Mal Lilystone

Mal felt Leo's fingers brush hers as they walked on the sidewalk towards Garfield Park. Within this park is a certain conservatory that they were hoping held answers and would help them get closer to solving this case once and for all.

Dorian H'Langraash had caused a hell of a lot of trouble for a hell of a lot of Others and it had ended in misery for a large majority of them. There weren't many of them left now, and even some of those that had survived had abandoned the investigation in the hopes that it would keep them alive.

Mal had long-ago resolved to see this investigation through till the end. It didn't matter if it pulled more life from her than she had left, it merely mattered that Dorian would receive the justice that he deserved.

At whatever cost, Mal would pursue the end to this tragedy then-and only then-would she rest. Dorian was a friend of hers, and he at least deserved to know who had ended his life.

"What do we say to the Fae?" Leo was hesitant to voice his concerns, and Mal knew that this was because he was used to knowing everything. Mal knew that he hated politics and wouldn't have done research to understand the danger of the present circumstances, but she also knew that Leo was smart enough to keep his mouth shut when he was supposed to.

"We tell them why we are here, as they know better than to stand in the way of a murder investigation and then we ask to see the Word of Atropos," she said this as if the current political climate made this easy.

In her head, the entire thing was simple. When put into action, Mal was quite aware that the entire investigation was them walking on a very, very thin tightrope.

Mal had never been good at balancing in even the most tame situations, and now she had to add in the gaping chasm of nonexistence on top of that. She struggled wearing a pair of heels for the longest time and they weren't even extreme heights.

"Mal," Leo placed his fingers through hers and gently squeezed her hand, "out of anyone in this entire world, you are the most capable of handling this investigation. You will solve this," his voice was reassuring and calm. His eyes bore into hers and she knew that he was using his abilities to try and ease her worries.

She forced him out of her mind and drew her hand back.

"Don't put your own sanity at risk to try and assist me. I can handle myself, Leo" Mal didn't mean for this to sound as harsh as it did when it escaped her lips and she immediately let her features soften upon hearing the bite to her words as they whipped against the air.

She had never meant for her tone to seem so bitter, and the hurt look that crossed Leo's face made her recoil in disgust at her own behavior. This entire time she'd been fighting to bring monsters to justice and solve a murder when here she was being a monster herself.

"I'm sorry, Leo, I just want you to be able to remain completely mentally intact for as long as you possibly can," her voice was soft now and she averted her gaze, staring out at the broad expanse of trees that stretched perpetually onwards.

This was Garfield Park, and the cheerful laughs of various specimens had made the place seem lively and peaceful. Mal knew the truth to be opposite though, and she saw beneath the veil to the Others hidden beneath. Hellions were replaced with Demons and the smiles of proud parents had been turned into the sinister grins of Wraiths.

Humans would not be able to sense this as an Other would, at least not until it was too late for them to do anything about the evil descending upon them. Their guts would be ripped out, their blood drained, and their souls harvested to fulfill the desires of whatever needed them.

Humans were easy prey, as was deemed obvious by the malleability of their minds. With just the flick of her finger, Mal knew that she could get a flock of humans to do whatever the hell she wanted them to do.

"Is that the entrance?" Leo opted for a change of the subject and pointed at an ornate wrought iron gate with two guards standing at the front.

"I'd assume so," Mal replied, motioning for Leo to follow as she approached the two guards.

"Business?" one of the guards interjected their purpose with a short, one-word question.

"Murder investigation," Mal replied with an answer that wasn't quite as short as the question but got the point across nonetheless.

"Very well, go on, keep your head down and remember not to look the Princess in the eye. She hates that," the guard on the right nodded his head as he unlatched the gate and swung it open to the courtyard of the Conservatory.

The building was constructed entirely of glass save for the oak skeleton that arched into the sky and mimicked a gothic style of architecture. It was a whimsical masterpiece of design that had struck awe within Mal.

Upon opening the door, Mal looked at the floor and refused to look at the Tuath Dé Princess unless she was told to do so. Out of respect, Mal knew to follow their customs regardless of the customs of her own people.

She had been told stories of the beauty that resided amongst the features of the Tuath Dé and how their movements were imbued with grace and their mannerisms with poise. They were what most Others aimed to be and yet only few would accomplish.

"To what do I owe this honor?" the Princess' voice was soft and elegant as she spoke.

"The murder of Dorian H'Langraash," Mal replied calmly, her pulse steady as she took a deep breath in and forced it back out.

"I don't understand how that would lead you here," the Princess replied lightly, her voice full of air and a gentle breeze that sent shivers racing down Mal's spine.

"We have discovered a copy of the Word of Atropos, which we know is kept here safely. We were just wondering if perhaps you misplaced it, or any odd visitors have come by-"

"You think that the Fae would lose our sacred texts?" the Princess seriously seemed bewildered by the very thought of this and Mal could feel her frown as it burrowed deep into the cavity of her skeleton.

"No, I wasn't saying that at all, your majesty, I..." Mal fumbled to find the right words to fix her misstep but failed.

"That's actually exactly what it sounded like and I am offended that you think my people would be so asinine. GUARDS!" the voice of the Princess now bellowed throughout the room and Mal was hesitant to look up to see if it had shattered the glass. What she did know was that it had shattered her confidence and her soul.

This would surely be the reason that they met an early demise.

"Mal, I think we should leave now," Leo's voice cut into her head and his hand once again grasped hers as he pulled her away from the oncoming chaos and back out into the night.

They were completely and utterly silent as they raced off into the dark horrors of the moonlit night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Cachail

The Cachail had made several errors over the course of his investigation. In total, he had damaged evidence, stolen the work of another faction's investigator, and broken into a respected art curator's home. Bafflingly, he had done all of these things with the explicit approval of the Court.

Yet as he sat in front of Willow today, the Cachail knew that circumstances had changed. He had misstepped once again, but this time the Court could not overlook his mistakes. This time, the Court was unhappy.

He could see it in Willow's face as she gazed at something behind him, fingering the edges of her bracer absentmindedly. She had not spoken since the Cachail had sat down a minute before, and her expression had not changed. Neither had the bracer, whose design was stuck on a shapeless form the Cachail could not identify.

When she spoke at last, her voice was quiet. "Where did we go wrong?" she said.

The Cachail did not answer. Instead, he glanced down at his chest, where a silver medallion now hung from his neck. The clinician had not said when he could take it off, only that he was not allowed to touch it with his hands. After all, the medallion was Court property.

"You've been in the Court's service for...well, for a long time, wouldn't you say?" The Willow was now staring at the decorative skull on her desk, unwilling to meet the Cachail's eyes.

"I would say so," the Cachail replied. An uncomfortable wariness had hovered in his mind all afternoon, and it seemed to leach the color from the room. Dully, he became aware that his posture was awkwardly stiff, and his left hand had been balled into a fist since he had entered Willow's office.

"You do a very good job. That's why you get the salary you get. That's why you can afford to live where you do."

Willow knew that money did not motivate the Cachail, yet she was attempting to use it as leverage. Interesting.

After a pause, Willow continued: "Your work is the reason why people know your name. You've built your legacy on a standard of quality, a standard that must be consistently met in order to maintain it."

She'd moved from money to prestige. "I don't understand," said the Cachail, and Willow finally glanced at him, her eyes unblinking. "You know why I do what I do. We've never spoken about any of this before—why bring it up now?"

But the instant he closed his mouth, the Cachail realized that Willow did not know why he did what he did. If she had known, she would not have needed to speak this way, dangling potential motivators in front of him as if she were interrogating him.

What Willow knew was that something had changed. Before this meeting, she'd been familiar with what had motivated the Cachail. Now she looked at him as if she beheld a stranger.

The truth was that she sought to manage someone she no longer knew. The realization twinged painfully in the Cachail's gut—he hadn't realized how highly he had valued their prior working relationship, their easy understanding of one another despite their inherent unreadability. For Willow to question the Cachail like this, he must have fallen far indeed.

Willow had been staring at him silently a long time. "We've never had to shackle you before," she said, and her gaze moved to the medallion around his neck. "We've never seen you behave the way you did at the warehouse."

The Court hadn't seen the incident at the forge, but they must have witnessed the aftermath. The Cachail had been forced to call a driver, unable to drive himself without freezing his entire vehicle, and anyone who had entered the warehouse as that driver did would have spotted the dead body.

