Robb
“Go ahead,” I say. “Try to find another necromancer demon.”
“Another?” Bellanore asks faintly.
I nod. “I know demons tend to lie a lot. Kind of their thing to be tricksters, but I believe Zaun. He’s a necromancer demon. Not only that, but he’s the son of Zarab. If any demon is going to have the power to resurrect my entire pack with their body, minds, and souls all intact, it’s going to be him. No one else can do it.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “There has to be someone else.”
“Bellanore?”
She blinks a few times, and when she finally meets my gaze, her eyes are covered with unshed tears.
I gape at her, drawn into the lovely vision of sadness. As much as I hate that I’m causing her pain, she’s a sight to behold, and I wish we could stand here talking for the rest of my short life.
But the conversation has to continue onward. “I already checked. I asked around until Zaun grew testy. He’s the only necromancer demon capable of this feat.”
“If he’s so old and powerful, why doesn’t he make a move directly against my dad? And if he wanted your pack killed in the first place, why bring them back? Why offer too? This doesn’t make any sense.”
“Zarab was the most intelligent of demons,” I say, “but he’s dead. Demons don’t die unless they’re killed, right?”
She nods.
“Who do you think killed him?”
“His son,” she murmurs.
I grimace. “Zaun is as cunning as his father and just as powerful. My pack together might not be able to bring him down.”
“Maybe he feels threatened by my dad. Maybe he wants a pack devoted to him. No other species alive has more loyalty than werewolves. He could be playing a long, long game.” She bites her lower lips. “The stars…”
“What about the stars?”
“I just remember something Nia told me once. She said she saw something in the stars. I don’t think werewolves can read the stars, but fairies can. Angels can.” She exhales through her nose. “Some demons can, although it’s not easy, and most can’t nowadays. I can’t, that’s for sure. My dad can’t. At least I don’t think he can. But maybe Zaun can. He might already know how all of this plays out.”
I can’t help myself. I reach forward and grab her hand. “Bellanore, you can’t go after Zaun.”
She jerks her hand free and scowls. “Of course not! I’m not stupid. Right now, we need him. He might be the only way you can survive.”
Might.
It’s such a fickle word, a promise without being a promise.
A whisper of hope.
No guarantee of success.
A glimmer of failure.
If Zaun can’t bring back my family, if he can’t bring back even just one member of my pack, then I will die. There are no other demons who can save me.
A zombie of a werewolf wouldn’t be enough to save me. No, I need my old pack alive as they had been, or else I will die.
Not all magic can be undone, and some of the most powerful magic comes from a person right as they die. Murder itself is such a violent act that it can cause a person to not be able to cross over to Heaven or Hell but to wander the Earth as a ghost until they can complete their unfinished business. Not all ghosts are able to eventually cross over, and from what I understand, not all of the ghosts that are created via murder need to have revenge as their unfinished business. Not everyone who is murder turns into a ghost. I hadn’t thought about that at the time, but as far as I know, Dural isn’t a ghost. Surely he would’ve come after me.
Or else he would be even more under the thumb of Zaun.
Great. But if Zaun wanted Dural alive, he could’ve just resurrected him, right? Dural’s just a soul now, presumably in Hell, yes, but if Zaun has plans for him, I’m not privy to them, and I don’t need to know. I’m too involved as it is.
“I don’t want to have to rely on a demon,” I grumble. “No offense,” I quickly eye.
“None taken,” she murmurs. “I, ah, I assume you’re going to not come to class this year either?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think I can. Not with Roald.”
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of him?”
“I’m not afraid of him. If he comes at me again… I don’t want to fight him.” A muscle twitches in my neck.
“What is it?”
“I just think it’ll be better if I complete projects and assignments—”
“Professor Gremma didn’t make you do what I did, did she? She couldn’t have!”
“I didn’t risk it, so no. She offered, but instead, she gave me other assignments. Wolfsbane…” I shudder.
“Good. That’s good. Well, ah…”
“It’s because of Professor Narcissa,” I blurt out.
“Predator instinct?” she asks, lifting her eyebrows.
“We would fight for me to show off my instincts. They’re… They’re a little more on edge since I’ve taken the Mystic Twilight.”
Bellanore’s lips purse. “Of course they are,” she says.
I ignore the hint of displeasure and disgust in her tone. “I’m worried I might not be able to hold back against Roald if he provokes another fight.”
“Because walking away isn’t a thing,” she says dryly.
“You know full well that if Roald wants a fight, he’ll get one.”
“If you leave,” she starts to argue.
“He won’t let me, and you know it.”
Her nostrils flare. “If he really wants to fight you that badly, he’ll find you here.”
“I know that.”
Her eyes narrow, and she appraises me critically. “Do you want that?”
