I stare up at the townhome on Fairfield Street with a mixture of awe and envy. It’s huge, for one. Multi-million-dollar price tag, I’m sure. Brick, with lots of fine details dating it back to the late 1800’s, plus a corner lot which makes it even more spacious than some of the other impressive homes lining the street. There’s the saying that Crime Doesn’t Pay, but…from where I’m standing it kind of looks like it does.

I’m nervous, and surprised at how close the place is to headquarters, but I try not to be as jittery as I feel when I finally approach the front entrance and ring the bell. I wait for only a few seconds before the door opens to reveal…not Henry or Castillo, but a short, old woman in plain clothes. A live-in maid? Jesus, this guy is loaded. She stares up at me balefully and I clear my throat, feeling inexplicably judged.

“Riley Averline? I’m here to meet with Henry Stone.”

She nods and steps back, gesturing to me to come inside. I do so and look around in wonder. It’s like stepping into a museum, it’s absolutely pristine and gorgeous. There’s a large, sweeping staircase in the entrance hall that leads to the upper stories, and as I’m led down the hall, which boasts beautiful paintings with gold-inlaid frames, I look to the right to see a living room with giant bay windows and a fireplace. Beyond that is a formal dining room that looks like it’s set for royalty. As we near the back of the house, a delicious smell greets us: spices and herbs I can’t name from scent alone, but it makes a fine aroma. The smell is coming from the large kitchen, which has the checkered black and white marble tile flooring that again makes me feel like I’m walking through a movie set. Pride & Prejudice & a Rich Werewolf Boss.

Except there’s Henry sitting at a kitchen island, sipping something from a cup – I can’t see what, but it must be blood. His diet is extremely limited these days.

And there at the stove is Alejandro Castillo. The maid speaks to him in rapid-fire Spanish, to which he responds in kind. Then she leaves the kitchen and Castillo turns down the heat on the stove and turns to face me.

He’s a darkly handsome man, I would put him in his early to mid-fifties although with werewolves contemporary age doesn’t mean much since they usually live well into their hundreds. He has black hair streaked with grays and whites, and thick brows, dark eyes that might be black and while his nose is a touch too long for his face, it manages to complement his features rather than detract. Unfortunately, he looks inherently mean. As though there’s a level of contempt about him for anything that is not him, while somehow maintaining a completely stoic façade that suggests aloofness more than anything else. There’s no getting around it though, Castillo is an intimidating bastard and his height certainly plays into that. He’s easily 6’4”, if not even taller, and equipped with lean muscle that means he’s probably dangerously fast on top of being physically strong.

I shift my gaze to Henry, checking him for signs of visible duress or injury, but he looks fine. So I return my attention to the syndicate boss.

“Mr. Castillo…I hope I can say it’s a pleasure, it’s certainly a surprise.”

“I was expecting a man,” he says flatly.

I feel a rush of anger in my chest but I manage to keep it mostly hidden. I can’t help the flush to my neck and face though. “And here he is,” I reply coldly.

He looks perplexed for only a second before understanding comes over his face. “Hm.” I can’t tell if there’s scorn in the noise or if it’s just an acknowledgment of my identity. I choose to think it’s the latter so I don’t get into another almost-fight with a werewolf today. “Sit,” he orders more than suggests, gesturing to the island where Henry is.

“Sorry about that,” Henry mutters when I join him.

“It’s fine,” I reply quietly.

I want to ask if he’s all right, if he’s here against his will, something because the idea of him just…being here is still far too strange for me to accept. I don’t want to have that discussion with Castillo in the room, however, so I bite back my curiosity for the time being. I focus instead on our host, who had turned back to cooking, but is now serving food on two plates. He brings them over and I’m surprised again to learn that a merciless crime boss is a good host. I look at the dish, recognizing meatballs.

“Albondigas,” he says. “Served in tomato sauce.”

“Thanks…?”

“De nada.” He sits on the other side of the island and I feel like Ashton Kutcher is going to pop out and say I’ve been Punk’d.

