At first, I thought the Council's summons had something to do with my business in Farnell. And oh, the trouble I'd stirred up there... Not the kind you'd easily share with just any clansman.

I figured it was about money. Not enough profits for the elders? If they wanted me to pressure Harry into lowering prices on ectoplasm and reservoir stones, I could grit my teeth and hold my tongue. But if they asked about the vampires?

Or worse, if something about Simon came up —

If they somehow found out about Feron...

Back then, the thought seemed absurd, and I pushed it away. Then, half an hour before the meeting, I found a torn-out page on my desk. It had been ripped from a journal. Neatly written, under the date May 18, 1936, was the following:

"August ordered a hit on some outsider, an ungifted. Offered two grand, but I wrung him for three. Felt like he would've gladly paid more.

"Something's not right with this job. Need to be careful."

And right after that:

The next entry. The day Simon Feron and I first met in Farnell.

"It was a bloody Kinkaid! Duncan Kinkaid!

"How the hell does this little bastard always manage to ruin my life?

"I covered my tracks, he shouldn't have been able to find me, yet here we are.

"And the bastard even said it outright. He came for me!

"Somehow, he sniffed out the nature of the 'friends' who helped me remove the seal. But he doesn't know names. Meanwhile, he's working with that bloodsucker, Lindemann. If not for that bitch, Kate, I'd have killed him.

"August clearly underpaid! No matter. I'll squeeze what I'm owed out of him. And my friends will be pleased to learn there's another Kinkaid to deal with."

The next undated entry was about Harry, calling him a "madman with a sledgehammer".

And halfway down the reverse side, it switched to Finella Flower.

A forgery, or a real page from Simon's journal?

Did he really keep a diary even after leaving the clan? Journals were meant to pass down wisdom, to warn against mistakes, to leave a mark on history.

Bremor men didn't live long. We were good fighters and hunters, but we weren't immortal. Before a dangerous mission, many left their journals in safe places. But Simon had left the clan, gotten involved with vampires…

Then again, judging by his own words, that didn't seem so clear-cut.

"Friends"?

Damn him…

And who, exactly, was ruining whose life? First, he came back as a ghost, now this bloody journal page turns up!

I realized I was teetering on the edge of panic.

Thankfully, the girls had taken Kettle out to buy a new coat, leaving me alone in the house. Otherwise, I might've cornered Simon in a fit of rage, demanding to know what the hell this was and where it had come from.

After all, the baronet had been involved with vampires too, just a different nest.

That thought cooled my temper a little. I forced myself to think rationally.

Who had Feron left this for? Who could have entered my house and placed it directly on Grandfather's desk?

A vampire familiar with our security system? Or someone from the clan? Feron's family?

His father had been Uncle Bryce's main rival in the race for Clan Head.

Compared to the lavish receptions at de Camp's town hall, the Great Clan Council was a different beast entirely. With this new revelation, I ended up changing outfits three times, struggling to strike the balance between presentable but not overdressed. I never used to care about such things. But now, I knew I'd be scrutinized. And the real reason for my summons? Still a mystery.

It gnawed at me.

Every kind of paranoid thought crept into my head.

During warm seasons, the Great Council and clan gatherings were held in the clearing before the garden. In cold weather or bad conditions, they were held in the barn. Though, truth be told, some houses in Farnell weren't even half as comfortable as our barn. Fortified, heated, soundproofed with magic on the outside, and perfectly acoustic within.

I knew the way perfectly well, but Logan and I had agreed to go together. My brother seemed pleased and relaxed, and I wasn't about to spoil his mood. Any threatening news, Logan took seriously, and reacted aggressively. That wasn't the mindset you wanted going into a Council meeting.

What if that was the whole point?

I tucked the journal page into Stann's Defensive Artifice and decided to play it carefully.

Watch. See who reacted sharply to me. And, if I got the chance, I hoped to speak with the elders before the meeting began.

For now, I had a more immediate concern, the prime suspect. Simon's father.

"What's going on in the clan lately?" I asked. "Anything I should know?"

"Not much," Logan shrugged.

"Recently, there was a bid to buy out the brick factory in Glembatrick. But Lord Peabody refused. Well, not him, his son-in-law. Clever lad. Managed to keep the factory and is now expanding production."

"Business matters don't interest me much," I said, brushing that aside.

"You're asking about the forest?" He nodded to himself. "In autumn, we released golden carp into Thunderloch. No idea how they're doing yet. Maybe they absorbed the Source's power. Maybe they didn't. Maybe they're all dead." He didn't seem particularly bothered. "There are twenty moon deer in a temporary pen near the Living Thicket. Waiting for the greenery to come in."

