Midnight, October 15 - Anderson University, East Wellsburg Washington

Pale moonlight blanketed the dark college campus. The air was cold, clear, and quiet. On any other night, the place would be buzzing with life. People walking, cars rolling by, lights on. But this was not just any night, this was the night of the Emergence. Thousands of students stood outside, huddled together for warmth, staring up at the sky. The stars were returning.

It began exactly at the stroke of midnight. In the black canvas of a sky, just to the right of the moon, a bright dot winked into existence. Somehow the silence grew even quieter at that moment, as if every living thing was holding their breath at once. There was a pause between the appearance of the first star and the second, but eventually another spot broke through the darkness. As each new star appeared, the pause between each appearance grew shorter. Soon two would appear at the same time, then three, then four.

They filled the sky, brilliant white sparks, countless in number. For a long time, everyone stayed silent. They took in their new, temporary sky. It was more beautiful than any of those young enough to not have seen them before had imagined and more splendid than any of those old enough to have seen them before had remembered.
Eventually, the silence broke and the parties began. College kids will party for anything, and this wasn't just anything.

---

Graham, like everyone else, stared up at the sky with the wonder of a child. His eyes were wide as the Emergence put on its show. He was three years old the last time this happened, and he didn't remember it at all. It was nothing like what he had dreamed of, what he had imagined his entire life. It was so much more. The sky was an endless sea of stars, each one seemingly brighter than the last. Graham watched in awe for what felt like hours.
"Get inside. It's time."

The cold voice of his older brother broke the enchantment the stars seemed to place on him. He looked down from the new sky and then turned to his brother. Tyler stood in the doorway of the small apartment Graham had been living in while at school. He wore a black leather jacket and dark jeans, as well as a look of disdain on his face. Graham mirrored that look as he walked up the small steps to the porch. The tension between the two was clear as Graham pushed his way past him into the building.

The feeling of wonder that had filled him a few moments ago was replaced with anger and apprehension. His heart was beating quickly and his stomach was full of butterflies as he walked into the living room. The average sized room was full of people Graham thought he would never see together again. His mother, his younger sister Jenna, his uncle and his grandfather who was the current leader of the Bishop family. Along with his brother and himself, there was no one in the room who wasn't on bad terms with at least one other. His uncle was on bad terms with everyone. But they were all here for two things, Graham and his sister's emergence and the peace conference, so they decided to put their differences aside for just a few days.

Also in the room were two strangers. They sat on the couch, their faces blank and their eyes empty. They would be the sacrifices. They would be Graham and Jenna's offerings to the stars. Both were people who needed something, something only magic could achieve, and they were willing to die for it. Graham doesn't know how his mother had found these people, and he didn't want to know. The less he knew about the one he was about to kill, the better.

The entire process was a lot less ritualistic than he imagined it would be. He simply had the man he was going to kill move onto a plastic tarp, made him kneel, asked if he had any last words, and then slid the moderately sized knife across the man's throat. And like that it was over. And like that it began.

His sister had a much more difficult time, as she was much younger and a very sweet girl at heart. But she eventually did it too. Their innate magic presented itself almost instantly, as if the stars were letting them know they accepted their offerings. Graham fell through the floor and landed with a thud in the basement, while the glass of water Jenna had been drinking froze solid in her grip. It was official now, they were witches.

The next thing they did was practice their family's magic. They had been learning stuff like this most of their lives, but now it all seemed different. It would actually do something now. They were to practice by giving their sacrifices what they had wanted. The one Graham had killed wanted the man who had killed his wife and gotten away with it, a corrupt cop, to die. Apparently his hatred was strong enough to make him give up his own life, or maybe he just nothing left to live for. This spell wouldn't work on a witch, as they'd have protections against such a thing in place, but the cop wasn't a witch.

Graham set up his spell with care. He took the same knife he used earlier to kill a snake, first removing the head and then running the blade down the length of the body. He spoke the words and drew the circle on the ground using the snake's blood, and then placed three candles around the circle. Then he took the blade to his hand, slitting his palm open and then holding his clenched fist over the circle, allowing the blood to drip down into it. He chanted and imagined the police officer's face in his mind. The wicks of the candles lit as he finished, signifying it was done.

And just like that he killed two people that night, yet he had never felt more alive.

**Warning: Language, Violence & Domestic Abuse**.

"Abby!" Lucas shouted, drunkenly slurring Adelaide's current pseudonym as he slammed his fists against the glass door front to Exquisite Ink, Adelaide's tattoo shop. "Abby, let me in, I know you're in there!" It was just before first light the morning after the first night of the Emergence, and even the most hard core of partiers had turned in for the night, or at the very least passed out for the night. The only people who were left awake at this hour were the hardcore alcoholics, the junkies, and the criminals... and, of course, Lucas and Adelaide. Lucas standing outside the shop with his half full forty and his week old black eye, and Adelaide curled up behind the counter with a tipped over bottle of cheap whisky and a glass with nothing but a slowly melting ice cube. Mascara ran down her face and her arms were wrapped tightly around her, the thin blanket she held covering her own week old bruises. By her side Bacchus was curled silently, watching the door with his hackles raised.
"Abby, c'mon," Lucas continued, his voice softening as he slumped drunkenly against the door. "I'm sorry baby. It was a mistake, It won't happen again... I promise." After that, silence. Adelaide was about to let out a sigh of relief when his voice returned, this time with an edge of anger. "So, you're just going to sit there and ignore me?! Answer me, Abby... I know you can hear me! Answer me, you fucking bitch!" Another silent moment passed, then Abby sobbed, Bacchus growled, and there was the sound of breaking glass.
The next moments were a blur of action. A growl. A lunge. A yelp... and screaming... screaming and pain. Lucas crossed the room in seconds, pushing Adelaide against the wall by slashing at her with his now broken bottle. He was yelling something as his hand moved to her throat, but none of it seemed to make any sense to Adelaide. She clawed at his arm as she struggled to breath, then suddenly she could. Bacchus had latched himself on to Lucas' leg and caused him to drop his weapon.
Adelaide gaped for a moment as her dog attacked her boyfriend. Bacchus wasn't normally a violent dog, but he was big and he would have likely killed Lucas if Lucas hadn't managed to grab a utility knife from one of the tables.
"No!" Adelaide heard someone with her voice shout. "Don't fucking touch my dog!" The world was a blur again, and when it ended Bacchus was licking her hand. On the floor lay Lucas in an slowly growing pool of blood. Next to him lay a utility knife stained in paint and blood.
In the background a phone rang, but to Adelaide it seemed like an echo as she stood staring at the sun slowly rising over the horizon through the shattered glass of her broken storefront. Adelaide's skin tingled, and then it crawled. She looked down and laughed weakly... Lucas' corpse was rapidly disappearing under a swarm of insects.

---

"Adelaide, it's your mother." Belladonna Ruine had been on her cell phone the moment her private jet had landed, and she was more than a little exasperated that her daughter had not bothered to answer the phone. "I really wish you didn't ignore my calls, I really do try to give you your space..." she sighs audibly. "You know I could make you answer if I wanted." She stepped from the plane and onto the tarmac, shielding her eyes from the sun for a moment before putting on a pair of designer sunglasses.
Another sigh "As it happens, Mr. Oliander has decided that we're going to crash a little party that some 'friends' are having in town. He will be in town tomorrow, and has sent your uncle and I ahead of him. I'd be happy to treat you to a real meal if you're not to busy pretending to be better than the rest of your family... you know how to contact me." She hung up, and looked around finding a suitable looking young man and reaching her spirit out to envelope his. It wasn't hard... like so many mundanes, his aura was so dim that it barely existed at all.
"You," she said with a casual wave of the hand. "Carry my bags."
"Yes ma'am," her new toy responded, leaving his own luggage laying on the ground.

Sebastian looked out of the window, and removed his glasses. He polished their lenses absently as he watched the little lights in this distance prick out the empty canvas of the night sky. It was a clear night. Wasn't it a clear night before, all those years ago? He supposed it always was. The stars would not come unannounced, after all, and it would be hardly sporting of them to visit behind a veil if they would only come a handful of times in one's lifetime. He had been lucky, being fifteen last time. Old enough to remember, and, crucially, just old enough to participate. He had known a couple of people back in Munich almost twenty years his senior but who were in the same magical generation as himself, all awaiting the same Emergence. Almost thirty-five, they hadn't realised their full magical potential. He had never found out if they had emerged the following year and so he had to blindly speculate whether, for them, the boat had sailed altogether. They didn't seem to have that problem around here. He used to believe it was a happy coincidence that the population densities among the bigger families were weighted so that the new generation would experience their first Emergence all in their youth, before realising it might probably have more to do with strategic breeding.

He was broken from his thoughts by his phone ringing in his pocket; in his mild surprise, he jolted a splash of coffee to jump up from his cup and splash against the side of the china; “Stamm,” he gave his own name, or, rather, a lazy pseudonym, as he took the call. While he was the only German guy that he knew of in town and could be identified without too much difficulty, he was still given to giving out false names, especially to do with business. If every client had him under a different name, it was easy to identify who had been talking about him – and to whom. Caller id recognition was a blessing; he was talking to Jason Clyde, and Jason Clyde would speak to Peter Stamm, the Swiss novelist.

“Hey, Stamm. Is it ready?”
“And how are you on this fine evening, Jason?” Sebastian returned the bridge of his glasses to his nose. He drifted over to the large desk in his office, and gently pushed his backside onto it. His feet, slightly off the ground, swung gently.
“If it's all the same to you, I'm a busy boy. I'll get on my way round to yours if you're ready. It is ready?”
“Round to mine?” asked Sebastian, suddenly sharp.
“To the usual place. Obviously.”
“Gut.”

Jason wasn't the only one. Sebastian did a steady trade the whole year round, but for the past few months he had been inundated with requests for produce with the upcoming Emergence in mind. Some were specifically supposed to guide the young witches into one particular path or other, while others were more generally designed to coax magic, in whatever form it might take, out of the drinker. That was just the kids. Lots of fully-grown witches wanted potions to augment their own magic as part of the festivities. Jason was after the most highly-sought creation, a design of Sebastian's very own.

The usual place would, to the casual onlooker, seem too overt to be true. Sebastian, a part-time employee of The Anderson University, simply used their premises for his own personal business dealings. It was all kosher, though. Well, among those that mattered, anyway, and it was the perfect place – there was plenty of storage space for produce and he knew every possible entrance and escape from the building. The usual place was a perfectly normal seminar room in Block B, not even ten minutes' walk from his office. He sat where he supposed the tutor might sit, standing up when Jason knocked on the door and entered. They shook hands; Sebastian coolly; Jason sweatily. Evidently Jason was finding the Emergence a stressful experience. How old was his kid again? About seventeen? That'd be why.

“Can I see it?”

No small-talk, apparently. Accordingly, Sebastian nodded, and pointed to a small flask on the table, not dissimilar to a cocktail shaker. He picked it up, gently unscrewed the cap, and tipped the contents onto the desk in front of Jason's ashen face. Quite what Jason was expecting, Sebastian could only imagine, but what happened next was certain to surprise him. Upon hitting the table, the thin, clear stream liquid appeared to bounce, merging for an impossible moment that crossed all three dimensions. In a split-second, a perfectly liquid liquid had become a perplexingly solid solid. A completely black three-pointed pyramid sat inertly on the table. It gently glistened, as though sweating. The strip lights that filled the room with an intense brightness appeared to dim slightly.

