Whatever Wol had said, it bothered her. I’d been at there on the other end of people using words to try and push my buttons to get under my skin for as long as I could remember. The first rule was to never let them see when they hit one that hurt. Unfortunately, not every kid knew that and I saw a lot of kids lose their cool over the years. I knew exactly what it looked like when someone got triggered.

  The fact that she reacted this way? It meant she cared. Which meant she was vulnerable. That meant I could use it against her.

  “So what? Is it a talent thing?” I asked Wol innocently, as if I didn’t know any better.

  Her sneer melted into a hardened smile. “You think he got the staff because of he's special? Guess again. He only got it because he got into the Wickermen and they'll let anyone in as long as you're a man with a scrap of the Talent. If not for that, he would never have gotten half as far as he did.”

  That was almost as many words to be an actual conversation. It was working.

  I remembered Abigail mentioning the Wickermen in the car. I had to keep her talking. “You mean the shop in the city.”

  “A shop? It’s a club, kid,” She spat. “Run by men who think they’re actual practitioners because the Wickerman backs them. But they’re nothing but boys with their fancy toys.”

  “Oh, that's good. I like how you refer it to as toys for them, but your trinkets are just make-up and glitter.”

  “I made my trinkets. I bartered, traded, and scrapped up for every ounce of knowledge I have now. What I have now, it’s all mine,” She said. “I found Exanguin eating rats in alleyways and subway tunnels before forming a contract with him.”

  “What's Fae doing eating rats on the subway?” I interrupted, genuine curiosity taking over. "That doesn't sound very... courtly."

  “Exile,” Wol said simply, his tone even. "Hot-tempered young Fae are often exiled to curb their more... wild tendencies."

  A hint from Wol. Jesus, my familiar was smart. He was leagues ahead of every other familiar I met.

  “Enough of this,” The practitioner said at last.

  The woman opened her mirror, but I was ready for it. I reacted with immediate violence, putting the blade of my gravity knife on the Cold Sickness’ mark on my wrist.

  “Don’t,” I hissed, surprised that my voice could be so venomous, “make me do it.”

  She stopped.

  “Did your partner tell you what happened last night?” I said. “The thing I summoned? How it’s breath froze through the walls? How he coughed blood as the sickness took root in his lungs?”

  “Jain,” Wol said, concern creeping in.

  ‘Caller.’

  “Diabolist,” She spat.

  “Damned fucking right,” I swore, “They told you about me? What Diabolists can do?”

  For the first time, she seemed unsure. She looked down at Exanguin.

  “He opens doors, Sarah,” Exanguin answered with a leer, “so they can come in. Those that crave the light but can’t stand it. He stands for them. Wherever he goes, things burn. People go mad. They fight. Hunger. Famine. Death. Poverty. Disease.”

  Exanguin said it all in a throaty whisper, his eyes changing color. “They leave things. A cursed knife. A home empty of warmth. Children without family, ghosts without memories. A street where the light is always thin and the shadows always longer. They stain things, Sarah.”

  As he said it, he took a step forward. “But the boy is not young. I can smell his hesitation. He’s lying.”

  “Hwari, if mowgli over there takes another step, draw a summoning circle,” my voice was cold as I said it.

  ‘Yes, Jain,’ Hwari chimed and circled over to the floor, leaving gloom behind her.

  Things were starting to come together. The practitioner, Sarah –goddamit, I hated how I knew her name now– wasn’t like the others I had met. Emyrith, Mina; they all had this confidence about them that they knew their stuff. Sarah didn’t.

  It also sounded like she didn’t have many friends. Maybe that was how it was in the supernatural community for those without much talent; that you were an outcast. She was like me at school, always the last to hear about who-kissed-who, and the last one to hear about the pop quiz in Spanish. No one was willing to help her for free.

  She had to work to get to where she was, but there was personal bitterness involved in the process. Because compared to her partner, her effort seemed fruitless.

  Oh, I knew that feeling very well.

  The feeling of studying my butt off for an A, only to receive an A-. Hearing small side conversations about how Montgomery’s parents called the teacher to bump up her B+ to an A-. Things like that hurt. It belittled you. It reminded you of just how unfair the world was.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  It also makes you hungry for success and want to shove it in everyone’s faces. Delusions of grandeur can be as intoxicating as grandeur itself. I'd seen that many times too.

  “I want to make a proposal.” I said.

  Wol gave me an eye, “Jain?”

  Sarah stiffened. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know what I am. You know about my parents? Why everyone wants me dead? The whole devil-summoning bit?”

  She nodded.

  “I have access to books. Knowledge. I’m willing to make a wager.” I said, gauging her reaction.

  Her body language changed immediately. She leaned forward, attention focusing in on me like a pinpoint needle, “What kind of deal?”

  “Let me just rip out his throat.” Exanguin purred, “We claim the blood prize after.”

