by R A Watt
Jermaine.
Sybil.
My dad.
Rachel.
I willed myself to end this. To change to human form.
It worked.
It hurt.
As my body made the painful transformation back, I was vaguely aware of the others watching in horror until it was over.
Sweating, in pain, and hungry, I rolled onto my back in the gravel and tried to catch my breath. The cool night air felt good on my bare chest.
Suzanne knelt beside me and grabbed my hand tentatively. “Teavan? Can you hear me?” she shouted.
I winced, pulling back. “Of course I can hear you. You’re yelling.”
She smiled.
“Is he dead?” I asked.
Suzanne grimaced then nodded. “Big time.”
I turned over, looking for Bruno. His body was sprawled in the gravel just a few feet away. An odd-looking piece of wood protruded from his back.
The urge to vomit at the sight was overwhelming and I heaved, throwing up red and yellow bile on the ground. I tried desperately to catch my breath between waves.
Suzanne handed me a cup of water. I thankfully downed it all and rinsed my mouth at the same time. Mrs. Leclair had covered up Bruno with a blanket from inside.
At this point, I was glad I had changed my clothing earlier. The shirt was gone, but the athletic shorts were still on me. The elastic waistband had proved worthy. I pulled them up a little.
“Is that why you changed earlier?” Suzanne asked, noting my shorts. Jermaine was kneeling beside her biting his lip, eyeing me nervously.
I nodded.
“You’re a werewolf, and you just killed a werewolf. And you were worried about us seeing you naked after?” she asked again, one eyebrow arched up.
I shrugged. “Wasn’t a big deal to change.”
Suzanne grinned, ruffling my hair. “Always thinking ahead.”
Gesturing to Bruno, I asked, “What’s in his back?”
Mrs. Leclair answered this time. “A family heirloom. It was part of my mother’s antique silverware. I guess there was enough silver in that carving knife after all. Though I think you had all but finished him either way.”
The realization of what happened now made sense as I remembered something changing. “So, does that mean I didn't . . . kill him?”
Mrs. Leclair looked at Suzanne, understood my meaning, and then looked from Jermaine to me. “Unclear. You . . . both did it. It was the silver and his wounds.”
I sighed with relief, falling to my back, taking in a deep breath. The moon was still red through the darkness.
I wasn’t a killer. Well, not fully. Jermaine had been there. He had my back.
“Jermaine,” I said, trying to make eye contact. “Thank you. You saved me.”
He was just staring blankly into the darkness, and then looked down at his hand, wiping some blood onto his jeans and shrugged. He turned to me. “You put your life on the line for us; it wasn’t anything you wouldn’t have done for me. But like Mrs. Leclair said, I think you had already won.”
At the time, I would have happily killed him. I wanted it. I could still taste that want—that need. But now . . . I was relieved to know it wasn’t all me. No wonder his blood started tasting wrong.
“Now what? What do we do with him?” I asked.
“If you can help me load him into the truck, we can dispose of him. It won’t be my first time,” Mrs. Leclair added with a knowing grin. Then she looked at me with her head cocked to the side. “Teavan, how did you . . . change so quickly? You transformed much faster than you should be able to at this point.”
I shrugged. “I dunno. I just did. It seemed oddly . . . natural. Necessary?”
Mrs. Leclair gave me a confused look, thinking.
But then a thought occurred to me, and I sat up, panicked, and looked around. “Wait. Is everyone okay? Where’s Sybil?”
We looked around, suddenly nervous. “She was here. He never got to her. She ran around to the back of the house, and then you chased him up on the roof,” Suzanne said, looking a little unsure.
Jermaine added, “I’ll run to the back, she’s probably hiding still.” He jogged into the darkness, hollering her name.
Suzanne looked weary and scared. “You okay?” I asked her.
“Me? The question is are you okay? I didn’t just transform into a werewolf and fight another one to the death. I just watched it all . . .” she answered. “Oh, and here’s your necklace thing, it got ripped off in the fight. What is it?”