“It smells good,” Henry says.

“And your drink, Santito?”

Oh God. They already have nicknames? If Henry is about to tell me he’s involved with Castillo I’ll drown myself in my food. I would have never guessed. Henry’s never expressed interest in men before, honestly before we began dating, I thought he was asexual. Things change, though. A lot of things. I’m no longer sporting dresses and long hair, and he’s not even human anymore. I assess if I’m feeling jealous, but I think I’m too shocked to feel anything else.

“It’s fine, thank you,” Henry’s voice is distant, almost annoyed, which makes me think I jumped to conclusions and maybe ‘santito’ is an insult rather than an endearment. Most vampires wouldn’t be classified as saints. It does fit Henry though, painfully so. He’s so nice he makes everybody look like a complete dirtbag. Myself included.

“Why am I here?” I ask, unable to take this tension anymore. “As I understand it, you have no interest in working with the Order of Cerberus. Did that change, Mr. Castillo?”

“Si,” he replies, infuriatingly calm while my voice is high from strain. “Henry’s coordination with Brianna and yourself led me to the decision. I wish to know what you understood from the autopsy.”

So, Brianna did have time to tell him. Or all the wolves were marked like the one I saw and Castillo’s been trying to decipher the text this entire time. I think back to what Carver said at headquarters not even an hour ago, about me breaking the rules and committing a plethora of violations. I’m already in the shit, and she did acknowledge it helped us out, so I decide to go forward. Better to ask forgiveness than permission, and we don’t have the luxury of time to debate how much we’re extending an alliance with the werewolves.

I just have to hope that this doesn't bite me in the ass later. I know the stories about Castillo, I know the sort of man he is, and I'm taking a big risk divulging information that he could, potentially, use against the Order. I begin to tell him about the mage's intent to force the change on the werewolves in the city, watching his face to gauge his reaction. He is impressively stoic, so I glean nothing. I press on to share our suspicions that carnage and chaos likely aren't the end game for our rogue mage, but what their true purpose is remains a mystery.

Castillo barely moves while I explain this, no nods to show he’s actively listening, just those coal black eyes fixated on my face while he takes an occasional bite from his meal. Henry, on the other hand, tenses next to me as he listens with rapt attention. When Castillo doesn't immediately speak, I opt to try my dish and I’m surprised when the meatballs aren’t made of beef but of “...what is this?” I ask.

“Squid,” he replies.

“...Right. So, what do you make of this?” I ask. “This is delicious, by the way,” I add honestly because the man can cook.

“Gracias. It would seem we have the piece the other needs.”

“You know the underlying reason Riley mentioned,” Henry muses.

“What I told you already,” Castillo confirms. “What do you know of magic, Centurion?” he asks me.

“What the Order teaches all its members about it. That those with the Gift can pull energy from different realms and it manifests as magic here.”

“That is a lie, meant to mislead those with magic from…experimenting,” Castillo says and now he sounds smug. Asshole. “It is not from a number of ‘different realms’, rather it is from one source, a source manipulated by thought and perception. Reality can shift based on perspective, no? To you, I am a werewolf. To most who pass me by, I am but a man. And to some I am an unwelcome immigrant regardless of my status. Each is true to whoever holds such a perception.”

“But how does that pertain to magic?” I ask.

“The Gift is not simply drawing energy to manifest it as a flame, for example. It is manifesting thought into reality, and drawing energy from the True Source to do it. When a mage experiments, it can lead to new results. Why do you think there are so many new spells and potions, poisons and enchantments flooding the markets?”

“Wait…shit. So, you’re saying a mage can just…think of what they want as a spell and it’ll manifest?”

“Yes and no. It takes much from the mage to do this. The usual spells, the elemental ones, these exist in our world already. To make something new, they would have to be highly skilled and even then, in many cases…”

“It would require more,” I finish the thought. “Like the life force of others, in this case, your werewolves.”

“What about the full moon?” Henry asks suddenly. “I never quite understood how Boston doesn’t face the threat of werewolves running through the streets every month.”

