Chaos overtakes the hall, Sazwa and Ali get into an immediate argument, Vern is staring like he’s seen a ghost, and a half a dozen witch hats I don’t recognize start walking towards me.

  I don’t linger, I duck behind Henrietta, disappear behind a pillar, shove into the crowds. On my way out I’m grabbed by one of the invisible people, wearing a cobweb of periwinkle light shaped into a witch hat, who says “I’m Iris, can I join?”

  At her introduction the fuzzy veil melts away, and I see a young asian woman wearing big glasses. I shakily repeat: “Do you promise to strike when the union strikes, to fight till the day our demands are met, to never turn against a borrower who has made this same promise?”

  “I promise,” she says.

  The thread goes taught.

  Iris picks up a tray of drinks she was holding earlier, and throws them to the floor with a manic giggle.

  “Love the energy- Hold off for three days, okay?”

  She laughs. “Okay.”

  I duck past her, the exit isn’t that far, eyes are on Henrietta, I’m close-

  And then a fuzz shaped like a tall human with a glowing tie blocks my path, an arm outstretched, boxing me against the wall. It says in an indistinct voice “I would advise against running.”

  “I would advise you to fuck yourself,” I say.

  “Bowie, nice to meet you,” they say, resolving as an older- woman? I’m reading transfem in their appearance and stylings, but it might just be because those are features I notice. They have a long crooked nose, and deep scratch marks along their face, large hands, no feminine curve to be found except in the bulge of their chest beneath the modest, shoulder padded corporate suite they wear. “See, while you’re invited here, you are protected by the rules of hospitality. When you make it back home, to floor 11, room 20, bunk 17, you’re on your own.”

  “Gonna kill me, bud?”

  “If that is the only impression you plan on making, I wouldn’t be surprised by a midnight visitor.”

  “The pact won’t die with me, it’d be pointless.”

  “But it might earn someone a favor for trying. A chance for a borrower to be ‘one of the good ones,’ maybe.”

  My back is to the wall, they loom over me. They’re tall, broad shouldered, purpose built to intimidate without moving a muscle. “Are you trying to scare me?”

  “I’m trying to invite you to the table,” they say. “We’re going to decide what comes next, and you can be there or not.”

  I stare at them, stutter.

  “I strongly recommend you be there.”

  “Fine,” I say. I don’t want to look too happy about it, but when they lead me to the back rooms of this fantasy castle I do have to smile.

  I’m a borrower, invited here to be made an example of and then discarded, and now instead they’re inviting me to closed door witch meetings. I’m not supposed to be where I am. They’re scared, and I did that. I arrive at the table feeling powerful.

  There’s a table with 6 chairs, and Bowie pulls up a seventh for me. One by one people filter in.

  Henrietta, black skin, white dress, old and graceful, leads the way, her expression schooled, cold, calm and collected.

  At her heels is a grand, jangling jesters cap low to the ground, the owner of which tips it and says “Gaylord Hazelwood,” with a little bow. Introduced, he’s unveiled to be a small, balding man, sweating in a suit, short and unimposing. I make no reply but a stare, and he averts his eyes sheepishly, looking apologetic for his existence.

  “Abraham,” says a mediterranean looking man with thin, intricate tattoos covering his hands and forearms. He’s tall, handsome, with long hair in a bun and bit of a beard, a spectral crown of fangs, horns, and scales above his head. His eyes are curious, comfortingly self assured, but as I meet them and stare him down the way I stared down gaylord, his expression hardens against me.

  This stupid test of wills goes on for about ten seconds longer than is comfortable when Sazwa walks in. “Haven’t you done enough damage?” she asks, and sits down in a huff.

  “Only just getting started,” I say. My voice is unwavering, I feel like a different person, standing here, dissociating, ego inflating to fill the gap as a weaker, more nuanced Heidi is discarded into the void. It’s almost like the first time I took a puff of vantablack.

  “Did any of the elders show up?” Henrietta asks.

  “Of course not,” says Bowie.

  “Arleen?” asks Abraham, looking skeptically in Sazwa’s direction.

  “Told me to fill in,” she says.

  “Because she thought it was a good idea or because you insisted?” Abraham asks.

  “She was going to come but the smell of blood and wet dogs gives her a headache,” Sazwa says, turning her anger on someone other than me for a change.

  Abraham stares. Bowie whispers in his ear and he laughs.

