by Megan Morgan
“Yes, I was also told that you are trying to cure him. You think you can cure the Sickness, like the witches of old.”
“I don’t know for certain.” Lorena’s voice got smaller and tighter. “But we’re trying.”
The door of the house opened and Neala stepped out. “Abernathy! What on earth are you doing here?”
“Your family is worried about you.” Abernathy focused on Neala, and his grim visage turned even more so. “They fear for your life and the life of your mate.” Something about that sounded disingenuous, as if it were more mockery than concern. “You should have consulted me first before taking this step.”
Neala walked across the patio and stopped at Lorena’s side. “I didn’t know you were well enough to be consulted. They said you were wounded in the fight, that you took bullets.” Caution shone in her eyes.
“I am well, as you can see.” The disdain in his tone increased. “I am still strong and I am still your leader. I am the one who should be asked before these moves are made.”
Neala didn’t reply. She seemed as scared as Lorena, and wasn’t hiding it as well.
“You are allowing a Lycan and this witch to help you,” Abernathy said. “I was told you solicited their help, in fact.”
“Dafydd is dying.” Neala’s voice grew strained and desperate. “I kidnapped the witch and demanded she help me. I thought maybe she knew something about the Sickness, since she’s a scientist. They tricked us and took us prisoner.”
Lorena opened her mouth to protest.
“But they let me go,” Neala added. “And they’re genuinely trying to help Dafydd. Lorena made a potion that lessened his symptoms. He’s asleep right now so he doesn’t suffer while they search for something to save him.”
“You’re leaving something out,” Deacon said. “The part where we took you prisoner because you had a holding spell on Lorena.”
“I was desperate. I’m sorry, Abernathy.” Neala clasped her hands. “I should have sent a message and asked your permission, but there was no time.”
Abernathy refocused his bottomless gaze on Lorena. “Can you cure him?”
Lorena swallowed. “I don’t know. I made a potion from the shagbark hickory tree, but it only eased the symptoms a little. Neala tells me there was a cure at one time. I’m hoping to uncover it.” She dropped her hand off her gun. “If we can cure him—and even if we can’t—there’s something we want from this.”
Abernathy’s nostrils flared. “Are you demanding a price?”
“No, not like that. We need to talk about peace between us, on both sides. Surely, you see the benefit in opening relations. We can help you, give you things you need.”
He stepped forward, so he loomed over her.
Deacon sidled closer, the rifle still trained on Abernathy. “Not another step. I ain’t exactly forgiven you.”
Abernathy sneered at Deacon. “Peace, you say? It certainly looks like that is what you want.”
Lorena struggled to stay calm. “We do, we’re just protecting ourselves.” She fought the urge to push Deacon’s rifle away. He had every right to react so harshly. “Don’t you think it’s time we put an end to this so your people can heal and repopulate? We can provide you with medicine, supplies, food.”
Abernathy snorted again. “And what do you get from this peace?”
“Just that. The peace of knowing you won’t attack us anymore. We can all live in harmony, or, at least without bothering each other.”
His face remained like chiseled stone. “You are telling me that humans want peace with us, that Lycans want peace?”
Lorena nodded, barely able to move her head her muscles were so tense. “The agency would leave you alone from now on, I’d make sure of it. Like I said, we could provide you with medicine, food, whatever you need.” That was a long shot, supposing the agency would listen to her when she wasn’t even technically an employee anymore. They might listen to Dr. Winston, though.
“And what about the Lycans?” Abernathy looked at Deacon. “Are you truly willing to stop coming into our homes and killing us? Are you willing to stop hunting us, to stay out of our woods, and stay away from our families and witches?”
Deacon huffed. “I ain’t the spokesman for all Lycans.”
Abernathy drew his shoulders up, the muscles in his chest rippling. “There is my answer, then.”
“They will.” Lorena was on the verge of panic. “But in return, you have to leave them alone as well. You have to stop menacing them.”
“Because we are the menacing ones. We’re the ones who hunt them down and slaughter them without provocation.”
