Jed
OKAY, SEE, werewolves he could handle. Vampires, fine, whatever. All this crazy half blood, the truth is out there shit, Jed had made some kind of peace with. But this? This was bleeding from the eyes, seizing, writing messages in blood, freaky-ass shit. And it was not okay.
Holding Victor as he finally passed out, Jed stared blankly at the message he’d scrawled, wondering what the fuck he was supposed to do now.
When the Walker comes,
Dark of eye and light of skin,
From which blood flows,
And blood denied,
When the Walker comes,
When solitude turns to many,
The sword will be gained,
Battle ne’er ceasing shall find its end,
When the Walker comes,
Raven’s cry shall be o’er heard,
Stones shall line the footpaths,
And the flames from ashes rise,
When the Walker comes,
The lion’s roar shall be silenced,
The lamb’s cry shall shatter bones,
And the old ways shall be new again,
When the Walker comes.
The words were small, streaky, some of them only half-legible. Honestly, Jed had to resist the urge to swipe his foot across the whole damn thing and turn it into nothing more than a smudge. Because whatever the hell freaky-ass shit was going on here? Was not his department. At all.
Yeah, they were definitely going to table that discussion. Who the fuck knew what any of that meant, and right now, he had an unconscious Victor in his arms, blood a drying streak against his cheeks. So Jed hefted him up and carried Victor to the closest bedroom, cursing under his breath the whole time.
“Couldn’t do your freaky Exorcist routine when someone else was here, could you?” Jed muttered, depositing Victor onto the bed and studying the man, hands on his hips. “Oh, no, Victor goddamn Rathbone has to pull that shit while everyone else is four legged and furry. Just fucking great.”
Jed was going to kick someone’s ass for this. He didn’t know who yet, but an ass was definitely getting a kick.
After finding a rag and running it under warm water, Jed carefully cleaned off Victor’s face, searching for a wound in his eyes. There didn’t appear to be any obvious reason for the blood. Then again, there probably wasn’t an obvious reason for any of this. People didn’t bleed from the eyes just for shits and giggles.
Jed shone a flashlight into Victor’s pupils, doing his best to look while not actually meeting them directly. Harder than it sounded, but in the end, Jed was pretty sure Victor didn’t have a concussion or anything. He was just his normal, freaky self.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
A howl rose in the distance, the sound of it setting Jed’s nerves on edge. Shit, he recognized the tone to that. That was a something’s wrong howl, except it was getting closer. He had no idea how far wolves could smell—could one of them have smelled the blood from all the way out there?
There was the clatter of paws on the porch and then a thud, a heavy body physically throwing itself at the front door. Rolling his eyes, Jed headed out after giving Victor one last look. “Don’t move,” he told Victor. Probably unnecessarily.
When he opened the door, Randall streaked in, already half shifted. “What happened?” Randall demanded as soon as he could talk again. “Where’s Victor?”
Randall’s bare feet skidded to a halt in the kitchen, his nostrils flaring at the sight of blood. It wasn’t just making creepy words on the floor, it was in odd streaks along the edge of the verse too, where Victor had braced bloody hands on the tile to keep his balance. Basically, it was a horror show, and probably not the best thing for Randall to stumble into. Eyes glowing yellow, a protective growl rumbling in his chest, Randall rounded on Jed. Jed was slammed back against the wall with an arm across his throat before he even had time to form words.
“Where is Victor?” Randall barked, teeth bared. “Tell me right now.”
“He’s in the bedroom. Jesus,” Jed snapped, shoving Randall back. “He had a fit. I just got him cleaned up and—”
Okay, apparently they were done talking. Randall took off, thudding through the hallway and banging open doors, finding Victor where Jed had left him. Jed followed at a distance, fingers itching for the gun he’d left in his bag. Stupid, Walker. Never go anywhere without a weapon. Just fucking stupid. He was going soft.
Randall was sniffing Victor. Okay. Weird. But whatever he scented seemed to calm him marginally. Randall sat on the edge of the bed, holding Victor’s hand, studying his face with worried eyes. After a beat, he ventured, “I… apologize. I just…. I smelled the blood, and I couldn’t think.”
Jed inclined his head. “Don’t worry about it,” he allowed grudgingly. “Probably would have done the same.”
Randall hefted an eyebrow at him.
Jed amended, “Okay, definitely. And worse. So don’t worry. I think he’s fine.”
“He’s unconscious,” Randall confirmed. “But I can’t smell anything seriously wrong. My nose isn’t as good as Edwin’s, but I agree, I think he’s okay.” A frown puckered Randall’s face, and he turned to Jed. “Did you meet his eyes? What happened?”
Shrugging, Jed went to the closet, rifling through what looked like a thousand years of bad clothing choices stored away before he found a drawer with what appeared to be old-man pajama sets. He tossed a pair of the pants at Randall, who gratefully tugged them on. “Don’t know,” Jed answered, arms folded. “One second we’re talking, he’s looking through the fridge, the next he’s convulsing and writing shit in his own blood.”
“Was he hurt?” Randall’s fingers were combing lightly through Victor’s hair. “I mean, I don’t see a cut or—”
“His eyes.” Jed grimaced faintly. “He was bleeding from his eyes.”
Randall made a soft noise, somewhere between distress and something else, before he looked up at Jed. “There’s a book, on the nightstand in my room. Third door on the left on the second floor. Can you get it for me, please?”
“You think reading to him will help?” Jed snorted, confused.
“No, but I think I might know what happened,” Randall responded, a slight bite of impatience to his words. “And I’d go myself, but I don’t want to leave him. So please, Jed. The book.”
The sounds of a few more sets of paws came from the door, and Redford looked worried when he trotted in, though he gave a soft chuff of relief when he saw Jed. Redford didn’t change back, but he did budge himself against Jed’s legs, looking up at him questioningly. Edwin came howling in right behind him, still in wolf form, circling his brother in obvious concern before hopping up onto the bed and burying his nose in Victor’s neck, his chest, snuffling around for several moments. Apparently he came to the same conclusion Jed and Randall had, because he collapsed in relief, nose resting on Victor’s chest, eyes flicking from Victor’s face up to Randall with a soft whine.
Anthony was last, back on two legs and in jeans. He was already frowning as he came in; he’d probably seen the kitchen. “What the hell happened?”
