Van Orden parked behind a firehouse, unremarkable in size, upkeep, and prominence in a neighborhood that seemed comatose. I gave the area my undivided attention as I stepped from the car, expecting ambush, I suppose. Then I followed Van Orden toward the back entrance, a few tentative steps behind him.

He led me inside a drab conference room. The bricks of the walls were painted white but seemed gray with time and in the harsh fluorescent lighting. The only color in the room came from a potted plant in the center of the table and three flashes of red hair.

On closer inspection, the three redheads were in their mid-thirties or so, and they were identical female triplets, dressed all in burlap and earth tones. Because of their style, appearance, and their kind's propensity to propagate multiples, I could tell where they were from—Vermont's Green Mountains. The "Green Thumbs" weren't an extinct clan—yet—because they chose to be migratory and they didn't live in the forest, they lived with the forest, making them difficult to find. 

When I took a seat across from them, they all smiled at me, like three mirror images, as if they knew where I was from as well.

"We always believed you were alive, Prince Kincaid," the one in the middle said.

I glanced back at the entrance and watched Van Orden step out. I was on my own for the moment. "Please, call me Scott. I left that name behind long ago."

"We're so glad you could join us today," said the fairy on the left in the same wistful voice. "I'm Sprig, and this is Frond and Floret." Her sisters raised a hand when announced. Then they all gave me a "hello" in perfect unison.

I nodded once and forced a smile as a snicker erupted from the corner of the room. With short black hair and a punk-rocker leather ensemble, the scoffer didn't look "fairy," and she didn't mesh with the trilogy of cheer in front of me. She never looked up from the mysterious black leather book she was scribbling in either, but I detected a hint of a smirk. 

"Don't mind her," Sprig said.

"That's Angela. She's a witch," her sister whispered. Floret, I think, or Frond? I was already confused, and not just about the names. A witch? Here? With a bunch of misfit fairies?

Witches weren't automatically predisposed to be on the other side, but they were usually solitary, distrustful creatures who cared not one iota about anyone besides themselves. But I had never met a true witch before. It wasn't my place to judge.

Three more attendees soon entered the room. To my left sat a young Asian-American couple—Jay and Ari—and the seat closest to the door was taken by a woman in a police uniform. Sheila, I learned later, seemed tough and short-tempered, and her hair was pulled back so tightly that it looked painful.   

"Is it true?" Ari asked after our introductions. I had just learned that she and her husband were two rogue Modifiers, originally from Japan, who currently lived human lives in Boston. "You have telekinetic powers?"

"Yes, that's part of what I can do." I looked around for something to lift and zoomed in on the potted plant. Amid gasps and a few "wows," I levitated the pot a couple of feet in the air, held it there, rotated it in a circle, and then I eased it down in front of Sprig. "There. I'll pass it to a Green Thumb. It needs you more than me."

She smiled at me and set her palms underneath the withering leaves. Her sisters joined in too. One clasped onto the stem and the other stuck her fingertips in the dirt. Together they brought the plant back to full life. The stem lengthened, the leaves turned a lush green, and white flowers even blossomed on top.

Meanwhile, a few more fairies and fairy sympathizers had wandered into the room. While we waited for the meeting to begin, some of them took turns demonstrating their powers. Each "act" was fun and entertaining—humans would have loved it—but if Andromeda's army of mercenaries barged in, they'd plow right through the Green Thumbs, the animal talkers, the rainbow makers, and so forth.

As that thought crossed my mind, Van Orden came back into the room. Behind him was a beast of a creature in a fireman uniform. I saw his bald head, beady eyes, jowl of a bulldog, and I nearly fell from my chair when I saw the Star of Pyxis tattooed on his neck. He looked just like all the other inbred asshole "Gray Coats" of Andromeda's Gray Legion.

I pushed away from the table, tried to stand, fought for balance. And then Van Orden had me by the scruff of my collar. "What the fuck? Let go of me!"

"Sit down, boy."

I squirmed to free myself, but Van Orden was a strong little bastard. The harder I fought, the closer that fat, ugly, abhorrent son of a bitch got to me. With my powers, I pushed him away with enough force to send half the room staggering in their chairs and grabbing to secure their loose items. 

"It's not what you think," I heard in the distant background.

"He's one of us. . ."

"He won't hurt you. . ."