My father and I are attending a convention for an international secret society of people who interact with the hidden supernatural. We, like most of the attendees and members, have a small golden rhombus tattooed on the dorsal side of our left wrist. Those who have joined one of the society’s four Commissions have had this tattoo expanded into more eborate designs to signal which Commission they belong to.

  The First Commission is the oldest and handles the society’s dealings with vampires. Vampires are the most numerous and most-well integrated of the world’s sapient supernatural beings, and the society was founded long ago by those who had had encounters with vampires, both friendly and otherwise.

  The Second Commission is dedicated to making use of the supernatural in conjunction with scientific research to find ways to improve life for humanity as a whole. I hope to join it one day.

  The Third Commission preserves the secrecy of the society and of the existence of the supernatural in general, by any means necessary. They make most everyone else uneasy.

  I still do not know what the Fourth Commission’s purpose is. Some say it is a myth.

  It is the end of the day and my father and I are driving back to our hotel for the night. I tell him to avoid the main road because there’s going to be a traffic accident on an intersection we’d need to pass through. He asks me how I know that. I tell him I overheard a couple of Third Commission members talking about arranging it during the social hour mixer earlier.