The Cachail had killed someone without Court sanction. In his own defense, the Enlightened had been breaking the law, but investigators were to deal with law-breakers without exacting punishment themselves. The Cachail's transgression must have shocked Willow so profoundly that she had been driven to completely re-evaluate him.

Whatever the case, the victim's identity would determine the extent of the Court's damage control. "Did you identify the Enlightened?" the Cachail said.

A long pause followed. "Did I identify... oh," said Willow, and she leaned back into her her chair. "We identified the forge worker, but it was a dead end. The paper you recovered was much more helpful—it came from a Seelie book on godsmetal creation. You're going to Garfield tomorrow to discuss it with the Seelie Court. Anyway, that's not what I wanted to talk about first."

Willow's response was mystifying, mostly because the Cachail had assumed she had wanted to discuss the dead body. But she'd misinterpreted the Cachail's inquiry about it as a question about the case.

The Cachail would need to be clear. "All right, then," he said. "Let us discuss my transgression. What did I do wrong, and how can I make it right?"

Willow looked at the Cachail as if he had spoken in a foreign language. "Investigator," she said, "help me understand. We had to shackle you the instant you walked through the door, and you still don't know what you did wrong?"

The Cachail scrutinized the medallion as if it would provide him an answer, but it only hung there silently. Resigned, he looked back at Willow and said, "It should be obvious that I don't know. Tell me where I misstepped, and I will try to fix it."

Willow's voice was almost brittle. "You lost complete control of your abilities," she said, her mouth curling downward. "You froze a massive warehouse in about an inch of ice. You wouldn't stop freezing things until we put on the shackle. Tell me, investigator, where did you misstep?"

The Cachail drew backward with surprise. "I told the clinician that something happened at Charmeine's house," he said. "You don't mean to blame me for—"

"You should have been more careful," said Willow harshly, and the Cachail slowly shut his mouth. Willow did not typically interrupt him. "Furthermore, you should have told us the second you suspected something was wrong. The Court is furious. You need to maintain complete control of yourself at all times, do you understand? Your well-being is your strength as an investigator."

"My well-being has never mattered unless it interfered with a case," said the Cachail, his voice rising inadvertently. The wariness hovering over him had begun to fade, replaced by righteous indignation. "When I don't sleep—when I don't eat—all of that is excusable, but when something in Charmeine's house causes me to freeze a warehouse, completely reversibly, the Court is upset?"

"Of course they are," said Willow, her voice affectedly even. "Of course they're upset. What if you had frozen something that couldn't be repaired?"

"I already did! I damaged the skin on Dorian H'Langraash's arms! And I was prepared to apologize for it, but it wasn't a concern because it didn't hurt our investigation!"

"This is different," said Willow, "and you know it."

The problem was that the Cachail could not see the difference. Throughout the investigation, Willow had excused his professional errors, even when they had hurt the other factions. But a single lapse in control over his magic was suddenly a concern, despite it having done no real damage. The Cachail did not understand.

He had thought he'd comprehended the Court's rules. These days, however, the rules seemed to change before his eyes, warping so that every situation ended differently. Perhaps when this investigation had finished, and when he had finally received his week's break from work, he could sift through this new information and decide how he felt about it. But as it was, he could only move forward, praying that the Court did not condemn his actions.

For the first time in his life, the Cachail did not care about the outcome of an investigation. He simply wanted it to end.

*

Garfield Park Conservatory had been the base of operations for Chicago Seelie since the early twentieth century. Humans entered the conservatory through the human door and enjoyed the greenery, basking in the sunlight that filtered through the glass roof. Others, however, entered through the Other door and found something quite different.

The greenhouse was a miniature palace, adapted for the needs of Seelie royalty and their retinue. Plant life still flourished throughout the building, but glass walls divided the area into several finely-furnished rooms, far more extravagant than was necessary. In the reception room, where the Cachail waited for his appointment, the floor was marble inlaid with flowery gold designs. The Cachail sat on a chair that seemed to be made of glass, staring at statuettes of animals that also seemed to be made of glass. In his direct line of sight, an opalescent lion reclined in a bed of daffodils, a pearl-encrusted lamb slumbering at its side.

The Seelie would not enjoy speaking to the Cachail. The Cachail would not enjoy speaking to them himself, particularly while wearing the shackle; meetings with the Seelie often ended poorly, and the Cachail would not be able to defend himself if their court found his inquiries distressing. But Willow had insisted he go alone, bearing the brunt of the blame if the discussion were to go awry. He had misstepped in the eyes of the Court, after all. He needed to atone.

The Cachail had little chance to redeem himself here, considering the low probability of a successful meeting, but he would speak with the Seelie anyway. He had already decided to defer to the other party whenever possible, praising their sound judgment on issues relevant to the investigation. All he truly needed was information about Word of Atropos, the book from which the forge had stolen a page on godsmetal refinement. If he knew who had interacted with the book, he might come closer to locating Dorian H'Langraash's killer and ending this miserable investigation.

At the end of the hall, a door opened, and a Seelie emerged. They wore the bronze circlet typical of a Seelie Court attendant, and their white robes brushed the ground as they walked. When they had reached the reception room, they said, "The Court is ready for the Cachail."

He rose from his glass seat and followed the attendant down the hallway. Behind the glass walls on either side, he could see the flowering plants of which the Seelie were so fond: lilies, tulips, roses of all shapes and sizes. The air was suffused with the heady scent of too many flowers and the molasses-like aroma of Seelie fae.

The door ahead of him opened, and the Cachail emerged into an enormous space. A circle of tall glass chairs stood in the center of the room, surrounded by a great garden of plants and animal statues. Ivy climbed the walls of the official chambers, and butterflies flitted across the path to the center circle. The five tallest seats were occupied by elder fae, their skin translucent and softly shimmering. The sixth seat, shortest and nearest the hallway, was for the Cachail.

"Please sit," said one of the fae, and the Cachail crossed the distance between them and sat.

Now that he was closer to the Chicago Assembly of Seelie, the Cachail took the opportunity to examine its members. The fae in the middle smiled at nothing in particular, but the other four were tight-lipped as they appraised him. He was not surprised—war between the Seelie and Unseelie Courts had soured the perspectives of those old enough to remember it.

"Speak," said the center fae, and the Cachail nodded.

"The Unseelie Court appreciates your willingness to converse with us," he replied, keeping his head low. He would not be accused of poor decorum. "You must be familiar with the investigation into Dorian H'Langraash's death."

"Yes," said the center fae, "several of our own have perished in the course of this investigation."

"Yet you remain alive," said one of the other fae, her voice accusatory. The Cachail did not reply to her.

"Tell us," said the center fae, his hands clasped in his lap, "what you would ask of us."

The Cachail nodded. "After conference with the other factions," he said evenly, "a page was recently identified that we believe helped to forge the weapon involved in this case."

"The godsmetal dagger," said a fae to the Cachail's right. "We have heard of this weapon."

"The page in question comes from a book called Word of Atropos," said the Cachail. "Unseelie records indicate that this book belongs to the Seelie Court. Is this true?"

It was at this moment that a door behind the Cachail opened, and he could hear footsteps proceeding down the path toward the circle of chairs. Though he could not discern the number of people who approached, there seemed to be at least five. Based on scent alone, all were Seelie.

The Cachail was distracted enough by this interruption that he nearly missed a look that two members of the assembly exchanged. One had just finished shaking his head when the Cachail's eyes moved to him.

"Do not mind our lamplighters," said the center fae with a smile. "They will prepare the room for our noonday rites. Our meeting should be finished by the time our rites begin."

Out of both corners of both eyes, the Cachail could see white-robed figures proceeding around either edge of the room. The Cachail had counted incorrectly—there were seven Seelie, all with striking burnished-blonde hair.

"Does Word of Atropos still remain with the Seelie Court?" the Cachail asked, returning his attention to the center fae.

"It does," the fae replied, smiling again. "I see that you watch our lamplighters. Would you like to hear about them? They come from the heart of the Old Land, trained for a hundred years."

"I would like to hear about the lamplighters after our discussion has concluded," said the Cachail. "In the meantime, let us return to Word of Atropos. Do you know who has interacted with the book last?"

The center fae opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the sound of shattering glass.

All heads turned toward the left side of the room. One of the lamplighters, a tall woman with her hair plaited around her head, stood before the remnants of a broken lamp. Her mouth gaped open, and she stared unabashedly at the Assembly of Seelie.

