After hearing that Albany, New York, was now under the official protection of Valen Desavi, Nytep was undeniably curious as to why. The woman was known to nearly all non-humans as a perpetual transient, much like Nytep himself, so the idea of her laying claim to a particular city was intriguing. His curiosity was only intensified when he learned that she and her employees were denying most non-humans entry to the town. While she was, without doubt, obsessed with order and control, she was typically too absorbed in overseeing her schedule to bother with anyone outside it. Doubly intriguing.

He heard a rumor at some point that she was doing all this at the behest of some human, that she’d taken up a sort of bodyguard role, but he couldn’t believe there was any truth to that. Desavi’s ‘self-employment’ was one of her many rigid principles, so there was no chance she would work for anyone else. He wondered if her compulsive gambling had finally caught up to her and she’d lost a bet. The less entertaining but more likely answer was that this was simply part of her schedule in some way. Regardless, if the explanation was a secret she wanted to keep, he needed to know the exact details so he could spread it around to anyone who would listen.

So he decided to visit Albany himself to investigate. After all, being told he couldn’t do something—like enter a particular city and cause mischief there—was all the more motivation to prove he certainly could. And once he attracted enough attention that Desavi came to scold him in person, he would get his answers directly from her.

When he arrived in the forbidden city, so to speak, he headed immediately for downtown. It would take a significant show of chaotic influence for Desavi to realize he was behind it, and this area was sure to have plenty of conflicts waiting to be escalated. As he wandered the sidewalks, standing at least a head taller than most of the people around him, he kept an eye out for an opportunity. Between the sleek black plait that hung over his shoulder and the elegant angles of his face and physique, he garnered more than a few curious glances himself. But none curious enough to merit a glance in return.

As luck would have it, there turned out to be a rally of some sort going on in a park he was passing. A group of maybe a hundred people gathered on a flat expanse of grass, in front of a pop-up stage. As Nytep wandered closer, he caught some of the speaker’s points. “And there’s no getting away from them. My son has a teacher who brings her ‘Familiar’ into class every day and is always talking to the kids about magic. Is that what we want our kids learning?”

Oh, it was an anti-witch rally! Fascinating. Despite its recent legalization in the U.S. and the supposed protections its practitioners had, witchcraft was still a topic of heated debate all over the world. If Nytep was looking for an opportunity to stir up some chaos, this would certainly do.

It was easy enough to block himself from mortals’ perception, so no one noticed as he stepped up onto the stage and gave the speaker a once-over. White male, mid-40’s, conservative but hardly the violent type. He was one of few anti-witch advocates whose protests stemmed from pure fear and insecurity rather than hatred and xenophobia. As Nytep started to pace the length of the stage behind him and offer his own commentary on the subject, the speaker responded to each of his suggestions.

“Is that the idea that bothers you?” he asked aloud, though none of the humans present would actually hear his voice. “The thought of your child learning more about magic?”

“We’re talking about ten-year-olds here. What is she trying to accomplish, telling a bunch of kids about all that?”

“Educating them?” Nytep suggested. “Which is her job.”

“Last time I checked, witchcraft wasn’t part of the state curriculum,” the man hissed, gripping the podium in front of him tighter, and his audience murmured their agreement. “Next thing you know, those kids are going to be trying to do spells themselves!”

Nytep paused mid-step and looked up at the speaker in sudden understanding. “Oh, that’s your real concern, then. You’re worried your son will want to become a witch. Maybe he’s said something to that effect before?”

“And then good kids end up getting dragged into that mess because someone thought it was fine to let a witch teach them.”

“Then you don’t want him involved in it because you know being a witch is dangerous. Because people hate them,” Nytep theorized. “And somehow, you think the answer to that”—he let out an incredulous laugh—“is to further persecute them? To lead rallies and petitions to have their rights restricted?”

“It’s just best if they stay separated from us.” The speaker’s voice began to quaver slightly, his eyes drifting down toward the podium and the notes he had written. This was clearly a much more personal subject than he wanted to believe, and being questioned was shaking his convictions somewhat. Weak convictions to begin with, then. Nytep sighed and turned his attention elsewhere, bored already. Any sort of change was an accomplishment, he supposed, but this wasn’t the kind widespread enough for anyone to notice. Irritating.

As he considered where else he might focus his efforts, a woman on the sidewalk caught his gaze with sharp brown eyes. A tall, slender Black woman with oversized glasses and clothing at least two centuries out of date, she was quite a striking figure herself. Was she…yes, she was looking at him. How could that be, when he was actively concealing himself? His eyes narrowed, and—the nerve!—she sneered in disgust and turned to walk away. If there was any one thing he couldn’t stand, it was to be ignored. Pleased to have found a new focus, he was on her heels in seconds.

“Excuse me, miss,” he called as he caught up. Between the prim Neo-Victorian style of her clothing and the stack of library books in her arms, he judged that her type would be a well-spoken gentleman, polite and attentive. His voice, much like her ensemble, was all velvet and silk as he went on, “May I ask—”

“Save it,” she said brusquely, surprising him.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, you can’t have it. I already know what you are, so you’re not getting anywhere with me.”

Oh? That’s new.

“What am I, then?” he asked, his tone slipping into something more comfortably sinuous out of genuine curiosity. She held her books closer to her chest as if they were a barrier to hide behind.

“I’m going to guess a god of some sort.” Her dark eyes looked him coldly up and down as she kept her brisk pace, seeming sure that he would follow—which he did. “If your looks are any indication, maybe Egyptian, but who knows what you actually look like.”

Surprisingly accurate. Impressive.

“And how, pray tell, can you say all that?” She was, from what he could see, human, yet she seemed wholly unimpressed with him, even recognizing his nature. His pride demanded an explanation.

