Just as promised, the tea had cured him of his sore throat. His lungs still ached from coughing and Jaylin was sure there was much to come, but after only a few hours of rest, he had recovered tenfold.
The texts and calls from his mother were like rapid fire, but Jaylin had been avoiding her for good reason. Her body wouldn’t wage war well on something like this. Instead, he’d stay the night at Tisper’s place, and first thing in the morning, Jaylin would dress himself and take the first bus to Eduardo’s house. But as he laid in Tisper’s bed, waiting for the moon to parade itself through the clouds, Jaylin couldn’t find sleep. No matter how tired he felt, no matter how drowsy the cold medicine made him—Jaylin just couldn’t sleep.
He flashed on his cell phone, noted the time under the splintered glass and clicked the shattered screen off again. It was just after midnight. Three hours, he’d been fighting for sleep. But all this time anxiety had become a palpable beast in his chest. Going to Eduardo’s place alone…. A week ago, he wouldn’t have thought twice.
But if by chance a fragment of what Quentin had said was true. If by chance Eduardo was dangerous…Well, whatever the case, Jaylin didn’t feel much like going it alone.
When he couldn’t take much more unease, he flung the blankets from his body and hoisted himself from the bed, tiptoeing through the living room, past the couch where Tisper had fallen asleep with only a single line written on her essay, and to the front door to gather his things.
Busses weren’t running this late at night, and Jaylin had to spare a twenty for the drive over, but once he’d arrived at the Sigvard mansion, there was a feeling that settled the unrest in him. A strange security, like finding warmth after days in the cold.
He knocked twice, ready to turn away in disappointment when no one answered. But as Jaylin was retreating down the steps, the front door swung open.
“Ah, you.” Felix was leaning against the frame, his face lined with sleep. He wore nothing but a pair of shorts, and again Jaylin tried his best not to linger on the web of scars racking his chest. “What?” Felix asked.
“I need to talk to Quentin.”
“Not here.”
“Where is he?”
“Don’t know,” Felix said.
Jaylin took in a breath of cool air and pushed it out again. “Let me talk to Flora.”
Something about that seemed to pique at Felix. His brows flexed and he raised his chin to Jaylin as he strolled out, barefoot onto the porch. “And why do ye’ so suddenly seek the white wolf?”
“I need to know…” Jaylin couldn’t look him in the eye. There was something too hard about Felix’s stark green gaze. “I need to know about Eduardo.”
“Well, the broad’s not here, either. They took off with’r yesterday”
“Who took her?” Jaylin asked. “And where?”
“Even if I told you,” Felix said, “you wouldn’t know who was who and where was where.”
Jaylin’s head ached. He rubbed aggressively at his temples. “I’m taking his advice, okay? I’m getting rid of Eduardo. But I need Quentin to…”
“To what? What did you expect the lad to do?” Felix crossed his broad arms, and the scars that marked them—some looked far too much like bite marks.
“No—I don’t know. I just—”
“Ye’ want proof.” Felix curled forward some to look Jaylin in the eye. The moon leapt into those greens like emerald stones. “Proof that this Ed guy’s a rotten egg? Proof that everything we’ve been telling ye’s true?”
Jaylin felt chills on his arms, on his back, on his neck. The lump that he swallowed brought the pain back to his throat and Jaylin nodded his head.
Then a grin fell onto Felix’s face, the way lightning cracks across the sky. A smile that seemed almost scarier than the idea of a villainous, blood-crazed wolf man.
“That’a boy.”
–
Matthew. Quiet. Two words Jaylin had never imagined in the same sentence, but it was true; Matt was quieter than Jaylin had ever seen him. He’d never spent a moment in the Wrangler without some awful variation of 90s music shaking the speakers and an even worse rendition of the song billowing from Matthew’s big mouth. There was no music today.
Jaylin watched him every so often, mum and curious in the next seat over. Matt was even driving slower than usual, abiding the stop signs he usually neglected, sticking his eyes to the road and not to the screen of his cell phone or the buttons on his radio. Matthew was actually careful and it was frightening.
He slowed to a stop by a small yellow house—quaint and charming with a glut of vibrant flowers bedded in the soil.
“This it?” Matthew finally asked. His only words the entirety of the ride.
Jaylin looked through the window at the numbers on the wall, then to his phone where Eduardo’s text still sat on the screen. The address matched.
“Yeah,” he confirmed. “Thanks for the ride.”
Jaylin shoved the door open and hopped down from the Jeep. His lungs felt heavy in his chest, his palms clammy as he pocketed them in the front of his jeans. He made way up the sidewalk and took a glance over his shoulder, where Matt was turning the wheel, easing onto the gas. He wanted to backtrack his steps, to turn around, chase after Matthew and beg him not to go. But Felix promised he would be there soon.