“It’s because of him,” I say, nodding towards Castillo. “Strong Alphas influence the entire willpower of their pack.”

“Backed up with a strong inner circle, and it is not a threat at all,” Castillo concludes. “Don’t worry about my pack, worry about the one who would target it.”

“But what manner of spell would require so much blood?” Henry asks.

“I’ve heard rumors in the underground over the years,” Castillo continues. “Of mages seeking Paradise. That too changes based on the mage and their beliefs. It may be Eden to one, Nirvana to another, and so forth. With all that we know of the world, there can be little doubt that such a place exists, whatever it may truly be. I believe it is the heart of magic, the True Source from which all of those with the gift are connected. Can you imagine how much potential would be there?…A mage with that power would be unstoppable.”

“You seem very well informed about all of this, Mr. Castillo,” I point out.

“I am very well connected,” he retorts. “More so than your Order. If you did not know, most of us withhold any pertinent information from your kind.”

“Yeah, I got that feeling,” I sigh.

“But why werewolves?” Henry inquires. “And not…random victims? It’s horrible either way, but it seems very…specific.”

“Who can say,” Castillo replies, but there’s something to his tone that makes me think he is withholding this very minute. “Perhaps one they loved was bitten, or they simply have a prejudice.”

“Or you murdered one of their loved ones,” I add.

“Or that,” he agrees with a level of indifference that chills me. “If this person succeeds, imagine how much blood will be shed if the entirety of my pack is let loose on Boston.”

“Enough to open Paradise,” Henry murmurs.

“Fuck,” I expel. I always knew there had to be more to magic than what the Centurions are told. Whenever there’s a rogue mage, one of our Incantatores is always sent to deal with the problem. If you can’t use it, you can’t use it. I guess they didn’t want to bother giving us normal types the full story…or maybe they don’t know either. That’s a scarier thought, but the idea of Carver not being aware of this strikes me as impossible. We have some powerful magic users among us, there’s probably more than one who could shape new magic in the way Castillo talked about. Probably powerful enough to pull off this mad spell too. I hope that means they’d be strong enough to stop it in that case. “And the Order will try to detain the werewolves, which means our mage is free to cast their spell.”

“Maybe that’s the reason to target werewolves in the first place,” Castillo suggests. “No other creature has such a vulnerability, and to exploit it would be to keep the Order under control too.”

“Make sense,” I reply. “But it doesn’t get us closer to finding out who the fuck this killer is.”

“Did they leave no trace?” Henry asks Castillo. “No…scent you could follow?”

“Did you smell anything?”

“Well...No.”

“There is your answer, cabrón.”

“It was a reasonable question.”

“More of a naïve one.”

I’m starting to understand how Chiaki must feel when she has to deal with me and Billy. “Is there any sort of pattern?” I ask, interrupting them. “Anything about the wolves in particular that links them and could help us pinpoint the next victim?”

“They were all Halcones…eyes and ears on the street, low rank. Nobodies.”

“That’s a nice way to view your murdered wolves,” I scoff. “How many Halcones do you have?”

“Is that a serious question?”

“Um…yes.”

“Two hundred.”

“...Shit.”

“That is not counting the Sicarios, Tenientes or Capos,” Castillo adds, as if it’s not horrible enough to think of two hundred werewolves rampaging through the city.

“If we can’t narrow down the next potential victim, then what do we do?” Henry sounds as defeated as I feel.

“Maybe you and your pack should leave Boston for a while?” I suggest to Castillo, who gives me such a withering look I feel like I’ve suddenly made the stupidest proposal ever made. “What do you suggest then?”

“That you do your job.”

Now it’s my turn to give him a sharp look, because as far as I’m concerned, I’m doing well beyond my job. Just my being here, in what could have been a trap - yet again, proves as much. I could have never told Henry about the first murders and never gotten him involved, which would have never brought me to Brianna and getting the ‘other piece’ to Castillo today. If it wasn’t for me going beyond the call of duty, he wouldn’t have the warning about the forced change looming over the city.

