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So here we are, or rather, here she is. Watching the pups, teaching them what she can. There are some, like the one she just visited, who are so young they can’t yet spell their names. There are others old enough to read what look like fairly challenging books—she borrowed a handful from the library to distribute among the slightly older kids. I caught a few of the titles and have the feeling she’s choosing books featuring characters who lost their parents, purposely trying to draw the most solemn of the group out of their shells. I’m sure she doesn’t expect overnight success, but after a few days of this, she’s managed to build a warm, easy rapport with them. She’s a natural.
And what am I doing? I’m standing here, watching her from the doorway of the orphanage common room. She knows I’m here, but she’s invested enough in her work to not pay too much attention. I like it that way, even when, most of the time, I want to be the center of her world. There’s something to be said, though, for observing her while she does what seems to come naturally. It’s obviously her gift. I wonder if these kids know how lucky they are.
“Don’t go domestic on me now.”
I turn at the sound of my brother’s voice. He’s smirking because, naturally, he would be.
“You have nothing to worry about there.”
His lips twist in an expression of disbelief. “You sure about that?” He casts a look over my shoulder, still smirking. “Because if I didn’t know better, I’d swear you’re standing here imagining her giving you a house full of pups. Wouldn’t it be nice to come home at the end of a long day of pack bullshit to find her like making cookies in the kitchen with them?”
“Enough.”
He’s still snickering as we leave the orphanage, an old, converted schoolhouse that went out of use once the larger, newer schoolhouse was built years before I was born. It’s a beautiful day, but I can’t help noticing the haunted looks worn by the wolves we pass on our way to the training center. It’s never easy being at war, and I know what they’re thinking. When will the next attack come? Will I be safe? Those who need to go out and run errands do so quickly, dashing into shops and visiting the healers for tonics and teas they may never have to use but would rather have readily at hand, just in case. A few of them watch the skies as they walk, leading a pair of women to bump into each other and hastily excuse themselves before moving on.
“If you were on the fence about what we’re planning, that kind of shit should remind you of what this is about. We need to bring this to an end, now.”
I grunt at my brother’s assertion. “I’m not the one you need to convince. In case you forgot, I’m the one who suggested this plan in the first place.”
It came to me in the late-night hours during my long, lonely vigil at Lili’s bedside. At first, there was nothing but rage burning a hole in me. The need for vengeance. To wipe every last witch off the face of the earth if that was what it came to because they almost took her from me. I lost track of the number of silent pledges I gave her while she laid there, dripping sweat and moaning softly in her agony. The only small consolation was knowing she was delirious, unaware of reality. That she wouldn’t remember.
The idea crystallized into a plan until I finally felt secure in approaching my brother. Naturally, he jumped at the idea, but then he’s always been the type to go for something completely off the wall. I really shouldn’t use him as a litmus test of whether an idea is wise or not.
I’m not in a place at the moment where caution is paramount. There are more important things. Like justice. Vengeance. Making them pay with every drop of their blood—with their very lives. I am going to make them pay.
Which means we need to stop waiting for them to come to us. The element of surprise needs to be on our side—we’ve been playing defense for far too long and haven’t yet staged an attack on the witches who set up camp miles from our borders, creeping closer all the time.
We’re going to bring the fight to them.
“The men will be waiting at the training center,” he assures me. “I worked it out. We’re going to draw up final plans. Everyone’s on board.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“Please. Do you think any single one of them doesn’t want to kill a witch for everything they’ve put us through? They’re just as tired of living in limbo as the rest of the pack, only they don’t get the luxury of locking themselves behind their doors and hoping everything turns out all right.”
