---Em---

     At the opposite end of the lot from where the subway trains are parked, a dozen or so of Ace's people have gathered around a pit. One of them carefully stacks a pile of logs, and another douses the wood with lighter fluid. By the time Comma, Liluye, and I have crossed the lot, the wet logs have caught fire, and the underground lot smells of smoke and chemicals.

     "Someone ought to tell them not to waste the kindling," Liluye mutters. "The hunters still aren't back yet. It'd be a shame if the fire died out before they could bring us something to cook."

     "You'd think the boss man would be on top of that," says Comma, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her sweater. Erez's sweater, actually—despite her attitude towards him, he felt bad for her having to walk around in nothing but Selina's torn-up dress. It is a bit chilly down here. Mouldy, too. My allergies are having a field day.

     Liluye comes to a stop in front of a subway car that stands on its own, separated from the rest of the train. Busted pipes and rusted girders hang above us. Wooden planks board the windows of the car. The doors have been removed in favour of a wire mesh gate with a padlock. Nothing that can't be easily busted open.

     Comma slides her fingers through the mesh and rattles the gate.

     "Wates might be sleeping," Liluye says, her eyes widening. "You shouldn't—"

     "Time to wake the hell up!" Comma clutches the padlock, and she's about to rip the thing right off when a lanky figure approaches the gate.

     He hangs his head, the rim of his black fedora obscuring his eyes. The strap from his guitar carrying case slants across his black tee like a sash. Ignoring Comma, he grabs the gate and slides it open.

     Comma blinks, her eyes darting back and forth between the padlock and the guy who I can only assume is Wates. "So what, the lock was just for show?"

     "Door's always open," says Wates, tipping up his hat. Beneath his heavy stubble, I catch a glimpse of a scar, trickling down from his lip to his chin. "The lock is symbolic. A metaphor." I'd put this guy at around nineteen or so, which still makes him the oldest out of everyone we've encountered on Valynar.

     "Sorry to disturb you, sir," says Liluye, lowering her eyes.

     "No harm done." Wates rubs his hands together. "Was just about to get me a spot by the fire. Some catch today, huh?"

     "Actually, sir, the hunters still aren't back yet."

     Wates squints. "I actually meant the new recruits, but that right there is some disconcerting news."

     Comma crosses her arms. "You should probably do something about that. I hear things get pretty sketch out there past sundown."

     "And taxes being what they are, it's not like you can spare the bodies," I say, staring Wates in the eyes. "Unless having a few of your people gobbled up by a pterodactyl counts as a deductible."

     Wates nods slowly. "The hunters are some clever folk; I'll wager they've taken cover for the night. As for us, I can see we're in need of a little talk. If you'll join me by the fire, I'd be happy to talk about whatever's eating you."

     He takes a step to the side, but I cut him off before he can get past us.

     "We need meds. Apparently you need to give that the okay."

     He adjusts the rim of his fedora. "That's right."

     I step a little closer. "So give it the okay."

     "That'd warrant a discussion. And I don't do discussions unless I've got a fire to warm my toes by. Capisce?"

     Comma scowls. "Well I think you'll make an exception." When Wates steps to the left, Comma seizes his arm. But the second she grabs a hold of him, he twists her arm and shoves her to the ground, planting her face in the dirt.

     "We've got a way of doing things down here," he says, crouching. "We haven't survived this long by making exceptions. If you think you'll get special treatment because of them pointy ears of yours, you're sorely mistaken." Wates stands back up and claps his hands together. "Come join me by the fire. Then we'll talk."

     This time, when he tries to push past, I don't get in his way. Liluye offers us a sympathetic glance before following after her leader. I help Comma back to her feet.

     "Before you say anything, that was a lucky hit."

     "I wasn't going to say anything."

     "Liar." Comma dusts herself off. "If he thinks we're going to play by his rules, he's got another thing coming."

     "Another think coming, you mean."

     "Oh, he won't be doing any thinking once I'm through bashing his brains in."

     So much for our private meeting. I don't need to ask Comma what she's thinking to know we're on the same page: this place isn't much, but until we can figure out some way to get back the powers Selina stole from us, we're not going anywhere. And if we're going to be living here, there are going to have to be some changes.

     We make our way over to the fire pit without saying a word. The flames shed a little more light on the dank, cavernous lot. The walls are rusted and streaked with dirt and who knows what else. Every now and then, a rat weaves its way in and out of the shadows, keeping a safe distance from the clamour of the camp. Everywhere around us, people begin to exit the trains and flock to the fire. Teenagers and kids. No one over the age of twenty. Except for Topher.