Nodding his head at Redford and Anthony, Jed headed out and toward the stairs. They followed, Redford close on his heels. “Fit. Blood, writing on the floor, crazy freaky-ass motherfucking shit. I don’t know. Did you see?” The kitchen floor—or, more specifically, what Victor had scrawled there—was going to bug him.
“I saw.” Anthony sounded as disturbed as Jed felt. “Did he do that after looking at you? What kind of weird things are in your head that would make him do that?”
“That’s the crazy thing.” Jed paused at the foot of the stairs, gaze darting back at the room, voice lowering. “He wasn’t even near me when it started. Look, I’m careful around the guy. The princess is okay, sure, but I don’t want him getting a free tour of Jed town, you know?” Jed tapped the side of his head with two fingers, raising his eyebrows. “So I make sure. But he was facing the whole fucking other direction. So it wasn’t me.”
He didn’t like this. Life was weird enough without adding blood-written messages from the great beyond. Hesitating, voice dipping even quieter, Jed asked, “Do you think this is what it looks like? When snake people go crazy?”
Anthony exhaled slowly. “I have no idea,” he replied, voice just as low. “But I hope not.” The for Randall’s sake was hanging there, unspoken. Jed got it. It would suck to tell the kid his boyfriend was probably going nuts. Then again, Jed wasn’t sure Randall wasn’t already thinking the same thing.
“He, uh, asked me for a book. Randall. Apparently he thinks he has an idea what happened.” Jed gestured vaguely in the direction of the second floor. “I’ll be right back.” Though apparently he was not going to go alone. Redford and Anthony were right on his heels, Redford bumping up against his legs with every other step.
Randall’s room was almost obsessively neat. Jed couldn’t resist the urge to move pillows out of place, to disorganize the neat pile of books on the desk. There was only one tome on the nightstand, however, and Jed picked it up, flipping through it before grimacing. “It’s in German,” he sighed. “I hate German. Took me forever to get down the basics.” And he’d probably forgotten most of it. He used to be able to order food, order sex, and pay for both. Oh, and shoot here, that was one of the first things he learned in whatever language they’d taught him. Fire and kill and don’t piss over there, there’s snakes. The important stuff.
Anthony took the book from Jed. From the way he frowned at it, he understood even less German than Jed. “Did Randall say what it was about?”
“Answers, I hope.” Though what kind of answers could be found in some dusty old book in a foreign language, Jed didn’t know. Unless it was the big German book of my boyfriend is a creepy motherfucker who bleeds from his eyes and has fits, volume one.
They headed back downstairs to find Randall hadn’t moved at all. He was just sitting patiently, holding Victor’s hand. With the moonlight streaming in the window and Edwin on the bed, just for a moment, Jed thought it looked like a picture in one of the fairy tale books his mom had read to him as a kid.
But then Randall turned toward them, Edwin got up to whine in their direction, and Jed shook off the cobweb of a memory, leaving it behind. “Here,” he grunted, passing Randall the book. “What’s it about?”
“It tells a story,” Randall said, frowning as he paged through the book. “I think I translated it wrong originally. It’s one of those weird lines that could mean one of a few things, depending, and I had put it aside to work on more later.”
Jed leaned against the wall. Redford, his constant shadow in wolf form, rested against his legs, tail thumping a few times against the floor when Jed rubbed his hand behind Redford’s ears. Anthony looked exhausted, and he checked his watch as he sat down, grimacing at the time.
“Got somewhere to be, Lassie?” Jed looked half-asleep, he knew, eyes barely opened. But he studied Anthony carefully, noticing the stiffness in his gait, the way he changed positions a few times, obviously trying to get comfortable.
“I’ve got my final hospital appointment in the morning.” Anthony looked guilty for saying it, like he felt bad for mentioning he had shit to do while Victor was having a situation. He didn’t say anything further than that, but he didn’t need to—with the full moon making him too hyped up to sleep, and now Victor being creepy, none of them would probably get much rest tonight. And Jed knew from hard-earned experience that being in a hospital when you were exhausted was one of the most annoying things he’d ever had to do.
“Here.” Randall cleared his throat, glancing up at all of them. “It’s talking about witches. Or rather, what they thought were witches. Um, okay, here.” His finger slid under the words, and Randall read with a slight pause before each word, working out the translation. “They were brought to the pyre, one after the other, the ones who saw what they should not know. The witches were brought forth, and we knew them by the red of their eyes.”
“So…. Victor’s a witch?” Anthony sounded just as confused as Jed was.
“No. He’s a medusa. That’s what I’m saying. I was having trouble here, because they keep talking about the red eyes, but I think they mean blood. These were beings convicted of witchcraft because they had visions. They saw things, the end of battles, of regimes, and when they prophesied against the royal family at the time, they were hauled out and executed.” Randall pointed to the book, as if suddenly Jed was going to grow a German-speaking gene and be able to see what he was talking about. “They accused them of witchcraft because that’s what they thought. But it’s medusas. I’m sure of it.”
“So how come Victor’s never mentioned this?” Anthony glanced between Victor and Randall. “He told us about looking into people’s eyes, but, you know, ‘I might get visions and turn my kitchen floor red’ is pretty big.”
“Because this is literally the only mention of it I’ve found in three days of research.” Randall shook his head, flipping through the pages of the book. “It was not common, even back then. And prophecies now are… well, they aren’t. The last mention of a true prophecy in any form that I’ve ever seen is something like a hundred and fifty years ago. And in this country? Forget it. Revolutionary war was the last time anyone recorded any kind of seeing. I really don’t think he knew, because none of the prophecies are ever linked to a specific species. They’re simply recorded as from the seer.”
“So what makes you think—” Jed started.
“Because I’ve been reading everything on medusas I can get my hands on,” Randall cut him off, voice quickening in his urgency. “I know how they’re talked about now. They’re a secretive race. There’s barely any direct documentation of the half bloods.”
“So that’s a prophecy on the kitchen floor?” Anthony dragged a hand over his face, obviously not quite believing it. “I saw something written about a battle. You think it’s something to do with that war Victor saw from the Gray Lady?”
