Adrian was still thinking about that encounter the a few days later, as he sat in on yet another chaperoning mission.

This time it was at a McDonald's. The franchise owner had been educated at Carleton back when it had barely outgrown the one-room pack school it had once been, and he had decided to give back even though the institution as it currently existed barely resembled the place he had gone to all those years prior. Business was booming. There was one problem. The soft serve machine was working quite well indeed. A bit too well. So well, in fact, that it needed some... intervention.

And so an arrangement of sorts had been arranged.

As the manager herded the boys into the back of the store to do the dirty deed, he settled down to a coffee. This was too easy. Just sit around for a few hours doing nothing and get paid for it. He had felt slightly guilty at first and then it had gone away after he had gotten used to it. Now it had come back, so gradually that he had not even noticed it. Until now.

He decided to use the time to review his lesson plans. He had the exhibition coming up in just a few days, and planning that was already taking up his whole schedule. Everything had been selected, but there was still so much to be done. He had so many people to see, so many things to arrange. Things to hire. He needed time to think. But there was so much going on.

He felt that the atmosphere had shifted. He could be imagining it, or was it real? People seemed to walk faster, as if they had more purpose than before. Were they onto him? Or was he overthinking it, and it was just the natural turning of the seasons, perhaps amplified by the magical undercurrents? People changed. But the thought still unnerved him.

He had literally no idea. There was a letter from Halberstam, all PR-speak, no hard edges. They needed to be vigilant, it said. Vigilant of what? There was whispering in the classroom. Who had tipped them off? Why? He had no idea what exactly was going on.

Despite the fact that the logic told him that his liaising with Brendan could not have possibly led to this, he could not shake the feeling that it was somehow related. What if he was somehow working for them, due to some Stockholm Syndrome-type thing? But that didn't really make sense. Why would he do that. He had dropped out. He had no face anymore to show around them. He had said as much. It didn't make any sense.

The stuff Brendan told him really made him wonder. What else could they do? It was very hard to get into this kind of mindset given he had no prior experience with magic before getting into all of this. People with magical powers only made up a tiny minority of the New Carinthian population, lost among the fae, vampires, elves, merfolk and the overwhelming majority of wolves. Immigration in the past 40 years had brought the numbers up as humans encroached elsewhere in the world, but they were still a fraction of a fraction.

He decided to concentrate on the things that he could work out. He thought about every encounter he had had that day with another teacher, another student, trying to recall what they had said to him and their tone of voice and the facial expressions which had accompanied their words, trying to feel for some kind of pattern. It was hard to recall at times, when he had forgotten about the interaction pretty much immediately afterwards, and he had to sort of imagine what had gone on, extrapolating off of the other events.

Feeling like an outsider was nothing new to him. He had always been aware he was different, but this was less about that and more about being found out. The feeling of dread was the same though.

They wouldn't do anything, though. They had no proof. Or did they? Would he be called to the principal's office one day and be simply sent packing? What would happen then? He had no idea.

Nothing worked. Nothing seemed to alleviate his fears. He realised it was something he could not fully rationalise, at least in the amount of time he had. He could only hope that his paranoia would be proven correct. He just had to live with it for the moment.

He had finished his coffee. He decided he needed to go to the toilet, and headed for the restrooms at the back of the restaurant. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flicker of movement out the window. Making sure that there was nobody looking at him directly, he crept towards the window. The students were huddled around one of the tables outside under the sunshades, talking to someone. He knew immediately who it was.

It was Beidzner. He had only seen photos of the guy, but it was unmistakeably him. The way Brendan had described him left no doubt. He drew back. He could not let him see him. He could not let anyone know of what he knew. Nevertheless he prepared for the eventuality in his mind. No doubt he was aware of him. But he decided it was in his own interest that they should not meet. At least for the time being. He was clearly not supposed to see him.

Despite the risk, he was intrigued. He was old, wizened, with white hair and a permanent sneer on his face. His eyes were bright, animated. He could see how someone could fall under his spell. Literally.

They were on the move. Adrian moved back from the window, as discreetly as possible. Beidzner had an agility that belied his age. He watched as he walked away.

The boys were coming back. Adrian got back to his spot. Acting as natural as possible. They seemed not to suspect anything, but he couldn't take any chances.

As he shepherded them to the school van he had driven them there in, he thought about their next move. Brendan had told him to pick him up at a bus stop after he'd finished his shift. He wanted him to have dinner at his place.

He thought about what Brendan's reaction would be like. How would he react to the news his old master was around town again?

