Callum estimated he had about two years’ worth of money after he paid for the house, give or take. Someone without any debts could be incredibly frugal, and barring any major surprises he was confident he could stretch his capital. He still had no idea what he’d do when things started getting low, but that wasn’t something he could afford to worry about in the near term. The immediate goals were to learn magic, and get rid of the damned tattoo. Considering the tattoo was magic, he couldn’t do the second without the first.

Moving in didn’t take much time, considering he’d left everything behind, but it still took some work to rearrange the house how he liked it. In the spaces between buying furniture and kitchenware and adding them to the place, he read the literature he’d copied from front to back several dozen times. Once he had an actual office and a place to relax so he could concentrate, he dove into the exercises in earnest.

The first thing was learning to reach out and find magic, to start integrating it into his sensorium. There was a lot of emphasis on mana sight, but it was obvious it wasn’t anything visual. The ogre had talked about smelling magic, so it was clearly either synesthesia at work or just a shorthand for some other sense that they didn’t have good words for. His bet was the latter, and he made himself a poor man’s sensory deprivation tank with his bathtub.

Unfortunately for him, there wasn’t much concentrated magic around for him to focus on. There was some in his tattoo, which was kind of irritating, but the main thing he had to use for practice was actually the arcane laptop. He found out while doing the sensing exercises there was a little blob of something inside the device. A bit of work with a screwdriver popped the cover and showed that there was a small crystal with glittering etchings on it in addition to the normal computer innards. Some kind of magic dongle was his guess, but he didn’t know enough to do more than look.

According to the spatial literature he’d copied, space mages were good at teleportation, portals, and enchanting things to be larger on the inside. That was it. Nothing else.

Callum didn’t believe it at all.

There was no possible way spatial magic hadn’t been thoroughly explored and exploited and every edge case figured out. Likely, all the more advanced stuff was locked behind GAR training, and what he had was aimed at kids, maybe even preteens, to let them know what they were in for. Unfortunately, poking around on the arcane internet showed him that anything advanced was proprietary, locked behind apprenticeship or guild or house status.

Spatial magic, specifically, was always appended with an exhortation to contact Archmage Duvall. Which Callum was not about to do, but the fact that she was always and only the one who was listed showed how monolithic things were. Still, there was enough foundational information available that he could have something to work with, so he did.

The first thing, in his estimation, was to reconcile mana sense with his glamour blindness. Considering that he’d had it for his whole life, he didn’t think he’d be able to unlearn whatever it was that let him see right through glamours, but he could try and see them with his mana sense, working backward in a way. Most people used mana sense to pierce glamours, not see them, but he had to work with what he was given.

To have something to see, he started in on magical workings. To his great surprise, it was actually quite easy to grasp his own mana. He figured it would take ages to go from vaguely shoving vis at things to structuring it, but it clicked almost instantly. When he started to try and move it around himself, he realized why.

One reason he’d gone into architecture was that he had an excellent, instinctive grasp of spaces and relations. Three dimensions were generally difficult for the human brain, but he’d never had any issues, being able to hold all the relations in his head. It’d made things a breeze, but he’d never felt it was particularly supernatural. Now he knew differently.

That sense was linked in with his magic. It wasn’t magic itself, not really, but he’d been exercising that part of his brain all his life, so maybe he wasn’t as far behind as he thought. Though obviously he had to work hard to get anywhere near where a mage would normally be at his age. One didn’t advance through an entire lifetime’s education in just a few months.

Once he had it figured out, he was able to cast his senses out into his surroundings, a sort of sphere of perception that wasn’t quite visual. It was more tactile, though even that comparison wasn’t exactly right. He could tell what everything was, and see right through it with a little bit of effort, but couldn’t see colors or painted images or anything like that. Magic stood out quite clearly with that sense, though the range was pretty limited.

“So, threads and fields.” He took a bite of a bagel as he made notes based on the most advanced instruction he could find for free. Which wasn’t much. Mages were incredibly secretive, even within the context of their own magical network. That, or everything about certain topics was censored. Callum didn’t know how much was due to culture and how much was due to oversight. He didn’t dare to make an account to post, since he wasn’t really a registered mage.