“There you go.”
“How does it work?”
“Just let it drink the starlight for an hour or so and have Susan hold it after spilling blood. You'll know if it worked.”
“And if it doesn't?”
Sebastian shrugged. It hadn't occurred to him for a moment his creations might not work, “Then it's... how do you say it... it's on me.”
Jason apparently didn't appreciate the cheeky wink Sebastian shot him, but chose to ignore it, “The money will be in your account the moment it works.”
“Wunderbar.”
Just before leaving, Jason turned, frowning slightly, “How do you know my daughter's name is Susan?”
“Please close the door on your way out, Mr Clyde.”

The Emergence was nothing more than twenty years of anticipation finally paying off with a week of satisfied curiosity. "And an influx of witches," Emily muttered to herself. She wasn't with her friends quite yet; first, there were work to be done, and oh, was this the time to do it.

Technology had advanced in such a way that meant a high resolution camera from the Astronomy department could be set up on the highest building in the area (unsurprisingly, this was the Astronomy building on campus) and would take pictures. The thing had been designed to take as many pictures, from as many angles as it could, for the following week. The stars always came in around midnight; and as Em checked her phone, there was still an hour before the stars would step away from their shy curtain of darkness. Now was the time.

Emily checked the wires. There wasn't a battery that the college had access to that could run this sort of thing for a week straight, and Em wasn't ready to wait another twenty years to get the photos that she would miss by having to change batteries. Or by forgetting to change batteries, or being unable to. Sure that everything was correctly attached, the young woman hit the on switch. Even though the naked eye- or even the assisted eye- might not have yet been able to see the stars, Em would be ready. It was better to start the pictures with minutes of dark sky to avoid missing anything. And with that, the machine started whirring, and muffled shutter sounds could be heard as it took pictures.

Taking a moment to lean over a lens and grin and thumbs up, Emily now realized that the impending Emergence meant another thing: parties. Social life was also very important, especially in college, and just because she was devoted to understanding the stars and the Emergence didn't mean that Emily was going to not focus on anything else. In fact, the opposite was fairly true; a lot of her work had less to do with the stars herself than it did with people's reactions of the stars. There was only so much a freshman graduate student could do.

But the time for work had passed, and so began the time for play. Running down the stairs and through the building, Em nearly plunged herself at the nearest bus stop. But, the buses weren't running- even if it wasn't Emergence, they rarely ran this late; and with a soft curse under her breath, Emily started sprinting for her friends. Luckily, being raised as a hunter gave her an advantage here; Emily had good breath, among other things. Perfect for landing parties. And sure enough, she was just in time to observe the first few stars stray out of the blanket of night that almost continually held them.

Even though her lungs wanted to take in more air, Em managed to silence herself for the few seconds of awe before the fanfare started. She had been five when they last happened, Em recalled; at the time, they were just gorgeous shines in the sky, a treat that should have been there every single night... But since then, Emily had grown up some, and she wasn't a little kid with her parents any more. Now, Emily was a college student, trying to understand the phenomenon.

The blonde girl ran a hand of fingers through her short hair and breathed deeply as the festivities began to make noise. Her lungs appreciated the belated effort, and started to slow down. Now that the parties had officially started, it was time to waste some time. Nothing like a good party to start off the hunting season, was there?

Matthew stared up at the vacant sky, unable to stop himself from feeling a tinge of regret about what he was doing. He knew he had been told his entire life about the divinity of sacrifice and how there couldn't be anything more natural than what he was going to do tonight. He looked down again at the newspaper in his hands, the picture of a naturally smug-looking and greasy haired twenty-something man with the words 'WANTED' stamped across the page alongside the name 'James Thornton'. Only two weeks ago he had successfully robbed one of the city's largest banks; he managed to kill half of the hostages as well as all of his goons before he made off with the cash like a ghost in daylight. A real professional, despite his appearances.

He couldn't help but feel like what he was going to do tonight wasn't a good idea. Of course he wanted power, but it didn't do his parents much good. Both slaughtered by demons. Maybe both burning in Hell now. Matthew thought before he was interrupted by the flickering lights in the corner of his vision.
He glanced towards them, it was the stars. Fireworks shot off in the distance. Birds shot from the surrounding trees in fear. A black truck skidded into the driveway from which a thirty-something handsome looking man jumped out, waving Matthew over. "Come help. We've got him son!" His grandfather yelled, and Matthew forced a grin and ran across the lawn towards the truck.

---

His grandmother, Marion, beckoned Matthew inside the dimly lit lounge. She placed a hand on Matthew's back and guided him near the centre of the room with a gentle smile on her face. He could feel the excitement radiating from her; she had been waiting for his Emergence since he arrived in America. As had his grandfather Thomas. He was standing behind James, who was sat on a chair with a paper bag covering his head. He had been bewitched to have lost all his senses, and only occasionally moved an appendage. A lamb to the slaughter. "So, we're gonnae do it just like we practised, right?" Marion said with a gentle Scottish accent. "Just think pal, in a wee minute you'll be the next in the line. Liggen is gunna' be powerful again, a just know it." Thomas crooned from behind the chair, paying little attention to the subdued hostage.

"C'mere, I'll get the knife." Marion said, walking slowly towards the purple pillow which rested in the starlight of the window. Upon it sat the ceremonial knife for Liggen, which was nothing more than a plain knife with a large and very old looking wooden hilt with a crow etched into it. It had seen so many centuries, Matthew was worried it would snap the moment he used it.
The moment they had turned their backs, a blood curdling scream filled the large room, painful enough to cause the flames in the wide fireplace to hesitate.
Matthew spun around quickly. James was standing up, pulling the bag from his head whilst he dropped Thomas to the ground with a horrible thud. The illusion of youth had faded from his grandfather's normally cheery face, instead there was an old man choking on his blood and writhing in pain from the knife that had dug itself deep through the centre of his chest.

"Jesus Christ." Matthew muttered, the irony of the name escaping him in this whole fucked up situation. James turned to face Matthew and his grandmother. Matthew froze as he realised that James was not James - he was someone else, a tall red haired man with a large burn scar across his face. "You'll pay for that!" Marion screeched, raising her hands in the air, magic crackling in the air around her. Matthew took the opportunity to grab the ceremonial knife from the window. The mysterious red haired man stepped forward and shifted his weight towards Matthew as he flung forward another small knife.
"No!" Marion hissed, pushing herself in front of her grandson and knocking him backwards with her elbow. Matthew caught her in his arms as she gasped in pain bent forward in agony, crumpling onto the dark wooden floor.

"They were so obsessed with making sure you had someone to kill, they didn't even notice the illusion." The red haired man laughed, pulling an empty vial from his black jacket covered in zipper pockets. He smashed it into the fireplace.
"But.. how? Where's James?" Matthew found himself asking. He didn't even notice he was crying so heavily his words were barely distinguishable.
"James was an idea, a character. I had to set up a trap for some witches looking for a 'deserving' criminal. He was pretty deserving, don't you think?" The man chuckled. He didn't mind taking his time. He knew he could easily kill an unarmed non-magical Witch. His grandmother croaked, her body becoming more limp in Matthew's hands. He didn't know if it was because her heart was breaking or the pain from the knife buried in her stomach.
"You killed.. all those people.. to make a trap? You've killed far more people than I ever would have you sick fuck! You've already used more magic than I have before. What sort of witch hunter are you?" Matthew spat.

The man's smile vanished. "A fucking good one." He said vacantly, reaching for another knife from his belt. Matthew glanced down at his grandmother, who he found looking up at him with expecting eyes. "Do it." She whispered. "Do it or die with us." She croaked. Matthew nodded. He lifted the ceremonial dagger and dug it through his grandmother's heart in one swift movement.
The room instantly lit up with sparks, which dropped to the floor and bounced across the walls and ceiling, illuminating everything in silver and gold. "You little shit!" The man screamed, hurling another knife through the blinding lights. Matthew had long since moved from his grandmothers corpse.
He moved through the lights, seeing through his own illusion like it wasn't there. It only took seconds for Matthew to kill the man this time. And when he did, the light sparks vanished and all that was left was a candle-lit room of corpses.

Katherine was casually sipping from her hot chocolate at the kitchen table with one leg crossed over the other, her 3 inch heels dangling above the expensive marble floor. There was a thoughtful look in her eyes, her face placid. The complete opposite of her brother Deyan who was pacing back and forth nervously. He was a total wreck after the events of the emergence, when the stars returned for only one night. Deyan couldn't keep down anything, his beer still untouched in his hand. He was getting increasingly annoyed by the attitude of the youngest Petrov sibling.

"It's shocking to see how calm you're being about all of this" Deyan started, his voice shaking. His emotions were still reeling, he couldn't even sleep through the night. Katerina on the other hand had slept like a babe, always sure to catch her beauty sleep no matter the circumstances. The young woman put down her mug , giving her brother a reassuring look.
"We didn't do anything, he killed himself because he couldn't get what he wanted" She replied simply.
The cold calculating ways of his younger sister still amazed him at times. Things always seemed to work out in her favor and she always had a plan b to save their butts. He envied that about her. He was the brawn and she the brains.
"Besides" She said emptying the steaming contents of the barely touched mug into the sink. "You're not a shuvano, so no hunter will come looking for you"

Katherine knew her brother was worried for her safety. Ironic really because she'd spent a year in a foreign country with people who were in essence strangers, before he moved in with her. Even in Bulgaria, Katherine had always looked out for herself. She relied on her brother and loved him, he was family after all. But the only one she trusted to look after her was herself. So if any hunter would come looking for her, she would be ready.

She grabbed her lilac trench coat and started to button up the front. The color made her look much sweeter than she truly was, then again that was the image she was going for on campus. The pretty foreign girl with the funny accent. With her soft make up and wealth of brunette curls she looked anything but a witch. On her way to the door she stopped at her brothers side to gently squeeze his hand. A rare expression of kindness on her face, she looked into his troubled warm brown eyes, they had both inherited from their mother. "Please don't worry about me, we'll both be fine I promise" She said sincerely, in an attempt to reassure him. It wasn't without a purpose that she showed him this kindness. If he kept this up, people would start getting suspicious, they were already the source of gossip in the neighborhood. Katherine had done what she could to provide their neighbors with some "other distractions" to gossip about.

An affair here and there never failed to draw attention away from the Petrov siblings. Everyone was too busy scheming behinds the others back. The fact they were too proud to admit their regular visits to the neighborhood psychic aka Katherine didn't help their case much either. She claimed their spouses were cheating or attempting to in x number of days. These predictions then conveniently came true with the aid of a love spell or two.

When she sat on the bus on the way to the Anderson University campus, Katherine send Deyan a text.
Make sure you are out of there before he gets home. I made you some shopska, I left it in the fridge so don't forget to take it out before you go.
I won't be long Deyan, but I need you to pick up the things I told you about. Don't go about it the easy way, get it where we were taught to get these things.
The spell is getting weaker and I need to do it again.
xx Katherine

The desolate dry landscape stretched far into the horizon, so far that it seemed to continue into eternity. Nothing could be seen. Nothing was there to see. In this land of nothingness was a boy and a witch sitting under the shade of a twisted tree without leaves.

“What’s a star?” asked the little boy.

The witch looked down at the child. “A star?”

The boy nodded before pointing at the bright blue sky, absent of clouds, above them. “The adults said that stars are little lights in the sky,” he turned to face the witch. “Are they fireflies?”

The witch smiled. “Some old cultures believed that.”

“What are they then?”

“There are so many explanations to what a star is. They can literally be anything you want them to be. Which version do you want to know?”

“All of them!” exclaimed the boy with a wide smile to which the witch laughed in response to.

“All of them? We’d be here all week, if I did that. Your mother would be furious with me if I don’ take you home before dinner.”

“Then you better get started! There’s no time like the present!”
“You’re starting to sound like someone I know.”
“Mama.”
“Ah, yes, that does sound like your mother.”