  “Then let’s begin with the six of us,” Henrietta says. “I am Henrietta, I represent the court keepers, Abraham the Pack, Gaylord the academy, Bowie the Cull, and Sazwa is representing the Redeemers in place of Arleen. The elders have not seen fit to join today, their seat is empty.”

  As she says this, Gaylord lifts his hand and a pen spurs to motion, writing down the exact play by play of the meeting.

  “I’m Heidi,” I say. “Representing the Borrowers Union.”

  The room is quiet. Gaylord’s pen hesitates. And then with nobody to stop it, it writes the words, the title that makes this real.

  “Heidi, I understand you’re upset about the way this has gone, and I understand the borrower’s frustrations. If you had simply asked to remain a borrower, we could have opened the floor to those willing to take you on, and if you found a new witch we could have waived the memory modification requirement.”

  I scoff. “Excuse me?”

  “You may remain a borrower, with the debt of care for what happened to Luis being taken on by your new witch.”

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “Again I ask- why is that on me and not on Vern?”

  “I agree,” says Abraham. “Vern broke pack rules by giving out a wolf seed without permission, he should be on trial here, not the borrower who went feral under its influence, and not her either.” He gives me that stare again. Is this what he thinks being friendly looks like?

  Gaylord hmms out loud before saying: “Agreed” in a high, nasally voice.

  “If it’ll satisfy the table,” Bowie nods.

  “Nobody fucking cares about Vern,” Sazwa sighs.

  “The table agrees then. The debt belongs to Vern to provide magical or mundane healing by his own hand or by barter,” Henrietta nods deeply, as if she just removed all injustice from the world.

  “and if Heidi wants to remain a borrower, she can be mine,” Abraham offers.

  Oh, that is the angle. I’ll be his borrower, his pet, his possession, how’s that for dominance?

  “Or mine,” Bowie says.

  Abraham looks at Bowie, there’s a moment of silent conflict, before Abraham confirms: “Or theirs.”

  “A more than generous offer, Abraham, Bowie,” Gaylord says. Abraham does nothing to acknowledge the little man even spoke.

  “Are you done?” I ask.

  “What do you mean, Heidi?” Henrietta asks.

  “I was invited here to talk about the Union’s demand, which was not about Vern, or me. ”

  “The Banneret is the property of the Pack,” Abraham says.

  Gaylord says: “At our last vote the pack, the cull, and court keepers voted yay, the academy and the redeemers nay, and the elders were not reachable.”

  “I don’t know or care who any of those people are,” I say. “If the avatar is property, she’s mine, and you’re thieves. If the avatar is a person, let me ask her where she wants to go, and we’ll see if you’re kidnappers.”

  “Avatars are not exactly either,” Gaylord says. “They represent the past, and as such don’t care about present or future. They are afforded dignity as persons are but must be taken care of by a keeper- in this case Abraham.”

  Henrietta folds her hands together and speaks: “I rediscovered the Avatar known as Refuge, and have long looked over her, I consider her a close friend, and so I understand your concern for The Banneret. As Abraham's borrower, you would be able to see her at his discretion.”

  “Everyone wins.”

  I look at this united front, look for weakness, stare him down.

  Gaylord withers under my gaze, dabs at his sweaty brow. “It would be possible to grant you naming rights. Though most avatars don’t wear human names. Though, uh, yes. We could agree on that.”

  “Kerrigan is mine to keep, to care for,” I say.

  “To what end?” Sazwa asks. “You’re a borrower. You can’t use a spell seed. We desperately need them.”

  “Exactly,” I say. “If the borrower's union controls an avatar, we control the flow of her spell seeds. We have the power to reward witches with them, and the power to withhold them from individuals, from factions, from everyone, if we have to.” Henrietta’s eyes go wide, her lips quirk, a very subtle did you just fucking say what I think you just said? “Give us that power, give us a voice, a hand on the wheel, a show of good faith. Us striking is the nuclear option, nobody wins. Giving us kerrigan gives us the power to negotiate our situation without ever needing to impact the work we do for you. We can manage the abusers with work refusal and spell seed bargaining.”

  I lay my argument on the table, watch their upturned noses. Abraham looks like he could tear me apart for even suggesting it, but he kind of has that look to him naturally.

  Bowie rolls their eyes. “If you strike we will refuse to remove spell seeds. In a month half of you will be dead or worse, and the rest will fold.” They raise a hand into the air, braces it to snap. “If you’re using pact magic, so will we, to guarantee no traitors to the cause. And you better believe we’ll have more than half.”

  “Tough talk,” I say.