“Either that or we’ve stocked up on them at Shitstorms R Us.” Jed sighed. “Okay. So, do we need to… write it down?” What the fuck did someone even do with a goddamn prophecy? “Are there crazy people authorities we need to contact? A who’s who of freaky shit?”
Anthony pushed himself out of his chair with a faint grunt, then briefly rested a hand on Randall’s shoulder. “I’ll go take pictures, write it down, that sort of thing. After that, I….” Anthony paused, apologetic. “I’ll need to get some rest if I’m going to be moving around at all tomorrow. Will you and Victor be okay?”
“We’re fine.” Randall nodded. “I’ll stay with him. You go sleep.”
“We’ll drive you in the morning,” Jed said. That decided, he kicked away from the wall, whistling lowly. “Come on, Eddie, Fido, let’s go do some more laps before bedtime.” He was fucking exhausted, but if he didn’t take at least Edwin for one more walkie before he hit the hay, God knew the kid would be bouncing off walls all night.
Edwin and Redford had chased each other around for a few hours. Jed had lasted all of one before he’d spread out on the grass, dozing lightly, one ear cocked for trouble. By the time the wolves were done with their gallivanting, Jed was half-asleep. Both Edwin and Redford had collapsed on him in a happy pile of waving tails and tongues, and Jed had managed to drag them all into the house to finally fall face-first into a bed.
The morning came far too early. Jed and Randall organized everyone getting ready, showering, breakfast, the whole nine yards. Turned out that Jed’s master skills in cereal pouring and Randall’s quickness getting the coffee and tea up and going were a match made in heaven. They had everyone fed and out the door just in time to make the drive to the hospital.
And then came the waiting. Anthony had been whisked back behind double doors, leaving them all marooned in a waiting room, the sterile antiseptic stink forcing the wolves into trying to breathe through their mouths. There was the squeak of shoes in the hallway beyond, the low murmur of overly cheery voices on some annoying daytime talk show, things that should have felt normal but didn’t, not at all. Even the paintings, generic landscapes and one of a boat on calm seas, only served to underscore how wrong it was to be there. How unnatural to shove someone into a box like this.
Jed fucking hated hospitals.
Victor, at least, had managed to wake up in time to come with them. Jed had heard him and Randall talking, with Randall trying to insist that Victor should stay where he was, but if Jed knew anything about Victor, it was that he was stubborn. He was pale now, slumped in the waiting room seat, a far cry from his usual proper stance.
“I suppose I’m going to have to clean all the blood off the kitchen, if we ever want to cook there again,” Victor sighed. Jed saw him take Randall’s hand. “I’m so sorry, Randall. I apparently have terrible timing. You should be focusing on your brother.”
“It’s fine.” Randall kissed his cheek, leaning his forehead against Victor’s temple. “I’ll take care of it when we get back. I sprayed some bleach on it last night, before we went to sleep. It’ll come right up with a good scrubbing.”
Jed traded a look with Redford. Sometimes, Jed just had to reflect on how fucking weird his life had gotten, sitting next to a wolf and a medusa while they casually talked about cleaning the blood a fucking prophecy had been written in off the floor. Then again, at least the whole discussion on mop-up techniques for dried blood was one he had intimate knowledge of.
“Milk,” Jed announced, leaning over toward them. “Sounds weird, but it works. Dab some on the stains and let it set for a bit before you start to scrub. A rust remover too, if the stain’s set in.”
“You’re right, that is weird,” Victor said wryly. “But thank you.”
“So….” Jed glanced around, but no one else seemed willing to ask the question. Fuck it, he would. “What’s up with you going crazy?”
Victor snorted a soft laugh. “I’m just thankful I didn’t, actually.” He seemed to tighten his grip on Randall’s hand. There was a tenseness to his expression, a faint wrinkle between his eyebrows that spoke to how rattled he was by the experience, even if he wasn’t saying it out loud. “I had no clue such a thing even happened to medusas. But Randall has shown me what he found, and it makes sense. I suppose now we have to….”
He trailed off, shaking his head.
“Don’t say it,” Jed warned.
“We’ll have to figure out the prophecy,” Victor concluded. “Yes, Jed, I am entirely aware of how fantasy-novel that sounds.”
“Well, Princess von Smalldickton—” Jed scowled. “—unless the prophecy fairies are paying me to solve their little riddle, I’m out. I don’t chase after roads that go fucking nowhere. Not unless someone is footing the bill.”
“I think perhaps you most of all should pay attention to this,” Victor said mildly. He didn’t look directly at Jed, but the stare felt just the same as if he had. “There are some clues in the words I wrote. Walker. Blood flowing—you are involved in quite a bit of violence. Blood denied could point to you dating outside your species, or your family that you never talk about.”
“You think that prophecy is about Jed?” Redford said in shock.
Victor made a contemplative noise. “Perhaps. There are certainly signs pointing that way.”
Jed waited for the inevitable punch line. This was one of Victor’s little jokes that Jed never caught because he wasn’t a goddamn prissy nerd. Any moment now, he’d do that little snorting chuckle of aren’t I so English and clever and Jed could roll his eyes and they’d move on. But instead there was just uncomfortable silence, Randall staring decidedly at the floor, Edwin pretending as though he was very interested in a magazine about women’s health.
Finally, Jed actually had to say something. Because this was ridiculous. “You scrambled your goddamn brains, princess,” Jed growled. “There might be a lot of things you can say about me. But none of it is going to be in some freaky shit prophecy. Not unless it’s a dirty limerick.”
“Well, I certainly won’t jump to conclusions.” Victor leaned back in his seat. “But I do have to ask, just in case. Do you know how to use a sword?”
Jed’s eyes narrowed. “To chop off your tiny dick? Yeah, I think I’ve got a penknife around somewhere I can swing with enough force.” Asshole.
Victor just smirked. “Perhaps you should look into lessons.”
“Keep talking, professor.” Jed rolled his eyes, since Victor had, thankfully, decided to veer off the serious talk about Jed being some kind of foretold hero or whatever. “Maybe the whole thing was about you, huh? You’re the one who wrote it down. Isn’t that a saying? He who smelt it has to carry the giant sword of destiny.”
He felt Redford crowd in close against his shoulder. “It could be about anyone,” Redford said, though he didn’t sound too sure.
Jed turned to him, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Don’t tell me you’re falling for this malarkey too.”
