It was either extremely late or extremely early by the time Arturo and I got back to the Three Chimneys. I couldn’t quite tell which since they didn’t have the convenience of clocks around these parts, but the common room was dimly lit, and the massive fireplace was burning low. There was no sign of Maggie behind the bar, and most of the patrons had retired to their rooms or their homes for the evening—other than a fistful of drunks who were sleeping on the wooden benches or sprawled out and snoring beneath the tables.

After a brief goodbye, Arturo left, bound for the church, and I quietly headed up to my temporary quarters, trying not to disturb the drunk and sleeping guests. I’d survived more than my fair share of barracks parties and I’d been the poor sucker passed out beneath a table more than once myself. Having a company gunny stomp through and kick you awake from a drunken stupor at three or four in the morning was never a fun thing, and I didn’t want to be that guy. So I crept, quiet as a cat, over the creaky floorboards.

I was ready to catch a bit of shut-eye myself, but when I unlocked the door to my room and stuck my head in, a prickle of unease raced down the nape of my neck and goosebumps exploded along my arms. My room was trashed, the blankets and sheets strewn across the floor, the basin turned over, the wooden drawers pulled free from the desk, and the contents scattered around the room. It looked like a miniature whirlwind had torn through the room, and my intuition told me whatever had made this mess was still here.

I slipped my Colt free and moved forward slowly, clearing the room first left to right, then sweeping high and low for any sign of danger. Nothing immediately popped out and tried to maul my face, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone or something was watching me. There was a shapeshifting monster running around this city, after all, and unless said monster was deaf and dumb there was a good chance it knew I’d moseyed into town and was staying at the Three Chimneys.

The room was so small, though. Where could an Elder Changeling even be hiding in this glorified broom closet? Unless shapeshifting also allowed it to turn invisible. That or whatever had made the mess was something very small.

I glanced to the nightstand and immediately saw that Renholm was gone. I growled. Idiot. This wasn’t the work of the Changeling, it was the work of that stupid pixie. I kicked the door shut with my heel, keeping my eyes peeled for movement.

“Die, fool!” came a furious screech as something flew across the room at me.

I pivoted without thinking, raised the Colt, and blasted off a single round at the incoming target. A goose down pillow exploded, sending a flurry of feathers swirling through the air. The little pixie, easily an inch larger than he’d been before, charged me, a sharpened quill in his tiny hand as though it were a rapier.

“Damnit, Renholm,” I growled, stowing my gun before I “accidentally” put a hole through his Barbie doll head. He darted at me like an aggressive hummingbird, but I was a lot faster as a Vigil than I’d been as a mere mortal, and I plucked his frail body from the air like a pop fly and squeezed just hard enough to let him know I could squish him like a rotting banana if he didn’t behave. Naturally, he stabbed me in the webbing by my thumb. The quill was surprisingly sharp and drew a bright bead of blood.

The quill plunged home over and over, pincushioning my hand with a flurry of tiny, painful jabs.

“Stop that, you little shit.” I flicked him in the face with my free hand, knocking him silly with the force of the blow. The quill fell from his tiny hands, drifting to the floor. “It’s me, Renholm. It’s Boyd.”

The pixie blinked and shook his head, disoriented from my attack.

“Boyd,” he croaked. “I don’t know what a Boyd is.”

“Are you kidding me?” I said. “Boyd Knight. From the cave. I saved your ass from the birdcage?”

“Birdcage,” the pixie replied, tapping his chin. “Still not ringing any bells.”

I reached into my coin pouch and pulled free a Hunger Affinity Scale. The pixie froze, eyes bulging. “I fed you one of these? That ring any bells?”

“Ah. Right,” he replied. “The stranger. I’m sorry for stabbing you, you humans all look identical to me. Big and ugly with far too much hair all over your bodies. Disgusting creatures.”

“Wow, tell me how you really feel.”

“If you insist. I also think your kind is moronically stupid. Except for you, of course,” he said, eyeing the Affinity Scale. “You are just regular stupid.”

