“Come and be welcome, Jain Shin Hallow,” She said, every voice –a girl, pigeons, rats, and more– melding as one. “Thank you for accepting my invitation.”

  The Intellect Transit shifted her position and my mind registered that she appeared to be sitting on a nest made of bones, sticks, and wrecked pieces of construction.

  There was a wrongness to the Intellect Transit in every sense of the word. Yes, she was a misshapen creature from the blender of a kitchen nightmare where the ingredients were a little girl, pigeons, rats, and other fetid rodents that plagued the city. Yes, the proportions of her body –both human and other wise– were altered in queer ways that were impossible to describe. Yes, the too-human expression on her face despite it being made of beaks and rat snouts were disturbing to say the least.

  But it wasn’t just about outward shapes. Far from it.

  No, this wasn’t about that at all.

  The silent watchful eyes of birds, magnified a hundred fold and distilled down to the mindless prey-drive that all avian creatures have, that was the Intellect Transit. The lack of emotions birds feel when killing off their weakest young –she was that. The sense of abandonment, that pigeons lived off of human garbage in cities because they’d been domesticated to be unable to survive anywhere else, that’s what her eyes said.

  She was a revolting flesh-bag of feathers which made my Third Eye blink in maddening rhythms, trying to see past the half-seen visions of when pigeons hated us with a loathing so thick that their wastes could blot out the sun.

  “I do advise looking elsewhere, Mageling.”

  The voice came from my left, startling me enough to tear my eyes away from the Intellect Transit. My eyes were on another creature now, as inhuman as the Intellect Transit but in the opposite vein.

  She was beautiful.

  She wore a purple dress that draped over her figure –shoulder, chest, waist, hips– and hung off the white leather couch in a cascade of tantalizing waterfalls. Her silver-white hair was done up in a bun with two chopsticks stabbed straight through; a few stray strands allowed their escape to make the others all the more captured. Her lips stood stark scarlet against the pale, near moon-white of her skin; and her dark eyes smolded with playfulness.

  “What’s this,” She mummured. “A snack? For me, Inty?”

  The woman stuck her fingers, elongated by three inch nails with sharpened tips, into the wine glass and wetted them. She brought them to her tongue, sucking on them, and dipped them back into the wine glass; swirling the red liquid.

  The Intellect Transit’s voice was a thousand birds and rats, speaking as one. “No, he is a guest. You are not allowed to harm him.”

  She threw back her head and laughed. “Pray forgive me, where are my manners,” She said, holding out a porcelain hand towards me. “Rosefinch Valstein. Pleasure.”

  Another voice hissed to my right, a little behind me.

  “Take warmth at mine hearth, and rest thine eyes, Caller.”

  Then the drum barrel which had been hidden in the darkness of light exploded into light and fire.

  The third individual was perhaps the most normal of the bunch, except for the fact that he was covered in burn scars from head to toe. His bald head looked more raw than a blue-rare steak, and the scars stretched all the way to his bare feet. The rags that hung off the man covered less of his frame than the air they occupied; he was the definition of skin and bones.

  His familiar hung behind him.

  A gargantuan spirit made entirely of fire, its arms wrapped around the man’s neck possessively. The familiar leaned in and whispered in the man’s ear. A harsh guttural sounds that was of exploding pinecones and the crackling of wood in fireplaces. When he did so, the man’s skin began to turn red, and blister from the close proximity.

  When the familiar finished whispering, the man spoke. “Thou mayst call me the Wickerman.”

  It took me a second to realize that I was surrounded. Another second to realize their eyes were fixed on me.

  “I’m Jain Shin Hallow,” I said.

  I avoided looking directly at the Intellect Transit. Not because she was the most powerful or anything. They all resonated power to some degree and my senses weren’t sharp enough to pick out who was what. It was the wrongness about her that made me hesitant.

  It was the Wickerman who broke the silence. “Thou hast familiars.”

  Wol stepped near the fire. “Wol.”

  ‘Hwari,’ my other familiars said.

  More whispering from the fire spirit to its contractor. “Pleased to make thy acquaintance."

  Rosefinch was laying on her side on the couch, lounging languidly. She dipped her fingers in the wine glass again, taking another substitute sip. “So Inty, to what do we owe the pleasure of meeting the infamous Jain Hallow? Hmm? I thought you and the Wickerman wanted him dead?”

  “Thy kin gave their assent. It was not our will alone; t’is the will of the Table.”

  Rosefinch smiled. “You mean my father gave his assent. I am but a helpless girl, ignorant of the ways of the world.”

  “You’re a vampire,” I blurted.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Oh my, the boy doth speak,” She said, rolling her eyes good naturedly. “A most serious accusation to level against a lady.”

  “All three of you voted to have me killed.”

  “Correction, we voted to put a bounty on your life, Jain Shin Hallow,” the Intellect Transit said.

  “And I did not vote on anything, little Mageling.”

  A flock of pigeons flew in through the open window, throwing sand and feathers everywhere. They settled on the pipes, looking down and cooing.

  “Yes, that is something we could discuss. Is that what you wish to discuss, Jain Shin Hallow?” the Intellect Transit asked.

  Adrenaline surged and I took a step towards her. “Yeah. I’d also like to know why you invited me here.”

  “I extended my invitation to give you a chance, Jain Shin Hallow,” the Intellect Transit’s wings stirred, covering a bit more of her face and revealing other parts. I noticed that the skin on her torso reminded me of freshly hatched chicks that I saw on TV. Wrinkly, bare, and soft-looking.