"But it should already be green there, shouldn't it?" I frowned.

The Living Thicket was a Place of Blood Power. The grasses bloomed faster there and endured frost more easily. Some could even flower in the snow.

"Yeah, well, you know how it is in winter. The beasts overrun the place."

He was right. The herbivores came for the grass. The predators came for the herbivores.

"What's the point of releasing them?" Logan continued. "There are so many wolves there now it's like a plague of rabbits. If they don't tear the poor things apart, they'll just chase them out of the area. And Uncle wants them to settle near the Place of Power."

He snorted.

"Oh, and he's importing swamp amaryllis from the continent. Waiting on the shipment."

"That's it?" I asked.

"Pretty much. Oh, no, wait. Some beast has moved into the Cave of Blades. Apparently, a badger."

"You wouldn't mention it just for that," I said. "It's absorbed the Metal's power, hasn't it?"

"Can you believe it?" Logan grinned.

"First time in over four hundred years, if I'm not mistaken?"

"Four hundred and thirty," he corrected, "since we wiped out the rats."

The steel rats had been a nightmare for the clan. The creatures had wiped out most of the natural wildlife around the Place of Power, then moved on to the birds.

According to the records, Metal magic had let them climb trees like squirrels. At first, they were hunted. Their bones made for decent craftwork, their innards useful for potions. But then they got bolder, started taking down large prey. Some packs even attacked thunder wolves. That was when the clan declared total extermination. I only hoped the badgers wouldn't bring the same trouble.

"And what about politics?" I asked. "How's the opposition? Sean?"

Logan surprised me.

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"There is no opposition anymore."

"What do you mean?" I frowned.

"You're saying Feron's backed off?"

A familiar fear crept up my spine. A sense that something terrible was coming.

"He didn't back off. He found something else to do. And ruined his own reputation."

"And what, exactly, is this new pursuit?"

"A twenty-four-year-old named Sharon Prescott."

"…Twenty-four?" I echoed.

Feron was over fifty.

She could be his daughter.

"Aha," Logan smirked, clearly enjoying my shock.

"And Alexandra let that slide?"

"Of course not. Kicked him out of the house." Logan sounded thoroughly amused.

"Now he lives in town. Hasn't set foot in the clan quarter, not even for meetings."

"And Alexandra?"

"The opposite. Hasn't missed a single Council since. Started training again. Goes hunting. Everyone knows why she's suddenly so motivated," he waited and added. "But no one says it out loud."

"No kidding," I muttered.

I had almost forgotten she was a warlock too. A mediocre one, but still.

Damn it. Now I had to factor her into all of this too. A mother would love her son, even if he was the most vicious bastard alive.

Still, for some reason I couldn't help but feel sorry for Sean. The man had lost a lot because of my family: his son, his influence, his reputation.

Then again, his wife had lost just as much. So now I had two prime suspects.

Right before we reached the barn, old Kink intercepted us. Back in my grandfather's time, he had been in charge of intelligence, though he'd passed the role to his son fairly quickly. His son had passed it on to someone else in turn…

"Good evening, lads. How's the big world treating you?"

"Good evening, Grandpa Patrick," we answered in unison, with all due respect.

Then I took the lead.

"Can't speak for the whole world, but Farnell's growing."

"Growing, is it? Last time I was there was back in the eighties, tracking a bloodsucker. Farnell wasn't much bigger than Avoc back then."

"Well, now it's about ten times the size."

"Huh."

The old man drew out the word, then launched into a history lecture:

Not so much about how "the grass was greener" in his day, but about how there had been far more of it, and now, it was all just cities.

Elders love to talk. And considering how much Kink had done for the clan, we had little choice but to listen.

So I did. Right up until the meeting began.

When Cousin Evan and Uncle Gordon saw that the old man had latched onto us, they wisely avoided us altogether. Which meant I never got the chance to speak with the senior generation, and interrupting Kink wouldn't have been a smart move.

At least, from here, I could watch who was watching me.

The problem?

Everyone was.

Some only glanced over. Others lingered longer than they should have. The uneasy feeling I'd had all day intensified, enough that even Grandfather Patrick noticed.

"I was nervous at my first Council too," he said.

"Me and Duncan McLal got piss-drunk the night before, celebrating a successful hunt."

The old man chuckled at the memory.