Chuckling, the witch looked up into the sky. The boy followed the witch’s gaze. “There’s a constellation over there the Phoenicians called Melkarth. The Greeks called it the Phantom,” the witch began when pointing at a specific area in the blue sky. “But we know it as Hercules, the hero who faced and overcame 12 trials to prove his courage and heroism. One day, Hercules put on a tunic that contained a deadly poison. In pain, he climbed a mountain, built a funeral pyre, and perished in its fires.”

“What’s a funeral pyre?” the child interrupted.
“Think of it as a bonfire for burning dead bodies in.” The witch continued. “Jupiter, or Zeus, was touched by this that he had Hercules’s body carried into the heavens and placed it in the sky where his constellation is now.”

“That’s stupid. If Hercules had time to climb a mountain, build a funeral… a funeral…”
“Pyre.”
“A funeral pie.
“Pyre.”
“A funeral pyre and burn himself in it. He should have gone to a doctor. Or! Or find some kind of medicine to help him. Mama would save him!”

The witch burst out laughing. When the laughing continued long enough for the boy to wonder if he had said something wrong, the witch finally spoke. “I know right?” The witch sighed deeply and repeated his sentence once again, quietly this time. The boy tilted his head to the side. Before the child could ask what was wrong, the witch smiled and continued to tell the boy stories about stars and constellations.

The witch explained that many cultures believed that the stars were the souls of those yet to be born; of those already born; of those who have died. The stars, or rather their constellations, were like a novel, full of stories about the souls of those who died, those who live, and those who do not yet exist. The boy listened intently as the witch told the story about star-crossed lovers, Orihime (Vega) and Hikoboshi (Altair), who were separated by the Milky Way and were only allowed to meet each other once a year on the seventh day of the seventh lunar month. The boy’s eyes sparkled with excitement when the witch reenacted the story of the four persistent hunters and their hunting dog that chased the Great Bear into the sky and killed it, only for it to come back to life, and continue the hunt once again. The boy shrieked in delight when the witch covered the child with a large blanket, while telling the story of Citlalicue, an Aztec goddess whose skirt was literally the starry night sky itself. When the boy’s eyes adjusted to the darkness of the blanket, he was sitting in the dry land under a night sky sprinkling with shining diamonds. It took a long time for the witch to calm the child down.

“Do you have a favorite star story?” the boy asked once the initial excitement of witnessing the stars subsided to some degree.

“Hmm? Hmmm…” The witch stared at the stars in thought. “A fellow witch told me this story once… many, many years ago. She said that powerful deities lived in the heavens. From there, they controlled everything using stars. Everything that happened on earth was determined by the stars. The stars decided who you were, who you were going to be, what would happen, and what you were going to do. The deities were the author of the stories, the stars were the script, and everything on earth was the oblivious actors, playing their parts.”

“Fate?”

“Yes, everything was destined by the stars.” The witch’s hand reached for the sky, then stole a handful of stars from it. “Until humans stole the stars away from the gods. From that day on, man was the master of his own destiny. ” Glowing jewels fell from the witch’s grasp into the small hands below.

The boy stared at the star shaped diamonds in his hands. “So… people are the stars?”

“I guess you can say that. People are their own little star, but there are those who shine brighter than the average star.”

“Who are they?”
“They are special.”
“Like you?”

The witch smiled before putting a hand over the boy’s. “Like you.” When the witch pulled away, the star shaped diamonds were replaced with fireflies that flew away as soon as they were free from their prison. Silently, the two watched the insects fly away into the darkness.

“Are the stars gone because humans keep taking them away every time they come out?”
“Not every star. Scientifically speaking, the sun is a star too, you know?”

The boy’s eyes widened at the news. “Really!? Why can we still see the sun?”

“Who knows,” the witch shrugged. “Maybe because we’d die without the sun. Even if the sun was just invisible for 20 years, we’d go mad. Without the sun’s light, we’d be completely lost in the dark. Without the sun… ‘tomorrow’ will never come. Maybe whoever, whatever, hid the stars from us thought taking our sun was overkill.”

“----!”

The boy looked around his surroundings, quizzically. He thought he heard someone. The witch seemed to notice as well, but continued to talk. “I never truly cared for the stars. They are pretty, yes, but that’s it. They say the universe continues to expand, creating new stars and plants, yet it feels like they have no effect on us. These stars, they’re so far away. So cold. The closest star from earth, other than the sun, is easily over 4 light-years away. The sun might not shine every centimeter of this planet every day, but it’s the brightest, closest, warmest star we’ll ever have.”

“----! ----?”

“Mama?” The boy stood up to look for what he thought would be his mother.

“----zel!”

“Mama!”

The witch sighed after watching the child become increasingly upset. “I guess I kept you too long.” The witch slowly pulled at Citlalicue’s skirt. As the witch did so, the starry night sky started to shift. The bright twinkling lights of the stars faded away and the black sky started to turn into a gradient of dark blue, blue, grayish blue, and orange. At the other end of the horizon, the edge of the witch’s blanket, the yellow sun appeared. It was dawn.

“You are the brightest star I have seen in years,” the boy thought he heard the witch say. “I really hope you realize your full potential.”

“Pazel.”

A hand slowly emerged from the warmth and comfort of its blanket cocoon to turn the alarm off. A few moans and groans could be heard in the room, but nothing truly moved for two full minutes. Then six alarm clocks went off at the same time.

Emergence has come, little stars. Run as fast as you can if you want to continue to shine. Run if you do not want to be taken away. Shine as brightly as you possibly can if you do not want to be engulfed by the darkness; the void; the nothingness.

---

Beauregard D. Flamel was staring at the stars from a comfortable king sized bed in the suite room of a hotel. From how clearly he could see the self-luminous celestial bodies made up of gas, he knew that every person in Seattle was making an effort to turn off as many lights as possible to see the main attraction more clearly. Though he thought the stars were pretty, Beauregard had experienced Emergence more times than the average man, the wonder and beauty of it all had worn off over the years. His lover lying right next to him seemed to agree as well.

The young brunette’s glazed eyes were fixated on Beauregard’s face. He smiled at the woman as he started to play with her hair with one hand. “I would have thought you’d be interested more in the stars than me.” He was lying of course. He knew that Margaret would choose him over everything else. They all did.

“You are more important to me than those stars.” Margaret’s lips planted a number of kisses on Beauregard’s chest. “Besides, the stars have enough attention right now.”

“That’s sweet Peggy.”

Beauregard leaned forward, but a knock on the door interrupted Beauregard from returning her kisses. Margaret whined as Beauregard excused himself to open the door. He didn’t care to put on clothes of any sort to cover his naked body when answering the door. He already knew who it was and it was somebody he loved to mess around with. A mischievous smile painted Beauregard’s face as he opened the door.

As he thought, it was who Beauregard expected: his sister. Beauregard knew he would see a well-dressed petite woman with bright red hair that was fiery as her spirit. She had a facial expression that looked similar to a smile, but one could tell the woman was nowhere near having a good time. Beauregard rarely saw his sister in a good mood. Then again, he always gave her a reason to be in a bad mood. It was what little brothers were for. What Beauregard did not expect was his sister holding an arm full of phallic-symbols ranging from a banana to a cigar stick which the woman, still smiling, snapped in half with a standard dual blade guillotine cigar cutter.

Beauregard’s fight-or-flight response kicked in. He quickly attempted to shut the door, but his sister’s reflex were significantly faster; a foot slid in and inhibited him from accomplishing the simple task. As Beauregard’s arm shook fiercely to close the door, or at least keeping it from opening it any further, his free hand struggled to place the door chain in place. Every time his hand passed the small crack, however, a carrot would whack his hand. With no sign of the door moving either way, the two were at a stalemate.

“Hi Sophie.”
“Hello, brother.”
“I didn’t know you smoked.”
“I don’t.”
“Explains why you wasted a perfectly good cigar.”
“Yes, it is a waste when you cut things so short that they become useless.”
“Is… that a threat?”
“Ahaha. Does it sound like one?”
“Why… do you have those things?”
“Oh, these? These are nothing; I went shopping after work. I just really needed to mutilate something that best represented my business partner. You see, I had a really bad day today. Did you know my partner was this close to single handedly destroying the lives of his employees? It’s amazing really. Which reminds me, brother, what time is it?”
“Night time?”

Sophie flicked the carrot directly into her brother’s face, making Beauregard momentarily paralyzed, and giving Sophie the time to open the door wider. With the dreaded carrot gone, as soon as he recovered, Beauregard managed to slip the door chain into its place before backing away from the door. It was only going to be a matter of time until Sophie the fire spewing mini She-Hulk would break the chains.

The door began to crack and the chains started to scream as Sophie continued to push open the door. “SIX HOURS LATE TO YOUR OWN GODDAMN MEETING! DAMN IT BEAUREGARD, DIDN’T I TELL YOU REPEATEDLY THAT WE HAD AN IMPORTANT EXECUTIVE MEETING!?”

“Yes! And I said I would be absent!”

The chains suddenly snapped and Sophie slammed the door open with such force that the door’s hinges broke. “BY SENDING A F***ING D***O!?”

“No. No. If you were paying any attention, you would have noticed a letter that said ‘Sorry I couldn’t make it to the meeting, I have a date. I sent you guys a present. Think of it as me. Make sure you share it with everyone. Have fu---…” Sophie backhanded Beauregard with the golden d***o in question and proceeded to beat her little brother with it.

“OW! OW! IT WAS A JOKE OKAY!?”
“NO ONE WAS LAUGHING! IF YOU WANTED TO SAY F**K YOU, YOU COULD HAVE BEEN THERE TO SAY IT INSTEAD OF---…”

Sophie’s ears caught something cutting through the air. Her hair, eyes, and back suddenly emitted a mixture of red, orange, and yellow colored lights for a split second, before turning the fork, in midair, into ash. Sophie’s eyes narrowed as she turned her head towards Margaret. The woman had the decency of wearing a bathrobe, unlike someone else, but the thing barely covered the places that needed to be covered. Based on Margaret’s expression Sophie knew what she intended to do with the knife in her hand. Sophie did not feel threatened. She was p***ed. Who did that bitch think she was throwing a fork at Sophie Flamel? Does she really think a normal human had any chance of defeating Sophie Flamel? The nerve of her! In her head, Sophie knew it was pointless to get mad at Margaret. Regardless of the person she used to be, it was ultimately Beauregard’s fault Margaret was ready to attack Sophie. Anyone could see it in her eyes: Margaret was an addict. An addict obsessed with one man and one man only. People say the obsession was love, pure and simple. What these people don’t know is that any romantic relationship with Beauregard Flamel was poisonous.

“Bo,” she hissed. “Is this filthy whore hurting you?”

Beauregard could practically hear his sister snap. As much as he thought it would be entertaining to watch a catfight, he couldn’t have Sophie burning Margaret into a pile of ash or pound her body into a patty which Sophie would undoubtedly shove down his throat. Not now at least. He chose Margaret for a reason. If she died here, his time spent with her would have been a waste of time. Beauregard got up from the ground with a charming smile and a soothing voice, approached Margaret. “No Peggy, I’m perfectly fine. We were just playing around. My sweet-gentle-wonderful-illustrious-pulchritudinous-intellectually superior darling sister would never hurt me. Look. See? Nothing.” His hand gently touched her hand holding the knife. “It’s okay. You can let go of the knife now.” When Margaret continued to stare at Sophie with suspicion, Beauregard spoke with extra honey, “Peggy.” On cue, Margaret dropped the knife. Completely forgetting Sophie’s existence, Margaret turned to Beauregard as if he was, once again, the center of her universe. “Good girl.” He petted the brunette as a reward. “You always look out for me don’t you?”