“That was rhetorical,” I replied, stuffing the scale back into my coin pouch. “Are you responsible for this mess?”

“Who else would be responsible?” he said, glancing around. “Though it’s not my fault. Strictly speaking. Last thing I remember, I was feasting like royalty—which I am by the way, Fae royalty—and the next thing I know, I wake up in some giant’s liar. I was searching for dangers and potential traps.”

“It’s an inn,” I said, “not a dungeon.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” Renholm buzzed. “Besides, human cities are dangerous for the Fae Folk. Humans have priests. Binding magic.” He dropped his voice real low. “They also have Vigils.”

I snorted. “No shit, Renholm. Turns out I’m a Vigil. I just got the rundown from the local priest.”

The little pixie gasped and wilted in my hand. “Well that would certainly explain the queerness. Being able to see me and the spirit. Being able to consume the Affinity Scales and the like.”

“You’re just putting it together now?”

“I’ve never seen a Vigil before,” Renholm replied with a little shrug. “Our kind tends to stay as far away from your kind as possible on account of the fact that Vigils are best known for murdering Mortka, not helping them.”

“You can’t really be Mortka, though, right?” I said. “I mean, you’re smart. Evil. But smart.”

“Wrong again. I’m not smart, I’m a genius of epic proportions. You are not wrong, however, about the nature of the Fae. We are Mortka in the way that your dullard spirit friend is Mortka. But Vigils aren’t exactly known for their thoughtful discernment where monsters are concerned. When you didn’t immediately kill me and harvest my Essence, I just assumed you were some sort of half breed. Maybe a Mage in training or a lesser Steelborn. But a Vigil…”

He sighed. “Make it quick. I won’t beg for my life, if that’s what you’re hoping for.” He adjusted his glittering wings and squared his shoulders as though he were staring down an executioner. “I’m royalty and I’ll die like it—though know now that my people will exact terrible vengeance on my behalf.”

“What? No, I don’t want to—” A sharp rapt-tat-tat from the door stopped me short.

I glared at the pixie. “I’m not going to kill you. Just shut your mouth for a minute, okay?”

I held the pixie behind my back and stalked over to the door.

“There’s no point in hiding me,” Renholm said. “Those without some portion of the Gift can’t see True Fae. Can’t hear us either—not unless we want them to.”

“Noted,” I whispered. “Keep your little mouth shut anyway. Sorry, coming,” I said, this time loud enough for whoever was at the door. “Just a second.”

I pulled the door open and put on my best smile. It was the same smile I’d use on my mom when she’d catch me drinking with my buddies or smuggling cherry bombs in my backpack. It was the patented Boyd Knight I-ain’t-doing-anything-wrong charm.

Maggie was in the hall, arms folded across her ample chest. Her hair was frazzled, and she was wearing a thin nightgown that clung to every curve. She glared at me then caught sight of the room. Blankets everywhere. Pillows split. Paper scattered.

“That was the best bed in the inn,” she grumbled, eyeing the feathers scattered across the floor. “Just what in the world have you been up to here, Vigil?”

Before I could answer, a set of tiny teeth sank down into my finger—felt like having my finger caught in a mousetrap. I cursed as my hand reflexively popped open and Renholm darted out of my grasp. I could’ve sworn that Maggie’s eyes flickered in the direction the pixie had flown off in, but it was just a flash, here then gone. Could’ve been a trick of the light.

“Sorry about the commotion,” I said, rubbing at the back of my neck. “I’m a rough sleeper. Night terrors,” I lied, though there was some truth to the statement. I did have night terrors, though usually it was terrorists wielding AKs or roadside bombs that haunted my nights. And those night terrors didn’t usually end up with exploded pillows or thrashed beds; mostly they resulted in cold sweats and a case of the shakes. Her face softened a hair as though she understood.

“Well, other patrons are trying to sleep, including yours truly. Keep it down, yeah? And if you can’t get to sleep”—she reached up and trailed her fingers down my chest—“then stop by my chambers. Might be I can help wear you out.” It was impossible not to notice the way she was pushing her chest out so that her nipples strained against the thin fabric of her nightgown. “I hear a little vigorous exercise can do wonders for the restless mind.”