"Keeva, my girl, what has happened?" the center fae called. He turned to the Cachail and added, "I apologize for the interruption. This is not typical."

The Cachail's eyes moved back to the lamplighter Keeva, who had not moved to tidy away the lamp. She stood stock-still, her eyes wide, her mouth now closed but her lips trembling.

Couldn't one go back, if they tried?

Suddenly, the world around the Cachail vanished, and only Keeva remained. She stood with that trembling lip, that wide-eyed expression, and the Cachail knew without doubt that he had seen her before. Her name was not Keeva.

"Niamh," said the Cachail without thinking, and he stood.

The world came rushing rapidly back into focus, because the Cachail had just made a grave mistake: he had stood before the Assembly of Seelie without permission.

Another lamp broke, then another. The Cachail could not tear his eyes away from the lamplighter Keeva—Niamh—whose entire body had begun to tremble, but one of the elder fae to his right was saying, "How dare you," and the door was opening behind him again, and too much was happening for the Cachail to comprehend.

His hand were warm.

"What do you mean to do?" said another outraged assembly member, but the Cachail was already fleeing. Behind him, an attendant waited by the open door, but he pushed past her and was gone, leaving the lamplighters and the members of the assembly behind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Melia

DID NOT HAND IN WITHIN THE SPECIFIED TIME LIMIT

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Brandy Alva

Adam Levitt never loved having to attend mass. It was a mandatory duty he had as a child to go with his mother every Sunday to the service. He would be forced into a suffocating button top whose sleeves fell far past his hands and had to be rolled up several times in a painstakingly slow process that always ended in his mother blaming him for being late to church, which at some point he thought she would have grasped the concept that if they started getting ready earlier they could've let earlier. Not that he ever told her that.

Visiting the head office of the Seelie Court was the same. It took too much time to set up a meeting, to get ready, and it was always a pain to be exactly on time. His jacket felt tight around his shoulders, the blazer buttoned in front of his chest too tight around his midsection. In his late twenties, the process had been annoying and tedious. In his fifties, it had been a waste of his time and theirs. Now, in his hundreds, it seemed like all they wanted to do was fuck you over and toss you out on the street when they were done. But bureaucracy never changed.

With a heavy sigh out his noses and a final press of his hands over his suit, Adam crossed over to the stone stairs in front of him and climbed up to the three wide, wooden doors guarding the entrance. He gave a brief symbol to the fae crest that rested above the mantle, and then pulled on the cold, metal handle to be let inside.

Air conditioning rushed over Adam, who was content to stand for a moment beneath the open door and let the air conditioning roll over him before he continued forward. Each click of his heel sent a soft echo against the tile flooring, a self-conscious reminder that he was really doing this. Of course, he would have stayed in bed at home if Brandy hadn't asked him to go in her stead. She was still recovering, and admittedly, no matter how much Adam disliked the idea, it did make more sense for him to go. It was smoother than having a demon try to make new friends that was for sure, even if Brandy was charming - and she always was.

That was one of the reasons Adam loved her. Not that he loved her, loved her or anything. And not that he wasn't an adult and couldn't use a more complicated turn of phrase for describing their relationship than that of a second grader, but that's exactly what their relationship was right now, complicated.

Brushing away the thoughts with a quick dash through his gelled hair, Adam nodded to one of the workers there as he passed through the lobby. They could sense the magic surrounding him as he could them, and they gave no fuss as he pushed into what was meant to be the main exhibit hall for flora. Except it wasn't.

Desks lined the room. There were people working frantically, struggling to meet deadlines. Papers were rustled about and carter around in handfuls and clenched fists. Everyone was dressed up, but they never stopped moving long enough to be seen by anyone. Overhead a few pixies floated about, small and light as they helped control the mailflow of the pipes that ran overhead. Office doors were painted in big white titles of important directors and high court members. In the front of it all was a small security scanner, checking as it always did for iron as people shuffled through it one at a time impatiently and moving like sloths.

Trying not to let it get to him, Adam joined at the end of the line. His eyes grew blurry as he held onto the black fabric separating the twisting line and slowly moved forward an inch or two at most when each person past. On a short day like today, though, it didn't take as long as the kobold thought it would to slip through the detector. Nothing went off, and once he was returned his shoes, he went to find the corresponding desk to the woman herself, Lilith Porter. If anyone was going to give him answers, she would.

Weaving through the busy, overcrowded space, Adam dodged beneath a man's arm and pulled back as a cart with boxes went racing through the middle of the aisle. Thankfully, he found the secretary to the office he was looking for actually at his desk. The young man was small and short in stature, not a leprecon per say, but a similar off branch that Adam had never bothered to learn.

"Dunken, my man." He reached out and hand and had it clasped in return, the dull eyes before his shooting to life with mischief. The secretary shook it once and then fell back into his seat, kicking his feet up on the desk after making sure no one else was watching.

"Hey, Levitt. Funny you show up today," he teased, pulling a soda from where it sat beside his computer and take a slow sip from the straw.

Adam raised an eyebrow. "How's it funny?"

"Because you actually have an appointment." Dunken received an eye roll ad Adam tried to stroll past him into the office. With incredible speed, the man jumped up and put a hand on his friend's chest to stop him. "Ay, wait, you can't go in there."

"Why not?" The heavy sigh blew out Adam's nose as he narrowed his eyes ever so slightly at the ginger-haired man before him.

With an awkward, almost apologetic expression, Dunken shrugged. "She's in a meeting."

Checking his watch, the fae shook his head. "I just got here. My slot started two minutes ago."

"Yeah, but the next guy was here before you, and you were late." Shifting on his feet, Dunken eyed Adam to make sure he wasn't going to do anything rash and sat back down.

"It was by two minutes!" the kobold argued, almost shouting before he caught himself and pressed a hand over his diaphragm to make sure he wasn't being too loud. A shrug was his only response. Grand. Just grand. With his tongue pressed against his cheek, Adam sighed deeply. He glanced once at Dunken, who was now checking his email and pretending to ignore him, and then at the door. Screw it.

Walking past the desk anyway, Adam walked up to the door and pulled open the handle to Lilith's office. He heard a protested "wait" behind him but ignored it and shut the door in her secretary's face. There was no way he was waiting all the way until he could reschedule again. If he got reprimanded, he could always blame it on the UPDC anyhow.

Although, when he looked at the scene before him, he almost regretted it. Lilith stood with her eyes glowing green, both hands slammed down on the table, staring down at the small boy in front of him. Of course, it was no surprise who the silver and black hair kid was the moment Adam felt his presence.

Swooping in at a last ditch effort to defuse the situation, Adam slide himself between Oz and the court member. "Adam?" The question came from behind him, Oz's voice sounded stuffy and caught in his throat, his body in the middle of collapsing beneath the rage the rolled off Lilith in waves.

"Hey, kid," he whispered, trying to manage a smile as he nudged the boy behind him gently before looking up at the woman in front of him.

"You're late," she chided, clearly not in the mood to mess around. She still looked more than ready to rip away Oz's essence at the core and devour it whole.

"And I'm sorry about that," Adam hurried to speak up, used to keeping his voice level in dangerous situations. It wasn't a lie either. He was sorry, although he was more sorry that it had caused him to stumble into this mess than anything else. "I'll do whatever I have to to make it up to you?"

The older fae raised an eyebrow before smiling and settling down in her chair again. "Good. In that case you can help see him out." She pointed a painted finger at Oz, Adam feeling a small zap of magic trickling through her finger to pinpoint him as a target.

Biting back a retort, Adam gave another brief glance at the look building up in Oz's eyes and slipped a hand over his mouth just in time to cover a highly protested "But-" that was trying to slip out.

"Come on," he promised. He tried to drag Oz away, relieved when the kid actually followed. The last thing on his conscious he needed was the kid getting hurt. He barely got to protect him as it was with the separation.

Adam turned back to watch Lilith wave them goodbye and made sure to bit his own tongue as well. He'd have to come back a little later, hopefully when she wasn't in the mood to tear someone in two. In the meantime, the fae turned his gaze down to Oz, brushing a hand over his hair protectively as he pushed open the door and lead them back out in the busy hallway. There were more important things to worry about.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alexander King

Alec pushed open the door with his elbow as he used his free hand to slip a dark pair of shades on. Today was sunny, a better day than most to blend into the crowd, but he wasn't really in the mood to care. Everything just felt shitty. And complicated. The sun was annoyingly bright, even with the added protection, and the humidity was doing its best to make him irritable. With a sigh on his lips and a pounding headache trapped between his temples, the dragon heard the jewelry store door close behind him with a slight clunk and the jingle of a bell.