"Turned out they were planning to accept us into the Council. But since we were too sloshed to give the elders a coherent response, they made us wait another year." He let out a gruff laugh, clapping Logan on the shoulder. "Right, lads, best not keep them waiting. Let's head inside."

The barn's interior was laid out like an ancient forum. At the far end stood the leadership table. The center was left open. Behind it, rows of short benches were arranged on a stepped platform.

The elders sat in the front rows. Behind them, the middle ranks, those who had made significant contributions to the clan. With that structure, my place was in the back gallery. Logan probably could have sat one row lower, but he stayed with me.

The leadership table had four seats: for the Clan Head, the Secretary, and two "ministers." Tonight, those seats were filled by Uncle Gordon and Nicholas Boily. Which meant that the meeting would focus on finance and security.

By the table, Bryan McLilly was hovering, trying very hard to look like a crucial assistant.

The two center seats were taken by Bryce and Diana Bailey, who had inherited the role of Speaker from her mother, along with her booming voice. The old woman, Grandma Logg, had stepped down after the Clan Head elections. That had been her last meeting as Speaker. Now she sat in the front row, across from us, murmuring to Grandmother McLilly.

Directly behind her, two rows up, sat Alexandra Feron. And if there was anyone here who wasn't shy about staring daggers at me, it was her.

Once the hall was half full, Diana called the room to order. The murmurs died down, and she announced the agenda: the werewolf incursion and financial matters.

The werewolf was the bigger issue, so they started with that.

The main speaker was Bryan.

McLilly didn't falter, spoke briefly, to the point. At least, that's how it looked to most people. But I noticed how smoothly he skipped over awkward details, like his argument with his brother over leadership.

He didn't boast, didn't claim credit for others' work, but he did make sure to state that the werewolf was only discovered thanks to me and Sally. And throughout his account of the fight, whenever he could replace "I" with "we", he did.

That didn't stop him from overstating the Farnellers' contributions. I wouldn't argue, Ellie and Finella had pulled their weight. But Simon? Simon had spent more time on the ground than actually doing anything useful.

After McLilly, Boily took the floor.

The security chief, looking as grim as ever, admitted that interrogation had yielded nothing so far. Not for lack of trying, quite the opposite. By the time he got to work, the werewolf still hadn't recovered. Its rabid regeneration had burned through fifteen kilos of flesh, along with nearly all its fat reserves. Toxins flooded its blood, sending the creature into a coma-like state.

So all Boily had to go on were its belongings, forged documents, and a drastically altered appearance. Possibly so much so that even its own mother wouldn't recognize it.

A couple of men had already gone tracking with photographs, but there was little faith in their success. More hope rested on the healers.

Next, Uncle Bryce took the floor.

As a token of gratitude for helping capture the werewolf, he granted my friends access to all Places of Power and training grounds. He then asked if there were any objections.

A murmur spread through the hall.

As usual, Grandma Logg was leading the charge. She had stepped down as Speaker, but the habit of giving orders had stuck.

"Well, go on and call your nephew up, Bryce! You didn't summon him for nothing!"

Dozens of eyes locked onto me.

I waited for my uncle's nod, then descended the steps.

"Honorable Council," I said, turning in a full circle and offering a light bow in four directions.

"Tell me, Duncan," Logg began. "Is that reward enough for your friends?"

"It's plenty, Grandmother," I replied.

"And why so little? They risked their lives, didn't they?"

"Baronet Kettle is a lightning elementalist," I explained. "But as fate would have it, he's had rotten luck with teachers. Yesterday, on Bald Hill, we encountered an elemental, and he finally made progress in mastering long-range lightning magic. One visit to a Place of Power gave him more than years of training."

"That explains the boy. What about the girls?"

"I'm not sure about Finella, but Ellie would gladly take a few lessons from our shifters. Chris promised to show her some tricks."

"Excellent, but let it be someone unmarried, not Chris. The girls are fine stock. Fresh blood wouldn't hurt the clan," Logg said, as if joking. At least, it earned a few chuckles. "Or do you object? Maybe you've taken an interest in one of them yourself?"

She made me turn red on the spot.

"N-no, Grandma."

"There you have it! Bryce, don't let the opportunity slip, assign someone to it. I've got five great-grandsons still unwed."

That was when Uncle Gordon had enough.

"Hold your horses, Grandma!"

"I promised their families I'd look after them. No marriage schemes behind my back, and if your scoundrels need brides, they can look elsewhere! These young ladies are my guests!"

"Alright, alright, no need to shout!"

Logg waved a hand dismissively.