  “Chance? What chance?

  It was Rosefinch who answered. “Oh, little Mageling. You said it yourself.”

  “Jain,” Wol warned hurriedly before I could say anything.

  I bit back the sharp retort, which was probably the best idea given the circumstance. “I was told that Assad was the only one who voted against the bounty.”

  The Intellect Transit didn’t talk, but radiated an aura of approval. The tip of her wing inched towards me in the unmistakable human gesture of ‘keep going’.

  “There were,” I closed my eyes, trying to remember the conversation with Abigail from yesterday. “Two vampires. Scratch that, vampire families. You, the Intellect Transit,” I turned around towards the Wickerman, “And you, the Wickerman. There was one more,” I trailed, “the goblin house?”

  Rosefinch burst into a rolling laugh, one hand held over her stomach. “Oh, goblin house. That is good.”

  “So five parties voted for the bounty. Three of which are here,” I said with realization. “You three want to change your votes.”

  “Yes, Jain Shin Hallow.” The Intellect Transit’s numerous eyes all moved in my direction. “I have need of your services.”

  “We,” the Wickerman corrected at the behest of his familiar’s fierce whispering, “have need of thy services.”

  “Little ol’me is just here as a favor to little Inty,” Rosefinch said cheerfully.

  I traded a look with Wol. “A bargain then,” I said.

  “A trade. A deal. You may call it what you wish, but what I propose is simpler,” the Intellect said. “You will listen to my story. Then my problem. Then you will serve as my remediator in this issue.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Then you may leave,” the Intellect said in the same tone that mother herons do before throwing the runt off the fifty-foot nest. “Unharmed, untouched, unchanged, and whole.”

  “I suppose the bounty on the Mageling’s head will remain?” Rosefinch asked.

  “Correct,” the Intellect confirmed.

  I traded another look with Wol.

  “Your choice, Jain,” His golden eyes reflected the flames, looking like miniature suns. “But tread carefully.”

  ‘As careful as walking on ice, my Practitioner.’

  I had to take a deep breath and consciously closed my eyes, which was about the scariest thing I’d ever done. Closing my eyes in front of three predatory beings –two of which were directly responsible for sending mercenaries after me– went against every ounce of common sense I had. But I needed air to breathe, and that same air to supply fresh oxygen in my brain to think. In doing so, I realized that my shirt and hoodie which was sticky with sweat had turned to near ice in the face of nightly winds on the wall-less building I was in.

  So I took a step closer to the barrel of flame and held out my hands, warming them. I didn’t talk for a long time, just letting the warmth seep in.

  I watched the fire dance for another minute. “Ok, let’s deal.”

  “So you agree?” the Intellect Transit said.

  “No, I said let’s deal. Which means I want to know more,” I said. “One, if I listen to your story, am I obligated to help? You said your proposal was for me to listen to the story, then your problem, and then serve as your remediator. At which part does my choice to participate begin and end?”

  Rosefinch leaned a bit closer from her couch, touching her tongue with wine-soaked fingers. “Has this mageling truly been inducted yesterday?”

  “Aye. The embers borne witness,” The Wickerman replied.

  “I will count your first acceptance to listen to my story and problem as one. Then I will give you another chance to accept or decline to be my remediator. Does that suffice?” The Intellect Transit offered.

  “No, not yet,” I said. “If I accept to listen to your story and problem, do I have to stay to the end? For all I know, this could be another stall tactic to keep me from even showing up to the trial. And the same for accepting to be your remediator. I want a guarantee that you three will not try to use this deal as some bargaining chip to try and manipulate my showing to the trial tomorrow.”

  Wol growled in approval.

  The Intellect Transit went quiet before speaking. “I swear to do no such thing, that should my story, problem, and representation be designed to forestall your presence at the trial tomorrow in any way, I and my guests will personally champion your cause.”

  I lowered my hands and blinked. “Did she just say what I think she did?”

  “That if she delays you in anyway, she’ll take responsibility? Yes,” Wol answered.

  “Inty is dealing with you in good faith, Mageling.” Rosefinch said, stretching herself all over the couch. “I’d stop stalling and move forth with the issue. I grow tired.”

  “Good faith is one thing, following the deal to the letter is another. She could be dealing with me in good faith, but what of you two? What are your agendas?” I asked. “You three have to consider this from my point of view. I’ve been invited to a sitdown with three people who wanted me dead.”

  “Thoust post a danger to our home,” the Wickerman said.

  “Exactly,” I spread my hands, “You see my point?”

  “You,” Rosefinch Valstein took a deep breath, “are an insufferable little Mageling, aren’t you? Inty, maybe we should find you a different champion.”

  “No,” the Intellect Transit said. “The other champions I chose for this specific task have all failed me. He is my last hope.”

  “Wait, what other champions?”

  “You are not the only conjurer, Jain Shin Hallow. The only Diabolist in New York, yes. The only Shaman of Shin lineage? Yes,” the Intellect Transit said. Then much more gently, “Will you listen to my story?”

  Dammit. I came this far. Maybe Rosefinch was right; that I should stop stalling and make a decision. I think I was stalling because I was scared.

  “Ok, I’ll hear you out.”

  The beaks on her face all opened as one, cooing and speaking at once. “Jain Shin Hallow, answer question mine with honesty. What do you see when you look upon me?”

  Oh, fucking hell.