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“Leave this boy alone,” she snapped. “You’re lucky I haven’t kicked you out yet?—”
“What?” he drawled, a self-satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I can’t talk to one of my own?”
Her lips parted in surprise as her eyes darted over to Grey, who instinctively reached for his hair to brush it over his face like it might hide him—and ripped his arm back down the second her face twisted in conflict. She’d seen that mark, but instead of commenting on it, she turned and moved onto the next patron.
Shame wormed through him, even more so when Hyde sighed and dropped his chin into his palm. “I’d get used to that sort of reaction if I were you,” he mumbled as he watched her go. “Not many people around here care for hemomancers. They assume we’re all one bad day away from snapping. We might as well be outcast as fair folk at this rate, so it’s no wonder we have our own havens.”
Grey hesitantly picked up his silverware and began cutting into his chicken, despite the sickening feeling that churned in his gut. “I’m Grey, by the way,” he whispered.
A soft chuckle sounded in return. “I also take it you’re new to the cold shoulder treatment?”
“A little. I’ve only ever lived around other hemomancers.”
“Well, there’s a small ward of us here in the city if you’re looking for a place to stay.”
Grey lifted his head, finally meeting his eyes again as he halted his cutting. “Really?”
That sharp, cutting smile surfaced again. “Of course. We got to take care of each other in a place like this.”
* * *
Hyde whistled as he led the way through the streets, though Grey stumbled every couple blocks on uneven pavement. A few heads turned to find the source of the noise before their gazes drifted to Grey. The worried and perturbed looks followed them from shadowed nooks in stairwells and overhangs as they passed, even with some starting for their doors to turn in for the night.
That is, until a commotion up ahead drew them away from their hovels. Heads poked out of dimly lit window frames and doorways while Hyde’s tune faltered and cut short with his stroll. Grey stopped alongside him, taking in the small crowd surging forward in front of another sector gate.
“They’re coming!” cried a woman wobbling on a crate along a bisecting wall. “The fair folk will destroy this place and rip us all to pieces if we don’t give them what they want. I’ve seen it?—”
Hyde scoffed and grumbled, “Another damn lithomancer off their rocker.”
Murmurs rippled through the crowd before a young man piped up: “But the last Wild Hunt was a decade ago, wasn’t it? The fair folk shouldn’t be asking for another just yet, should they?” His head swiveled around, as if to confirm with the rest of the gawkers.
“He’s right,” an older man chimed in, scratching his beard. “They’re usually at least a quarter century apart.”
The woman stomped on the crate, demanding the crowd’s attention again. “Then how do you explain the increased aggression from the woods? Are you claiming not to hear the howls at night?”
She threw her arm out toward the wall obscuring the pinkish-purple gasp of evening. Right on cue, a shrill scream of a creature ripped through the air. Everyone jumped or tensed, their fear echoed by a baby’s cry from a window.
Her arm fell back against her side with her chin held high. “It’s never been this bad since before the last Wild Hunt,” she ground out. “Believe my vision or not, but if we don’t give them what they want soon, they’ll bring the Hunt here.”
A sharp whistle cut her off, and Grey immediately recoiled, jerking his hands up to his ears as every eye turned to Hyde. He cleared his throat and loosely held out his arms in a slight shrug. “You act as if the Grand Capital’s legion hasn’t always taken care of this when it’s time to ship off our little sacrifices for the fair folk’s blood sport.” They crowd shifted and glanced around at each other while the woman glared daggers at him.
“That’s not?—”
“Always the case?” Hyde growled. “It is. Those fuckers have tea with the damn fair folk from what I’ve heard. They’re more than willing to collect a few mancers to appease them and continue living their cushy lives while they leave the rest of us to squabble over things we need to survive. So, if you don’t mind” —he stepped forward, showing off the back of his gloves, instantly parting the sea of people with glimmers of fear in their eyes— “us hemomancers are just trying to head home for the night.”
People shuffled back or dispersed as Hyde led the way past. Grey scurried behind him with his head down, only half-hiding his gloves in the folds of his sweatshirt or under his bag strap. The jingle of the chain-link fence signaled their freedom from scrutiny, followed by a sharp clang as it fell back in the frame.
“Fucking doomsayers,” Hyde hissed. “They act like they don’t know that the fair folk want entertainment more than anything. There’s a reason why they agreed to not killing us forever ago in favor of just taking six to torment—a game to mess with each mancer in fun new ways.” He wiggled his fingers like a street magician might after swindling their audience.
Grey shuffled alongside him as they passed an older man whittling a small piece of wood. He rocked back and forth in time with Hyde’s footsteps on their way up to the building. An exchange of nods gave way to the man eyeing Grey, but he said nothing on his way inside, despite the curious glint to his gaze.
The door creaked open to a decrepit, propped-open oven, pumping heat into the crumbling duplex. Its main floor’s adjoining wall was partially blown out with fae-crafted letters carved into the wood like an ominous threat. Hyde strode along them and started up the stairs, his voice echoing off the paneling: “The spare room’s at the end of the hall. Marielle—the old guy’s daughter—typically makes breakfast after her morning shopping. I’ll ask her to make a little extra for you so you don’t go hungry.”
Grey sputtered. “You don’t have to?—”
Hyde waved a hand as they reached the landing. “Please, it’s not a big deal. Us hemomancers got to stick together, right?” His smirk was far less sharp and menacing this time, traded for something softer and worn. He patted Grey on the shoulder and nudged him toward his room. “Get some rest. One of us will show you around in the morning.”
3