He ran his thumb over the case in his hand. The soft fabric was smooth beneath his fingers, softly moving in circles as he flipped it over once in his hand and then twice as the gift shifted inside. Running a tongue over his lips, Alec tucked the box into his pocket and forced himself to ignore it as he approached a park bench where a small German shepherd was lying in wait.

Rex's ears perked up at the sound of new footsteps, his chin lifting slightly from between his paws as he sniffed the air. It was no surprise when his tail began thumping against the ground in a quick rhythm, tongue hanging out as he got to his feet and greeted Alec half a foot from his waiting spot. A warm, wet tongue coated the inside of his hand and lapped over his fingers. The dog's reward was a brief scratch between the ears before Alec moved past him and collapsed on the bench. Even the wood was hot. It was just one of those days.

With his spine pressed against the back of his seat, the boy gave a sidelong glance at the park that was sitting across the street. The grass was beginning to brown in patches despite the sprinklers currently running full force, the trees were swaying beneath a gentle breeze, and the birds were chirping to each other from across several branches. It would've been nice if Alec hadn't been able to see the tip of the white building from the other side of the lake. His eyes darted down, hand pulling his phone from his pocket only long enough to check the time. It was past three o'clock. Another hour and he'd have to wait until tomorrow to get the answers he was looking for. Stifling a sigh, Alexander picked himself up from the bench and reached down to slip Rex's leash off of the bench's foot and around his own wrist.

A short tug at the fabric got them moving. The adolescent dog was more than excited to get ahead, pulling at his leash with all his might when Alec's stride wasn't fast enough. Despite his best efforts to stay serious, a small smile crept onto the dragon's lips. Without the worry of the conversation he was about to have, it was almost nice to enjoy the stroll. The sun was warm but the shade covering the path cool and the few drops of sunlight that slipped between the leaves warmed his back.

It would've been better if Melia had been with him. The thought was a sour taste in his mouth, not rotten but no longer as sweet as her name usually was. Which was fine. It was fine. They were fine. It'd been a few days since he had spoken to her, and she hadn't been answering his texts but at least she hadn't been reading them either. Being completely ignored was somehow better than being left on read. In a few days, she'd look at the messages, text back, and things would be back to normal. It was fine, really. Plenty of couples took breaks, Alec could handle one too.

A short bark caught his attention, the growl spilling from Rex's lips forcing him to glance down. His dog was once again pulling at the edge of the leash. This time, however, he had stretched as far as he could up a tree. His forepaws dug into the bark, scraping away flakes of it as he tried to reach higher. His nose was pointed up at a squirrel he was currently staring at with intense interest. Another sharp bark and the creature turned tail to scamper across the branch and off to the next tree.

"Come here," Alec insisted, shaking his head at his pet's antics as Rex slowly retreated back to his side. With a soft bump of his forehead against the dragon's thigh, Rex began walking back down the path more than happy to continue leading.

It was only another half a block until they were forced to cross on to the hot asphalt, though, the Garfield Park Conservatory looming overhead. It was a large, restored colonial complete with white pillars on the outside and a wide, copper-colored dome on top that more than one pigeon had made their roost for the day. For anyone walking by, it looked like any other museum in Chicago, huge, white, and littered with banners and fliers posted outside to brag about ongoing events and exhibits. The crest above the main door was overlooked as old, misunderstood architecture, and the people walking in didn't think for more than a second about the meaning behind the faces carved into stone. For any regular human, they would have had no idea of the enormous political obstacle that was hidden inside these walls. Yet Alec did, and he walked up the large stone steps regardless.

Alexander pulled open the door and stepped inside. It reeked of magic in every way imaginable. The taste of fresh energy spilled over his forked tongue and invaded his system, making him gag briefly as a hand went over his nose until he could regain his breath. It was intoxicating but pulsating in a nauseous sense that made his skin prickle with each passing second. And yet no one else noticed. He watched another woman come into the building, nod to the girl behind the desk, and continue on her way. A small family walked back out the main exit and past him, traveling down the steps without batting an eye. He could only imagine how much essence they got from running a place like this, free, open, and always public. It was a gold mine.

Forcing himself forward with a helpful tug of the leash between his fingers from Rex, he approached the help desk that sat in the lobby between the entrance and exit to the rest of the gardens. A young woman sat behind it, blonde hair pulled up in a tight ponytail and lipstick a dark burgundy. Her name tag read 'Clair' in small, black font, and her button down was messy from a needed ironing. "Can I help you?" she asked, eyes flickering up only briefly to Alec's sunglasses before returning to the computer in front of her, which was clearly more interesting.

Lips pulled tight, Alexander glanced past her at the open exhibit to find few ferns staring back before returning his attention down to the assistance before him. "I need to speak to someone here. I have a few questions to ask them."

The girl looked up again, clearly unimpressed. Alec suddenly regretted not stopping by Melia's apartment and forcing her to come along with him despite their argument. He had as much insight into politics as he did how to make baked alaska, which was to say that he had absolutely no clue what he was doing. After a brief staring match, however, Clair finally gave in and rested her head in her palm. "How urgent is it?"

Alec blinked. "I'd prefer if it happened immediately." He felt Rex growing restless at his feet, and he reached one hand down to ruffle up the dog's fur as the girl clicked the back of a pen against the table a few times and finally huffed a final time.

"You can go see Dr. Olsen," she offered, bouncing the pen twice more. "He's in the labyrinth."

Opening his mouth to protest, the dragon thought better of it. He didn't know if she'd used telepathy or the Bluetooth in her ear that didn't seem to be on, but he wasn't about to argue with results. As he wandered away through the main door to the gardens with a dog in tow, he watched her give him one last look and pick up a clucky, black telephone that sat on her desk beside a jar full of something he wasn't sure he wanted to see.

Walking through a hallway of plants was stunning. Alec felt like tourist, eyes raking over the wide assortment of flora as if he couldn't get enough, but it wasn't his fault. Every foot or so another marker was placed containing information of some regular type of flower or bush. What was actually planted was much more interesting. Beneath the magic that blinded those that weren't Others, there were bright blue, glowing flowers and purple-leafed trees that pulsed with their own measured heartbeat, each pound of their lifeforce sending a different color through all the veins of the plant. Rex was just as interested, sniffing the dirt at each step but minding to keep behind the small wire barrier.

Soon enough, Alec was forced to pull them both out of the main hall and through a side door to the outside. The labyrinth was supposed to be through the door, but what he found was not the high hedge maze he expected. A few blades of grass made up a thin layer of green that looped around to create a two-dimensional maze easily solvable by simply looking down. Beside it, a little farther down the path, was a man squatted over a few orange bushes with shears set in the grass beside him and a suit jacket pulled over his shoulders.

"Dr. Olsen?" Alec asked, approaching with caution as he pulled the fabric clipped to Rex's neck short and tight.

There was a shift as the man heaved himself with great effort onto his feet and turned around. The dragon had not expected to meet the Tuath Dé necessarily, but he also didn't expect the wide set gardener before him. The fae was heavy both in his frame and in his face, a large nose and stone grey giving him away as what Alec could only assume was a type of ogre or gargoyle. "Kennet, actually," he introduced, a wide smile on his face as he pulled the glasses from his forehead and set them on the bridge of his nose. They were enchanted, a slight shimmer of purple crossing them as his watery eyes focused on Alec properly. "Oh." His expression fell some, a hand reaching up to dab at his forehead with the handkerchief from his pocket. "I wish Clair had said something. We could've met in my office."

Unnerved by his sudden change as Alec was shoved past by the fidgeting, uneasy man, the dragon knit his eyebrows. "Something the matter?" he asked, hoping to smooth things over quickly before they got down to the business at hand.

"No, no, none," came the reassuring words as Kennet pulled off his gardening gloves and tossed them in a nearby toolbox that Alec hadn't noticed. "I just prefer not to bring flammable things into our living garden, you can understand." So it was going to be like that.

"I do," Alexander replied. His voice was clipped against his better nature, claws growing tight at his sides as he squeezed the red fabric between his fingers.

