Soul Kissed by Erin Kellison

doing unpleasant jobs in return for favors, or for money to live. It was the only work open to him. Steal, cheat, kill—a mage did not collect a human paycheck. Doing so meant utter isolation, and possibly death, especially under the previous Council.
    Was discovering information on this membrane the job that Webb had wanted to hire him for back at the Stanton May Fair? Didn’t matter.
    Of course, there was no offer of payment here, and that’s because Webb knew that Mason didn’t need to be paid. Not anymore. Webb had Fletcher, which was more than enough motivation. The fosterage arrangement made Mason a very passionate supporter of Webb’s interests. The contract was a two-fer. That’s simply how fosterage worked.
    Didn’t matter that Mason liked Cari, didn’t want to investigate her business. He was first and foremost Webb’s man.
     
     
    Fletcher noshed on a cookie as he lay back and considered the blanket they’d used for a fort ceiling. It was drooping again. He and Bran were going to get the most out of “just tonight” if it killed them. Tomorrow they had to clean up and Fletcher had to sleep in his own room. Welcome celebration over.
    Fletcher was a pro at forts. His dad had taught him everything he needed to know.
    He and Bran had found flashlights in the kitchens, grub and soda too, and stashed it in a corner of the fort that he called the canteen. They had an ammo cache of rolled socks to beam at anyone who came to check on them—his dad had always said to make sure he could defend himself. A piss pot and source of fresh water would’ve made the fort complete, but Mr. Webb might have gotten mad about that.
    They loaded the floor with bed stuff from Fletcher’s room and ate until the sheets itched. And Bran made monsters out of the shadows of their hands on the standing mattress they’d turned into a barricade.
    When Bran finally fell asleep, which took forever, Fletcher’s boredom disappeared.
    Time to become Stealth. It was his secret name, what his dad had called him after the silent stink bombs he’d dropped as a baby. Changed to codename Deadly Vapor for a while, then Miasma, when he got that stomach flu, but anything that ended in an “a” was a girl name. Stealth stuck, and now he kind of liked it. And only his dad knew about the baby thing.
    His sleeping spot was next to a dark gap under Bran’s bed. Lots of Shadow there. He scooted under the bed and kept scooting until he reached the wall.
    Bran’s bedroom wall was shared by Mr. Webb’s bedroom wall, which was why Stealth had suggested using this room instead of his.
    Stealth told the Shadow what to do. If he made no sound, he could hear the low grumble of Mr. Webb’s voice. If he looked hard enough, made his eyes look through the wall, then he could watch Mr. Webb’s mouth move, and he could figure out the words.
    The wall dissolved and only black spots coasted in Stealth’s vision. He knew to ignore the whispers that hissed in his ears—those were just the fae, coming closer. His dad said not to acknowledge them, so he didn’t.
    Mr. Webb was in a brown robe and slippers. Veiny ankles. He’d put his glasses down on his night table, but was speaking on a smart phone. “No, he won’t report my request to the Council. I have his son.”
    . . . hissss sssson . . .
    Stealth peered harder to catch everything. Mr. Webb could only be talking about one “son”—him.
    Mr. Webb grunted with frustration. “The stray will do as I tell him. He’s gotten his hands dirty before.”
    Stealth went hot. Mr. Webb was scheming against his dad.
    A long bit of quiet.
    “Yes, I am prepared to do just that.” Mr. Webb looked over at the wall, almost as if he could see him. But Stealth had been doing this bit of magic for too long to be scared. “I’m sure he’ll be very cooperative.”
    Stealth glared right back.
    Cooperative? An archnemesis? Never.
     
     
    “What do you mean he’s staying here?” Scarlet demanded of Cari. “Did he