The rest of the meeting proceeded without the Hudson Witch. Some of the preternaturals stood up, sharing about their situation and any news. A lot of it was centered around the growing number of Lost Places, and the growing number of missing mortals. Others shared topics that I wouldn’t have expected to hear from a place like this: a warning to the more sinister supernatural creatures who preyed on runaway kids –especially girls– and talking about areas where mortal police activity was concentrated on. Still, others mentioned different places. The increasing tension with the Montreal Circle (which I assumed was their equivalent of the New York Table), the continued semi-aggression acts from New Jersey’s dumpster babies. Whatever the latter was, I didn’t really want to find out.

  After that, the meeting was over.

  I didn’t really absorb a lot from the meeting. My thoughts were preoccupied with the Hudson Witch’s final words.

  ‘Without a second, I have no choice but to remove you from the proceeding.’

  Removal from the proceeding. Removal meant getting kicked out. Proceedings meant the trial.

  “Shit,” I swore and bounced off the wall, ignoring the ache that the rebound brought. Inadvertently, I found myself looking in the direction of the Practitioners. Maybe if I saw who Mina and Victor were choosing as their seconds–

  Mina was accompanied by an older girl, maybe in her mid-twenties. They stood up, chatting in whispers, no doubt concerning the trial. It was evident from body language that the older girl was advising Mina on something, which the younger girl listened with a frown. That had to be on second.

  Out of the twenty-or-so practitioners, an older man who could have been Victor’s dad, followed the young Valentine around.

  Damn it. They were Society, meaning they were part of a large organization. Of course they had access to resources like a second. Actually, forget Society, they came from bigshot practitioner families. I’d be surprised if those guys weren’t family members or distantly related in some way.

  “Practitioner, the girl,” Wol urged.

  Right. We had to talk to Abigail.

  I looked towards the faction portion of the assembly hall and spotted Abigail getting up out of her chair. I started making my way over, dodging through the crowd. In this aspect, it didn’t matter if I was dealing with humans or the supernatural. Everyone wanted to get home before anybody else.

  “Abigail!” I called.

  Luckily, she heard me above the crowd and made eye contact. She remained standing until I limped over.

  “Jain. I assume you want to talk,” she said once I got there.

  I nodded, a little out of breath. I was running on empty by this point. Over the last two days, I hadn’t gotten any decent sleep –only fitful ones that ended in nightmares and waking up in cold sweat. The thing I ate was the bacon egg and cheese at the hotel, which, incidentally, Abigail bought for me. If it wasn’t for the water bottle that Beta handed me, I might have fallen over during the meeting.

  I was treading a very fine line between function and passing out here.

  “I wanted to ask your opinion,” I said.

  “About the seconds. I am assuming you do not have one,” She said.

  I nodded. “I know you. Well, at least better than anybody else here.”

  “Do you?” She asked, looking down at her hands. She didn’t give me the chance to ask the question. “Are you asking if I could be your second?”

  “I’d be lying if that wasn’t something I was hoping for,” I said bluntly.

  It would be a lie to say that I trusted Abigail. She worked for Assad after all, willingly or unwillingly, it didn’t matter. Until I knew the peculiarities of that relationship, there would always be room for doubt about her true intentions. And that wasn’t even accounting for the fact that she had blatantly admitted to appealing to my good side in case I won the trial, to call in a favor later on. But that openness about wanting to use me was something I could trust.

  “I’m afraid I must decline,” Abigail said, and began walking towards the back of the room where the exit was.

  Crap. I was afraid of that answer. I limped along next to her.

  “Assad?”

  “And more. I’m betting on you but I also have parts to play,” Abigail shook her head.

  “Are you allowed to give me advice then?”

  “I am, Jain Shin Hallow,” the goth-girl said with a sideways glance towards the dias. Assad was having a conversation with the Wickerman. He was ignoring the practitioner completely and talking to the flaming Egregore. She picked up the pace and I was hard pressed to keep up. “But there’s no advice to give.”