  “You’ll never find them. Even if you do, and if I die, other Practitioners will already have had first picks. There are already two families in town that's after the exact things I just promised you.”

  "Society citizens," She breathed.

  "Yes. But if you're ok with rummaging through leftovers," I said with a pointed look at the young fae, "Then we can throw down right here."

  “You–” Exanguin began.

  “Exanguin, be quiet,” Sarah came half a step closer, in between Exanguin and us. “I'm listening, kid.”

  “If the books are not enough, I have names. Names of beings that could help you,” I gave a not so subtle look towards Exanguin, “An exiled Fae, and a young one at that. He doesn’t know as much as you thought he would, does he? When you contracted to him?”

  “No, he does not.” Sarah admitted after a minute.

  I’d been taking a stab in the dark with that one, but it paid off. My heart pounded against my chest. I had her. Now, I had to get the fae interested.

  “It's simple. You and yours, against me and mine in a contest," I smiled, trying to show as many teeth as possible. "I challenge you."

  Exanguin’s face turned sharply towards me at the word ‘contest’. "Terms?"

  'The sharks scent blood in the water, and they draw near,' Hwari said to me.

  “You win, a book from my parent’s collection. I win, you let me go. Simple as that,” I said. I had to play it cool, not let her see how nervous I was.

  She pretended to think. “Or I could just torture you.”

  These people were fucking sick. No better than animals. Was this just my world now? Surrounded by people who thought of death as nothing more than a pastime activity to be done when the alternative required too much thinking?

  I pressed my mom’s knife thicker into the Cold Sickness’ mark. “Try it.”

  She went quiet and this time, it was Exanguin who started talking. He lifted up his body from the crouch and leaned into Sarah, whispering into her ear. She closed her eyes, nodding at odd intervals.

  “What contest do you propose?” She finally asked.

  “Exanguin lost against us in a contest of wit. Would you be willing to consider that?” I asked. “Regain his honor?”

  “No deal,” She shook her head. “Contest of might. Nothing with too much thinking or strategy involved. It must happen within this building and you cannot summon anything for aid or champion for you.”

  Goddammit. I’d been banking on using Wol to outwit Exanguin, or summoning something from one of the books.

  “Fine. But I choose the contest.”

  “I have the right to reject it three times,” Sarah said readily. She paused, leaning to the side towards Exanguin who was still whispering into her ear. “If I win, I get to choose two books.”

  “One book,” I countered, “But yes, I can let you choose. But if I win, you not only let me go, but you offer up any information that I ask about.”

  “Nice try. One question.”

  “Three,” I shot back.

  “Two.”

  “Done,” I left no room for either of us to regret it. “Now give me time to think about the contest.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You have thirty seconds before I consider the deal broken and I assume you’re stalling for time.”

  I didn’t answer that.

  I had to think. What could my familiars do? Well, Wol was smart. He was the smartest familiar I’d seen to date and that was great, except right now, he was no better than a regular cat against Exanguin who could shapeshift. Hwari on the other hand could do a lot of stuff. She could manipulate shadows to a certain degree, shift through them, make circles, go through circles…

  “A race,” I said at last. “To the end of the hallway.”

  “You cannot use your shadow familiar,” Sarah said. It was as if she read my mind.

  “No, it’ll be Wol,” I said.

  “Careful, Jain,” Wol warned.

  “A race between our familiars. The practitioners are allowed three moves each to aid their familiars,” I proposed. “Whoever’s familiar reaches the end of the hallway in which we came from first, wins.”

  She leaned forward in anticipation. “One move each, and you have a deal.”

  I pretended to consider it. "One use of each trinket, once."

  Exanguin's whisper doubled and Sarah nodded, "If I can keep one of the trinkets if I win."

  "I'm ok with that."

  "Then you have a deal."

  As she said that, something cold locked my soul in a vice. The deal would be kept, no matter what. My own powers would see to that.

  "Foolish, foolish, Diabolist. We never promised to spare your life after you hand over the treasure." Exanguin moved, his hair hiding him for a fraction of a second. Then in his place was a spotted wild cat with long flexible legs used precisely for running, the kind you only see in a safari. He laughed, lower jaw hanging close to the ground and looking every bit the wicked Fae he was. "I will enjoy eating your fingers. Segment by segment, digit by digit."

  "Yeah, yeah," I waved his comments away and bent over, tightening the knot on the bojagi wrapped around Wol. "You trust me?"

  Wol mirrored Exanguin and moved a few feet away from me, ready for the race. The little housecat familiar lifted his head proudly. "You have my trust, my Practitioner."

  "Ok, then on my count." I grabbed the remaining wardstones from my pocket, holding them in the palm of one hand. "Three... two..."

  Legs flexed and muscles tensed. Pupils dilated, both the practitioner's and their feline-shaped familiars.

  "One!" I swung my arm down and in that same movement chucked one of the wardstones towards Exanguin.

  The race was on.