Brooklyn, NY
“Did you get what you needed, Mr. Hallow?” He asked, then eyed the piece of the Mother Tree. “It seems you got that and more.”
“Yeah. We can go back for real now.”
Emyrith held out a hand. Instead of giving him the branch, I gave him the crutch and opted to walk with the Mother Tree. The entire ideology of tools centered around one’s practice was undoubtedly linked to the owner’s intent and closeness to the tool in question. Maybe walking with the branch would enhance whatever tool I ended up fashioning it into. I already had an idea forming in my mind.
The walk back was rather uneventful. The forest was less eerie in the morning and certainly less gloom-and-doom. I mindlessly followed Wol’s footsteps, trying not to think about anything. It wasn’t hard. Finishing the first trial had taken everything I had, both physically and mentally. I knew that the moment I fell into Valstein’s car, I’d knock out.
Still, my mind couldn’t help but wander near the last stretch of the morning hike. The Hudson Witch didn’t need to help me, especially by answering the questions and doubly so by providing the Mother Tree’s branch. If what she was telling was the truth, she wanted me to win simply because I would stay. I mean, from her perspective, it made sense. If Mina and Victor won, the local preternaturals would be losing out on the possibility of a powerful practitioner amongst their midst. If I won, they’d gain one. It’s the same thing with millionaires and taxes, I guess. You want to tax them, but you don’t want to tax them so high that they start moving out into different states. I remembered there being some fuss about that in New York politics recently.
That might explain the trial she chose, too. Maybe someone told her about my wounds already, like Beta, for example. After all, she was part of the Table. She had basically crippled the other family’s advantages to even out the playing field, keeping the contestants in the dark and making the trial one of wit.
Which could lead to more politicking amongst the Table. How many of them wanted me to inherit the practice? Were there those who wanted the families to inherit it instead? If some wanted the latter, what could be their reasons? What about the unaffiliated preternaturals? What were their thoughts on this matter?
There was a lot to consider here. My brain certainly wasn’t in any shape to figure it out now, and I wasn’t in the mood to start playing twenty-questions with Emyrith. Besides, I had to consider the possibility that Emyrith wasn’t on my side.
The thought made me nervous as hell.
But if he wasn’t on my side, whose side was he on? Society? That didn’t track. A third player in the game? Who else had a stake in this inheritance process?
Goddammit. The more I found out, the more questions I got. I was supposed to be figuring out who to trust, who to avoid, and who to label ‘ENEMY’ in big fat red markers on their metaphorical foreheads. I wasn’t supposed to be getting more confused by the second.
When we reached Valstein’s car, the driver was waiting for us and ushered us inside.
“Lawyer,” Valstein greeted once we were nestled in.
“Ms. Valstein. Pleasure,” Emyrith said without mirth.
There was a bit of tension in their voices, but I was too tired to dig into it. Wol and Hwari apparently agreed, as the cat nestled into my lap, half-dozing, while the koi wrapped around my neck. I looked out the window.
Already, the blue sky was covered by thick clouds and starting to paint the world gray.
When I woke up, it was just Valstein in the car, and the dashboard clock told me it was near sunset. I’d slept for a while. There was a small baggie from my favorite fast-food joint —the golden arches— next to me. I made a motion and let out an audible groan. The painkillers, along with the adrenaline, had completely worn off. Injuries like this aren’t just physical. They begin to tax your mind to a point where you’d do anything to get rid of it. Hence, why it’s so easy for people with chronic pain to get addicted to painkillers.
Next to the small brown baggie was a white one with red letters from one of America’s most famous pharma companies. Pain killers.
“You’re awake at last, little mageling,” Valstein said in her velvety tone.
“Emyrith?” I croaked.
Wol bounded off my lap and pushed a bottle of water towards me. “Drink, practitioner.”
Seeing as I only had one free hand, and my familiars had none —either paws or fins— I squeezed the bottle between my crotch to get it open. I started with a small sip, felt my mind clear, and guzzled the ice-cold nectar, emptying it.
“Charming,” Valstein said.
I looked out the window. We were right outside my RV. “What about Emyrith?”
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
“The lawyer returned to his office. He said to tell you that he’ll be there if you need him,” she said. “The lawyer also paid for you to be escorted safely to your den. I assume this is it?”
I’d only spent about a day in the RV, but there was no sweeter sight. Inside were my books, my clothes, and most importantly, a nice warm bed waiting for me. “This is it.”
“Then this is where we part ways. What a shame.” Valstein was studying the RV, her eyes unreadable. She was playing with a loose strand of hair by her neck, her nails absolutely blood-red.
“Thanks for the ride, er—”
“Call me Rosefinch, little mageling.”
Our eyes met through the mirror. “Thanks, Rosefinch.”
She looked away before I did.
I grabbed the door handle to leave, then stopped. “Mind if I ask a question?”
She arched an eyebrow.
“Any advice?” I asked, gauging her reaction. “On where to start, I mean.”
The vampyr searched my face a bit too long for it to be considered brief. “Why do you ask me, mageling?”
“Because I have no clue where to start,” I admitted. My mouth went dry. “And I could use the help.”
“Yes. And why me?” Rosefinch asked again.
“Because reasons,” I said.
