“He’ll take them to Avalon HQ. I doubt they’ll be charged with anything except their parents finding out how they spent a school morning.” Blake chuckled.

“Were you here to dispatch the aerial forces?” Val asked.

Blake shook his head. “I’m patrolling. Technically, I’m brass now, but...” He shrugged. “I take a hands-on approach.”

Val’s gaze dipped to Blake’s bionic hand. Her cheeks burned as she jerked her eyes back to his face. “Shit. Sorry.”

Blake chuckled. “I thought you were admiring the workmanship.”

“It is amazing. Who did it?” Val asked.

Blake held out his hand and turned it left and right. “It’s a blend of Iron Dwarven work and thaumatech Qtana developed on Julie’s orders.”

“Love it.” Val admired the runes that enabled his fingers to move with the same dexterity as flesh. “I’ll have to pick your brain about it someday.”

“You’re always welcome.” Blake grew sober. “I was one of many paras who lost limbs in the war. The Iron Dwarves and their craftsmanship have given back to us in ways we’ll never be able to repay.”

“I think we’re the ones doing the repaying.” Val smiled.

“You make that jewelry, don’t you?” Blake asked. “The stuff that has self-defense elements?”

“Yeah.” Val grinned. “I’m working on a ring that unfolds into a gauntlet with spiked knuckledusters when needed.”

“Badass. I love it.” Blake beamed.

“Thanks.” Val paused. “It’s an honor talking to you, Sergeant.”

“You too.” Blake paused. “It’s always good to meet an ally who keeps the peace we fought so hard for.”

They shook hands again. Blake’s fingers were cold and smooth but folded delicately around Val’s.

The werewolf went on his way, and Val wandered down the sidewalk, admiring the sights. The nearest bookstore had a liability waiver in the window.

Dusty Tome Bookstore is not responsible for psychic damage, maiming, loss of fingers, and/or amnesia.

Beside the bookstore, behind grimy glass, a crone bent over a cauldron. Rows of potions filled the shelves surrounding her.

“I said to Brenda, I said, ‘You can’t let her treat you that way!’” someone interrupted Val’s thoughts in a nasal tone. “It’s narcissistic and shit.”

Val looked up. The voice carried from a few doors down, where three elven ladies sat on high stools facing large mirrors. A woman with six arms worked on all their hair at once, her bangles jingling. One pair of hands was braiding. Another was cutting bangs, and the third combed hair with bright pink tips.

“I know, right? I’d never let my mother-in-law talk to me like that,” Braid Elf agreed.

“Karen, you’ve got to tell that daughter of yours to maintain her boundaries!” Bangs Elf insisted. “She’s the mom. She calls the shots for her baby.”

Invested in the hot gossip being shared in the salon, Val drifted inside, and a set of mannequin heads on the counter caught her attention. The six-armed woman nodded at her as she wandered to the counter and admired the wigs on display. One, in particular, made her pause and look again: thick brunette waves fading to ash blonde at the tips.

“See something you like?” the six-armed woman inquired.

Val touched the wig. It was beautiful, but was it beautiful enough for the awkward interaction that would follow? Maybe.

She braced herself. “Is this one available?”

“Sure is.” The six-armed woman smiled. “Would you like to try it on?”

Val blinked. Whoa. That was easy. “Yeah, that would be great.”

The six-armed woman briefly abandoned her chatty customers, who continued complaining about Karen’s daughter’s mother-in-law, and led Val to a bathroom with a large mirror. She slipped off her current wig and tried on the new one. The silicone cap slid comfortably over her scalp, and she arranged the new hair over her shoulders, loving it.

Val reluctantly returned her old wig to her head and went to the counter. “I’ll take it.”

“Good taste.” The six-armed woman rang up her purchase with one hand. The others stretched across the salon to continue working on the elves’ hair. Val left, wondering why the interaction had been so easy. She always ordered her wigs online because the only time she’d tried purchasing one at the hairdresser in the Iron Hills, people had ridiculed her for weeks.

She pushed the painful memory aside and paused on the sidewalk, bag in hand, wondering where to go next. If only I could bring Isabella here. Her human friend adored shopping, but revealing the paranormal world to her was against Eternity Law.

A strange figure shambled out of the building beside the hair salon. Val blinked. Even in a plaza full of paranormals, this guy stood out. His brown habit was tied with a rough cord around his waist, and the tiny antlers rising from his brown curls marked him as a Woodland Fae. It was the habit that made him stand out.

“Hey!” Val called.

The fae halted. “Yes, miss?”

Val approached him. “Sorry. I’m being nosy, but this is my first time exploring Avalon Town.” She glanced at his habit. “Are you, uh, a monk or something?”

“A knight, miss.” The fae drew himself to his full height, barely reaching Val’s shoulder. “I am Sir Periwinkle, Knight of the Noble Order of the Sacred Blade.”

Val blinked. “The what now?”

Sir Periwinkle pointed at the building from which he’d emerged. “That’s our reliquary, miss. It’s open to the public in peacetime. Sir Bedivere will show you around, I’m sure.”

He shuffled off, and Val turned to the reliquary. The building was tall and windowless. Despite new stones here and there, Val could tell that it was ancient—maybe as old as the cobblestones under her feet. The oak doors were bound with fine dwarf-forged iron, old but immovable, and stood open beneath arrow slits like narrowed eyes.

New copper letters gleamed above the doors: FERRUM NON REVERTETUR. Val had no clue what the words meant.

She stepped closer, and goosebumps prickled on her skin. The amulet thrummed and got warm on her chest. She looked around, but the amulet’s heat wasn’t the scalding indication of danger. It pulsed like a heartbeat, responding to something powerful.

A chill ran down Val’s spine as she stepped into the building. The bare lobby had stone walls, floor, and ceiling, and two small round windows that permitted slanting beams of sunlight to enter. An empty display case seven feet long and two feet to a side stood in the center of the floor. The glass gleamed, freshly polished, and the red velvet pillow within was sparkling clean.

Deep letters carved into the wall opposite Val proclaimed the same Latin words as the brass letters outside. The air crackled with magic, making it feel like she was breathing sparks of electricity.

A tall humanoid in a brown habit and cloak stood facing the display case with his back to her. He bowed his hooded head.

“What is this place?” Val whispered.

The para’s head turned with an eerily smooth motion. Val took an involuntary step back when his neck swiveled much farther than any human neck should. He regarded her calmly from giant amber eyes. Shaggy white hair spilled beneath his hood, peppered with the patterned gray-and-white feathers of a snowy owl.

“Eiravel Stonehold,” he murmured like he’d been expecting her. “Welcome.”

Val rubbed the goosebumps on her arms.