Looking around, Elaine hurried over to the table, which had only a single occupant at it. Without waiting for him to react, she slid into the booth. Before she had even sat, he was already moving.

"Cameron, wait," she said, and he turned his furious gaze to her. "I wanted to explain myself."

"You drugged me," he said.

"Yes," she said. "I use that serum on everyone, Cameron. The purpose is to see if the person I'm talking to is a spy for the government or black organization. Kids have been sent to me with that purpose before. I don't mention about the compulsion serum because of the effect that tends to happen once you're aware of it. Without being aware of it, the effect isn't very noticeable, you're simply more prone to answering questions, and you'll answer honestly. As soon as you're aware of it, however, it starts to affect you differently, makes you start saying whatever goes through your head honestly. The primary difference between that is the awareness. Once you're aware of it, you can't help it at all. I promise, I only did it to see if you were sent as a spy or something."

"She's being honest."

"You know she's being honest."

"Don't listen to him, he's rarely honest."

"Yeah, but he was being honest about her being honest."

"That serum affected all of us, though."

"Yeah, that was nasty."

"Jeez, it even made the ones who never talk talk."

"Quiet," Cameron hissed under his breath again, then glared at Elaine. "You're a bitch."

"And you're only the second person who has ever realized I had done that," she said. "My offer to you still stands. It seems you already know a spell, a sort of mental battering ram. I can't help you hone it, but it does support the idea that you might be able to learn force magics a little bit easier than you would other magics outside of your root school. I do promise I won't drug you again."

"Drug me once, drug me twice," Cameron growled. "I don't trust you."

"You don't trust anyone but the voices in your head," she said, and he grunted. "Work for me three hours five times a week, and I'll train you in magic for two each time. You don't have to answer now, just come by the shop if you change your mind."

Elaine slid out of the booth and left, and Cameron grumbled to himself, debating for a few minutes on spreading his mind back out before leaving, unaware of a gaze fixed on him.

So that's the boy Greyson was interested in, Blake thought to himself.

It wasn't the presence of Greyson's teacher that tipped him off, but the boy's complete lack of a scent. Despite being obviously dirty – the werewolf was sure the dirt in his hair was intentionally done to hide its blond color – the boy lacked a smell. No sweat, no dirt, no grime could be smelled even though it was obviously on him.

Then when he saw Elaine hurry over, he tuned into their conversation and listened, and the boy being a mind mage who'd been scared off by the truth serum confirmed it to him.

He tossed a few bills onto the table, then followed the boy out out of the cafe, following from a distance. Far enough he wouldn't be obviously stalking, but close enough he could still hear the boy, even when the line of sight was broken.

As Blake followed the kid, he wondered what Elaine's comment about the voices in his head meant.

After nearly an hour of the boy walking around rather aimlessly, Blake's focus was broken by his phone vibrating in his pocket. He pulled it out and grinned, answering.

"Hey, Greyson," he said. "What's up?"

"What are you doing?"

"Following the kid you were looking for," Blake answered. "He's just walked around town for the last hour, without any real purpose."

"You found him?" Greyson asked. "It's about time, Blake. Where are you?"

"I'm down by the park at the moment," Blake answered, looking around. "Dammit. I can't hear him anymore. You calling distracted me long enough he slipped by."

"Just pick up his scent."

"He doesn't have one," Blake told the younger boy. "Even though he should. I'm going to let you go and see if I can find someone who saw him."

"You do that," Greyson said with agitation heavy in his voice. "I'm not healing you tonight."

Blake hung up and pocketed his phone, turned to scan around, and nearly jumped out of his skin. Standing directly to his left, barely a foot away with his arms crossed over his chest, was the boy.

"So you were stalking me," the kid said. "Who were you talking to, why were you stalking me, and why were you smelling me? That's disturbing."

"I wasn't exactly smelling you," Blake said. "Since you don't-aaragh!"

Blake clutched his temples as pain shot through them. When he recovered, he found the boy sitting on one of the benches at the park, arms still crossed over his chest, staring straight at him. Walking over to the kid, he looked down, meeting the furious, dark blue gaze.

"You really are a mind mage."

"Keep that in mind," the kid snapped. "Now answer my questions before I do a lot worse."

"You don't have a smell for me to track," Blake said. "And a friend of mine had asked me to keep a nose out for you. That was him on the phone. His name's Greyson, and he's a student of Elaine's. He seems intrigued by you and the fact that you were able to tell that she'd used the serum on you, something only he'd ever done before. He's a mage, too, though he specializes in blood magics."

Cameron felt a touch of fear at the older teen's words. He didn't know what blood mages were, but he knew that all the stories and shows and games had blood mages as something bad. Something very, very bad.

"He specializes in healing magics," the teen told him. "His body has a natural resistance to stuff like that."

"Greyson's also the younger brother of the chick who saved you."

"Now that was a pretty girl, and she was close to your age, too."

"Well, tell him to fuck off and leave me alone," Cameron said.

"You weren't eating at the restaurant," the teen said. "Do you not have money?"

"Do I look like someone they'd serve?" Cameron asked. "I was lucky they hadn't already kicked me out. Now fuck off."

"You and Greyson would probably get along all too well in the wrong ways," the teen snorted. "Come on, we're renting a room at a hotel, and we've got plenty of snacks. I swear on the power of my blood that I don't mean you ill."

Cameron eyed him suspiciously, though he could tell the strange teen was being honest with him. His stomach made the decision for him, and he gave a small nod. If all else failed, he could just use his ram again. The teen didn't seem to have a way to defend against it, and though the teen was wary, he wasn't hostile.

"Sweet," the teen said. "Come on, the hotel's not far from here."

