wanted a wife. He wanted company. True, I love Heather, loved I loved Heather, but not more
than I love myself. If we survive this, I'm going to wind up alone now, at least for a while. That's just the way it is. You'll leave, and maybe a solo will stay. But I have a feeling we'll both be alone for a while, a long while, even with the other around. He laughed, all of a sudden, that's the best case scenario. How do we get to that scenario? I asked, I don't know, he said, I know one thing, though, we've got to kill Sebastian. There's no coming back from what he's done. I don't know
if there's such a thing as beyond redemption. In my book, I said, I try not to believe in vengeance, only solving problems. If that means we've got to kill him, I won't cry. But there's always coming back from what we've done. The path into the light is always there, even if most people won't take it. And sometimes you need to kill them if they won't in order to keep yourself, for your community, or even strangers safe. Bascilla shook his head. Any other situation, I'd probably agree with you.
I didn't want to argue nitpicky shit about creating societies with radically transformed ideas of crime and punishment. I also didn't want to get off the couch and get away from him. Surprisingly, I didn't want him to get up either. Talking doesn't always help with panic, but it was helping just then. What's with the spade? I asked, nodding towards his tattoo to change the subject. It was a different man when I was younger, gambling man lost a bet.
I'll tell you one thing that a drunken face tattoo is good for. It's good for teaching you not to regret you ever think about getting it removed, I asked, Hell, no, I love this thing. How many librarians do you know with face tattoos? They run a library that they technically stole from the state. You're the only one, I said, damn straight, there's nothing in here, Doomsday said, standing up at last, setting the book atop Heather's body like she was a table. Nothing that's going to help us. What
we need is a distraction. Gertrude said she was handling the whole thing rather well. I suppose she had nothing left to fear, Like what I asked. I peered out the narrow crack between the wooden shutter and the window. Most of the crowd was still there, leaning on cars, smoking cigarettes, looking bored. Sebastian Miller stood sentinel in the middle of the street, staring intently at the front door. It had been what eight hours? Our magic Feds were
nowhere in sight, which was not reassuring. I bet they'll let me go. Me and a Sola, we're not with you. We know these people. I bet they'll let us go and we'll figure out something. You're the two that Sebastian was trying to kill. I said he won't, not with everyone else watching. Sebastian always cared a lot about what other people think of him. It was a dangerous plan, but it wasn't get to the roof and start shooting dangerous, and it was better than anything else we'd come up with.
I followed her downstairs to the front door. A Sola was easy to convince Gertrude opened the door a crack. Don't shoot, she yelled, it's me, miss Miller. I'm coming out. She slipped out, a Sola close behind, and I slammed the bar back and placed behind them. I was trapped inside again. Fuck. I wish I'd been able to join them. I wonder what they'll do. I was back upstairs, back on the panic couch. It didn't hit me so bad this time, maybe because whether or not it was me
doing something, I knew that someone was doing something. I knew that the current situation would not continue indefinitely, even without physically moving. Every passing minute got me closer to nod in the library as surely as if I was walking towards the en exit. Fuck off and leave us here, Vascilla said, that's my guess. Thursday and Doomsday sat on the love seat quietly whispering. Vulture was asleep in a Sola's bed, brin paste, her boots a rhythmic clump clump
on the floor. Every time her circuit took her past the window, she peered out for a second, Hey, she said. On one of her rounds, she motioned us over. Check this out. In the distance from the west edge of town. A thin trickle of smoke turned into a billowing cloud erupting up toward heaven. A Sola's house was on fire. Dun dundune. Okay, that's a real cliffhanger, right, because the house is on fire. What's gonna happen? What's gonna happen?
When we come back next week with chapter eight, the final chapter in the barrel, will send what it may. And I will say writing this particular chapter was kind of fun. It's fun the right word. Daniel Kaine is the closest I've ever done to a self insert character. It's like, not complete. Daniel Kaine doesn't have all the
same mannerisms and things as I do. But I specifically wanted to write about the fact that I have really bad anxiety when I'm locked in buildings with the cops outside, and I know that, and then I try to explain it to people who don't live the same lifestyle that I used to live, and they're like, why do you
know that? And the answer is that I used to squat all the time, and one of the things that we would do in Amsterdam when I lived there, there's a very strong squatting scene there there there certainly was at the time. So in order to get into buildings and open them up for the people who wanted to live there, and we'd go into these buildings that had been empty at least a year and open them up
and people would move in. And squatting was legalized at the time, but the cops was still trying to stop you, and so in order to do it, we would gather at least fifty people to open the building, and so kind of like you're not off the hook if you're squatter, you're kind of expected to go to these things because you know, that's how you got your house, right, And so we'd all gather to go do this, and sometimes the cops would figure out where we were meeting up
and they would just like surround the building and we'd have to just lock ourselves into these buildings, and squats are very well barricaded because people are used to exactly the situation, and so we would just be like locked in the building, and most of the people I was there with were just like laughing, hanging out, smoking, having a good time or whatever, and I would just like sitting there like it's fine, it's fine, it's totally fine that I'm in a building in a foreign country with
the police locked outside. But I got through it every single time and learned a lot of cognitive behavioral therapy to help me deal with that kind of thing in the future, and so it was just fun to write about it in a fictional way. Anyway, see y'all next week. It could Happen here as a production of pool Zone Media. For more podcasts from cool Zone Media, visit our website Coolzonemedia dot com, or check us out on the iHeartRadio app,
Apple Podcasts, or wherever you listen to podcasts. You can find sources where it Could Happen here, updated monthly at Coolzonmedia dot com slash sources. Thanks for listening.