“Of course I do!” Margaret hugged Beauregard like a security blanket. “I love you.”

“Damn it all.” Sophie exhaled slowly, attempting to let her boiling blood cool down. “Beauregard. We need to go. We’re having a family meeting concerning… you know what.”

The brother’s smile broadened further as he continued to caress Margaret. “That I do.”

“Gareth? Gareth, stop babbling. I was just phoning to let you know I caught him.”

Night had fallen on the first night of the Emergence. The worldwide event. Party night, most would call it. Nuit étoilée, in her native tongue...roughly. Or was it? Truth be told, Maximilienne had been away from her homeland for several years. While she would never forget the language of her home, trying to piece things together came a little slower as the days wore by. After all, she'd studied English for quite some time, perhaps to the point where she thought more in her adoptive country's language than her own. A mark of true competency, they told her. One cannot speak a language fluently without being able to think in it as well.

At the moment, it all hardly mattered. After all, there was a very upset teenager bellowing at the French woman from the back seat of her car, the long, black sedan that it was. Kidnapping being the sort of offense that it is, it might be for the best that the interior of her chosen ride seems moderately well reinforced. Some sort of drop-down bars to separate the front from the back seat, not unlike a police cruiser, not that it'd help her in the case of an actual witch. Perhaps she's simply stolen a nice, new law enforcement vehicle. That sort of thing may not be the Order's bread and butter, but stranger things have happened, surely. Witches are dangerous and law enforcement can be horrifically skeptical about reports of pyromancers torching orphanages, be it urban legend or not. Not that the fire marshal ever ruled that kind of thing as anything but simple arson.

“No, I already-...yes, I called it in already. He-...”

The brunette perched on the front left quarterpanel of her car, one leg half-folded into her lap, the other resting firmly on the ground. Tall, this one, in a strange sort of slacks-and-jacket affair, currently unbuttoned and somewhat casual. Dark suit, bright red tie, resting beneath a vest but over a button-down blouse. Her head remained on a nigh-constant swivel with one hand busy holding a smartphone to her ear, with exact make and model up to the imagination. A thin trickle of blood meandered down the bridge of her noise, ill-stymied by a butterfly bandage, leading back to a fairly nasty little gash on the upper bridge of her forehead, as if simply to spite her dress and demeanor. Not that she seemed particularly well-behaved, despite her age.

“Of course it's not a warlock, the salaud is just-...stop your whining, already? YOU are not the one who was bashed upside the 'ead with a fire poker! Alright? Christ, you are so incoherent when you get upset. Look, it was just another stupid college kid who thought 'e could get spooky magic powers if 'e killed a kid. Except he couldn't find a kid, apparently, so 'e just started to skin a cat, which...well. Don' get me started. Unnecessarily gory business-...What? No, he only used the one method. Hah, yes, very funny. Hilarious.”

Overhead, the stars twinkled and shone excitedly, view neatly unobscured atop the hill they rested on, circled by a winding dirt road that led to its plateau of a pinnacle. Below, the city sparkled and lights danced as hundreds of Emergence-week parties kicked off the string of celebrations to follow. An entire week of being tanked had barely begun and Lienne already looked world-weary and miserable in the dim light glowing from her phone. All of the happiness surging from the enthused throngs of college kids about to forget an entire night seemed to blunt and dull against the insurmountable frown that had overtaken her face, to say the least.

“Anyway, I can already feel myself bruising. Got a little blood in my eye an' I think I may 'ave knocked one of his teeth loose.” Lienne cleared her throat, as if trying to will away her clinging remnants of an accent. “No, I'm fine. It's-...I'm sure. Yes, very sure. I'll drop 'im off and you can do whatever it is you do with the non-guilty. Hopefully something less archaic than the others. No needles, right? The pithing-...right. Mhm. Alright. He's just an idiot, not a man-witch. Warlock, warlock, sorry. Bonne nuit.”

The line went dead with a lack of tone, phone nearly dropped into her lap as she let her hands rest atop her thighs, staring up at the sky. The backdrop to her apparent misery remained a combination of noisy parties and frothing collegiate, which wrapped the entire evening's worth of experiences up into one nice, tidy bow. It was the kind of thing that coaxed a sigh out of the woman, even after retrieving a nearly forgotten and half-eaten hamburger from a fast food bag resting off to one side. That is the sort of thing that only sent her unwilling guest into a whole new set of fits, the knight waving her hand about as she stuffed another oversized bite down her gullet while she watched the sky. Ignoring the subtle flickers of thought in the back of her mind became harder and harder every time she ended up in this kind of situation.

Just a slug through one of their heads and I'd be like them, she reminded herself with a barely thoughtful bite. Like the rest of the Barrandes. Almost my nephew's birthday, wasn't it? He was born quite close to the anniversary of the stars. Too damn close. Did he even get to see his second starry night?

“Happy birthday, Adrien.” She announced to no one in particular, toasting the sky with her offering of bread and meat, polishing off the rest with a few unladylike mouthfuls and a blank stare as the minutes melted by.

Lienne have to take a drive soon, winding along roads, to one of the Order's safehouses. After the package was deposited she would be free and clear to spend the rest of her evening eating and drinking, likely something strong. A few nips later and she'd be able to catch a few hours of sleep, perhaps? Spend time in blissful unconsciousness. Let the world flow by while she could do nothing to stop it. If only she could stop time, perhaps things would be much simpler.
Stop the stars, stop the murders, stop the witches, stop the madness.
Stop hundreds of years of hatred.
Stop a millennia of misguided, warmongering ways.

Her thoughts were amusing but hardly feasible. Until the time came for her to take that drive, she simply sat and watched the skies, offering the occasional mumbled well-wished thought to someone's birthday or missed anniversary. She knew that she would not rest but instead spend the rest of the evening wrestling children out of their blood-crazed rituals, trying her hardest not to jam a knife into a trachea. It was a dangerous week.

Perhaps she would finally slip.

Noon, October 16 - Anderson Manor, East Wellsburg Washington

"Be careful with that!" Gloria Anderson yelled, her voice echoing in the large foyer. "That table is worth more than your life!" She continued to yell at the men she hired to set up for the party, only half joking.

She glared down at them from her current position atop the grand staircase for a few more moments before continuing on into her daughter's room down the hallway. The party would be taking place at the Anderson Manor, built at the same time as the college. Situated in the woods near the campus, it is very secluded. A long driveway separates the manor from the road and the town as well. To even the richer families that will be gathered in the enormous building, it would be impressive. The Andersons are a very wealthy family, and that wealth goes a long way towards establishing them as a respectable family in the witch community. Of course wealth isn't everything, but it helps.

Gloria stopped at the closed door of her daughter's room and knocked lightly. Without waiting for an answer she pushed open the heavy oak door and walked in.

"Elizabeth, dear, where are you? You're supposed to be downstairs making sure those brutes don't scuff up the floors," She called out, glancing about the room.

"Mother can't I just have a moment to myself?" Elizabeth asked, walking out of her bathroom. "I'm getting myself ready for the party."

Gloria scurried over to her daughter and grabbed her slender face with both hands.

"You haven't even showered yet," Gloria stated with a frown as she inspected her daughter. "Don't lie to me. You were reading those books again, weren't you? Where do you even find them?" She questioned, glancing over at the window seat where a small leatherbound book sat.

Without waiting for an answer, Gloria let go of her daughter and waddled over to the window. She grabbed the book and made her way to the door.

"I'll have no more of this rebellion. Nothing magical belongs in this house."

"Except for you, of course," Elizabeth stated curtly. "And the thirty or so witches that'll be here tonight."

Anger swelled in Gloria's eyes, but she took a moment and then let the comment go.

"This night has to be perfect. Get ready and then get downstairs."

---

8 p.m. October 16 - East Wellsburg, Washington

"Do we seriously have to go to this thing?" Graham complained, glancing at his mother.

He wasn't one for parties, especially these formal ball things were people dressed nicely and ate tiny sandwiches and bickered about god knows what. He was glad to see his sister and to a lesser extent his mother, but having to go to this party almost made him wish they hadn't come at all.

"It is important for us to secure some allies outside of the family," His mother repeated for what seemed like the tenth time. "We have enough issues of our own. We don't need some outsiders coming in a messing things up even more. Some powerful families are attending this peace meeting, they could help us if we need it."

"This isn't going to make us friends, Mom. It's just gonna get us less potential enemies," He explained with a sigh as he attempted to tie his tie. "Ask any of them for help and they'll laugh in our faces. They think we're crazy. Even the fucking German guy acts cautious around me, like any second I'm gonna try to bleed him or somethin'. And its his job to talk to crazy witch kids."

His mother laughed and moved closer to help him with his tie. "You're overreacting. Less enemies is better than nothing anyway," She said with a smile, pulling his tie tight around his neck. "Besides, you just might have fun at this thing. Maybe you'll make some friends for once. And its also a chance for me to show off my handsome son."

Graham sighed and looked in the mirror as she walked out of the room. He wore an all black suit with a black tie. His tattoos reached about an inch or two over his collar. Overall he didn't look all that bad, despite his discomfort. He would even go as far as saying he looked intimidating.
...

Graham sighed once more as the car pulled up in front of the Anderson's house. If you could even called it a house. It was far larger than any house he had stepped in before. The long driveway formed a circle at the front of the house, surrounding a fountain and bordered by beautiful landscaping. The front door was framed by a grand entry way complete with large glass windows and white columns supporting the overhead. Through the windows you could see a large crystal chandelier illuminating the foyer. He looked to his sister, who was seated beside him. She gazed at the building with awe, taking in the opulence of the property.

Graham got out of the black car at the same time the second Bishop car was arriving. The night just got better and better. He watched as his brother, uncle, and grandfather climbed out. They were all dressed nicely as well, and this was probably the first time Graham had seen Tyler in a suit. Then again this was the first time Graham had seen himself in a suit as well.
The Bishops entered the party together, only slightly later than they were expected. This wasn't an attempt at being fashionably late, they were simply dysfunctional. But if someone else thought otherwise, then it was just a minor, accidental, victory for them.

Gloria Anderson met them at the door in her expensive looking dress that seemed a size or two too small. Though maybe Graham was just imagining that. He had met her before, upon his arrival to the university. She was just as fake as she was now. Graham just smiled and then slipped away when he could, making a bee line for the alcohol.
He glanced back to see his mother and sister giving him dirty looks. His mother was upset at his rudeness and his sister was upset he didn't take her with him.

“Ugh,” said Elizabeth down the phone, “She's been at it all day.”
“Ha,” Sebastian said the word approximating to a laugh, but didn't actually laugh. He was only mostly listening, just about holding the phone to his ear with one hand while stirring the dubious-looking substance in the cast-iron cauldron in his garage with an icicle. His hand was freezing, but the ice was necessary. He had found that using wooden ladles or metal rods added parts of whatever their constituent materials were made of to the brew. While it wouldn't spoil a batch, the tainting remained factual. Ice, though, was just water, and water, he had found over the years, tended to be a neutral base, “She's been at it all her life.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Don't worry. She's just excited in her own way. Anyway, Elizabeth, I really have to go. I'll see you later. Tschau.”

He hung up, not before time. Where he had spare time, he was more than willing to devote some of it to the girl, but spare time was currently in short supply. Customers will still drifting in and out to collect his orders, Gloria was giving him grief as well, and, on top of that, as a brewer, he couldn't miss the opportunity the Emergence provided. A potion made under the full moon was a different beast to one made under a new moon; he could only imagine what a difference the appearance of the stars made, they whose light vanished for twenty years at a time. There were people (he thought vaguely of the Flamels) that could weave their own chemical magic like scientists. Sebastian was no scientist. What he did was an art.

