I woke up with a headache.
Turning over, I saw that the alarm clock hadn’t gone off yet. Too early; the sun wasn’t even up. I shut the damned thing off before it could go off, which was sure to make my headache worse. I groaned, swinging my legs over and getting out of bed.
I stayed sitting for quite a bit, rubbing my hands over my face and thinking of the events from the night before.
One. The meeting with my auditors, who were really just Society Practitioners. There were three of them: Craig Richtor, Ayumi Tachibana, and Maria Orlais. What did I know about them? Almost nothing. Well, some things. Craig seemed to have a familiar contract with a Black Dog. I remembered reading about it, but couldn’t recall the information at the moment. Ayumi… had given nothing away. Except that she was a shrine priestess or something of the sort. And the most worrying of all had been Maria Orlais, and her blatant disregard for Society customs, using a minor working in broad daylight like that. The latter two hadn’t had their familiars visible.
One could find out a lot about the practitioner by their familiar.
Two. My run-in with Angelica and Kevin. My classmates.
They were awakened. And involved in something bad. Correction: wanting to be involved in something bad. Something about government conspiracies, or aliens. Well, not aliens. Same difference, though.
God. They were fucking awakened. And they knew about me.
“Fuck,” I swore softly.
The door to my room creaked, and I saw Wol bounce up onto my bed. “You’re up early.”
“Not because I want to be,” I grunted. “I have a headache.”
“I’m not one of those things you call ‘doctors’,” Wol said dryly, “but I do believe lack of water has that effect on humans.”
I frowned, trying to think. When was the last time I drank water?
“…I drank some yesterday, at the burger place.”
“Wasn’t that one of those fizzy drinks?”
“I think they’re made out of water,” I said, but knew he was right. I finally got out of bed, feeling the chill of the floor on my bare feet, to try and do something.
Well, that’s what I tried to do. Instead, I lay back down and spaced out for the better part of an hour. The sun began to glimmer through the space between my shades. I stared at the alarm clock, debating whether to turn it off permanently. Somehow, in this fucked up state of mind I was in, it was easier to let it just ring every morning and turn it off, rather than take the energy to disable the function altogether. I told myself I’d disable the alarms later, when I had the mental space to do it.
“Jain,” Wol said, worry edging into his tone. “We have an appointment, remember.”
“Right,” I said and began to make my way out of my humble abode.
Wol followed me to the bathroom, where I tested the sink. The pipes were still frozen. No water. I checked the kitchen—it was the same.
The headache was getting worse.
“There’s a park nearby,” I said to Wol, just as Hwari made her way out of the ceiling. “Let’s hope the water works there.”
The walk to the park was one of the coldest thirty minutes of my life. I saw homeless people huddled around barrels with live fires going and rubbing their hands to create some warmth. Technically, there was a no open flame law here. But it was still too early for the cops to come and start breaking up the camps. Eventually, though, they would.
I caught a lot of them sneaking looks at me. When I was a kid, those stares used to scare me. Especially in the Bronx. Now? I just felt bad. Those sneaking glances weren’t sizing me up any more than I was sizing them up. I caught mixtures of shame and fear—and maybe pity.
There was a line of homeless people around the bathroom. It took all of fifteen minutes to wait, get in, do my business, and get out. All I did was put some water on my face, my hands, and my hair. Just to get the gunk out. I didn’t even bother looking in the mirror. To be honest, it smelled so bad in there that I couldn’t help but hurry along.
But it had been a bad idea, coming out of the bathroom with my hands, face, and hair still wet. My hair immediately turned brittle, and I was shivering within seconds.
Someone tapped me on the shoulder.
And all of a sudden, my nerves fired so much fight-or-flight instinct that the cold wasn’t a problem anymore.
I spun, ready to swing, with one hand already reaching towards the knife in my back pocket.
“Whoa! Steady there, Son! Steady!”
He was one of the guys I saw huddled around the fires near the bathroom—he had stared at me the longest. He wore a huge black parka lined with fur and wore fingerless gloves on top of regular cotton gloves. He had so many scarves around his neck and face that the only thing I could see of his features from the bundle of clothing was his gray-ish black beard.
“Hey, no harm, Son,” he said. He held up his hands. “See? No harm. Wasn’t trying to grab you or nothing.”
Breathing hard, I forced myself to calm down.
Hwari drifted by my face. ‘I sense no talent from him. He is mortal.’
“Hey! You ok?!” The man waved a hand over my face.
“I—“ I began, my nerves going fucking haywire. I could literally hear and feel my heart racing at a thousand miles a minute. Every thought in my head jumbled together, and in that confusion, my automatic reaction was to reach for my knife and do… do bad things.
“Calm, Jain,” Wol said, sending a pulse of steadiness through our connection.
I held onto that feeling and leaned into it, feeling the solidness of Wol’s emotions hold steady against the onslaught of my mess. It wasn’t a working or anything like that. It was just the connection between us, me knowing that Wol was there and watching my back.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“What do you want?” I said. The words came out harsh.