“No.”
“You sure about that?”
“Am I lying?” I ask coolly.
She scowls, and for a long moment, we’re quiet. There are so many things I want to say to her, things I should’ve said long before now. My feelings are a mess, and that’s all because of the Mystic Twilight. I don’t know what’s me, and what’s that potion, but I’m not myself, and I hate it.
I hate the curse.
I hate Dural and Zaun and even Ronath.
But most of all, I hate myself.
Because I’ve been selfish. Killing Dural… it haunts me. I do feel guilt over it. My nights are plagued by terrible dreams, where I’m feasting on his flesh, drinking the drow’s blood. I can’t even recall if I actually did that or not. Reality… what is real? What is my messed-up mind conjuring up? I’m so confused, and I’m worried I’m losing my mind.
After all, after losing your emotions, a lone wolf loses their mind before dying.
I’m that much closer to dying.
Even though I have an avenue to solve all of this. There’s a solution just waiting for me to be able to lift the curse and, more importantly, bring back my family and my entire pack.
But only if I kill again.
When I already feel guilt for killing the one responsible for slaughtering my pack.
I’m so messed up and wracked by guilt. I don’t know if I can go through with it and kill Ronath. Even if Zaun named a different demon, a terrible, evil one that even I think the world would be better off if he were dead, I’m still not sure I could do it.
I might be a fighter, but I don’t want to be a murderer.
I didn’t murder Dural. I didn’t. Why did I even think he might come back as a ghost?
I really am starting to go crazy. We fought. It had been self-defense. If I hadn’t killed him, the drow would’ve killed me.
This guilt is irrational, but it feels real just the same.
There has to be something I can do, something worthwhile, something that can make a difference during the short time I have left.
“I hope you have a good second year,” Bellanore says softly, breaking the silence and thankfully drawing me away from my painful reflections.
“You too, Bellanore.”
She nods and turns to go.
“Bellanore, I’m sorry.”
“For what?” she asks without turning around.
“For not being good enough.”
She doesn’t ask what I’m referencing, but maybe it’s understood.
My heart aches as she leaves, and I’m filled with sheer and utter agony. It hurts so much, enough that I want to claw through my skin, yank open my ribs, and rip out my heart.
But I don’t. I suffer in silence, and I go about trying to find a measure of peace before the school year starts anew.
The classes for year two aren’t that bad. There are four courses this year instead of three, and the first one bores me to tears.
History.
Professor Louis, though, seems nice enough when I seek him out and ask if I can do a few papers instead of attending class.
“Why don’t you wish to join in discussions with your peers?” he asks.
“Because my peers prefer to discuss with me with their claws.” I unbutton my shirt to show him the scars as proof.
He nods slowly. “And your pack?”
I do my best not to flinch. “Aline.”
“That’s an unusual one,” he murmurs. “I haven’t taught an Aline here in well over a decade.”
“Yes, well, we moved away from the area for a while. Some of the others went to Moonshine Academy.”
“Ah, in Montana, yes. You’re all back now?”
“Yes.”
In a manner of speaking.
“The course of history isn’t just about history. It’s about a philosophical discussion. Papers alone won’t—”
“We can discuss,” I blurt out.
He lifts his eyebrows, and I realize he’s an older wolf. His eyes give it away, revealing the years he’s seen. Otherwise, his hair is dark with no gray, his eyes bright but also sad from knowledge and years lived. He’s kept his body fit. Maybe he’s sixty? He could be younger or older. Werewolves tend to live until one hundred and twenty or so, a little longer than humans. The oldest werewolf I know of lived to be one hundred and fifty-two.
“I suppose a discussion among two people is better than none,” he muses.
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
Next up is vision. Werewolves tend to have decent day and night vision automatically, but according to Professor Darrow, we can enhance our vision so that we can see even minute details that other species miss. He’s a tall beanpole of a werewolf. I didn’t think it was possible for werewolves to be as thin as he is. He’s younger, too, maybe in his twenties, but when he gazes at me with his black eyes, I want to squirm. It feels like he can see through me, straight to my cursed soul.
“How can I help you?” he asks.
“I want you to teach me your tips on the side, outside of class.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I think you can help me go further than the other students.”
It’s a boast and a lie at that. I have no reason to think this.
Professor Darrow eyes me suspiciously as he stands from his chair behind his desk. “Why would I want to teach you separately when I can just give you extra work during class?”
I smirk and stare at him and then my chest and back at him. If his eyesight is as good as he claims his vision is, he should be able to see through the threads of my shirt to my scar.
“What of it?” he asks with a wave of his hand.
