Manhattan, NY

  Manhattan, NY

  There are plenty of dark places in the city. If you care to look for them, that is.

  An unassuming alleyway used for trash disposal between two five-story buildings could lead to a speakeasy. Or maybe lead to a network of alleyways with signless restaurants. Sometimes it doesn’t have to be an alleyway. Back doors, abandoned subway lines, parking lots with school buses –there are plenty of stories that the city has to tell, all with their own lore and conclusions.

  This alleyway had nothing of the sort.

  There was a stack of crates with empty liquor bottles nearby. I upended the contents into the blue recycling bin and turned it upside down, creating a small chair for myself. I laid out Abigail’s jacket on it and sat down. I rubbed my eyes and tried to focus on what just happened, sorting through what was important and what wasn’t.

  I was starving. And stressed. And worried. And tired.

  So damned tired.

  “Jain?” Wol asked in that same tone.

  My mind kept returning to the ambulance and the fire trucks. How loud the sirens were and the way the lights had hurt my eyes. I remembered the other kids, all being shuttled away from the smoke and people, being fussed at by their parents. A majority of the ones that weren't hurt arguing to go hang out with their friends, laugh about some stupid joke about fire drills, and go out for ice cream after.

  Wol said something that I didn’t catch.

  “Yeah?” I asked.

  “We should keep moving,” Wol said.

  Right. "No rest for the wicked," I muttered.

  I stood up, keeping my vision on Wol’s little pawprints in the snow. We needed to discuss what just happened. “Hwari told you about Victor Valentine and his Salamander? That it was feeding?”

  ‘I have informed him,’ Hwari curled around my ankles and disappeared into my shadow.

  “What does it mean?” I asked.

  “He was empowering it. Have you read up on Salamanders??”

  “I only read the Musok: Bestiary. But I know they had something to do with fire.”

  “They eat, breathe, and live in fire. Differs by culture and timeline. I assume this Valentine boy was feeding it and empowering it for the trial tomorrow.”

  I blinked slowly, thinking. My brain welcomed the discussion as a distraction. It wanted nothing more than to get away from the melancholy that I was currently under. “I'm starting to see a pattern here. Like the ghost and the burning building, right?”

  “Similar. Many familiars have an affinity, to actions, places, times. It's especially true for ghosts. And yes, if that man's familiar is of a family that burned in a building together, places resembling it would fuel their enchantments.” He explained. "Similar to the Fae and his Illusionist practitioner."

  “I saw. She used illusions of different places to match Exanguin's shape. That's what Victor was doing?”

  “It’s the same concept,” Wol said.

  “Like a home advantage for sports teams,” I said.

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  Wol nodded, his tail high. “For ghosts, it can be anything from their scene of death. For familiars like Salamanders and the Haetae, just by feeding they can grow more powerful. Perhaps not a burst of power like the ghosts, but a slower, more gradual, and permanent growth.”

  “Is that related to the familiar talents you mentioned before?” I asked.

  “Yes. The more powerful a familiar grows, the more likely it is to develop their talent sooner. Or it might turn existing talents into something more.”

  “So Victor’s Salamander has some talent separate from the ability to eat fire?” I didn’t like the sound of that.

  “The Haetae. The ghost. Yes. All familiars do. Sometimes unique, sometimes common. But every familiar gains something new when contracting with a practitioner. Depending on the practitioner, of course.”

  “How so?”

  “The practitioner’s talent has some measure of sway over how we grow,” Wol said with a measure of pride. “Hwari’s talent has already manifested, if I’m correct.”

  “It has?”

  “She draws circles.”

  ‘I do,’ She mummured.

  That seemed lame but I kept that to myself. “She always knew how to do that. Since yesterday.”

  “Correction, she began to do that after we contracted with you,” Wol said. “She never did that with your mother.”

  The mention of my mom sent another hollow pang of emptiness in my chest. I needed to change the topic. “So, Hwari being able to submerge into shadows and not be contained by circles is her innate nature. But her talent is drawing circles. Like how Seoul has hydromancy naturally, but probably has another talent up his sleeve?”

  “Precisely,” Wol said with a hint of pride in his voice.

  “Any idea what your talent is?” I asked.

  "We won't know until we find out," He said.

  I had another random thought. “What was your talent when you were contracted with my mom?”

  Wol stopped walking and fell silent.

  I stopped a little behind him.

  He took a deep cat breath. “That's something I've been meaning to talk to you about. Ever since yesterday, I've been trying to remember my time with Miru. And I can't remember."

  I frowned. “What?”

  “The memories. They’re gone.”

  It took actual effort to keep the growing alarm from my voice. “That does not sound normal.”

  “No, especially considering what she did to Hwari.”

  He was referring to the Cold Sickness’ and how there was possibly more contained in her. “Wol, what practice did my mom specialize in?”

  “Enchanting wing Divination, and some transmutation,” He said automatically. We started walking again.

  “Divination. That’s seeing into the future?”

  “Not just the future. Gathering information, manipulating it, deciphering them, seeing into the connections and following the patterns that the threads of fate weave,” Wol said in a rush. “You suspect your mother interfered with my memories.”

  “That’s not even a question.” I said, “Wol, you starting to get the sense that my mom not only knew this was all going to happen, but had specific plans? That she messed with you and Hwari, then made me contract with you guys for a reason?”

  “That might be precisely why she locked my memories away,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Because divinators seldom discuss what they see. The fact of doing could change the future they are trying to predict.”

  “Because if someone knows the future, they might change it?”

  “They could try which is the problem,” Wol sighed, “Divination is a complex subject, one that requires expertise. Much less the aspect of threading the future. It's not something for me to speak of. Besides,” He drawled, "We have more urgent matters."

  “The trial,” I agreed. “Our next steps. I just don't know what we can possibly do. From what Sarah said, I don't think we're done with this bounty on my head thingie."

  “Agreed. We need a place to rest, and plan. You need food.”

  “School was the place to do that. But now…” I trailed off, thinking of the mercenaries showing up. “I’m not sure I want to risk going to a place with more people.”

  ‘Up ahead.’ Hwari warned.

  About ten feet ahead of me was a stack of black garbage bags, each probably weighing about a hundred pounds. About ten feet above that was the fire escape ladder and the attached emergency exit. Everyone in New York knows them and how filthy they could be. They’re always covered with peeling paint over decades old. The edges are crusted with pigeon droppings and feathers. Pigeons love to make their nest on them, especially in an alleyway like this where it protects them from the harsh winter winds.

  But I also know for a fact that on a snowy day like this one, pigeons seek shelter under bridges and tunnels.

  In this alleyway, a whole flock of them were on the fire escape out in the open.

  They were all staring at me.

  Crap.

  There’s a reflexive panic attached to being the center of attention, especially when it’s by animals. Especially when they’re wild animals that should be minding their own business.

  One of the pigeons flew down and landed on the boxes. As it landed, it covered itself in wings and feathers. When the feathers opened up, the beak had been replaced by lips, nostrils by a flat nose, and gray hair flowed down. Everything else remained the same, including the round yellow-black avian eyes.

  It was disgusting.

  To make it worse, it spoke. “Jain Shin Hallow? Jain Shin Hallow?” It said, fluttering its wings.

  It was looking for me.

  Double crap.