“Thank you,” I said quickly, knowing that Renholm was probably getting ready to stab me in the neck with the damned quill again. “But I think I’m good for tonight. Won’t hear any more from me. Good night.” Before she could reply, I stepped back and shut the door, throwing the simple bolt home. I felt bad. Slamming a door in someone’s face was super rude, but not as rude as letting a deranged pixie maul them like an angry hornet.

“Good night to you too, Vigil,” she called through the door, voice muffled and irritated. “For the record, I’ll be sending over a tally to Arbitrator Arturo in the morning.”

I listened for a beat as she stomped off back down the hall, then spun to find Renholm perched on the bedpost, quill in one hand.

“Don’t stab me again,” I said, raising my hands to show I didn’t mean him any harm, “because if you do, I swear to god I am going to punt your scrawny little ass through the window. I don’t want to kill you, just the opposite. I was thinking you and I could be business partners. I need you, but I think I could help you, too. Plus, you already know you can trust me. If I wanted to kill you, I could’ve done it a thousand times over while you were asleep.”

Renholm’s eyes narrowed and the quill lowered just a hair.

“That is a good point,” he said. “I mean, were our roles reversed, I certainly would’ve killed you, taken the Affinity Scales from your body, and then I likely would’ve tried to consume your corpse. As much as I could eat anyway.”

“What? Are you serious?” I asked. “But I saved you from the Crave Ghouls.”

“Fine. Because you saved me, I would’ve respectfully killed you, respectfully pilfered your rotting meat sack, and then I would’ve respectfully eaten as much of your bloated corpse as could fill my stomach.”

“That version was so much worse,” I replied. “What am I doing here?” I ran a hand through my golden hair. That damned hair clinched it. Sure, Renholm was the worst, but I needed friends and he could be a useful friend, assuming I could hoodwink him into signing on as something akin to a familiar. Admittedly, the pixie was a terrible option, but sometimes there were only bad options and worse options. Renholm was the bad option.

“My point remains,” I continued. “I didn’t do any of those things to you. No murder, no pilfering, no eating. I gave you the scale and took care of you until you were awake. You can trust me to uphold my end of the bargain, and I think I can offer you a competitive benefits package.” I drew a Hunger Scale from the pouch and held it up, letting it glitter with crimson light. “I have a bunch of these, and I have plans to get more.”

“Why would a Vigil need the likes of me?” Renholm asked, all the while eyeing the scale. “Yes, I am beautiful, sage, cunning, and part of a powerful noble house, but something doesn’t sit well with me, and I am renowned among my people for my intuition.”

I sighed. Time for a little honesty.

“Because I’m not from around here,” I said. “I’m technically a Vigil, but apparently I’m something called an Inkarnate.”

“Ah, yes.” He rubbed his hands together in greedy glee. “It all makes so much more sense. You’re a foreigner to these lands.”

“Got it in one. I don’t know the first thing about being a Vigil or about doing magic. I need a local to help show me around. My spirit guide Cal is an awesome wingman, but so far he’s as lost in the sauce as I am. I like Arbitrator Arturo, the local priest, but he’s part of the church. That means he has an agenda, and I don’t want to be anyone’s pawn. I need someone in my corner. You.” I waggled a finger at him. “You are a bloodthirsty, diabolical little monster, but I feel like I know exactly what I’m getting with you. So, how’s about it?”

“What would I have to do?” he asked suspiciously.

“Promise not to kill me, harm me, or rob me to start,” I said.

He frowned and snapped his fingers. “Your demands are already unreasonably high, but I’m still listening.”

“Past that? You tag along with me, I guess,” I said. “Answer any questions I have honestly and to the best of your ability. Teach me any magic you can, maybe run a few errands for me. Sort of act as my…” I was about to say familiar but hesitated. Renholm was full of himself and needed to feel like a special snowflake. “Act as my trusted lieutenant,” I said instead.

