VEE

The sound of the door clicking closed rouses me, and I wake in Xander's bed. Alone. A mug and a plate with toast resting on the bedside table. Xander's attempt at showing he cares without having to say something?

We didn't speak much last night, but the way Xander stroked my hair, and ran his gentle touch across my skin, before holding me all night told me more. He can attempt to avoid talking, but he knows as well as I do that it's impossible to avoid the bond between our hearts and souls.

I take the plate and mug downstairs and sit with Seth in the kitchen as the guys discuss their plans in the next room.

Seth's quiet today, and each hour he's with us he becomes quieter and more introspective. Has he accepted anymore of the world now he's experienced it?

"How are you today, Seth?" I wipe toast crumbs from my fingers. "Did you eat?"

He spins his coffee mug on the table in front. "This is real, isn't it? Is this what's behind all the conspiracies? Angels and demons?"

"Angels?" I give a short laugh. "There aren't any angels."

At least I don't think there are angels. Please don't let there be angels, or my mind will explode.

"But there are demons. I've tried to explain everything to myself, but what's in front of my eyes is more believable than any theory I can come up with."

"Yes. And vampires."

How much can I tell Seth without exploding his mind too? The guys continue their conversation, and I hold one with Seth. He remains silent as I give him a run down on what's happening in my life, but leave out the part about my non-existence. I explain about fae, and Portia, and the struggles between the demons and the Horsemen. As I relay the information, the gaps in my knowledge appear again.

What are the portals and where are they?

Who are they?

Who am I?

However hard I attempt to assimilate to my new life, the last two questions haunt me.

* * *

VEE

The guys decide strength in numbers for a visit to the Collector. They're laid back about it, confident they can "extract” the information needed. Who is this guy? If he's more powerful than Portia, I'm unsure what to expect.

I worry about becoming involved with another person the guys normally leave alone, apart from when necessary, and their attempt to keep out of politics. But the world is shifting, and I'm worried what this means for humans too.

The Collector's house is located in a small suburb, set apart from the Victorian terraces, behind a walled garden. The townhouse is three stories high, and holds a presence in the street to match the one I imagine he has. The neatly tended roses add a welcome rainbow of colour to the dreary weather. We stand on the wide polished step and wait as the doorbell tinkles and echoes through the house. Footsteps sound, and a girl opens the door.

She's late teens maybe, dressed in a long, blue, shift dress. Her white blonde hair is braided into a band across her head, and her faraway expression drifts away as she's confronted by the six of us. The fae’s violet eyes fill with suspicion.

"We’re here to speak to the Collector,” Xander says in a gruff tone.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Yes," replies Heath. "We spoke to him this morning."

Him. The guy has no name. He refuses to go by any other than the Collector. Joss reckons this is to disguise his true identity, but if his magic is powerful why would he need to?

She nods and opens the door. We step into a tiled hallway, the original features intact, from the glass and wrought metal light fittings to the vintage black and white wallpaper covering the walls. The warm house is filled with a mingled floral and spice scent.

"This way." She escorts us to a sitting room, furnished with a winged and worn burgundy armchair and a matching sofa. Between them, there’s a low table adorned with a white cloth and purple candles. I sit on the sofa facing the bay window, as if I'm in a waiting room. The rest of the room is bare save for tall houseplants in pots on the polished wooden floor and smaller potted red flowers in the window.

"Would you like some tea?" the fae girl asks with a bored air. "We only have herbal."

Joss laughs under his breath. "I bet."

"Nope," says Xander. "We don't have time."

She tilts her head and looks down her nose at him. "He may be some time. He has a client."

Ewan checks his watch. "What? We arranged 11:00 a.m."

She pouts a small smile and walks away. Ewan immediately stands and paces around the room, pulling the sheer lilac curtains to one side to look out of the window.

"For someone who collects things, he doesn’t have much on display,” says Seth.

"I doubt the items he collects are things he wants people to see or touch,” replies Ewan.

"How does the place feel to you?" he asks Joss.

Joss rubs his cheek. "Odd, but not dangerous. Vee?"

"I'm not comfortable, but I don't know if that's because of him, or because something's wrong."

"There's a lot of magic around." Xander stands too and walks to the corner, inspecting the plants. "As you'd expect."

"I don't like the place." All eyes turn to Seth. "It feels weird in here, and I've had enough of weird."

"We won't be here long," I say.

"I'm sick of visiting places like this. I've spent three days with my stomach in knots not knowing what'll happen to me next."

"How's your arm?" asks Joss.

"Not too bad, thank you." He touches his injury. "And I would've liked tea."

I suppress a laugh at the expression on Xander's face. "Tea? Seriously?"

"Maybe a glass of water?"

"Dude...," mutters Heath.

"What? They offered.” He turns his attention to Xander. "What happened to your cheek?”

Crap. I look into my lap to avoid meeting Xander’s eyes. How was I to know my slap would bruise him? Nobody else has mentioned the mark on Xander’s face, I’d hoped nobody would.

"Does it matter?” he snaps back.

"Whoa. Okay.”

Xander flops into the single armchair. "The Collector had better not take long."