“No,” Redford said defensively. He looked at Jed, and then his shoulders sagged. “I don’t know. There has to be a reason that Victor got the vision, and not a medusa over on the other side of the world.”
“Why should that matter?” Jed was now looking around the room, searching for someone who was still damn sane. “Hell, maybe he’s supposed to post it on some website for freaks. Whatever he does, it’s not about me, okay? I don’t do swords, I don’t… hell, I don’t even know what it was saying.”
“Yes, all right Jed, we know,” Victor muttered. “Do try to keep your voice down. This is a hospital. We’ll figure everything out later.”
“What does it say?” Edwin finally decided to join in from where he was curled up in a chair, across from Jed and Redford. “I mean, I read it. It sounded like a bunch of gibberish. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything at all.”
“I bled from the eyes and wrote that damn thing out on my nice, clean kitchen floor. I’ll be very cranky if it’s meaningless gibberish,” Victor replied with a scowl. “As best I can tell, it’s about someone that must take up a sword to stop a battle. There’s mention of several animals, possibly in reference to people or maybe just symbols. There’ll be clues in the wording of it. I’ll just have to study it closer.”
Before Jed could point out that it was entirely possible Victor had intercepted an advertisement for a zoo opening and this whole thing was just the result of metal tooth fillings, the double doors swung open and Anthony’s doctor walked out. Jed already knew this was going to be bad. There was a look doctors got, a particular kind of grimness they hid behind a professional smile. But it was there. And this guy had it all over.
“Are you the Lewises?” The doctor moved forward, holding out his hand for Randall to shake when Randall stood and nodded. “I’m Dr. Medena. Why don’t you come with me?”
Jed wanted to offer to hang back, but they were all swept up and escorted through the hallway. Edwin was pressed close to Redford, Randall was holding Victor’s hand, and apparently, in that moment, they were all going to be goddamn Lewises.
The office they were taken to was as coldly clinical as the rest of them, though the doctor had clearly attempted to offset that with personal knickknacks on his desk. Anthony was seated in the chair across from the desk, and he gave them all a wan smile when they crowded into the small room. “I seem to have collected three more brothers.”
“Sorry,” Redford said awkwardly. “We can go if—”
“No, you can stay if you like,” Anthony replied. “I’d like that.”
“Yeah, well, you needed a good-looking brother, so Redford and I stepped in.” Jed collapsed into one of the chairs, hauling Redford to perch on his knee. Edwin stayed standing, while Randall insisted Victor take the only remaining seat.
Dr. Medena barely seemed to notice the crowd of them in his office. He sat behind his desk and shuffled some papers, then looked up at them. “We’re down to two options,” he finally announced, “and it’s entirely up to Anthony, although he knows which one I’d strongly suggest. Without treatment, the illness would continue to get worse and he would deteriorate quickly. That option would leave him with about two years left.”
There was a long, aching beat of silence. Jed, watching the Lewises, could see Randall suddenly deflate. It looked like someone had punched the guy in the stomach. All the color drained from his face, his jaw working as if to swallow back some horrible noise of pain. Edwin didn’t move. He was standing by the doorway, half looking like he wanted to bolt, but, foot stuck in a trap, he was frozen. A look of pure anguish on his face, Edwin ducked his head, clearly trying to hold it together.
“You said there was another choice,” Jed interjected gruffly, keeping one eye on Randall and Edwin. “Let me guess, we’re going to like that one better?”
He saw Dr. Medena look quickly at Anthony, then back at them. “With treatment, we’ve had a lot of success in other wolves with canine Parkinson’s. There would be some side effects, and it would never fully cure the condition, but it can be managed.”
Jed noticed Anthony didn’t particularly seem to like that option, though he couldn’t take a guess as to why. The doctor continued, “The treatment would slow down the progression of the disease. We could help Anthony manage his pain, and if we’re lucky, he’d be able to return to some aspects of his life. A part-time job, maybe.”
“So why are we talking about this?” Randall asked hoarsely. “Anthony, you have to take the treatment.”
“It’d dull my senses,” Anthony muttered. “He said it might make it difficult for me to even turn.”
“You know what else makes that difficult?” Jed said bluntly. “Being dead.” After all this time, all the things they’d tried, Jed could not believe Anthony would sit here and start having second thoughts.
“It really is the best option,” Dr. Medena said, clearly trying to school his voice into some sort of soothing tone. “It would add decades to your life expectancy if you don’t push yourself too hard.”
Anthony let out a short, explosive exhale. He scrubbed his hands through his hair and seemed to fold in on himself. “Fine,” he said quietly. “Okay, I’ll do the treatment.”
Edwin threw himself at Anthony, practically knocking him over in a hug. “It’s okay,” Edwin was whispering fiercely. “I’ll smell everything for you, I promise. And I’ll go running with you no matter what. Okay? Just don’t die.”
Anthony put his arms around Edwin. He still didn’t look happy, and Jed had no problem admitting he had no fucking clue what the issue was. Two years of pain versus decades of management didn’t even sound like a choice to him.
“We’ll get you started on the treatment right away, then,” Dr. Medena said. He stood from his chair, getting some folders in order. “It’s a regimen of pills, so you won’t have to be in and out of the hospital much. Though I would advise you to come in for regular checkups, just in case we need to change the dosage around.”
“Should we worry about any other side effects?” Randall looked like he wanted to fall over, like stress was just eating him alive, but he’d pulled out a little notebook that Jed could see was already half filled with a messy scrawl. “If you could just tell me any instructions I might need.”
They sat with the doctor for a while longer, Randall asking questions, writing everything down, and Anthony looking increasingly more miserable. Jed honestly didn’t understand. Yeah, it wasn’t a cure, but at least it wasn’t as big of a death sentence as Anthony had been walking around with. And any kind of pain relief had to be welcome.
As they walked out to the van in uncomfortable silence, Jed just kept looking over at Anthony, utterly confused. Maybe it just hadn’t sunk in yet. “Hey,” Jed tried, giving him a light punch in the shoulder. “At least you’re not going to croak anytime soon. That’s got to be a relief, right?”
Everyone just stared at him blankly. Apparently that wasn’t the best way to lighten the mood.
Jesus. And people wondered why Jed didn’t do families.
