by Mason Sabre
“This is why we make the decisions and why tabby cats stay at home and watch the litter,” Stephen scoffed.
Gemma took a step forward, her face furious. Stephen shook his head at her.
“One day you will understand,” Malcolm began. “This is how it has to be. It won’t matter what the Other’s reason is for doing what they did. What matters is what he did, and the Humans will want recompense of some kind.”
“And if we say no? What’s the worst they can do?”
“Bring war,” Stephen said. “Real war—and we don’t want that.”
“There doesn’t have to be a war,” she protested.
“There is always war,” Stephen said. “It doesn’t matter how little or big the enemy, Humans love war. It is what they do and what they want.”
“They can't beat us, though. Not really. They think they can because they have more numbers than us, but we’re stronger than they are.”
Malcolm sighed, and Stephen had to share his sentiments in that moments. “You’re talking about things that you don’t understand. It isn’t as simple as that. How many of our own would we lose if we went to war?”
“Maybe we could show them we don’t take it?”
“Humans are stupid,” Stephen said. His father shot him a look of admonition, but he ignored it. “Stupidity makes people do bad things. We might be physically stronger than them, but they have powerful weapons. We could lose out to them in war. They would wipe everyone out, including themselves, just so that they could win. Then where would we be?”
“So we coward to their every whim? Like slaves? Eat scraps and let them burn everything down?
“It doesn’t matter, Gemma,” her father cut in, his stern tone saying he had had enough. “This is how it is regardless of what you think of it. Now, I suggest that you go and get ready because we all have to go.”
“You’ll ask for time to find the one who did it?” Gemma needed her father’s reassurance.
“Yes.”
“Then we’ll turn them over?”
“Yes.”
“Kill them first, then.” She glanced at Stephen, and he knew what she was thinking. She was worried that Cade would get caught, implicated because of his actions. “Kill whoever it is we find. Don’t turn them over alive. Put them out in a merciful way.”
There was a long pause, and Gemma stopped breathing. “We’ll see,” Malcolm finally said. “Go get ready.”
Chapter Fifteen
It was no surprise to Stephen that Andrew Patterson was there early. He wouldn’t feel safe any other way. Arriving before the Others would allow him to scope the premises and set up his different lackeys with their weapons in all corners of the warehouse. Humans were no match for Others in terms of strength. The only way for them to feel they had any kind of upper hand was to scurry around with a hundred weapons. It also wasn’t a surprise that he had brought his entire little entourage with him—all of them armed, of course, and all of them ready to jump and piss in their pants if Stephen simply said boo. It was so tempting to sneak up behind them, pat them on the shoulder and wish them a good day. Of course, he knew that that would get him into more shit than it was worth, but the thought amused him nonetheless. Humans … fucking idiots.
Malcolm got out of his car and smoothed down his suit. Stephen wasn’t anywhere as neatly dressed as his father—jeans and a t-shirt—but he wasn’t there to make an impression. They entered the building and took their places in the front. At either side of the warehouse were the insurance people. Gemma sat behind her father. Emily, their mother, sat next to her with twelve-year-old Evie on the other side in the corner. She was reading and had headphones on. Stephen didn’t know whether he envied her ignorance to it all, or whether it worried him because she had no idea how dangerous the world really was. Gemma’s face, on the other hand, was nothing but worry, concern and anger. Oh, he had been able to feel the tension radiating from her in spades on the drive over. She had given up her protest about the boy, though, but Stephen had reassured her that their father would do the best he could.
Stephen stood beside Malcolm, both patiently waiting. Father and son stood with their hands clasped behind their backs, watching as the Humans filed in and took their places. Patterson was the last to enter the actual building. The coward, like them all, sent in his wife and two daughters first. One of the daughters was perhaps around the same age as Gemma, young and pretty. She sat there chewing on one of her nails and already looking terribly bored by the political crap about to start. Stephen watched her. As if sensing his eyes on her, she lifted her head and looked right at him. He couldn’t help himself, of course. He winked at her and she flushed, an instant smile spreading across her face. Her sister, who was perhaps a couple of years older, smacked her in the arm. “Don’t look at him,” she whispered. “They're dangerous. They spread diseases.” Stephen was Other; he heard every word. Seems their idiocy travelled down the lines, too. Never mind. She was nice to look at.
Flanked by two armed guards, Patterson took his position opposite Malcolm, clearing his throat and shuffling his papers like some important government official. Malcolm didn’t move at all.
Stephen studied Patterson. He had had the misfortune of meeting him twice before. He didn’t like him any better with each meeting. The Human was supposed to be a leader, but he was anything but. He was a fat, balding, middle-aged man, with a stomach that bulged over the top of his pants, the buttons on his shirt straining as it tried to hold his gut. He sweated like a fat-bellied pig on a spit as he spoke, every word out of his mouth dripping with venom.
