Light spilled over the threshold into the barren hall, illuminating blue filaments in the marble flooring. It vanished when the doors shut with an ominous thud behind me.

I paused while my eyes adjusted to the moonlight filtering in through a series of tall, arched windows. Each one framed a unique snapshot of the nature reserve surrounding our illustrious home, lending the draughty hall the flattering impression of an art gallery. I let my vision wander through the foggy panes and as far as the limitations of the environment allowed, all the way to the line of gumtrees heralding proper bushland in the distance. Would that I was out there, I thought wryly, facing the cold instead of his wrath.

Sensing that I could delay no longer, I climbed the steps leading up to the dais. A cumbersome throne squatted atop it, carved into the likeness of snarling wolves. Its most menacing feature, however, was the man who occupied it; power seemed to ooze from his pores, hovering about him like a dark miasma.

But I'd grown accustomed to my father's posturing over the years. My eyes skirted over him in favour of the unfamiliar figure by his side. The wall sconces hadn't been lit, indicating the unexpected nature of the social call. Our guest was someone of relative importance, then — and impudence.

Already holding the mysterious stranger personally responsible for the reprehensible interruption of my sleep, I turned the most disapproving of looks I could muster on —

— her. I blinked stupidly, genuinely surprised that I wasn't the only woman in the room. Most of the guests my father entertained were male, reflecting the frustrating distribution of power in our shadow society. She smiled at me, but the gesture was a little too earnest for my liking, especially considering we'd never met. I found my steps faltering, something deep within me urging caution in spite of her approachable demeanour.

Seeking an explanation for my unease, I openly scrutinised her from head to toe. Her hair was fine and wispy, as compellingly dark as her complexion, and she'd somehow managed to twist it up in a knot that looked sophisticated rather than slovenly. The corner of my mouth twitched up ruefully; I'd never had the knack for that sort of thing, evidenced by the tangled brambles clawing down my back even now.

But that is neither here nor there, I chided myself. Of more interest (and concern) was the crown of thorns atop the visitor's brow, fashioned from gleaming white-gold. A trickle of blood by her left temple implied it was more than just a pretty bauble.

"Good evening, Lady Nightshade," she said, respectfully inclining her head. Her voice was deeper than I expected, given her petite stature. "I'm glad you could join us."

"It certainly took you long enough," Father grumbled, not bothering to rise from the throne.

"Actually, she's right on time," the visitor said wryly.

It took all of my willpower not to frown. Was she trying to aggravate him?

"Who are we entertaining this evening?" I pointedly asked my father, bypassing the presumptuous girl.

"Midna Everclear," he boomed in reply. "Prophet of the Council of Thirteen."

I raised an eyebrow; I'd never met a witch before. Though my father was polite towards the magical community in formal settings — like us, the Council of Thirteen owned a third of Melbourne City's infrastructure — he tried not to associate with them unnecessarily.

I didn't blame him. Witches were formidable enemies by all reports. And to think that Midna belonged to a coven comprising the world's most prodigious witches was unsettling, to say the least. She must be freakishly powerful, I thought with a flicker of mistrust, to be a member of that group at such a young age.

"I'm here because I had a vision," Midna said, as if that explained everything. "One that involves your family."

Not entirely sure that I leant any credence to premonition, I asked what she saw to be polite.

"I saw your father." Midna turned to face the subject of her vision with wide, imploring eyes. "You're about to receive some news, Lord Nightshade. Terrible news, and it's going to prompt you to make a decision that will cost thousands of innocent lives."

"And what decision might that be?" Father humoured her.

"You're going to start a supernatural war."

There was a moment of stunned silence.

"That's ridiculous," I scoffed. "It would be entirely too much effort."

Whilst I'd failed to phrase it eloquently, it was the truth of the matter. Such an endeavour would require the conscription of every registered werewolf in the state, not to mention the relocation of all those dependent on them. Forming a viable army would be an administrative nightmare and incredibly taxing on our estate. Because where else would soldiers live during such a war, and who else would feed them? We certainly couldn't expect them to put their lives on the line and to pay us for the privilege of staying here while they did it.

Father caught the gist of my thoughts and chuckled aloud. His blatant indifference towards the news of imminent disaster proved distressing for the witch.

"You must resolve this diplomatically," she insisted, clasping her hands so tightly that colour leeched from her knuckles. "The battle I've foreseen is going to alert the human race to the existence of the shadow world."

"So?"

"So we can't afford for that to happen," Midna asserted, refusing to be dissuaded. "Humans can't handle the concept of magic or evolution that eludes them. If they discover us, the extremist factions of their societies will stop at nothing to exterminate us. It'll be the Salem witch trials all over again, only this time, they'll have the power at their disposal to get rid of us — all of us — for good."

