The Thing About Weres

“Have you ever seen the Pool of Life up close?” I asked.

“Once I swam in it,” my brother said. “I thought it might cure me.”

I drew in a sharp breath and then realized that I had a sense of smell—something I never possessed in my own dreams. Oh Lexi. Here in the world of my brother’s fantasy, where there was only truth as he knew it, my twin carried the scent of the wolf. Woods and the wild, with the faintest trace of summer flowers.

Remember his scent.

“The Pool of Life’s water is cold,” he said drowsily. “Like the creek used to be in spring. You have to pick your way carefully because the bottom’s all shale. But there are no weeds or eels … I hate eels.”

Lexi’s hand lay limp by his hip, fingers half curled.

“I remember.” I stared at his bluing nails.

You’re cold.

With a silent prayer, I reached for his hand.

The odds were heavily weighted that he’d withdraw from my touch. I waited, knowing he had the absolute right to do so. But, no. Lexi didn’t resist or stiffen. He allowed me to curl my fingers around his icy ones so that I could warm them with my heat.

“The water is really clear; you can see right to the bottom.” He made a low, wistful hum. “The deeper you go, the rougher the ground gets.”

“With rocks,” I said, thinking of Trowbridge. “Some of them are slippery.”

A slow nod. “So you know.”

Yes, I know. So many things I know too late.

“I’m tired, Hell,” he said heavily.

A dark bird flew overhead. A hawk? A raven? Some bird of prey, winging its way back to its nest with something small and limp hanging from its beak.

“I can’t remember what Dad looked like anymore.” Quiet misery a dragging weight to each word. “The only things I can remember well are his hands. He had big hands.”

“Yes, he did.” Very much like the one I clasped.

“I wish I could remember his face.”

The tree line blurred and I took a ragged breath. “I can show you if you want.”

“Yeah?”

“You bet.” I riffled through my memories and chose my favorite.

“Ah,” he breathed as he received it.

It was a simple thought picture. Mundane even. The four of us—Dad and Mum, Lexi and I—sitting at our pine table under the golden light of the old brass lamp. The kitchen’s old faded red-checked curtains pulled tight against the dark of the night. A heaping platter of roast beef down at the boy’s end of the table. A bowl of maple syrup in front of me. Mom’s honey-laden spoon close to her parted red lips. Dad’s head thrown back, his dark eyes twinkling as he laughed at something Lexi had said.

“We were so young,” he marveled.

“Yes.”

Lexi’s eyelids drooped. “You were right last night. Dad would have hated what I’ve become.”

Twin, forgive me for the hurt I have caused.

“Lexi, I was talking trash. You have to believe this—Dad would never have hated you.” A breeze, pine fragrant, without the slightest trace of honeysuckle, stirred the leaves overhead. “He would have raged over every blow that you received. He would have mourned for every choice taken from you. You survived, Lexi. Dad would have been so happy that you did.”

“I had a few choices, Hell,” he said. “But I always chose life instead.”

As I have for you, Lexi.

I pulled a wisp of hair free from his eyelashes. “Believe that, okay?” I coaxed. “He’d never have stopped loving you.”

He needs proof.

So, I brought up one last thought picture. It had been seared into my memory; my covetous eyes had snapped it in a moment of pique. The two of them as seen by me from the back steps of our old home. Dad stood, both hands in the back pockets of his jeans, looking out over the pond. His thick dark hair cut short so his tanned neck was visible. At his elbow, a young Lexi. Same haircut. His shoulders sparrow thin. His hands thrust into his pockets.

Two wolves inspecting their territory.

The picture had always stirred my jealousy, but now, I blessed it. Pleasure, sweet and pure, softened my brother’s face.

“I miss him,” he said huskily.

The urge to tell him, to offer him hope, was so strong.

Silence is the price, Hedi of the mouse heart.

“I’m tired,” he said. “So tired.”

“You can leave, Lexi.” I rested my head on the hard rounded swell of his shoulder. “If you have to go, you can.”

“I will soon.” He sighed. “It’s nice like this, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I said simply.

The bird of prey lifted off from his perch with a fast flutter of strong wings. A peregrine? Yes, probably. I watched the falcon beat his way high into the clear blue sky, searching for a thermal current, finding it, then spreading his feathers wide. Lazily, he glided on it. Slipping from airstream to airstream. Thieving power from the wind. With a harsh cry, it turned away from the Pool of Life. Another beat of wings. Upward to another current. He used it to soar toward the hills. Free. Beautiful.

Lexi said something too low to catch, under his breath.

“What did you say?” I asked, watching the bird.

“My daughter will never have to drink sun potion.”

Satisfaction in his voice.

Will I ever really understand him?

“No,” I swore. “She’ll never have to do that.”

“You’ll raise her as pack?”

“Yes.” The bird was but a distant speck in the sky.

“School’s going to be hard. Keep an eye out, okay?”

My throat tightened. “I promise.”

“I love you, Hell.”

Dark brown eyelashes, thick and stubby, fluttered closed.

“I love you, too, Lexi,” I whispered, stroking his jaw.

He murmured, “I’m really sleepy now, Hell.”

“You rest.” I combed his tangled skein of hair flat. “I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.”

Chapter Thirty

Things followed after that.

Simple things, if you examined each action separately. I waited until I could count to twenty between each breath and then I pressed a final kiss on Lexi’s brow. After that, it took no effort of will at all to detach from my brother’s dream—the connection between us had dimmed as his world had darkened.

All I had to do was open my eyes and there was Creemore.

My brother lay in my arms. His hair was spiked and sour smelling. Something glittered, caught between two strands of wheat. I teased the thing free.

A Fae tear.