“Noon, wait for me. I’ll find ya.”
But Jaylin wasn’t sure just how Felix planned to do that. He’d never given him the address. And as he checked his phone compulsively for the time, Jaylin found himself nearly five minutes early. Would it matter? It was only five minutes.
Maybe he’d take a walk to the end of the street. Pace a bit just to be sure. But as Jaylin turned to retreat from the front yard, the wooden frame of the door shuttered open.
“Jaylin,” Eduardo greeted him, a watering can in his hands. He wore a generous smile that made Jaylin wonder if he’d made a mistake. If he’d over-reacted. “You’re a bit early, I was just watering the flowers.” Eduardo bent forward to shower a pair of daisies in the pot on his veranda. “Have you been going over those edits for Arizona State? I know it’s not your first choice, but they’re desperate for out-of-state students and it’s a popular choice for Washingtonians.”
Composed. Whatever facade Eduardo put on was outshining Jaylin’s by a longshot. He wasn’t a good liar and maybe knowing it was his downfall, but suddenly Jaylin found it hard to think up a proper sentence. He could feel the sweat building on his hairline. Then Jaylin realized he’d been quiet for far too long.
“Oh, uh—no. I was hoping for your help with it.”
“Great!” Eduardo exclaimed, dumping the last of the water into the rose bushes over the railing. Then he slung the empty watering can over his shoulder and turned to the door. “Come on in.”
Once his eyes were out of reach, Jaylin took a deep breath and cursed to himself. Whether Eduardo was the real deal or just a harmless good do-er, things wouldn’t end well today. Felix was on his way, and if by chance he was wrong about Eduardo, what would happen then?
That was just the problem—there was no game plan. No elaborate scheme. Just Felix’s word.
But as Jaylin followed from afar, his thoughts strayed away from Felix—and Flora and even the warning from Mrs. Sigvard. They were on the sound of Quentin’s voice in his head, the sincerity when he warned him of Eduardo. If he was really so worried, why had he disappeared? But then, why did Jaylin trust him enough to even consider a word he’d said in the first place?
For some reason he did. It wasn’t Felix’s word that mattered at all; for whatever otherworldly reason, Jaylin Trusted Quentin and Quentin didn’t trust Eduardo.
In the passing seconds he’d been trying to douse the fire of his internal conflicts, Jaylin wandered further into the den of Eduardo’s boxy little home. His place was like something from a sixties movie set; robin-egg blue walls, wicker tables and floral love seats. Photos of Flora and himself cluttered the cramped living room, stacked on the fire place mantle and on the tables beside the twin sofas.
If this were a setup for a single mother, or an elderly couple trying to escape a retirement home, Jaylin might understand the retro atmosphere. But if Eduardo and Flora had so much money to their name, why hadn’t they renovated their home in half a decade? They’d been living like this all this time and still offering so much to a charity case like himself. Either they were abnormally selfless, or as Quentin had warned him—just plain abnormal.
Remember Flora, Jaylin reminded himself. There was nothing normal about Flora.
“Jaylin? You feeling okay?” Eduardo was asking, snapping his laptop open on a dining table fit for two people and not an eyelash more.
Jaylin checked the time on his phone and swallowed when he realized only a minute had passed. “Yeah,” he said, forcing his feet to move. “Still getting over that cold.”
“Well I’m glad you’re feeling better.” Eduardo gave him a squeeze on the shoulder and tugged a seat out for Jaylin to sit. He did so hesitantly, fingers fidgeting in his lap.
“Would some orange juice make you feel better?” Eduardo hummed, strolling two steps over to the refrigerator. Even their fridge looked antiquated—inches shorter than Eduardo, who wasn’t exceptionally tall to begin with.
But more than anything, Jaylin’s mind was on the prickling that skittered along the flesh of his arms. Tiny, itchy little things that wouldn’t lay to rest. He wasn’t quite sure what this sensation was—Jaylin had never felt it before. But for some reason he wanted to follow this feeling. His intuitions were scorching him alive and now was the moment of truth.
“Eduardo,” he started, holding his voice to a natural poise. “Where’s Flora?”
Eduardo had his back to Jaylin, his head ducked into the tiny refrigerator. Though he was facing away, Jaylin could see the hard tense of his back muscles move beneath his shirt.
“I told you.” He looked over his shoulder with a smile. “She’s occupied until one; she teaches morning preschool.”
Jaylin held his breath tight in his chest, until silence staled the conversation and his lungs couldn’t take anymore. Then that breath spilled out in one single comment; “You said she teaches kindergarten.”
The fridge slammed shut, so hard, Jaylin could feel the walls shake around him. He shot out of his seat, the chair toppling behind him, Eduardo’s laptop crashing to the ground. And before Jaylin could retreat one single step backward, Eduardo was there, hand wrapped around Jaylin’s throat, shoving him over the counter until his head hit the cupboards and the corner jabbed into his tail bone.
