by Megan Morgan
Chapter 14
Lorena drove to Hazel’s house, alone. Deacon had to keep watch over Dr. Winston and Dafydd, and if she fought with Hazel—if angry words were spoken and accusations thrown—it would be altogether better if Deacon wasn’t there.
Her gun rested on her hip. She glanced into the trees as she drove, and was extra cautious as she climbed out of the truck in Hazel’s driveway.
They were watching her. Always watching. And waiting.
“What are you doing here?” Hazel stood on the porch. “You’re the last person I want to lay eyes on right now.”
Lorena walked toward her, the book in her hands. “The feeling is mutual, trust me.”
Hazel puffed up her narrow chest. She stood like a sentinel at the top of the steps, her dress stirred by the breeze.
“But unfortunately, I need your help.” Lorena stopped at the bottom. “And if you don’t help me, this whole mess is going to end in bloodshed, and it might not just be Wolvite blood that gets spilled.”
“You brought this upon us. I will not help you with anything.”
Lorena ascended the steps. Hazel backed up, eyes wide behind her glasses.
“They started this by kidnapping me,” Lorena said. “I’m trying to end it.”
“You’re rude and reckless.” Hazel clutched the collar of her dress. “I don’t like you. I don’t approve of you being with my grandson.” She pointed to the driveway. “Get off my property, now.”
Lorena held the book up. “If you do this for me, we could have peace with the Wolvites.”
Hazel looked at the book. Curiosity flashed across her face but she quickly turned icy and disinterested once more. “Peace?” She huffed. “Why would I want peace with those creatures?”
“What if your husband, and your sons, and your grandsons, never had to put their lives on the line to protect this town again? What if they could live without fear, if they didn’t have to put themselves in danger?” Lorena patted the book to draw Hazel’s attention back to it. “What if your future grandchildren and great-grandchildren could grow up in a Blue Ditch where they don’t have to worry about being attacked or snatched away like your granddaughter Chelsea?”
If Lorena could talk some sense into the old biddy, she might not have to use her backup plan.
Hazel crossed her arms. “That can be achieved. All that needs to be done is that my grandsons go out in the woods and finish their sorry hides off.” She spat on the porch floor at Lorena’s feet. “They’re monsters and they should all die. Anyone who tries to help them or talk about ‘peace’ doesn’t deserve to be called a witch.”
Lorena wanted to pound her into the floorboards like a rusty nail.
“If my agency hadn’t been here when they tried to attack this town, do you know what would have happened to your grandsons?” Lorena’s blood still ran cold at the memory of Abernathy poised to rip Deacon’s throat out. “I was there, I saw it. I saw Deacon nearly die at their hands. I know what they’re capable of. And if we don’t do something, it could happen again, and the agency won’t be there to defend us this time.”
Hazel snorted. “If you know what they’re capable of, if you saw them threaten to kill the man you love, why do you want to help them?”
“I just told you why. So something worse doesn’t happen.”
Hazel turned and strolled across the porch. “I will not be part of this. You bring shame on yourself and this family. We don’t bend, we defend.”
Lorena gritted her teeth. She would make one more appeal, this time to Hazel’s pride, before she dropped the bombshell.
“You’re the only one who can read this.” Lorena held up the book again. “Deacon told me.”
Hazel stopped and turned. She eyed the book.
Lorena opened the cover. “He said you know this language.”
Hazel walked toward her, slow and cautious. Lorena held the book out so she could see it.
The old woman adjusted her glasses and leaned over to peer at it. “Where did you get this? This is a witch’s potion book, a very old one.”
“From the Wolvites.”
Hazel reared back and glared sharply at her.
“Deacon said it’s written in Scots Gaelic. He doesn’t know enough to read it, though. He says you do. He says you still speak the old language.”
“Of course I do.” She tilted her chin up. “I respect my heritage.”
“That’s why I’ve come to you.”
