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Vincent

H ave we lost all semblance of etiquette?

I took a seat in the gold velvet chair.

The Bayside Times staff gathered on the top floor of the old three-story building in the city’s center that served as our office.

I cringed at Arnold’s audacity—he’d dared to bring his sandwich to the team meeting.

He took a bite as everyone took their seats, and a glob of…

was that jam?

.

.

.

dropped on his wrinkled white shirt.

How was he our feature writer?

“Do you know what this is about?” Daisy took the seat next to me.

The rest of the team filled the brown leather couch or the dark wood chairs handcrafted by a local fae artisan I’d recommended in my column.

“I’m sure she’ll tell us momentarily.” I folded my hands in my lap.

My wind magic itched to swipe the crumbs from Arnold’s shirt.

“Did you see how many people arrived today?” Daisy asked.

I glanced out the window where the sky had darkened, though it was only late afternoon.

The last of the sun’s setting rays danced on the calm waters of Sandrin Bay.

Crowds of people filled the streets, and we were still weeks from the Long Night celebration.

“I’m sure more will come,” I said offhandedly.

I wasn’t dying to have Sandrin packed with tourists from remote villages on the continent, but I could admit it was nice that folk were no longer afraid to travel.

Or that they could travel, for that matter.

So many had recently been awakened from the mist plague.

This year’s solstice celebration was sure to be a grand one.

“I hope so,” she said.

Her black hair was pulled back, showing the early signs of aging on her brown skin.

She was human and probably in her fifties, but I was sure there hadn’t been a Long Night with this many visitors in her lifetime.

Our editor, Patricia, still hadn’t started speaking.

Daisy must have felt some pressing requirement to fill the silence.

“They’ll all want one of those…what did you call them? Sweet Solstice Sips?” Her voice turned playful.

I stretched my neck, never quite sure if she was speaking in jest.

“Yes, well, they should go nicely with the festivities.”

She hid a smile that leaned toward teasing.

A muscle in my jaw twitched as I refrained from clenching my teeth.

It would do no good for her to know it bothered me.

Before I could find a suitable reply, Patricia spoke.

“Thank you all for joining on such short notice. As you can see, tourists are pouring in.” Our leader had white skin, short blond hair, and wore dark glasses.

She was small in stature and had a no-nonsense attitude that I appreciated.

“We must tailor our content for the next few weeks to the visitors and the upcoming celebrations.” She glanced at Arnold, who had moved on to dabbing at the red stain on his white shirt now that the sandwich was gone.

Her mouth pressed into a thin line, but she continued.

“Arnold, we’ll need one feature per week on the visitors. Where they are from, why they traveled, what they hope to wish for on Long Night.”

Arnold looked up, mouth slightly agape at being referred to while busy with his shirt.

“Oh…yes, alright.”

Patricia either didn’t notice or ignored his hesitation.

“We will also need features that dig into the city politics with so many tourists here. With recent changes in fae court leadership, we’d be remiss not to survey the people on their opinions. I hope you can help cover some of these topics, Daisy.”

“Has there been any news on the magic school?” Daisy asked.

“It’d be great to poll visitors on how they feel about it.” Her gaze slid hesitantly toward me.

“Since reactions in Sandrin have varied.”

I sat up straighter, my wind and anger rising at the implication.

The changes in fae leadership allowed half-fae or fae with mixed court lineage to be educated in their magic for the first time.

Apparently, it was well known that some old fae families weren’t thrilled with the change.

“No news on the school since it was announced.” Patricia pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“But great idea, Daisy. Add it to the list.”

Unsurprisingly, Daisy brimmed with excitement.

I wanted to roll my eyes.

If anyone should be writing about the changes to the fae courts, it should be, well, a fae.

The stories Patricia mentioned would be the perfect material for me to sink my teeth into as a more serious journalist.

Patricia looked my way next.

“We’ll also need to help the tourists make the most of their trip to Sandrin. The next few issues should have lists of ‘Benefits of Magic’ greatest hits.” She counted off her requirements on her fingers.

“They need to know where to eat, where to shop, where to stay, and where is best to make their wish on Long Night.”

