The Tally:

An excerpt from Blind Spot: The Covenant’s Forfeit

By Thio Isobel Moss

The circle glowed, melting with color, as the sun dipped behind the Wyoming peaks. Colt stared, unblinking, at the sleepy subdivision. I understood the awe — workshop dust and toolboxes on one side, wild glory on the other.

“Hedge-jumping’s a lost craft. Elke Durchdenwald, the last known, was executed on December 7, 1831, for unnatural behavior.”

Bet poor Elke wished she had stuck with knitting. But then, magic was addictive.

“I read up after…” Colt trailed off.

“After we met.”

The night the Saturniidae entered the subversion business, the night Colt’s father died saving his family. Ten-year-old Colt pledged to earn his place as my apprentice, learn my craft, and save others.

That vow nearly broke me.

We’d thought we were ready; just eighty-three seconds to connect to a marked location, seventy-six if I’d been there. After months of training, Evy and Nore nailed every door. We had a former Navy SEAL therianthrope, a bard, a vampire med mage, and combat-trained practitioners, plus the element of surprise; what could go wrong?

Seventy-six seconds was an eon in a fight, and our opponents had been playing this game much longer. Our arrogance cost Isaac Ebersol his life. Colt disagreed — Elena Romero never blamed us either — but ever since, we all kept a mental tally of lives lost against lives saved. Keeping a healthy perspective was difficult.

My apprentice stood silent for several seconds, caught in grief’s web, before shaking free.

“Where’s that?” he asked, nodding at the gate.

“Rawlins, Wyoming — seat of Carbon County,” Oscar grunted, elbowing in with steampunk-esque rifles — brass knobs, scopes, gears — that came in handy in some strange situations. “Home to Jason Cleary and family.”

Oscar dropped the guns and nodded — everyone was set. Operation Orientation was a go; time to set this trainwreck in motion.

“And Jason Cleary is?” Colt prompted, eyeing me and the healer. He caught our silent exchange but didn’t push.

“Oscar, Colt. Colt, Oscar Mendoza—my défteros and second,” I said, eyes on the portal. Technically, they’d met before, but we’d reminisced enough already. They sized each other up.

“Jason Cleary: husband to Kathleen, father to Zach and Matthew, Little League coach, and fireman,” I said, stressing the stakes. “Two days ago, he saved a pregnant woman and her cat from a burning building. It collapsed. They walked out unscathed — no smoke inhalation, not a scratch on them.”

“He’s a practitioner,” Colt deduced.

“No.”

“The woman?”

“Jason Cleary’s a norm. Erynne Stone is a Hybrid. She reported her hero for warped practices four hours after he saved her, her baby, and Lilibette the cat. He doesn’t know what he did and probably couldn’t repeat it. He’s never heard of the Agency of Preternatural Affairs, he’s unaware his world’s gone, and that his family will have to adapt fast to survive.”

My phone buzzed, blaring Joan Jett’s lack of concern for her notoriety. I silenced it.

“That’s our signal. Watch, but don’t interfere.”

Colt blinked, his brows scrunching.

“Your job is to watch and obey,” I said.

Oscar stepped up and crossed his arms, giving Colt the full weight of his attention. At five-seven, he shouldn’t have been intimidating, but what he lacked in height he made up for in attitude. Looming was a particular gift.

Still confused, Colt nodded and turned to the gate.

In Rawlins, a dark sedan pulled up to the Clearys’ raised ranch, disgorging two suited men. They strode up the steps, telegraphing government muscle.

“Who’re they?”

“Agents,” Oscar sneered.

“So I watch. What’re you two doing?”

“Providing a safe learning environment,” I said. We had gone through variations of this song and dance many times; going to the dentist was more fun.

“You’re not—”

“Watch,” Oscar barked.

Zach Cleary opened the door, but was swiftly replaced by his mom. The agents flashed badges, spoke briefly, and she disappeared. A moment later, Jason came to the door. The badges were flashed again — one showed a warrant, the other yanked him out of his home, tased him mid-breath, and allowed Cleary’s body to tumble down the stairs.

“Why aren’t you stopping this? Isn’t that what the Covenant is for?” Colt snapped, hands trembling.

“Watch,” Oscar growled.

The kid charged the portal, but we caught him after two steps. Although it wasn’t an active gate, Colt was a practitioner. Instinct or some other force might carry him through. It had happened before; we’d learned from our mistakes.

“No! Do something,” he shouted, thrashing. “Help them! Please-”

His cries garbling, Colt stiffened under my hex. I hated freezing someone I liked. He was still awake, alert, and facing the gate, and he’d thaw faster than my guilt.

Eight suits emerged from the deepening shadows — four with guns on Kathleen Cleary, holding her boys back from the brave defenders of the Community: four covering the first two as they loaded a cuffed, bloody Jason into the car.

Two identical vehicles pulled up, and seven agents piled in. The last threw some words at Mrs. Cleary. Desperation holding her taut, she hugged her children and nodded. The agent spat at them, then climbed into the last car.

Oscar began dismantling the portal, and I turned to Colt, still paralyzed.

“This wasn’t meant to test or torment you,” I told him. “Your mother accused me of claiming your life; I will do my best to keep you alive, but the things you witness will claim you — they’ll become your obsession.”

I couldn’t tell if he was listening.

“Most folks can’t handle this work; we must determine if you can. That takes exposure. What you feel right now — the anger, fear, and desperation? Use it. When you want to quit, remember this. Decide if preventing another atrocity is reason enough to keep going. Lives will depend on you, so you’ll need to convince us that you’re ready.”

Tears streaked down Colt’s face, fists clenching as he regained bodily autonomy.

“This was designed to be a brutal lesson, and it isn’t even the worst. If you continue, everything — your loyalty, strength, ethics — will be tested. Rushing in without a plan kills people. What would have happened if we’d grabbed Cleary before the APA?”

“He…wouldn’t…have…died,” Colt rasped, twisting his neck.

“Jason’s alive, Colt,” I promised. “Think. If crazy people kidnapped you, claiming the government would arrest and brainwash you, leaving your family ostracized, would you believe them without any proof?”

I sensed the warp in reality swirl into existence behind me, rippling the lines and compressing into a chrysoprase passage.

Each practitioner’s magic manifested in unique ways — mine usually featured clockwork, Evy’s a historic library, Oscar’s a gory display of sinew and bone. Even knowing that, the jubilant green corridor startled me — more so because of its weaver.

I tilted my head to the new door. “That leads to a manifold bridge — connecting multiple locations and creating a temporary pocket plane. If you follow us, please remain silent. We’ll answer your questions when we return.”

The kid glared with no indication of whether I had reached him or destroyed his trust. With orientations, it could go either way.