The Thing About Weres

“Well, get over it,” I replied. “You don’t need it.”

His face grew as mean as the day I’d won his stack of Pokemon cards. “You know, when I crossed that portal, I thought there was a good chance that you’d died of old age. It grieved me. Well, look what I found. My twin’s only twenty-two. She’s still got her whole life in front of her. Not a cloud in her sky, or a useful thought in her head. She’s mated herself to the Alpha of Creemore, and she’s going to live in this nice home, and everything’s going to be roses and sunshine.”

Enough. Nasty did a push-up inside me and said, “Let me at him.”

“Roses and sunshine?” I said acidly. “You think I don’t live with a knife over my head? Well, try this on for size—I’m an ‘abomination,’ too.” I read confusion on his face, and the ugly side of me preened. “My true talent isn’t minor—it’s unique. I’m a mystwalker. I started walking through your dreams back when you were still playing with your G.I. Joes. And you know what? I must be a damn good one, because I don’t need some Mage to train me to travel to Threall.”

Disgust rippled across his face.

I gave him a twisted smile. “I could go to Threall and thumb through your memories like they were the yellow pages.” My Fae stirred inside me, dragon eyes slitting open. “You want to know what souls look like? They’re round as a ball, and as bright as stars in the sky. They have absolutely no defense against a mystwalker— they hang like fruit waiting to be plucked from ancient trees. All I’d have to do is touch your tree, and I’d be in your mind. I could see past every lie. I could mine every black deed you ever did or even thought of doing. I could examine your life as ruthlessly as you’ve dismissed mine.”

What caused what happened next? The raw exchange of truths? The reality of my true talent? Or the sudden ugliness that spewed from me?

Whatever it was it only took Lexi a split second to act.

He whipped the sugar bowl at Biggs.

Fast as a pit fighter, Lexi pivoted—chair in hand—and brought it crashing down on Cordelia. She fell with an operatic moan. Two steps and he was by her side, yanking Ralph up and over her head. Her wig came off with it, and when she made a quick instinctive snatch for it, he lashed out with his foot. She rolled away, her hand covering her balding head. But she didn’t rise—vindictive and snarling—and bitch-slap him right back to Merenwyn.

My fleeting thought—this from the woman who threatened to hurl me into the pond for forgetting to put the cap back on the milk bottle?—was interrupted by Anu’s scream.

As shrieks go, it was as piercing as a banshee on moonshine. She charged, mouth in a fearsome grimace, wedding quilt a flying cape behind her. Her father half turned, caught her in full momentum. For a split second he held on to her, their bodies twisting, and then he let go, and she stumbled backward.

That’s your daughter.

My niece’s hip caught the Welsh dresser, toppling some china off its pine shelf. The old earthenware platter—pink spring blossoms on a cream background—fell and cracked into two jagged pieces. Lexi spun for Biggs, but the younger Were appeared to be dazed. A trickle of blood streamed from a cut on his cheek. Seriously? He got nailed with a sugar bowl, and he’s near out for the count? I’ve seen Biggs face far worse. My brother snorted, snatched up the backpack, and pulled open the back door. He glanced outside, then flashed me one last penetrating glance over his shoulder. One I had no frame of reference for, nor any inclination to untangle its meaning.

He ran.

And for a second I just stood there, stunned, my anger doused by a disappointment so wretched all I wanted to do was sink down to the floor. Was there anything salvageable in my brother? Anything?

Damn right there was something salvageable. He was my brother.

I started for the door, crying, “Lexi, come back!”

Biggs stepped in front of me. “No,” he said, blocking the doorway.

“Get out of my way!” I slapped at the arm stretched across the threshold. When a hard-eyed Biggs didn’t budge, I ducked and tried to slip under his armpit, but Cordelia hooked the back of my T-shirt, and when I tried to slither out of that, she grabbed my hair. My eyes slit as I strained against the tug on my scalp.

I spat through my teeth, “I order you to—”

Cordelia’s voice was firm. “You don’t give the orders now, darling.”

Yeah. That sent me straight into orbit.

What followed was a three-second, undignified scuffle of slapping hands, pulling hair, and blinding fury that ended with my own horrible shriek—not a Xena banshee yell—just a woman’s howl of absolute frustration and impotent rage. They were bigger than me—physically subduing me was a given. Biggs wrapped me in a bear hug, trapping my hands so that no magic could fly, and as he did, the ferret slipped through the maze of our feet.

It raced across the grass, seemingly intent on catching up to my twin.

“Lexi! Come back,” I choked out once more as Biggs lifted me off my feet.

My brother was past the clothesline by the time Trowbridge slid into the room. He’d cleared the hydrangeas when Biggs hauled me away to the back corner and was beyond the old sugar maple when Cordelia passed her Alpha the loaded shotgun.

Oh Goddess, no. “Don’t hurt my brother,” I said in an awful voice.

“One of you take Hedi out of the room,” growled Trowbridge, raising the gun to his naked shoulder. Biggs gave me an apologetic squeeze and started to back us toward the other door—the one that led to that dimly lit hallway and a room with dark memories.

“Don’t shoot him! I’ll make him show you the Safe Passage. I will—”

“Biggs, now!” snarled Trowbridge.

It was an instant, visceral reaction—hands caught, escape impossible—I called up my flare. It came on powerfully hard, its progress from sleep to full light fast as flipping a switch. With it came heat. I felt incandescent, a Fae blowtorch primed for some destruction.

My Fae brushed past my quivering Were—a thinking, clever entity no longer a serpent of doom—and she told me, “Use our wiles.”

“Biggs,” I said in a pathetic whimper. Fool that he was, he looked down to my upturned face and I nailed him. Up close and personal—a sucker punch of a flare. Undiluted by reason or caution. Green fire, made of pure vexed will and Fae spite. At that moment I didn’t give a shit who he was or what he’d done for me.

Biggs made a noise awfully like a baby’s mewl and dropped me.

And I didn’t care.

I was Hedi the Destroyer, and my flare was me laying down the law. Touch my brother and I’ll never forgive you. Stop me from coming to his aid, and I’ll kneecap you. A nicer, kinder person would have let Biggs back away. Part of me recognized that, but it amounted to a white-hankie wave from a limp-wristed sissy. I wasn’t in the mood for taking prisoners or sitting in a sharing circle. My Fae swelled inside me—we are Fae—and my light grew mercilessly fierce. Biggs made another noise—one of utter shame and dismay—and shuffled backward, shoulders hunched, eyes downcast. Then I swung my gaze toward the door, where the man with the dreads stood. You will stop. I will make you stop.

For the record, I used everything I had on him. Theoretically, he should have felt at least a little singed. But Trowbridge is, was, and will always be incombustible. He grimly lowered his eye to the gun sight.

I darted forward—I don’t know what I meant to do, pull his dreads? I was beyond thought, beyond plan, beyond reason. Half of me was protective twin, half of me was pissed-off Fae. So, I never saw it coming when Cordelia intercepted me, her square hand already primed.

She slapped my face so hard I saw stars.

I tottered for a second, holding my cheek. My BFF took quick advantage of my shock—one light kick behind my knees, and I crumpled. No sooner had I hit the floor, than she’d clamped my head between her big hands. Slowly, she forced it downward. Nails, blunt and wide, dug into my scalp. My neck was strong, but her hands were stronger, and soon green light bathed the Trowbridges’ golden oak floors. “Put it out,” she hissed. “Right