Cameron followed the teen, keeping on eye on his mind. Around twenty minutes later, they arrived at a hotel and went to the fourth floor. It wasn't a fancy hotel, but it was still a nice one. Then again, most hotels were nice in Cameron's opinion, as most would be better than sleeping on the streets.

The room itself was spacious and had two large beds in it. There was also a small kitchen with counters, sink, microwave, fridge, and cabinets. No stove or oven.

"The closer bed's mine," the teen informed Cameron. "The further one's Greyson's. If you want a shower, you can borrow some of Greyson's clothes. They'll be a bit big on you, but with a belt, the pants will stay up."

"Food," Cameron grunted.

"Right," the teen snorted. "There are snacks in the fridge and cabinets, take what you want. I can also order a pizza in a bit."

"What you want in exchange?"

"Nothing," the teen answered. "You eat and leave, that's fine by me. You eat and stay to meet Greyson, that's cool, too."

Cameron grunted, then raided the fridge, pulling out some yogurt and grapes, then he grabbed a package of chips from the cabinets as well as a snack cake. He devoured them, then decided to take a shower.

The teen gave him some clothes for it, and Cameron went into the shower, sensing another mind arriving while he was soaking under the hot water. When it entered the room, it was at first confused, but a few moments later, excited. Cameron suspected that it was fromthe teen telling Greyson who was in the shower. At least, if he assumed correctly about the younger mind being Greyson.

Cameron delayed leaving the shower until the water went cold (something he wasn't aware a hotel shower could do), then stepped out and dried himself off before dressing in Greyson's clothes. A pair of jeans that were way too big on him and needed the belt, and a black tee that was also too large.

Dressed, Cameron left the bathroom and looked at Greyson, who was looking at him with a nearly-neutral, but mostly annoyed, expression. Cameron could tell there wasn't a trace of annoyance in him, however, since his mind was filled with excitement and curiosity.

"Hello," Greyson said. "I'm Greyson."

"Cameron."

"Is it true you can take a battering ram to someone's mind?"

"Want to find out for sure?"

"Of course not," Greyson responded. "But both Elaine and Blake have said you did that to them. My sister, too."

So Blake is the teen's name? Cameron wondered to himself.

"Your sister?" Cameron asked.

"The chick who rescued you from those kidnappers."

"You were being chased and-"

"Violent chick."

"That's one way to describe her," Greyson said. "Can you use your mental battering ram on Blake?"

"Why?"

"No!"

"I want to see what it looks like when you do," Greyson answered. "And he annoyed me."

Cameron sensed Greyson's irritation and honesty, and sighed, then hit Blake lightly in the head.

"Ow!" Blake said. "Ow! Fucking hell! I'm not a fucking test subject anymore, Greyson!"

"Test subject?" Cameron asked.

"Yeah," Greyson said. "Blake escaped a few months back from being experimented on. He's a werewolf, by the way."

"A werewolf?" Cameron asked, then snorted.

"No, seriously," Greyson said, then looked at Cameron. "Turn into your wolf form."

"Thought they could only do that under a full moon?"

"What?" Greyson looked at Cameron in confusion. "You've been watching too much T.V."

"I haven't watched T.V. in over two years."

The seriousness of Cameron's tone warned Greyson not to push about it, but also that something bad had happened.

"Oh," Greyson says. "Well, we've got a T.V., so if you want to stay with us, you can watch it. We can make Blake sleep on the floor, or you and I can share a bed. It's big enough that we can have opposite sides."

"Do you live here?" Cameron asked.

"Yes," Blake answered. "I can't exactly rent an apartment. At least, haven't found one yet, but I managed to get them to let us rent the room here long-term without an I.D., convinced them that we were siblings running from abusive parents. All I had to do was show them my scars, and they took sympathy on us."

"Are you registered with the government?"

"Fuck no."

"No," Greyson stated. "And I've no plan on it."

Cameron sensed Geryson growing immensely agitated at the question and decided not to push the subject. Something about registering with the government really bothered Greyson, which suggested a bad experience.

"How do you afford this?" Cameron asked. "Doesn't it cost, like, five hundred a night?"

"A hundred and forty, thereabouts," Blake answered. "And I can make more than that in a fight or two."

"A fight?" Cameron asked.

"Yep," Blake grinned. "There's an underground fighting ring for the supernatural community. Supernats of all ages, races, and types can compete against each other. I fight in the brawling section, but there's also the magic section. The only major rules are no killing and no feds. Over the last seven months since I got into it with Greyson here, I've had ninety-seven wins and thirty-six losses, and I can easily win a grand or more some nights. Tonight, there's a good chance I can earn two grand."

"The magic section," Greyson said. "Pays better, especially if you're in the right ring. The stakes are higher when magic gets involved in ways other than enhancing one's strength or speed."

"Maybe," Blake said. "But the recent constant-champ is dampening that locally."

"Recent constant-champ?" Cameron felt lost.

"Yeah," Blake looked at him. "About a month ago, a new magician showed up. He or she should probably stick to the brawling section, since they use martial arts mixed with speed-type enchantment magic. No one's managed to best them yet. They're a pretty good fighter, and take almost everyone out in a single hit."

"He or she?"

"They wear a hoodie," Greyson shrugged, slipping his hands into the pocket of his own. "They're either a short adult or not much older than us. It's being considered to make it required that the face is visible to ensure all's fair. Of course, even with that, it's not necessarily possible to ensure the brawling's fair. But whatever, a lot of matches are brutal and bloody already."

"And you patch me up anyway," Blake grinned.

"I'm not patching you up tonight," Greyson grunted, and Cameron sensed his annoyance.

"Do you fight?" Cameron asked.

"No," Greyson answered. "My magics are exclusively on the healing front. I do watch sometimes, though. I'd planned on it tonight."

"Can I come?"