Eventually, though, it did make Anthony smile, so that was something. “Yeah,” he replied after a few moments of silence. “It’s good news.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes, his expression still numb somehow, like he hadn’t really had the chance to think about everything. “I’m sorry. I’m being a buzzkill. How about tonight we all cook up a massive dinner and celebrate?”
“Are we going home?” Edwin asked. “I bet there’s loads of rabbits out in our woods.”
“Yeah, we’ll drive back once we get everything packed again.” Anthony clapped a hand to Victor’s shoulder. “Want to come for the night? You too, Jed and Redford. Pack gathering.”
“What, we’ve been adopted?” Jed smirked. But what he’d thought would be a joke turned into Edwin hugging him, grinning as he looped his arm through Redford’s.
“Of course. I can take Redford hunting. There’s this awesome spot out west of the lake.”
“Maybe you and Anthony could go fishing for real, Jed,” Randall suggested. “We’ll have rabbit stew and baked fish for dinner. And some roasted vegetables, for the noncarnivores among us.”
Anthony gave a low laugh. “Hey, Victor, maybe you can hunt the vegetables for us.”
Victor sighed, a long-suffering sound. “As long as they don’t fight back, I’m sure I can manage.”
“So, family dinner tonight.” Randall nodded, arm tightening around Victor’s waist. “And you’re all welcome to stay over. I know it’s a long drive back.” He gave Victor a low smile, kissing his shoulder. “You could make a weekend of it? We’ll bring the research, get some work done, if you’re worried about being productive.”
Victor kissed Randall’s cheek in affirmative; then they crowded into the van. The mood was a lot lighter on the drive back than it had been on the way there. Having a death sentence averted would do that. Anthony still seemed a little quiet, but both Randall and Edwin, as the news seemed to sink in, were starting to act like they’d gotten a stay of execution.
Packing didn’t take long, though it did require three trips to load up all the books Randall and Victor insisted were necessary. And even though Jed pointed out that it was highly unlikely they’d leave the bed for days, much less do heavy reading, no one was willing to listen to him. He did insist that they stop by his and Redford’s apartment to pick up Knievel. His princess might be fine for a few days on her own, but any more than that and she made him pay for it later. Like all spoiled cats, she demanded attention in regular intervals. Redford worried that they were overreaching, bringing the cat along, but Jed just packed her and her toys up in the cage, putting Edwin in charge of making sure she didn’t get lost under the seats.
The trip to the Lewises’ cabin was getting really goddamn familiar. By the time they got to the house, Jed was ready to stretch his legs.
After Edwin and Randall insisted that Anthony didn’t need to do anything to help, Jed spotted Anthony slowly making his way to the edge of the lake. There were fishing poles lined up neatly in the mudroom of the house, and Jed grabbed three, along with a tackle box. Redford behind him, Jed headed toward the water, finding Anthony sitting on a long log that had been pulled up close to the lake’s edge, obviously purposefully placed and secured.
Wordlessly handing Anthony one of the poles, Jed got himself settled and set about baiting his and Redford’s hooks. He’d at least learned that much in the fishing books they’d gotten, and Anthony had all sorts of interesting things in the tackle box. No live worms, though. Jed still wasn’t sure how one would go about getting those.
His cast was… not good at all. The first few times Jed didn’t make it in the water. Redford got all tangled up in his line and nearly cut his palm open on the hook. Anthony finally took pity on them and showed them how to send their hooks flying out into the water. Not with nearly as much grace as Anthony showed, but at least they weren’t impaling themselves.
Redford sat close to Jed, their shoulders pushed up against each other, and in the break between casts he grinned over at Jed. “At least we get to go fishing,” he said.
“This is practice fishing,” Jed allowed, tongue caught between his teeth in concentration as he arced the rod over his head and sent the line flying toward the middle of the lake. “Real fishing comes with sun and sand and drinks with umbrellas in them.”
“And real fish come from mountain lakes, not sand,” Anthony snorted. “What kind of fish would you even catch on a beach, Jed? Sharks?”
Jed blinked, thinking. “Ones that go good with rum-based drinks?”
“I may have to give you some more tips before you try fishing for real,” Anthony replied, bemused.
“I got this postcard once.” Jed was focused on watching the steady swell of his bobber as it floated above the light ripples of the lake. No bites yet. “I was seventeen, I’d just left home a year before, I don’t know, I was young. Stupid. Living on the streets, doing whatever. They wouldn’t let me enlist yet, so I had to kill time before I turned eighteen. Anyway, I found this postcard stuck in a grate near where I was holed up. It was winter and fucking cold, but the card had this picture of these two beach chairs, fishing pole stuck in the sand, palm trees, table with two drinks. And it just said wish you were here.” Jed snorted, reeling in his line again for another try. “All I could think was ‘yeah, well, me too, fucker.’ But I kept it for a long time. Always wanted to do that.”
After a second of silence, Jed felt Redford lean against his shoulder. Yeah, yeah. Caring and sharing time. “Anyway,” he muttered gruffly, scowling out at the water. “Probably not so much about catching fish.”
“Probably not.” Anthony patted the shoulder that wasn’t being taken up by Redford. “But you’ll get your beach fishing eventually.”
“Yeah.” Jed cast again, watching the bobber make a wobbly arc back out to the water. “Think I just like the idea of being on the ocean. Been around it a lot, but most of the time I didn’t get to just relax or anything.” Hell, most of the time he’d get dropped in someplace in the dead of night or get carted in after three days with no real sleep, do his job, and get out again. Leisure time was kind of a new concept.
Anthony made a noise under his breath that sounded like a laugh—one that he hadn’t wanted to give proper voice to, but had made its way out nonetheless. “Well, if you ever need a water fix, we’ve got a little dingy you can take out on the lake. Fishing isn’t great anymore, but the water’s still there. For now.”
“What, you afraid it’s going to run away?” Jed gave Anthony a sideways glance. “Didn’t realize that lakes were that mobile.”
“It’s drying up slowly.” Anthony cast his line out with a casual ease born of years of experience. “The fish are nearly gone, and this year the water level has gone down half a foot. There used to be someone here that tended to it, but without him”—Anthony shrugged—“it’ll be gone in five or ten years.”
“Why?” Jed reached out a leg and poked the toe of his boot in the water, as if he could somehow see it retreating. “I mean, is that even normal?”