“We need peace.” Lorena looked to Deacon, desperate. “You need to at least entertain it.”
Deacon shook his head. “Like I said, I ain’t the spokesman for all Lycans. We’ll discuss it, I reckon. I wouldn’t mind an end to it all myself, but I can’t tell you how the others feel.”
How the hell had she become a mediator in peace talks, especially peace talks where all parties involved weren’t even committed?
“Before I will entertain the idea,” Abernathy said, “you have to cure Dafydd, as a sign of goodwill. And then you must give us the cure, to distribute to our suffering. Do all that, and I will hear your pleas.”
Lorena wanted to scream. “We’re trying, but that’s not something I can promise. It’s not like we have a cure that we’ve been hiding from you.”
“Abernathy,” Neala said. “She’s trying to help. They have him stable, something we never could have done on our own. They’re giving him time. I swear all of this is true. I don’t—”
Abernathy held up a giant hand. Neala fell silent and bowed her head.
“This is my edict.” Abernathy kept his hand up. “You will cure the Sickness. If you do not, I will not listen to any offers of peace. If he dies, we will slaughter all of you. I will bring what is left of my Wolvites, the ones who are still strong, down upon you, and I will wipe this land of the Lycan scourge.”
Deacon lifted his gun a little higher. “Seems you tried that before and didn’t get far. This time, we’ll make sure we get all of you, not just most.”
Lorena clamped her hands over her face.
“Threats, as usual.” Abernathy’s voice thickened with disgust. “Your talk of peace holds very little interest for me. But if you can cure the Sickness, that does interest me.”
Lorena lowered her hands.
“Many died from it before, in those long ago years. Many are infected now, it ravages our already weakened population. Our witches do not know the old magic. Even the most wizened ones did not live in those days, and the potion that cured the Sickness is lost to time. Mostly.”
Lorena blinked. “Mostly?”
“I can offer you a small bit of assistance.” He turned and lifted his arm, as though signaling to someone.
Deacon stepped back and flung a protective arm across Lorena. She backed up too, breath held, and clutched her gun again.
There was movement in the trees, and a moment later a figure stepped out—only one, and he walked across the yard toward them. Kendrick, again. He carried something.
The lack of other Wolvites didn’t seem to ease Deacon’s mind, as he kept his arm across her and his finger on the trigger. “This better not be an ambush,” he warned.
Abernathy didn’t reply.
As Kendrick approached, Lorena saw he was carrying a book. It looked small in his large hands, even smaller in Abernathy’s as Kendrick passed it off to him; however, when Abernathy held it out to Lorena and she tentatively took it, it was roughly the size of a standard folder. The cover was made of very soft, faded old leather and the spine was bound with leather ties.
“This is a precious artifact.” Abernathy spoke with reverence. “An ancient potion book, found in the long-lost remains of a village deep in the forests to the south. Nary of our witches can interpret it. Like the old ones, its secrets are lost to time.”
Lorena opened the book.
The pages were tattered and precariously brittle, the handwritten black ink faded. The author—or authors—had included drawn pictures of plants and herbs, like in the potion books Stacy and Hazel had. None of the words made sense, though. They were transcribed with care and neatness, but in another language.
“Perhaps the cure is in there.” Abernathy gazed at the book, with the merest hint of hope in his dark eyes. “Perhaps you can find it for us, scientist witch.”
Lorena was overwhelmed. “I can’t read any of this. What language is it?”
“There are none who still speak it. It is the tongue of the witches’ ancestors. It is said that once, it was the only language. But our human language comes from our witches, and has changed with them over time. In our true forms, we do not speak in human tongue.”
Deacon dropped his arm and peered over her shoulder at the book.
Neala still cowered before Abernathy. “The witches speak English now,” she told Lorena. “They first brought English when it became the primary language in America. When they came to us, our language was changed.”
Lorena furrowed her brow. “So, some witches who live among you come willingly? They aren’t kidnapped?”