Father shrugged. "It all sounds rather melodramatic, to be perfectly honest. How am I supposed to know if you're telling the truth?"

Triumph flashed in the witch's eyes. "Why do you think I insisted on inviting your daughter?"

The blood in my veins turned to slush. I felt frozen in place, even as my mind raced. Was it possible this visit was staged, her doomsday vision a sham, all of it an attempt to verify rumours about my abilities?

But there shouldn't have been rumours. Only my father and brother knew what I could do, and we were all sworn to secrecy.

Father's eyes, the lurid yellow of a feral animal, narrowed dangerously as he reconsidered the witch. Play along, he sent telepathically. We need to test what she knows.

"What do you want me to do?" I asked Midna, feigning ignorance. It wouldn't do to clue her in if she was bluffing.

"I want you to verify what I'm saying. I know you can tell truth from lies," she said, and my heart felt like it was dropping into my shoes.

A second was all it took to grasp her throat and lift her into the air. I should kill her, I thought, fingers tightening reflexively. My father was ruthlessly clear about keeping my gift under wraps; if it became common knowledge, he'd lose the upper hand in all of his political negotiations.

Even so, my fingers relaxed of their own accord. The enormous risk of letting Midna live came with a matching reward: the opportunity to learn more about my unprecedented condition. A pure-blooded werewolf with the abilities of a witch... It was blasphemous, beyond comprehension, and I so desperately wanted to understand myself.

I shouldn't have been willing to spare her because of that.

"Put her down, Chance." I detected a hint of amusement in the command. "She can't tell us anything if she can't breathe."

Midna fell spluttering to her knees, clutching at her throat as tears sprang in her eyes. I fought the urge to pace as she recovered, mentally berating myself for compromising her ability to speak. I had so many burning questions, all competing for the place at the tip of my tongue.

When the witch climbed to her feet, there was an unsettling forgiveness in her eyes. I didn't like the way she looked at me, like she'd known me for years and was intimately familiar with my person. How often had I featured in her visions?

"I haven't told anyone," Midna croaked. "Nor will I, without your express permission."

I closed my eyes briefly as my magic verified her account with the low whoosh of a wick taking on flame. Gold suffused my mindscape, echoing in all of my extremities; my lips and fingers tingled with the effervescent feeling, oddly reminiscent of the time I'd sipped some of Father's champagne.

"She's telling the truth," I declared, some of the tension draining from my body. "Or at least, as she knows it."

"Of course," Midna said. "I wouldn't lie to you."

The truth of that statement failed to reassure me. I wouldn't lie to someone who can detect deception, either, I thought bitterly. No, instead I would find other ways to mislead them, with fractions of the truth or outright omission. It was another reason my gift was best kept secret, and why I lived my life in relative solitude as an extension of my father's City Pack. If I were to forge a telepathic union with a pack of my own, a single stray thought could expose me.

Father cleared his throat, visibly disgruntled by the unexpected turn of events. "Midna, you have intruded on my territory and on my time. My patience is wearing thin. If you can't convince me of the sincerity of your vision with your next sentence, I'll have you forcibly removed from the premises."

The witch smiled patiently, waiting for her turn to speak. She's seen this all before, I realised as she opened her mouth to deliver a line she must have practiced a thousand times.

"And may I remind you," Ford added, "that you will take Chance's secret to the grave. How soon is up to your discretion."

"I will not jeopardise the secret of Chance's magic for as long as I live," she vowed. I nodded, confirming her good intentions. "And if Ford Nightshade ushers in a supernatural war, it will result in the discovery and annihilation of the shadow world."

Whoosh. This time her words were more like a breath of wind to a forest fire. An ethereal kaleidoscope assaulted my perception. It shone predominantly with gold, but there were nuances of sparkling grey and charcoal that confused me, because each dark segment was a potential lie. But why would she lie to me if she knows about my gift? I wondered, only able to pose questions, incapable of reaching a conclusion. Is the future not set in stone? Is it potential but unlikely futures she's witnessed that are corrupting her statement?

"And who would I go to war with?" Ford asked, leaning forward in the throne.

Midna checked her watch, lips pressing firmly together. "I understand it may be tempting, given your history with the Irephang family, but..."

Father made a noise of disgust as she prattled on about peace, one that I was quick to imitate. The Irephang family was the vampire equivalent of ours, powerful enough to be considered royalty in their shadow society. The interspecies treaty established in colonial times forced us to be civil with the leeches, but their actions — nay, their very nature — persistently tested our patience.