“It misses him,” Anthony said softly. “It got used to his company, and now that he’s gone, it doesn’t want to stay. I tried everything, but water isn’t my expertise.”
Okay, that didn’t make any sense. Jed exchanged a quick glance with Redford, who looked just as baffled as him, before figuring he might as well ask. “What the fuck are you talking about?” As far as Jed knew, water didn’t have emotions.
Anthony only looked at Jed quickly before he started laughing. “I’m sorry, Jed,” he said, grinning ruefully. “That probably didn’t make a lick of sense to you. There used to be someone that lived nearby that I used to see all the time when I was a kid. He was a half blood, a selkie, and whenever they live near water, the water prospers. But he had to leave, so it’s like… giving a plant some really good soil and then switching it to sand. So the lake is drying up.”
“So these sookie people, they make lakes grow?” Jed frowned, again looking over at Redford. “Did you know that?”
“I don’t even know what a selkie is,” Redford said, apologetic.
“It’d be a long explanation. But the mermaid myth came from selkies,” Anthony explained. “They don’t make lakes grow, they just…. I guess it’s difficult to explain.” Even though Jed was trying to wrangle his fishing line into doing what he wanted it to, he couldn’t miss the way Anthony’s voice took on an edge of nostalgia. “Vilhehn would come to the lake about once a week. We’d go out and swim in the middle of it, and he’d say things to the water, he’d sing. I never knew what he was saying. But every time, we’d catch an extra big fish for dinner, or the water wouldn’t be so cold the next morning.”
“That’s your guy, right?” Jed settled in, legs kicked out in front of him, looping his free arm around Redford to play his fingers along his side. “That Vil whatever. He’s the one who left?”
Anthony let out a slow breath. “Yeah,” he replied. “He had to leave and I had to stay. It didn’t work out.”
“Want to talk about it?” Jed asked bluntly, figuring he wasn’t going to pry if this would send Anthony off into some sort of crying fit. Or, worse, make him start hugging people.
“I pretty much just said everything there is to say.” Anthony patted Jed on the shoulder. “It’s a short, sad story that I do my best to not really think about most days.”
“So that’s it, then?” Seemed kind of like a raw deal to Jed. “You liked some guy a thousand years ago and you’re just stuck?”
“I’ve tried to date,” Anthony admitted. “About a year back, I had a two-month relationship. Before that I managed to stay in one for about three months. It’s not like I’m literally physically unable to be with anybody else, it was just… well, nobody else ever came close.”
Jed looked over at Redford, who was oddly silent, staring out over the water, just letting the conversation wash over him. “You should go after him,” Jed pointed out quietly, his eyes on Redford. “It’s always worth it to go after them.”
Anthony was one of the most openly emotional people Jed had ever met. Every single thing he felt expressed itself on his face, so seeing him nearly blank now was a little disconcerting. For a brief moment, a horrible, sick look passed over Anthony’s eyes, but then it was gone again. “I can’t now,” he said flatly. “The doctor said no exerting myself too much. No long travel. No hiking across the mountains to a beach that no airplane goes to.”
Jed nodded, considering things. “Want me to find him?” he offered quietly, gaze returning to the water. “Can’t say I’ve ever tracked down mer-dudes, but I’m not half bad at finding people who don’t want to be found.” Unless they were pain-in-the-ass vampires. “He should know, Ant. You know he should know.”
“No, he shouldn’t,” Anthony said. “He has a different life now, things he needs to do for the sake of his people. He doesn’t need to hear about some sick wolf halfway across the world.”
“Look, I’m not Oprah or some shit. I don’t know much about anything. And I’m not an expert. Just… if you wanted.” Jed shrugged, uncomfortable. “I’d want to know. For the record. So would you.”
“Maybe one day.” Anthony started reeling his line in—the first of them to catch a fish so far. The fish that came out on the hook was so tiny that nobody would bother with it, but Anthony took it anyway.
Jed reached out to poke it, fascinated. “Are you going to eat it?” he wondered. And then, frowning, “What part is the fish stick?”
“I thought I might give it to Knievel,” Anthony said, smiling a little. “And there’s no actual part that’s the fish stick. Fish sticks are disgusting.”
Redford fidgeted beside Jed—Jed recognized that movement. Redford was trying to gather up the courage to say something. “Anthony, um,” Redford said tentatively, “I just wanted to ask. You didn’t seem too happy at the cure.”
The smile dropped off Anthony’s face. “It’s stupid,” he sighed. “I know it’s stupid. I am happy. It’ll be expensive, but we’ll figure it out. It’s just… the side effects. And what I’ll need to do. My senses will be dulled. I won’t be able to shift much, the doctor said. I can’t run. It feels like I won’t even be able to be who I am. I won’t be a wolf, not really.”
“You’ll be alive,” Jed pointed out. “Nothing else fucking matters, man. I’ve seen some shit. Guys blown apart in front of me, legs ripped off, eyes popping like grapes, and you get down to the core of it, who you are is alive. Everything else you figure out. You get a peg leg or you wear a fucking eye patch, whatever. Long as you’re breathing in and out, that’s what’s important.”
“I know.” Anthony’s shoulders had slumped, his head bowed. “I do know. I’m sorry. I probably seem like the biggest asshole in the world right now.”
“Nope.” Jed nudged his shoulder against Anthony. “You sound like a guy who just got his legs blown off. It sucks. And you get to be pissed about it, because it isn’t fair. I’m just sayin’, don’t go too far down that road. It gets real dark, real fast.”
And then he was engulfed in a one-armed hug. What the hell was it with Anthony and hugs?
“Thanks, Jed. For everything.” Anthony squeezed him tighter.
“You’re a freak,” Jed muttered, scowling. But he bumped their knees together, and maybe, maybe, he didn’t mind it as much as he let on. Just because Anthony was an idiot and it was hard to stay irritated with idiots.
Anthony took pity on him and let him out of the hug. “Jed,” Redford announced, excited, “Your line is moving.”
“What?” Sure enough, it was. Whooping, Jed stood, prancing forward and then back, all but flailing. “What do I do? What do I do?”
“Reel it in,” Anthony laughed, standing with him and putting one hand on the fishing rod. “Don’t rush. Just wind it back steadily.”