“The smart ones come to us,” Abernathy said. “The others grow to understand Wolvites are their true mates and reject the ways of Lycans. They accept that the right place for them is with us, in nature.”
Lorena’s skin crawled at this revelation. Women being abducted and brainwashed, or otherwise coerced into making the choice to go into the woods. How many missing persons could be located with this information?
Deacon reached over and grabbed the book out of Lorena’s hands. She looked at him, her mouth open. He had tucked his rifle under his arm and held the book up in front of his face. Dust rained from the worn pages.
Abernathy growled. “Get your hands off it, filthy Lycan. I did not bring it here for you.”
Deacon held up a finger. “Just cool the hell out a minute.”
If Lorena didn’t love him so much, she would have punched him.
Deacon moved his lips, as though reading the words. He lowered the book. “This is Scots Gaelic.” He plunked it back in Lorena’s hands. “It ain’t some ancient, forgotten language.”
Lorena stared at him.
Abernathy glared and flexed his fingers. Kendrick glared at Deacon as well.
Deacon seemed unperturbed. “You bunch are stupid as all hell.” He shouldered his rifle. “You rattle on about your tradition and the ‘old ways,’ but you don’t keep no written or oral history of your culture. You don’t know nothing about the past and you don’t understand the future. If you’d taken up weapons, you would have been on fair ground with us a long time ago. And maybe, if you’d let us know before now you have human forms and made some effort to communicate, there wouldn’t have been no violence to begin with. But you just scamper around out there, clinging to some bullmess.” He waved a hand at the book. “Which you don’t even know nothing about either.”
Lorena couldn’t speak.
Abernathy took a step toward Deacon. “I will rip your head off your shoulders, filthy Lycan.”
“Go on and try.” Deacon lifted his gun off his shoulder and dropped the barrel into his other hand. “It’ll end as well as it always does for you, since you’re stuck on stupid.”
Lorena clutched the book. “How do you know this is Scots Gaelic?” She had no idea he could read or speak Gaelic.
“’Cause Grammy knows it.” Deacon kept his gaze on Abernathy. “She taught me when I was young. The witches who first come here across the ocean spoke Scots Gaelic. Most the settlers in this area were from Scotland and Ireland. She kept a hold of the knowledge of her ancestors.” He taunted this at Abernathy. “Unlike your witches. They’re dumb as you.”
“Shut your mouth,” Neala snapped.
“You shut your mouth,” Deacon shot back at her. “If you was really such an amazing witch, you would have kept the knowledge of your ancestors, you would have been around to learn it from Grammy, like I did. Staying in the woods with this bunch made you an idiot. Living in the dirt, refusing to move on with the world, laying down with dumb animals, that don’t make you anything. The witches in this town would run circles around you.”
Neala snarled. He wasn’t wrong, but Lorena wished he would quit talking.
“Your disrespect will not be tolerated.” Abernathy snatched the book from Lorena. “You will pay dearly for those words, Lycan.”
“Wait!” Lorena gazed at the book. “Don’t you understand what this means? We can translate it. If the cure is in there, we’ll have it.”
Abernathy stood stoic and burgeoning with fury, but doubt flickered across his face.
“We can interpret the book.” Lorena tried not to sound as anxious as she was. “You won’t have to worry about the Sickness ravaging your people ever again.”
Silence fell. The sun made the back of her neck sweat. Everything around them was peaceful and idyllic, the perfect summer day. So absurd that a huge power struggle should be going on, that they should all be a breath away from disaster.
Abernathy extended his arm and held the book out to her again, but when she grabbed it, he didn’t let go. She didn’t pull, afraid to tear it apart.
“You will respect this book.” His voice was low and ominous. “You will see that no harm comes to it.” He looked at Deacon. “And that no Lycan puts their hands upon it again. Promise me this, or I will take it away.”
“I promise.” Lorena lowered her voice too. “Only witches will touch it.”
Deacon snorted. “Whatever you want. It’s not like I’m the smart one here.”
