I called us an Uber. One of the fancy Ubers – we were headed west after all.

"So," Amelie said. She was still in awe of the shininess of her top. "Tell me about this place. Anything in particular I should know?"

"Mmmm, not really. It kind of feels like any big fancy members club in London. Maybe there is a bit weirder shit happening at ours, but not by much. The Elysian is basically the forefather of all members clubs. We needed a place where we could all meet, but we didn't want to worry about constantly hiding from Defects, so we came up with the concept of Members Club. A lot of people in London know about The Elysian and they compare it to Anabel's in terms of how hard it is to become a member. They just don't know that being obnoxiously rich or famous is never going to get them in. We're more like old school royalty, you have to be born into it. Royalty is actually also something we came up with, but that little experiment failed."

"Does that mean that only Elysians are allowed inside?" she pointed at herself in a "how am I going to get in" manner.

"Oh, no. Only Elysians can become members, but Defects can still visit. Actually, it's almost encouraged to bring Defects with us. Some of our orders are pretty shit at keeping a secret. We like to show off too much. It's encouraged that we bring our Defect friends here, so that someone else can clean up our mess."

"I'm not following."

"The Seers and Tappers are usually the worst at keeping our talents hidden." Amelie raised her eyebrows in understanding at me. "The Sniffers and Listeners on the other hand are pretty much made for secrets. Listeners can override your memories by forcing their own thoughts into your head, and Sniffers can make you smell something which will make it impossible for you to know if you actually saw a Telekinetic or you were just drunker than you'd ever been in your life."

"What about Simpers?"

"Simpers are pure evil, and we will not discuss them. As far as I'm concerned, I hope Defects will one day restart the witch hunts. Last time they did a pretty shit job of rooting out those bloody enchanters."

Amelie nodded and we both stared out of our respective windows the rest of the way. The fancy brick houses, and lush store fronts of Chelsea flashed past us. The driver turned north, towards the museum area. There, somewhere between the Natural History Museum and South Kensington, was a big ass mansion. Five stories high to be exact. One for each Order.

A cloud of perfume enveloped the place. If you weren't paying attention, you'd never notice it, but after years of exposure, plus some rigorous Elysian training that all of us undergo as kids, I caught it drifting in the air as soon as we stepped out of the car. It was pinkish and smelled of rose water, cigarette smoke, and clean glass. That was the Façade the Sniffers sugar coated the building with. Just in case some Defect decided to peek into our windows, all they'd see would be a bunch of old white men smoking cigars.

I lifted the brass knocker on the front door, but it opened before I could make any noise. The doorman was a skinny old Tapper. We always used Tappers, or Touch Benders, as they preferred to be called, for manual labour. It was one of my favourite fan facts that I shared with all the Defect girls I brought to the Elysian – I enjoyed seeing their surprised expressions when they realised that Telekinetics were pretty much at the bottom of the supernatural hierarchy.

"Hey, Joe," I greeted.

Joe didn't like me. I brought in too many Defects for his taste.

"Birth Mark," he said flatly.

"Oh, c'mon, Joe. You know me."

"Birth Mark." He repeated.

I rolled my eyes before closing them, so he could shine his blacklight over my face. I knew he asked to check my Birth Mark every time. I didn't fight him only to be a pain in his butt. I was buying myself time to reduce the size of my Birth Mark. It took a bit of concentration, but I preferred not to let other Elysians to know just how much stronger I was. Rule number one of growing up among blood thirsty godlings: keep your cards close to your chest.

"Defect?" the doorman asked, tilting his wrinkly head at Amelie.

"Spot on. Are you sure you're not a Sniffer, Joe?"

The old man grunted but didn't deign me worthy of a response. He stepped aside and I led Amelie straight to the basement stairs.

"We should try to get in and out of here as fast as possible," I said.

"Do you think others will notice that I'm the one blocking their powers?" Amelie asked.

"Oh, no, most people here are far too drunk for that, but we are going to meet the devil, and I'd rather not spend more time in her company than strictly necessary."

The question which Amelie no doubt wanted to ask, was forgotten as soon as we stepped into the basement. It was like the museum curator from a backwater village was given molly and a million dollars and was set loose onto that room. The walls were hung with rugs, mismatched tiles, and faded daguerreotypes. Instead of tables there was display cases full of old wallets and fountain pens. There were a few record players from different time periods, all playing different tunes. And the crowd in that place...

"I'm pretty sure they buy out a whole flea market when they get dressed for a party," I offered my insights, my lip twitching at smell of unwashed third hand clothing.

Amelie nodded absently. She was mesmerized by a trio of Tappers having a no-hands knitting and drinking contest on one of the many warn out couches in the room. Next to them were a bunch of listeners in shorts and knee garters arguing over which music record was the strongest mind controlling device. I shuddered at the sight of music records they were holding. My hip still throbbed with pain.

As we walked through the crowd of lumberjack button downs, glasses, beards, onesies and old school typewriters, I pulled Amelie close enough to put my arm around her shoulders. I'd like to say I was trying to keep her safe, but I admit that the feeling of her straight back and alert, but confident stride, were helping me keep my own cool.

We stood out like sore thumbs and almost everyone craned their necks after us.

The Queen sat in the very back of the room. She had somewhat of a pillow fort set up. Big pieces of embroidered canvas hung like a canopy around the mountain of cushions that she and her entourage lounged on.

I made Amelie pause for a moment before we came within earshot of the pillow fort.

"I know I said I don't want to talk about Simpers, but there are a few things you should probably know about them. They did in fact inspire the witch hunts, because they are enchanters," I touched my index finger to my lips. "Everything that comes out of their mouth is dripping with poison, meant to put you under their spell. And you have to remember the most important rule of them all: Under no circumstances are you to kiss a Simper. Ever."

A quick glance at the Queen left Amelie very confused. The queen was a very average looking girl. She was wearing a summer dress which would have been more appropriate for a 12-year-old and had her russet hair was falling on her shoulders in small ringlets. She opted for giant round glasses, instead of the bulky square ones. In general, there was nothing "enchanting" about her, and she would have probably gone unnoticed if not for the big group of people gathered around her, listening to her as intently as if she was announcing the Second Coming.

"Girls aren't really my thing," Amelie said. She grimaced, probably trying to imagine kissing the queen. Under different circumstances I would have probably said something inappropriate, but this was no laughing matter.

"Just promise me you'll never do it."

"I promise," she said solemnly.

I allowed myself one last dramatic sigh and turned towards the Queen. She caught my eye and shooed away her flock of followers. Then she pat a cushion next to her and winked at me.

"Oh, and I forgot to mention. This is my ex."

I stepped forward towards doom, while Amelie gaped wordlessly in my wake.