His smile blooms, bright and earnest. “Good.” He nudges the teapot towards me.
“Now drink your tea; it’s getting cold.”
“So bossy,” I mutter into my cup.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Unity Gate iswhere the Sector Assembly takes place. The site sits at the seam where three sectors meet—Human, Magic, and Vampire.
It was commissioned about fifty years ago for the first sector talks. Over time, it has sprawled. Now all government representatives, from every faction, are permitted to use Unity Gate for official business. They can book meeting rooms, host conferences in the world-class centre, even make use of the attached airport and hotel.
It is guarded by every faction. Entering feels like crossing into a new country: neutral, tightly controlled, owned by no one. No one rules here. Everything is decided by vote.
The Sector Assembly’s schedule is set by the vampires,because there is no point hosting something this important while a quarter of the attendees can combust in daylight. Midnight to four a.m.
The main conference building, Unity Hall, is constructed from light-proof glass, just in case, and layered in countless security spells. The wards hum at the edge of my hearing—quiet, persistent, like a distant power line.
If anyone tries to bring in something they should not, it is detected immediately.
There is a strict no-weapons policy, and in theory, magic users cannot draw on their power, even if they want to. Shifters are barred from shifting. Vampires cannot use their creepy magic. No one gets to play to their strengths.
For most people, the whole place is spell-locked for fairness. Soundproofing wards block eavesdropping, not that shifters and vampires can use their enhanced senses. The effect is apparently disorientating—like being locked in a polystyrene box with only your own pulse for company.
To look at them, though, you would never guess. They sit and move about Unity Hall, sleek and composed, as if their bodies are not quietly protesting the absence of their usual edges.
I imagine most of them spend time acclimatising beforehand.
I sit, waiting for my name to be called.
The anteroom is outrageously fancy—the sort of place where even breathing too loudly feels like a faux pas.
The chair I am in is more of an armchair—deep, plush, and upholstered in some ridiculously soft fabric. It cocoons me. When I shift, the thick carpet beneath my feet gives likesponge cake—springy, bouncy, probably enchanted never to flatten.
The walls are covered in pale wallpaper threaded with delicate designs that shimmer ever so slightly in the light.Gold leaf. Real gold leaf,I think, because of course it is.
On a side table nearby, two elegant glass dispensers are filled with lemon and strawberry-mint infused water. The fruit floats, the ice never melting. Across from that, a marble-topped bar holds an array of high-end alcohol—whisky in crystal decanters, champagne chilling in silver buckets.
There is also a sleek coffee machine, polished to within an inch of its life.
A butler-type man stands nearby—silent, pristine, eyes sharp. He watches me as though I might need something at any moment, and he intends to provide it before I even ask. The kind of service that is meant to soothe, but mostly just reminds you that you are being observed and judged.
Every so often, I catch a flicker of movement beyond the tall windows. A flutter of wings.
Snack Thief.
He darts past the glass, flying dangerously close to the wards. My heart stutters every time he brushes near them—he is too close, too bold. But then again, he is Lander’s animal. Of course he is reckless.
Lander dropped me off over an hour ago and took his place with the Ministry’s council. The sight of him in an immaculate black suit, rather than his usual combat gear, made my mouth water; I could not stop stealing glances at him.
I have been mindlessly fidgeting with the hem of my dress ever since, worrying the fabric between my fingers until the silk threatens to crease.
It is a style I would have wanted to wear the last time I was human—ankle-length indigo silk, high neckline, fitted bodice. As a girl, I used to love bright colours. My sister Callista had the most beautiful dresses, and I used to stare at them like they were magic in their own right.
As a paper mage, my parents did not want me to stand out any more than I already did, so I was stuck with browns and blacks, which drained what little colour I had from my cheeks.
I always wanted the kind of dress that dared the world to look at me.
I styled my hair with a little magic and pinned it into an intricate twist; a touch of make-up completes the effect. I hope I look modest, professional, but still feminine.
