“My friends,” the voice, familiar, amplified, coming from the area at the front of the field, nearer the castle. Shaker.

“I apologize,” he says, “I only need a moment of your time before we get to tonight's events.”

Releasing the hug around Riley and Wolfe, my emotional tumult swept away by a sudden roaring fury.

“Lucy, are you-” says Riley.

“I'm fine, I'll be right back.”

Moving into the crowd, dodging and squeezing through, getting closer to the voice.

“First,” says Shaker, “let me say welcome again, to this, our home away from home. I hope that your time off has been enjoyable, and that it's allowed you to rest up and get ready for why you've all come this great distance.”

Almost to the front.

“Tomorrow you'll have a brief orientation at your assignment and then you'll get right to work. I'm sure your coworkers will be more than willing to help get you up to speed. That's how we do things around here. We help each other.”

At the front now. There he is, and next to him Paula, from the card game in Matheson's apartment. And, off to the side, Avery as well.

“Second,” says Shaker, “it has been brought to my attention that there may have been an oversight regarding your integration here. This place is not why we're here in the first place but, as a practical matter, it's essential for your emotional well being and happiness to be as comfortable and confident here as you can be.”

Paula catching sight of me, blinking rapidly, with a curious, wistful expression.

“We made a decision that, at the time, seemed reasonable,” says Shaker, “but there have been several unintended consequences that we're now going to have to clean up.” Is he really? My hateful fury starting to dull. “I've sent out messengers to all of the previous guild masters and every response we've received thus far has been universally positive. They are going to be resuming their training. For any of you who have had difficulty since being here, or if you don't even know what I'm talking about, please come up at some point tonight and talk to this woman right here,” Avery putting up her hand and waving, “and she will be able to help you get to where you need to go." Light murmuring in the crowd.

“Otherwise, please enjoy tonight's dinner and dance. Thank you all!”

Shaker looking around, pleased, basking in the polite applause. A sitting duck. Paula intercepting my trajectory toward him.

“Lucy,” trying to smile, but the corners fighting to go down, “you look lovely.” Something in her face arresting my momentum. “Melissa told me that you came back to talk to her. You had said something when we were playing cards, and I had mentioned it to Harold, but I didn't push. I'm sorry about that, I didn't realize it was so important at the time.”

Not a surprise you didn't realize it was important. You got some marginal creature comforts out of the situation while the rest of us got stuck holding the bag. Or got thrown out in one.

“Paula, who are you talking to?” Shaker coming over, looking at me. Seeing something.

“Oh, Harold,” she says, “this is the girl I met playing cards. She's the reason Melissa came and talked to you. Her name is Lucy, too.”

Seeing them standing next to each other, Shaker's arm reaching around her waist with a casual familiarity. Oh, that's how it is. She's Shaker's wife.

“Lucy?” Shaker repeating the name, his expression shifting. Puzzlement giving way to concern and then, finally, to dread. “You had said there was something funny about her, what was that?”

“Oh,” Madam Shaker letting out a titter, “she's such a sweet girl, but her last name is so ominous. It's-”

“Macarthy.” My curse aimed at the man.

“Yes, that's it,” says Madam Shaker, oblivious. “Hopefully this one can somewhat redeem that name around here.”

“Director, sir, I was wondering if the results of your investigation were complete.”

Shaker's jaw clamping shut, features distorting.

“Harold, what's she talking about?”

“I hope so. Nothing to find because I didn't do it. But, as far as this-" Gesturing with my hand at my form, searching for the phrase. “-practical joke.” My words dripping. “Before all this, if you asked me what I'd do to you for something like this, it would have been horrible. Horrible. But I ended up meeting some great people, and I ended up having a good time, and I even managed to get you to start fixing some of your fuckups. So, as far as this goes, I'm not all that mad at you.”

“Paula, we need to go.” Shaker taking her arm in his hand and starting pull away.

Grabbing him with the shield, a sudden crackling explosion of light, drawing attention from all sides.