Tongue poking out from between his teeth, Jed tried to follow Anthony’s directions. Nice and slow, he turned the crank and eased the line back. The fish jerked on it, pulling away, and Jed cursed loudly, surprised at the fight. Instinctively, he let go of the reel, and the line ran out, the fish swimming away. Anthony jumped in, helping him, and together they reeled it back again, slowly, sometimes letting the line out a bit more, sometimes fighting the fish as they brought it in. Finally, with one last hard turn of the reel, they hauled a giant bass out and onto the sand. Jed’s eyes went round with shock as he watched it flop around.
“Holy shit! I caught Moby Dick!”
Redford looked positively gleeful beside him, kneeling down to help Anthony hold the fish still. “Jed, you probably caught the biggest fish in the lake,” he enthused. “Do you have your phone? You have to take a picture.”
Jed was grinning so wide it hurt, fumbling to get his phone out. “Oh my God, can we frame it? Like those big deer heads?” He took a picture of the fish next to Redford, almost dancing in victorious joy. “Anthony! Look how huge it is!”
Anthony didn’t look as excited as they did, but his little smile was heartfelt. Jed noticed his gaze dart toward the lake, and he seemed to say something under his breath, though Jed didn’t catch the words. “You can frame it if you want,” Anthony finally replied. “But it looks to me like it’d make a really good dinner.”
“Yeah, that,” Jed agreed with a nod. “Let’s eat it.” He paused, hands on his hips, staring down at the flopping, scaly fish. “How the fuck do you eat it?”
IT TURNED out, you could roast the whole damn thing. Eyeballs and all. Jed found himself hovering in the kitchen, fascinated, watching as Randall cleaned the fish and put it in the oven, just like that. He was once again told that there was no fish stick portion, which seemed kind of sad to him, but they had that going and a rabbit stew, and Victor and Randall were happily working shoulder to shoulder to cook the vegetables. Randall even had some kind of apple dessert thing baking.
In short, everything smelled really good.
Knievel was happily chowing down on her minifish while the rest of them gathered around the table. Passing plates and drinks, the casual conversation petered out to nothing as they all dug in. The food was so damn good that they all were perfectly content to eat rather than try to come up with small talk.
When they were down to scraping their plates—or even licking them, in Edwin’s case—Anthony took a deep breath and said, “We need to talk about the future.”
“Good idea,” Edwin agreed. “I think we should definitely take a vacation at Victor’s when it gets colder. I bet his pond thing would freeze, and I really want to try ice skating.”
“That’s not what I meant, Ed,” Anthony said gently. “I meant your future, and Randall’s. Whether or not this treatment works, both of you need to start having lives, not just sitting around looking after me.”
“Anthony….” Randall hesitated from where he was pouring coffee. “I’m not sure we need to talk about this. We’re doing just fine how we are now. My job is going to help a lot with expenses, Edwin is going to go up to Victor’s with me three times a week, and with that extra income we’re going to be a lot better with bills.”
“I didn’t mean just money either.” Anthony scrubbed a hand over his face, looking frustrated at himself. “I’m not saying this right. You should go to college, Randall. Edwin, you should figure out what your passion is, what you want to do for a living. If the treatments work and I can get out of bed, I’m going to go get my old job back. And if these treatments don’t work, you need to start thinking about those things anyway so you can be properly set up for your futures.”
There was absolute silence. Not a lull in conversation, not even a moment of thought before words started to flow again. Just silence. As if Anthony had suggested they all merrily skip off of a cliff. Randall looked blank, like he’d been shut down and put away. Edwin wasn’t moving, staring at the table, lips pressed together tightly.
“I wish I didn’t have to say this,” Anthony said. “But you’re my brothers. And I need to look out for you both, because neither of you seem to be doing it yourselves, lately.”
A wince crossed Randall’s face, but he still wasn’t talking. Edwin stood up. “Shut up,” he told Anthony, voice cracking. “Just shut up. We… we’ve done everything, okay? And I didn’t say a word. We went and found the pack, we came home, you used goop on your hands, like, what the hell? Who actually thought that was going to work? But we did it. Because you are family and that is what we do. So don’t sit there and tell me to start thinking about the future, okay? Because I don’t want to. If there’s any version out there where you’re not in it, I’m not looking. I refuse. You can’t make me.”
“You’re going to have to,” Anthony said bluntly. It looked like even just saying the words hurt, but he did it anyway. “We all knew what loss felt like when we lost our parents. And there is every possibility that you both will have to go through it again. It’s not nice, it’s not fair, but it’s happening. And if the both of you are at square one and have no prospects for your futures if I check out, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“If you die, then I’m just going to too,” Edwin shot back. “So shut up and stop talking about this.”
The snarl that Anthony gave made even Jed flinch back. “Don’t you dare,” Anthony said hoarsely. “You think it’s funny, saying that? Jesus, Edwin, Randall’s right there. You’d leave him too?”
“I’m not joking,” Edwin gritted out. “You’re giving up, so why the hell shouldn’t I? You think I’m an idiot? You don’t want to take the medicine. And if you stop, you’re going to get worse.”
“Guys,” Randall whispered, but Edwin kept going, getting louder, shouting right over Randall’s interjection.
“You don’t get to tell me to move on, like you’re some bad thing I need to get over! So stop being so… stupid.”
“I am going to take the goddamn treatments,” Anthony growled. “And I am going to continue fighting this disease every step of the way, but I’m not going to pretend there’s not a chance it might not work.”
“Stop saying that.” Edwin turned and ran, shedding clothes as he went, knocking a glass over in his wake. The next moment there was a flash of blond as Edwin ran into the woods, wolf form blending into the shadows and disappearing completely from sight.
Randall sighed, staring at the table. After a beat he stood, moving to clean up the shattered glass. Anthony cursed under his breath and slumped back down in his chair. Beside Jed, Redford sounded like he had only just started breathing again, and Victor looked flustered, cleaning his glasses.
Then Anthony was up and out of his chair again, moving to the front door. Randall still wasn’t trying to talk, barely even reacting as he carefully swept up the glass, as he mopped up the spilled water. In the distance was a long howl, an anguished noise that seemed to shiver through Jed, some primal reaction to something that wild.
“I’ll go bring him back,” Anthony sighed, shrugging on a heavy jacket that had been hanging by the door.