Hurrying past him again, this time stooping down to pick up the sheers he'd been using, the fae cleared his throat. The air felt tense, packed with heavier magic than before, and Alec wasn't oblivious to the tightness that settled over the small area he was standing in. "I'm a very busy man, you know. I don't have time for dealing with this, not today." With a firm shake of his head and a quick glance at the dragon, he shook his head once more to make his point very clear. "Not when there are investigators meant to be snooping around." He finally stopped when he tossed the shears into the toolbox and closed it with a small, metallic click.

This only served to confuse Alec. He shifted, straightening his spine at the sudden idea that Kennet had a very different idea on what was happening. Clearing his throat, Alec asked as casually as he could, "Investigators?"

"Oh," the fae sighed, waving the thought away as if it was too much hassle for him to even hear the word. "As of late, they've been relentless, wanting to know something that's got nothing to do with them." His face was turning red at the thought, cheeks growing blotchy as he dabbed at his forehead again and lead the two of them over to a small park bench near the labyrinth as he continued. "They're curious about the Word of Atropos."

"You mean how the page is missing?" Alec questioned, unable to hold himself back as he watched the man's movements. The question made him twitch and fidget as he collapsed down on the bench with another heavy breath.

"Don't speak so loud, boy." The hiss surprised Alexander, whose wide eyes were thankfully hidden beneath his shades. He had expected to have trouble getting someone to admit it, but here the information had landed in his lap. "You don't want anyone else knowing, now, do you?" Kennet asked with a thick, raised eyebrow.

"How'd it go missing?" Alec could feel his body shifting onto the edge of the bench where they sat. The wood dug into his thighs, his own excitement feeding Rex's who was having a hard time laying still at his feet.

"I already told him I didn't know." There was a sigh at the words. Kennet leaned forward and cupped his hands between his legs as he leaned over to look at the grass beneath them. "I would have thought the information would have served him better though. Then I see him dead." Another twitch and fidget as the man reaches up and adjusts his glasses again, but Alec can't find any words to respond as his brain is reeling to catch up.

Dorian, he must be talking about Dorian. The page is missing because someone used the process to make Godsmetal, but... he already knew they had the ability. Alec drew a hand over his face, massaging his temples as he battled with his dry mouth to speak. Uncomfortably warm, the dragon pulled at his shirt collar and turned to Kennet with a question posed on his lips. "I'm sorry, Dr. Olsen," he approached the words diplomatically, speaking even despite the unease creeping over his body, "but what exactly do you think I'm here for?"

"A shakedown, perhaps?" There was laughter hidden in his voice, a shallow chuckle escaping as he smiled over at Alec and shook his head. Standing up, he brushed away the imaginary dust off his lap and sighed, content in the late afternoon air. "I have to tell you, though, that you're not the first here and you won't be the last. This is a power grab, plain and simple, and sending a few poorly written messages won't get the Court to change their mind."

Alexander followed him in standing up. Rex yawning and stretching his hindquarters before he did the same. The puzzles pieces finally began to fall into place, and Alec gave himself a quick glance over his own attire, a leather jacket pulled tight over his shoulders, the large dog pawing at his side, and his short blonde hair slicked over with water. "Because you think I'm here on account of Dorian." It wasn't a question.

"Or whoever else is interested in the land next," Olsen agreed, nodding his head as he pulled the spectacles off his nose and let them rest of the slim wire chair around his neck, dangling as they rested against his chest. "But unless I find a Duke on my doorstep asking me to step aside, I'm afraid that we'll continue with our progress."

Slowly, the dragon shook his head. "I'm not here for anything like that."

Kennet tilted his head in confusion, grey eyebrows furrow neatly over steel eyes. "Then you're?"

"With the H'Langraash investigation," Alec finished for him. The silence was deafening in the following moment, and he could feel the tension that had laid over them before it swelled to anger as the magic within the small space changed directions and began to loam as an ominous presence over Alexander's shoulder.

With tongue pressed against his cheek at his own stupidity, Kennet narrowed his eyes at the only target in his sights. "Take those off, would you?" he asked, but the request was clear in his voice, the authority more aggravating to Alec than startling as he repeated the faked motion of removing his glasses the man mimed for him. He stared down the pair of watery eyes, refusing to flinch. He was taller and younger and far more invisible than the old fae in front of him. There was a scoff, and a wry smile curled against Olsen's lips, surprising Alec again. "Still a dragon, after all." He sounded reassured, cocky even as a small laugh escaped his throat and he began to walk back to his bushes.

"I have no interest in the land you're fighting over," the boy added, unsure what he meant but knowing that it was beginning to tick him off. He wanted Melia by his side, wither to calm him down or fucking slap the fae in front of him before he did it himself, but looking for a reassuring shoulder did nothing to help.

Kennet's grin was wide now, his amusement the only thing keeping his anger at bay. "Of course you do," he answered simply. At the sour, unconvinced expression he was given, the man continued. "Dragons are greedy, boy. You can deny it all you like, but there's no chance you're here on this case just to help out."

A lump jammed in Alec's throat. The back of his neck was heating up, his neck warming in temperature. He was tired. Sick and tired of all these Others telling him what he was, what he was supposed to fucking be. It wasn't funny anymore. So what if he was greedy? So was the man in front of him. So was every goddamn person alive. Rage spilled out on his forked tongue before he could stop it. "If I were you-"

"You should leave." Olsen cut him off dryly. "Come back when you have a warrant, then I'll talk." There was a smugness in his answer, an assurance that this would be the last time they spoke. They both knew Alec did not work for the police, that there would be no warrant for a dead man disemboweled and brought back to life and sitting at the head of a power struggle that had been swimming beneath the surface for centuries. Alec was alone. "And if you can't, don't bother coming back."

With heat on his heels and blood boiling, the dragon turned away. A shallow breath escaped his lungs as he marched out of the building and back down the block with Rex close behind. His fists slipped back into his pockets, the left one nudging the jewelry case tucked away inside. He really was alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Avacado Marissa

Ava should have felt pain when her friends died. She should have been grieving, upset, feeling something at the loss of another life. Except, it wasn't another life. It was a real life. Someone who was alive. It was important. Bigger than her. It was something that would drive actual friends to tears. Something that would clog their system as the death overtook them.

But Ava didn't feel any of that. When Foster died, all she felt was envy. Because he was under the dirt. He wasn't stuck between life and death. He wasn't forced to be alive but not alive. He didn't have to either eat the actual fucking living or use dark magic weekly to keep his body from rotting and falling apart at the seams. Foster had never been someone who had to deal with the undead. Foster was alive. Foster was dead.

Foster was gone, which was the only part that kind of hurt her. But she didn't mind that he was gone. She minded that he got to go before her.

She minded that she couldn't leave until she finished this job. Because something deep inside told her that she needed to keep going--to find something, whatever it might be, and take it and hold it and keep it until it was time to die. She'd gotten her last bit of dark magic days ago--three, to be exact. She was on the fourth day. Either this investigation ended soon, or she did.

At least, that's what she tried to tell herself. Truth be told, death was scary. It was terrifying. It was something that no one wanted. Not even the undead. But she did want it. But she didn't. It was a confusing feeling, one that was either fully yes or fully no and never really both but rather switching between the two. Fear held her back from diving into the dirt. Fear for death and hatred for life: the two sources of emotion that made up Avacado Marissa.

But none of that mattered, no, because currently, Ava was trying to find her way into Garfield Park Conservatory. The Seelie Fae. The people in charge of so many. A court.

Ava wanted to be able to take in the sights. That's what the living did. They looked at the people who passed by and marveled at the diverse bodies that passed them. They envied some, despised others, and found themselves seeing people they'd never see again. There would be a sense of other, not in those they saw, but in themselves. They would see that, for once, they were the other and they were in a place they didn't belong, yet for some reason came anyways. And they'd smile at a friendly face and feel a bit of happiness when the others smiled back. Or be scared when they didn't. Or be less when the others passed by without even recognizing that they existed.

Ava wanted to be able to breathe in the smells and taste the wonder in the air. To feel that the Court was impressive. One one hand, she knew it was. It was large. That made it great, right? It was colorful. It was beautiful. Designed by someone who knew what they were doing.

It was...a building. And no amount of looking and trying to feel would make those feelings come to Ava. Back when she was first raised, she could pretend that yes, she definitely felt. That feelings existed. That she existed. But now, by this time in her life, nothing was really real and feelings were a thing for others. She felt, sure, but it wasn't real. It was just temporary.

Just like her visit to the Fae.

"I'm here...to...talk about....a godsmith...blade."

