The Hex Files

2

July 12th, 6:14 PM

Old Marley Place

No sooner had he stepped out of the building than Sol found himself surrounded by the mob.

The protesters encircled most of the entrance, spilling out onto the sidewalk and the street as they set up a barricade the hotel. Sol was forced a few errant signs as he made his way past.

Sol would have been willing to bet they were mostly wood elves, based on the the prevalence of harem pants and Birkenstocks. Viewed from behind the Curtain, the Fair Folk were virtually indistinguishable from a bunch of hippies, except that hippies probably smelt better. It made sense that they would be out here- Queen Mab and the rest of the fey cartels had been pushing for raising the Curtain since the beginning. 

The Curtain. The one thing standing between him and his hold life. For centuries now, the magical world had been hidden from mundanes by a complex series of enchantments that ensured that mundanes didn't see anything they weren't meant to. Through the Curtain, your average werewolf just looked a guy in need of a shave. It kept them safe- but only in exchange for making them invisible.

But all that was about to change. After decades of lobbying, the Council had finally decided to hold a referendum- a vote on whether it was time to finally reveal their existence to the world at large. For those in the Reveal camp, it was the opportunity they'd been waiting for. After two hundred years, they could finally come out of hiding, and stand in sunlight as what they were. 

As for why the protestors had shown up outside the Old Marley- well, that was no surprise either. Sol glanced at the building above him.

Vote Sebastian Underwood for Council!  The blond man beaming down from the billboard had teeth so white they looked like a row of Chiclets. Rumour had it Sebastian Underwood had set up his campaign offices on the bottom floor of the Old Marley to pander to the city's spookier residents. Sol wished he wouldn't. It was bad enough that eyesores like this were plastered over every artisan apothecary this side of Williamsburg.

When it came to Curtain politics, Sebastian, like most of the magical establishment, erred on the side of conservative.

"These kinds of things, you know, they take time," as he'd said in an interview on Magic Tonight, "I mean, we can't exactly waltz in there just yank the whole thing back. Can you imagine? We'd have chaos! Panic on the streets! It would be Salem all over again. No, I think the thing to do right now is just to sit tight and be patient."

"Is two hundred years patient enough for you?" called one of the protestors at the front of the crowd, a teenage girl with flowers woven into her afro. Some of the others shouted in agreement.

Sol shoved his hands deeper into his pockets as he passed. A long time ago, he might have been right there with them. But that wasn't his problem- not anymore.

He drifted down the cement runways, concrete tunnels, fire-escapes that spidered up into the night. Steam billowing out of grates in the sidewalk, fogging up his glasses, as buildings fenced him into a labyrinth brick tunnels and blind alleys. As the sun set, warmth leeched out of the brick like colour from a cold cheek.

Past him, people trickled home from their day jobs, heads down, hands in their pockets. He watched, as they moved in unison, all swept up in their mundane lives and problems.

He reached the intersection to his apartment, and turned. He didn't particularly feel like going home tonight.

*

The bar was a hideaway, some no-name joint squished into the crook of street with a name he could never remember. He caught a few of the patrons leaning over the bar watching him as he strode passed. No matter- he'd be back for them soon enough. Right now, he had business to attend to. Sol walked straight past the bartender and made a beeline for the restroom.