Of course they needed that, but I could write my weekly column and some bonus feature content for the celebration, especially if she wanted to highlight pieces previously reviewed.

“Not a problem.”

“We should do one new big recommendation as the city fills,” she added.

I nodded and raised my quill hesitantly.

“Yes, Vincent,” Patricia said as she leafed through a stack of papers in her hand.

“I thought I might be of assistance with the feature articles, given the overflow.”

Patricia stopped sorting her notes and glanced at me over the cat-eye glasses that had fallen back down her nose.

“With the success of your Sweet Solstice Sips, and was it that zesty tasting dressing before that…?” She let the sentence hang.

It was clear she didn’t even remember what had come before the dressing.

She’d never give me better material if she didn’t take me seriously.

“Well, with all your column’s success, we must put our best foot forward with recommendations for our visitors.”

I opened my mouth to press the point further, but Nathaniel interrupted, asking about his series on traditional Long Night celebrations.

This wasn’t over.

I’d approach Patricia after the meeting.

This was the perfect opportunity to write something other than “Benefits of Magic.” I need only find the right angle to convince her.

“Vincent.” Daisy turned to me when Patricia finally adjourned the meeting.

I tracked Patricia’s retreat to her office, but Daisy pressed, “Do you have a moment?” Patricia sat down and started writing, so I nodded, deciding I had time before missing her for the day.

“Well, you see…my husband…” Her tone was softer all of a sudden, more hesitant.

Something prickled at the back of my neck, and I knew what this was before she finished.

It had become all too common since my column had gained success.

My nostrils flared.

“You want me to recommend something?” This part of the job was wearing on me.

Daisy and I weren’t close, but I’d thought she had more professional integrity than to ask for a favor for her husband.

What, did his business need a boost?

“My husband loves Parkview Tavern. Do you know it?” She rambled, not waiting for my acknowledgment before continuing.

“It hasn’t been doing well. I thought a feature in ‘Benefits of Magic’ could help boost visitors.”

While it was slightly better that it wasn’t his business, I still didn’t appreciate the ask.

Recommendations were not requested.

They were earned.

They were demanded by superior products and experiences, usually with a dash of magic somewhere in the mix.

Occasionally, I’d feature an establishment or product with no magic whatsoever, but those columns never did as well.

I never regretted those products I recommended, though.

My toes wiggled in my well-worn walking boots.

The bootmaker had been my last human feature and these were the most comfortable footwear I owned.

“I don’t think so, Daisy. I don’t take requests.”

Her face pursed in consideration.

I knew she would say something I didn’t appreciate.

“You might not take requests, Vincent”—she stood, wrapping her sweater more tightly around her chest—“but you should try to experience things outside of your fae bubble.”

My brow pinched in confusion, then in rising anger.

First the comment about the old fae’s varied reaction to change, now this?

This city had been my home since birth.

I experienced all parts of it.

How dare she.

There was no fae bubble I hid in.

Movement in Patricia’s office caught my attention.

She stacked papers on her desk, placing some into her travel bag.

I was about to miss her for the day.

“Please excuse me.” I gave Daisy a final glare.

My conversation with Patricia was more pressing than a fruitless argument.

With my head held high, I walked across the room to Patricia’s office and knocked gently on the door .

“Oh, Vincent, do come in.” She still sorted papers into piles on her desk.

“I was hoping we could speak more about the opportunities for feature pieces.” My mouth felt dry all of a sudden.

“I can help.”

“Do you have a particular angle or topic you wish to cover?” While this was an innocent enough question, one any editor would want to know before assigning a story, it occurred to me that her hesitation might not be only because of my successful recommendation column.

Daisy was human, and Arnold was Vesten, or fire fae, but I was the only one of old fae descent working at the paper.

Unfortunately, as Daisy had alluded to, the old fae families were known to resist the court changes the hardest.

Maybe Patricia didn’t think me up to the task of writing pieces potentially misaligned with my family’s perspective.

“I want to dig into something meaningful.” I paused.

That wasn’t good enough.

The words she wanted to hear were on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t force them out.

I wasn’t sure I was genuinely willing to do it.