“Threads are structure, fields are fill.” Annoyingly, mage children were taught wrong to start with, only so they could be taught correctly later. The lies-to-children involved things like how vis was guided into a structure, and unformed vis was a waste. Probably to make sure that they didn’t learn sloppy habits. When they were older, they were told that unformed vis was actually important, and filled the spaces between structured threads for large-scale effects.

He had to wonder how many kids could never unlearn those lies and were terrible mages because of it.

The simple “spells” started out with abstract geometry. Things like fireball were fairly easy to shape, though of course he couldn’t make them due to his vis type. Putting spatial vis into the same shape didn’t really do much; even mana was better at shoving things about. But he kept at it, tossing space balls off his back porch until he was exhausted, then repeating until he was satisfied with the shape. Then he started doing it without using his hands.

In theory, magic was completely mental. In practice, it was far easier to make gestures that corresponded to some degree with the way he wanted the vis to go. There were a bunch of recommendations for beginning magic users to make things easier, but they built bad habits. Which was fairly usual, actually. The same was true with math and science and writing and any number of mundane topics, sacrificing accuracy for ease of understanding and forcing people to relearn things.

Some cynical part of him pointed out it was possible there was an even more advanced way of doing things, considering how purposefully hidden and constrained everything was. The masters of this supernatural tyranny had no reason to let the general public know about the really juicy stuff. His early experiments showed why space wasn’t considered an offensive school though; making a wad of space vis didn’t result in fires or ice or anything that the more elemental types of vis did.

In theory, he ought to be able to teleport easily enough, though only for short distances. That was what had happened in the gym, though he had no idea how he’d done it and he didn’t trust so-called magical instincts. If he was pulling things through space, he’d rather start with something that wasn’t likely to kill him.

According to his primer, teleports and portals needed some kind of anchor at each end. That was how the circles he’d gone through to teleport into the GAR headquarters worked. Though those apparently had more than just an anchor; they had the whole teleportation framework built into them, along with some way to make it so people could just push mana into them to make it work. He marked that as something to figure out in the far future and went back to fiddling.

When it came to manual teleports, he found it was easy enough. The structure shown in the primer wasn’t exactly complicated, and with the exercises that showed him how to push out spatial vis in the first place, it wasn’t long before he could form them. It seemed there had to be a connection between the source and the anchor, so he didn’t quite understand long-distance teleportation yet, but after less than a week he was able to teleport rocks across the yard.

He had a bit of a cheat, though. Not that he was any more skilled than the next mage, but he’d been working with buildings so long that he could just snap the idea of a room around whatever he wanted. Or rooms. Callum didn’t know if it was particularly relevant as practice, but once he managed to get one rock to shuttle its way between porch and yard, he started doing it with three, then five.

The hum of a motor and the crunch of tires on gravel made him stop his magical juggling. Just the sound of someone arriving made him feel a little panicked, like a guilty kid hearing his mother coming. He was out back, facing out into the woods for a reason, but it still wouldn’t be a good thing if he was too obvious about what he was doing. The divide between mundane and arcane was enforced, and someone would notice if he crossed it.

“Mister Hall?” Someone called from the front, and Callum had to remind himself that was his name.

“I’m on the back porch!” He called back, quickly teleporting his cane to his hand with a grin. That really wasn’t a trick he was going to get tired of.

The sound of footsteps preceded Jessica and her husband, Gerry. They’d been by a few times, apparently just as good neighbors, but he couldn’t shake his conviction that they knew about the supernatural world. Gerry, especially, had the habit of sniffing as if he smelled something, or was trying to. Or maybe he just had allergies.

“Hello, Mister Hall,” Jessica said, offering him a wave as the two of them appeared around the corner of the house. “How are you settling in?”

“You can call me Chase,” he told them, levering himself to his feet with the help of his cane and offering each of them his hand. As usual, their eyes flickered to his right wrist. “So far it’s delightful.” Which it was. It hadn’t started getting cold yet, so he couldn’t speak to how the house was in the winter, but it was a comfortable place despite its wear. “I was just putting together a list of repairs to make. Might as well, you know?”

“Yes, I know the old girl is a bit worn.” Jessica patted the porch column. “It’s nice that she’s not moldering away, though.”

“So what brings you by?” Callum asked, since this time they hadn’t brought food with them.

“Well, the kids will be going back to school soon, which means you might get some people cutting through your property. They know they’re not supposed to, but they might anyway.”