Hazel looked at the book again. “You got this from the Wolvites? Why in the world would they have such a thing? Did they steal it?”
At least her curiosity was piqued. That sparked a glimmer of hope. “It belonged to their witches. None of them can read it now, though. They didn’t keep their heritage, like you.”
“I’m not the least bit surprised.” Hazel sniffed.
“Will you give it a look?”
Hazel leaned in, and her eyes darted behind her glasses as she glanced over the pages. Lorena dutifully held the book out across her arms.
“These are old, complex potions.” Hazel delicately turned a page. “I’ve never seen some of these. The very idea that their witches ever possessed such knowledge…” She wrinkled her nose. “They shouldn’t be allowed to keep this if they’ve lost their language. It should be in the hands of a real witch.”
“It could be in yours.” Lorena appreciated that she was being careful with it, at least. “I don’t know why or where they kept it. They said the cure for the virus might be in here, and I have twenty-four hours to find it.”
Hazel looked up at her.
“I need you to interpret it.” Lorena gazed at her. “If I don’t help them, they’re going to retaliate against your family. Even if you can fight them off, there’s no guarantee someone won’t get hurt, especially those of you who don’t have immunity to their venom. If the men get bit it’s one thing, but if you do, or Stacy, or one of the kids…”
Hazel was silent. Lorena pressed on.
“I know we don’t get along. We haven’t seen eye to eye, and I’ve been—difficult. I apologize for that. This is a different environment for me, I didn’t grow up in a big family, and I’m still trying to adjust.” All of that was true. She refused to apologize for not accepting Hazel’s abusive and superior behavior, though.
“I’m not very good at being a witch,” Lorena admitted. “Your wisdom is so much more vast than mine, and I respect that. If you can do this for me, maybe we can build a bridge between us. I know Deacon would like that.” She held her breath.
Hazel drew back. “Let me get this straight, this is all to help them cure their sickness? I cannot in good conscience do such a thing. It would be betraying my family’s legacy.”
Lorena nearly slammed the book shut, but reminded herself it was old and fragile, and Abernathy expected it back in one piece. She closed it gently, but her fingers curled against the soft leather.
Hazel tilted her chin up. “You want to protect this family, and I appreciate that. But the only good Wolvite is a dead one, be it by disease or bullet. Let death take care of it. They deserve nothing less.” She waved a hand. “Now, I’m going to ask you one more time to get off my property.”
“I didn’t want to do this.” Lorena tucked the book beneath her arm. “But you’ve forced my hand, old woman.”
Hazel narrowed her eyes.
Lorena pushed her hand into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out the little brown bottle. She held it up, between her index finger and thumb.
“I know what you’ve been doing.” Lorena stared her down. “And if you don’t help me, I’m going to tell your entire family, starting with your husband.”
The color drained from Hazel’s wrinkled face. Her mouth fell open.
“I’ve suspected it for a long time,” Lorena said. “Since you first talked about love potions. Then I found this on the food table, at the cookout. Jasmine? Isn’t that the key component in a love potion?”
“That isn’t min
e!” Hazel snapped. “I don’t know where you got it.”
“Oh, yes, it is.” Lorena advanced on her. “You’ve had a bewitchment on your husband for how long now? Years? For as long as you’ve been together? What would your family think if they knew?”
Hazel swallowed and stared at the bottle.
“You know, back when I was studying to work at the agency, we discussed legal cases where a witch’s spells were brought into question. This is something that could possibly land you in prison for a long time. But, it’s still a gray area, because witches keep their secrets.”
“You don’t understand—”
“I could send this to the agency.” Lorena brandished the bottle at her. “They could study the residue inside. We could clear up some of that gray area.”
“You have no proof!” Hazel’s voice turned high and shrill. “A bottle that you can’t even prove is mine? What exactly are you going to tell people?” She barked out a disdainful laugh. “It’s hearsay.”
