{"id":401,"date":"2016-06-17T20:55:59","date_gmt":"2016-06-17T20:55:59","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/?p=401"},"modified":"2020-12-19T18:31:25","modified_gmt":"2020-12-19T18:31:25","slug":"book-ii-chapter-21","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/2016\/06\/book-ii-chapter-21\/","title":{"rendered":"Book II – Chapter 21: Grappa"},"content":{"rendered":"

The 14th<\/sup><\/span> floor was by no means the penthouse, yet still offered a remarkable view of the city. Only a couple blocks west lay Foley Park, its lake rimmed with golden street lamps. Beyond that, past the river, one could see Southport Tower, a gleaming, gaudy spire of steel casting a glow onto the neighboring buildings. Yet, without focus, all Ferris could make out was a blur of color, of speckled lights scattered from one end of his vision to the other. He leaned into the railing, fingers wrapped around the iron bar. The wind was stronger on the 14th<\/sup><\/span> floor, whipping the collar of his shirt against his skin. Such a view was wasted on a man like him.<\/p>\n

From the corner of his eye, he caught a pack of cigarettes Demos had abandoned on a chair. It was strange, how much he hated the smell, yet found comfort in the way it lingered. He wondered, staring at the pack, if it would taste just as bad.<\/p>\n

The door behind him clacked. He turned just in time to meet the barrel of a pistol, its grip wrapped in slim, ghostly fingers.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, God. You\u2019re here.\u201c Demos let out a breath, lowering the weapon. \u201cDon\u2019t scare me like that.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ferris resisted the urge to clutch his chest, as his heart threatened to leap right out of it. \u201cScare you?<\/i>\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou didn\u2019t answer your phone for like, two days! And then I get here and there\u2019s dishes in the sink, and\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n

\u201cDishes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou always do the dishes. You love<\/i> doing the dishes. I thought someone had\u2014 fuck, you drive me crazy sometimes. And you didn\u2019t even answer the doorbell, and\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n

\u201cSince when do you use the doorbell?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI thought, I don\u2019t know, that Alex might be here, and you wouldn\u2019t\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n

Demos trailed off, his brow narrowed. Ferris could feel the Ghost\u2019s eyes tracing each part of his face and suddenly wished he could turn away. Demos could read him like a book, an old, dog-eared book, one he had read a thousand times over a thousand days. Ferris leaned back on the bar, the cold metal pressing into the small of his back. There was no escape.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe was<\/i> here.\u201d Ferris dropped his attention to the terrace floor, set on the glazed wood. He felt sick, suddenly, as if his stomach itself had curdled into a putrid lump.<\/p>\n

\u201cFerris.\u201d<\/p>\n

The word, his name, was soft \u2014 softer than Ferris had heard in a long time. He couldn\u2019t bring himself to look up. He was glad Demos was there, grateful for human contact, for someone to stand with him on that dark, lofty terrace. Yet, at the same time, he wished his friend would simply go away.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou were right.\u201d Ferris\u2019 hands tightened on the rail. \u201cYou\u2019re always right.\u201d<\/p>\n

Wind buffeted the wall, whistling over the brick. Without looking up, he could tell Demos was still watching him. Though Ferris often stumbled with his words, it was rare that the Italian had nothing to say. All Ferris could hear was the rustle of fabric as Demos slid the pistol inside his jacket, then came to his side by the railing.<\/p>\n

For a while, Demos only watched the city. His hair skirted his temples, black strands tossed carelessly by the wind.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry.\u201d Demos shifted his eyes back to his friend. \u201cI didn\u2019t want to be.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ferris returned the look, wondering why he wasn\u2019t making his usual comforting gestures \u2014 the hand on his wrist, the touch on his shoulder, the same, solicitous contact he always made when something was wrong. This time, there was nothing. There was only a look in his eyes, one that rarely crossed the face of a sinner. Somehow, there was guilt.<\/p>\n