She smiled. “Oh, I do love stories. Elaborate.”
I gritted my teeth. I didn’t have the confidence to explain without offending her. I was still figuring out the peculiar complexities of the preternaturals. Although most had been somewhat loose about my lack of decorum due to ignorance, I had a feeling Rosefinch wasn’t one to let it slide. But I wasn’t really swimming in choices here.
“Because you’re part of the Valstein family, which is part of the Table. It also looks like you’re buddy-buddy with the Intellect Transit. You also hinted several times that you knew things I didn’t,” I said. “Also, everything I know about vampyrs tell me that they have ways of finding things out. Shadows, controlling animals, human thralls. So I thought if anyone in this city had a clue on where to start, it’d be you.”
Rosefinch sighed, then looked out the window. “I suppose I can play nanny a little while longer. You have until sunset, little mageling. Afterwards, I will demand payment.” Then she turned to the driver. “You hear nothing.”
The driver didn’t respond. But I saw his shoulders relax.
Rosefinch began the conversation. “You place far too much importance on the Table. Do you know what they are?”
“Yeah, Abig—,” I stopped myself from saying Abigail’s name. I didn’t want to reveal anything I didn’t have to. “Assad told me. They’re basically a homeowner’s association. They make rules.”
“Wrong. Wrong. Wrong,” Rosefinch said like a governess, all whip and no carrot. She laughed as she did it, too. “The Table is merely a gathering of beings that are under the charming misapprehension that they are in charge. New York is far too large for the likes of the Intellect —bless her heart— or the Wickerman, or even my patriarch to rule. They are…,” she paused, “insufficient, I’m afraid. There are simply far too many factions for any one hand to squeeze.”
I frowned. “You… that’s not what it looked like. A lot of people showed up to Town Hall yesterday.”
“A mere fraction of the delightful denizens of our city,” Rosefinch said. Something haughty flickered through the vampyr’s eyes. “This charming world is much bigger than what you’ve seen so far, Jain Shin Hallow.”
I looked away from the mirror and shared a look with Wol.
“I was going to explain,” Wol said, “But there has simply been no time.”
I returned my attention to Rosefinch, eyeing her warily. If what she was telling me was true, the Table’s influence wasn’t as absolute as I thought. Then again, I guess most governments aren’t. No government controls its people down to the last member. No matter how authoritarian, totalitarian, or dictator-cult-like a ruling body was, there would always be small pockets of resistance. From what I could recall, the Table wasn’t even that.
“The Table really is the HOA then,” I muttered aloud to myself, “They just impose rules that no one really wants to follow and try to make everyone’s life a nightmare?”
“Oh, the Table has power. Power enough that you should care to keep your ears open, little mageling. I’m simply telling you to use that pretty little head of yours and think. What happens when petty little men gather under the disguise of cooperation while plotting behind each other’s backs?”
“Uh. Betrayals. Cloaks and daggers. Distrust,” I said, and the lightbulb went off. “They’re not unified.”
“Exactly,” she said.
Shit. I knew this. At Assad’s warehouse, he’d been used to track me down by the Wickerman’s bounty hunters. The Intellect Transit, the Wickerman, and Rosefinch had been working together when I saw them, presumably without knowledge of the other Table members. The Hudson Witch said as much, too. But it was one thing to know it, and another to actively apply said knowledge to the situation at hand.
“But that doesn’t help me at all,” I said. “I asked if you have any advice about where to start looking for the Mother Tree’s attackers.”
“Oh, little mageling. Were you not listening?”
I didn’t try too hard not to scowl. “All you did was tell me that the Table isn’t as powerful as I think it is, and that the—” I stopped talking.
Rosefinch’s delicate silver brows rose, as her pupils did a merry jig.
“There’s no need to talk to the Table at all. Because they’d naturally keep their cards close to the chest from each other, and by now everyone knows I’m doing this for the Hudson Witch. They also know about the trial, and would scalp the shit out of me.”
“Mmm,” Rosefinch said.
“I should start elsewhere,” I frowned, understanding dawning on me. “Those on the peripherals. Fringe members of communities. People who might hear different things about the Table, regardless of who they work for.”
“It seems your pretty little head isn’t just for decoration after all. And I believe you already know where such people might gather,” Rosefinch said. “More than one, I suspect. Do you not?”
I did; Sana’s Cafe for one. The list of places to gather power that the Wickerman mentioned was another. The answer had been right in front of me this entire time. I wanted to smack myself on the head, except that would be just self-inflicted cruelty, judging by the state my body was in. To be fair, I was bone tired.
Rosefinch must have read my face. “Oh, you have more than the egregore’s list? My oh my, the mageling is a tad more capable than I thought him to be.”
I almost scowled but stopped. I was pretty sure this was Rosefinch’s way of being nice. “So, the Table is not all that. It’s all just smoke and mirrors. They look like they have power, but they actually don’t.”
“Clever too.”
“Then how come they’re the Table? Can’t people just abolish it?”
“New York is not the only place where homes reside,” Rosefinch said, flourishing her hand dismissively. “And you know too little to discuss the politics of how other states and their cities relate to ours. For now, just know that the Table serves as a deterrent to other regional powers.”
“Goddamit, this is like history class. Are you telling me New York is in a state of perpetual Cold War?"