“Oh, I think we’ve all been that age,” Callum chuckled. “It’s fine, but the wooded parts are pretty overgrown. I haven’t gotten around to clearing them yet.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Gerry said. “Kids around here tend to be pretty good with the outdoors. Speaking of which, do you do any hunting?”

“Not for years,” Callum said. “Isn’t this place off-limits for hunting anyhow?” There were reminders about that pasted on half the signs between his house and the town center where he got his groceries.

“It’s restricted,” Gerry said, nodding to him. “Just wanted to make sure you know. We don’t have many people moving in so I wanted to be sure you knew.”

“Believe me, I’ll be mostly staying at home,” Callum told them. He felt like they were hinting at whatever supernatural goings-on were afoot, but he really didn’t care much so long as they didn’t bother him. Or report him to the authorities. “You don’t mind if I do target shooting in the yard though, right?”

“Just be careful not to do it when kids are around!” Gerry cautioned him.

“Of course, of course. I’ll be sticking to the yard, anyway.” They’d reminded him in a sideways way that he hadn’t kept up with his shooting. He preferred to practice at least a little, though he’d never had to shoot anything in earnest.

“I think we’re good then,” Gerry said. “Just wanted to swing by while we were in the neighborhood.”

“Don’t be too much of a stranger,” Jessica said. “I don’t see you in town much.”

“I know, I know,” Callum replied. “Still trying to catch up with myself, you know?”

“Oh, of course,” Jessica agreed. “We’ll be seeing you around, then.” She waved as she and her husband went back around the house. Callum frowned and cast his senses around, following them without looking, but also noticing that there was a bunch of what he could only describe as mana residue over the back yard. His vis use had disturbed the ambient environment, and maybe left a few fragments of itself around, which would probably be detectable to other people.

He needed to figure out how to, if not completely hide, at least suppress the signature of magical use nearby. There was no way that anyone could miss the presence of it in the yard, if they had the sensitivity in the first place, which meant that his cover was probably broken. Though to be fair, he was almost certain they’d suspected from the outset.

Callum cast his senses inside the house and teleported his pistol and holster to himself, grabbing them out of the air and belting them on. While he didn’t think to ask for concealed carry when he was getting his fake ID, the point was moot while he was on his own property, so it was better to be carrying.

He puttered around the back yard for a little bit, finding himself unable to concentrate, before deciding he needed to do something with his time. He did have a list of supplies he needed for repairs, so he went into town to find what he could at the hardware store. By the time he returned home, nearly two hours later, he was feeling a little more settled and sat down to work on his magic again, with an eye toward secrecy.

Ultimately, his solution was just to draw from civil engineering and make vis-sinks that would absorb any stray vis he left lying around. He was fortunate enough to find mention of a vortex pattern for drawing in mana, and rendered in vis on a few steel stakes and a crowbar, it went a long way toward erasing the disruptions. It seemed to him that little tiny bits of vis were left behind after he dismissed his constructs, disrupting the mana field, and once they were gone it returned to normal on its own. It took him more than a few tries to make it work, forming the whirling pattern in threads inside the metal and holding them, but eventually he got a few to work. By then he was exhausted enough from using his magical talents that he needed to take a nap.

By the time he woke up, the yard was clean, so he just had to worry about the vis that was starting to build up in his own body making trouble as he walked around. As a stopgap he used the same vortex pattern on a ball bearing and stuck it in his pocket, but a more reliable way to shield himself went on his list. In fact, weaponization got sent to the top of the queue. The official literature didn’t have anything useful, but he had more than a few ideas.

Since he had to fix things around the house anyway, he decided he’d practice with wood and nails. While he was fairly certain teleportation didn’t run the risk of violating the Pauli exclusion principle, since he could pop rocks back and forth all day, there was no telling what would happen if he tried to teleport into a solid.

For safety’s sake, he went down into the unfinished basement and stretched his senses up to the porch above. Callum snapped a cage around one of the nails and guided a thread to his target board before pushing. While the official literature didn’t mention it, he had found it was easy enough to alter the orientation of things on the target end, so he could drive the nail in properly.

There was considerably more resistance than when he was teleporting in air, the anchor expanding the space and working against the enclosing material. The simple fact that the process was slowed down made him understand what was going on more, and why, for example, teleporting things didn’t cause vacuum implosions to mark every movement.