He made a kind of ‘come on’ gesture, stopping just short of hugging me. “Come near the fire. I don’t know where you’re going, but if you go without drying yourself off, you’re going to get frostbite.”
“Hospitals are warm, though,” one guy chimed in by the barrel.
The man didn’t acknowledge the comment. “Come on. Come on,” he said, like he was talking to a wounded animal. “Not out to get ya, Son. Just trying to get some heat back in you.”
I stared at the barrel, then at the man. “How much?” I asked.
The man frowned through the bushy brows, but his voice was gentle. “Oh, for the love of—it’s free, Son. Just stand, rub your hands, and be on your way, alright? No trick. And no one’s going to touch you, alright?”
My brain screamed that it was a trap. Nothing was free. Everything had to be earned, traded, fought for, or scavenged. Offering a place like that was—
“Practitioner,” Wol said gently. “It might be better to listen.”
My hands were shaking, and it wasn’t just from the nerves. The cold. It really was that bad.
“…Okay,” I said quietly.
“What?” the man asked.
Reminding myself that normal people couldn’t see or hear my familiars, I nodded carefully at the man, then at the barrel. “It’s really okay?”
His expression brightened up. He immediately returned to the barrel and shooed away some of his friends. “Make some room, kid coming through. Move on over, man.”
It wasn’t long before I found myself huddled around the fire with the other homeless guys.
I stood there, feeling awkward, and all too aware of the stares from other crowds around their own little fires. But no one said a thing. Everyone was too busy, just trying to stay warm.
And god, the man had been right. It was warm.
My hands, nose, ears, neck—everything that had been exposed to the naked winter winds began to sting as the feelings returned to them. The sting turned to pain, then itchiness, then blissful warmth as the fire and proximity of human warmth melted away the ice that had lodged itself in my soul. I felt some of the wariness ease out of my body.
“You hungry?”
The guy who spoke was the one who invited me to the fire. He spoke, but looked into the flames. He reached into his pocket and handed me a candy bar.
“I… uh,” I stammered.
“Take it, Son,” said another guy. “Get some food in you.”
“Yeah,” the fire-invitation-guy said. “We’ve all been there.” He grinned, full of cavity and rot. “Come on, on the house.” He winked and shoved the candy bar into my pocket.
I felt the chill in the air turn smooth, bending and turning. My nose was running a little bit. “I can’t take this.”
“You can.” Another random guy rummaged in his shopping cart full of garbage bags. He was ancient—even older than Craig Richtor. He stumbled over, hands shaking, and handed me a brown paper bag.
Inside it were gloves.
I stopped at the sight of the cardboard box in the shopping cart with the words ‘VETERAN, HUNGRY, NEED HELP’. In fact, most of their shopping carts had something similar in it.
“I can’t take this. I-I have gloves at home,” I tried to hand it back, but the old man was already back in his corner, packing his things up.
“The cops are coming soon,” the bead guy said with a smile. “You should go too. And stay warm. Alright, Son?”
“I—“
“Okay! Let’s start cleaning up!” And with a broken-toothed wink, he started throwing sand into the barrel. Every other crowd started following suit, and soon the fires were out. People dispersed into the various areas of the park, leaving entirely and looking for other
Not knowing what else to do, I left the park and headed towards the subway station.
Naturally, I jumped the turnstile. I know. I hated to be one of those guys. But I had no money, meaning no metrocard. Promising myself I’d make up for it somehow, I took a seat on the train with Wol and Hwari.
“Craig Richtor. He wanted us to meet at Central Park,” I said, frowning. “Central Park is huge.”
“Probably testing us,” Wol said.
“This… interview thing. We don’t know enough. We’re too ill-equipped to deal with this,” I said.
I waited for Wol to rub it in my face that he ‘told me so’. But he didn’t. “That is your specialty, Practitioner. Jumping head-first into matters you are ill-prepared for and managing to come out. Beaten, bruised, yes. But alive, nonetheless.”
That earned a smile from me. I faced the window. My thoughts drifted to the events of yesterday again. I knew Wol was thinking about the same thing: Angelica and Kevin.
No sooner than when I worked up the energy to open up that can of worms did Wol start. “We need to talk about the two.”
“Angelica and Sloan—” I stopped, then interrupted him. “Jinx.”
“Jinx?” Wol asked, tilting his head.
‘The children from yesternight,’ Hwari said.
I nodded at Hwari. “Angelica and Kevin. Angelica said she could astral project, and you called it a jinx yesterday. I thought jinxes were exclusive to familiars?”
“Nothing is exclusive to anything,” Wol said mysteriously. “Jinx refers to any specific gift that non-practitioners exhibit. For dabblers, it would be their… specialty.”
“I was of the mind that dabblers were the same as practitioners, except more limited.”
“Correct,” Wol said. “But some dabblers are formidable in their own ways. Dabblers have been known to manifest powers that even Practitioners could not do. Of course, not all Dabblers do. Most of them tend to remain… rather plain, retaining a modest amount of talent in one or two disciplines.”