“You’re right, I probably couldn’t prove anything. But, I can tell your family. I can tell them what I suspect, what you’ve said to me, where I found this bottle. I can place enough seeds of doubt they’ll never look at you the same way again, especially your husband.”
Hazel’s thin pale hands, clenched at her sides, shook.
“I don’t like you,” Lorena said. “I will never get along with you. I think you’re manipulative and I think you’re a liar.” She drew the book out from under her arm. “But you’re a smart witch, and I need your help. You do this, and I’ll give this back to you and keep my mouth shut. We can go on disliking each other, but your family never has to know.”
Lorena would have a hard time living with the secret and watching Deacon go on oblivious to his grandmother’s manipulations, but it was a small price to pay to break the insidious cycle of attack and retaliation.
“You don’t have to do much.” Lorena held the book out to her. “Just see if there’s a potion in here to cure the virus. Tell me what the ingredients are, and I’ll do the rest. I won’t even tell anyone except Deacon that you helped me. Your hands will be clean in the matter.”
Hazel glared at the book, her eyes glittering.
“I don’t have much time.” Lorena continued holding it out. “What’s it gonna be?”
After a long, tense moment, Hazel took the book. Hopefully, she wouldn’t do something Lorena would have to strangle her for, like start ripping it apart or throw it in the rain bucket at the end of the porch.
“You’re a cold, heartless woman.” Hazel spoke tightly. “This is an act of cruelty.”
“Takes one to know one.” Lorena stuffed the bottle back in her pocket. “I’d consider your own actions before you start condemning others.”
“You will never understand. You have no right to judge.” She turned to the house, her head held high, but her hands still trembled. “If I hadn’t done the things I’ve done, you wouldn’t have Deacon in your life right now.”
Lorena motioned to the door. This was going to be a rotten couple of hours, spent in the worst company possible. “Well then, why don’t you redeem yourself and keep him in my life?”
* * * *
Deacon sat in a chair at the end of the dining room table. The doctor had the Wolvite’s jaws jacked open with a metal spreader. Its fangs glistened, and its long black tongue lolled out the corner of its mouth. The doctor fed a narrow tube down its throat.
Not long after Lorena left, the beast started twitching and gasping. A few minutes ago, it began flailing around and making god-awful heaving sounds. Deacon almost felt sorry for it, because the whole mess looked damn painful. He’d never seen one go slow.
“He doesn’t have much time,” the doctor said. “The muscles of the airway are now paralyzed.” He looked up at the IV bag. “He would have been dead yesterday if not for all this. I’ve never had to keep one alive. This is purely an experiment at this point.”
“At least you’re learning something.”
The doctor got the creature intubated and gave it another shot of the potion Lorena had whipped up. It still twitched and its chest hitched and jumped, but it was calm.
The doctor flopped down in his chair and heaved a sigh. He looked awful tired. “The clock is ticking.” He lifted his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “But you’re right, no matter what happens here, the things we’ve learned are invaluable.”
Deacon leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. He stared at the shaggy, smelly animal on the table and tried to picture him in his human form, that great big overgrown blond bastard. Would he feel worse for him if he saw him like this in that form?
“Why’d you get into studying these things?” Deacon asked. “I mean, Lorena told me why she did, on account of her Mama. Or, well, she joined the agency because of that, anyway. What got you into this work?”
The doctor lowered his glasses and sighed again. “I grew up in the backwoods of West Virginia, near Morgantown. It was beautiful. Calm, peaceful. Blue Ditch reminds me a lot of it. We lived in a cabin, surrounded by forest. Our life was very rural and close to nature.”
“Sounds nice.” Deacon smiled. “I wouldn’t mind living in a cabin. Been thinking about building one for years.” Would Lorena like living in a cabin?
“There were Wolvites in the forest.” The doctor stared at the one on the table. “Not as many as around here, mind you, but they were there. Back in those days, there wasn’t a government agency or a structured method of studying the supernatural. Our neighbors and my father took care of threats the way you do around here, with guns and muscle.”