     He waves us down and then forces his way through the crowd. "Jesus. It's like a YA novel out here, isn't it? I feel ancient."

     "Where are Gail and the others?" I get this strange twisting in my stomach when I say her name. We haven't really had time to talk since... well since we got our memories back. It's not something I'm all that eager to address, but at the same time, part of me hasn't stopped thinking about it. Okay, maybe except for when Selina punched a hole through my stomach and damn near killed me. But distractions like those don't come along very often.

     "The girls are catching some z's. Been a long day."

     "What about Crawford?"

     "He's pretty much one of the girls." Topher rubs his gut. "I wonder what's cooking. You think there's any chance they'll break out some s'mores?"

     "I wouldn't get my hopes up," says Comma. "But uh... something, something squished like marshmallows. I'm too tired for this. Just pretend I made some witty remark about kicking Wates' ass."

     "Good one," I say, making it sound as pained as humanly possibly.

     "Shut up, Em."

     Our seats aren't that great; I guess like pretty much everything else after the end of civilization, the seating arrangements are on a first come, first serve basis. Unless you're Wates, of course; then the crowd parts for you like the Red Sea.

     Everyone shuts up when Wates busts out the acoustic guitar. I'm expecting campfire songs, but he starts up with some intricate finger picking with a bit of a flamenco vibe to it. He gets really into it too; he ups the tempo, barely breathing as his fingers sweep over the strings without pause. Every time it seems like the melody's about to resolve, he hops to a different key. He picks faster and faster, plucking the strings harder and harder as if depicting some sort of chaotic descent into madness. Now even I'm holding my breath.

     And then he just stops. There's no payoff. The melody has every face in the crowd tense, every heart beating a mile a minute, every body braced for some sort of deadly impact. And he leaves us that way, because that's how he wants us. On edge. Hanging on to his every word.

     He sets the guitar down. "I'd like to start by giving a warm welcome to Jewel and Jun, the newest members of our family." The curly-haired girl, who was clutching her crucifix while we crossed the bridge, is nowhere to be seen, nor can I spot her solemn-faced friend. The crowd applauds anyway. That weak kind of applause that says Oh, great, as if we didn't already have enough mouths to feed.

     "So what's the plan?" I ask, keeping my voice hushed. "I'm thinking we—"

     "A little late," says Topher. He nods up ahead.

     Comma's already pushing her way towards the pit at the centre of the crowd, where Wates stands delivering some rehearsed speech about sticking together through these trying times. He lets his voice trail off right in the middle of a cliché storm when Comma finally stumbles out into the clearing.

     They stand face to face before the blaze. Wates doesn't so much as blink. He keeps his chin raised, so that he's looking down on her. Comma squeezes her fingers around an invisible hilt. I wait for her chakram to materialize... but it doesn't. Her confidence wavers; it's barely noticeable, but I've been around her long enough now to notice the subtleties in her expressions.

     Wates clears his throat. "Ace and Liluye rescued a group of six from the nothing today. As always, we extend each and every one of them an invitation to become full-fledged members of our society."

     "More like four out of five," Topher mutters under his breath. A couple of heads turn our way, but for the most part, our whispers blend in with the murmurings of the crowd.

     "What?" I ask.

     "I'll explain later."

     Comma hesitates; clearly she hasn't thought this through. Typical. Not that I would've done any better, but since she's the one who rushed over there without a plan, I get to judge.

     Wates wears his warmest smile. "Something troubling you, child?"

     Comma's eyebrow twitches. "Child?"

     "Why, yes." Wates holds out his arms to his sides, palms upturned. "This is my family. And you are all my children."

     "Good. Then you won't just sit back and watch me succumb to rat plague. That'd be some poor parenting."

     "Rat plague is a serious disease, and you have my sympathies. But the antidote is rare, and our supplies are limited. You have to understand that we can't just go offering up our resources without asking for anything in return. Once you've contributed something to the welfare of our community, proven yourself to be a valuable member of our society, then you can help yourself to our supplies."

     Comma nods. "Okay. But I have a better idea." She launches towards him, swinging her arm. There's a loud crack, like thunder splitting the sky in two. With a flick of his wrist, Wates sends Comma hurtling backwards about twenty feet. She crashes right through the window of one of the trains. Broken glass rains down onto the steel rails.

     "Like I said," says Wates, cracking his knuckles, "No exceptions."

Author's Note:

It's not often Comma gets put in her place. Who exactly is this Wates guy?  

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