She handed me the medallion. The leather strap had snapped and I shoved it in my pocket.
I shrugged. “Just something I found in Grandpa’s things. But man, am I tired. And I seriously need some food. You have no idea.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re always starving.”
Mrs. Leclair made her way into the house to get something to tide me over, since we still needed to deal with Bruno. As I walked shakily up the front steps, Jermaine came running back around the house. His face was about as pale as it could be.
“What is it? Where’s Sybil?” Suzanne asked.
He handed us his phone, which was open to a text message:
We have Sybil. Come to the pits. One hour.
Chapter 44
The message almost threw me into a rage, except my pangs of hunger were so strong I couldn’t think straight.
As quickly as possible, I ate everything Mrs. Leclair put out.
“Who are ‘they’?” Mrs. Leclair asked.
“Bruno’s dimwitted best friends, Jed and Mike,” Jermaine answered as I chewed a mouthful of cold, leftover roast beef.
“Can we borrow your truck?” Suzanne asked.
“Of course you may.” Mrs. Leclair nodded. “But I’m coming, too. Tell me, if they were here and saw what happened, why would they take Sybil? Why not just run?”
“It’s obvious,” I answered.
“Is it?” asked Suzanne.
“Idiotic revenge,” I said, swallowing a mouthful of milk. “They are about as stupid as they come, and I embarrassed both of them. They’re gonna regret this even if they haven’t harmed her.”
Mrs. Leclair’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t be hasty. I understand you are upset, but they are teenage boys. They make poor choices. But unlike Bruno, they should have a future.”
“They may not for long,” I growled.
Mrs. Leclair looked at me questioningly.
“Sorry, I’m just . . . you know—pissed off. After all this, now those two mullets had to get involved,” I answered, seeing the disapproval in her eyes. “Don’t worry, they’ll survive. They’ll just wish they’d stayed away is all.”
She sat down, looking at Jermaine and me. “I’m just not quite certain what they have to gain by being involved at this point. Do you have something they want?”
We both shrugged, then looked at Suzanne for support. “Don’t look at me, I have no idea. It makes no sense.”
“Security? Maybe negotiating with us to make sure that it ends tonight? They leave us alone and keep the secret as long as we leave them alone?” I volunteered. “Some type of insurance? Maybe they have a video of me and threaten to go public with it if something ever happens to either of them.”
“Not a bad idea, to be honest,” said Jermaine. “They just don’t seem sharp enough to think of something like that.”
“Perhaps,” Mrs. Leclair answered, looking uncertain as she stood.
Grabbing a few pastries on the way out, I jumped into the back of the truck feeling reenergized. Suzanne would drive, with Mrs. Leclair as passenger. Jermaine and I were in the bed of the truck. We decided there was no point in trying to sneak up, since they already knew we were coming. Now it was a matter of striking a deal. I was prepared to agree to pretty much anything until we had Sybil back. After that, they would have nothing on me, and I would show no mercy.
Well, maybe a little.
The crisp night air cooled my skin as Suzanne sped d
own the back roads to the quarry pits. My body still felt overheated, so the dropping temperature was welcome. Jermaine huddled down against the back window of the cab to escape the wind.
As Suzanne pulled into the abandoned parking lot, she shifted the old truck into park but left the lights on, pointed at the weed-covered trailer that had once housed the quarry’s management team.
“This place has been closed since I was born, but they mined granite here for almost a hundred years,” Jermaine whispered.
Beyond the trailer was the ledge: A one- to two-hundred foot drop straight down to the rock bottom below. At the very center of the lower pit was a pool of aqua-colored water, visible during the day when we came on our bikes. To the north end was a utility road that meandered down to the base of the quarry.
“I hope they didn’t go down,” Jermaine said, jumping out of the truck bed.
Stepping forward, I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply through my nose into the breeze.
Mango.
She was here.
“Jed? Mike?” I called out. “Where’s Sybil?”
Silence.
“I know you’re here,” I shouted, feeling even more irritated at their games. “Hand over Sybil, and I promise to go easy on you.”