As befitted space mana, it wasn’t so much the item that was being transferred as the space. The source of the teleport collapsed the surrounding space before it rebounded, generating a little bit of low pressure but not much, whereas the target expanded the space before it collapsed back. Teleporting in an atmosphere only had to worry about the resistance of space and atmosphere, but teleporting into a solid had to deal with the material straining against warped space.

It wasn’t impossible, and with a little more strain the nail appeared in the board, no muss and no fuss. It was probably more effort than hammering them in manually, but it was good practice. Flesh was probably easier than wood, assuming that there weren’t other complications, and being able to teleport things directly past someone’s skin would be horrifically effective.

Another approach was to swap the two spaces. He’d been fiddling with the swap when it came to multiple teleports, juggling stones around, but with air it didn’t matter much. When it came to wood, it was nearly impossible. Where the teleport was just displacing matter, a swap needed to actually shear it off. After exhausting himself just swapping a nail for a thin column of wood, he knew he had to rethink things.

For example, taking a closer look at his teleports showed that by using a generic box of a structure he was including bits of the ground when he moved things. They didn’t move, of course, but even trying to made the whole process a lot more difficult than it should have been. It was also, as he repeated the same teleport a dozen times in a row, the main source of the vis “pollution” he was cleaning up. It wasn’t being sloppy with shaping vis into the forms themselves, but rather, imprecise targeting.

Callum spent the next couple weeks using his vis to repair his house while paring down the mismatch between his actual target item and the shape that enclosed it. With his spatial sense he could actually figure out the genuine form of an object, which meant less vis use, more efficient teleports, and easier teleport forcing. It also meant he figured out telekinesis.

It wasn’t real telekinesis. That was the domain of force mages. His poor-man’s version did most of the same thing by dragging the space around the item in question. Which started out just dropping things as they slid away due to gravity, but gravity was a function of space. He had to look up spatial tensors and heavily reference the illustrations, but it gave him a start.

Gravity magic was its own separate class, at least according to the GAR site, but he knew gravity was basically a result of space warping to begin with. It took him a couple dozen attempts, but he finally managed to flex the vis inside one of the simple box constructs in the right way to mimic the effect. Nulling gravity and dragging space around was a pretty effective way of floating things. The only problem was, like everything else, it drew from his mana and his total capacity was pretty paltry. Or so he guessed; unlike most mages he hadn’t been casting spells for decades.

The pseudo-telekinesis was also inertialess, which was interesting, but meant he couldn’t fling anything anywhere. As soon as he dropped the spatial field, whatever he was holding would drop straight down no matter how fast it seemed to have been moving before. On the up side, he could move big and heavy things just as fast as light ones, and with not much more effort.

He seriously doubted nobody else had realized space mages could affect gravity, but at the same time it wasn’t likely anyone would look at a gravity mage and think that he was a space mage in disguise. Which meant he had a way to cover his ability to work magic. The only problem was altering his tattoo.

Gravity was blue-black, so he’d have to alter the dot on his wrist. Which was, of course, illegal, but he didn’t much care since he didn’t really consider GAR as having any authority over him to begin with. The magic involved in the tattoo itself didn’t care about his opinions though, and might well give him major issues if he couldn’t crack it. He really wanted to get rid of the damn thing, because he didn’t know what it did and he didn’t trust it didn’t have a kill command or something buried in it.

The other option was to get rid of the tattoo entirely. Some careful probing showed that the magic was bound into the ink, but it seemed to be completely confined to the tattoo itself. At least, until he poked at the little dot that represented his magic type, and then he noticed that it was pulling in a little thread of his vis. Nausea washed over him at the sight of the thing feeding on him, feeding on him like a parasite, and he actually gagged before he swallowed and then spit to get rid of the taste.

“Okay, fuck that,” he said aloud and reached out to wrap the little dot in a spatial bubble before shoving all his vis at it in a bid to teleport it out. It shouldn’t have hurt too much, considering it was just a small blob of ink, but agony lanced through him. Callum toppled off his porch chair but didn’t stop pushing, and there was a disturbing tearing sensation in his wrist before a tiny bit of flesh dropped onto the painted planks of the porch.

“Gotcha,” Callum said between breaths, wobbling as he stood up and made his way inside to get some matches and kindling. He got both from beside the fireplace, dumping it into the firepit in the back yard and starting a blaze. Whatever the dot had been doing, pulling it out of his wrist seemed to have stopped it, because the magic dissipated as the fire burned, sucked away into his clean-up vortices.