They didn't respond. Of course, who would make time from their day to talk to a mere zombie? That's all that Ava was to the impressive Court. Even the smallest member, one who didn't seem of much importance at all, didn't respond to Ava.

"At an...undisclosed......warehouse....outside of......Chicago,...investigators found...paper...containing....detailed....directions to....the creation...of...a...godsmith blade. This....only from....Word of...Atropos....correct?"

They looked up at that, perhaps the name itself, and in their eyes there might have been fear. But Ava wasn't paying attention. She just wanted things done.

"You....have...it?"

"Of course we have it. No one else could possibly take it from us."

"But...someone...has."

"No."

"Yes." Ava took in a deep breath. It calmed her. She was very calm, staring at someone who thought she was nothing, and knowing herself that yes, she was nothing. Just a being. Not living. Not dead. Not yet.

They seemed irate--perhaps it was in the way that their eyes twitched, they twisted their hands to fix their glasses, or their lips formed that ugly sort of 'I don't know what to say' look right before they started talking again.

"I don't know what you could be talking about. Word of Atropos is locked up in the safest place it could possibly be. There is no one that could come through and take it. Not with the Court here."

"Someone....did."

"No, someone did not. I think you'd find it best to leave at this point." They were looking down at some papers in their hands. Perhaps they were working on something. A living person might have paid attention. Ava didn't care about being alive anymore. So she just looked at their face.

And, with all ease in the world, said: "No."

That twitch. That pressing look. One hand pressed to their face. Their mouth sighed. They were upset.

"It...has....been tampered. At best. Stolen...at..."

"Stolen? Say here, there is--no--that's!" They laughed. Laughed. Then, serious. A look with no joy. "Get out of here."

"But-"

Their hands faced towards the door. Ava kept forward, staring, and took one small step in their direction.

"Out! That's it--Guards! Guards! This woman is attacking me! She's trying to eat me!"

"Eat?" Ava froze. Sure, she was hungry, but eat? She hadn't done that in ages. Eating felt wrong. It felt bad. It didn't make her feel alive. It just made her feel more undead than ever.

In their eyes, she saw no fear, only a grin.

They screamed again and she began to move, her limbs finding it in themselves to get out of there. Get out. Because, just like always, a zombie wouldn't be welcomed where the living were. They were hiding secrets. They knew the book was gone. That look, that laughing, then serious look, told her all she needed to know. So she left. Moved. As fast as she could towards an exit while people chased after her.

For half of a second, Ava felt alive.

Then the door closed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Leo Wilder

Existing is such a chore sometimes.

We know, Leo, you're emo and you hate that your father made you the way that you are. Can we solve this investigation now?

Leo dragged his feet on the pavement as he walked, unable to cope with the very thought of living anymore without filling his head with some sort of noise. The rubber sole of his tennis shoes scraped against the concrete and he was sure that he rather looked like a zombie as he walked.

He focused on the sound of Mal's voice as she hummed a song that he hadn't heard in years. His breathing steadied and for a brief moment he felt normal.

But you aren't normal, now are you? And why would you want to be? We have so much fun like this.

Please.

Please just leave me alone.

Why? You afraid of something?

I'm afraid of someone..

Who?

Myself.

Just like that, the idea of normalcy had fled his thoughts but at least the voices had dulled to a low murmur instead of an antagonizing roar.

"We have to be very careful how we speak when we reach the conservatory," Mal said this lightly and Leo turned his head to look at her. Her eyes were alert and they darted about their surroundings as though she were categorizing every single specimen that she witnessed.

"We are just asking about the Godsmetal ritual, what can go wrong?" he wanted to laugh at her concern, but knew better than to upset her and so he coughed to clear it from his throat. She rolled her eyes and glared at him.

"Are you so involved in your own head that you are unaware of today's political climate?" she asked him in this tone of voice that seemed more amused than bewildered.

Leo returned an answer by shrugging his shoulders and averting his gaze. He had never paid much attention to politics as all qualms or quarrels had always seemed to be over meaningless, arbitrary things. The Others are not always human, but they sure as hell argue like they are.

"Where are we headed, anyways?" Leo tried to change the subject by introducing something else for Mal to worry about, as he knew that she would understand he didn't want to talk about politics.

"Garfield Park Conservatory, it is the only place where this ritual should exist. I'm hoping there are going to be helpful clues there," Mal looked down at the flimsy, crumpled piece of paper in her hand and regarded it as though it held all the secrets that could either end the world or help rebuild it and restore peace.

"Is this the Seelie or the Unseelie Fae?" Leo tried to focus on something other than the angry pounding in his head.

"Doesn't really matter, does it? Seeing as they're both currently controlled by the Tuath Dé," Mal's voice was soft, but her words were a harsh whip as they cracked against his ears. There was a bite to her tone that made it obvious she was upset he hadn't done any research.

Research is boring. I'd rather kill people.

Yeah, I know you would.

Don't pretend like we both want different things, Bear.

But we do want different things..

No, we don't. Stop acting like we do.

Leo and Mal reached the edge of a park filled to the brim with laughing children and lively trees. It was a whimsical place that seemed almost too perfect to be true. And maybe that's because it is too perfect to be reality.

If someone knew what to look for, they'd see beyond the façade to the entire world hidden beneath. The faces of smiling children would melt to the various elements of creatures that exist beyond human knowledge.

Leo's feet no longer scraped against the pavement so much as shuffled against the grass as they inserted themselves into a change of scenery.

The universe that lay beyond encompasses all immortal and mortal Others alike. What matters the most in the present circumstance is the esteemed Fae Courts. A breeding ground for power struggles, the Fae Courts are always a dangerous place.

Pile on the death of a certain Dragon and you get an even more steamy shit sandwich.

Even walking into the Observatory is bound to be a clusterfuck.

Leo might not care for Other Politics, but he at least knew that much.

"Who are you and why have you come to the Fae Courts?" a gruff, arrogant voice halted them in their tracks and Leo looked into the face of a Seelie Fae. He was short in stature but both his jaw and shoulders were broad. His frame was sinewy and his face handsome, albeit somewhat too pretty. His features were neither too big nor too small and it is unknown if a fibonacci spiral would fit perfectly amongst the evenness of the placement of his eyes, lips, and nose. It is, however, presumed that one shouldn't even question it.

The man was handsome, sure, but he was not there to play.

"Leo Wilder and Mal Lilystone, here for investigation to find clues that might lead to uncovering the whereabouts of the killer of one Dorian H'langraash," Mal spoke smoothly as though she had rehearsed this exact line.

Knowing her and her affinity for plans going off without a hitch, she had.

"You know, official detective business," Leo blurted, opening his eyes in horror at the thought that he might have just fucked it all up. Mal glared at him and grimaced, and it made Leo fully aware of just how stupid he could be.

The lips of the Fae curved up just a fraction at the edges and he nodded his head, opening the door that was the only passage between the realm of humanity and that of Otherhood.

When they crossed into this domain, the Conservatory was now a prominent and visible staple to the park. Humans without Otherly abilities would never set eyes upon this place, and although this is the way things have always been and always will be, it is rough to imagine having to never set sight on such a beautiful piece of architecture.

The Conservatory frame was made of Oak and was all vaulted ceilings, high arches, and regal steeples. It was constructed to resemble a castle of old and serve the Gods proud.

Most Others had long-since abandoned worshipping of deities but the Fae bow down to the Tuath Dé and that's pretty much the same thing.

A slender, beautiful creature sat at the foot of the table on the other side of the room. She stood to greet the two of them and bowed gracefully, a vision of poise and elegance. This was the current leader. A Tuath Dé princess with full lips, high cheekbones and curly golden, sun-kissed hair. There was an air of warmth that radiated off of her olive skin and she smiled although their presence had clearly unnerved her.

"To what do we owe this... interruption?" she questioned and Mal smiled grandly, trying to dispel any hint that she was afraid of saying the wrong thing.

"We are here about a certain ritual for crafting Godsmetal that has been copied from the Word of Atropos and we are hoping to find clues as to who could do such a damnable thing," Mal replied lightly, fidgeting as she teetered on the edge of this razor blade. One wrong step and she either lacerated her feet or slipped off entirely to the bottomless pit below.

Diplomacy can be a tricky thing when everyone craves war. Whether for profit, for petty arguments, or to settle something bigger: Leo found it excruciatingly hard to deny that war was just on the horizon.