“Don’t.” Randall’s voice was sharp, his jaw so tight it looked like one good push and he might just shatter apart. “Let him be, Ant. You know he needs to run when he gets like this.”
The way Anthony’s shoulders tensed looked like guilt. “If he’s not back by midnight, I’m going to find him,” he muttered.
“Or you’ll let him be,” Randall repeated, voice low. He took the broken glass into the kitchen to throw away.
Jed glanced around the room, fidgeting in his seat, uncomfortable. This was why he didn’t do family shit. It all just got so… messy. Much better to not deal with it at all. “Do you need help in there?” he asked, starting to stand, to reach for half-empty cups.
“No” was Randall’s firm response. And Jed sank back down again, sighing. There went his exit strategy. Victor, on the other hand, didn’t even ask before he went to help Randall clean up. Randall’s tense body language didn’t ease, but at least he didn’t snap at Victor.
Anthony sank back down into his chair, his hands clenched tightly together on the tabletop to ease the shaking. “I’ll get the guesthouse ready for you guys in a minute,” he told Jed and Redford, but his gaze was fixed out the window, his breaths deeper.
“Don’t worry about it.” Jed practically fell over his chair in an effort to get to the hall closet. “We know where everything is. You just sit there and think calming thoughts. Come on, Red.”
Redford looked just as relieved for something to do as Jed did, and together they piled their arms high with pillows and blankets. After they picked their way across the yard, they made up Victor’s bed first, before retreating into their room and getting the sheets on the mattress. “That was….” Jed shrugged, shaking his head. “Not exactly what I was expecting.”
“Neither,” Redford admitted. He tossed a pillow across the bed at Jed and straightened a corner of the sheets, fussing just to have something to do. “They’ve all seemed happier lately.”
“I get it, though. Hell of a thing to sit there and listen to someone list out what you’re supposed to do when they kick it.” Jed bent over the bed, reaching across to grab the comforter and hauling it onto his side.
“Yeah.” Redford heaved a sigh. But then he looked at the bed they’d just made, then up at Jed, and a quirked a little smile. “I never thought I’d see the day where you made the bed.”
“Hey, come on now.” Jed put a final fluff on the flower-dotted comforter. “This is manly as hell.” Grinning at Redford, waggling his eyebrows up and down, Jed gestured to the mattress. “If you think I’m not getting enough practice, though, we really should mess it up. You know, so I can try again.” The messing it up was really what Jed was most interested in.
“I’m just surprised you even know how to make a bed,” Redford mused. Clothes and all, he crawled onto it and tugged Jed down with him, manhandling Jed around until Redford had him in a comfortable position. After ending up on his back, with Redford half lying on his side, Jed curved an arm around Redford’s shoulders. “Did you learn that in the army and just haven’t employed that knowledge since?”
Jed ran his fingers along Redford’s arm, flashing a half smile. He could lie. It’d be easy to say yes, to roll them over and kiss Redford, to let the subject die. There wasn’t any reason to talk about this, or to let Redford in any further.
“My mom.”
But, for some reason, Jed was just full of the Care Bears today. He couldn’t seem to help himself. “My mom made my sisters and I make our beds every morning, before school. If we didn’t, we had to go to bed an hour earlier that night. It was a big deal, for whatever reason. Army just taught me how to do hospital corners.”
“Yeah?” Redford sounded pleased, inching up so he could put his head on the pillow next to Jed’s. “That sounds nice.” Redford always got those dumb puppy-dog eyes whenever Jed mentioned his past. Like Jed was giving him a gift by talking about freaking bed making.
“It was annoying,” Jed grunted. “Why make your bed every day? You are literally just going to mess it up twelve hours later. It makes no sense at all.”
Redford gave a quiet laugh against his shoulder. “You make it because it looks pretty. And because it feels good to get into a bed that doesn’t have the sheets hanging off the edge.”
“I like my sheets hanging off the edge.” Grumbling, Jed turned them so he was hovering over Redford, so he could drop a kiss onto the bridge of his nose and smile at the way Redford blinked, trying to bring him into focus. “I like you on my bed most of all. And that really tends to mess things up.”
Redford rolled them again so he could use Jed as a mattress, bonelessly sprawling over him. “I think we should make the bed more often,” he said. “It’s nice, doing things that aren’t blowing things up.”
“There’s nothing wrong with a good explosion,” Jed mumbled, hop-skipping kisses against Redford’s neck, hands sliding up and down Redford’s back. “That’s way more fun than bed making.”
Redford caught Jed in a kiss. There was no hurry to it, no edge to either of their movements, just a leisurely connection. “And what if I disagree?”
A slow little smirk curled Jed’s lips. “I’ll have to change your mind.” Slipping his hands up under Redford’s shirt, he deepened their kiss, taking his time, a soft moan caught between them. He gently pulled off Redford’s clothes, pants getting pushed away, his own jeans lost over the edge of the bed. They took their time, rolling together in exhales and grasping touches, the sheets bunching under Jed’s back as Redford moved above him, the brilliant orange of the fading sun painting Redford’s skin on fire.
And when they finally did collapse, when the slow pace turned urgent, Redford’s gasps became quiet moans, and Jed grinned into the dark as he slid kisses along his skin. “See?” he whispered as they lay together, legs and sheets tangled all at once. “Explosions.”
They fell asleep in a messy sprawl, Jed using Redford’s bicep as a pillow, Redford’s breaths evening out into a relaxing rhythm that Jed listened to until sleep claimed him.
They woke with the sound of gunshots splitting the air.
Jed jerked upright, heart pounding, a cold sweat making him shiver. At first there was nothing, the throb of his heartbeat in his ears, the sick sour stench of his own fear. A dream, maybe. A nightmare. He had those. But then a third shot rang out, followed by the high-pitched yelp of a wolf in pain. Jed was tumbling out of bed before he had time to realize he was moving, grabbing his jeans, shoving his boots on, tugging on a shirt even as he ran out the door.
“Get my bag from the Jeep!” he hollered to Redford, grabbing his Glock from the holster he’d left by the door and thundering down the stairs, out onto the lawn.
Another drawn-out howl, this one cut short by the staccato bursts of a semiautomatic. And then there really was nothing but silence.
Shit.