The path we’re on and the path he was on has joined up with the main path again. One that looks like it’ll bring us to the entrance… finally. What an unnecessarily long pathway.

Unlike me, Mr. Wolf is unaccompanied.

“Young Master Ezekiel.” Detective Idiot inclines his head respectfully and greets him.

I guess I should greet him too, right? Wouldn’t want to be rude.

“Oh, hey Clifford.”

His tanned face shows a tint of red, and he growls. “So, you’re what the fuss is about.”

I notice he has a black eye and seems to be favouring his right leg. Nice.

“Well, it’s certainly not you.”

“Kara.” Michael uses my name as a warning and that pisses me off.

“I’m surprised they’re letting you just walk around.” The wolf sneers at me.

“Funny, I was gonna say the same thing. Who left your kennel open?”

The next few moments happen as quickly as the moments that killed me. Clifford lunges at me and shoves me almost to the ground, but I pull myself back up nimbly and land a hard punch to his already bruised face and he recoils with a wolf-whine. Not human.

“You hit like a girl.” He tries to cover his weakness.

“You could too, if you put your back into it.” I don’t let him.

“Watch me-”

Before I can see what pathetic punch he’d throw next, though, Michael is suddenly standing in between us with his back to me, with both hands in an opposite pocket. It’s never a good thing if his hands are in his pockets.

That’s not Shifter Sense that’s just common sense.

And the dumb mutt is just now realizing he maybe shouldn’t have let me goad him into an attack when this massive creature is my escort.

Dumbass.

The detective takes a, well, giant, step forward and he’s now right in Zeke’s face and the wolf boy is whining a lot more than I could ever get out of him. Yes! Cry, puppy.

His fear is entering me. Feeding me. I’m getting a free recharge out of this.

I don’t get to witness his demise, because joy is often taken from me these days. A man is running towards us and shouting, and he could only be Clifford’s dad. They look practically identical. Same tanned skin, red hair, and weird bone structure.

“Ezekiel Henry Flanagan, what the hell are you doing?” The man grabs the wolfie’s shirt collar and throws him behind him and then he’s on his knees in front of Michael. “Please forgive him, he’s an idiot, I’ll take responsibility!”

“Dad-!”

“You shut your trap! You daft git. Just wait till we get home.”

Yup, called it. It’s daddy. Hm, I guess technically this is Mr. Wolf.

“Take the lad and get inside already.”

Michael’s voice is one of authority. It reminds me of how it was in the ambulance. Stubborn and unyielding and terrifying.

“I believe the proper term is ‘puppy.’”

But not enough to halt my smart mouth.

Clifford’s dad stands and he’s almost as tall as Spencer. Sorry, His Supreme Lordship Sir. He looks at me sideways while addressing the detective. My words don’t have the same effect on him, which is fine, the insult was meant for his son. His old man is a lot more mature.

“Yes, thank-you,” then, giving his son the same, serious side eye, “this won’t happen again.”

“It had better not. I have orders.”

“He really likes his orders.” I add in.

Mr. Wolf nods in understanding and grabs his son’s shirt collar like it’s a leash. He drags the wolf boy towards the building while I get to watch. Clifford manages a couple glares at me in-between keeping his footing and I stick out my tongue.

I start to follow but Michael grabs my shoulder. I try to jerk my way out of his grip but that just makes it hurt.

“Don’t touch me, asshole.”

“That was careless.”

“He killed me; I can piss him off if I want to.”

“No. No more.”

For a moment, I freeze with fear at his words. Sometimes when he gives orders there’s so much force behind them you can’t help but agree even if you don’t. Some sort of authority that can overwrite one’s autonomy.

Unfortunately for him I don’t fear him enough, and I can get over his little spell.

He releases his grip and I round on him. “That little trick won’t work on me. Never has. I hate you more than I fear you. I won’t be your puppet like everyone else.” His face is steady. “If you try and touch me again, I swear to god, you’re gonna need more bandages.”

“We’re already late. Come along.”

Aaaand he’s almost at the main doors before I realize he’s moved. He should enter the Olympics; he’d probably get some medals.

