I was not a fan of parties.

Big shock, I know. The creepy guy who talks to ghosts wasn’t a party animal.

I wasn't against them on principle, per se. It was just that most of my experience with parties either came from the memories of ghosts–needless to say those parties hadn’t ended well–or the single high school party I had been to, which had ended with a mind-devouring monster trying to kill me.

Take that weariness and add mages?

I was not having a good time, which I needed to try and hide. Tensing at every mage was a great way to attract attention, but it was hard. Harder than fighting off a dozen mad ghosts. Harder than standing up to Blair’s mother, harder than fighting off the Straits.

It shouldn't have been. All I needed to do was put on a fake smile and walk around for a bit. I barely needed to talk. I could just let Blair and the others do their thing while I stood around and looked pretty.

But I was terrified.

With every step, I teetered over the edge of total panic, and it was only because the various spooks were largely uninterested in me that I was keeping it together.

Blair had been right when she said they would draw attention off me. Being the equivalent of werewolf nobility counted for a lot, it would seem.

Most who approached only spared me a glance or a polite introduction before ignoring me, which was perfect.

That pattern repeated itself enough that I started to relax, only mildly tensing when mages approached.

That was another thing that had thrown me for a loop. The sheer density of magic in the air was insane. I wasn't talking about the ambient magic, either. I was used to Silver Spruce’s dense field, but seeing over a dozen mage auras filling the air was an entirely foreign experience.

They were beautiful, which I felt oddly guilty for thinking.

They rippled through the air, patches of red and blue, and green wrapped close to the respective mages. Not full veils, but shoving your aura around was rude in mage society. At least, that's what Rodgers had told me.

When those auras drew close, I couldn’t hide my nerves, but they never did more than brush past me. My own veil was nothing to sneeze at.

It helped that the others reacted instantly every time I tensed, moving in front of me slightly or drawing attention to themselves in other subtle ways.

I was grateful, but I couldn’t express it here, which was another thing I hated; how closely I had to guard my tongue.

Half the spooks in the room could hear a pin drop from a football field away, so every word had to be spoken with the assumption that someone was listening.

We had just left a conversation with a friendly ghoul woman when I stopped in my tracks.

I had been scanning the crowds when I saw her. She was several dozen feet away and not even looking at me, but the second I noticed her, my brain immediately screamed danger.

She was huge, probably in the ballpark of eight feet, with stone grey skin, delicate features, and thick black hair that tumbled past her waist.

A middle-aged man walked beside her, his pale white suit a sharp contrast against her inky black dress. He carried a dark wooden case under one arm, its surface covered in glowing green and black runes. I could feel the power rolling off the case from where I stood.

I could sense something familiar about the woman, but I couldn't put my finger on what.

Seeming to sense my gaze, she turned and met my eyes. Her eyes were as inhuman as the rest of her. Inky black pools instead of whites, filled in with glowing green irises and even brighter pupils. She smiled, showing off a mouth full of pointed teeth.

Every sense, every instinct, and hunch that had kept me alive all these years went into overdrive. They screamed at me to run, to hide, and pray that the thing in front of me was too preoccupied or too bored to give chase.

My breath hitched, and I backed up a step.

The woman's smile widened, and my mouth filled with the taste of brine and cold, salty water.

I backed up another step. Blair must have smelled my terror since she spun towards me, then followed my gaze.

Blair tensed a moment later, reacting almost as strongly as I had. The others mirrored us.

The woman, or at least woman-shaped thing, gave us the slightest nod, then turned away, leaning down to whisper something to the man beside her.

The overwhelming sense of danger left with her attention, along with the taste of briny water.

I sucked in a deep breath and looked at the others. “Who the hell was that?”

Bobby shook his head, his face pale. “Not a clue. I’ve never seen her before.”

“Neither have I,” Blair said. “But we should stay the hell away from her.”

After that, we had another stretch of perfectly normal, non terrifying encounters. The others exchanged pleasantries, and I did my best to be boring. We had been keeping up this routine for fifteen minutes. How long, exactly, did we need to socialize before making our escape?

I was studying the crowd when another attendee made their way over. I saw Blair tense slightly out of the corner of my eye.

I turned to see the newcomers and barely managed to stop myself from freezing.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Two mages. One was a tall, middle-aged man with pale skin, broad shoulders, and a short salt and pepper beard. His dark suit seemed to ripple in the mage lights, and his aura was dense with power.

Standing beside him was a shorter teenager, probably around sixteen or seventeen. He had dark skin, soft features, and a much smaller aura. He was sporting a dark blue suit with octopus cufflinks.

Huh, stylish.

The thought distracted me enough that I avoided panicking at the mage's presence.

Bobby grinned. “Cornelius, Dalton! It's good to see you again.” The mages returned Bobby’s smile.

“It's good to see you as well, especially under less violent circumstances.”

Cornelius and Dalton? Laurel had filled me in on their fight with George’s Pack at Barry’s and the mage who had helped them.