Demos\u2019 spoke again, hesitant. \u201cWas it because of me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt wasn\u2019t just you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ferris hugged his elbows, fighting the chill with crossed arms. \u201cGino, Victor, Dad \u2014 they all found someone. Mom loved him, and he was in even deeper than I am. It\u2019s not the crime. At least, not entirely. I think I\u2014 well, maybe I\u2019m just not worth it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s not true.\u201d Demos\u2019 voice had sharpened to a point. \u201cYou know that\u2019s not true.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n

\u201cI never want to hear you say that again.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ferris stopped trying, falling silent under the crack of his friend\u2019s words.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t remember, do you?\u201d Demos said. \u201cWhen I thought the same thing, what you said to me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI do remember.\u201d<\/p>\n

Demos waited. Light drifted from a neighboring window, leaving his cheek lemon yellow. For a moment, Ferris struggled to think of his exact words. It had been so long ago, back before college \u2014 back when he\u2019d seen his friend heartbroken for the first time.<\/p>\n

\u201cI said\u2014 I told you, you are<\/i> worth it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI never said it again.\u201d The fire hadn\u2019t left Demos\u2019 voice. \u201cAnd I don\u2019t want any of that shit from you, either.\u201d<\/p>\n

The edge of Ferris\u2019 mouth lifted, an inkling of a smile. \u201cSounds fair.\u201d<\/p>\n

That sign of happiness, small as it was, died quickly. It took too much energy to smile, energy that Ferris simply didn\u2019t have. The sickness in his gut hadn\u2019t left. Demos was still keeping his distance.<\/p>\n

\u201cI thought I could have something normal.\u201d Ferris rubbed his temple, fighting the throb at the front of his skull. \u201cI thought\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n

It didn\u2019t matter what he thought. Whatever it was, from the very first day, he\u2019d known how it would end. He\u2019d known she would leave and had only managed to drag it on with dumb luck and lies.<\/p>\n

\u201cIs there anything I can do?\u201d Demos said.<\/p>\n

Throw me off this balcony,<\/i> was the first thing that came to Ferris\u2019 mind. He dropped the thought, distracted by the ache in his chest, the pain that had seeped through every raw bone in his body. Demos didn\u2019t want him to say it, that he wasn\u2019t worth the trouble, that he would continue to exhaust every trace of love and normalcy that dared come into his life. Even so, Ferris couldn\u2019t help but think it.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t want to feel this.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen I\u2019ll introduce you to my old friend.\u201d Demos smiled. \u201cMr. Grappa.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA drink?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah.\u201d Demos tapped a cigarette from the pack on the chair, then opened his lighter with a click. \u201cLet\u2019s raise hell.\u201d<\/p>\n

#<\/p>\n

It was past closing at Ristorante Giorgetti. The last customer had left hours ago, heading home as any decent person should have. Keys rattled at the back door and a click of the light switch bathed the entire kitchen in white. Apparently, when Demos had suggested \u2018raising hell,\u2019 he had meant drinking alone in an empty restaurant.<\/p>\n

Ferris waited for him at the piano. Dim shapes reflected off the surface, a sheen of bronze on black. He was grateful for the restaurant, for a quiet place without crowds, without chatter. Somehow, Demos had known to take him there \u2014 he had known without asking. He always knew.<\/p>\n

Demos joined on him the bench, bumping him aside with his hip. Balanced in his hands were two cognac glasses and a fat bottle of perilous looking brandy. Grappa.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is the fourteen year Nonino.\u201d The drink sloshed as Demos poured it into each glass. \u201cUncle Vic would kill me if I took the twenty-six.\u201d<\/p>\n

Warily, Ferris took the offered glass. \u201cShouldn\u2019t you be saving this for a special occasion?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEvery minute with you is special.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh my god.\u201d Ferris dragged his free hand over his eyes. \u201cWhy does anyone let you talk?\u201d<\/p>\n

Demos only laughed, lifting his glass. \u201cAll right, now take in the aroma before\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n

Ferris, clearly in no mood for complicated instructions, downed the glass with a single tilt of his head. It burned, with flavors of alcohol and bitter spice scalding the back of his throat. He felt it run all the way through him, like rocket fuel through an empty tank.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, fuck.\u201d<\/p>\n