When we enter the foyer, I notice the same two monks from the garden are standing on either side of wide, wooden, double doors. There are two large, golden rings instead of handles. And the wood is carved rather fancy. A bunch of Celtic knots, if I had to guess. I’d say that room is where we’re going to find the ‘Council’ or ‘House of Lords’ or whatever this is all about.

“Oh look, it’s those monks that told you to kill me.”

“That wasn’t what they said.”

“Might as well have been. Semantics are important, you know. That’s what Ms. Crissy says, and I’m almost passing English.”

“Gathering a proper amount of information before taking major risks is also important.”

“Nope. If it involves my life, a hunch will do.”

I shrug and look back at the old geezers. They’re close enough that they can definitely hear us, but they haven’t shown any sort of response to my rudeness.

“So what kinda monks are they, anyway? And do they all have wizard powers or is it only the ones with the fancier capes-”

“If you want things to go well for you, you’ll start treating people with more respect. And you’ll reign in your anger.”

“His Supreme Lordship Sir Spencer said things will be difficult either way. You were eavesdropping so you know what my response was to that already. And I don’t like repeating myself.”

“Kara, this-”

“Stop. I told you not to talk unless spoken to.”

His expression looks like a mix of exasperation and pleading, but like always the emotion doesn’t reach his eyes.

“But fine, since you’re begging so desperately to me, and doing such a good job at pretending like you give a fuck about me, I’ll play along with your freak club’s little game. I’ll pretend like the people in there are worth slightly more than a sack of garbage. Happy?”

“Go in, then.”

His voice is strained. But I’ve already compromised as much as I’m willing to. More than they deserve.

“What, you’re not coming?”

“This is as far as I can go with you.”

“Right. You’re as useful as ever.”

I turn away and walk towards the old, red-robed men. I don’t want to admit it, but I’m scared. I don’t know what’s going to happen behind these doors, or what I might learn. All I know is my fate will be decided.

“Greetings, Esteemed Elderlies. Lord Detective and I have finished our chat and I believe I’m wanted inside there.” I point at the huge doors that I definitely can’t open myself.

I hear an annoyed sigh from behind me, but when I turn back around there’s no one there. The idiot detective has disappeared. Whatever then. But someone seriously needs to teach me that vanishing spell all these freaks use.

It would be highly irresponsible for them to do so, but still, someone’s got to be dumb enough.

When I get closer to them, the monks move, and I jump a little. Despite myself I turn back, but then I remember the detective has already left. Also, fuck that guy. Like he’d save me. We don’t trust him, remember?

Anyway, turns out the wizard monks are not after me, despite my rude politeness, and they’re opening the doors for me. For a moment, I think that’s a little odd. I was exaggerating before because of how massive and heavy looking they are, but I know how to open doors. But watching them struggle with them for a full minute before getting them open enough for me to fit through shows me why they bothered. These geezers are quite old, but I have a feeling they’re not that frail. So there really is no way I’d be able to open those doors myself.

That also means no escape once inside. Fun. Isn’t my life just so much fun?

Now I’m the one sighing. Guess this is it.

The way those doors work puts me at the mercy of anyone I’m about to meet inside. I swallow hard and slowly walk through. The wizard monks, or whatever they are, I’m gonna keep calling them that until someone feels like telling me what they are, close the doors after me.

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

A weird feeling I don’t understand envelops me once the doors clang shut behind me. It feels like something is missing. But it’s not an emptiness. I really can’t explain it, so I’ll just ignore it.

Inside is a long hallway. It’s dim and lined with candles. What century are we in again? They couldn’t get any lightbulbs installed? Guess they like their whole mysterious persona thing. Do they think this makes everything look spooky or impressive or something?

Pretentious pricks.

I can’t get over how pretentious everyone is.

I hate these people. There’s no rectifying this.

Now, I’ll tell you right now, I was expecting a shock or two. I’d prepared myself for that since I hate being surprised. But I didn’t have any idea what to expect at all, so I had no choice but to prepare to be shocked no matter what.

My heart can hardly take what I see when I leave the hallway behind and enter the main council room. No one is trustworthy. I knew that. There was something wrong with everyone in this town, me included. I’d accepted that. Anyone could be in on it. I’d told myself that.

