Amity Nervy Lucid's Arc

Chapter 1 of 3

Amity Nervy Lucid stood on the cracked steps of the empty manor and counted the days until her first gathering. Six. She had sent word to five species and named no host clan, because naming one would end the meeting before it began. Her hair shifted from copper to a pale, uneasy green. She pressed her palm flat to the stone and felt nothing pull back. The building belonged to no one. That was the only reason she had picked it. The manor had sat shut for a generation. Witches called it cursed. Dragons called it cramped. Angels would not enter a place demons had once used, and demons would not sit under angel glass. Amity had read every claim and found them all thin. She had bought the deed herself, with coin she earned and coin she stole, and now the deed sat in her coat pocket like a stone. She was the only one of her kind, mixed from all five bloodlines, and she was tired of choosing which half of herself to hide at any given table. She walked the grounds before sundown to test her plan. Out past the front steps she had set a long wooden table under a canopy of bent branches, the chairs spaced even, no head and no foot. Five seats. No banners. No sigils carved deeper than any other. A guest arriving by the old road would pass first under the worn stone arch at the property line, its painted trail marks faded to dull reds and greens, a road sign older than any of the five courts. Neutral ground had to look neutral from the first step in. The werewolf in her wanted to pace. She held still instead. If the wolves caught that scent on her, they would think she favored them, and the others would smell it on the wolves and refuse the room. She kept that bloodline quiet around strangers for good reason. Her hair went white for a breath as the five sides of her pulled at once, then settled to a flat, working gray. From her satchel she took the five pendants she had carved through the winter. Each was a small wooden disk hung with five charms, one symbol per species, every charm the same size. No species came first on the cord. She tied the first pendant to the antler of the blue-feathered stag she had raised from a fawn, the only courier every species would let pass without challenge. She tied the second, third, fourth, and fifth the same way. Then she opened the gate and sent the stag down the old road. The invitations were out. She could not call them back. Amity sat down in one of the five equal chairs, the deed heavy in her pocket, and waited to see who would come and who would send a knife instead.