Demos frowned. \u201cThat is not how you drink grappa.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s incredible,\u201c Ferris paused to breathe, \u201chow much I don\u2019t give a fuck right now.\u201d<\/p>\n

The bottle clinked against the rim as Demos refilled the glass. \u201cSlow down, cowboy. This shit will knock you blind if you don\u2019t\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n

Once again, Ferris didn\u2019t listen. The liquor stripped his insides, fumes rising up through his sinuses and pulsing behind his eyes. Perhaps it was a bad idea \u2014 no, it was a bad idea, but it was too late to stop.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019d better not haunt me if you die,\u201d Demos said. He took a sip, a gentle one, taking in whatever flavor grappa was supposed to have.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019d deserve it.\u201d Ferris set the empty glass down, then exhaled. \u201cHaunting the Ghost. Who could pass up irony like that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDeserve it? What did I ever do to you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou locked me in an office.\u201d<\/p>\n

Demos\u2019 fingers tightened, strained over his knuckles. \u201cI\u2014 that was, I was trying to\u2014”<\/p>\n

\u201cProtect me?\u201d Without asking, Ferris refilled his own glass. \u201cYou give me a gun, literally gift-wrapped, take me to the shooting range, get your cousin to give me murder lessons, then lock me in a fucking office.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ferris was certain the grappa had dissolved the majority of his insides. Whatever was left was on fire. \u201cThat really pissed me off, Ghost. Do you have any idea what it would\u2019ve felt like to be trapped in a little room just to watch you die?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah.\u201d Demos\u2019 eyes fell to his glass. \u201cI do.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ferris quieted. He\u2019d been trying to forget, and almost had. That day always came back to them, one way or another. Just as his scar began to throb, Demos spoke.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry. I won\u2019t do that again.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s fine.\u201d Slowly, Ferris glanced over to the piano. There was one thing that could make both of them feel better. \u201cYou should play something.\u201d<\/p>\n

Demos managed a smile, trailing one hand over the keys while keeping his glass in the other. His finger stopped on a D sharp, lingering for a moment. A few light notes rose into the air, tittering as he took another sip of his drink. It took Ferris a minute to put the notes together, struggling past the dizziness that was seeping through his skull. Fly Me to the Moon.<\/i><\/p>\n

\u201cHow are you playing so badly?\u201d Ferris pinched the bridge of his nose, bumping up his glasses. \u201cYou\u2019re not even drunk yet.\u201d<\/p>\n

Demos glared, but didn\u2019t stop. \u201cYou try playing with one hand.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFine, I will.\u201d<\/p>\n

The moment Ferris finished speaking, he wished he hadn\u2019t. He couldn\u2019t play piano \u2014 not with one hand, nor with two. He squinted, trying to remember which keys went in which order. Only a handful of notes came through before Demos groaned.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s not even a song.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou shut up.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s okay.\u201d A smile surfaced on Demos\u2019 face \u2014 the smug one everyone hated. \u201cIt takes skill to handle a piano.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, fuck you. Violin is harder.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSure it is.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI bet you\u2019d sound like shit on strings.\u201d Ferris scoffed, alcohol-tainted air drawing through his teeth. \u201cYou\u2019d sound like\u2014 like subway rats hate-fucking. Right on the tracks, at 3 AM.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, now I know what kind of drunk you are.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHilarious?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMean.\u201d Demos swallowed what was left in his glass. \u201cAnd shitty.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah. That\u2019s what kind of boyfriend I am, too.\u201d<\/p>\n

Demos was in mid-pour when the bottle stopped. A single drop rolled from the rim as he mulled over the sudden claim. He set the bottle down.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou weren\u2019t mean to Alex.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI lied to her.\u201d Ferris turned his wrist, watching the grappa swirl. \u201cA lot. That\u2019s pretty much the same thing.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t think about it. Not right now.\u201d Demos struck a single key, a low note. \u201cLet\u2019s change the subject.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFine. How many guys have you been with?\u201d<\/p>\n

