Mark of the Harbinger (Book 1)

2 - A Riot and a Lecture

The Weres were tagged and collared by pack leaders and a whole contingent of laws restricting their shifts. The magi and witch populations belonged to unions and circles that filed paperwork with local courts.

No matter what you were, fanged, furry, winged, or sparkly—if you were other, you were given the scarlet letter, and to be without your letter was to flirt with disaster. It made the authorities very uncomfortable when they weren't be able to lift their mirrored shades and easily identify a person that was different from themselves.

There were those who hid, those who played human and lived in fear of discovery. Laws pertaining to species fraud were antiquated at best, and unimaginably cruel at worst. Most of the supernatural were given the death sentence if they were charged—and a death sentence for a preternatural creature was carried out within days, not years. The Fae could often wriggle free, crying diplomatic immunity, but those creatures forfeited their rights and could no longer leave the lands of their specific court. Permanent house arrest. 

Then, of course, there were other things that went bump in the night that humans refused to acknowledge. Things that refused to play by the rules. Even the cadres trembled when whispers of demon summoning reached their perked ears.

When I was sixteen and I'd attained my driver's license, I hadn't thought much of writing "human" in the species bar underneath my name. Seemed logical at the time. At sixteen I hadn't been unaware of life's cruelties. Sadly, I had been all too aware of them, but I'd still been naïve. I wasn't human. I didn't have a clue what I really was, but I was different, and by writing "human" on my license, I had committed a deadly mistake. I lived a fraudulent life, always in terror of discovery because I knew they sent mysterious, potentially dangerous people like me to the electric chair without question.

Sibbie was risking her career and freedom by keeping her silence. I met her gaze in the rear-view mirror, her cinnamon eyes pinched in concern. I stuck out my tongue and tugged on an eyelid.

"Whatever, you nerdy nightlight. Don't bitch at me when they put you in prison." 

I laughed, knowing it wasn't funny, knowing I would die if my identity was ever discovered. "They'll put you in there with me. Wanna be bunk buddies?" 

Her hand smacked my face, knocking my glasses off. "Pervert."

I found my glasses and put them on, watching the city grow around us, the skyscrapers in the distance beckoning us toward our destination. Roccia Nera was one of the oldest cities in California, but its population hadn't boomed until 1913 and the reveal of not one but two Fae courts within the county's borders. It was the only city in the entire country to have both a light and a dark court within its boundaries, leading to an intriguing mix of residents that only multiplied over time.

The city was split by a large aqueduct that ran north to south, leading out of the valley. The east bank was a collaboration of shabby, woebegone buildings and charred, abandoned ruins. Most of the Roccia Nera's sparse human population lived here. There were only two high-rises, built in the mid-nineties, neither much to look at.

The west bank was a neon metropolis—a violent, magic-oozing magnet of supernatural menace and intrigue. Every year, tourists flocked to the west bank in droves, clotting the streets with traffic, feeding the city's economy. Occasionally, people asked why that money didn't go toward the east bank's restoration or why Roccia Nera didn't have some big, money-guzzling tourist attraction—but for all the money Roccia's Nera supernatural draw brought in, it spent it just as fast. Vampires slaughtering irritating tourists, the magi causing accidental explosions, the Fae fighting like political savages on the steps of city hall—all of that cost a lot of cash.