“You really don’t know?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at him. She stopped fleeing for a moment, but he quickly realized it was because she’d come to a bus stop, not because she was interested in speaking to him. “Then I’d prefer to leave it that way.”

Which simply meant he would have to try harder. It was rare that he should have to try at all to win over a mortal, but he did enjoy a challenge.

## 2

“If you think that answer will discourage my curiosity, you’re sadly mistaken.” In the hopes that it would help him better understand her, he inspected her closely, looking for clues as to who and what she was. Yet somehow, he couldn’t seem to read a single one of her thoughts—beyond the ones showing on her scowling face. “If I say ‘please,’ will you explain yourself?”

“No,” she said as her bus pulled to a stop in front of them and she took her phone from her coat pocket.

“Give me something,” he insisted, following her onto the bus, ignored by the driver who glanced at her phone for her fare. She tried to stop him sitting next to her by taking an aisle seat, but he simply took the one across from it, crossing one leg over the other and keeping his eyes trained on her. “Just a hint, and I’m sure I can take it from there.”

“Don’t you have anything better to do than follow me across the city?” she sighed, her ramrod-straight posture only accentuating her righteous indignation.

“Not at all. You have my full attention, miss…?” She looked at him coldly before dragging her gaze toward the front windshield instead. Left without an answer, he proposed a trade: “My name is Cassius Black.”

“No, it isn’t,” the woman said, and he laughed.

“Fair enough. Nytep, then.” The truth, but not all of it.

“I really didn’t ask,” she replied, unfortunately unaware that her derision was only entertaining him more.

“No, I offered. This is generally how introductions begin, isn’t it? Only now you’ve left me waiting for a response.”

“And you can keep waiting. Or you can give up. I suggest the latter.” Her hands lay atop the books in her lap, folded tightly and betraying her discomfort.

“What have I done to offend you? Did I say something wrong?” he asked. “You dismissed me before I could finish a sentence.”

“You’re an immortal. That on its own is enough reason not to trust you. And even if it weren’t,I saw you at that ‘protest,’ inciting hate against witches,” she pointed out. “It doesn’t surprise me in the slightest that one of you could be so blithe about condemning an entire group of mortals.”

Nytep raised an eyebrow.“Are you a witch?” She had no Familiar that he could see, but it might explain why she perceived him as she did.

“No, but I’m still disgusted by the way people treat them. And I’m going to guess you were there to encourage it.”

Very perceptive, indeed. “Those are some drastic assumptions you’re making!” he said, feigning indignation. “I was only there to observe.”

“And you needed to be in front of everyone to ‘observe’?”

“I was observing closely,” he insisted. This woman was nothing if not quick, which turned the conversation from a measured exchange to a rapid-fire volley. Fortunately, an argument was much more his speed. “It’s a common prejudice, as you must know, so I’m trying to learn more about the motivations behind it.”

“So, what? Mind-reading?” Her eyes snapped back toward him. Despite her hard gaze, despite her visible disdain, her facial features were otherwise very soft. An interesting contrast.

“Something like that,” he conceded, admitting to the lesser crime to draw her away from the extent of his meddling.

“Then if you’re so curious about me, why aren’t you reading my mind?” she demanded.

“It’s harder to do when the subject is aware and consciously resisting.” But he knew that wasn’t the case here. Resistance was one thing, but it was utterly impossible to get an accurate read on what was going through this woman’s mind. Something about her was patently different from most other mortals.

“The ‘subject,’” she scoffed. “You sit there talking about us as if we’re a science experiment, and you have the nerve to ask what you did wrong.”

Spot-on once again, and his interest in her was only growing. This close, he now noticed a distinct scent of peppermint about her person. Everything about her was distinctive and noteworthy, it seemed. Distinctive enough to make an impression that most simply couldn’t.

“You say ‘us,’ as if you’re the same as them,” he said, gesturing to the other occupants of the bus who were completely unaware of his presence. “If you were, I wouldn’t be making such an effort to win you over—and rest assured, I will eventually.”

The mystery woman set her jaw and pushed her round glasses higher up the bridge of her nose. “Ask any immortal who’s ever met me, and you’ll learn that’s not as simple as you might think.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not just ‘any immortal.’”

“Please. Every one of you acts like you’re ‘special’ compared to all the rest. Like you think you’ll be the one to surprise me. It hasn’t happened yet. I have literally met hundreds of you people over the years, and they’ve all been exactly what I expected. Do you know why?” She didn’t have an unpleasant voice, he was beginning to notice. Her diction was sharp and precise, each word a blade to cut through his friendly airs. If she was willing to talk, even to lecture him, he was willing to listen.

“Please, enlighten me,” he agreed.

“Because they all think I exist for nothing but their entertainment. They see me as a challenge, not as a person. A puzzle to be solved, so they can say they won me over. So far, you are just like any of them.”

That was why she was so jaded, then. She hadn’t explained why she was pursued in the first place, but it did give him some indication of how to differentiate himself from ‘them.’ Feigning contrition, he sat back in his seat, giving her her space.

“I understand.” His voice had lost much of its unctuous charm to instead be laced with regret and politeness. “Please. Will you tell me your name? I’m not asking for anything else. Only your name, and I’ll leave you be.”

“For now,” she added.

“For now,” he agreed. She didn’t speak again, instead opening one of her books to start reading from the beginning, not sparing him even a passing glance. He waited a minute before accepting that she wouldn’t answer and tilting his head back to look up at the ceiling. “I see. That’s fine. I’ll leave it here for the time being. But I’m sure this won’t be the last time we meet.”

He gave her one more chance to change her mind, though she was apparently too stubborn to do so. But it was already much too late for the silent treatment to dampen his interest in her. Even as he got up to exit the bus at the next stop, he was already wondering where he would have to look to run into her again, having completely forgotten his original reason for being there.