Demos reddened, his body tensing down to his fingertips. The question seemed to hit him like a train. \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve never told me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2014 I don\u2019t remember.\u201d<\/p>\n

A weak smile made its way over Ferris\u2019 lips. \u201cYou ever regret it?\u201d<\/p>\n

It was now Demos\u2019 turn to drink irresponsibly. He gave up the sipping, finishing another serving in one pull. He let out a breath, as if warming his hands in cold air.<\/p>\n

\u201cSometimes. But I learned from those experiences.\u201d<\/p>\n

Ferris refilled his glass \u2014 it was the fourth, maybe the fifth. He\u2019d lost count. \u201cBullshit.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, really. I learned what I don\u2019t want.\u201d Demos looked up over the edge of the cognac glass. \u201cAnd what I do.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd what is it you want?\u201d Ferris searched his friend\u2019s face, as if he could find the answer somewhere in the hook of his eyes. There was nothing there, only faint reflections of wall sconces, of gilded lights on chestnut.<\/p>\n

Demos only laughed, leaving the question sidelined, forgotten. He turned back to the piano. The drink was set aside, allowing him to trace over the resin. Notes rose from black and white, his fingers casting shadows as they rolled over the keys. He was using both hands now.<\/p>\n

That song \u2014 Ferris knew it well, a duet they\u2019d played together a hundred times. Another Sinatra – Blue Moon<\/i>. As he listened, he forgot his question. He followed the movement of Demos\u2019 hands, the bends of his knuckles and jutting wrists. It was strange, the power he held in such thin fingers \u2014\u00a0 <\/span>to draw a song up from nothing, from silence \u2014 the pull of the trigger, that measured grip as he poured whisky. They must have been the Devil\u2019s hands \u2014 perfect, wicked in every way.<\/p>\n

The song soaked through Ferris. It settled in his chest, warm. It was almost enough to make him forget the liquor pumping through his veins \u2014 almost. He inhaled, trying to fight the sickly sweet churning in his gut. The notes, he had to hold onto them, the words implied, unspoken.<\/p>\n

Ferris blinked, his vision wavering. \u201cThey still strove through that infinite blueness\u2014\u201c<\/p>\n

\u201cTo seek out the thing,\u201d Demos said, “that might destroy them.\u201d<\/p>\n

The song was over. Ferris stared at his friend, unsure if he had heard correctly or was under some kind of alcohol-induced hallucination.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou read it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Gently, Demos closed the piano lid. \u201cOf course I read it. It was the first book you ever lent me. Six hundred pages on one fucking whale.\u201d<\/p>\n

Moby-Dick or, the Whale<\/i>. Ferris could have sworn the floor was moving beneath his body. He held the side of his own face, his palm meeting hot, flushed skin.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2014 you never gave it back.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you want it?\u201d<\/p>\n

Ferris shook his head. \u201cKeep it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Something was trying to escape from inside his skull. His head was pounding, heavy. Sitting upright was now a challenge, a feud between his body and the law of gravity. Standing wasn\u2019t an option. It seemed Ferris would have to stay on that piano bench for the rest of his life, or at least the rest of the evening.<\/p>\n

Ferris rubbed his eye with a wrist, bumping his glasses crooked. \u201cGod, I\u2019m garbage. I can\u2019t hold on to anything. I couldn\u2019t even hold on to a girl who liked me. She almost loved me. Almost.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n

Whatever was inside his stomach was now rolling like a bouy at sea. Ferris swallowed. He had never felt more heavy, more rotten.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know, she\u2014 she tried to make me choose.\u201d Ferris laughed, though it sounded more like a pained cough. \u201cWhy do I keep choosing you?\u201d<\/p>\n