His eyes welled with tears and his jaw dropped, lungs grappling for breath. He squeezed at the strength in Eduardo’s hand, but it was like clawing at brick and stone. There was no give, not for a second did he loosen his grip. Not even when he shoved his hand into his pocket and produced a small needle.
Jaylin twisted at his skin, kicked and thrashed until he’d managed himself on the counter top. But even then, Eduardo’s grip was a cruel and his air was depleting by the second. And beneath the fingers that denied him breath, Jaylin could feel his tendons shifting, a pressure swelling in his skull. But more than suffocating, Jaylin feared whatever might be in that needle. And now more than ever, he wished Quentin would return to save the day—to vanquish the bad things like he’d done the last time.
Eduardo had the needle between his fingers, pointed at the exposed flesh of Jaylin’s neck. It was like his entire face had changed—like he’d been possessed by something, like he wasn’t Eduardo at all.
Then an arm bowed around Eduardo’s neck, jerking him back into a choke hold violent enough to free Jaylin from his clutch. He sucked in breath and scrambled back onto the counter, watching as Felix steeled against Eduardo’s struggle.
“Kid,” Felix grunted, dragging Eduardo back another step. “The needle.”
Jaylin looked to him in a daze and then down to the floor where Felix gestured. He tossed himself from the counter on weak knees and scrambled for the needle like it was a loaded firearm. Jaylin held it in his fist, watching as Felix swung his strength to the side, throwing Eduardo over the little round table. The legs snapped out from under it, the table caved to the ground and with it, Eduardo. Before Jaylin could even comprehend, Felix was on top of him, fist cracking against skull, flesh pelting flesh. And after the fourth punch, Eduardo had stopped his writhing. He was awake but dazed, and Felix took the opportunity to hold out a palm.
“The needle.”
Jaylin clutched it tighter in his palm, both hands wrapped around the plastic. “Why? What does it do?”
“It’s not going to kill him if that’s what yer worried—.”
Eduaro launched up, cracking skulls with Felix, who slipped to the ground disoriented. And that quickly, Eduardo was on top of him, white knuckles beating against those sharp edges of his face.
A figure appeared from the right. The smooth leather of an Italian shoe struck Eduardo’s side and he tumbled off, the heel pressing down on his throat, pinning him to the ground.
Quentin stood there, balancing his weight between the man’s airways and his other foot. He was dressed once more in that business-savvy suit, but Jaylin hardly acknowledged the formal wear this time—he was too occupied by the sight of the pistol in Quentin’s hands. The barrel pointed down at Eduardo.
A fire licked at his voice when he said, “Felix, I swear to god, if you pull something like this again…”
“I know, I know.” Felix sat up and touched the split on his lip, and as he wiped the blood on the back of his hand, he glanced to Jaylin. “Sorry, Lad. He could smell the plotting from a mile away.”
Quentin held a blind palm out toward Jaylin. “Give me the syringe.”
Trembling, Jaylin stumbled to his feet and deposited the needle into Quentin’s hand. With one quick strike, it was plunged down into the side of Eduardo’s neck.
Eduardo’s chest jolted up. He gave a cry like Jaylin had never heard—a terrible, shrill shriek of anguish. Jaylin watched as his arms flew up over his head and his chest jerked again. Then Eduardo was kicking against the ground, trembling. His body shook and convulsed, and bent in ways that the human body wasn’t meant to bend.
His shoulders popped from the sockets and rolled back. His jaw dislocated itself and changed in shape, growing longer, cracking and grinding as it went. It was as if every bone in his body was moving at once—breaking, shifting, grating and popping into place. Then Eduardo rolled onto his stomach with another painful cry. One that sounded not man or beast but both at once.
Jaylin could see the changes where his shirt had slid from his body. With his back arched, Eduardo’s spine was beginning to shift. The ridges grew so wide they broke from the skin, split the flesh with an audible rip. Blood spattered and checkered the room—on the fridge, on the cupboards, a handful of flecks pelting the shin of Jaylin’s jeans.
His entire body was changing into something else. He was molding, growing in some places, shrinking in others. And as his bones transformed within his flesh, dark, wiry hair burgeoned from his skin. Thin at first, and then suddenly thicker. And before Jaylin could understand what was happening, Eduardo was covered in the furry pelt from head to toe. The last human bit of him was dissolving, fingers shortening, claws budding from the tips.
And in front of Jaylin now was a wolf, lying still in a thick pool of stagnant blood.
“It’s not usually this painful,” Quentin said, stepping over the wolf, who shuttered beneath him.
“It is painful,” Felix said, standing to his feet with a grunt, “but easier when ye’ turn naturally. Not like this lad—forced by the bane.”