“Shaker, you bastard, don't you walk away from me when I'm talking to you.” Completely unhinged, my hate pouring out. “I know you deliberately tried to rub us out. Heard it all from Avery. And I'm not the only one who knows, either. So while I ain't mad at you about this, you better be goddamn sure I'm going to get back at you for that. All of us will.”

Releasing the shield, letting him and Paula walk over to Avery. Looking down in my hand and finding that my champagne glass had gone mysteriously missing. Heading to a nearby table and grabbing a new one.

Gloating is rarely useful, but when the opportunity to do so is so few and far in between, it's irresistible. Sipping the champagne, watching Shaker talking to Avery, gesticulating. Avery looking at him, and then looking over at me. Looking at him, back to me. Raising my glass to her. This feeling reveals how hollow an imitation Melder's happiness really is.

Should go over and do a victory lap. Sudden inspiration bubbling up from the pleasant flavor in my hand, making me giddy. Too many unknowns, but this is too good an opportunity. Should ask that question. The dangerous one. The one that deserves far more research before carelessly bringing it out, trampling over everything they've built in the process. The question of what really happened to the Bonneville.

Breathing in the warm summer night's air, my canines bared, starting to walk over and then, on the other side of the gathering, shouting and yells of alarm. The perfect music for this. Continuing to head toward Shaker but the sounds only getting louder and more frantic, drawing my full attention. Turning to see what could possibly be the cause of the ruckus. A glint, a knife swinging. Someone over there in the crowd, cutting through. Forgetting about Shaker and everything else. Running toward the figure, against the crowd running away.

The strikes should be clean, but they're frenzied and imprecise. The attacks not aimed as definite kills, but however could cause damage, irrespective of target. Sloppy and wild and terrifying. Not the carefully cultivated terror of a controlled killer - the terror of inevitability - but instead the unprincipled, terrible beauty of a rampaging beast. Killing some and mauling others, leaving them haphazardly bleeding on the field. The figure slicing through the crowd is me. My old self. But the thing inside it, not one of us.

The thing pulling out the dagger made of whitish metal and taking a slash. An arc of lightning originating from the blade, frying his screaming target and extending out twenty feet behind, traveling along a path of people behind it. Stop! Don't waste it. Do you know how expensive that thing is? Four more strikes with the blade, the blasts becoming less and less intense, the collateral damage not outright killing on the last two, and then the thing tossing away the useless pile of slag.

Almost in range, the smell of burnt flesh and ozone assaulting my senses. Readying my knife and coming in from the side. Attempting a surprise strike, focusing all my attention on a straight thrust to the neck. Failing. The point connecting, but the thing contorting itself at incredible speed to minimize the damage, pulling the knife off course, not going straight in, instead slicing along the side of the neck. Countering with its own strike, its blade momentarily halted by the shield before slicing right through. The pain from the deep gash on my forearm causing me to involuntarily draw back, and almost making drop my weapon.

“Here's an unfamiliar face,” the thing says. Blood coursing from its neck. Maw wide.

The knife coming straight in, piercing through the shield, momentum barely slowing. Moving my head, desperately trying to avoid, and a searing pain enveloping my eye. Standing slightly to the side, watching my corpse hit the ground. Emotion totally vacant.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

The thing kneeling down, grabbing one the hands on my corpse and biting off one of the fingers. Then the next, and the next. Looking up at my pale white translucent form, chewing noisily with the mangled digits between its teeth. Mutilating my face and then looking around to seek new prey.

Surveying the scene. Shaker coming up, even more upset than earlier. With that expression, probably not behind this. At least he'd never agree to anything like this, nothing even remotely like this. Known the man for too long. Clearly found myself in some sort of trap to begin with, but maybe this is someone else springing another.

Avery following Shaker. What are you waiting for? It's wounded, blast the hell out of it. Even if some of the newbies get hit in the crossfire you not acting isn't doing anyone any favors. No? Don't care how good a duelist you are, this ain't some bullshit duel and your hesitation makes you worthless.