  “I was afraid of that,” I muttered under my breath.

  “If I had to say one thing, this won’t be about who you choose, but who will accept. They will either be an existing player in the game, or someone entering with their own goals. You understand this?”

  “Yeah, I think I do. Be careful of people who are too eager,” I said as I huffed. We reached the exit. “Thanks. For helping me again.”

  “Naturally,” she said. The girl turned to leave, stopped, and faced me again. “Jain?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Be careful,” She said, the purple rings in her eyes so large that they were nearly luminous, “And good luck.”

  I had to remind myself that no matter how pretty Abigail was –how hot she was– she wasn’t human. She was a thing in a human form. That she was probably no different than the Yeounui, or the Vampyr. Except she wasn’t either. That’s what my head told me at least.

  My teenage self told me that if I leaned in, something really interesting that never happened to me might happen. Maybe I was wrong and get slapped. That same teenage voice told me it’d be worth the risk.

  And another, much quieter voice, asked why anything like that would ever happen to me, or what the chances were of someone... liking me in that way.

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  “We thank you for your help, Girl,” Wol said from his place near my feet.

  Hwari appeared around my neck, nestling right beneath my chin.

  “Yeah,” My voice was thick as I broke off eye contact and moved aside, creating room for her to leave. “I’m gonna do that.”

  She turned around, the frills on her gothic dress swaying, and left the assembly room.

  Wol gave me a look.

  I avoided it. “Ok, let’s put a pause on the second thing. I want to talk to the Intellect Transit and the Wickerman before they leave.”

  “Our boon,” Wol said.

  ‘Rightfully earned,’ Hwari echoed, unwrapping herself from my neck and sinking into my shadows.

  I hurried through the rapidly dispersing crowd, ducking my head down and trying my damndest not to make eye contact. There was a deep-seated fear that everyone here would think I was easy pickings, both physically and mentally. Predators always go for the weak ones. The babies, the lamed, the old, the slowest –there’s a reason for the saying ‘survival of the fittest’. Every time I had to rely on the crutch or took special care not to hit my bandaged arm on anything, I could feel eyes looking. Calculating, and weighing just how much it would take to hunt me down.

  Man, I watched too many late night animal documentaries. That’s what happens if you have no computer, no friends, and no dad to eat dinner with.

  Humans aren’t really designed to walk with their heads down, because our eyes, as you might have noticed, are designed to look ahead so that we don’t bump into things.

  I felt something prickle my face and nearly bumped into the wall that suddenly rose before me. Its shadow stretched out, covering me entirely. As my head was still pointed down, I saw a bright blue foot with six toes on either side.

  I looked up and saw the Japanese-mask wearing being, his height of eight feet towering over me.

  Looking up close, he reeked of soot and straw. Not a combination I liked.

  His oni mask was also blue, with gold detailing such as horn and misshapen fangs that stuck out at off angles. The gold extended to his eyes, filling them to the brim while the pupils were smoldering holes of empty black. The preternatural wore nothing but the straw cape resembling a poncho with extended shoulders that hung past his elbows.

  “In a hurry, Jain Shin Hallow? I wanted to make introductions,” He said.

  He hadn’t spoken a word during the assembly and hearing it for the first time, I could understand why. The pitch of his voice was rocks rumbling together deep within a mountain somewhere, so low that there was a noticeable thrum in the air. But it wouldn’t travel far, there was too much vibration and not enough sound. The effort to talk in front of a crowd simply wouldn’t be worth it.

  “I don’t suppose it could wait?” I ventured.

  Wol stepped out from behind me. “We’re in a hurry, Sir.”

  “Mmm. The storm comes regardless,” He reached out with a hand, six fingers like his toes and completely blue. “I am called Kita Warabe. The Northern Child. Call me Kita.”

  “You really ate your wheaties,” I didn’t take his hand, waggling the fingers on my crutches. “I’ll lose balance.”