"Then marry him off yourself!"

She tilted her chin toward me.

"The sorcerer is of no use to us, but the shifter fought a werewolf in close combat and didn't take a scratch. We can't let her slip away. Think of what a gain that would be for the clan!"

"Grandma, are you rewarding her or trying to use her?"

I couldn't help myself.

"Oh, don't get all riled up!" she scoffed. "If done right, the two don't have to be mutually exclusive."

"The girls are my friends!" I snapped.

"So if your grandsons start sniffing around them, they might find themselves short a few teeth."

"Oh?" she smirked.

"You could take on a nongifted, sure. But do you have the strength to stand against shifters?"

"I do, Grandmother."

My voice was firm.

"Well, well, look how fiery he is!"

Logg clapped her hands in mock delight, then suddenly turned to Bryan.

"Tell me, McLilly, you fought alongside the lad. Would he really stand a chance against my grandsons?"

"You'll have to forgive me, Grandma," Bryan said, shrugging. "In a pure fistfight, Bobby or Jack would flatten him one-on-one, no question. But in a real fight? Together or apart, they wouldn't stand a chance."

"Well, now…" Madam Logg murmured, tapping her fingers on her knee. "Then I suppose we should bring him into the Council, shouldn't we?"

She turned to Bryce.

"I'd like to," my uncle admitted.

A ripple of murmurs spread through the hall.

Then, in a clear, sharp voice, Alexandra Feron spoke up.

"And after this, you're still going to claim you're not pulling your family into the Council?" She gave Bryce a pointed look.

"Your brother's the treasurer, your son's a scout, what's next? Aren't you afraid you'll run out of positions to hand out?"

The murmurs grew louder.

Uncle Gregor turned to her, eyes dark.

"You have any complaints about my work?" he snapped. "Got a better candidate in mind? By all means, I'll step aside!"

"Gordon!" Bryce barked.

"Silence!" Diana Bailey's voice boomed across the hall, loud enough to make ears ring.

"Alexandra," she said, firm but composed. "State your objections. But if you bring up your son, you lose your right to speak until the next gathering. That matter has already been discussed more than enough."

"Objections?" Alexandra scoffed. "Fine.

Let's just start bringing in everyone who's ever seen a werewolf, then. Or how about a vampire? That'd solve all our problems, wouldn't it? Visit a big city, spot a bloodsucker, come home — boom! A seat on the Council!"

Uncle Gordon gave a knowing smirk and raised his hand.

Diana waited for Alexandra to finish, then gestured for him to speak.

"Tell me, Alexandra," he asked, "do you know how much we made this year from Veil Draughts and Clear Mind Elixirs?"

"What do potions have to do with this?!" she snapped.

"They have to do with the fact that we make them from ectoplasm. And our contract for ectoplasm —" He paused deliberately. "— was secured through Duncan's mentor, thanks to his lead."

Uncle waited, but she didn't ask the question herself, so he answered it for her.

"One hundred and forty thousand pounds."

To break the silence that followed, he added.

"And that's not all. We also get ether reservoir stones, high-grade amulets, and combat rods based on ether magic at extraordinarily low prices. Calculating the full benefit of that is tricky, since we only arm our own people with them.

On top of that,"

He gave her a moment to let it sink in before continuing.

"In Farnell, we now own a massive plot of land. Major construction is underway. And even by the most conservative estimates, the profit from it will be at least —" He slammed his palm on the table. "Eight hundred thousand pounds."

Someone in the hall whistled in admiration.

"Care to guess who led me to that deal?"

"So we're taking him onto the Council just because he happened to pick up some interesting information?"

Alexandra's voice was sharp, but Uncle Bryce answered calmly.

"We're bringing him in because he had the sense to see opportunity where no one else did before. And as for luck?" He shrugged. "I have no objections to it, as long as he keeps sharing it with the clan."

"Any further objections?"

Silence.

Alexandra scanned the room. Her gaze flicking from some of her relatives, to the Baileys, their closest allies. But she found no support.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered and headed for the exit.

"Voting," Diana Bailey announced.

"Who is in favor of granting Duncan Kinkaid a voice on the Great Clan Council?"

A forest of hands went up in response.

Not everyone voted. But the overwhelming majority was clear as day.

"Congratulations, Duncan," Diana said.

The doors banged shut behind Alexandra.

From the back rows, Logan let out a sharp whistle and started clapping. Like a fire catching dry grass, the applause spread through the hall.

And the acoustics turned it into the roar of a crashing waterfall.

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