Shaker doing something instead, speaking, gesturing. Conjuring a ball of, looks like water. No, not water. The liquid shooting off at a high velocity, hissing like acid on impact with the thing. But not going down. Further injured, but not dead, and scampering away. Vanishing from plain sight. You didn't kill it, Shaker. Work on your aim. A small bit of the liquid had splashed on my body. Not hissing. Maybe it is water.

Riley and Wolfe coming, looking over in this direction. They look okay. Good. Waving at them. Riley not taking the gesture very well, almost falling to pieces, then looking over at Wolfe, at whatever she's saying. Wolfe sparing me a glance, trying to stay impassive, a controlled despair, then looking away, kneeling here and there, helping those still clinging to life, doing her best to triage. Don't want to go yet. Want to stay like this for a moment more, watching them, trying to ignore the cries of pain from the still living. This is going to be very bad. Pulling the trigger.

All of the emotion and everything slamming into me all at once, the phantom pain in my right eye searing. Laying on a hard surface, the marbled temple floor. It ate my fingers, what the fuck was that? Looking at my small hand and counting. All there. What the fuck is going on? Shaking, pulling my arms and legs in, people around me in even worse states. The temple overwhelmed. What the fuck is going on? One of the priestesses coming over, covering me with a small blanket, hugging me, cradling me.

“You're going to be okay,” she says. “There, there, you're fine.”

Unable to control the wracking sobs and shivering. After a few minutes regaining some strength, but emotionally and physically drained. The continuous judgment coming from the surrounding statues not even bothering me. Judgment from most, disinterest from one or two, mockery and jeers from a number of the others.

Slowly sitting up, the small blanket coming off, revealing my nakedness. Gathering it around me and gradually, slowly pulling myself up. Struggling to my feet, completely enervated. Picking my way across the temple, leaning on the walls for support, tentatively walking around all the others who were still in shock on the floor or altars. Almost at the exit, ignoring the laughter directed at me by one of the nearby statues. Almost to the door, and then Priestess Vivian blocking my exit.

“Mac, I haven't seen you in awhile,” she says. “Here I thought you were staying out of trouble but it doesn't look like it.”

Ignoring her, trying to hobble around, finding her arms around me, hugging me instead, helping to hold me up.

“I can't let you go outside like that,” she says, “and I really want to know what happened. No one else seems to have it together enough to tell me.”

“First deaths are always hard.”

“And there are a lot of them tonight, so tell me. I'll get you some clothes in the meantime, and then you can get on your way.”

Leaning on her while being led over to a wooden bench. Vivian directing one of the acolytes to get some clothing.

“Before I say what happened, you've got to answer a question. What do you know about the Council?”

“The Council.” A pause. A pause? Out with it. “Are they the ones that did this?”

Breathing out. “I don't know. Maybe. I had a warning earlier that I needed to visit them, but I didn't. I asked around a bit, but I didn't take it that serious. Maybe it wouldn't have made a difference if I did. But I didn't.”

No reaction, only watching me.

“As for what happened, it was one of you. Indiscriminately slaughtering the newbies at their party tonight. So my question is, is there something you know about what's happening? Something we're not privy to.”

“Mac, I don't know what you're trying to-”

“Save it. Where are my clothes?”

Sitting in silence for a few minutes, her arm wrapped protectively around me. The acolyte coming back with a robe, a bit big, and sandals. Vivian helping me to the door.

“Vivian, I'm sorry, I was upset. I know it's not your fault. I can't say I like it when I end up visiting you, but thanks for making it bearable.”

“Goodnight, Mac,” she says, with a gentle concern. “I do look forward to seeing you again but, for your sake, hopefully not too soon.”

Sitting on the temple steps, resting, counting the stars overhead, waiting for the turn of the hour, for the tick. There, hitting, strength flowing into me, a little, sufficient enough to make my way across the city over to the guild district. Enough mana for the basics. Tracing. Runic Shield. Rune of Deflection on the robe. Back to zero. Carefully, slowly making my way from the temple square to the guild district, doing the death walk of shame, complete with temple robe and sandals.

