The Protocol of Cowards

The convertible's engine purred to silence outside a building that screamed corporate blandness. Twenty stories of steel and glass reflected the afternoon sun, each window identical to the next. The sign near the entrance read "Valorian Heritage & Archives" in tasteful chrome letters. Amelia killed the ignition and stretched, her spine popping in three satisfying places.

"Wait here," she told Rome, already sliding out of the driver's seat. "Actually, no. Come with me. Leaving you in the car feels like abandoning a puppy."

She heard Freya's low growl intensify from the backseat.

"Your cat really hates me," Amelia observed, leading Rome toward the entrance. Her heels clicked against polished concrete.

The lobby hit them with a wave of air conditioning and silence. White marble stretched across the floor, veined with gold. Modern art installations dotted the space, angular sculptures that looked like they'd been designed by someone who'd never experienced joy.

The whole place smelled like expensive nothing.

A young woman sat behind the reception desk, her suit pressed, dark hair pulled back so tight it had to hurt. She glanced up from her computer screen and every drop of color drained from her face.

The chair scraped back. She was on her feet, bowing so low Amelia could count the vertebrae pressing against the fabric of her blouse.

"Beleth-sama!" The words came out strangled. "We weren't expecting you! I mean, we were told about the meeting, but not that you would personally..."

"Is Nerona in?"

"Yes! Conference Room 3, as always. Should I..."

"No need." Amelia gestured toward Rome, who stood there looking like he'd stumbled into the wrong movie. Freya's carrier swung from his hand, the cat inside radiating murder. "This is my personal guest. He'll wait here. Get him whatever he wants. Coffee, tea, one of those overpriced pastries you people love. Keep him comfortable."

She let her smile fade just enough.

"If anything happens to him while I'm upstairs, if he gets so much as a papercut, I will hold you personally accountable. We clear?"

The receptionist nodded so hard her bun nearly came loose. "Crystal clear, Beleth-sama. Please, please don't worry. I'll take excellent care of him."

"Wonderful." Amelia turned to Rome. "Try not to break anything. I'll be back soon."

She didn't wait for his response. The elevator was already open, as if the building itself was eager to speed her along. The doors slid shut on Rome's bewildered face and that damn cat's glowing eyes.

The moment she was alone, the mask cracked.

Amelia leaned against the elevator's mirrored wall and let out a long breath. Her reflection stared back, white hair slightly mussed from the drive, makeup still perfect because it always was. The lotus patterns in her eyes spun lazy circles, responding to her irritation.

The elevator climbed. She watched the numbers tick upward.

Deep breaths. Remember the goal. Rome gets enrolled, you get a fascinating research subject, everyone goes home happy.

Don't vaporize anyone.

The doors opened on the third floor. Another hallway, this one darker, quieter. The corporate facade fell away here. These walls were old stone disguised as drywall, wards carved into the foundation humming with enough demonic energy to make a normal human nauseous. She'd walked this corridor too many times. It never got less infuriating.

Conference Room 3 waited at the end of the hall, double doors of black wood carved with protective sigils that probably hadn't been updated since the Meiji era. She didn't knock. Her palm hit the wood and the doors swung inward.

The room beyond was exactly as she remembered. Long obsidian table, surface so polished it reflected like dark water. Ten chairs surrounding it, high-backed and uncomfortable. Eight stood empty. At the head of the table sat Nerona, looking every inch the consummate bureaucrat in her crisp white shirt and black blazer. Her long dark hair fell past her shoulders.

"Amelia." Nerona's smile was professionally pleasant. "Right on time. Your punctuality is always appreciated."

"Lapdog." Amelia let the doors close behind her. "Let's get this farce over with. I have a student to enroll and a wardrobe to purchase. My schedule is quite full."

Nerona's smile didn't waver. It never did. That was the truly unsettling part about her.

"Of course. The Council is waiting."

Her hands moved through a sequence of seals. A barrier snapped into place around the room, cutting it off from the outside world like a bubble of compressed space. The familiar weight of a Curtain settled over Amelia's shoulders.

Nerona produced a small lantern from beneath the table, setting it at the center with reverent care. The object was ornate, brass worked into spiraling patterns that hurt to look at directly. With a pulse of demonic energy, the flame inside ignited. Rainbow light spilled across the obsidian, refracting into colors that didn't quite exist in normal spectrum.

The eight empty chairs filled.

Not with bodies. Bodies would have been too honest. Instead, transparent projections flickered into existence, holographic approximations of old men in traditional robes. Their forms distorted like bad television signals, edges bleeding static. Their eyes were the only solid features, floating in seas of rainbow distortion.

The Higher Ups. The Ministers. The cowards who ran the shaman world from behind proxies.

"Gentlemen." Amelia inclined her head just enough to be polite, not enough to be respectful. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

One of the projections spoke, its voice layered with electronic crackling. She recognized the cadence if the face was too distorted. Minister Takahashi from the Division of Tradition. Of course he'd lead this particular witch hunt.

"Amelia Beleth. You were issued direct orders regarding an unclassified entity designated as Code Violet. Those orders were explicit. Neutralize the threat. Dispose of the remains. Report completion."

Another voice, this one higher pitched. Minister Watanabe from Discipline. "You have defied those orders. You have instead taken the entity under your protection, claiming it as a student. This represents a severe breach of protocol."

A third projection leaned forward, the movement causing its edges to blur. "Your continued unorthodoxy threatens the stability we have maintained for centuries. Your responsibilities as Head of the Beleth Clan should supersede your hobbies as an instructor."

Amelia's smile stayed perfectly in place.

"Hobbies," she repeated, tasting the word. "Interesting characterization."

"You endanger everything we have built." This voice came from the far end of the table, cold as winter stone. Minister Yamamoto from Legislation. His projection was the most solid, the most detailed. He'd always been the most powerful among them. "Your recklessness invites catastrophe."

He paused. The silence stretched.

"Is this how you would risk another Valac Massacre? Through your carelessness? Through your failure to eliminate potential threats before they fester?"

Valac.

Amelia's vision tunneled. The lotus patterns in her eyes spun faster, petals rotating in opposite directions. The lights flickered. The projections distorted, their forms breaking apart into streams of corrupted data before reforming.

You sanctimonious bastards.