Jaylin didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His legs were shaking, his arms were shaking, even the breath passing between his chattering teeth shook with every numb exhale.
And the smell of blood—the stench of the stuff, the color of it dousing the tiles, stretching along the cracks.
Jaylin took a lungful of air and shuddered. “Is he alive?”
“Aye,” Felix propped his hands on his hips and took a gander at the wolf. “He’ll be up in no time. Which is why we should get going.”
“No,” Quentin said. “Call in the patrols. We need to have a conversation.” He gave the blood-sopped wolf a subtle kick. Not enough to hurt it—just enough to make it stir. “Then we clean up the mess.”
“What?” Jaylin asked, blanching. “No, we should call the police—”
“And tell them what?” Felix cackled, drifting around the kitchen like he was on the search for something. “That he tried to poke ya with a needle, then exploded into a blood-sopped mutt?”
“That—that they attacked me.”
“We can’t call the police, Jaylin. That’s not how this works,” Quentin said.
And before Jaylin could protest, Felix kicked open the cupboard beneath the sink. “Face it, we’ve left your world, kid.” He selected a bottle of bleach from the contents inside and slammed the hefty jug on the blood-spattered kitchen tile. “Welcome to ours.”
–
It wasn’t twenty minutes before two women showed up in a white panel van with a maid’s service logo on the side. They said not a word to Jaylin as they scooped the blood-sopped wolf onto a black tarp and carried it out. Cleanup, Quentin called them.
And as the women scrubbed the floor clean of blood, the three of them sat in the adjacent dining room, Quentin running a hand over his tense jaw—taking a flask from his inside pocket and tossing back a deep swig. The associated smells of bleach and booze were rotting Jaylin’s stomach.
“Aye, he’s gonna puke,” Felix said, watching Jaylin with his bruised cheek in his palm.
Quentin fished the flask from his pocket and tossed back another drink. He went to tuck it away again, but must have realized what a waste of time it was, because he slammed the thing down on the table and dropped his face into his hands. “Dammit Felix, I had a meeting with a client tonight. Why did you have to do this? What the hell made you think this was a good idea?”
“Kid wanted proof.” Felix said. “Gave him proof.”
“You nearly got him killed!”
“No, aye—wait just a minute. They only wanted to kill him after we showed up.”
“Oh, then you’re off the hook.”
“Really?” Felix asked.
“No, Felix. Jesus. I don’t want to look at you. Go scrub blood in the other room,” he said, and Felix sulked off in the direction of the women with the bleach, just dodging the lazy kick Quentin sent to his backside. When Jaylin looked back, Quentin was sitting there, slouched in his chair, hand splayed over his face.
“I was trying to ease you into this. I was trying to avoid this for a reason.”
Jaylin felt frustrated tears prick his eyes. “Just tell me what’s going on.” His voice raised, though he didn’t mean it to, and he let out a deep breath, folding his hands between his knees. “I believe you—about the wolves now. Obviously, I believe you. But why are they after me? Why—why do you have a gun? What was in those needles?”
“Wolfsbane,” Quentin put simply.
“Wolfsbane,” Jaylin echoed with a laugh. “Wolfsbane. Why—why the hell are they trying to stick me with wolfsbane?”
“You saw a man turn to wolf tonight,” Quentin said. He reached into his jacket and drew out that heavy pistol, setting it on the table cloth with a thud. Jaylin had never been so close to a gun before and he bristled at the sight of it. “Are you sure you can handle anymore than that?”
He wasn’t. To be terribly honest, he was so frightened, he couldn’t feel his heart anymore for how quickly it beat. He shook his head.
“Then you ask me again when you think you can.”
Quentin started to rise and Jaylin reached out, caught him by the hem of his suit.
“Wait,” he said. “You can’t leave me alone tonight—what if there’s more? What if it wasn’t just the two of them?”
Quentin stared at him for a long moment, something shifting behind his eyes. “You can come stay with us,” he said. “The manor would be the safest place for you.”
“I can’t.” Jaylin said. Quentin must have noted the panic in his voice. He lifted his chin and watched Jaylin, lashes casting shadows over his eyes. “It’s my mom,” Jaylin explained. “She’s sick—I can’t leave her alone.”
His dark gaze lifted to Felix. “You’ll stay with him tonight. I want you in his room, not chasing cats around the neighborhood.”
“Son of a bitch,” grumbled Felix. “Ye know, if you’d done this yerself, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”
“You’re right,” Quentin said. “We sure as hell wouldn’t.”
He stalked off through the kitchen and toward the front door.
“Oi! Wait,” Felix called after him. “If I’m stuck at his place, the hell am I supposed to eat?”
Quentin opened the door and lingered at the threshold. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” he said. Then he was gone, the doors shut behind him.
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