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I hate that I’m speaking these words. “In quiet moments. In desperate moments. The darkness calls to me, reminding me how easy it would be to disappear into the darkness.”
“I’ve been there,” all three of them say at once.
I stiffen in surprise, my eyes burning. “You haven’t.”
“I’m a wolf who was in prison with the worst of the worst. So many of us went wolf and didn’t go back. They’d go mad, become more animal than human, but it seemed easier. Some days…” Orson trails off, looking upset.
“The same thing happened in war,” Braxton’s voice is soft. “Men went wolf. Or men turned their weapons on themselves. Sometimes an easy escape seemed like the answer.”
There’s a pause and then Max says, “it was in our teens when our parents were murdered. We lost everything we knew and went to live with our aunt and uncle on their pack lands. Those days were dark for me. Days without a purpose–” his words cut off, swallowed by emotion.
“Fuck,” I say. “I’m pretty sure I know why my wolf feels so content with the three of you.”
They turn surprised gazes to me.
I shrug my shoulders and continue stroking Trouble. “I guess for some people, the darkness is always there calling. We just have to be strong enough not to answer that call.”
Would it always be this way? God, I hoped not. I hoped there would be a day when the weight lifted from my chest, and it was easy to breathe. Easy to exist.
Max clears his throat. “I’ve had a lot of missions. This one has been the hardest and most complicated, but what I’ve learned, there’s always another mission.”
I laugh. “I like that.” It gives me something to hope for, even if a different mission doesn’t feel like enough. But, I guess, for me, my mission would hopefully be helping what’s left of my pack to rebuild. And, maybe, would also involve these three men.
“Do the Enforcers know what we’re doing? What the plan is?” Braxton asks, his voice still soft.
Max nods. “I spoke to them at length before we set off.”
Something in his face tells me that there were things said that he won’t repeat. I’m always curious about Max and his Enforcers. He seems like a man who likes to do everything by the book, but I’m also not sure if he likes the Enforcers, their rules, or what they stand for. It’s interesting and confusing.
“We’ve got three Enforcer traps for your brother at present,” Max informs, shifting from matters of emotion to those of business. “Each set up in his presumed path. They’ve been instructed to inform me if they have contact with—” His phone rings out, interrupting him. “That’s probably them now.”
Max retrieves his cell and answers the call. There’s a palpable sense of suspense within the truck as we all eavesdrop. “Max here.” Long pause. I scrutinize his features, trying to read into them a sense of outcome. He betrays none. “Right.” A second long pause, twice as long as the first. Unmistakable shadows cross his features. “Everyone?” he asks. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “And what’s your status?... Uh, huh. Alright. Thank you.” He ends the call and stuffs the phone back into his pocket.
I take note of the way his fist wrings the wheel, how his cheek ripples with muted rage. We all wait patiently for him to relay the news, wanting as much to hear as to not.What if they killed Simon and Max doesn’t want to say?It doesn’t seem likely, given what Simon pulled off in the last town.
Anticipation boils over and I spout, “Well, what the hell’s going on?”
“He slipped past the first trap,” says Max.
“And the second?” Orson inquires.
“Dead,” Max says grimly. “Every one of them.”
“Who did you speak to?” asks Braxton.
“Lieutenant of the third trap. They fared a little better, but still a bloodbath.” Max turns a pallid face to me. “Your brother’s one hell of a killer.” He turns back to the road. “They injured him, but it didn’t seem to slow him down much. I think the Enforcers are reassessing how to deal with him.”
Simon has become a monster. I have to come to terms with this reality. Like a dog infected with rabies, he’ll have to be put down.Am I really expected to kill my own kin?I can’t stop thinking about him in pain, somewhere at the center of that oily mass. He’s alone, probably some part of him, still afraid of what he’s becoming.
“You really couldn’t fight him last time?” asks Max.
I gaze out the window, the trees blurring into a green sheet upon which memories project. I revisit the standoff with Simon the moment I relented instead of finishing him. The strange silver magic seemed to separate Simon from his dark magic, but even then, I couldn’t save him. And now, it’s had all this time to sink its hooks into his soul. It’s rooted deep in his body now. Like fighting cancer that’s metastasized, my magic won’t just kill the bad cells.If I attack him again, I will have to kill him. Decidedly different from how I used it in our last encounter when I tried to rescue him with targeted magic.Can I even summon it for violent purposes?“I don’t know if I can use my magic to kill,” I think aloud.
“Maybe that’s why you haven’t succumbed to your rage,” Orson posits. “Your fellow pack members were lost to the darker side of magic because they used it to hurt. You use it to help. Perhaps an important distinction.”
Orson may have a point. I hadn’t thought of it, but perhaps the magic is reactive, its nature dependent upon its use. If used in a violent manner, it wreaks violence upon the soul.
The car slows to a stop on the side of the road. Before I can ask Max why we’re stopping, he’s out of the car. “Piss break?” Orson asks.