The cauldron was jet black, and about the size of a reasonable arm-chair. Theoretically, one could climb in and bathe. Thinking about it, it did look something like a jacuzzi, with hot bubbles streaming to the top. Then again, jacuzzi bubbles weren't normally a sick-looking green colour. At least they, in a surprisingly turn of events, smelled vaguely of strawberries. To finish, he dropped the icicle altogether and gently rubbed his hands together to get the feeling back in them – even through the protective gloves, they got chilly, to say the least. He had long since learned not to warm his hands in the hot vapours of the cauldron. To say it would be a bad idea would be to do a disservice to the notion of stupidity.

When the feeling returned to his fingers, with the slight burning of nerve endings that sometimes comes with that sensation, he held his hands out in the direction of the small conifer he could see out of the window. His wrists together, he reached out to it, even fifteen metres away. He could feel it; not physically, perhaps, but its presence. There it was. He had tried to think of a term for the feeling that wasn't 'life force', but no such term existed in his vocabulary. Gently, he coaxed it toward him; the tree's very essence was flowing like water or a current of wind. Sebastian pulled at it gently and then pushed it past the brim of the cauldron and into the murky brew, where it remained. This was the trick. This was why the Jung brand (regardless of whether the nom de plume du jour was Stamm, Goethe, or Brecht) of potions was popular. They brimmed, quite literally, with life. He glanced again at the tree outside. Its forest-green pines had browned slightly. It would return to form in a couple of day. It always did.

Things to do. Things to do. He put the lid on the cauldron – it looked like an enormous saucepan, misplaced in an enormous garage connected through to the kitchen of Sebastian's little house. He would have lived with the Andersons, but for Gloria's rule about magic on the property. Something about being impartial. He lifted the safety goggles off his head and placed them with his gloves on a rickety shelf on the wall, which was there for exactly that purpose. His normal glasses would have replaced them, but he had barely removed them from the breast pocket of his coveralls and pushed them up the bridge of his nose before removing them to chew the ends. He thought of Elizabeth and Gloria. The ball to celebrate the emergent witches was tonight, of course. In theory, it didn't really affect him. Not really. As an honorary member of the Anderson family, he was no doubt expected to attend, but his only other task was to, as usual, check up on the young witches from the university, but that was basically the day job anyway. Of course, the little darlings would have emerged by now – hopefully. He dug his mobile phone out of his pocket and got to work.

East Wellsburg was always full of surprises. He made the rounds by phone. Normally, he would speak to the young witches in his care personally, but in the interest larger, inter-family events, it was usually a good sign to try to speak to somebody near the top of the hierarchy. Mostly he was met with something ranging from mild interest or mild lack thereof. The university's bespoke pastoral care, also known as Sebastian Jung, was considered, at best, only a mild help or, at worst, a mildly annoying busybody. Either way, each conversation, largely the same as the last ran for about a cool five minutes – except one, notable only by its absence. The Liggens, a family of, amusingly, just three were possibly his favourite to deal with. The young witch, Matthew, was a sweet kid. A bit wet, maybe, but a decent enough guy, and his grandparents (it was grandparents, wasn't it?) were charming enough, too. They were polite and they were interested – unlike the other families, with their back-biting and psychopaths to be – and were among the few groups to never have caused him undue administration. It was unusual, then, that they would be the ones to fail to answer the telephone; he got through to the answerphone, of course, and left a brief message;

Hello Mr and Mrs Friel, Sebastian Jung from the university here. I hope you're enjoying your Emergence – and Matthew, of course. Clearly you're quite busy this evening! Anyway, hopefully everything has gone okay, and hopefully I'll see you at the ball later this evening. It'll be a great opportunity for all the families to get to know one another and really integrate Matthew and his peers into our community. On behalf of the Andersons, I'd like to remind you that we prefer guests not to use magic on our premises in order to preserve the house's neutrality. I'm sure I'll see you later but if there's anything I can do to help in meantime, please give me a call – and, of course, the Andersons would also appreciate it if you could delete this message once you've listened to it. Prying ears and all that. Thanks, and see you later.

"Castor," Belladonna Ruine said with a look of mild concern. "Why does my daughter think I'm a monster.

Her twin rolled his eyes "Bella, all men are monsters. Only those who embrace that fact
will ever know true freedom... Adelaide will learn that soon enough"
The twins were truly a sight to see, standing alone in the empty warehouse wearing matching expensive grey pinstripe suits. Both had their shoulder length hair pulled tight behind their heads (Bella's black, Castor's a brilliant white). Their features sharp and their eyes bright, they each had the flawless complexion of those who had stolen the youth of many poor souls over nearly a century of life.

Their eerie appearance alone would have been enough to make most men's skin crawl, but what lay between their feet was enough to make some lose their minds. A young man, once full of life and boundless potential, lay on the ground inside a rune circle painted in his own blood and covered in mystic patterns that had been etched into his flesh. Two crystals sat in the sockets where his eyes had once been. Surprisingly the young man still drew breath and his heart still pumped, but he was held by no chain either physical or magical... There was no need. While the body still lived, the twins had torn the soul from it. They had feasted on it until no trace remained, leaving the body nothing but an empty vessel.

"I suppose you're right," Belladonna sighed. "She has to come around eventually... I had just hoped for her to meet Uncle Oliander. He is family after all..."

"She'll meet him if that is what he wishes, sister" Castor replied as he opened a wooden crate, puling an onyx staff from it. "After all, no one says no to Uncle Oliander."

"No one makes him wait, either." Belladonna nodded slightly, as she drew an alabaster staff from the box before moving to take her place across the circle from her twin. "Not if they know what is good for them."

Castor gave a knowing nod, and after a moment the two began to chant in unison, as they poured the energy from the young mans soul into the magic circle.
"Lord Oliander of House Ruin, Ruin of Houses, Master of Spirtits, Devourer of Souls. Wielder of the Curse of Lilith, we call you now. Claim this vessel as your own, fill it with your will... Quasi Vas Inane Accedo Anima."

With the final words there came the crack of the two staffs shattering, and a blinding light. When it faded, the body stood wreathed in an aura of half visible spirits, the echoes of their screams of protest at their enslavement beat against the unconscious minds of those with even the least amount of spiritual awareness.
The old man in the young man's body stretched, and grinned, the glowing crystals that had replaced his eyes casting a sickly light over the ritual scars that marked his face.
"Ah," Oliander sighed in perverse satisfaction "It's nice to get out of that decrepit old body every once and a while... Now," He said as he rubbed his hands together. "I'm told there's a party I wasn't invited to..."

---

Adelaide dumped yet another dustpan full of glass into the trashcan before standing up strait again and surveying her shop. She'd taped a sheet of plastic over the gaping hole that had been her front door, and added her newly acquired human skull to the collection of oddities that lined the shelves of her home/shop, hoping that nobody would realize it was the genuine article. Or at least that they wouldn't ask too many questions if they did.

She sighed as she stared at the wreck of a door... there was no way that she could pay for the repairs, even if she broke down and did infinity symbols, finger mustaches, and lower back butterflies for all the college kids she'd refused over the years.
She glanced at her answering machine as she remembered her mother's message... perhaps she could borrow some money from her family. After all she was a witch now, just like her mother had wanted...
No, Adelaide told herself with a shake of her head. "It doesn't count if I don't use it..." She whispered to herself, unconvincingly. "I'm not a witch... I'm not a monster... I'm not a Ruine..."

A very boring college day had luckily come to an end and Katherina was looking forward to the party at the Anderson Estate. She sat at the vanity table, lining her eyes with practiced precision, her lips slightly parted in concentration. As much as she wanted to look all seductive and well like her usual self she kept her make up subtle and soft. No dramatic eyes or dark lips. It would be too far a departure from the guise she´d created for herself, that of the slightly dumb but sweet foreign girl. The best actors knew the costume made the character and if Katherina hadn´t been making a living as a backstabbing witch she would have been an actress for sure. It was still her plan b if things didn´t pan out. The magic community in this place was a tricky one. Breaking free of any community wasn´t easy in fact it was very tedious, but not impossible. She had done it before leaving Bulgaria. Though she wasn´t planning on leaving America, not yet at least. There was no reason to. Tonight would be perfect to seize up the competition. She was a Petrov and no matter her residence she had a duty to represent her family.

"I still don't know why Dimitri's not taking you" "You know I hate these fancy pants parties"
Her brother Deyan complained struggling to tie his tie properly, his brows were furrowed in confusion. He'd given up trying to use the mirror to help him out, his vain sister was taking up all of the space, expertly pinning up her hair into a half up half down updo.
"Because...." Katherine mumbled opening a bobby pin with her teeth which she used to secure her bun.
"Unlike you I'm not in love with my....."significant other"
Deyan opened his mouth to reply but was quickly cut off by his witty sister, some things never changed.
"I know you've been living in fairytale land with your girlfriend" She couldn't keep the disdain from her voice at the word girlfriend, she didn't even use the name of the girl.
"But maintaining two love spells for years isn't easy"
"Mine is wearing thin and we had a slight argument." She said, her tone did not even hold a hint of regret. Katherine didn't seem bothered by it at all. It was like she knew it had been coming and she wouldn't be her proper self if she hadn't planned ahead.
She turned to him, half of her curls flowing fetchingly down her shoulders.
"It's not like I won't let you take Mia with you, she's just not going to be your date"
"I am."

Katherine rose from the vanity table holding the edge of her cobalt blue silk dress. She walked up to her brother to fix his tie, which was done in seconds as opposed to the minutes he spent of messing it up. The siblings were close, Deyan had always felt the need to protect his sister even though he kind of knew she didn't need it. Sometimes it was the other way around even. The way they looked out for each other was something that remained from their childhood in Bulgaria. Even now as they both lived in houses with at least four bedrooms they often found themselves in the same room. Partly because Katherine was always scheming and he wanted to be in on it and partly because well that was what they were used to. They had lived in a one bedroom apartment with the entire family. Yeah family...... they had left them all behind. Here in America she was pretty much the only family he had. He'd liked to think that fact made them dependent on each other but he knew better. Katherine would be fine on her own, she'd miss him probably but she could take care of herself. He couldn't say the same for himself. He was no witch and without his love struck rich girlfriend well you get the idea.

"You're not going to wear that look to the party are you?" Katherine said with a mischievous smirk referring to the worried frown he didn't know was showing.
"Don't worry Deyan, I got a plan" She gave her brother a knowing look.
"Yeah.....you always do" He said chuckling.
"Now let's get going, I want to be fashionably late, not late"

They Petrov siblings arrived at the Anderson estate in a sleek black car. Katherine pretended to be impressed by the lavish mansion and luxuriously furnished interior. She was all smiles and big eyed wonder. Deyan quickly made his way to the bar, downing a glass of champagne in seconds to ease his nerves. Katherina was standing by herself close enough to the bar to keep an eye on her brother. She looked contemplative, her deep brown eyes hiding endless secrets.

October 15, five minutes before midnight, Beauregard and Sophie were walking through a labyrinth made of books and bookshelves. The old library was dark and, at first glance, unoccupied. Something about the place felt as if it was abandoned many years ago, maybe it was the eerie silence, or how the moon and stars were the only source of light, or the lack of anything modern. Yet, all the books and Victorian antique furniture, the siblings occasionally passed by, looked much too clean and new. Someone must have loved this place: if everything in the library was new, they spent a lot of money to replicate the antiques; if everything was as old as it was assumed to be, someone had been taking good care of the place. Or possibly even time itself abandoned the library, never allowing anything in this place to deteriorate.

