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Things began simply enough, conversations about the state of things, what was broken (the system), and the source of the problem (the royals). They ranted back and forth in a tone that sounded like an argument even though they were in agreement.

It was practically a masterclass in one-sided conversation. Lore never revealed any personal details. They never even specified a gender. Cole just assumed it was a guy.

Whenever it seemed Cole might suspect he was being catfished, Lore expertly steered them back to safe, common ground: their mutual hatred of the immortals.

Cole bragged about how important he was to Wilcox, then later disclosed his frustration that the cult and its grand plans had fallen apart.

Adam might have felt a twinge of sympathy for the guy. Then they got to the concert.

The idea was Cole’s.

He’d been planning it for months, a big event, something that would gather people together. It was chilling to contrast this side of him with the version of him Adam had known. He’d seemed to be enjoying himself, slightly stoned and bobbing along to the music.

Lore had provided the rituals, but where had “he” gotten them?

Adam reached for his phone and messaged Jack.

Hey. Did you get the rituals Lore sent Cole?

No. They weren’t in the emails. I’m guessing they were on paper.

Thanks.

He texted Emily next.

Any chance you found anything else in Cole’s room? An old book or scroll, anything in Elvish? They usually write in spirals.

Just some blank paper. It looked old.

A pic came through a moment later. There were a few sheets, laid out on Cole’s desk beside his bong and rolling papers. They looked like what you’d draw a pirate map on, but were, indeed, blank.

Mind if I grab Dautre and come have a look?

Sure, but he’s already here.

Adam smiled as he started pulling on clothes.

A knock sounded at the door a moment later.

Adam almost opened it, but he paused, checked the peephole to confirm it was Dautre and Emily before he disarmed the alarm and opened the door.

“Hey,” he said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for you to come here.”

“This is more expedient,” Dautre said. “And you seem to feel these pages are important.”

Emily pulled them from yet another reusable grocery bag. Adam suspected that her stash of them was as big as his.

He gestured to the coffee table and she laid them out.

Adam held one up to the light.

“Do you see anything special about them?” he asked Dautre.

The elf shook his head.

“The parchment is common enough.”

“It looks antique,” Emily said. “And it feels almost like cloth.”