Hawthorne, the Committee President, sat back in his chair, attempting to look mildly sympathetic as Freya prattled on about the importance of her family. She sounded like she was stumping on a campaign trail instead of pleading for her family’s welfare. Hawthorne shook his head and thought, humility did not sit well with Freya. She was arrogant and belittling, but beautiful.

The kind of beauty that never warmed, and he was obsessed with it for a long time. He wanted to possess Freya, but she had other designs. Even though she stoked the embers of his affection by occasionally allowing him into her bed, she chose Arnaud, her half-human cousin, once removed.

Half-human or not, Arnaud was the most powerful shifter in their time and easy on the eyes too, but he had no ambition, and to Hawthorne, that’s what did him in. Hawthorne knew he would never be called handsome. Out of ten, he would rate a four at best, but what he lacked in looks he made up for in ruthlessness.

When he got wind of Arnaud’s preference for male company, back then, an offense by both humans and Changelings, Hawthorne presented Arnaud with a choice: leave on his volition or as a forgotten one. By morning Arnaud had vanished, and now as he sat there listening to Freya carry on, it gave him some pleasure knowing that the fate of the half-breed’s child rested with him.

"...And in consideration of my family’s dedication toward teaching and preserving the clan’s oral history..." Freya said as she sat in the chair, placed inside the crescent outline of the conference table. "I feel that it would better serve the community if we were to remain on our ancestral land."

"Why should we treat your family differently from any other inferior family?"

The President chuckled as he looked over at his younger brother, Maximilian, the committee’s unofficial bulldog. Maximillion hated Leanna’s descendants like the Hatfields did the McCoys. He descended from the House of the dreamcatcher, and as long as he could remember, there had always been a power struggle between the two bloodlines.

Freya’s face lit up. "Do I have to remind you whose family started this committee?"

Maximillion stood up; His Mister Peabody glasses were pushed far down on his aquiline nose. "And do I have to remind you that those days are long past? You can barely transform yourself. Your family is more human than shifter, and your only use is waving to the ignoramuses from the harvest festival parade float."

Freya shrieked as she gripped the edge of her clutch bag. Her nails grew to claws, tearing it.

The room erupted with noise.

Hawthorne banged down on his gavel. He looked at his brother. "Max, sit down." Then over to his former lover. "Freya. Calm down.

Freya glared at him.

Hawthorne smiled tightly. "Please."

Freya took a breath and smiled tightly back at him.

The treasurer spoke; a petite, bottle blonde with hazel eyes and fair skin showing only a hint of African heritage. "Freya, no one is going to displace your family," Olivia smiled at Oma, who also sat on the board. Still, in this instance, she might as well have been Switzerland. "...but the committee must appear to be fair in its dealings with such delicate matters. If the board is open to hearing it, I propose a compromise."

Olivia was from the house of Cora. Cora always kept the peace between her sisters, and her children’s children followed suit.

All assembled either nodded or voiced their consent.

Olivia continued, looking directly at Freya. "Remove your daughter from the house."

Oma didn’t mean to, but she cried out softly.

Freya sighed and closed her eyes, thinking no matter the outcome, embarrassment followed the family.

Olivia softened her tone. "I know that it’s not a palatable option, but it is far better than the alternative. Some believe a complete return to the old ways would grant the clan their full powers again. Your daughter’s continued existence without penance would add to the unrest.

Freya sneered. "Don’t talk to me about the old ways; Bread and circus to keep the masses tethered while progress is left in the hands of a few—kind of like at present.

Olivia looked at her, unmoved. "Is your indignation spent? You’re being thrown a lifeline Freya--your call."

"Freya, Please," Oma called out to her daughter. Oma was visibly frail; her continued presence on the committee was questionable. What Olivia was presenting gave them time to position Harvey to sit on the board. With her acting as regent, until then.

Freya nodded.

Olivia looked around the room at the committee members, then to Hawthorne. It was the job of the President to put it to vote.

Hawthorne projected his voice above the crowd. "With a show of hands, all in favor?"