“I’m going back to headquarters,” I decide. “Maybe if they know what the mage is doing, they’ll know who is strong enough to pull it off.”

“One would hope,” Castillo sneers. “Otherwise, the capabilities of your Order may be called into question.”

“And we wouldn’t want that, would we?” I ask with a false smile. I get up from my barstool at the island and look at Henry. “Are you coming?”

“Yes, I believe it’s time I get out of Mr. Castillo’s hair. Thank you for your hospitality,” this he directs to the syndicate boss.

“Your time in my home will not soon be forgotten,” Castillo replies and at the surface it sounds like a compliment, but beneath that is something sinister. There’s a rumor about debts and Castillo, and that being in his debt is akin to a death sentence. I won’t let him hurt Henry though, so if that’s ever his intention, he’s going to pay dearly for it.

“Should I let my boss know she can contact you?” I ask as we prepare to leave. I notice the maid is back, waiting to escort us straight to the door.

“No,” Castillo says. “Go through Henry.”

“I am the willing messenger,” Henry says with a supplicating smile.

To my surprise, and I am getting tired of being surprised, Castillo smiles back. It does nothing to take away from his looking mean, and is in fact probably more threatening than his stoic expression. I’m glad to be out of the house, and when the door shuts behind us I take a minute to let my brain process everything. It’s well past dark by now, the sky ahead is a hazy orange from all the lights and I’m feeling drained, but I know I’m nowhere near sleeping yet.

“So, how the hell did you end up here?” I finally ask as I lead the way from the front steps.

“Oh, when I went to meet with Brianna about the body, Castillo was there too,” Henry replies. “We were going over the details, but it was getting late, the sun was coming out in force, and Castillo’s car has exceptionally dark tinted windows so we came here. It’s a lot closer than Roslindale.”

“And headquarters,” I point out. “We could fucking walk to Order HQ from here. That’s…probably not a coincidence.”

“Under the radar?” Henry suggests.

“I guess. I’m sure Carver knows he’s so close, but then maybe Carver doesn’t like to share important information with us grunts. I didn’t know all that shit about magic, and I feel like I should have the moment I became a Centurion.”

“That is odd,” Henry agrees. “What should happen if a Centurion runs into an enemy spellcaster? Without knowing what a mage is truly capable of, it could mean their death.”

“Exactly. Unless the ability to…create new magic is reserved for the most powerful, like Castillo mentioned, but I still feel like it’s something that should’ve been shared.”

“I got the impression that he knows a lot more than he should,” Henry continues as we opt for walking after all. It’s only about thirty minutes on foot and the cool air is helping me get re-energized as much as my indignation is. “As if…maybe he knew a mage who could do it, or wanted to get to Paradise.”

“Plot twist, Castillo is the mage and is fucking us all over so he can get to the True Source of All Magic.”

“Could a werewolf be a mage? I know any magic wielder who is turned into a vampire loses the Gift. I suppose one has to be…alive to use magic.”

I try not to wince, because it’s disturbing thinking of Henry as undead. Even if it is technically true. “There’s been cases of it,” I sigh. “But not for a very long time. I don’t think he’s our guy anyway. Castillo seems to prefer being blunt over cryptic, and I can’t picture him maniacally grinning over steepled fingers as he toys with us. I think he wants this solved as much as we do.”

“Yes, I get that impression too.”

“I mean, you’re the one who had a sleepover with him, so you would know more than I would.”

Henry huffs a laugh that he can’t quite hide and shakes his head. “I am sorry to disappoint you. To be honest, he scares me so…I retreated the minute we got to his house. I hardly saw him until this morning.”

“To be honest, he scares me too so I believe you. I don’t think he would have told you anything even if you did hang out. Still, I’m curious about these underground sources he mentioned. It may be time to take a trip to the market.”

“Isn’t it dangerous for Centurions?”

“It is, unless they’re accompanied by a vampire or any sort of supernatural type, really.”