He inspected his wrist and found that it was very thoroughly bruised, but otherwise intact. The tattoo’s magic seemed mostly intact as well, but if there were subtle changes that registered what he’d done, he didn’t know what to look for. The big change was that he no longer had a colored dot linked to it, just an empty space. Something to deal with later. The rest of the tattoo would have to go eventually, unless it was absolutely necessary for dealing with the supernatural.

His magical muscles were definitely sore as well after that feat, but they recovered after a few days and he felt all the better for it. More confident, at least, that he wasn’t feeding anything by spending vis all the time. His magical endurance was also clearly improving, as between the efficiency improvements in his technique and general practice he was able to move things around for most of the day without exhausting himself.

With that much experience under his belt, he thought that he’d try for portals.

Obviously, the little bit of free literature had no specific instructions on how to make them, except for cautions to not think of them as tunnels. There were just hints and implications about the structure of portals but nothing concrete. It was irritating but not surprising. What was encouraging was that portals were supposed to be one of the two near-instinctive things a spatial mage could make, so it wouldn’t be very far different from what he could already do.

Callum knew that he was missing some fundamental interaction that let things work at a distance. Some fourth-dimensional shortcut or something that let far away spatial workings interact with each other. Still, he didn’t have to crack that immediately, since he did figure out portals. Short range ones, anyway.

It wasn’t too much different from the teleports, as he just slid magic around until it felt right, but the major difference was that the entry and exit had to match perfectly, which was extremely difficult in three dimensions. Even if the actual portals were, effectively, completely two-dimensional, the magic that made them was not. He still had to link them with a thread of vis for that match to happen, which probably wasn’t quite right. But wrong or not, it worked.

The final result was a frame of vis on each end and a surprisingly mana-free region in the middle where the two spaces had been brought together. Callum squinted at the quarter-sized hole in the air, which didn’t look like much since the other end was five feet away. It seemed stable enough, but the edges made him wary. Since the whole thing seemed completely flat, he was afraid of infinitely sharp edges. He definitely didn’t want to dismember himself on his own portal.

He teleported himself a bunch of pebbles to test the portal by simply throwing them at it, and found that the edges worked rather like the edges of a teleport. They were squishier than they seemed, tending to push the pebbles in toward the portal plane while distending a little bit to help them pass. When he picked up a branch and swiped the whole thing at the portal, the magic actually broke. While the concept of an infinitely sharp blade was neat, he was glad that he didn’t have to worry about severing a limb by making the wrong movement with a portal.

Dropping the portal while a stick was pushed partway through was another matter. The connection destabilized and smeared out as it collapsed, tearing the stick in half and mangling it rather than severing it cleanly. So that was a little bit dangerous, but still, he had working portals. That felt good enough that he decided to finally take a break and even go into town. After siphoning the mana disruptions off, of course.

For the most part he’d been a hermit, cooking his own food and even avoiding getting into discussions online, under any pseudonym. But Jessica and Gerry came by every once in a while, and he did go into town enough to see what was there, so he was aware of the small café there. It was a combined coffee and sandwich shop more than anything, and he was pretty sure the person who owned it was a Langley.

“Hello there!” The girl at the counter chirped as he walked into the café, the small bell above the door jangling. Her nametag proclaimed she was Clara. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before!” If he had to guess, he would have said Clara wasn’t more than fifteen or sixteen, which raised the question of why she wasn’t in school, but it really wasn’t his business.

“It’s my first time,” Callum admitted, walking up to the counter. He eyed the menu, surprised to find there were fewer sandwiches and more steaks than was usual for a café. Not a bad surprise, by any means, since he could always make his own sandwiches but the art of the grill had always eluded him. “I’m not sure if this is a late lunch or early dinner, so what do you recommend?”

“The steak tips,” Clara said with assurance. “You can always take those home with you and have the rest later.”

“Sure,” he replied, and glanced around as Clara busied herself getting his food. There were a few elderly folks entrenched at a corner table, not even eating anything but rather playing some board game he didn’t recognize. One of them caught him looking and gave him a squinty-eyed stare, and he had to suppress a laugh.

