“No.”

Blair didn’t bat an eye.

“Yes.”

I scowled. “Why on earth do you want me to go somewhere with a bunch of mages? That is the exact opposite of staying under the radar!”

Blair crossed her arms. We were sitting in my living room. Well, living room/kitchen/entryway.

Laurel was walking in the graveyard talking to Agatha, though she could probably still hear us.

And the rest of the Northwoods were off doing werewolfy things, I was sure.

“The risk of you going is less than staying.”

My hands clenched in my lap. “Really? Less risk? Blair, if the Clans realize what I am, my life is over.”

“Your life could be over if you stay.” She paused, and her gaze softened. “Alder, the factions bring locals to these events all the time. Whether it’s doing them a favor and helping them get connections, making a statement about claiming the locals or giving protection, you won’t stand out.”

I took a deep breath. Those were good points, but…

“Bobby can’t see any trace of magic on you through your veil. None of the others can smell it if you haven’t used it recently. As far as anyone's concerned, your a local with the sight and a totem to banish fiends.”

“And the supposed reason you all are taking me?”

She shrugged. “No need to lie. We say some spooks are after you, and we are offering protection. You’ll get a few questions, but no one should pay more than a passing thought for the strange little man with the werewolves.”

I laughed. “It’s not my fault werewolves are a bunch of towering jocks.” Blair quirked a brow.

“Well, Simon gets a pass. He’s more of a nerd than a jock.”

“And I’m a jock?”

“You exist on both ends of the spectrum simultaneously, jock and nerd in harmony, so I get to make fun of you for both.”

She raised the other brow. “Do you now?”

I nodded sagely.

She opened her mouth and then frowned.

“Stop deflecting.”

Crap.

“All of the Northwoods are going to the social. We could maybe spare one or two people, but that would raise more questions than you just coming with us.”

Her frown deepened.

“And since George doesn’t need to attend, he might show up with his entire Pack. That’d be getting three people killed instead of one.”

“Why doesn’t he need to attend?”

She eyed me. “I’m not deflecting. I actually want to know.”

Blair rubbed her face before grabbing her mug from the coffee table.

“The Northwoods are representing the werewolf Faction for the Pact. So our vote is every werewolf's vote.”

“How did you pull that off?”

“My parents got the other Alpha’s votes and beat those who wanted to challenge for the position.”

I blinked. “They beat all the other top werewolves?”

“I told you they were strong. However, they didn’t beat every other strong werewolf, just those involved in the Pact. There are Packs with some real monsters leading them that don’t have anything to do with the Pact, though they still follow the rules. Mostly.”

I rubbed my eyes and groaned. “And George isn’t the Pack with the votes. That’s why he can no show this thing and take a swing at me.”

She nodded.

Panic started to claw at my gut.

Blair wasn’t wrong. George was probably going to strike then. It would be a perfect chance, with everyone who could help me at an important event on the other side of town.

But going to this event, I couldn’t let the mage clans find out about me. I- I-

Think, Alder.

I took a deep breath.

The mage clans scared me. They scared the hell out of me. That was a reasonable fear, but I was letting that fear blind me.

I wasn’t deciding between dying to werewolves or potentially being a slave to the mages. I was deciding between dying to werewolves or /dying/ to mages.

I had an understanding with several ghosts. The mages would not take me.

The thought calmed me, as morbid as that was, and I felt my head clearing. I was risking death either way, but Blair’s arguments hit home now that I had reframed it. The chances of the Clans finding out about me were less than George taking a swing at me.

When it was a risk of death, either way, you took the lesser risk.

“Okay. I’ll go.”

Blair blinked. “You are? I was expecting more arguments and maybe having to drag you there.”

“Nope, it is less of a risk then-“

Wait, drag me there? I eyed Blair. I wasn’t sure if she was joking or not.

No…definitely not joking.

I shook my head. “My veil is strong, we have an explanation, and as you said, it’s not that uncommon for Factions to take a local.”

Blair slumped in relief. “Thank you.” As she said that, she dropped her composed front.