The red head finally stopped at a crossroad to turn at her brother. “I’ll be watching from the gallery. Call me if you need me.” She didn’t need to remind Beauregard where the non-representatives were at during the family meetings, but he smiled and nodded appreciatively. Sophie nodded back and turned to walk down one hallway. Beauregard watched his sister vanish into the shadows of the bookshelves, before walking down another hallway.

The path which Beauregard walked looked no different from the other hallways of the library and it remained as such for awhile. Slowly things began to change. With each step he took, the darkness lifted. The silver light was replaced with a brighter, warmer color of light. The covers of each book became more vibrant. Every dark wood transformed into white marble. Then, something impossible floated casually passed Beauregard: symbols. Everywhere, symbols, letters, numbers, and images in general roamed freely in the air, constantly moving and ever changing. Whenever a symbol merged into one another, they engendered something, only for it to disappear when the symbols drift apart. The more symbols that collided into one another, the more complex the “something” became. At one point, Beauregard witnessed a pod of miniature lime green whales singing the “Habanera” while performing synchronized swimming. That was until they collided into a group of other symbols and the pod of singing miniature lime green whales turned into a polar bear in a lime green T-shirt ballet dancing with a habanero chili shaped like a whale. For those who had no idea what this place was, they would have thought they had gone completely mad. For the Flamels, it was a sight they were forced to see at least once a month; nothing fazed them in this library.

Beauregard reached the end of the hallway and walked into a large open space. His destination. The place where the Flamel family meetings took place looked nothing like the dark and gloomy Victorian library Beauregard was just in some moments ago. Ignoring the hallways that lead to the room, the open space was circular with books and bookshelves covering all the walls. The white marble floorings were so polished it reflected everything like a mirror. The bookshelves made out of the same material as the floor was equally as polished and was so tall no one knew where it ended. Around the area which the ceiling should have been, a giant golden clock floated, emitting a warm golden light that was bright enough to illuminate the whole space. Right below the clock was a gold round table with a black orb imbedded in the center of it. The table was surrounded by twelve seats that were incongruous from each other and the design of the room. From how the seats ranged from a simple wooden dining chair to an exercise ball chair, it was obvious each seat was placed specifically for the individual who would sit on it. The only other place to sit was at a raised desk, which resembled a courtroom’s bench, made of emerald with cryptic golden writings on it.

Eleven of the twelve seats at the round table were occupied by colorful individuals. The eleven representatives were diverse in ethnicity, gender, age, overall appearance, and, most likely, personality. If there was something they had all in common, it was that they were witches. The witches of the Flamel family. Some talked amongst themselves while others silently entertained themselves with an activity. Beauregard was not acknowledged until he was half way across the room. “You’re late,” announced the oldest looking man. Beauregard looked up at the large clock in the sky. “No I’m not. I got here before midnight.” Beauregard found his comfortable leather armchair one seat away from the old man. The old man sighed as he watched Beauregard sit down. “You should have been here ten minutes before midnight.”

“Even Ojise got here before you,” an Asian woman wearing a summer dress added. Beauregard looked over to the Jamaican smoking something he wasn’t sure was legal. As soon as Beauregard visually confirmed his dark skinned kin, he heard someone mumbling. He turned to the pale not-undead man with jet black hair and eyes sitting next to him. Beauregard leaned toward the younger man in attempt to catch what few words that pasted the man’s lips. Most of the words were, unfortunately, blocked by the constant nail chewing. “You’ll have to speak up Evan.” Evan pulled his thumb away from his mouth and whispered in a voice barely audible. “We told him the meeting was two hours ago.”
“And when did he get here?”
“Fifteen minutes ago.”
“Ah.”

When he looked away from Evan, Beauregard met eyes with a businessman sitting across the table. The man was wearing glasses and a disheveled suit. His hair looked whiter than Beauregard remembered and, more importantly, there were obvious bald patches. He shouldn’t have asked, but he had to. “Did you age thirty years since this morning?” The man with the eyeglasses gave Beauregard a particularly nasty look. “I might as well have. I’m not sure if you heard about this, but SOMEONE didn’t show up for a meeting today and---...” Beauregard interrupted. “Wait! I know this story. The punch line is golden d***o.” As soon as the businessman stood up to scream his lungs out, the space in the air shifted: symbols started to gather around and create a golden object. With the velocity of the fastest pitch in recorded history, the object hit Beauregard across his face. He had completely forgotten Sophie was “here” with the other invisible spectators. “THIS is exactly why no man wants to be with you Sophie! You abusive---…”

The loud ringing of bells notified everyone in the library that the clock struck twelve. The bells beckoned nearby symbols to gather to the center of the golden table. The black orb at the center detached itself from the table and began to hover in the air, sucking all the symbols like a black hole. When the orb consumed the last symbol, a small galaxy was born within it.

At the same time, everyone at the round table stood up when the sound of footsteps and a wheelchair echoed through the library. They continued to stand at attention as a tall man covered in tattoos in a black suit pushed a wheelchair with an old woman sitting on it. The old woman, Estelle, wore a white dress that looked as ancient as the wearer. The tattooed man, Alexander, pushed Estelle’s wheelchair up to the emerald desk. Once securing the wheelchair in place, Alexander stepped away from the founder and head of the Flamel family.

Estelle smiled at her children. A soft voice spoke from the heavens “<Shall we begin?>” The woman’s mouth did not move, but everyone knew who’s voice it was. With the sound of Estelle’s gavel hitting the sound block, the Flamels began their family meeting.

---

The air was heavy. Everyone had a grim expression on their face. Some looked like they were about to cry. Beauregard heard soft sniffles coming from the gallery, but no one talked. The old man sitting one seat away from Beauregard opened his dry mouth to talk. “H-h…” He began, then swallowed. He hesitated to speak up once again. “Let us change the question.” Beauregard said instead. Within the black orb, the starry sky appeared with a specific number of stars shining. “How many witch candidates are left who are yet to face their trial?” 6/7th of the stars fell from the sky. The morose atmosphere continued to linger in the library. Beauregard opened his mouth again and shut it momentarily when another star suddenly fell from the orb’s sky. “Show us the remaining candidates.” The remaining stars in the orb started to grow larger. The lights pulled itself out of the orb and started to change into a holographic profile with images and personal information of each candidate. The other witches’ discussion on future plans concerning the witch candidates became white noise as Beauregard’s attention focused on one person’s profile. He smiled in relief.

“I guess Brea’s boy is still a candidate.” A voice pulled Beauregard’s attention to the discussion at hand. “Considering the deal you made with her, I am going to assume you have already made preparations for his trial?” Beauregard grinned. “What do you think I’ve been doing?” The twelve witches stared at Beauregard. Twenty four eyes filled with the urge to make a complaint or a snappy comment stared Beauregard down so hard he thought he was about to spontaneously combust. He didn’t even see Sophia and he could feel her powerful death glare on him. “Aside from being the source of eustress for some people and distress for others, I have chosen someone. I was planning to have him face the trial tomorrow night.”

The still not-undead-but-looks-like-he-might-as-well-be man looked at Beauregard at the corner of his eye. “Tomorrow or today?”

Beauregard stared blankly in the air for a moment, before realizing what Evan meant. “It’s the 16th isn’t it?”

“Yeah, we have that party tonight.”
Ojise’s face lightened up excitement. “A bashment? Mi wa---…”
“You’re the last person who’d want to go.”
“Wha mek?”
“It’s going to be one of those formal parties. You know? The Anderson kind? ”
Ojise was instantly disappointed at the news. “Ahoa.”

Evan sank into the back of his chair, cradling his bent legs close to his body with one arm and placing his free hand’s nails close to his mouth. “Though I see no point in it,” he muttered. If anyone else heard the comment, no one gave a response.

“As usual, I will be going as Estelle’s replacement.” Alexander announced. “Ten had also requested to go with me. If anyone would also like to accompany us, please speak now.” Silence. “Then, I suppose that settles that matter.”

The head of the family had been observing Beauregard with interest since the subject of the party came up. “<Decem, you are planning to take Brea’s child with you to this party.>” The invisible crowd and the visible witches began to stir. “What!?” one witch yelled. “Are you crazy?” another added. “Isn’t that against the contract?” Beauregard grinned at the word contract. There was indeed a magical contract made between the Flamels and Beauregard’s daughter. As long as the contract existed, going against any of its terms meant certain death. “You don’t need to worry about that,” Beauregard reassured his family. “The contract allows us to get into direct contact with the lad during Emergence season. No members of the Flamel are allowed to tell him about his lineage or the magic community in general. However, the contract does not forbid individuals outside of the Flamel family from telling the lad anything.”

“You’re… going to have a normal human… participate in a party… full of powerful witches... who would more than likely annihilate other witch families in a heartbeat… to what end?”

“He’s going to be a witch.” Beauregard’s voice tone was intransigent. “I know he’s going to become a witch. It’s going to happen. When it does, he’ll need to learn everything that he can as fast as he can. The lad is too far behind the other witch candidates, all thanks to his mother. He needs to know his rivals. His enemies. This party is for him to put faces to names.” Beauregard shrugged. “Or names to faces. Whichever comes first.”

“I wish I had your confidence in this boy. What make you think he’ll become a witch?”
“He’s the brightest star I have seen in years.”

---

Pazel Razi shifted uncomfortably under the mixed stares of his extended family. He had been waiting at the bus stop, as promised over the phone, until a sleek white limousine stopped in front of the bench. Three individuals in expensive looking suits came out of the car to greet Pazel, then froze in place when they saw what he was wearing. He had chosen to wear the sexy witch costume for s***s and giggles, but from how hard Uncle Beauregard laughed and how Aunt Sophie repeatedly hit her brother, demanding for an explanation, Pazel began to have second thoughts. It was when the four reached the Anderson estate, when he realized why his costume was a problem: it was a formal party. Nothing but suits and pretty dresses all around. Some random person accosted the four and asked whether or not Pazel’s outfit was to compensate for the lack of something. Pazel was not really sure what that something was, but it embarrassed him none the less. He regretted assumed the “Halloween party” was a costume party. While Sophie performed an impressive Northern Lights Suplex on Beauregard off on the side, Alexander comforted his nephew, informing him that they would call their house for someone to bring a suitable outfit for Pazel to wear if he felt out of place. Pazel respectfully declined the generous offer. It was late and he didn’t feel his momentary embarrassment was worth the trouble of finding a suit for him. Luckily for Pazel, the sight of a young man wearing a witch costume in a formal witch party wore out its novelty as the party continued. Eventually, a majority of the witches paid no heed to it.

---

Stationed beside the sweet buffet, Pazel watched the party guests socialize. If Pazel didn’t know any better, he would have thought they were all celebrities of some kind. Even the people who looked close to his age had a special aura about them. He saw Uncle Beauregard walking about in the crowd. Pazel was not really sure if his uncle was popular amongst the guests, but he did notice how Beauregard flirted with every man, woman, young, and old in the building. No one showed any resentment towards Beauregard’s advancements. At least, not while he was near them: some of the guests showed distaste only when Beauregard was out of their vicinity. He thought a fight would erupt when someone started an argument, but the longer the man interacted with Beauregard, the harder it seemed to be for the man to resist Beauregard’s charm, or something of that manner. In the end, the man looked love-struck, providing a window of opportunity for Beauregard to escape. Had the man genuinely fallen in love, it would have been all fine and dandy, however, a few beats after Beauregard left the man, he snapped out of his trance and was back to his previous temper, if not angrier than before.