“Ah. How convenient for you then. Very well, let me know when you’re going, just…try to make it at night for a change.”

When we get to the corner of Beacon Street we stop. It’s best that Henry doesn’t come with me to the front door of headquarters, I don’t want any other Centurions claiming he’s trying to raid the place.

“Keep by your phone, okay?”

“Of course, Riley. I hope one of yours will be able to narrow down our suspects. I’m quite tired of having zero.”

“You and me both,” I groan. “I’ll keep you posted, and likewise if you get any calls from your criminal associates, santito.”

“Riley.”

“First Brianna, now Castillo,” I pause, then grin. “I never knew you were such a dog person.”

“Oh my–! You’re impossible, you know!”

“I know.”

“Go on before I…I bite you.”

“Mr. Stone, that would either be welcomed or assault depending on where you were going to do the deed.”

I shouldn’t tease him so much. He’s in his thirties, but he has the innocence of someone younger, even as a vampire that hasn’t changed yet, and I hope it never will. But it does result in him looking entirely flustered by now. I’m taking some of my stress out on him, trying for levity at his expense and the devious humor that managed to make me forget about all the shit going on for a second rushes out of me. Who knows how many more nights Boston will have like this? What if a howl marks the end this very night?

“Sorry,” I mutter. “I’m just antsy. Get somewhere safe, okay? Just in case?”

“All right. Don’t do anything stupid,” he replies, and I notice this time he doesn’t accept my apology. At least not vocally…maybe not at all.

He turns to head back the way we came to get to the station, and I move in the opposite direction to get back to HQ.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

I go straight to Carver’s office on the top floor when I get back into the building. She calls me in with a gruff “enter!” when I knock, and I step inside to see that Billy and Chiaki are no longer present. Sheldon is also missing from her side, which tells me the Order is working full force on this mission. Carver is seated at her desk, pouring over the text which has been printed on paper so she doesn’t have to discern markings through blood and viscera of autopsy photos.

“Averline. I take it that you’ve succeeded since you’re back.”

“Yes, ma’am. I just had a productive meeting with the man himself,” I reply. She looks at me with an unreadable expression. “Castillo,” I add as if she didn’t catch my meaning.

“Sometimes I think you are avidly trying to get removed from the Order,” Carver sighs. “All right, so you met with notorious crime boss Alejandro Castillo and he agreed to work with us?”

“Somewhat,” I admit. “Henry is our go between, Castillo won’t let us contact him directly. Did you know he lives really close to headquarters?”

“Of course I did,” Carver replies. “What did you learn?”

“A bit more about magic,” I continue, my voice getting harder. “Something about how mages can think spells into reality. Manifesting them through some True Source that is only limited by imagination. I don’t know, I think if I knew that before I could have gone about this differently. Anyway, it would seem our mage might be attempting to open Paradise, which is where this True Source is, thus giving said murderous mage all the power in all of creation.”

Carver doesn’t look at all abashed that I’m only learning this about magic now. No sign of guilt or shame…she’s pure business mode as she leans back in her office chair, deep in thought. “It would require a sacrifice to get to such a place,” she murmurs. “But the one responsible would need so much power, conduits…blood.”

“I’m sorry,” I say loudly. “But you know about this place too? How the fuck is this not part of Centurion training?”

Now she seems to remember I’m in the office with her and not some recording device spitting out information. “How would you have run your investigation had you known about this?” Carver asks sharply.

“Eliminating the lower-level magic users for starters,” I counter. “Not wasting time investigating the vampires, who couldn’t possibly be behind it since they can’t use magic at all!”

“It was not a waste of time to check the vampires,” Carver says. “Knowing more about magic would not make you ‘magically’ perceptive to the nature of the deaths. Sentinel Sheldon had a vision about a vampire, remember?”

I glower at her, because this all went differently in my head. I thought she might be surprised I found out, and say sorry. Instead, she has the nerve to look mad at me for bringing it up. “Maybe I would have recognized what was happening after seeing the corpse with Brianna. As for that vision…who’s to say this mage isn’t powerful enough to…to send false visions?”

