Silver was still dripping with rain, his jeans heavy and chafing, his shoes squelching uncomfortably as he rose from his crouch in his suddenly warm surroundings. In the absence of torrents of rain coming from above, he could feel the trickle of blood from his wrist as it flowed toward his hand.

He lifted the arm over his head, holding his other hand over the wound, and looked around.

Devon stood at his side, also sodden from the storm.

They stood in the corner of a large room straight out of the 1970s, complete with gold shag carpeting, a popcorn ceiling, and a stone-faced wall with a fireplace cut into it.

Flames blazed on the hearth, and Silver moved closer, taking a seat on an avocado green armchair beside it. He could feel the warmth seeping into his bones, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Devon followed him, settling into a matching chair facing him.

“If this is twenty-five years ago, why does it feel like 1973?” Silver asked.

Looking around, Devon shrugged. “It’s a tacky room. That’s not the crime you’re here to witness.”

Silver nodded and watched a woman saunter past. She was wearing a long, loose-fitting blue dress and a silver tiara. “Is the crime the way they’re dressed, then?”

“It’s a Halloween party,” said Devon. “They’re in costume.” He nodded toward a couple chatting a few feet away from them. “And there is Rosza again.”

Devon tore a strip of fabric free from the hem of his shirt and leaned forward, holding out his hand.

Silver lowered his own hands and held out the injured wrist to his friend, who began to wind it around the arm, covering his wound. He pulled the makeshift bandage snug but not tight and tied it in a tidy knot, tucking the ends underneath.

“She’s dressed as a storm,” Silver observed, studying Rosza’s intricate cosume.

Rosza looked a few years older than she had in the previous vision – maybe mid-twenties instead of late teens.

She wore another black lace dress, this one tightly fitted to her body, with sliver and gold fringe hanging off in strategic spots to mimic rain and lightning. Her long hair was teased out around her head like a black raincloud.

“And the Fae she’s talking to is Duvslaine,” said Devon.

Silver turned his attention to Rosza’s companion. “Fiona’s father.”

“Yes.”

Silver stood, reluctantly moving away from the warmth of the fire, and walked in a circle around Duvslaine, studying his pale skin, blond hair, and large, rather aristocratic nose.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“He doesn’t look Fae, ” Silver observed.

“I think you’re probably a stormsoother – that’s your magical ability,” said Devon. “Which means, if you look carefully, you should be able to see Duvslaine’s glamor spell. And once you can see the spell, you can see through it.”

Silver turned his head to look at Devon. “What is a stormsoother?”

“What you saw Rosza doing – that was stormpushing,” Devon explained. He rose as well and gestured toward Rosza. “You won’t ever be able to control a storm like that. But you’d be able to dissipate it. And not just physical storms, either. You have intuitive and healing abilities. I think. I could be wrong. Rosza will be able to tell us for sure. Present Rosza, that is.”

Silver studied the vision of Fiona’s Fae father, concentrating on finding anything unusual about his appearance. “I’m not sure exactly what I’m looking for.”

“I’ve heard some people describe it as a shimmer in the aura,” said Devon.

Dusvlaine did have a shimmer in his aura. “But lots of people have that shimmer,” said Silver.

Devon’s eyebrows shot up. “I guess, living in the same town as a Portal Tree, you must see a fair number of Fae visitors,” he mused.

Silver shrugged. “I mostly see them at work. I think probably about ninety percent of the guests who come through have that shimmer. I thought it was weird at first, but I’ve gotten used to seeing it.”

“Guests?”

“Yeah, I work at the front desk at the Swanky Seven Suites,” said Silver. “Which is, frankly, not a great name. It’s not swanky, the rooms really aren’t suites, and there are significantly more than seven of them. What’s wrong?”

Devon’s pale blue eyes had gone round and wide, his jaw slack, his mouth falling open to reveal slightly pointed teeth. He closed his mouth and then opened it again, repeating the process three times.

Silver was reminded of a koi fish.

Finally, Devon found a voice. It wasn’t his usual calm baritone. This was a strained tenor, bordering on alto. “How the hell did you get a job at the Swanky Seven?”

“Um.” Silver studied his friend, not really sure what he was being asked. Desk clerk at a motel was hardly a glamorous career, nor was it one that required a lot of qualifications or education.

Devon’s lips were now clamped shut, tightened to a furious line, his eyes narrowed.

Silver shrugged. “The usual way.”

His friend stared at him and Silver gazed back, waiting patiently for Devon to clarify the question.

Devon closed his eyes and inhaled sharply. He unclenched his jaw. “Walk me through it,” he said slowly. “How did you find out about the job?”

“Craigslist,” Silver replied. “I hadn’t ever heard of the place before I saw the post.” Now that he thought about it, that was odd. The municipality he lived in was not very big. Then again, it hadn’t seemed that weird at the time – the motel was located on the outskirts of town, and it wasn’t as though he’d ever needed a motel in his own hometown.

“Who is Craig?” Devon asked.

Silver blinked. “I don’t know.”

“Where did you find this list? What else was listed?”

“Um,” said Silver again. “It’s just a website. It’s got everything on it.”

“Everything?” Devon began to pace. “How did Craig get access to everything? You don’t know who he is? Do you know what he is?”

Silver tried to interject, to explain the online classified ads system, but Devon kept talking.

“He must be either a Fae or a stormworker of some kind, if he knows of the Swanky Seven.” He pivoted on his left foot, spinning to face Silver again. “We need to find Craig.”

Silver shook his head. “You can’t find Craig. I don’t even know if there is a Craig, Devon. You need to calm down. It’s just a job. And Craigslist is just a website.”

Devon shook his head, his red hair swinging around his face. “You don’t understand. Humans shouldn’t even know that the Swanky Seven exists.”