I thought about that for a second. “Any explanations for who gets it and who doesn’t?”
“No,” Wol answered. “But some say it manifests during times of trial. The original word jinx is based on the Greek word Iynx. Supposedly, it was the name of a dabbler who excelled at shapeshifting into a woodpecker, who used it to get herself out of more than one tricky situation.”
I thought about it for a second. “It might be a survival thing.”
Wol’s ears flicked. He was listening.
“In evolutionary biology, there’s this theory called cryptic genetic variation,” I said. “Basically, recessive genes manifest when the species is in danger, and these genes are supposed to help them survive.”
“I fail to see the connection.”
“Long time ago, Practitioners were the protectors of small towns and villages, right? Protecting regular everyday people from monsters,” I said.
Wol nodded.
“Well, there’s no way there couldn’t have been that many Practitioners. Because if being a Practitioner makes someone more likely to survive, then the majority of human beings in the world would come from Practitioner families. But from what I see, Practitioners are the minority of the population. You following?”
“Logically, yes,” Wol said. “I will save my tongue for after you finish.”
“Thanks,” I said. I rubbed some more sleep out of my eyes. The sun was starting to shine, and it was making me feel lethargic. “So how does it make sense that most people aren’t practitioners? All those people should have died out. That’s where dabblers come in.”
“Most dabblers aren’t powerful enough to fend themselves against the darkness,” Wol pointed out. “And the gift can be bestowed.”
“Ah-ha, but one’s talent for the gift is mostly through bloodlines, right?”
“…Correct,” Wol said.
“I think jinxes are like the recessive genes that are only expressed when dabblers are in danger. To help them survive and keep their genes going. This way, it’s not just Practitioners who are passing on their genes. But dabblers can give birth to regular people, and mortals continuously have a chance to pass on their genes.”
“You have a very interesting way of looking at the magical world, Practitioner,” Wol said at last.
“Thanks,” I looked down at my hands.
“I know what you are thinking,” Wol said. “What they do is none of our business. We have another hurdle in front of us. You should focus on that.”
I sucked in a breath, quieter than usual. “I don’t think I can, Wol.”
“Why not?”
“Because… consider what I said just now. I didn’t just spout that off just to show off how much I used to love those free science magazines at school,” I said. “Dabblers manifest jinxes in danger. Angelica and Kevin Sloane were awakened when?”
“…After the fire,” Wol said. His eyes were absolutely still, staring into mine.
“A school fire where Angelica almost got eaten by a Fae shapeshifted into a wolf-mountain-lion thingie.” I shook my head. “And that happened because of me.”
Wol looked away, his eyes distant for a moment, calculating. I could tell he was thinking about how to spin this. But lying wasn’t his nature, and I saw his shoulders settle as he reached the same conclusion I did.
“Yes, mortals have been known to be awakened when in proximity to workings, especially when exposed to… volatility,” he drawled, loath to admit it. “And your theory about jinxes and dangerous situations does make sense. You are not the first to state it either.”
“So it’s my fault they’re in this mess.”
“It’s just as much fault as the Wickerman and the mercenaries he sent after you,” Wol said heatedly. “I’d argue it’s more theirs than yours, Practitioner.”
I shook my head. “No, but they were chasing me. And I made a conscious decision to lead them to school, thinking they wouldn’t try anything. It was probably the stupidest shit I did during the trial.”
“It worked in your favor,” Wol said.
“I got people involved. Two people.” Another thought struck me. “Shit, what if they’re not the only ones? What if there are more that are awakened from that event?”
Wol thought for a second, his whiskers twitching. “Mortals being awakened like the two children from yesterday is rare, Practitioner. It requires a lot of circumstances, none of which are consistent across the various tales. I think the two are our only worries for now.”
It made me feel better. Somewhat. “I think I’m going to need to help them, Wol.”
Wol growled under his breath. He didn’t like it.
“I’m responsible for it.”
“You have a tendency to put yourself in danger for others,” Wol said. “It is a weakness that your Mother does not share.”
Even the word ‘Mother’ hurt.
“Yeah, well,” I said, almost whispering. “I’m not her now, am I?”
“…No, you are not.”
The subway slowed, then stopped. The announcement went off. This was our stop.
This is the B train. The next stop is—
“Come on,” I said, opening up my bag for Wol to jump in. “Let’s not keep that Craig guy waiting. He looked like a sticker.”
“Focus, Practitioner. We can discuss the two children after dealing with Society matters.”
I agreed with him. The problem was, how the hell was I supposed to focus when I had a dozen other problems all threatening to kill me? Forget the supernatural side of things. I needed money. And food. And water.
Jain Shin Hallow. Death by lack of personal hygiene, starvation, or too much soda. That’s what they were going to write on my tombstone.
Hoisting Wol on my back, with Hwari following next to my head, I headed back out into the cold.