The moon had moved across the sky, but its red glow through the smoke was still visible. It would normally have been brighter out with a moon that full. The breeze came up from the pit and Sybil’s scent blew in again, and another one. It was familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it.
Far to the left of the trailer and the headlight beams, two figures stepped out from another abandoned wooden shed. Only their silhouettes were visible in the faded crimson light.
My nerves went off; something wasn’t right.
It wasn’t Jed or Mike holding Sybil.
The taller of the two figures hollered out, “You came.”
I knew that voice, a man’s voice.
Sheriff Vincent.
Chapter 45
Crap.
Mrs. Leclair stepped forward, squinting at the two figures. “Sheriff, is that you?”
“Yes, Geneviève.”
“Do you have Sybil?”
“Indeed.”
Mrs. Leclair continued walking over. “Let her go, William. You know she has nothing to do with this. Take me.”
Racking my brain, I still wasn’t sure what Bruno’s father knew. He must know everything if he had been there. Watching.
“What I want, Geneviève, is both of my sons back!” His voice cracked and he got louder. “And thanks to you and the Laurents, I need to tell my wife that her second and only remaining son is dead.” His breathing was fast and his chest heaved in the moonlight. He was holding Sybil’s arm with his right hand. His unstable state of mind worried me.
“William, choices were made. Mistakes were made. Chances were given. If you know about this, then you must know the whole story?” she answered.
He grunted. “I know enough.”
“Why didn’t you stop him? Why didn’t you get help for your son?”
“I did not think he could be beaten so . . . easily. I don’t understand. He needed to learn . . .”
“William, if you have been aware this whole time about what your sons were, you have yourself to blame just as much or more than anyone else. Please, let her go, take me.”
“Shut up woman!” he yelled, blinking rapidly and rubbing the back of his neck, his voice trembling. I could almost feel sorry for him as he spoke. “My son, my only remaining son. Murdered by another Laurent. I have suffered losing two sons now. And you!” He turned to me. “Your father will feel my pain. He will lose his two children, just as I have,” he said, spitting through his clenched teeth.
Suddenly, I felt the need to stand in front of Suzanne. He knew about my grandpa and his other son. About Bruno. About me.
As I realized the gravity of his knowing, I reached out to Suzanne, but she was faster and ran around me and close to him. “Take me. I’m a Laurent; it’s my family you have debts with, not Sybil’s.”
“Suze!” I yelled, jumping forward to grab her.
Sheriff Vincent hollered, “Get back!” and pushed Sybil to the edge. She screamed. Her arms were tied behind her back as she helplessly teetered with only his hand holding her from falling.
I stopped and backed down.
Suzanne put her hand out. “Please. Take me.”
It was Sybil now who called out. “No! Either way, he’s not going to let any of—”
The sheriff cut her off with a cuff to her mouth. He pulled her from the edge as the sickening thud echoed off the rocks and she stumbled to the ground. He grabbed Suzanne in Sybil’s place and wrenched her arm up behind her back.
“Fine,” he yelled at Sybil. “Crawl away, you filthy piece of trash.”
Coughing and spitting, Sybil did her best to roll out of his way and toward us.
Mrs. Leclair crept forward. “William, please. Take me. These kids were only defending themselves, you know that. They shouldn’t be here. We shouldn’t be here. It’s over now.”
He pushed Suzanne’s arm up further, and she shrieked. Mrs. Leclair stopped. The sight of her wincing in painful tears caused the black mass inside me to stir, but I couldn’t let it. He had Suzanne too close to the edge.
“You know,” he continued, “I thought when I arranged for you to move here things would go much differently. We didn’t even think you had the gift. Bruno was having great fun playing with you, but your demise was already certain. I wanted him to end you sooner, but Bruno still hurt from losing Grayson, so I let him have his way. My mistake,” he spat in anger.
Wanting to keep him talking, I said, “But you didn’t arrange the move. My grandfather did.”