“Think about this for a moment, Averline,” Carver insists. “Think about the potential of danger that would come from word of this Paradise spreading. Lower to mid-level mages wouldn’t even fathom such a place, they would have no earthly reason to expect anything like it. But if they knew about it, what would they do to achieve more power to gain entry? Or to create spells beyond their capacity? What sort of doubt would spread through Sentinels worried their visions are falsehoods? What would vampires and werewolves, or even the mundane do if they learned of such a place? How far would ambition bring them to open the way? There are only a few who can feel that there is more to magic, that it is not confined to the elements but how we perceive those elements.”

It makes sense to keep that ambition from reaching every magic user, but I’m still not satisfied. “I just think you should trust your Centurions with the information,” I argue. “Discretion is part of our job, I can’t imagine any of us bringing it up in conversation outside of cases.”

“Centurions defect at times, Mr. Averline. It is damaging enough when that happens, I won’t add another level of danger by imparting knowledge they can do little with, save increasing the risk of that information getting into the wrong hands.”

We’re going in circles, and I know that sooner rather than later, she’s going to snap at me. I can’t agree with her on this, I won’t, but I also know that right now it’s not the time to draw out this conversation. We need to focus on finding this one mage who does know all about Paradise already.

I hear approaching footsteps, and since the door is open…or maybe because he’s known Carver for a hundred odd years, Sheldon walks in without knocking. He is accompanied by Ulysses and Elena again.

“Report,” Carver says.

“The Moliere Coven has agreed to work with us, Charlemagne is certain he’ll be able to convince the Dearden and ó Ceallaigh covens on board too,” Elena says.

“Good work,” Carver replies. “Averline was just telling me he secured Castillo’s support as well.”

Sheldon looks at me suspiciously, but nods. “With our combined efforts, we should not be long in apprehending our foe.”

“Hopefully,” Ulysses sighs. “There is the risk that all our increased activity will put this mage on alert.”

“Do we have any idea of who it may be?” I ask. “It sounds like there are very specific requirements to…uh…” I trail off, because I don’t know if the other three know about the True Source and Paradise, and Carver just finished telling me off about why she didn’t tell me in the first place.

“They know,” she says. “About Paradise,” she adds to the others. “Give your full report, Centurion.”

I tell them about the mage forcing the change in order to unleash the werewolves for the amount of blood that would be shed in such an event, blood enough to give an already powerful mage the strength to open this paradise and reach the source of all magic, or all its potential. I’m still processing what exactly the source would be now that I know more about the intricacies of magic. I also voice my fears that the Order, which was established specifically to protect the mundane from the supernatural, and the supernatural from the mundane, would be obligated to try and control the werewolves in this event, which may leave the mage free to cast the spell.

“He has over two hundred wolves in the city,” I conclude.

“It would be mayhem,” Sheldon says quietly. “We cannot let this come to pass.”

I consider asking for permission to go to the market to try and find some of Castillo’s sources, but I’m pretty sure Carver would tell me no, on account of keeping the knowledge I’ve gained to myself. I can see her fears of it getting out there, I can, but I’m also terrified that if we don’t do something soon, we’re going to lose our chance of stopping this without a lot more deaths. I can broach the subject tactfully, however.

“Do you think our mage is also the one slinging new potions and spells in the markets?” I ask.

“It’s doubtful,” Elena answers. “Mid-level Incantatores and the like may stumble upon the sort of magic our mage is dealing with, but they are very limited in what they can do. That is why we haven’t closed down the market to clear them out entirely.”

“I’m still trying to understand these different levels of magic,” I admit.

Carver gestures to Elena and Ulysses to explain it, and I’m grateful she does and doesn’t tell me to drop it.

“When one is gifted with magic, it normally manifests at puberty,” Ulysses begins. “Sentinels sense when that happens, and they are able to bring them to the Order to teach them how to safely use magic.”