I’m still, somehow, unprepared for what I see. Just like with the cougar dreams, there’s a difference between knowing, and seeing it for yourself. And I need to stop using the phrase cougar dreams. Ew.

The best place to start would be the basics, right? I’ve got to focus on my surroundings to avoid my emotions. Like I did in Limbo, like I’ve done countless times. Set the tragic scene for you, and all that.

Well, the hallway leads me to a huge, round room. The walls are covered with red wood panes, cedar, with a faint scent that still lingers, and the floor is made of black marble. It is lighter here than the hallway but is still lit by candles. Expensive looking, massive, iron chandeliers, at least ten, hang from the very high, domed ceiling. But more pinecone than perfect circle, dome. Also due to the odd nature of the ceiling, the chandeliers are all at differing heights. Each one holds dozens of candles. I can’t make out the top of the dome because it’s all black at the center. Geez, I wonder how high it goes.

The room itself, from the ground, is a perfect circle, though. As far as I can tell. The walls also have the same, small candles in their slightly-less fancy holsters, like in the hallway, just more of them. I can see everyone and everything well, but there are still a lot of shadows in the room.

A lot of elephants too, but we’ll get to that in a moment. Be a little patient. I gotta go through my what-the-fuck-I-hate-this routine.

There are a few bronze and black mixed marble columns along the walls, for no other reason other than to look extravagant I presume, since they aren’t holding up anything. As well as some large, gaudy, maroon-coloured curtains which, unless they’re covering another doorway or something, are also there simply to make the room look posh and serve no real purpose.

There are no other decorations. The seating arrangement is not much different than what I’d expect for a government-people assembly hall. At the side farthest from me is a raised platform with two levels. The smallest and highest level has two, well, thrones. Huge thrones that are made for giants and made from wood, with maroon-coloured cushions embedded. These are not like in the movies with gems and gold plating and all that, but still. Those aren’t fancy-pants dining chairs. There’s no secret to what they are meant to be.

They aren’t the only ones, either, just the biggest and, well, the highest. The lower level of the platform just has two podiums, made from the same light-coloured wood as the thrones, one at each corner. I guess those are for the people who sit in those high seats.

Back at the main level, arranged in two half circles, or I guess quarter circles? Anyways there are long, curved, double seater desks. With the seats being thrones similar to the previous two but shorter. Wait, in each set of two one throne is slightly smaller than the two main ones and the other is even smaller than that. So the sizes go from the two platform ones, then one half of the double seater desks, then to the other half of the double seater desks. Three different sizes. That’s probably important? Not that I care or anything.

Each of these curved desks line up, one forming a quarter-circle out from the left of the podium, the other forming a quarter-circle out from the right side of the podium. There are sixteen sets of double desks in total, with eight on each side.

Between these half circles are four rows of tables with normal chairs, then behind that there are five rows of wooden benches. Behind that is, well, me. That’s where I’m standing now.

I’m guessing this place is usually a bit more full of people. The rows of tables and chairs are all empty, but none of the thrones are empty. Hm, none except for one of the smaller ones to the far right. The slightly larger throne of that set is still occupied.

Now on to the important parts. The ‘everyone’ I mentioned. Very accurate way of putting it. This is the first time I’m truly understanding and accepting everything. Just how deep this all goes. How far the conspiracy against me and my mother went. Everyone is here.

It’s like a fucked-up class reunion that no one asked for.

I mean, maybe not everyone, but enough for it to not be okay. To get the shock of it over with I’m just going to list them all right off the bat. That seems easiest. In the order I first noticed them, looking from the left most side to the right are… drum roll please…

Left side… my boss, Mr. Long, The Blackfoot homeless guy, Jordan and his grandmother, Dr. Grady, my shady psychiatrist, His Supreme Lordship Sir Spencer and David, and René and his father.

Center thrones? Right side throne has Detective Idiot, and the left side throne has a lady who’s too scary to look at, so lets skip that for now.

Right side… there’s Zeke and his father, after that is that peculiar man who wanted my nuggets and said he was a wanderer, then two people I’ve only met once, but they were introduced to me as Martha’s Aunt and Martha’s cousin. After them are two really old people who look suspiciously similar to that Doctor Creep who’s been creeping on my mom.