He laughed. “Your grandfather did? You did the exact opposite of his wishes. He didn’t want you here, he never wanted you here. However, as sheriff, I do enjoy certain privileges. Having sway with the only two attorneys in town made it easy to doctor his will.”
My pulse quickened again. “You changed his will? You arranged this?”
He smiled. “Of course. Why would your grandfather want you living here . . . among the wolves, if you’ll pardon the expression. Before I killed Hub, I was clear with him that I would get his son and grandchildren. You should have seen the look on his face. He worked so hard to keep you away from all this.”
A deep, loud growl rumbled from my throat, and I jumped forward, coursing with anger. The sheriff pushed Suzanne to the edge with sudden speed and held her there. “Easy!” he yelled, threatening to push her over.
I stopped. “Bruno killed my grandfather, not you.”
The sheriff’s features softened. “He thought he did, but he wasn’t strong enough. I didn’t have the heart to enlighten him. Fighting you was supposed to be practice for him. He was to let you change first. To play with you. It should have been easy for him; you are only a new, weak, half blood. Things did not go as planned. I still don’t understand how you bested him.”
“I had help.”
“I saw that,” he said, glowering at Jermaine. “But you had all but finished him; he only hastened the inevitable at that point. I have to ask, who was your mother?”
My mother? “No one, she’s long gone. She ran off when I was little; she had mental issues,” I hissed.
“Where was she from? Was she French?”
“No, she was American,” I continued. “Listen, why don’t you and I settle this, man to man? Why do you need to hide behind my sister?”
He smiled again. “Your two-bit reverse psychology won’t work on me, I’m afraid. But don’t worry, you will get your chance. Trust me, it’s what I want as well. I want to see if the Laurent half-breed makes up in youth what he lacks in blood. You may have beaten my son, but you have no chance with me.”
Mrs. Leclair said he wasn’t a lycan and he didn’t know about them. I feared she was wrong on both counts. Cocking my head and wanting to buy some time, I asked, “What do yo
u mean, half-breed?”
“You are only half French lycan. The other half is your mother’s American genes. You may have powerful, early pure blood in your veins compared to mine, but it’s only half. You can thank your father’s poor choice in women for that weakness,” he said with a laugh, amused with himself.
“My dad doesn’t even know anything about this!”
“Oh, I know. But he will, don’t worry. It might be the last thing he sees, his very worst nightmare come to life.”
Mrs. Leclair stepped forward again. “Enough!” She probably sensed he almost had my temper snapped. She spun around and looked at me and Jermaine. “Please, back away. Let me handle this?”
She walked cautiously over to the sheriff. Sybil stood up beside me; she’d managed to get her arms in front of her, but they were still constricted by the plastic tie that bound her wrists. I pulled her hands up to my mouth, still watching the sheriff, and snapped it off with my teeth.
“Thanks,” she whispered, rubbing her wrists. “Teavan, he wants you to lose it, just like we wanted Bruno to. There must be another way.”
I was only half listening as I watched Mrs. Leclair approaching the sheriff and Suzanne. There seemed to be no options; I couldn’t risk him pushing Suzanne off the edge.
Mrs. Leclair held out her hands. “Please, William. Let her go, take me.”
He looked at Mrs. Leclair, Suzanne, then over at me and smiled. “As you wish.” He pushed Suzanne to the ground with such force she went headfirst into the gravel. I released a deep breath at seeing Mrs. Leclair substituted for Suzanne. We were close to being ready.
Expertly, with his other hand, he reached out and grabbed Mrs. Leclair, easily spinning her around so she faced us. She closed her eyes with an almost eerie calmness about her.
“Please, Geneviève,” he hissed, “don’t take this the wrong way, you’ve always been a very pleasant adversary even if you didn’t know it. But if not for you and Luc, we wouldn’t be in this mess. And I would still have both of my boys.”
In one quick, deft motion the sheriff grabbed her head with both hands and grunted as he twisted it suddenly with a snap. Her head angled unnaturally, and her eyes opened and rolled up as her body went limp and dropped to the ground.
