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.

Amity sat in the equal chair until the courier returned. The blue-feathered stag came up the old road at dusk, all five pendants gone from its antlers. Five answers meant five delegations on the way. She stood, brushed dust from her coat, and walked back toward the manor with the stag at her shoulder. Then she stopped on the steps. She had set the table. She had not set the food. She ran through what she knew. The river clan would not touch cooked meat. The mountain line would not drink water that had stood in metal. The half-angel nobles would refuse anything a demon had handled. Demons would refuse anything blessed. Witches would test every cup for iron. One wrong dish at the table and the first guest to arrive hungry would walk out, and the others would follow the empty chair. She found Lily inside, sharpening a knife on the kitchen counter. Amity told her the count. Six days had become two. Lily set the knife down. "I cook for one mouth," she said. "Not five. You need separate hands and separate fires." Amity's hair went orange, then settled brown. She looked past Lily at the long stone building behind the manor, the one with the four ovens and the split prep counters she had bought the deed for and never opened. They worked through the night and the next day. Amity lit the four ovens in the communal kitchen and gave each station to one species' rules. Lily ran the angel side because she could and would not let anyone else. They kept the witch board clear of iron. They scrubbed the demon counter with salt water and no blessing. They roasted roots for the mountain line over wood the river clan would also accept. For drink, they drew spring water into clay jugs and set honey beside each one. No metal touched any cup. On the second evening Amity dragged a wooden stall out past the front steps and stacked it with the bread, the honey jars, the carrots, the beets, the small white turnips. Anyone coming up the road would see food before they saw a face. Beside the stall she laid out five serving pieces, one for each delegation. For the river clan she set down a flat stone plate carved with forest herbs, the marks of the plants they ate raw in spring. Lily watched from the doorway. "They'll know you studied them," she said. "Some will hate that more." Amity nodded. "Let them hate it full." The first horn sounded at the property line just after dark. Amity's hair went white, then gray, then held. The food was ready. The table was ready. She walked down to meet the first delegation with Lily one step behind her, and the gathering she had spent a winter planning began on the ground she had built for it.

The first horn faded into the trees and no one moved. Amity stood at the foot of the steps with Lily one pace behind her. Five delegations waited at the edge of the property, each pulled up short of the front door. The wolves held the west road. The demons stood under the old tree at the south edge, roots glowing faint between their boots. The river clan, the mountain line, and the half-angel nobles held their own ground further out. No one would cross first. Crossing first meant bowing. Amity's hair went white, then gray, then white again. She had built the table. She had not built a door no one could lose at. She looked at the manor entrance and saw the problem clean. One door, one threshold, one order of entry. Whoever stepped through second would be counted under whoever stepped through first. "They won't move," Lily said. "They'll stand there till dawn and then leave." Amity turned from the steps and walked toward the small stone rotunda that sat between the road and the manor. It was round, domed, and old, with four doors set at even points around its wall. She had passed it a hundred times and never used it. Now she saw what it was for. Four doors, no front, no back. She called the wolves' Beta over by name. Dan Blackwood crossed the open ground without waiting for his pack's nod, hands in his pockets, easy. "You needed a volunteer," he said. "Figured I'd save you the speech." Behind him, Darius Shadowborne stepped out from the demon line on his own, jaw set. He stopped beside Dan and said, "If he's in, I'm in. Don't make me regret it." Amity raised her voice so the far delegations could hear. She told them the rotunda had four doors and the manor had one. Each delegation would enter the rotunda by a separate door at the same count. Inside, no one was first. From the rotunda they would walk to the table together. The fifth delegation, whichever wished, would enter the manor door directly, neither ahead nor behind. Lily would stand at the manor door and count. Dan and Darius would walk in side by side through the rotunda's east and south doors to prove the shape held. The river clan moved first toward the north door. The mountain line took the west. The half-angel nobles took the manor door itself, which suited their pride. Dan and Darius walked into the rotunda from opposite sides and came out the inner arch together, shoulders almost touching, Darius muttering something that made Dan snort. Lily counted them through the manor door without lifting her face. Five delegations crossed the threshold inside one breath of each other. No one had bowed. The gathering was inside.