Despite the iron weight of his eyes, Ferris managed to look over at the Italian at his side. Demos hadn\u2019t spoken, only watching as Ferris verbally purged every loathsome emotion that had been rattling about his gut. For the first time that night, Demos reached for him, closing that Devil\u2019s hand around his wrist. His palm was warm, like a fever.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou.\u201d Ferris finally gave in to his own weight. His forehead bumped his friend\u2019s, their noses inches apart. \u201cWhy? Why can\u2019t I just\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

Those were his final words for the evening. Ferris\u2019 body slumped, finally overcome by exhaustion, by four or five glasses of overpriced Italian paint remover. He was out.<\/p>\n

Demos sighed. He rested his chin on Ferris\u2019 head, his fingers knotted in the fabric of his shirt. His eyes closed, settling.<\/p>\n

\u201cDidn\u2019t I tell you to slow down?\u201d<\/p>\n

#<\/p>\n

It was unusually late for Alex. She would normally be home at such an hour, but had immersed herself in lab work all day. It was the only thing that could distract her from what she\u2019d left behind. It was only now, as she neared the entrance of her apartment, that her mind returned to that morning. She checked her phone before she could stop herself, finding the last text she had sent Ferris.<\/p>\n

It had been a few days ago, just a single emoticon \u2014 a slice of pizza. That was it, the last thing she had texted him. Pizza.<\/p>\n

That had been such a good night.<\/p>\n

She swiped through, her thumb hovering over a button. Delete contact<\/i>.<\/p>\n

It was strange, how cold the air felt now. She hadn\u2019t noticed it before.<\/p>\n

\u201cEvening.\u201d<\/p>\n

Alex glanced up toward the voice. There was someone on her darkened stoop, a figure leaning on the railing. She could smell cigarette smoke.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are you doing here?\u201d she said. Instinct told her to run, but she rarely listened to herself.<\/p>\n

Demos straightened himself, the shadows peeling back from his shoulders. \u201cYou know the answer to that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, I don\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou hurt him.\u201d His eyes narrowed behind a plume of smoke. It was then Alex noticed a glint from his hands, flitting back and forth. He was playing with a knife.<\/p>\n

Her pulse quickened, yet her feet remained planted. She had almost fallen for the act.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo you\u2019re going to hurt me? Is that it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI never said that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t get you.\u201d Alex slipped her phone into her bag. \u201cThis was what you wanted, wasn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n

The cherry of Demos\u2019 cigarette glowed orange. Paper crumbled, the column of ash growing as he inhaled. A moth scrambled against the flickering entrance light, its body clicking against the glass.<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t want you to leave him in pieces.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe was like that when I found him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut he loves you.\u201d His voice had softened.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe can\u2019t love me.\u201d Alex\u2019s eyes dropped to the sidewalk, set on a gum stain. \u201cHe thinks he does, but he can\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

Demos went quiet, simply watching her. A single car drove past, its headlights crowning the street in blinding white. In seconds, it was gone, leaving the two in the shadows of the street. With a quick turn of his wrist, the knife snapped shut.<\/p>\n

\u201cI see.\u201d<\/p>\n

He slipped the cigarette from his mouth, breathing out a soft plume. One by one, he descended the steps. His shoulder had nearly met hers when she spoke.<\/p>\n

\u201cTake care of him,\u201d she said. He didn\u2019t stop, only continuing down the street. Sparks bounced as he flicked aside the cigarette, the butt rolling into a gutter.<\/p>\n

\u201cI will.\u201d Demos gave her one last look. She could see it in his face, half-lit by the street light. There was no deceit there, no hint of his temper. There was only his conscience, aching, manifesting itself in his eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cI promise.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The 14th floor was by no means the penthouse, yet still offered a remarkable view of the city. Only a couple blocks west lay Foley Park, its lake rimmed with golden street lamps. Beyond that, past the river, one could see Southport Tower, a gleaming, gaudy spire of steel casting a glow onto the neighboring […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-401","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fishbones-book-02"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p4oWx8-6t","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"post_mailing_queue_ids":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/401","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=401"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/401\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":692,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/401\/revisions\/692"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=401"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=401"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.fishbonescomic.com\/novel\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=401"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}