"What are you talking about? The Word of Atropos is heavily guarded. No one could sneak in, not that anyone would even dare try to replicate any of its content," the Princess frowned lightly but it still somehow did nothing to the ethereal glow to her form.

Is she delusional, or...?

"I don't mean to alarm you ma'am, but this piece of paper was found in an location of interest in our investigation. It has the exact formula for crafting Godsmetal, and it lead to a murder," Mal was hesitant but persistent. As much as Leo admired that about her, he couldn't help but notice the trickle of blood as the blade cut deeper into her toes.

Just then a worried Fae entered the room and made a beeline for the Princess, kneeling down before her and requesting to speak. She nodded, giving them permission before they whispered something in her ear.

Her face turned red and Leo couldn't quite distinguish if this was from embarrassment or anger. Or maybe it was some twisted, convoluted concoction combining the two.

"I apologize, it seems you are correct and someone has copied the Word of Atropos, now... if you don't mind, I must request that you leave," Leo frowned as the Princess suggested this and he shook his head.

"Your esteemed highness," he started as Mal gave him this death glare as if he would listen to her and shut up, "If we could just be allowed supervised access to the Word of Atropos, we could continue our investigation and figure out who is responsible for this heinous crime-and therefore how it was pulled off,"

"I am afraid that your request is denied upon the grounds that it is unreasonable as well as pointless," the Princess had her shoulders pushed back in a proud and indignant pose as if to show authority like the crown perched upon her cranium didn't get the message across.

"Why?" Leo laughed softly and tried to joke with the Fae, "did you lose it or something?"

A gasp escaped Mal's lips and she looked at Leo with wide eyes and a look buried within them reminding him that humor was not the best in every situation.

You see, Fae are incredibly proud of their physical belongings. They take great care of things, and although Leo meant for his remark to lighten the mood it was very clear that it was doing the exact opposite.

"Are you implying that the Fae have lost something we have guarded and protected for the last 1000 years?" the Princess was absolutely flabbergasted and her eyes narrowed into two piercing bullets ready to strike Leo's chest right where his heart would be.

Leo tried to shake his head, but as the Princess motioned for her guards he felt Mal's hand lace through his.

Good job Leo, you've fucked everything up.

What did I say? I'm so confused..

You just accused a Fae of losing the very thing they've waged war over in the past.

"Leo, we have to find safety quick," Mal was sprinting, expertly dodging any oncoming threat as she led Leo away from the chaos that had been so close to ensuing.

Shouts could be heard from behind them and all Leo could envision was an angry mob of villagers with pitchforks at the ready and fire ready to burn him alive.

Had they stayed, Leo would have been at fault for their deaths. Running had been the only option with the greatest odds for survival.

Mal made sure they kept to the shadows and just like that, the two of them disappeared into the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Liam Hughes

Foster was gone, and there was nothing Liam could do about it. His anchor, his crush, his friend, was dead. Things hadn't been so great for a while. Liam was fading so badly that Avacado Marissa reluctantly agreed to be his anchor. Now, they were standing together outside of the Garfield Park Conservatory waiting to talk to the Seelie Fae council. The spell on the paper they had found was a recipe for a Seelie godsmetal ritual that came from a book. Unfortunately, it was buried deep inside Seelie territory and there was no other way to retrieve it. An attendant walked outside and gestured for them to come in. Liam and Ava followed quickly down the massive halls and beautiful decor. The attendant ushered them into a large room where five Fae were sitting behind a very high bench. Liam and Ava bowed, but the Fae in the middle waved them away.

"Enough of that!" he barked. "Why are you here?" Ava and Liam stood. They had decided that Liam should do most of the talking considering the fact that Ava talked slower than a tortoise.

"Sir," Liam said, "we're investigators investigating the death of Dorian H'Langraash. As you know, he was a prince as well as the tenth most powerful dragon in the world, so whoever killed him had to be extremely powerful. Of course, we have made it our business to find this person."

"Yes," drawled the Fae, "I'm well aware. Now, why are you here in this specific place talking to us?"

"We found a page for a godsmetal ritual at an abandoned warehouse that's been linked to the murder," Liam explained. "It has been traced to a book in the court's possession called the Word of Atropos." At this, the entire council exploded in outrage.

"That's impossible!" a Fae on the left cried. "We would know if anyone had copied the contents."

"Copying it's contents is considered an act of war upon the Seelie!" another spoke up.

"Counselors, please. There is indisputable proof that the page I have in my hand came from that book. We don't know how, but we were hoping you could tell us."

"Give me that page!" demanded the Fae in the middle. "If It has truly come from our book then it is rightfully ours." Liam clutched it tighter.

"With all... due... respect," Ava said, "we still... need... it to... continue... our... investigation."

"You dare bring a living dead with you?" a Fae scowled. "This is an insult. And you, a Wraith, why did you come? Surely a more respectable and presentable faction could have graced us with their presence." Liam's blood began to boil. How dare they insult him and Ava like this? He leaned closer to her in an attempt to calm down.

"You have a strange Fae essence about you," a council member stated. "Could you have been a Fae before you died?"

"No," said Liam, "I was working with a Fae. He died." The council member narrowed her eyes.

"But the essence is too strong around you for you to have simply worked with this Fae."

Liam gulped. If he revealed that Foster had been his anchor, there was no telling what they would do. If they were this insulted by Liam's very presence, how would they feel if he told them he had connected so deeply with one of their own. Ava glared at him, daring him to speak. But Liam could feel that if he lied, the consequences would be far greater.

"He was my anchor," he stated bluntly, and for the second time in under six minutes the council exploded in uproar.

"What?" a council member screamed. "How is this possible?"

"You have dirtied and disgraced that Fae beyond repair!" another yelled. "You have insulted the high council itself!" The Fae in the middle banged a gavel and silence filled the room. Liam couldn't ignore the glare that Ava was sending him. If looks could kill.

"Silence!" the Fae ordered. "You are a disgrace. You have stormed into our court, hurled baseless accusations at us, kept items which belong to us, insulted us by even daring to confer, and now this! We find that you have taken a perfectly good Seelie Fae and dirtied him with your essence. It is good news for you that your friend is dead." At that, Liam screamed. That was it! How dare they talk about Foster that way? The scream pierced the room causing everyone in it to cover their ears, including Ava.

"Shut up!" Liam roared. "You don't know what you're talking about! We tried to come in here and discuss peacefully, but apparently that's not going to happen. You are the most vile, hateful, prejudiced Faes I've ever met. Foster was the kindest, sweetest, most caring Fae on the face of this Earth and if you can't see that, then maybe you shouldn't be allowed to sit in those chairs!" By this point, Liam was steaming dangerously, the ends of his seven era flickering like smoke. The Fae in the middle stared down at him coldly.

"You and your friend are guilty of threatening a Seelie high official. I suggest you start running now." As he said it, two Fae guards entered the room and began stalking towards Liam and Ava. "If you ever step foot here again, we won't hesitate to kill you. In fact, we won't be so merciful as to give you the chance to run." The guards began chasing after Liam and Ava who had at this point gotten to their feet and had begun running away.

"Do something!" Ava yelled as she shuffled down the hallway. "All... your fault."

"I know, I'm sorry," Liam said as he ran towards one of the guards and took control of his body. He swung the Fae's sword at the other Fae and managed to knock her to her feet. Liam quickly exited the body, he was getting quite uncomfortable. Without warning, he jumped into Ava's body, making her run faster.

Get... out of my... body! she snarled in her mind as she attempted to force him out. His grip on her was too strong, however, as he hung on for dear life.

Stop resisting, he shot back. I'm trying to save your life. They had made it outside and were running out of the park, being chased by at least ten Fae. They finally made it to the edge of the park wheezing and gasping. Liam willed their legs foreword until they were sitting behind a dumpster in an inconspicuous back alley. Several minutes went by without the sounds of angry Fae voices and they breathed a sigh of relief. Liam slowly edged his way out of Ava's body and sighed in contentment. It was very uncomfortable inside another person's body. It was strange, and clumsy, and weird sharing your thoughts with another, being forced to walk around in a heavy meat suit.

"You... okay?" Ava asked quietly. "You don't... seem... angry... anymore." She was right, Liam wasn't angry. Which was strange, considering the fact that Liam was always angry. He felt pretty weird too. Ava stared at him and grabbed his wrist but her hand slid through it. "What's going... on?"