I appraise him, trying to see if there’s anything I can see on his person that will give me a leg up on him. And then I see it. It’s subtle, but it’s there. His fingernails flicker back and forth to the tips of his claws. It’s so very slight, just a split second, and I can barely see it, but once I see it a fifth time, I’m certain it’s not my eyes playing tricks on me.
“You don’t believe in Mystic Twilight, do you?” I ask.
He stiffens.
“Are you in the Pride pack?” I assume.
The Pride pack is the only pack that I know of that doesn’t have its members drink Mystic Twilight on their birthdays, having too much pride to rely on a potion for their strength.
“I am Darrow Blackridge, thank you very much,” he says with a sniff. “Why did you think that I am in Pride?”
“Your claws.”
“I don’t—” He curls his fingers.
“You don’t have complete control over your fingers.” I eye him. “I hope you have complete control of your wolf.”
“I do!” He slams his fist against his table.
“Blackridge doesn’t believe in Mystic Twilight either,” I say as if it’s a fact. It might be, but I’m not sure on that point.
He flares his nostrils. “Very well,” he says, and I don’t forget that he hasn’t said anything to agree or disagree with my “fact.”
“You’ll train me?”
“I will, but be prepared for headaches,” he warns. “When you can see, you can learn when to use it. Sometimes, what you see and what you don’t can be the difference between life and death.”
Oh, how I do not like the sound of that.
I head quickly toward the next office when Professor Gremma heads down the hall. She spies me and crosses over.
“You didn’t want to finish compass sense with your peers. Is that how you feel with weather immunity as well?” she asks.
“Yes, actually, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind. You have a keen mind, Robb, and I enjoyed pushing you harder than some of your peers.”
I grimace. “That’s not fair,” I protest.
“Pah.” Professor Gremma waves her hand. “You earned your A, and if you want an A in this course…” She grins. “See me Friday night outside. Meet me in the clearing in Pendes Wood.”
“I’ll be there.”
She nods and marches on down the hallway.
Three professors down, one to go.
The last class, which is listed as my third class with weather immunity being last for the day, is one that I am most interested in. Professor Hyde teaches zoolingualism, the ability to talk to animals. Some werewolves are only ever able to communicate with wolves, but I would love to have as many animal friends as possible.
Pathetic, yes, but maybe then at least I won’t be so alone in the cave. Not even spiders or insects inhabit the space since I moved in.
Professor Hyde’s office is amazing. Various birds fly around the ceiling. One rests on his shoulder, and on his desk sits a brown bear cub.
“Come in,” he greets me warmly when I hesitate in the doorway. He waves me in, and the bird on his shoulder flies off, flustered. “It’s all right, Sterling,” he says.
The bird chirps and settles back down.
“How can I help you…”
“Is… Are all of these your pets?” I ask, shocked most especially by the bear cub.
Professor Hyde laughs. “Pets? No. The birds are friends. The bear cub…”
The bear cub’s ears perk.
“Otso here is an orphan,” Professor Hyde says. “A shifter attacked the parents, killed them, and ran off when I came up to them. Otso here was so young when it happened that he has now come to think of me as his—”
“Father,” I supply.
Professor Hyde laughs and runs a hand through his longish brown hair before rubbing his small beard, that’s mostly just thick stubble along his jawline. “Well, more his mother.”
“Ah…”
“Your name?” he asks. “I’m Professor Hyde, but I assume you know that already because you sought me out unless you saw the cub and was curious?”
“I’m Robb Aline. I’m in your zoolingualism class this year. I was hoping to see if… Do you think I could help you take care of Otso?”
“You wish to learn how to talk to bears?”
“And birds and wolves and anything.”
“Anything?”
“Even the spider in that cobweb.” I point to the corner of his desk.
“Even the spider.” Professor Hyde grins. “You don’t want to be in class, I assume.”
I shake my head.
“I’ve heard that you prefer to be alone. I also heard that you’re a smart werewolf and a hard worker. Very well. After all, Otso will need to be watched while I’m teaching class, and the other professors… well, they might be able to speak to animals, but that doesn’t mean they all share my love and fondness for them. Now, come. Otso, this is Robb. Robb, this is Otso.”
I stroll forward, and Sterling divebombs at me, squawking and trying to claw me. Professor Hyde has to yell in order for the bird to listen and stop. Sterling snaps at him and flies out the open window.
Professor Hyde watches him disappear and then gazes at me with his blue eyes.
I suppress a shudder. Sometimes, animals can sense magic.
Can sense curses.
What did Sterling tell the professor?
But he doesn’t say anything and resumes introducing me to the bear cub. Thankfully, Otso doesn’t seem to mind my curse, and he even purrs slightly, almost like a cat, when I pet him.
Yes, this could be fun.
Maybe this year won’t be terrible after all.
If I survive, that is.