I relaxed slightly. Someone willing to help a stranger from werewolves was alright in my book. Of course, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t cart me off to his clan if he found out what I was.

Blair stepped forward, a genuine smile on her lips. “My Pack told me you helped them deal with George.” Blair inclined her head. “You have my thanks.”

Cornelius waved her off. “Think nothing of it. I wasn’t about to stand by while he tried to exploit a local. I don’t think the man was even a spook!”

“Barry?” I asked, surprising myself. Talking is drawing attention!

I reminded myself that staying silent and tense was far more attention drawing than a casual conversation.

“He’s not a spook, though he has some bad luck when it comes to spooks and his store. That thing has been destroyed at least four times.”

Two of those had been partially my fault, but I wasn’t about to volunteer that information.

Dalton blinked. “Four times? Is he cursed?”

I shook my head. “Just good old-fashioned bad luck on his part, as far as I can tell.”

Cornelius's gaze flicked to me, and I saw a spark of interest in his eyes.

Uh oh.

“I don’t believe I caught your name? I’m guessing you’re a local?”

Blair swept an arm towards me. “Alder. He’s near our new territory, and some spooks are making trouble for him. So we thought he might enjoy this party atmosphere.”

The mage nodded, not at all surprised by that. Blair hadn’t been exaggerating when she said it was common for the Factions to offer some protections to locals.

Though I noticed she hadn’t said it was George making trouble for me. It would probably make the Northwoods look bad if they admitted to the mage, and anyone listening in, that it was other werewolves threatening me.

Cornelius nodded. “I see.” He paused and gave me another look. “ Are you the Grave Keeper? I think I heard a few people throw out your name along with the title.”

I hid a wince and nodded—stupid gossiping townsfolk.

“I’ve heard you take care of fiends for the town.”

I nodded again and immediately jumped into my practiced answer.

“Yeah, I use a warded idol. The old man who owned the graveyard before me had it, so it came bundled with the deal.”

He grinned. “A genuine spirit artifact? Remarkable.” Cornelius rubbed his short beard in thought. “I’ve noticed how dense the ambient magic is here. It makes sense that someone would have found a way to combat the spirits that came from that.”

I started to respond when another aura drew close.

It hung tightly around the mage in a dark sheen and felt controlled, dangerous, and hungry.

What shift is that?

The mage it belonged to was a striking woman in her late twenties or early thirties. She wore an elaborate red dress that looked like it belonged in the…I don’t know, Victorian era? It was old and fancy, and that was what mattered.

I didn’t spare much attention to the rest of her, as my focus was drawn to her eyes.

Two faceted gemstones, black as night and just as menacing, studied our group as she approached.

“Miss Northwoods,” she greeted Blair with a slight curtsy. “And company.”

Blair gave a slight bow. “Lady Larouta.”

Lady Larouta’s black eyes scanned us, and I had to hold back a shiver.

I didn’t know gemstones could be so piercing.

I glanced at Blair. She did not trust this woman. Oh, her face was a perfectly polite smile, but I could read the subtle tension in her stance.

“I hate to be so rude,” the mage said with a small smile. “But I need to borrow Cornelius for a moment.”

Blair gave a smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “Please, don’t let us stop you.”

Cornelius gave a far less convincing fake smile before glancing at Dalton. “Mind keeping an eye on my apprentice for a minute?” Blair gave him a more genuine smile.

Seeing that, Cornelius turned and walked off with the mage.

Laurel watched them go, a black brow arched. “Okay then…”

Dalton shuffled slightly as he watched the other mages leave. “Man, I feel like my mom just left me at the grocery store checkout. And asked strangers to babysit me to boot.”

Bobby patted him on the shoulder and beamed. “We were in a fight together. That makes us more than strangers!”

Dalton snorted. “I just cowered while you all fought.”

Simon shrugged. “Being in the room is still technically being in the fight.”

Bobby nodded. “Exactly. It’s all about the little details.”

~<>~<>~

Oriana led Cornelius to the party's edge, stopping at the railing that overlooked the sports field.

This was wrong. He’d expected to have this talk with aura code. They could actually do that covertly. But approaching him directly and dragging him out here? People would notice, and this conversation would be far from private.

One of them could make a windshield to block out their voices, but that wouldn’t be any less obvious.

This was wrong, Cornelius didn’t know what Oriana was playing at, and that made him nervous.

She stared out over the field, red nails clicking against the railing.

“Your answer, Cornelius?”

Once again, blunt, not even an attempt at subtly. While this whole situation was off, at least he had an answer for her.

“No.”

Her offer was good, and a duel was hardly the end of the world. But the message it would send to the other factions was unacceptable.

They were on the brink of war. Now was not the time for petty duels, and if the Pact didn’t realize that, it would cost them.

She quirked a brow, but the slight smile on her lips told him she’d expected this.

His unease grew.

“Very well.” She turned and strolled back into the party.

That was it? No attempt at negotiating, no surprise, no anger? Nothing?

Cornelius watched the woman go, a sinking fear that he’d played right into her hands growing in his gut.