She was so good at projecting confidence that I hadn’t realized just how tired she looked. Her blond hair was messy, and there were bags under her eyes that would give mine a run for their money.

“Weird, to thank the person you’re protecting.”

I reached forward and carefully patted her hand. It still felt a little alien to me, but I had spent more time around the living in the last nine days than I had in the previous five years.

And werewolves were touchy. I realized that very quickly. Shoulder bumps, a pat on the back, and any number of casual gestures seemed second nature to them.

They realized my discomfort quickly, but they still slipped up on occasion. That had actually helped, kinda like exposure training, I guess.

That probably shouldn't have worked. I was no therapist, but trama wasn't usually something a few casual shoulder bumps cleared. Not that it was cleared, just marginally better.

Regardless, as I patted Blair, the shuddering revulsion didn’t come.

I could still feel a bit of it, a roiling mass of memories that told me just what a touch heralded. But I had more recent memories, friendly, open things.

It helped.

Blair smiled at me, then straightened. I pulled my hand back.

“You might not like this next part as much.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What?”

“This social isn’t a T-shirt and jeans sort of event. We need to get you an outfit.”

My front burst opened, and Laurel strode in, bits of leaves stuck in her black hair.

Had she sprinted to the door?

“I got this!”

I shifted in my seat, and had to fight a sudden urge to grab my couch gun from its taped position beneath the coffee table.

“I don’t like the glint in your eye.”

Her only response was a grin.

~<>~<>~

When Laurel had asked me if I knew if Silver Spruce had a tailor, I almost surprised myself as much as her when I said yes.

The man's name was Brock, and I’d helped him a few years back when his shop was haunted.

“Left here,” I said. Blair took the turn at a reasonable speed. Despite

the first impression she’d given, Blair was a mercifully reserved driver most of the time.

Brock’s was a little shop tucked away in a small strip mall. Said mall was nestled into the forest between downtown and the library.

It had been an apartment complex at one point, but the first floor had been turned into shops around ten years back.

Blair parked the moon-mobile, as I’d come to think of it, and we climbed out. The motion brought a pang to my legs. My body refused to stop reminding me of the beatings I had taken, the bastard.

Laurel looked over the strip mall. “Brock’s Custom Costumes. Randle’s Cafe. Tilly’s Salon.”

I stopped next to her and nodded. “A change of clothes, a meal, and a hairdo in one convenient mall.”

“Does he have good clothes?”

I opened my mouth, but Laurel held up a hand. “Wait, don’t answer that.”

I scowled. “What are you trying to say, Laurel?“

She looked away.

“Are you implying that I can’t recognize drip when I see it?”

“…no.”

“That was an awful long pause.”

She looked down at me with a compassion I found insulting. “Fear not, young one. I got Blair to have a modicum of fashion. I refuse to believe you will be harder.”

“How old are you? And I resent that. I could be way harder than Blair!”

Laurel tossed her hair back and shrugged. “I don’t need to tell you. And Like I said, I doubt it.”

Blair gave us both a light shove towards the door. “Daylights burning you two. And she’s twenty-one.”

Laurel sputtered. “Blair! Come on!”

I laughed. “I’m twenty-two! You’re practically a baby!”

Blair started for the door with a sigh.

Laurel scowled. “That’s one year. Hardly any time at all.”

I followed Blair. “That’s definitely something a twenty-one-year-old would say.”

“I think he’s right,” Blair said. “Very twenty-one sounding of you, Laurel.”

“I hate it here.”

Blair pushed open the door, the two of us on her heels.

The inside was a detonation of color and fabric. Every spare surface that wasn’t covered with hanging clothes had fabric rolls instead.

It was like clothes shopping in a Joann’s.

A vaguely lemony scent hit me a moment before Brock’s lazy call.

“Welcome.”

He strolled from behind the counter, one of the few clear surfaces in the shop, and gave us a wave.

He was somewhere in his earlier thirties, average height, with pinched features, an easy grin, and a textbook dad bod.

