“Jain Shin Hallow? Jain Shin Hallow?” It said, fluttering its wings.

  It was looking for me.

  Double crap.

  I was instantly on guard. A harpy-pigeon appearing in the middle of an alley and looking for me by name could not be a good sign. My hands reached for my pocket where the wardstones had been out of reflex, found them empty, and went for the knife.

  'Patience, Caller,' Hwari said.

  Wol composed himself faster than I did. “Name yourself,” He said.

  “Messenger,” It cooed and lifted one leg with a small capsule on it. “For one Jain Shin Hallow.”

  The fact that its face had transformed into something resembling a human was freaky enough. But seeing its lips move, the nostrils flare was a whole different matter. The feathers were still on the skin.

  I looked away because I knew that if I stared long enough, my Third Eye would make sure I never forgot it.

  “What the hell is this thing?” I whispered.

  Wol didn’t answer right away. “I… do not know. A messenger. A pigeon that’s crossed over, it seems.”

  “What the hell is crossed over? Like, it’s dead?”

  “The same as how you’ve become less human to become a practitioner. I assume this pigeon has gone through a ritual, or stumbled onto circumstances where it found its shape.”

  ‘It awaits,’ Hwari commented.

  It was still holding out its leg to me.

  Wol puffed out a breath. “I think we should take the message. A messenger means old customs. Let’s not be rude.”

  I inched closer, too aware of all the different pigeons looking at my every move. The messenger hopped a step closer to offer me the leg with the tube. I took it, trying my best not to touch it any more than necessary.

  Once I was done, it spoke again. “The Intellect Transit extends invitations,” It said in well-rehearsed tones.

  I opened the tube and found a small slip of paper inside. Unfurled, there was an address.

  “Intellect Transit is a part of the Table,” I said.

  “Hmm. Interesting.”

  “He’s one of the guys who put a bounty on my head.”

  “Oh. Curious and curiouser," Wol said.

  “Ever heard of the term, curiosity killed the cat?” I said. “Why does she want to see me?”

  The pigeon-girl lifted a wing, her blank eyes betraying nothing. Then she cooed,“Help! Help Jain Shin Hallow!”

  “He wants to help me?” I asked incredulously. “Or he wants my help?”

  The pigeon messenger nodded enthusiastically at my first guess and some of the pigeons on the fire escape followed suit, their heads bobbing in unison.

  Help. Help me.

  Yeah. This was definitely not good.

  “This should be good,” Wol drawled, “By the way, satisfaction brought him back. Messenger, is your master extending guestrights?”

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  More nodding from the bird.

  “Jain, we should consider this,” Wol said.

  “What? Did you just not hear what I said? He voted to kill me,” I said in a hushed tone. I was sure the pidgeons could hear, but I wanted to keep up pretenses.

  “Guestrights are sacred. Whoever this Intellect Transit is, they want to meet you face to face. They are forbidden from harming you while you're their guest. Additionally, should anything else offer you harm, they’re duty-bound to offer you their protection.”

  “What if they change their mind?”

  “Mmmm. It’s possible, given your... habits," He commented with a sharp look, "But the consequences are far too large. Most beings would not dare.”

  “What kind of consequences?”

  Wol sighed, one eye on the bird and looking uneasy to have this conversation in front of it. “Complicated. Breaking a sacred oath such as guest rights could have different consequences for different beings. For a practitioner such as you, it would mean a loss of power. You would be reduced to something akin to a dabbler, or even lose your power completely. Not right away, but eventually.”

  “It’d be worse for beings that are less mortal. They’d start to lose bits of what makes them, them,” Wol continued, “Oaths are binding to beings like us, and breaking sacred traditions like guestrights are outright deadly to powerful beings. The possibility of this Intellect Transit breaking an age-old tradition like guestrights is unthinkable.”

  I mulled it over. “Ok, what if it’s luring me someplace with the intention of someone else springing the trap?”

  “Oh, that’s much more possible. Obeying the letter of its oath while betraying the spirit of it. But that’s just standard practice.”

  “Standard practice, Jesus,” I swore. I glanced at the pigeon messenger, still creeped out by its eyes.

  Our eyes met and she nodded in understanding. “Protection!” She cooed. “Offer protection! Road!”

  “What’s she barking about now?” I asked.

  ‘They offer protection on the road,’ Hwari translated, ‘The birds. The rats. They will watch, guide, and protect as needed.’

  “There’s rats?” I asked.

  ‘They are below the ground, waiting.’

  I looked down then inevitably felt my eyes drawn to the sewer vent that we passed on the way here.

  Wol seemed to be thinking. “Jain, this being is offering protection on the road and guestrights. We were just talking about needing a place to rest.”

  Wol had a point. I spent too much of my time running from things; time that could have been spent studying and learning more of my practice. Instead, I’d been forced to invest that time into making sure I stayed alive.

  The more time I spent trying to stay alive, the less time I spent learning and preparing. The less time I spent doing learning and preparing, the more time I had to invest running from things later.

  Which would all be solved by my ‘not breathing’. Wol was right, we had a problem.

  Hell, maybe this was their strategy in the first place. The Valentines and Baeks had cut me off from local spirits, doing the practitioner equivalent of ‘that guy has cooties’ and no one wanted to make a familiar contract with me. Then, when it seemed like I was about to make one, they sent people after me. Hounding me at every turn so that I couldn’t get my footing. That way, I’d never actually gather enough breath to actually learn and become a threat for the trial tomorrow.

  If that was their strategy, it was working damned well.

  But even if I had time to prepare, I doubted my chances of winning were even close to being slim. Now that I knew what Mina could do, and saw Victor empowering his Salamander, I had an idea of just how much I didn’t even know. Even if I devoted the rest of my time learning, I wouldn’t even be able to come close to doing a small part of what they could do.

  If I were looking for a wildcard, this was it.

  Wasn’t it?

  “Ok, let’s say I accept,” I said slowly. I was watching for its reaction. “What does the Intellect Transit want to talk about?”

  The pigeon stayed silent. She used her human lips to preen her feathers. Disturbing, unnerving on a completely different scale than seeing the mutilated ghost of a family burnt alive.

  Damn it. Did I have a choice?

  I did. I could go to that place, Sana’s Cafe. Or wait to see if Abigail turned up with knowledge about the Wickermen’s shop with staves.

  Or I could go to the Intellect Transit and get it to help me instead. If Assad could help me with familiars, and the Wickerman had a shop with staves, the Intellect Transit definitely possessed the ability to help out with another aspect of my practice. Besides, they were a part of the Table. That meant they had to be powerful. More than Abigail, and more than people I could find at Sana's cafe.

  “Wildcard, Jain. You need a wildcard,” I reminded myself. Of course, the choice was simple. If the Intellect Transit truly wanted to kill me, there was no reason to grant guest rights and protections on top of it. They could just keep on sending mercenaries after me and hope one of them succeeded.

  Who was really the one losing out by missing out on this chance? That's right. Yours truly.

  Or this was some elaborate scheme meant to screw me over in a completely different way.

  God, I was going to regret this in one way or another, wasn't I?

  I made my decision. "Ok. Let's go talk to this Intellect Transit."