“Did you have any Lycans around?”
He shook his head. “Not that I was aware of. But, Wolvites didn’t encroach that often. They stayed mostly in the woods and we watched ourselves when we went out hunting—and we respected their territory, as well. I only remember once in my entire childhood a Wolvite being shot, and it was because it was attacking livestock. I don’t remember a person ever being killed by one.”
Deacon grimaced. “Truth be told, it only got bad that once when I was a kid, bad enough the agency had to come in. Me and my cousins didn’t go into the woods on our own and start hunting them down until about five years ago, and that was because we had so many it was becoming a problem. It was sort of like population control. Before that, we just put ‘em down if they came out and tried something. We didn’t bother each other unless there was a reason to.”
“Overpopulation in a specific area tends to create hostility. They deplete their food sources and spill out of their territories. Disease can strike. Natural disasters also make them desperate.” The doctor paused. “Now that we know they have human forms, and that they have witches with them, it boggles my mind. Past issues would point to their human aspect being highly uncivilized or perverted, perhaps a Viking-like culture, based on violence and theft and the desire to dominate.”
“It’s stupid.” Deacon shifted. “The whole damn human world surrounds them and it’s a lot more powerful and advanced than they are. They ought to have considered that long before now.”
“They seem to cling to tradition. And perhaps Wolvites, even in their human form, are not capable of creating and maintaining an advanced civilization. Perhaps they’re too bestial, or their humanity is merely a side-effect of their existence.”
The doctor had a way of putting it nicely, but Deacon saw it for what it was. “Like I said, too stupid to get with the rest of the world.”
“Stupid in an animal sense, yes. You wouldn’t expect dogs to build habitats or take up weapons. The witches amongst them have more intelligence, but they either don’t want to upset the balance or they’re trying to escape our society to begin with.”
Deacon mulled it over. Mel had been brainwashed young, of course. Part of him couldn’t blame her for what she became or the hate that got instilled in her. But another part of him couldn’t get right with it either, not enough to accept or forgive her.
&nb
sp; The doctor still gazed at the Wolvite. “They were smart enough to keep their secrets from us for centuries. They knew how to protect their identities.”
“Is it true that Lycans and Wolvites come from the same bloodline?” The notion had been on Deacon’s mind for a while. “I admit I don’t get much into the science side of things, but I read about it in an article one time. It put my hackles up, I didn’t want to buy it. I suppose Lorena has taught me I need to be more open-minded, though.”
“Yes…” The doctor spoke like he was afraid he might get cold-cocked. “Research has shown that you share common chromosomes in your DNA. I’m sorry. It doesn’t mean you’re a Wolvite, though.”
Deacon shrugged. “I guess it makes sense.”
“The theory is that you evolved from a common ancestor, something we’d call a pure werewolf, one who can shift at will between human and animal. Now that we know Wolvites can do this, it supports that theory. But, as Lorena found out, their human forms can only readily be seen by witches, and others that they allow, which suggests a strong magical will. That tells me they actually are the pure werewolves and you are the genetic mutation. You derived from them and there’s only a source and a branch. We need to revise our theory.”
Deacon scrunched up his face. “A genetic mutation?”
The doctor held up a hand. “I don’t say that negatively, Deacon. It’s a straightforward scientific term. You are a mutation from their chromosomes. That’s why you have some of their characteristics but you can’t shift.”
Deacon tried not to take it personally. It was just science, after all. “Seems like you’re saying we’re the weak offshoots.”
“You’re just different. I wouldn’t call having immunity to their venom a weakness. But it also suggests that you came from them and that’s why you have that immunity.” He smiled faintly. “You’re also clearly superior in intelligence and adaptability. You may actually be their evolution, not their mutation.”
Deacon wasn’t sure what he liked less: being their freaky cast-offs, or keeping their line alive and thriving.