He wore an orange turtleneck and brown pants. I don’t think I could have pulled the look off, but he made it work.

Laurel waved, her focus on the clothes.

Blair went to a rack of clothes. She pulled out a nice-looking suit coat with one hand, then an equally high-quality pirate costume with the other.

She raised a brow at Brock.

He chuckled and ran a hand through his dark hair, a slightly overgrown buzz cut. “You two are new, right? Well, people here are really into stuff like Halloween, and they pay well to get nice costumes.” He paused. “And I also like making nice costumes, but they do sell!”

His eyes fell on me, and he smiled. “Alder! It’s been a minute! You come to collect that free suit?”

Free suit? Oh, right. He had offered that, hadn’t he?

“Ahh, yeah! I forgot about that offer, but I do need a suit.”

Brock laughed, the sound high and warm. “That’s fine. I didn’t forget. So the offer still stands.”

Laurel glanced between us. “How did you get that deal?”

I shrugged. “Helped him with a problem.”

Brock shuddered. “I see you’re still too casual about that shit.” He turned to Laurel. “You all just got here, but Silver Spruce is weird, and weird can be dangerous.”

Laurel set down the roll of dark orange fabric she was examining. “This town’s already proven that to us. Why was a ghost haunting this place?”

Brock sighed. “You’re too casual about this too, I see. From what I understood, they had died a few years back when this first floor was still an apartment.”

Brock strolled over to the counter and snatched a mug of coffee. “She was a real terror. Red eyes, swirling hair that grabbed things around her,” he shuddered. “And the screams. I still hear those sometimes.”

A memory started to rise as Brock talked.

The sense of disbelief matched the betrayal I felt as Anthony’s knife slipped between my ribs. The carpet stained beneath me, and I heard his gasp as if from a mile away.

I closed my eyes and forced the memory down.

“How’d she die?” Laurel.

“I think she was stabbed? My memory is a bit hazy with panic and almost shitting myself with fear.” Brock.

I opened my eyes and realized I was leaning on a bench for support. When has that happened?

“Her boyfriend stabbed her.” They turned to me. “2002, Anthony Grem stabbed Kayla Adam’s to death in their apartment. Motive, unknown.”

Blair’s hand closed on my shoulder. When had she gotten over here?

I continued absentmindedly. “She hadn’t tried to kill Brock immediately, so I did as much homework as I could. Sometimes you can figure out their last request, even if they aren’t all there.”

Brock coughed. “Yeah, Alder tried a bunch of stuff before doing…whatever it was he did when she tried to stab me.”

He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “But enough about ghosts. What kind of suit do you need?”

“Talk to Laurel there about suits. She can give you the answers I don’t possess.”

My delivery was a little flat, but the two nodded and quickly started talking in a different language, as far as I was concerned.

Blair squeezed my shoulder. “You okay?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Just…haven’t had a lot of time to catch my breath recently. It’s piling up.”

Blair let go of my shoulder and leaned against the bench beside me. She was silent for a while, but I took comfort from the closeness.

She broke the stillness with a bump. “Hey, you could be an elf.”

I glanced at the costume she had pointed to and snorted. “I’m not wearing green spandex. Besides, I’m trying to blend in. I hardly think a Christmas elf would be subtle.”

“No. But it would be funny.”

I smiled. A thought struck me, and I glanced up at her. “Hey, what’s the plan for the social.”

She grinned, and I saw a twinkle in her eye. “You aren’t going to make fun of me for having a plan for a social event?”

I shook my head. “No, I’m going to make fun of you. But considering this is a social with supernatural dignitaries and powerhouses, a plan is a great idea.”

She snorted and ran a hand through her hair. “So it’s a great idea, but you’re still going to make fun of me?”

“Exactly.”

She laughed. “You’re lucky I can’t resist a chance to plan.” She rubbed her hands together. “So first things first, we make sure you stay with the group at all times-“

Blair went on with infectious enthusiasm, and I listened, a small smile on my lips, and the memories were held at bay.

For now.