Lorena gritted her teeth.
Abernathy gazed at her. “You have until nightfall tomorrow to find the cure. If you do not, then we will come back for the book, and for you. We will come for everyone.” He released the book. “We will show no mercy.”
What the hell was with people giving her tight time constraints in which to perform miracles? Was that a genetic thing Wolvites and Lycans shared?
“You want me to interpret this entire book in a little over a day?” Lorena held it delicately. She didn’t even know if she could convince Hazel to look at it. “I get that this is an urgent matter, but we have to be thorough.”
Abernathy leaned toward her. “We don’t trust you.”
Just a little over a day, and she’d slept only a few hours in the last day. This would be grueling, not to mention demoralizing when she went to Hazel to beg for help. Unless Deacon could do it. He didn’t need to touch the book to read it.
“And if I can somehow accomplish this, if I can find the cure, you’ll be willing to talk peace?”
“I will be willing to listen.”
She turned to Deacon. “Will the Lycans be willing to talk?”
Deacon shrugged. “Like I said, we’ll see what happens.”
Her frustration bubbled over. “If I jump through hoops and manage to pull off the impossible, you both damn well better sit down together. You’re all putting a heavy burden on me, and if you put me through this and go right back to the way you were…” She clenched her jaw and glared at Deacon. “You’ll be wishing you could make peace with me, instead.”
Deacon looked somewhat cowed.
She turned back to Abernathy. “I’ll start looking for the cure. While I’m doing that, you have to promise that you guys will continue to stay away and not attack any of the Lycans or their family. Promise me.”
Abernathy sneered at Deacon. “I am not the spokesman for all Wolvites.”
With that, he turned and strode toward the trees. Kendrick gazed at Lorena a moment, then followed him. Lorena could have shot them both in the back. She was going to snap soon.
“You.” Deacon jerked his rifle at Neala. “Go with them.”
Her face lit with outrage. “I have to stay here with Dafydd!”
“No, you get out of here.” Deacon advanced on her. “Go on, you ain’t welcome
in my house.” He grabbed her arm and yelled after the other two, “Take her with you!”
Abernathy continued toward the trees and didn’t look back. Kendrick stopped and turned.
“No!” Neala jerked at Deacon’s grip. “I want to be with him. I can’t go with Abernathy.”
“Deacon,” Lorena said.
Deacon put the barrel of his rifle against Neala’s chest. Lorena gasped.
He backed her up across the yard. “Get outta here. You done tore this family up enough. I don’t want to look at you, I don’t want Jack to have to look at you.”
Neala stumbled backwards. “Please, no! I have to be with him, I won’t cause any trouble.” She looked after Abernathy, then back at Deacon, her eyes wild. She whispered, “You can’t trust him. This won’t go the way you think.” Her voice rose to a wail again. “Deacon, please! I’m your sister!”
“You ain’t no sister of mine. Get the hell outta here.”
Lorena stood frozen as the scene unfolded.
Kendrick walked back and collected Neala. She sobbed and thrashed as he locked his arms around her. Deacon backed up toward the house, his gun still aimed at her.
“He’s my mate!” Neala screamed. “You monster. You filthy Lycan monster, we’re going to kill you!”
“Get her out of here.” Deacon waved his gun. “Or I’m going to put bullets in all of you, including her mate.”
Kendrick lifted her off her feet and carried her toward the woods. She continued to scream, the sound fading as they disappeared into the trees. Deacon’s eyes brimmed with anger and pain. Lorena wouldn’t question or admonish him right now. But Neala’s seeming fright at going with Abernathy—and her whispered words—worried her.
They had bigger issues, though. Neala wasn’t the only one in possible danger.
Lorena clutched the book to her chest and looked at Deacon. “You read and speak Gaelic?”
He sagged. “I might have been showboating a bit. Don’t know enough to string a full sentence together, but I know that’s what’s in that book.”
Of course, it would be that way. She took a deep breath. “Then, I guess I need to pay Hazel a visit.”