***

 Brendan had justified tonight to himself as a way to pay Adrian back for letting him stay the night at his place, but he supposed that the logic of it all had sounded better in his head, given how it had gone down.

He had turned up at his door at the allotted time, all nice and dressed up, and Brendan had immediately regretted even bringing it up. There had been the usual introductions, his parents in their broken English, and Adrian in his understated way. The usual chatter about where they came from. Brendan had had to translate.

Once they had begun the meal, his mother had immediately begun telling a story about the lady in front of her at the market that morning who had wanted the skin off her fillet. "The skin is the best part. It's got all the fatty acids. Make you smarter." Now, halfway into the meal, his parents had gotten into a disagreement of sorts. So much for saving face.

They went into the kitchen. Adrian could hear them arguing in Chinese.

"What are they talking about?"

"No..." Brendan listened through the thin kitchen door. "She thinks there aren't enough dishes. Not with two hungry boys. She's going to cook another dish."

"What's your dad saying?"

"He thinks we can make it if we microwave some donuts."

"And what's your mum now saying?"

"That's just embarrassing. How could you think of such a thing. He's going to think we're a bunch of peasants."

Adrian nearly burst out laughing.

"They think you're from, like, a high class family," Brendan explained.

"The truth, is, uh, a little more complicated," Adrian explained. He was trying to get to a good time to explain it fully to Brendan, but for now it could wait.

"Well, never mind. No use explaining now. The notion is hardwired into them by now. My mum wanted to get a new tablecloth, new chairs, new wallpaper. Thank Monagh my dad talked her out of it."

The arguing got louder. Then it stopped. There was the sound of a burner firing up and the distinctive scrape of a wok.

"Do they always argue like this?"

Brendan seemed a bit dejected. "Yeah. About every single little fucking thing you could imagine. They got into an argument at a garden centre once about the colour of the pelargoniums they wanted to buy. Nearly got kicked out."

"What's she going to cook?"

"Dunno. Garlic chives, probably. It's always garlic chives."

"Fish with garlic chives?"

"I don't know. I should have invited you later. Like when uh, we harvest the shepherd's purse and make dumplings..."

"The what?"

"Ah fuck it. I'll explain it later."

***

After dinner Brendan did the plates, and his parents went upstairs to watch TV. While Adrian put the plates on the dishrack, he filled Brendan in.

"You know, Beidzner's in up in Wythaven."

"I know."

"How?"

"Suprisingly, it was Graydon's pack. They got in touch with me, said they had phone records. Some of these smaller packs are quite resourceful, you know. They have beef with George."

"Yeah. That makes sense. The address was in Wythaven."

"We need to go up there and see what's going on. Have you booked the accomodation, like I was saying?"

"When I finish this exhibition. Until then I'm snowed in. I was meant to be grading visual tests today. Guess that'll have to wait until tomorrow."

"I really should have chosen another day. When we're clear of this whole thing."

He shrugged. "It's fine. Beats being alone at home, I guess."

"We have to find out what is going on in that factory. You know what we should do? We need to get the suits they use for "science" at Carleton. They're stored in the science block."

"I don't go to the science block."

"They have millions of them. They won't notice if you pinch one."

"Can't we just buy some... through the normal channels? I can pay for it if you need to."

"No. Those are much tougher than the average hazmat suit you could buy in a store. You have no idea of the things they can withstand. Expensive as hell too. They came up with like a dozen patents. Hell hath no fury like that of a public servant bound by their duty to avenge their fellow public servants. I should get that tattooed. If my parents could ever approve."

"Well, why didn't they just use the material they use to make those rather than take our tech?"

"Couldn't withstand salt water and prolonged exposure to sunlight, I imagine. Also the Education Department would throw the book at them if they tried. Remember what I said about public servants. Anyway, I need you to get your hands on one of them."

"Just one?"

"Just say it's for a art experiment or something." Then what he was trying to say dawned on him. "Oh. They've probably figured it out. Well, then, get Graydon to do it. Maybe he needs to hold an English class in an active volcano."

"Why one? I thought we were in this together?"

"I don't think it's a good idea for more than one person to do it. And only one suit draws less suspicion."

"Good point. But what am I going to do? stand guard outside?"

"Yeah."

"Two minds are better than one."

"Okay, okay," Brendan concurred. "You've convinced me. "Make that two suits. But we don't know what the drainage pipe is like. We need someone to scout it out."

"How? Are we going to get the pack to do that for us?"

"No. We'll get to that tomorrow. We're going somewhere."