Vampires were parasites that relied on the life force of other creatures to survive. Their immortality defied the natural order of the world and their lust for power was insatiable, resulting in several border skirmishes over the years and a constant state of underhanded competition in modern institutions of power. We were constantly training agents to limit the influence of theirs in corporations, emergency services, and even government bodies at a state and federal level.

"As much as I detest vampires, outright war with them seems like an extreme option," I admitted. "Perhaps we could compromise in some —"

The doors burst open, propelling the stench of blood throughout the hall. A man lurched towards us, clutching at a wound in his side, twin crimson smears following the progress of his feet.

"Richard?" It took a moment for me to recognise the man beneath the gore. He was my brother's Beta, of the Melbourne City Heir Pack. Their ranks comprised the spoiled darlings of high-ranking officials who turned their noses up at traditional boarding schools like Ridgeview Academy. Instead of gaining independence and learning how to do calculus, they partied under the watchful eyes of their emotionally absent fathers and occasionally handled matters the City Pack had no time for. "What happened?"

"We were patrolling the border when we ran into the Irephang brat," Richard said, raking back the fiery strands of hair that marked him an Olsen, one of the few legitimate sons spawned by the City Gamma. The nervous gesture smeared blood all over his brow. "Arthur tried to resolve things diplomatically, but..." Richard swallowed hard. "Things went bad."

I glanced at Midna, perturbed. What could Richard possibly say that was bad enough to catalyse an interspecies shadow war?

"Where is my brother?" I asked abruptly. "How badly was he hurt?"

Richard shook his head. "He didn't make it."

A starburst of gold. I wanted to throw up, to purge the evidence of the truth. Father rose from the throne, hands balled into menacing fists.

"You're wrong," he said, with the clipped tone of tightly controlled rage. "Arthur is an exemplary warrior, more than capable of tackling those odds. I taught him myself."

Richard swallowed hard. "I know, sir, but —"

"Silence!"

An invisible wave of dominance crashed down on our heads. Midna was oblivious to it, as anyone not of our species would be, and so it must have seemed especially strange to her when Richard crumpled to the floor and curled up into a whimpering ball. I was a little more accustomed to the strength of my father's will and managed to weather the mental blow, but my lower back ached from the effort.

"Where is my son?" the City Alpha demanded to know.

"His body is in the CBD," Richard said, swallowing hard. "I had to leave it behind –"

Father lashed out with his boot, catching Richard's wounded side. There was an audible crack of bone, followed by an ear-splitting howl of pain.

"How dare you lie to me?"

Another kick, another scream. Midna started forward, but I gripped her wrist and held her in place, shaking my head at the pleading look she sent my way. My father was venting. We would only become the new targets of his wrath if we tried to interfere. 

"I'm not lying," Richard sobbed, shielding his face as best he could. "Arthur is dead."

Gold.

The information my magic provided was impossible to debate, unfairly catapulting me through the first stage of grief. I didn't want to acknowledge Arthur's passing; like any other, I wanted to cling to the hope that my loved one might still be alive. But I was damned to recognise the truth, even without a corpse as proof.

"Stop." My voice came out strangled, barely audible to my own ears. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Dad, stop. He's telling the truth."

Father came to a shuddering halt. "What did you just call me?"

Dad. It had felt wrong coming out of my mouth; a cruel reminder of the time my mother was alive, but I needed Ford's attention and invoking her memory was guaranteed to secure it.

"Richard is telling the truth," I said, careful to maintain a relatively submissive posture, hands up in the universal gesture of surrender. I didn't want him to perceive my assertion of the facts as a challenge to his authority. "My gift says so."

"Your gift..." The meaning of my words finally sank in. It absolutely bewildered him. "No. That can't be right."

"It is," I said, settling the matter.

There was an instant of sincere pain in his eyes before they clouded with rage. This time his boot came down on the side of Richard's head, trapping it against the floor. "How is it," the City Alpha growled through clenched teeth, "that you survived instead of my son?"

"I couldn't save him and I hate myself for it," Richard whispered, all the fight taken out of him. "He was my best friend, but it wasn't enough."

His words rang true. I wished they hadn't. I needed someone to blame, someone to punish for this devastating loss. But I did the right thing and nodded in response to my father's questioning gaze, confirming what Richard said.

"Well, you know what this means," Father said, ceasing his assault on the messenger whose news had changed the very course of our lives.

"What?" I asked, but I knew what he would say from Midna's sudden look of defeat. She closed her eyes, as if readying herself for a verbal blow.

"Isn't it obvious? The vampires killed my son. We must go to war."

Thanks for reading!

I hope you enjoy the story.

Stay toasty,
- AJ.