Mousey hiding sunflower seeds! Chubby little Mousey!
Anna felt weirdly nervous. Facing Harper's steady scrutiny made her more jittery than the first time she'd ever stepped onstage as an idol.
"I can teach her. I like people with raw talent. Keep this quiet for now—don't let The Order hear about it. A promising kid like this shouldn't be left to them to ruin."
Besides, from what she knew, those so-called stellar instructors in The Order were painfully old-school. If they found out Anna's a girl-group idol, they'd probably pressure her into quitting the industry.
Even if Anna gave up her talent to focus on her career, those relics would still try to squeeze everyone around her, making sure she had no path left and eventually forcing her to learn under them.
Harper came from a respectable family and hadn't been hardened by those dark tactics, but one of the girls who'd been under Harper's wing—trained in music—had suffered exactly that fate. She'd had a brilliant future, maybe even a shot at the world stage.
Because she'd been born with a spiritual lineage, an elder from The Order had taken a shine to her and tried to take her on as a disciple. She refused, choosing her dream over a forced apprenticeship. That angered the elder.
He didn't use illegal occult tricks—too risky, and the Supernatural Affairs Bureau and Precinct One would've noticed—but he played the public game. He leaned on his business connections and whispered that her family's brand carried a calamitous curse; anyone who partnered with them would be doomed.
Those rumors reached the right boardrooms. In months, the company's major partners pulled out. The business teetered on bankruptcy; her chance to study abroad evaporated.
Harper had found her on a night when they were chasing after some escaped spirit. It was around midnight—she was wearing a red dress, clutching her violin, ready to jump.
People say the brighter the clothes you wear when you die, the stronger your grudges. She believed she'd only bring ruin to her family alive, so she'd chosen death. She figured if she couldn't get justice in life, maybe in death she could become a vengeful spirit to settle the score.
Harper saved her, then went to some influential Fae businessfriends and convinced them to invest just enough to pull the company back from the brink. Harper used the whole near-death incident to clear some of the slander, but the girl couldn't play the violin anymore.
Harper put up her name as a guarantor, arranged for her to study at Riverside University, and lined up a job at Precinct One after graduation—official, proper employment.
The elder in The Order hadn't been punished; the feud between The Order and the Fae ran deep, and Harper had a feeling it would eventually blow up. Karma catches up—those who do harm don't end well.
"You're lucky," Harper said. "You met Ollie right before your talent was about to break through and unlock your body's limits. We'll sign the confidentiality agreement soon and see each other again. If you don't like me as a teacher, I can recommend others."
Harper sounded casual, but she was certain Anna would pick her. After all, she was the youngest prodigy of her generation among humans.
"Thank you," Anna said.
Harper left cradling the drowsy Finn; Ollie handed Finn's compensation over to Grace and Anna and took a quick look to see whether Grace had any talent. Sadly, her inner aura was weak—practically none.
"It's fine, it's fine," Grace waved it off, already sounding like someone who'd made her peace with normal life. "I don't think I could handle the grind of cultivation anyway. Work is exhausting as is. Anna, you go for it—if you make it big, don't forget me, okay? Waaaah—"
Ollie explained the origins and uses of the pearls and the mer-veil. He hadn't realized the significance at first, but Harper's unfinished warning to Anna reminded him of what that human girl at Precinct One had gone through.
Ollie hated The Order. After hesitating for a moment, he offered a practical piece of advice.
"My suggestion is: keep only the pearls you'll personally use or want to gift. I can liquidate the rest at market price for you. These things are too precious; I worry you can't guard them. The mer-veil, though—that's mostly cosmetic outside of mermen. Other people see it as a fancy, waterproof fabric."
Only a merman could truly unlock the mer-veil's power. In anyone else's hands, it was just an ornate symbol of status.
Anna was sharp. Her agency wasn't as generous as Starline Entertainment; they still sent their members to some networking wine-and-cheese events. They weren't forceful, but keeping one's integrity and safety in that environment wasn't simple.
She had no powerful backers—everything she'd achieved was by her own efforts. She'd always felt there was a risk tied to her talent, and Harper had hinted at it in an oblique way. Harper wanted Anna to be grateful to Ollie. Anna wasn't ungrateful; she'd be thankful for the help.