"I don't know," Liam muttered as he stood up. "I'm not angry anymore." He was feeling lightheaded as his knees buckled and he went crashing to the ground. Ava caught him just before he hit the ground and pulled him into her lap. Liam could feel a tugging sensation, like he was being pulled upward but something was holding him down. Ava. It was his time to go. "Wraiths are connected to the Earth by magic and emotion," he muttered. "Take both away and there's nothing keeping you there."

"What happens... then?" Ava asked.

"I don't know," Liam said. "You leave. I think it's my time, Ava. All of my anger's gone, so there's only one thing keeping me here." He looked over at Ava. "You."

"Do you... want to... stay?" she asked quietly. Strange. It's not that Liam wanted to die, but he had the feeling he wouldn't be dying. Not really. And he wasn't afraid.

"No," he said. "Not anymore. I've had my chance, and now it's time to go." Ava nodded and took in a deep breath.

"Then... I wish... you the... best... Liam. I don't... want to... be... your anchor... anymore." And with that, everything that was holding Liam down disappeared. He could feel himself fading, dissolving, and he could see his mother's face beaming down at him from the sky. And somehow he knew, just knew that he'd be with her again. Foster joined her and beckoned for Liam to join them. Liam smiled, and laughed for the first time in a long time. His body was completely dissolved and he floated upwards towards them. He waved down at Ava who was looking around wildly. Foster and Liam's mother reached out their hands for him and Liam grabbed them, laughing like a child as he was pulled into their embrace. And, for the first time since his death, he knew that every little thing would be alright.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ozias Alva

Trauma: a slow burn kept simmering just beneath a boil. A deeply depressing, disturbing experience. Something one didn't easily forget. There was nothing unusual about the traumatic. People face it every day, right? So why did it feel so weird to roll the word around between my lips, never quite speaking it but just keeping it there as if I needed to keep an eye on it. Mom was still resting from her wounds. That, I was told, was trauma. Pain. Anguish. Blood leaking from veins and bruises dotting pale skin. Trauma. That's why I was sitting on a cold bench beside Adam, miles away from where she was in our apartment, trying to pretend that there weren't different types of trauma too. The kind that keeps you awake at night, cutting into you slowly until you're not sure you're being cut into at all. The kind that stays on the tip of your tongue, refusing to leave you alone because there was no closure to shut it up. Only another body sitting beside yours, and the word fae pounding through my temples.

Every inch of my body ached with exhaustion except for my eyes. They were open, staring holes in the cold tile floor as we waited. I couldn't bring himself to look at higher, or turn my head to the right where Adam was nervously bouncing his knee. "Are you sure you got this, kid?" he asked, a stiffness in his voice that hadn't left ever since we'd left the Enlightened's hideout.

Are you sure you can? I wanted to ask him, feeling the bitterness rise up in my throat as I bit back the words. "Positive," was what came out instead. Short. Clipped. I didn't want to talk to him. I didn't want to look at him. I knew what would happen if I did.

"Hey, Oz." Adam's foot stopped bouncing, just for a moment. I could feel his eyes on me, his body leaning closer as if somehow that would get me to look up from the floor. "I know you've got questions right now." It took every ounce of my will to hold back a scoff. Questions? Questions? Wasn't that the understatement of the freaking century. All the pieces were starting to come together. Like gears snapping into place. The bad taste in my mouth when I tried to lie. Imariel's amusement when I told him I wanted to be a demon. "But I really need you to be here with me. Okay? Just for a little longer."

If I could have buried my head in my hands and curled up into a mute, invisible ball of inexistence, I absolutely would have. "Yeah," I replied. "It's just a meeting. After everything else we've been through it should be easy." Resentment creeped through the syllables in my words as my eyes flickered upwards just for a moment. Not to look at him, but to look at the shape of the walls around me and the lights glowing above. Fae. The air tasted like magic. Thick and ancient, not as invasive as the magic of the Enlightened. But it was just as dangerous and I hated it with equal passion. Fae.

Adam was quiet for a long time. He was still looking at me, hands folding and unfolding in his lap. "Just," he sighed, as if he was torn between saying two different things, "just try to stay quiet. Let me do the talking. The fae are—"

"I know how the fae are," I interrupted. The fae are deceitful. They're obsessive. They're wrong. They're not— they're not me.

They're not me.

Footsteps signaled the arrival of another person, dress shoes and well-ironed pants entering my field of vision as I looked up. The Fae in front of us could have easily passed as any normal person on the street. It was impossible to pinpoint an age on him. He wasn't young, but he wasn't old either. He was dressed sharply, like a lawyer going to work, with a well groomed beard and dark hair that curled gently against his scalp. Even his eyes were dark, darting back and forth between the two of us. But there was something about him that was off. A sense of ancient power that radiated off of his skin like a coat he could never shed.

Adam started to rise from the bench, but I stayed put where I was. "It's good to see you, Jae." He greeted him with a firm handshake, but Jae's eyes were on me. Rooting me to the spot, as if he could peel back all the layers of flesh and see how my heartbeat quickened inside of my chest.

"This is a favor to you, Adam," he answered cooly. His voice sounded like moonlit grave dirt, thick and old and powerful as each syllable rolled from his tongue. "Just you."

The implication was clear. Under normal circumstances, it would have stung. But not being expected was the least of my problems now. "He's with me," Adam stressed, reaching out to put his hand on my shoulder only to think better of it at the last second. His hand stretched across the empty air for a moment too long before he let it rest by his side.

Slowly, I started to stand, rising with Jae's eyes as he looked me up and down once again. There was a twitch in his lips, a firmness in his jaw, as if he was debating whether or not letting me in was really worth the trouble. In all truth, it probably wasn't, but that didn't stop him from nodding briskly and punctuating the motion with a, "This way."

He walked too quickly for either of us to follow him comfortably, long strides crossing the hall as if he'd been born to do it. Adam jogged to keep up, leaving me lagging behind as he started into his speech. "As the court knows, I've been investigating the death of Prince Dorian, along with Brandy Alva and her son, Ozias." Jae was nodding without speaking, letting Adam continue uninterrupted. "I—we, found something. It looks like a page from..."

Something caught my eye. A flicker of motion that slowed my stride to a stop. Adam didn't notice, trailing off into muttered words and recounted stories that I didn't need to hear twice. Two eyes poked out from behind an open door, bright and burning blue with the glow of young magic burning around them. Slowly, the rest of the face began to appear, pale face and long fingers reaching out to curl towards me.

"Come here," he mouthed. I tilted my head to the side, eyes narrowing as I took a small step forward. I should have known better than to be drawn in, after all of the mistakes I'd made in the past, but my feet weren't listening to my brain. "Let me show you." With each word, I walked closer, the memory of Adam slipping away from me the closer I got to the door.

Cold hands grasped mind, sending chills up my fingertips as he tugged me into the small hall. Without a word, we slid through the cold hallway as if the ground beneath us was being pulled away. The world was quiet, sound destroyed by the thick walls as the fae tugged me along.

Only when we'd found another door did we stop. It was open, only a crack, enough to let light shine in from inside the next room. "What is this?" I asked, trying to meet the fae's eyes as a shiver of fear began to rise up on the back of my neck.

There was something mischievous in his eyes, something sharp in his smile when he said, "Look at see." The door was cold to the touch when I pushed on it, opening up to a cold concrete room in disaster. There were papers scattered across the floor, aching with broken magic and frustration as if they were pieces of a pouty child throwing a tantrum on the floor. In the center, only the spine remained. Thick, leather and black, whispering in a furious hush that grew louder as I get closer. "Go on," the fae whispered, cold breath wrapping around my throat. "Take it."

"Why?" I asked, letting the word slip from my lips without thinking. Is this the book? My eyes ran over its drawings, the words looping through one another in an endless song that I couldn't understand. Is this what happens when a page is missing? Slowly, I started to reach for the spine, fingers longing to touch the old leather. At the last moment, I hesitated, remembering what I knew about gifts. "What's it cost?"

But there was no answer. Only cold, empty silence, and my lone figure alone in the room with the damaged book.

Oh, and Jae's furious eyes burning me to a crisp from the doorway.

"Found something, did you?" In two strides, he yanked me out of the room, cloth pressing against my throat to sting the still-healing bruises looped around it. He tossed me into the hall without any effort, my feet stumbling over one another as I collided into Adam.

"I swear," the words were an aching breath in my throat, "I didn't touch it."

There was no time for him to answer. Even as his lips parted, Jae was speaking again. "It's time for you to leave," he ordered. "My patience has run out."