Getting back to The Red Lion, Riley and Wolfe not there yet. Wanting to do nothing more than sleep, but getting some coins from the room and then heading back down to the common area in my death garb to get some food.

“Hey,” says a man at a table, “you were just at the thing that got attacked, right? You'll know better. What happened?”

“Heard it was Macarthy that did it,” says another at the same table. Glaring at him. “That's the story at least.”

“Here, take a seat. You look like hell,” says the first.

Taking a seat in the chair, ordering something small to eat.

“You want to know what happened?” A small crowd had gathered. “What you said, that it was Macarthy? Well it was, and it wasn't. I saw it. Wasn't one of us. Was one of them, a thing, a monster. Looked like Macarthy, but it wasn't him.”

“What does that even mean?” says one of the men.

“Dunno. But I know what I saw.”

“You sure you're not mistaken?” says another. “I mean, Macarthy may as well be a monster himself.” That comment earning some laughs from the others nearby.

“Go fuck yourself.” Pointing at him with the fork. “Let me eat my food in peace.”

“What'd you say?” Reaching his hand down to grab me and running into the crackling shield.

“Feisty one,” says a third.

“Aw, let her alone, look what she's wearing,” says a fourth.

Some more comments, but the crowd dispersing, leaving me to my meal. Slowly eating, almost finished up, then Riley, Wolfe and the guys entering.

“Lucy, you're here.” Riley distraught, and hugging me with more force than necessary. “We went to the temple but they said you'd already left.”

“It'll take more than that to keep me down.”

“Good,” she says, searching my face for reassurance, her distress slipping away. “I don't even know why I was worried. You're going to be okay tonight?”

“Yeah. Thank you.”

“I'll keep an eye on her,” says my date. The group minus him turning to leave.

“Hey Kate, how are you holding up?” The girl's dress ruined, covered in bloodstained patches, and her hands, restless, still lightly smeared.

“I'm,” she says, with a faraway look, “I'm doing alright.”

“I saw you helping people after I got got. It would have been a lot worse without you there. Think of it like that. Don't blame yourself for what you couldn't do.”

“Okay.” A small voice.

The group leaving. my date staying behind and taking a seat at the table.

“You want to get something to drink?” His underlying suggestion coated with a seemingly casual veneer.

“Listen, I'm beat.” And extremely weak at the moment. “Ordinarily, I would, but tonight's been out of control.”

“That's why I was thinking it'd be a good idea. Get your mind off it.”

“It won't.”

Checking the time, finishing the last bits of food. There, the tick hitting, more strength returning. Should be fine going up the stairs now without showing any weakness. Should've asked Evie to make some of that bread.

Getting to my feet and heading upstairs, being tailed the whole way, and his hands on me again. For assistance. Opening the room. Empty. Riley and Wolfe's belongings gone. The guy following me in.

“I'm sorry about tonight. I'm going to shower and then sleep, it really took a lot out of me.”

Taking my time in the bathroom getting ready for bed, spending a decent while completely combing out the tangles in my hair. Had been all wavy and full at the gala, waking up at the temple, still cleaned up, but no longer styled. Coming out in a towel and getting a look, his unspoken expectation hanging around like a bad smell.

“G'night.” Turning off the light, dropping the towel, and crawling into my bed. Almost immediately to sleep and then the other bed moving, the guy coming over to mine.

“Lucy, I was wondering if you wanted a massage or something to help you relax.”

“Not up for it. Sorry.”

“Really? C'mon, I didn't think you were that much of a tease.” Starting to slip under the covers.

Annoyance flaring into anger. Noise and light filling the room.

“How about I gut you, you wake up at the temple and then you walk all the way back over here and see if you feel like doing anything. Leave me the fuck alone.”

“Bitch.”

“Fuck off.”

Listening to him retreat back to the other bed, my anger simmering, fading, and then exhaustion pulling me into sleep.