“The vast majority of those with the Gift will never have the capability of creating a new spell through thought. We teach them they draw magic from elemental realms, that like the Fae who may exist in their space, parallel to the mundane world but separate, the elements of magic are the same. So when they want to use a specific element, these mages believe they are tapping into the realm from which it belongs.”

I recall Castillo’s response to my explanation of magic and realms. A lie.

“Once they have a handle on their magic, we offer to let them join the Order or return to their lives,” Ulysses continues. “None the wiser about the source.”

“What determines the power of a spellcaster?” I ask.

“How much we are connected to the source,” Elena replies. “Some mages are born with a stronger connection to it, and can sense it. So, if I were to focus on that connection,” she closes her eyes and the room gets warm. A sort of presence joins us, tangible but not at the same time. “And wish to hold a star upon my hand…one with hints of blue, shining gently with a cool light…”

I stare in open amazement as the magic bursts forth. It’s like a miniature sun forms over her palm. I’ve never seen anything like it, the spell is exactly how Elena described her intent. As if her words shifted and became magic. Elena releases the spell and that warm presence fades from the office.

“The danger is that if this is the source of magic, then the mage could create literally anything they wanted in Paradise. No limits, because they wouldn’t have to manifest it in the mundane world. They would be in the source,” Sheldon joins in.

I do notice that Elena looks a touch worn out now, and realize I’m seeing the physical toll that creating a new spell from thought alone takes.

“But…wouldn’t you know who the mage is then?” I ask. “If the Order is the one teaching mages, and Sentinels pinpoint them at the start because of the Gift manifesting…how do we not know who’s responsible?”

“Not all mages come through the Order,” Carver sighs. “Some of them escape.”

I frown inwardly at her choice of words, but considering my current company, I don’t bring it up. It’s something to think about though.

“The potential of a mage in this Paradise could change the nature of reality as we know it,” Ulysses says, and I’m not certain, but I think he’s trying to steer the conversation away from the whole ‘escape’ comment.

“How so?” I ask.

“Consider this example,” Elena says. “The story of Genesis, in the Bible. God created light and the world with ease. He said the words, and they manifested. A mage like the one we pursue would be able to do something along those lines, shape Creation…shape anything, as they wish. It could be something that seems small, like eliminating the Fae’s aversion to iron. Or it could be devastating, like changing the fundamental makeup of our world, erasing oxygen for example.”

“...Fuck,” I groan. “Sorry,” I add when she winces at the word.

“No doubt they are cloaking their potential from us,” Carver cuts in. “However, with the vampires helping us, they won’t be able to hide forever. They can sense the Gift in mages, and more importantly, just how gifted a mage is.”

“There is the matter of how much time is left,” Sheldon points out. “The mage is directly attacking the werewolves. We know that from my vision at least, even if the act itself was disguised to appear as a vampire strike. I doubt they need many more kills.”

“I am aware of our dwindling time. Joseph, you will work with the vampires directly, with some of our other Senior Sentinels. Focus your efforts to try and glimpse the mage as much as you can. Elena and Ulysses, you will prepare our Incantatores. Should it come to it, it will be up to you to engage this rogue directly.”

Which means the Centurions would be dealing with the rampaging werewolves, should it come to it.

“You’re dismissed, Mr. Averline. Thank you for your service today, consider yourself on call tonight.”

“Yes ma’am,” I reply.

Here’s my chance to get back on the Night Shift, it’s too bad I’m coming off of my shift and feeling exhausted. Still, I don’t think I’ll be able to settle down to sleep tonight, and I’m already planning to go to the Boston Common and, specifically, to the hidden market.

I text Henry as soon as I’m back on the street, and he responds with a thumbs up emoji that tells me he’ll meet me at the Common. I’m not a huge fan of being in Fae territory, they’re tricky and it’s easy to end up in trouble from something as simple as a perceived slip of etiquette. I’ll deal with their roundabout speech and hidden truths, however, because anything is better than what’s coming.