When he extended his spatial senses, he got a surprise. The café had more of a basement than he would have expected, with multiple fully enclosed rooms, but it didn’t seem to be used for storage. It was furnished, instead, though the enclosed rooms were empty. He was still trying to get a sense of what it was when his extended senses caught something approaching the rear of the café.

It was an animal at least three feet at the shoulder, vaguely doglike but clearly not, with a faint bit of magic clinging to it. It took him a moment, but he realized he was looking at one of the things he’d occasionally seen around that most people saw as a dog or a cat. He didn’t have enough experience to know what the magic was or what it did, but before he could investigate further the animal changed. There was a ripple in the mana around it that was intense but extremely contained, and blocked his ability to see what was happening inside.

The disruption vanished, pulled inside the person that was standing where the beast had been only a few moments ago. Callum fought to keep his eyebrows from ascending to his false hairline. It was one thing to see shifters referred to, it was another to see them in person, as it were. The person stepped into the rear of the café, and a few minutes later a young man bearing a striking resemblance to Sheriff Langley stepped up behind the counter. He squinted at Callum.

“You’re Chase Hall, right?” It wasn’t a hostile question, just a curious one.

“That’s me,” Callum admitted easily. “Let me guess, you’re Sheriff Langley’s brother?”

“Close,” the man said with a smile. “Cousin. Jeff Langley,” he introduced himself, offering Callum a hand. Callum took it, and saw that Jeff’s eyes flickered down to his right wrist. Since the shifters didn’t have a mage tattoo, he had to wonder how they identified themselves normally, or if they bothered to at all. The impression he got from the literature online was that shifters and vampires had their own internal politics, but how exactly that interacted with mages was still a mystery.

“This your café? It’s pretty nice,” Callum said, by way of small talk. Shifter or not, Jeff Langley seemed to be an ordinary business owner, and his good nature didn’t seem at all put on. Magic senses didn’t help him distinguish truth from lies any more than his normal sense did, but his gut didn’t give him any warnings when he looked at Jeff, or really, any of the Langleys.

“Mine and my wife’s,” Jeff said affably. “That’s my little girl in the kitchen.” He hiked his thumb in the direction Clara had gone.

“I’m not little!” Clara’s voice came floating out from the back, and Jeff laughed. Callum just shook his head. They really were ordinary folk.

“What about you? You’re old enough to have someone at home,” Jeff observed.

“I had one once,” Callum said, some of his good humor slipping. “I’m not ready to try again.” It came out as fairly light, but Jeff nodded and dropped the subject.

“Well, you know, you’re welcome to come by anytime. You don’t have to stay out in that old shack of Jessica’s.”

“I’ll probably be stopping by more often now,” Callum admitted. “I’ve been sorting through some stuff, you know how it is.”

“Sure,” Jeff said. “Winut’s a nice quiet place, so it’s probably a good choice for that!”

“That’s why I’m here,” Callum agreed.


“He actually came by your café? Did he do anything?” Jessica asked, pouring lemonades for everyone.

“He just ordered the steak tips. It’s weird, though. You said that you smelled magic in his yard before, but he was completely clean. Though you’re right, he’s definitely covering up a mage mark. I was tempted to recommend him one of the shifter brands so it wouldn’t be obvious from scent.” Jeff took the lemonade and sipped it, watching Clara race around on all fours with the pups.

At that age, the natural glamour that made people see them as wolves or dogs or sometimes even cats wasn’t quite developed, and it was obvious to anyone that looked closely that they weren’t anything that existed in the natural world. In Winut that wasn’t too much of a worry, since half the population was shifters, but only half. Besides which, packs could only get so large before they started bickering and had to split, so not everyone could stay.

“The only mage I’ve run across that didn’t reek of magic was an archmage,” Arthur Langley said, frowning at his lemonade glass. “But he was terrifying anyway. Mister Hall practically seems like a mundane, if a wary one.”

“If he’s not making trouble, I don’t think we should worry about him,” Jessica said, dropping into the chair next to Gerry. “Though I smelled Jeanine lurking near his yard. You need to warn her off that, Arthur. If he is a mage, he’s a weird one, and I doubt the Midwest Alpha is going to go to bat for us against GAR if he hurts her.”

“I’ll have to call another pack meeting,” Arthur said with a frown. “I don’t think we need surveillance anymore, just as well since school and hunting season is on us, but you’re right. Anyone who gets near him in beast form is just asking for trouble.”


A note from InadvisablyCompelled

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