  He tilted his head. “You offer insult?”

  “Huh?”

  Wol took over. “No, no insult intended. Forgive my Practitioner, he is still learning the old ways. Jain, accept his handshake.”

  I hugged the crutch in between my armpits, reaching out and barely managing to wrap my hand around one of his fingers. “I, uh, I’m Jain Shin Hallow.”

  Veins bulged as he strained not to crush my hand to a pulp between two fingers. His bicep was bigger than my head and I wasn’t being metaphorical.

  There was no way to get a read on Kita. The mask was fused to his flesh at the neck. Yet, it was a wooden mask that was painted over. There was no questioning that. The eyebrows, the nose, the cheeks, the mouth –nothing that we used in modern society to gauge one’s emotions was present here. It was locked in a perpetual expression of disapproval.

  “I do not mince words. You have need of a Second. I offer my services,” Kita said.

  Immediately after, someone’s laughter cracked in the space behind me. It was timed precisely as to begin and end in a single syllable, stealing my attention away from Kita with a hint of dramatic flair to the whole scene now.

  The butterfly-eyed Fae strode towards me, more than half her contingent in tow. She walked with one hand on her hip and strutting the other hand out towards the side. On anyone else it would have looked outrageous. On her though? Bizarre but fitted to, as if the space around her molded to cater to her superficial needs.

  She was another hard one to read. Where there were eyes were pairs of butterfly wings sprouting out from the sockets. Her mouth was thinly pressed with thick lipstick smeared to one side –absurdly fashionable in an avant-garde sort of way.

  “Fu, fudge,” I swore, trying to watch my tongue around them.

  She held out her hand towards me, palm down. “This one is called Menele. She greets you.”

  ‘Do not kiss, Caller, merely place your lips above it,’ Hwari said quickly.

  I took her hand, still balanced on the crutch on one armpit, and held my lips over her hand without touching skin. I even awkwardly held out my bandaged hand in what I thought was a semblance of a formal bow. I did everything right, except the introduction.

  “This Jain Shin Hallow greets you, Menele.”

  Some of the Fae behind her hissed, while others laughed in an absolute chilling coughing manner. Maybe both.

  “He jests. Mockery.”

  “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery,” Another said.

  They all struck poses as they did it. Elbows flaring out towards the ceiling with the back of their wrists placed on the ribcage, back arched at impossible angles; combined with the outfit choices and constant whispers, it made me dizzy.

  “Fae,” Kita said, “You interrupt me.”

  “This one interrupts nothing. This one simply enters the stage,” She replied, striking a different pose.

  “Technically, you’re both interrupting my meeting with the Intellect Transit,” I added in. “I have something to show her.”

  “Oh? Do tell,” Menele said, bringing a hand to her lips. “What sort of scandalous morsel do you hide in your pocket?”

  ‘Her words. There’s glamour, Caller,’ Hwari said.

  She was right. Every word, every pose, just by being in her presence, I could feel myself growing more confused and being sucked into her pace. I thought glamour was limited to shapeshifting or maybe illusions. It looked like I had to add some minor enchantment’s to the list.

  I really needed to read.

  And more than that, I really needed to get to the Intellect Transit.

  “I’m sorr–”

  Menele cut me off easily, her bladed voice sharper than anything I could muster. “You have heard Kita’s offer. Lend ear to this one’s: one fault, one mistake, and one lucky accident. That is this one’s gift for being your Second on the stage.”

  “I’m really–”

  ‘Do not offend her,’ Hwari whispered.

  “–flattered, Menele. But this one–”

  “Stop that,” Wol hissed.

  But I couldn’t stop. If I did, I would get sucked right into Menele’s pace of conversation. Humor was something I had to add in there, or I’d lose my wits. “–has to give it more thought. Will you both excuse this one?”

  Menele smiled and I saw her teeth. They were rotted black.

  “No,” She said.