"I'll keep three," Anna decided. "My only family now is my parents. The rest don't need to be converted to cash. Ollie, you keep the rest."
"No, you should still get the money. These pearls are practically crying. Finn's fine without them; I think there's an auction next month. Mermen tears haven't turned up in years. Give me an account and I'll handle it, though that auction house takes a ten percent fee."
"Thank you—can you help with that? And if you need anything later, come to me."
"Same here. Grace and I each only want three—one for my brother, one for my manager!"
Ollie had heard stories about Grace's manager—her childhood friend—who once drank so much trying to secure resources for Grace she ended up hospitalized with stomach bleeding. He didn't know much about the music industry, but he spent time on forums and shipping Grace with her manager had definitely been a popular thing to fangirl over, so he'd picked up some background.
"Decide among yourselves, but whoever swallows pearls has to be registered with the Supernatural Affairs Bureau. They keep a record."
Finn really was a bureaucratic little merman. He'd just been pulled out of his seal and immediately found tasks for the Bureau. The more paperwork, the better—let that sneering snake who mocked his literacy never get a moment's rest. He was going to get into college this year, just you wait!
The live stream was off for now. Ollie darted a furtive look; he'd been thinking about swinging by the west side to check on how things were going over with Shane's crew, but knowing Mira was there eased his worry somewhat.
Mason was reaching to turn the stream back on when he noticed Ollie's odd face and stopped.
"What's up? Any loose ends to tie off?"
Anna and Grace, who'd been admiring the pearls, came over in seconds—sensing gossip like bloodhounds.
Ollie somehow produced a handful of sunflower seeds and passed them around. Mason looked down at the seeds, fond. No surprise—he was a little hamster, stockpiling snacks wherever he went.
"I'm worried about Quinn," Ollie said. "They're grouped with Shane Keane, and I have a Fae elder watching that area, so it should be okay. Still, I'm debating whether to go check."
"Speaking of Shane—why do you and Shane not get along?" Grace asked. It was an open secret that a lot of male stars had issues with him, but no one ever publicly said why.
"When I was new, he and I auditioned for the same role. He pushed me off a third-floor balcony while I wasn't looking. Lucky for me I'm Fae; otherwise I'd be six feet under."
Everyone but Mason looked genuinely stunned.
Is the competition between male celebrities really that vicious? Does it cross the line into trying to kill each other?
"Why didn't you call the cops? That's attempted murder."
"No proof. There's something weird about him—nothing you can pin on him. I'm not the only one. Why do you think nobody reports him?"
Because there was no evidence.
This wasn't a petty feud; it verged on legal territory. If they went to the Bureau and nothing came of it, the whistleblowers would get flung under the bus.
Ollie had thought about reporting after he'd been pushed, but the Fae official in charge at the time had had a bad relationship with Uncle Ned. Ollie's staying in the human world was the result of back-channel negotiations—without hard evidence, he couldn't risk dragging Ned into trouble. He swallowed the loss and moved on.
Rumors linking Shane to odd incidents circulated later, but nothing fatal ever happened—so people lost interest. If things got out of hand, the blame would land on The Order anyway. Human affairs were The Order's supposed responsibility—why would the Bureau get involved?
"Mason, what you said checks out," Mason chimed in. "I was targeted too. Remember that charity gala? The family van's brakes failed. We skidded into a tiny drainage ditch, and I told the driver to cut the wheel into it to stop. I ended up not going to the event."
He'd used his family's influence to look into it and found only one person had been near the van before and after the incident—Shane Keane. The security footage showed him just walking by, doing nothing suspicious, but Mason had a gut feeling.
"That's terrifying. I worked with him on a variety show. He smiled fake at the time, but he seemed okay. I had no idea he was this cold," Grace said, shivering despite herself as if the air had chilled.
"I met him before," Grace added after a moment. "There's something…off. I don't like him."
"You can sense that because of your talent," Ollie said. "In theory, yeah. People with that kind of gift are sensitive even before it fully manifests. To me, Shane's already so dark his face's outline blurs—regular folks would pick up on something wrong."
[End of chapter]