“A tempting offer,” he said, scratching at his chin. “I might be interested in such an arrangement for one Affinity Scale of Disciple Class or better per week.”

I wasn’t sure how rare or powerful scales were, but after seeing how eager he was, I knew he was trying to capitalize on my ignorance about this world. I wasn’t as ignorant as I’d been even a few hours before, though. Thanks to my time perusing the Soul Vault’s library, I knew that Disciple was Class two, just above the Novice Class. Renholm was trying to price gouge me for higher quality goods, hoping I didn’t know any better.

“No dice, champ,” I said, shaking my head. “Best I can guarantee is half of a Novice Class Scale per week.”

“An outrage!” he snapped. “You insult my honor with such a worthless offer. The very least I’m willing to sell my dignity for is an entire Novice Scale. Final offer, though I will sweeten the pot by throwing in the protection of the Greenbriar. I’ll file a petition with my liege to make you an honorary Lord of the Court with all of the illustrious privileges that entails. Safe travel through our lands, access to the royal library, perhaps even a genuine patent of nobility amongst the Fae Folk of the Wylds. It is a great honor and surely equal to the small upgrade. Are we agreed?”

I felt power well up inside my chest.

>>

Sidhe Pact

You are about to enter into an Official Sidhe Pact with Renholm of the Greenbriar Court. In exchange for (1) Novice Class Affinity Scale or better per week, he (1) formally agrees not to kill, harm, or rob you, (2) will honestly answer any of your questions, (3) will teach you magic in accordance with his abilities, and (4) will act as a lesser familiar. (5) Additionally, because of your alliance, you will have the potential to become an Honorary Fae Noble of the Greenbriar Court. Note: As the Pact Holder, you can terminate the contract at any time, but doing so will be seen as a slight against the Greenbriar Court and will likely result in a blood feud.

Would you like to initiate Sidhe Pact? Yes/No?

>>

I read over the terms of the agreement, checking for any loopholes. Renholm was a devious little SOB, but the contract seemed airtight and overwhelmingly in my favor. I’d get a Fae familiar and the backing of a powerful fairy court, all for giving up one Disciple Affinity Scale. Hell, I already had enough Scales to pay him for a couple of months, and I’d only taken out one little cave full of Ghouls. I was sure I’d be able to score more Scales in no time—all it would take was a little monster hunting and elbow grease. It seemed like a win-win for me.

“Yes,” I said. The blue bar from earlier appeared in the corner of my eye—my Arcana gauge, I now knew. It drained in a flash as all the Arcana in my Pool vanished to supernaturally power the Pact I’d just signed. I dropped to my knees with a groan as magic rushed out of my body. A silver chain formed in my right palm and snaked out to connect to Renholm’s palm. A wave of potent energy passed between us, and I could feel the weight of the Pact settle into my bones.

This wasn’t just a gentlemen’s agreement, this was a binding contract reinforced with powerful magics.

Renholm immediately started cackling.

“Fool, Vigil,” he said as the wheezing laughter died off, “I would’ve settled for a quarter of a Novice Class Scale a month. Once again, I have demonstrated my superior bargaining prowess! Don’t worry, my young protégé.” He flitted over and touched down on my shoulder. He patted me on the head consolingly. “You are but a simple, stupid human, you shouldn’t feel too bad to fall before my wisdom and guile.”

I snorted and rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I figured I was probably overpaying,” I replied, “but one Bronze Novice Scale doesn’t seem so bad to bond a familiar and have access to a powerful Fae Court.”

“Yes, about that”—he drummed his tiny fingers together—“now that we are Pact Bonded, I feel obligated to tell you I may have oversold the size and influence of the Greenbriar Court just a hair.”

I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. These assholes really were devious.

“How big exactly is the Greenbriar Court?” I asked. The invisible bond between us pulsed and tightened like a noose. He was now magically obligated to speak the truth to me.

“Currently, it is a court of one. I am the monarch of the Greenbriar Court.”