Since the first time he heard his uncle over phone, many months ago, Pazel had felt something strange. The feeling became more frequent when he started meeting his mother’s family more often. It was not a bad feeling, in fact, it was very pleasant: he felt happy and comfortable with his uncle around. Then the magic would just disappear when Beauregard left. It was as if Beauregard presence alone pleased all five senses. Pazel wondered if the other guests felt the same thing he did. Some of them must have. Though, in some instances, people outright ignored Beauregard existence as if to avoid feeling the feeling. Only the exceptional few interacted with Beauregard normally.

“Are you having fun?” Sophie approached Pazel and stole a strawberry off of his plate.
“The food’s great.”
“And that’s always worth going to a party.”
“Speaking of which, you still haven’t told me what this party is about.”
“Do you see that group of important looking people Alexander is with?” Pazel glanced in the direction Sophie was pointing at and nodded. “They’re doing stuff that important people do.”
“Oh… so why am I here?”
“Beauregard wanted you to come.”
“Why?”
Sophie shrugged. “Knowing him as long as I do? Probably to humiliate our entire family.”
“I’m guessing that’s a common occurrence.”
“Don’t even get me started.”

Matthew opened his eyes to the harsh light burning through his eyelids, draping everything in bright red. The first thing he thought of as he opened them was blood. He drew away his blanket and sat on his bed, staring at the grey suit jacket dangling from a hanger at the end of his bedroom. The black trousers and still freshly ironed shirt were folded up on the Chester drawers nearby with a black bow tie placed neatly on top of the shirt. The suit jacket was pretty old and had belonged to his father. Matthew almost smiled as he thought about his grandmothers obsession with hoarding old clothes 'just in case' they were ever useful again. Not just clothes... He began to think, but cut himself short as images flickered across his mind of her present state. He took a deep breath. Pushed the images to the side. Pushed the problem to the side and focused on what was important right now.
This party was almost as important to his grandparents as his Emergence, he reminded himself. "And since that was such a royal fuck up," Matthew mumbled to himself, glancing at his reflection in his bedroom mirror. His eyes looked teary and bloodshot and sunken in shadows. His skin seemed paler than usual too, but he wasn't sure if he was just imagining it. He hesitantly moved his hands up towards his face and closed his eyes. He traced his hands over his face, feeling the magic like tingling waves against his skin. He opened his eyes to see the the shadows and puffiness around his eyes were gone,and his complexion almost seemed to glow. He pulled back his shoulders and puffed out his chest and smiled. "Tonight will go to plan." He reassured himself.

---

Matthew pulled at his bow tie unsuccessfully, trying to twist it and knot it in every which way he could only for it to fall apart in his hands each time. Irritated, he hit replay on another Youtube video. He tried not to acknowledge the fact that other different circumstances his grandfather would now be teaching him how to do this.
He almost jumped at the sound of the ringing telephone in the foyer. Every sound seemed to be putting him on edge; he had taken the precaution of locking all of the doors and covering all of the windows but he couldn't help but think swat cars would roll into the driveway at any moment.
He left his room and moved quickly down the stairs, his bowtie in hand. He stopped in the middle of the hallway which led into the foyer, his hand hovering over the door knob. He breathed deep. "It's fine." He whispered to himself. The telephone continued to ring. How was it so loud?
He gave the door a weak push and it creaked ajar. He spotted his grandfathers crumpled up body surrounded in a dark red pool of blood. He took a step into the room, quickly revealing all three of the corpses in a room half soaked in blood. "No, they're not there." Matthew winced, glancing away and a half shutting his eyes. He moved pointed his palms outwards and moments later, the bodies were nowhere to be seen. Although the thick smell of iron still hung in the air. The ringing stopped.

Matthew made his way across to the phone and hit the messages button. "One new message." The telephone announced, followed by a short pause.
"Hello Mr and Mrs Friel, Sebastian Jung from the university here. I hope you're enjoying your Emergence – and Matthew, of course. Clearly you're quite busy this evening! Anyway, hopefully everything has gone okay, and hopefully I'll see you at the ball later this evening. It'll be a great opportunity for all the families to get to know one another and really integrate Matthew and his peers into our community. On behalf of the Andersons, I'd like to remind you that we prefer guests not to use magic on our premises in order to preserve the house's neutrality. I'm sure I'll see you later but if there's anything I can do to help in meantime, please give me a call – and, of course, the Andersons would also appreciate it if you could delete this message once you've listened to it. Prying ears and all that. Thanks, and see you later."

Matthew hit the delete button. The knot in his stomach knotted tighter. I forgot I'd have to explain why they're absent. Fantastic conversation starter. Matthew thought. At least Sebastian would be there. He was the only other witch that Matthew knew besides his grandparents. Maybe his only real ally left. He knew that if he was going to go to anyone for help, Sebastian would be his best bet. He turned quickly on his heels and leaving the room, not glancing to see if his illusion was still intact.

He left the house and drove to the Anderson's mansion in his grandfather's truck, arriving suitably dressed besides his squinted bow tie. He didn't ponder on the massive fountain or the vast grounds. Simply parked his truck and made his way in, hoping that the radiance illusion covering his face hid how dead he really felt. He made his way immediately towards the booze, where a white-clothed table held dozens of pristine glasses of champagne.

The band was quite good. They had been competently reeling off numbers that fell easily on the ears. It had taken Sebastian about half an hour to work out which genre they actually belonged to before noticing that they were just a jazz band without any odious trace of jazz. Still, there was something a bit off. The notes were there and the timing was impeccable. The singer had that plum tone stolen from old swing, but there was no real feeling or emotion. It could have been a modern sound system with a playlist. Sebastian walked right up to the band and waved at them each in turn. Glassy eyes looked right through him, and he couldn't help but chuckle as he recognised a couple of them from the university campus. It seemed quite unsporting to bewitch local kids, but, he supposed, they had had to acquire a band from somewhere. Needs must.

Still, the party was glorious, in true Anderson style. The ballroom, rarely used nowadays, was an extraordinary piece of architecture – mock Victorian, the ceiling formed from great arches, with the chandeliers (disappointingly electric) reflected along with everything else on the mirror-like wooden floor. He scooched forward on one foot slightly and felt it slide gently and yet he still felt as though he had perfect traction. Dimly, he remembered somebody requesting some special polish from him with those properties; it was a nice coincidence that the Andersons would be the end users. Gloria, presumably, had just hired some people to sort it out without asking questions, and that would explain the band. He rubbed the floorboards with the sole of his shoe, slightly more academically this time. It always paid to be critical of one's own creations, but, he couldn't find anything to criticise. It was like standing on wooden glass. Perfect for dancing, he thought, before dimly noticing that he was deep in conversation with somebody that he was vaguely aware was called Beauregard. The foggy realisation that followed was that he had been speaking with the man for possibly as long as twenty minutes, since before he'd even inspected the band - what had they been talking about? He suspected, with that cold shudder of retrospective embarrassment, that he had probably been talking at great length and with insurmountable passion about the floor and that this Beauregard had kindly humoured him until he had the chance to leave. He finished his champagne, and looked at the glass. Perhaps he'd already had a little bit too much to drink without lining his stomach. His heart-rate was certainly a little elevated, and he was sweating a little more than he'd like to be. At least it couldn't be seen through his jacket.

He had always been told never to mix business with pleasure, but the ball also factored his social life into the mix. The whole witching community had been invited (with a few notable exceptions); among them were his family, friends, customers, charges (and their parents), and a rival or two – and that wasn't even factoring in the implicit tribal disputes and alliances that came with being associated with, well, anybody. As it happened, he was grateful that it was the Andersons that had become his family upon his arrival. At least they didn't have any official enemies. Even within families there were personal disputes and enmities that one could see would spill blood sooner or later – he politely waved, from the other side of the room, to Graham Bishop, as they caught one another's eye for a moment.

Sebastian sauntered over to the buffet, a grotesquely fat, bow-legged table running almost the length of the room, draped in a thick white cloth, and laden with silver platters of, mostly, meat. The waiters with their white sleeves were easily identified, marching to and from the kitchen like ants to replenish the food as quickly as it disappeared, or milling with the guests as breathing champagne stands. With a little smirk, Sebastian noticed the same vacant expressions and mechanical motions as the band. Whoever had sourced the staff for the ball hadn't even had to stray off campus but whatever method they had used had an unfortunate side-effect. He had assumed that the band, sweating profusely, were simply experiencing the natural biological result of physical exertion, but most of the waiters' white shirts already had unsightly creeping damp patches around their armpits. The human body tended to fight off bewitchments somehow (rarely effectively) and apparently the resistance du jour, against whatever breed of magic it was, was violent sweating. Extended periods of time under powerful spells could put one under physical strain, and he couldn't help but wonder if all the waiters would survive the evening. He helped himself to a truffle. One or two people did tend to die and at least this wouldn't be deliberate. It was only natural, and every witch in the room was, almost by definition, not innocent of murder.

Except one. Just down from himself was the Flamel boy; Pazel. The unaware one. Sebastian had never worked out what the arrangement was, but, apparently, telling the kid about magic was a big no-no. The kid had no idea who he was, or, he supposed, where he was or with whom. Quite how or why the secret was being held was nobody's business. Then again, probably nobody associated him with magic anyway. The other witches at the university might have seen him around, sure, but why would he be a witch? While the Andersons had insisted that Pazel benefit from the same pastoral care that Sebastian gave all the other little poppets, it remained firmly on his education and integration into university life. Obviously there was an element of reporting back how the kid was progressing, but there had never been anything to report. He was an ordinary kid, to all intents and purposes, and one who looked frankly baffled to be there. He put his university personal tutor professional hat on, and sidled over to him.

“Hey, Pazel,” he said, removing his glasses, and offering his hand to shake, “Good to see you here. I had no idea you'd been invited! I recommend the truffles. Well, I recommend everything. Gloria always puts on a tremendous spread."

Pazel was stuffing his mouth full of sinfully delicious cheese cake when a familiar voice turned his head away from his plate towards Sebastian Jung. “Good to see you here. I had no idea you'd been invited! I recommend the truffles. Well, I recommend everything. Gloria always puts on a tremendous spread.” Pazel’s eyes widen in recognition. It was his counselor—…tutor—…professor? In all honesty, Pazel had no idea what Mr. Jung’s professional standing was in the University. As soon as his first academic semester began, Pazel was told that he was required to participate in private meetings with Mr. Jung. Considering his occasional academic struggles —who was he kidding, the presence of at least one failing grade each semester was as constant as the number of inches in a foot— Pazel believed that the University deemed him mentally retarded and decided that he needed all the help he could get. Even with a special counselor-teacher person and a graduate student tutor Pazel still failed some courses. Man. How in the world did he even get admitted into Anderson University? Not based on his SAT scores, that’s for sure. Maybe the private school did charity work.

Automatically, Pazel placed his fork onto the plate in his other hand, and firmly shook Mr. Jung’s open hand. He wanted to vocally respond to Mr. Jung, or at least give him a smile, but the contents in Pazel’s mouth prohibited him from doing either. Instead, Pazel made a few gestures and mumbling noises that made absolutely no sense. When Pazel discovered that he was possibly the worst person to play charades with, he pointed his index finger straight to ceiling. There was nothing on the ceiling, but Pazel’s hand remained in the same position while he attempted to quickly chew and swallow down the cake.

An awkward moment slowly inched its way by. With the exception of his jaw, Pazel was as still as a living statue and right behind him was his ever watchful Aunt Sophie, whose eyes narrowed at Sebastian. Without ever looking away, she passed a cup of water to Pazel when he started to cough from a piece of cake going down the wrong pipe. After thanking his aunt for the water, Pazel finally turned to Mr. Jung and gave him his best smile.