Following that is someone who could only be Rodney’s father. They have the same eyes. The only empty seat is the one beside him. From what I can tell, the set up is an adult, or older generation, on the larger throne and a child, or a younger generation, on the smaller one. Even in the set ups where both people look over 18, the person on the larger seat is still obviously older.

Everyone seated on the large thrones are wearing something coloured maroon. Lord Spencer has his tie, Jordan’s grandmother has a scarf, Zeke’s father has some band on his arm, etc, etc. Even that wandering weirdo has cleaned up, err a little bit, and has a maroon kerchief on. But he’s still wearing that beige fur coat.

So I guess the larger seats are the official Council members and as for the younger people’s presence, it’s either bring your kid to work day, or they’re here to learn how to be good little monsters.

In between the people I know are some who I don’t, obviously, there are a lot of chairs after all. But I don’t give a shit about the others. No one is saying anything yet, they’re letting me look around. How fucking considerate of them.

You know what else would be considerate? Not fucking spying on people.

Taking a deep breath right now is impossible, no matter how much I feel I need one. My breath keeps catching in my throat. My entire life since I got here has been a big game to them. My mom’s life too. I look at them all again, one after one.

Mr. Long from Stuff-Mart is sitting there in a fancy black tux and maroon headband. Not the clothes of a small convenience store owner. There’s a young woman beside him who must be the daughter he loves to brag about all the time. He has an uncomfortable smile on his face. Great, my job was a lie. It didn’t even pay that well. Asshole.

There’s a group between them I don’t recognize and then there’s the homeless guy who’s always begging at my bus stop. The one who told me not to go to work the day I got murdered. He doesn’t look so homeless now, although he’s still the least dressed up out of anyone here in jeans and a nice shirt, other than the wanderer. A maroon kerchief is around his neck. I realize now how odd it is that he happened to be there every time I was going somewhere, no matter what time it was. And how odd he chose that stop at all. Probably the lowest traffic area in the whole damn town.

Dammit Kara, you really should have seen this one coming. He meets my gaze steadily and his face is calm, not cold like Spencer’s but not very expressive either. Like a still lake. I want to throw a stone at him to see if that lake flinches.

There’s a man beside him who doesn’t look much younger and isn’t dressed any better. In fact, if I guessed I’d say they were brothers and not father and son. Maybe the fake homeless guy doesn’t have kids. Who knows and who cares? Damn phoney.

It’s obvious now. Mr. Long and the Blackfoot man have been monitoring me since I got here. For two years. Why have I been monitored? Eh, whatever. That’s not important right now. It can wait for the question-and-answer session I was promised.

Right beside them is Jordan’s grandmother, Mrs. Lockwood. Or should I say Lady Lockwood, now? She has a worried look on her face. I bet I don’t look so great right now. I’m wearing nothing but my hospital shift, sweater, and my coat, and the bruises on my wrists and ankles must be very evident. My neck wound too. But she has no right to pity me or feel anything for me. It’s best she let go of any fake feelings right now, because they will no longer be reciprocated.

I find it hard to look at her, but I won’t let her, or any of them, know that any of these betrayals have gotten to me. I can be still as a lake too. Her black hair has shocks of grey and white in it and her fancy cane is by her side. She’s wearing traditional Blackfoot clothing. It’s beautiful. I ate at her place all the time. I liked her way more than my own two grandmas. And none of it was real.

There’s Jordan beside her, also in traditional clothes. The fraudulent almost-boyfriend is looking at the ground. He can’t even look me in the eyes. Liars, both.

Beside them is an old woman with grey, overly crimped hair, a poncho-like multi-coloured shirt, and a bright maroon sash around her hips. Dr. Grady, as strangely dressed as always. She has her typical hoop earrings on, too, and is looking at me over her clasped hands with a lot of interest. There’s a younger woman beside her dressed just as kooky and looking at me just as keenly. I pay neither of them any mind.

There is another group after them, and I feel like I might vaguely recognize one of the two. I must have seen them in passing a few times in town, but I can’t place them. And then there sits His Supreme Lordship Sir Spencer on his extravagant throne of evil, with his stupid son at his side. The treasurer has that same cocky look on his face. It’s his resting face, I’ve decided, and the most natural expression you’ll get out of him, I’ve also decided.