I may not get on with my parents, but that was a private matter, a family matter.

It wasn’t something I’d share with colleagues.

I rubbed the back of my neck with indecision.

This job was what I wanted for myself—outside of the Andiveron name.

If I needed to say something…

distasteful about old fae families, I could do so.

Probably.

Internally, my wind surged against the cage of my upbringing, which demanded I not publicly air family business, but Patricia was still waiting for a response.

At least, it seemed she was taking my request seriously.

“Sandrin is my home. I want to show everything it offers. If you’re asking, I’m not afraid to dig into the best and worst of the fae here.”

Her smile flashed too eagerly.

Then, a little too quickly, she pulled a file from the drawer on her left.

Had it been waiting there for this conversation?

“It happens I have an unverified tip requiring investigation.” She sniffed the air with distaste.

“I’d ignore it, but…if we have someone able to verify it, it would be quite the story.” She handed me the folder.

I restlessly tapped my foot on the floor as I flipped through it.

I was positive I’d set myself up for this.

There were financial records of Darius Pierce, head of another old fae family, though he was Norden, or water fae.

They showed a significant transfer of funds from his estate to the human governor a few weeks ago.

“I’m sure Darius didn’t share this willingly.” I flipped to the next page.

It was a scrap of paper.

The tear was too deep to read everything, but the words stop and school were quite clear.

Lastly, the folder held a memory stone.

I picked it up slowly.

It was a rare gift of some Suden, or earth fae, to see and manipulate memories.

With more recent experiments in blood magic, memory stones had become fashionable.

One could pick a memory and think it into the stone.

Those who rubbed the stone could review its contents in the future.

I’d written about them weeks ago.

“You’ll want to watch that, but I can tell you it shows Darius meeting with Marion, the governor. They were having lunch at that restaurant outside the park. He handed her an envelope that corroborated the transaction detailed in those documents.”

“Was the memory holder close enough to hear anything?” I understood why she thought this could be a big story if verified, but these collected scraps were weak.

She shook her head.

“The tip, as you can guess, says Darius is bribing the governor to stop the development of the magic school.”

Unfortunately, this would conveniently explain why we hadn’t heard any news about the school since its announcement weeks ago.

Still.

“This is a serious accusation on no evidence.” Rumors about the position of old fae families was one thing.

Printing a story like this was another.

The Norden Point would not take kindly to an old fae family trying to undermine her authority.

Patricia gave me a half smile.

“The payment is clear.”

I laughed.

“Yes, but he could have been paying her for groceries for all we know.”

She reached for the folder.

“I’d never print it as it is, but you said you wanted to dig into something.”

The folder didn’t immediately release from my grip when she tugged.

My fingers clamped around it, and I wasn’t sure why.

“Why me? I don’t know Darius. He’s Norden. I’m Osten. What makes you think I’m capable?”

“All of the old fae in this city know each other.” She sighed.

While true, the statement didn’t consider the court prejudices the old fae still held.

“Look, you were the one that asked for more. I have this. It needs work, but it could be a story worth telling. An old fae family fighting against the progress the Compass Points are pushing for. It’s news.”

“If it’s real,” I hedged.

She conceded.

“If it’s real. That’s part of feature writing, Vincent. You can’t simply pick the new it thing like you do with your recommendations. You attempt many wrong directions before finding the right angle for a story. The facts have to be there, but so does the why. Why should our readers care? What are we showing them about the continent? What can they do about it?”

Patricia was usually reserved, but there was a swell of emotion in her voice.

This story meant something to her.

Maybe she had friends or family who wished to attend the school.

Could Darius have done something to put a halt to it?

Why?

I didn’t like that this tip assumed the worst, but I was also a realist.

I could hear my parents’ opinions in my head, and I hadn’t even spoken to them about it.

“The half-fae will make a mockery of our magic. They don’t know how to use it.”

The fact that no one had taught them how to use it like the rest of us would be irrelevant.

My wind magic swelled within me.

I’d rather someone with good intentions investigate than someone who painted all old fae with the same aversion to change.

I clenched and released my teeth in consideration.

My fingers still gripped the folder.

“I’ll look into it.”