“Sorry about that Mr. Jung. I got kind of carried away with the sweets. You missed me orgasm over the chocolate truffles. Do you know where they get them? I need to know where they buy them… If you were talking about the fungus kind… well…” Pazel looked around his surrounding and leaned in to whisper. “Let’s just say I don’t know what all the fuss is about. Don’t get me wrong. The food was good. But I think truffles are over rated.” Pazel returned to his previous position and voice volume. “As for why I was invited… apparently for my Uncle to publicly humiliate his, or my, whole family.” Pazel turned to his aunt with a smile before she could restate her past comment. “I know that’s not what you meant. I’m just giving you a hard time.” He turned to Mr. Jung again. “As you can see, I’ve already succeeded in making some of the guests laugh at me. Oh and at my costume. Did you know there’s such things as a formal Halloween party---… Never mind, unless you dressed up as James Bond, you knew this was a formal party. You look dashing by the way.” Pazel tilted his head. “Actually. Why are you here Mr. Jung?” Suddenly Pazel’s caramel skin paled slightly. He took a few steps away from his counselor-tutor-teacher. “Don’t tell me you already got the results of my math test.”

Sophie’s eyebrow rose at the worried tone of voice. She crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one leg. Her eyes demanded Sebastian to tell her that IF he had the results of Pazel’s math exam that she would know it. Now.

Matthew's eyes hovered over the pristine glasses of champage for a prolonged moment, as if not understanding what he was seeing. He took a deep breath, whipped up a glass and drank the entire thing in one uncharacteristically swift movement. Time seemed to flicker forward over the next few moments or minutes, with Matthew drinking more glasses near a butler who stared glassy eyes into the distance. Matthew watched more people arrive; names and faces he would probably recognise if he wasn't so distracted with staring at the ceiling high above the glaring chandelier lights. Across it was etched a massive, fresco which seemed to go on forever, across it a detailed pattern of the clouds on a bright summers day was printed. The colours were so deep and intricate that Matthew almost thought he was looking into the sky. Matthew squinted his eyes. The fresco disappeared, replaced again with the much more low hanging ceiling dotted with chandeliers. Why was the fresco covered with an illusion? They've given up magic. But maybe they didn't want to destroy such a beautiful work of art. Or maybe someone just hid it there. Just because. Matthew thought as he noticed the room seemed to slope and he fell sidewards, bumping directly into the glass eyed butler and resulting in the dish of gleaming glasses smashing to the floor in a broken mess.
"Ohh shiit. I'm so sorry." Matthew said, then realised he was laughing as he said it. The room swung sidewards, carrying Matthew backwards onto the floor. People around him seemed to be staring; the floor wasn't swinging for them. Part of Matthew realised much more time had passed than he'd noticed. I must be drunk. Part of him connected the dots, with memories of harassing other guests and glassy eyed zombified students trickling into his mind. But the other part of him was too busy noticing Sebastian, his only Witchy contact at the University - and the world - had arrived and was stood speaking to another boy who looked like he was going to spit all his food on the man.

Matthew rushed across. "Whaay, Seb!" He laughed, welcoming him to the party. Or whatever this was. "I didn't even notice we had food." He noted, pushing through to the table of petit cheeses and mini-sandwiches.
"Not what I had in mind.. no pizz...a?" He slurred, shaking his head but grabbing a couple of sandwiches and finishing them off in seconds. He didn't realise he was hungry.
Even in his drunken stupor, Matthew could see the confused expression on Sebastian's face as his eyes traced the room for Matthew's eternally youthful grandparents. "They couldn't make it." Matthew said, the volume of his voice suddenly dropping. He turned his eyes back to the sandwiches, taking a bite out of another. He then realised he had no champagne in his hand and looked around in confusion. "A hunter got them. Had to finish off Gran, she asked me to. But I emerged, like they wanted." Matthew said bluntly. "Where's the champagne? I can't see it anywhere."

Graham quickly downed a glass of champagne when he reached the table that held the slim, elegant glasses, and then picked up another that he would take his time on. He figured he would need as much alcohol in his system as possible, without turning belligerent, to make it through this shindig. He hoped they wouldn't be here too long. He could see some of the looks he and his family got from some of the more stable families. At first they seemed surprised that so many members of the Bishop family could be under one roof without murdering each other, but as the party went on the looks turned to ones of disdain and, towards Graham, what looked like pity. Not everyone at the party seemed like a pompous twat though, just most.

A few minutes passed and Graham’s sister approached him. She seemed to have escaped the conversation with Gloria.

“I can’t believe you just left me like that,” she said angrily, grabbing a glass of champagne.

“You know mom would kill you if she saw you drinking,” Graham replied, taking the glass from her. “She still gets mad at me.”

“Uhm, I just killed someone last night. I think I’m old enough to have a glass of champagne,” Jenna rebutted as she snatched the glass from his hand.

Graham didn't argue with her, as she made a good point. And when he thought about it, it wasn't fair to make her go through this sober. As he watched her take a sip, he realized how old she looked in her fancy dress and makeup. She wasn't the little girl playing in the mud that he thought of her as anymore.

“Ooh! Cake!” she squealed, noticing the dessert table. Maybe she wasn't that much older.

Graham glanced away from his sister as she scurried over to the desserts, almost tripping in her heels as she went, and noticed Sebastian across the room. He returned a half-hearted smile and a slight wave as Sebastian waved to him.

As Graham stared at Sebastian, the clatter of a silver tray hitting the marble floor and glass shattering pulled his eyes to the other side of the champagne table. Graham’s eyes darted about the area as he put together what happened. He noticed the obviously intoxicated kid, the empty glasses on the table, the mess on the ground, and the bewitched butler hurriedly cleaning it up. Drunk already? Graham thought, smiling to himself as he realized someone else couldn’t stand being here as well.
Graham’s eyes followed the drunk as he stumbled over to Sebastian and some other kid wearing a witch costume. Graham couldn’t help but laugh as he watched the three. They were quite a bunch.

As the temporary distraction faded, Graham realized once again where he was. With a sigh, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. He had some trouble using his left hand to dial the number, as the cut on his hand from the magic he performed the night prior was still healing and had a bandage covering it.

“Yo Addy. You wanna come to this party I’m at, maybe liven up the place. Help me, I’m dying,” Graham said to her voicemail. “Wear something revealing,” Graham laughed as he continued. “I’ll text you the address, you better be here soon.”

---

Once everyone had arrived to the party, Gloria ascended to the top of the stairs towards the back of the ball room. She gave a brief welcome speech, with all the formalities a party host is inclined to spout, and then welcomed the leaders of the family upstairs to go over things. She wanted to get the treaty out of the way before anyone got into a fight.

After her speech, Gloria turned and finished her ascent upstairs. She walked down a hallway, over a scarlet red runner that stretched the entirety of the hall. The walls were covered in pricey oil paintings and ancient tapestries.

She pushed open the large oak door to the lone room at the end of the hallway and moved to the end of a large, smooth mahogany table. Several leather-lined chairs were placed around the table, one for each leader. Three walls of this room were covered in bookcases filled to the brim with leather bound books that looked older than time. The fourth wall was taken up largely by an enormous window that overlooked the gardens in the backyard.

Light drops of water pecked against the glass as the rain started.

The conversation between Sebastian and Pazel was abruptly cut short when an intoxicated boy stumbled his way over to the two, mumbling incoherent nonsense. Something about hunters getting a person or thing named Gran and he emerging from it. Was the kid attempting to summarize the story of Little Red Riding Hood or was he composing poetry about a phoenix emerging from the ashes? Pazel had no idea what the blonde was saying, but he did know this: there was no way this kid was 21 or older. “How old are you?” Pazel asked the second the young drunk finished his sentence. Surprisingly, the blonde, Matthew was his name, was apparently 18 years old. He looked barely 13, but Sebastian confirmed Matthew’s claims. Pazel had no choice, but to believe them. Had this been any other country, Pazel would have stopped pestering Matthew about his age, but this was the U.S. and the legal drinking age in all 50 states was 21. With how inebriated Matthew was, however, Pazel would have made Matthew stop drinking regardless of his age. “Why are people in this party allowing a teenager to get this drunk? I hope you didn’t drive here alone. Never mind. Come here Matthew.” Pazel passed his dessert plate to his aunt before guiding Matthew to a nearby chair. Once he managed to get Matthew seated, Pazel kneeled down to Matthew’s eye level. Pazel spoke slow enough to be sure the blonde could hear and understand what he was saying. “Stay here. I’m going to get you some water okay? If I’m lucky, I might find that pizza you wanted. It’ll probably be ridiculously fancy, but it’s still pizza.” Pazel stood up and looked to Sebastian, “I’ll be back as soon as I can, Mr. Jung.” Then he was off with Sophie close behind him.

Expecting the unexpected must be a prerequisite for working at this party; when Pazel asked if he could have a cup of water and whether or not pizza was on the menu, the staff took Pazel’s order, disappeared into the kitchen, and came back with a tray with a glass cup, a water jug filled with ice cold water, and a miniature pizza with expensive toppings sprinkled all over it. That was unbelievably fast. Not even refrigerated pizza could be prepared that fast. Maybe the staff members were having their own pizza party in the back. Pazel thanked the overworked staff before heading back to Matthew.

On his way back, Pazel bumped into a well dressed woman, an encounter which ended with some of the water jug’s contents to splash on to the woman. The woman, on the other hand, managed to save both of her drinks without spilling a single drop. The damage was nothing serious, but Pazel quickly apologized to the black haired woman. Accepting the handkerchief offered by Sophie, the woman wiped herself dry. From how carefully she dried her silver necklace, he began to worry if he had ruined something priceless. “Don’t worry about it sweetheart. No harm done.” She smiled at Pazel until they heard Beauregard call out. “Carmilla!” The woman called Carmilla turned to Sophie, holding up the handkerchief. “I’ll be sure to clean this and send it back to you.” Sophie shook her head. “No need.” Carmilla smiled once more, before walking away, towards Beauregard. When Beauregard opened his arms to welcome her, Carmilla dodged Beauregard entirely and headed straight towards a group of people who were waiting for her. “What’s the word youngsters use these days?” Sophie suddenly asked her brother. “Burned?” He offered. “Ah yes,” Sophie repeated. “Burned.”

Pazel watched Carmilla pass one of the drinks in her hand to a man, who Pazel recognized being the man who was yelling at Beauregard earlier. “That’s Carmilla’s husband, Croglin Vlad.” Beauregard informed Pazel.

“Wasn’t he yelling at you earlier?”
“Indeed he was. Aside from having an affair with Carmilla, going out with his mother, and taking his daughter’s virginity, he accused me of making his son gay. Which is ridiculous, because no one can make a heterosexual man gay. He was just in the closet.” While Pazel was at a loss for words, Beauregard continued. “I am very disappointed with Carmilla though. I thought we had something special. All those long nights together. The mind blowing sex. The sweet nothings we would say to each other. I said ‘I love you’ at least twice already and this is how she treats me? For shame.”

As fun as it was to watch his grandson’s dumbfounded face, Sophie’s expression was more accurate to what Beauregard was feeling: confused and worried. Beauregard exchanged body fluids and said “<I love you>” twice to Carmilla Vlad, yet she had completely evaded Beauregard. Impossible. Well, not impossible, but highly unlikely. There were ways around Beauregard’s “charms”, but the Carmilla Beauregard knew could not have met any of the requirements. Sophie turned towards Pazel. “Why don’t you go deliver that water and pizza?” Remembering his original quest, Pazel rushed back to Matthew with the tray.

After Gloria Anderson made her speech, the siblings watched the leader or representative of each family follow Gloria to the main attraction no one else would have the chance to participate in. Stealthily Beauregard fished out his smartphone to take a picture of Mr. and Mrs. Vlad before Croglin vanished with the others.

Click.