We sit silently for a few minutes and I listen to the loud tick from the vintage clock on the fireplace mantle. Ewan sniffs at his jacket. "I'm gonna walk out of here smelling bloody awful. The smell makes me feel sick."

"A little cloying," says Joss. "I agree."

Ewan shakes his head at him. "Fancy words again."

Joss came with us, despite complaining he’d rather stay at the house, and spent the journey staring out the car window not speaking to anybody. I’m finding it harder to sense how he feels. Is Joss shutting down on me? Now, he has his elbow on the sofa arm, propping up his head, the dark circles beneath his eyes more pronounced.

As soon as I get the chance, I’m talking to him about this. I refuse to let him hide from me what’s happening.

The door to the room creaks open and a tall man strides in. He stands in front of Xander and looks down.

"I'd like to take my seat. Please." His voice has a hint of an accent; European, but I can't tell where. France? Spain?

I squeeze my eyes closed. Please don't get riled, Xander.

The Collector’s blond hair is pulled into a ponytail, the curls springing to below his neck. He's barefoot, in leather pants and a loose shirt woven in rainbow colours. He turns, and when his bright green eyes land on me a sensation similar to the one from Logan washes over. My mind feels invaded, as if long fingers are probing inside.

Xander stands and the Collector breaks his gaze then takes his seat.

"It's been some time since you visited me," he says.

I expected the Collector to have an appearance to match his formal home, but if anything, he looks like a rock star. To many, he probably is. If he’s as old as they say, there's no sign of wear to his smooth, luminous skin or in his pale blue eyes.

"We prefer to ignore you and stay away," replies Heath. "But it seems that a few people we usually ignore are coming to our attention."

"Yes. I spoke to Syv. She filled me in on the details." He taps the wooden chair arm with purple painted fingernails. "You really are in a mess, aren't you?"

"We're fine. Just piecing things together."

His mouth twitches at one corner. "I think you're unaware how much chaos surrounds you." He waves a hand at Seth. "Especially him.”

Xander sits forward. "His life has been threatened by someone in the supernatural world, and we need to find out who. People are dying."

The Collector's focus remains on Seth who stares back at him. Can Seth feel the same invasion in his mind too? "Interesting."

The room falls silent and Xander shifts next to me, his impatience apparent to us all. The Collector sits back and steeples his fingers beneath his chin.

"And your lives are threatened too?" he asks.

"As always, but you know the outcome from each time we die," says Heath in a low voice.

"Yes. Clever Death’s resurrection skills. I've known Horsemen before you," replies the Collector.

The tension in the room explodes into a mixture of emotions from the guys, confusion and fear mingled with curiosity.

"What do you mean?" asks Joss in a sharp tone.

"But never a Fifth." He points at me with a long finger, panic stabbing at my heart as he does. "Are you Verity?”

I nod.

"When did you know them? Who were they?" demands Xander.

He flicks his fingers dismissively. "I don't remember. Like you don't, I suppose. You’re always filled with self-importance and bravado, and my being in exile keeps me away from everything but those who want to help me."

"Please tell me he's lying," says Heath below his breath.

Stupefied, I shake my head.

"Come on. I've lived in this world two hundred years. I see you come and go. I'll be interested to see how this plays out."

"What happened to them?" Xander leans forward palms on his knees. "What killed them?"

"Were they killed? I don’t know. I think they were just retrieved. Taken off duty, if you like." He flicks his fingers. "But you Horsemen always feel the same.”

Joss stands. "Taken by who?"

"I don't know, and I don't care." He gestures at Joss to sit again, but he doesn’t.

"But you live in this world! Of course you care," protests Heath.

"Like I said, I've been here two hundred years. I don't fear anything." He sighs. "I’ll survive. And I'm not here to talk about your history. I can spare you ten minutes. What is it you wanted to know?"

Xander pauses long enough to receive an arched brow from the Collector. He stands and straightens his shirtsleeves. "Oh, well, if there’s nothing to talk about, I’ll leave you. I’m a busy man.”

"No. We have questions. Did Syv tell you what happened to Taron?" asks Ewan.

"Yes. Sad state of affairs, but again of no interest to me."

"He was killed with magic, we think caused by a rune we haven't seen before. Syv thinks it's ancient fae magic." Xander pulls out his phone and passes it to the Collector. "If you could help confirm this, at least we know we’re looking for fae and not demons.”

Seth drops his head back on the sofa and stares at the ceiling. Any mention of supernatural races, and he zones out.

The Collector traces the shape with a finger, brow tugged together. "What did this do to Taron?"

"Killed him."

"I mean, how did he die?"

"It affected his memory, and then consumed him from inside. He was drowning in his own blood. Painfully and horrifically." Joss squeezes my hand. "We ended his life rather than let him die slowly."

The Collector rises. "I do recognise this, but not without checking exactly what it means. I require a book from my study."

"Joss, go with him," says Xander. "We'll wait here."

I stand. "I'd like to go too."

"Safety in numbers?" says the Collector with a light laugh. "Perhaps Dina could bring the rest of you you some tea now?"