Asher snorts. “Of course there's a passcode. He’s giving you access to the personal information of a secret society governing a secret world of magical beings.”
“Well… when you say it like that…”
My phone rings again before I can spiral into frustration. “Hey, Vale. What’s up?”
“Your Order of the Arcane non-disclosure agreement and privacy contract have been set up. I’m sending them to you now. Once you sign them, you’ll receive your passcode and have the keys to the city.”
“How did you—” My email beeps, notifying me of a new email. “Man, you’re slick.”
“Good of you to notice.”
I click the email open, scan the agreement stating anything I learn will be used only for the good of the empowered community… yadda, yadda… no access beyond guild executives… yadda, yadda…
I click my agreement to the terms, and an iridescent bubble materializes beside my laptop screen.
I freeze. “What the hell?”
The bubble hovers there, its surface shimmering with oil-slick colors that shift and swirl. Within that hypnotic shimmer, numbers and letters form in elegant script.
“Pen!” Asher races over to the recipe desk and runs back with a pencil and a pad of sticky notes. I scramble to jot down the passcode before it disappears.
The moment I finish writing, the bubble pops with a soft sound like a champagne cork.
"Did you get it?" Vale's voice sounds almost amused.
"That was... new."
"Secure magical delivery. Much harder to intercept than email. Now, you officially have access to more sensitive information on the empowered community than I do. Use it wisely and let me know if I can be of any other help."
"Thank you, Vale."
"Of course."
He hangs up, and I fumble to type in my passcode. “Damn, my fingers are shaking.”
“Let me.” Asher angles the laptop toward himself and keys in the passcode with practiced strokes.
The seal of the Order of the Arcane flips to a welcome homepage that makes my head spin. Current events scroll across the top—notices about gatherings, warnings about dark magic activity, calls for aid in various supernatural crises.
Along the left side, tabs organize everything by empowered race and community. Witches. Shifters. Vampires. Fae. Warlocks. Even categories I don't recognize.
I tap my finger on the screen. “Click on the witch tab.”
The new screen loads.
“It lists every registered coven in North America,” Asher grins, leaning back so I can see, “organized by region.”
My breath catches, and I move the laptop to take control. “This is more comprehensive than anything I could have imagined.” I scroll through, spotting familiar names?—
Emberwood, Thornhill, dozens of others.
When I click on Emberwood, profiles appear.
“Look at this. Every member in good standing has a photo, name, magical affinity, and contact information.” I skim through, recognizing faces from the community center, from passing encounters around town.
“Ha! Check out Wylder’s mugshot. He looks like a dork.”
I roll my eyes. “It was probably from his induction. He would’ve been sixteen.”