David looks nervous as hell. He tries to hold my gaze but then looks down like Jordan is, then tries to look at me again but his gaze dives back down to the floor. He looks frail. Or, rather, he seems frail, somehow. Unlike with Zeke there’s no obvious signs of injury, but I guess he’s been punished too.

Not that I care.

Beside them is René’s dad, who I’ve only met once before. He’s a nice man, but distant. He has the same pale blond hair as René but his face in a rectangle bordered by a full, soft looking, platinum beard and thick sideburns, while René keeps himself barefaced and his features are softer like his mother’s. He’s also unable to look at me. His hands are clasped in front of him on the counter and his knuckles are white. He’s very focused on his hands. As amusing as it is to see him so humbled for once, it’s not amusing enough to gain forgiveness. More liars.

I’ve reached the center again, but I skip again, barely take note of the two groups after them who I don’t know and focus on Clifford and his dad. Both are sitting in a quiet rage, with stony faces, and crossed arms. I force myself not to laugh at how similar they are, and how comical. I can tell his dad’s rage is not towards me, most likely towards his son, but little wolf boy’s anger is most definitely directed at me. It’s amazing he can contain it all, from what I can see.

After Clifford’s group sits the self-proclaimed wanderer and someone who looks similar in age to him, maybe just a bit younger, who I don’t know. The one I don’t know is wearing glasses and looks extraordinarily ordinary. Like he's trying to look boring on purpose. Someone you’d easily overlook. But shouldn’t.

As for the wanderer himself? He’s staring very intently at my coat pocket. A slight frown on his face. That’s very confusing to me until I realize that the black and white rock he’d given me is in there. Great. So he gave me a weird rock at it’s probably not an ordinary rock. Moving on.

I can’t hold myself back from making a very obvious sneer/snarl/general-look-of-disgust when I take in the next two groups. I give each of these four fuckers a taste of this look and they have the decency to look at least a little bit ashamed.

Who are they? Martha’s Aunt, Martha’s cousin, and Great-Grandfather Creep and Grandfather Creeper. Two of them are connected to the evil bitch pretending to be mom’s friend, and the other two are connected to evil bastard pretending to love my mom romantically.

Now I’m not normally violent without reason, but these fuckers have given me damn good reasons. They’d better stay the fuck away from me is all I’m saying.

After those pairs of Judas the Betrayer buddies there is one more group I don’t know, but they give me a bad vibe. Or at least the gentleman I assume is the father of the girl who looks to be my age, does. Major bad vibes. I’m gonna remember this guy’s face.

Well, I’ll remember all these monster’s faces but especially that one.

I move away from all that and look towards the only person in the room I’ve decided to care about. The man who must be Mr. Romano, or Lord Romano? Rodney’s dad. His eyes are the same as his with the same long lashes and sad puppy look. Well of course he’s sad, he lost his son. The empty chair beside him, the only empty throne in the room, is enough to make me want to cry. The only reason I don’t is because I refuse to cry in front of these people. Not even for Rodney. Sorry, buddy. It’s a pride thing.

He seems a little confused. I have been staring at him intently for a while now. I look away and at the scary lady sitting beside Michael. I refuse to look at the detective, and not because I’m scared to. Oh no, I still haven’t forgiven the false sense of camaraderie.

So, she has a crown on her head. A pretty silver one with sapphires and diamonds. The Queen, then. And she is definitely not the one from England. She’s not a giant like the idiot detective, or even slightly abnormally tall like most high-level Shifters I’ve seen, in fact she’s quite… small.

Yet this lady gives off the same fear that Michael does, and unlike with the idiot detective, I don’t have a lot of anger at her yet to help balance that out. But if I’m solely judging by appearances, she looks like a nice person.

But I know she isn’t. Because this, ladies and gentlemen, is the ringleader of this circus. The spymaster.

She, along with Michael, are sitting on the biggest two thrones at the center. They’re obviously important. While scary, the lady is also beautiful.

And I feel like I’ve seen her somewhere before.

Hm, but where?