“You little son of a bitch,” I growled, swatting him off my shoulder. “You lied to me. What the hell happened to honesty is the best policy?”

“Well, honesty is the best policy,” Renholm said, “until it’s not. Then lying is the best policy. And both policies work marvelously together—another lesson for you, my protégé. You see, the more honest you are in your day-to-day affairs, the more likely gullible rubes are to believe you when you lie. Although, to be clear, it wasn’t technically a lie. Not strictly speaking.”

“How was that not lying?”

“I am a highly ranked noble in the Greenbriar Court, am I not? The highest ranked noble, in fact.”

“You’re the only noble!”

“Still the truth,” he shot back. “And, for the record, I was the only noble in the Greenbriar Court. Now there are two. Since I am the monarch of the Court, I shall name you a Baron of Greenbriar—a true honor, especially among the Fae. The number of non-Fae nobles is extremely small.”

“You conniving twerp, I should break the Pact right now and see what kind of Scales you drop when I smash you against the floorboards like the mosquito you are.”

“Wait, no. Let’s not do anything rash,” he said. “The truth is, I recently parted ways with the Oblivion Court. We had irreconcilable creative differences. I wasn’t even knighted, if you can believe it. They were underutilizing my natural talents, and when I suggested they make me a baron, they laughed in my face. Which is why I determined to form my own court. A better court with gambling and hookers.”

“Wait. Let me get this straight.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Not only are you not part of a powerful court, but you’re also feuding with an actually powerful court?”

“Yes. But think about this as an opportunity to get in on the ground floor of a fantastic investment opportunity. The Greenbriar Court has unlimited upward potential, and you never would’ve been made a noble in a place like the Oblivion Court. They would’ve undervalued your talents, just like they undervalued mine. Together, however, we can build something new. Something amazing. And then I’ll show Jeffery!”

“There’s a fairy in the Oblivion Court named Jeffery?”

“Yes. He was my direct superior, and he’s a churlish, sheep-swagging slut. He’ll change his tune when he sees I’ve made a Pact with an Inkarnate Vigil Bound, though. Oh yes he will.” Renholm threw back his head and cackled like an evil villain.

“Okay, but why would I want a stupid fake noble title?” I pressed.

“It’s not fake. We may be a small court, but we are technically a court. You bequeathed me the Cave of the Crave Ghouls, which means I’m now officially a landed monarch. I’m the real deal, and where the Wyld Fae are concerned, technically correct is the best kind of correct. As a title-holding member of a legitimate Fae Court, you will be able to travel into the lands of any Wyld Fae with some degree of diplomatic immunity. Plus, now that I have you under the banner, other wild, unaffiliated Fae will flock to the court as well.”

Dammit. Renholm had played me like a fiddle, but that was exactly why I needed him on my team. The pixie knew the ins and outs of this world in a way I probably never would. Sure, he was a conniver, but as long as he was conniving on my behalf, I’d keep him around. Not to mention, I could appreciate his gumption and hustle.

“Alright, you little psycho,” I replied begrudgingly, “we’ll keep the band together, but I expect you to be completely honest with me moving forward.”

“Understood,” he said, “and on that note, you are incredibly homely. All humans are disgusting, but your terrible red eyes and golden hair are especially appalling.”

“Not the honesty I was looking for, but good effort.” I grabbed my thrashed pillow from the floor and tossed it onto the bed. “I’m beat and I have a training appointment with Arturo in a few hours, so I’m gonna hit the rack. In the meantime, I have an important job for you, Your Majesty.”

“Who do I need to kill? Whose organs should I steal? Do you want a human baby? I can probably find one of those lying around somewhere.”

“No organs,” I replied with a sigh. “And please don’t kill anyone in town. Or out of town for that matter. Let’s just avoid murder entirely for the time being. Also, all human abductions—child or otherwise—are a no-no.” I ran my tongue over my teeth, feeling all the grit and grime. My mouth still tasted like cat ass. “What I really need you to do is more important than any of that. I need you to find me a toothbrush.”