  Abraham speaks up “I promise, that so long as the borrowers union is on strike, I will not remove the spell seed of any borrower, striking or not.”

  Its wild overkill, meant to scare me with the collateral damage- meant to make enemies of those who should be recruits.

  Despite that, with no debate, Bowie snaps, and a thread of silver lashes out between them, and the rest of the table, witnessing this promise. And then Henrietta repeats the same promise, and Gaylord. The table comes to Sazwa.

  “This is more than talk, Heidi, people’s lives are at stake,” She says. “People are going to die over this, mark my words. There is an equitable solution on the table. You do not have to do this.”

  “I’m not backing down, Sazwa,” I say, with all the kindness I can muster on such short notice. “Borrowers might die striking, yeah, but borrowers might break their backs and get mauled by wolves because you treat us like disposable soldiers. What the fuck do we have to lose? Choose a side.”

  Her shoulders tense. She exhales. And then she stares at me with hatred, true utter disgust, and says: “I promise, that so long as the borrowers union is on strike, I will not remove the spell seed of any borrower, striking or not.”

  Bowie snaps. The table witnesses it. The fate of Ali is sealed, just like that.

  “We will not be granting the request of the borrowers union, I believe that will be all our business for today,” Henrietta says.

  We all stand, and Bowie escorts me out. “What a fantastic waste of my time,” I say. “Glad you invited me to the table.”

  “Oh, trust me, it wasn’t for that,” they say. We step back into the main hall, and I see the other borrowers, clumped together, talking, agitated, Ali doing his best to calm them. Bowie leans in and whispers: “It’s for this.”

  “And you let me know if you need anything else, Heidi, you’ve been a delight,” they announce, then laugh amicably and walk off. Their familiar, the big orange cat with the black paws, rubs up against my leg affectionately and follows along.

  The borrowers stare at me, and I freeze. “What?” I ask, but Bowie’s already gone. “Hey, everyone, they’re not budging, this-”

  “What happened in there?”

  “They were completely unwilling to agree to anything.”

  “You asked about training? Mandatory introductions?”

  “Kerrigan is the key to getting all of that,” I say.

  “So you didn’t even make the case?”

  “No, that’s not the play. We secure power first, then get into specifics.”

  “They’re never going to give us power if they don’t know what we want!” Rigs yells. I have never seen him so rattled. He was one of the easiest to get to handshake too, he agreed like it was as natural as breathing. Now he looked sickened. “Holy shit this is such a bad idea, we can’t go on strike, we’re going to get destroyed.”

  “No, we’re not- Listen to me. They need us.”

  “They can make new borrowers.”

  “Only with spell seeds, which aren’t exactly common. They were scared the moment I started talking about withholding them, they’re starving for them as it is, replacing seventy of us? No way,” I say.

  “If we recruited half of the borrowers, we can recruit half the scabs,” Ali says.

  “During an active strike? No fucking chance,” Rigs says. “You know any new borrower is going to get warned about us- Heidi I want out.”

  “Rigs-”

  “You can’t make me do this,” he says.

  “I can’t make you what?” I ask, word by word, a chill running through me. “You promised, Rigs, that you would do this.”

  “Only because-”

  “Only because it sounded easy, only because it wouldn’t happen, only to make me happy-” I roll my eyes. “You didn’t really mean it?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’re all about to get very well acquainted with curses, Rigs, so let me tell you what I’ve figured out about the curse of a pact witch.” I step up to him, even as he stands a head taller than me and twice my weight. I ball my fist. “I will not abide a liar.”

  “You will today,” Ali says, holding my wrist. “Rules of hospitality, you don’t want to see what happens when you break them.”

  I glare at Ali, then at Rigs. “You say I can’t make you, Rigs? I’m making you. As long as one of us holds you to your promise, it will bind you. Even if everyone else released you, I would hold you to those words till the day you fucking die.”

  Rigs lowers his gaze to the ground

  “The strike is coming, three days. What do we do?”

  “Recruit every borrower you know. If your witch has a spare spell seed, steal it and hide it. If your witch hasn’t already entered a pact, convince them to keep it that way. Work diligently up until the strike begins, be a class act, take the high road, make plans with them- we want them to feel our absence.”

  “Just be safe too. You don’t know what kind of retaliation they might have in store,” Ali says. I can see the deep hurt in his eyes, a quiver in his lip after he says it. That even married to a witch, he’s had to think about what she might do to punish him. He exhales, smiles stoically and says “I think we’ve worn out our welcome at this event, friends, let’s be on our way.”