Exam season began.

Students fretted and studied until their eyes were red rimmed. In the kitchens, the students called out formulas and important dates in history to each other in an attempt to cement the information.

Hattie tension was exclusive towards her bond with Monte. Whatever had been building up was getting ready to blossom, and it worried Hattie that she had no clue what it would be.

Over the past months her movements had grown fluid with the ease of youth. In fact, several students found Hattie unnerving for that reason, but they couldn’t pinpoint why. She didn’t enlighten them. People thought she was a simple war veteran unless they got to know her. Hattie didn't feel the need to advertise her particular brand of magic.

Monte himself had taken to communicating in human thoughts, and Hattie would tell him all about her studies. And with regard to the Headmaster Dawson's insistence that they communicate every morning, they’d broken through the initial wall. Hattie, Dawson, Shia and Monte could all telepathically contact each other, and communicate with clarity.

The week before Professor Linden's exam on monsters and beasts, Hattie studied with Vivianne and her friends. They pored over lecture notes and drew models of monster anatomy. They tested each other on how well they'd memorized cycles of a hibernation and growth.

They sat for the exam, and afterwards, one of Vivianne's four friends, a boy named Arthur, suggested they go out to celebrate.

"I have just the thing, after all that stress," he said.

He walked them down familiar roads, to Apothecary Lane, where he knocked on an ordinary door to what appeared to be someone's house. Perhaps someone was hosting a party to student's who finished their exams.

A stern faced fellow answered the door, and the first thing he said was that Monte wouldn't be allowed in. Hattie glanced at Monte. Nobody had objected to Monte before.

[Will you be okay to wait by Grocer's Circle?] Hattie asked nonverbally.

[If we can go to Han's tomorrow.] Monte wanted concessions for being left out.

[That’s fine. Thank you!] Hattie bent down and hugged Monte, then waved him goodbye. He padded down Apothecary Lane towards Grocer’s Circle. The stern man led them down a hallway to a large room with no windows.

It was no house party, Hattie realized. Her heart fluttered, a nervous twinge. Arthur's idea of celebration included… unsavory stimulants.

Smoke hung thick in the air, and it smelled like rotten cabbage and chocolate mixed together. There was a bar where several people nursed their drinks. Most people, though, sat around small circular tables, and shared an apparatus that had several tubes connected to it.

Drugs.

The name Apothecary Lane took on a whole new meaning, and Hattie stifled a laugh at the ridiculousness. Had this lounge been around when she was a girl too? Or had there a different sort of drug den to fufill one's vices?

Vivianne hooked her arm through Hattie's, and the man led them to an open table. They settled down around it, squished together since there were five of them.

Arthur asked for something called a hubble-bubble with cherry flavored blitz. Hattie had never ingested or smoked drugs for recreational purposes. But if this was something the youth did, she resolved to try it this once. She hadn't left Derington Holding to sit on the sidelines.

And if she didn't like it, she never had to do it again.

The man returned with an apparatus similar to what Hattie had seen other groups using, though this one had more tubes. One for each of them.

Arthur showed them how to puff the smoke. It tasted like cherries blended with ash, and something spicy. Hattie coughed.

Arthur chuckled. Hattie held herself back from cuffing his ears. No manners, hmph.

The group talked about the exam, and puffed away. After some time, Hattie's head began to swim. Her cheeks turned pink and something raced about her veins.

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"Going to get a drink," she said, and gestured to the bar on the side of one of the walls.

Vivianne's eyes were shiny, and she nodded. The others continued to talk.

Hattie walked to the bartender.

"What can I get for you, ma’am?" he asked.

"Water, please."

The bartender handed Hattie a cup of water.

Hattie downed half of it. The water soothed away the heat, cleared her head. Or maybe it was the distance from the blitz's smoke.

A grey haired gentlemen of an indeterminate, but older age sidled up to Hattie.

"Good evening," he said, "my name is Liobald Hart. May I enquire after your name?"

She took a ladylike sip of her water. "Hattie."

"Beautiful name," Liobald said, "Would it be too forward of me to ask if I could buy you a drink?"

"Not at all," Hattie said, amused. A man after her at her age? With all her wrinkles? Maybe he thought she was sitting on a pile of gold.

"Jameson, if you could pour the lady a shot of your finest."

Jameson, the bartender, poured a pinkish-amber fluid into a skinny glass, and pushed it towards them.

"And for you, sir?"

"The usual, please."

For Liobald, Jameson poured a dark bronze concoction that Hattie counted only three separate ingredients had gone into. Hers had at least five.

She peered at his drink, wondering if it would taste a sickly as hers.

"May I taste yours?" Hattie asked.

Liobald's laugh was a soft rumble.

"Jameson, one for the lady, too."

Jameson made Hattie the same drink as Liobald.

She'd half finished the pinkish one when he pushed the new on towards her.

Her nostrils flared as she breathed in its aroma, hints of clove whispering above the sharp tinge of alcohol.

She took a sip. She frowned.

Liobald smiled, "Not to your taste, is it?'

"I'm trying to figure out if you swindled me. The 'finest' is quite dull in comparison."

Liobald's rumble-laugh came again.

"Most ladies prefer the mild, sweet stuff."

Hattie shrugged, and sipped at the second, much better drink.

"Well, thank you for the drink. I'm liking this much more than that blitz."

"I'm not a fan of those either."

Hattie eyed Liobald again, this time his expensive taste in clothes leaping at her. And buying power, since his attire’s quality was so high. Maybe he was sitting on a pile of gold!

"What's a well-to-do man like yourself doing here?" Hattie asked, "This doesn't strike me as your sort of locale."

A bout of nausea overcame Hattie. She pushed it down, hard. She was in the middle of talking to a handsome gentleman, who didn't look too young for her.

[Hattie? Are you okay?] Monte had sensed her desire to vomit.

"Fi--" Hattie covered her mouth.

[Fine.]

Liobald gave her a concerned look, "It doesn't strike me as your sort of locale either."

"Yes, I'm here with those students over there," Hattie waved a hand towards Vivianne's table.

"With those students?" Liobald sounded confused.

"I attend the Mage Academy myself."

"Really?" Liobald's interest piqued, and he leaned a tad closer to Hattie. The nausea rose up again, stronger than before.

The mysterious build up between her and Monte was emerging. Here. Now. Hattie stood up.

This was not just the cherry blitz and the alcoholic beverages she'd downed.

"Excuse...me, Liobald," Hattie gasped once, "I am feeling a bit ill."

Her stomach churned, and her blood zinged. A strange sense overcame her. Her nostrils flared again.

Hattie tasted blood in her mouth. When had she bit her tongue?

[Hattie! What is going on?!]

Oh, Monte.

Hattie grinned. A sharp tooth poked out of her mouth. A pointy tooth.

"Hattie?" Liobald stood up too, and caught her arm as she swayed. She fell half on top of him.

Hmm. His neck...so close, so...tender. Prey.

[Hattie!!]

She reached in for the kill, when a blurry gold form crashed through the doorway.

[Hattie! Stop!]

Monte leapt at Hattie and caught her in the torso. She fell away from Liobald and onto Monte's back.

[Hold on.] Monte leapt back out the door, past stunned patrons. The stern faced man was no longer stoic, face full of rage. Monte brushed by them all, and out into the cool night air.

Hattie smiled and snuggled into Monte's fur.

This was her packmate. Monte would sort out these strange instincts.

Monte would help her.

[What's happened to you?]