Armed guards were spread across the warehouse, their big guns trained on Malcolm and his posse. Stephen scoffed at their weakness and fear. Others never needed to bring any weapons to any of these meetings. They were weapons in themselves. The Humans’ guns didn’t hold bullets—not the usual kind, at least—they were useless against Others. They had created bullets that worked like liquid—one of the few things that Stephen had to give them credit for. They contained silver and when shot at an Other, they exploded like a child’s water balloon and soaked into their clothing, or fur if they had shifted. Though it wouldn’t kill the Other—the Humans hadn't been that great yet—it would, however, incapacitate them long enough to be killed. How very brave of them.
The deputies of each contingent sat on either side of their leaders. Trevor sat on the one side with Aaron, and some Human that Stephen didn’t know nor did he care for sat on the other side with two more guards—their jobs were to observe and be impartial. In Trevor’s case, this notion was laughable. It was like having a hungry snake there to watch your back and hope that he wouldn’t bite you in the neck when you weren’t paying attention. Stephen had a profound dislike for Trevor. He wanted Malcolm’s position, and someone who was after power was dangerous. That was the problem with the Humans—they wanted power, and witless though they may be, that made them dangerous.
Patterson wasted no time starting the meeting. No pleasantries or polite formalities, just straight to it. Stephen smirked. The fucking idiot was shaking. He was clutching his papers—which were probably blank—to hide the tremor in his hands, like a little comfort blanket. He reeked of nervous apprehension. “Do you have what we are looking for?” he demanded, sweat beading and rolling down his pudgy face.
Malcom’s expression was stoic and gave nothing away, his eyes firmly fixed on the Human. There was not a single drop of fear there as he spoke. “No, we do not.”
Stephen’s gaze stayed riveted on the Human and his little guards as Malcolm spoke. He enjoyed the way Patterson seemed to squirm under his intense stare.
“I should like to remind you that a child was murdered yesterday,” Patterson sputtered when Malcolm offered nothing more. “He was taken and attacked by one of your … your monsters. Five, innocent boys who were simply on their way home, minding their own business.”
“There were five of them, and only one was killed?” Malcolm’s eyebrow rose in mock su
rprise.
Three more men stepped forward, two coming to stand in front of Patterson and the other behind him. The Human seemed to gain confidence with that the extra protection. It wouldn’t matter, though, how many men he brought in, Stephen thought. If the Others wanted Patterson dead, he would be. Didn’t he realise that?
“Yes, and you should be thankful for that,” Patterson declared.
Stephen rolled his eyes as he stood there, the fabric of his t-shirt straining over the powerfully muscled arms folded over his chest.
“I believe that your … pet,” he spat disdainfully, eyeing Stephen up and down with contempt, “has something to say.” Patterson had stopped shaking now, and his face had turned red with indignation.
“I was merely thinking that if it was an attack, then it wouldn’t just have been one child.” It was true. Stephen was positive that if an Other had attacked those boys, they would have all been dead now. Humans were such fragile creatures. They died with such ease. Patterson’s daughter, who had been staring intently at Stephen throughout the exchange, now smirked at her father’s unease.
“I’m very sorry for the loss you have endured,” Malcolm said nonchalantly. “We will do everything in our power to find the person responsible and bring them to justice.”
Patterson went blood-red. “No. I demand you bring them to me. I do not trust your justice.” The Human glanced around the room at Malcolm’s delegation, scowling, his face twisting in loathing.
As Stephen watched this Human grow bolder with each passing moment, and with it, the hatred that emanated from him, he knew there was no way in hell he was letting him get his hands on the boy—and certainly not on Cade.
“Demand?” Malcolm raised an eyebrow in quiet displeasure.
“We want the Other responsible for this,” Patterson insisted, still feeling bold behind his guards and their guns. “We have the infection tracer.”
Trevor made a move as if he was to stand and Stephen stopped him with a brusque shake of his head. The look on Trevor’s face told him he’d be in shit for that later, but the last thing they needed was Trevor getting all hot under his collar about crap and blowing everything. He sat back again, arms folded at his chest and lips tight. It would be a miracle if he managed to keep his mouth shut the entire time, Stephen thought.
Every word from Patterson’s mouth was an insult. An “infection tracer” was what Humans used to identify Others who had some kind of connection to one another. Stephen and Gemma had the same tracer—if he committed a crime, then she could rightly be accused of it in the Humans’ small minds. Implying that Others were a diseased miasma that could infect Humans if they got too close enraged Stephen and was a fucking offence to his entire race. Granted, they could get “infected”, but it had to be from a bite. It wasn’t a disease. If anyone spread disease in this world, that would be the Humans—their corruption and hate claimed the lives of millions, their weak bodies easily dying from deadly viruses and sicknesses they themselves had caused. Stephen’s hands balled into fists behind his back, but it did nothing to calm his mind. The problem with the tracer was that it wasn’t as precise as DNA. It was the same for anyone related to another.
Ignoring the insult to his race, Malcolm met Patterson’s glare head-on. Stephen knew that as leader of the Society, his father would do everything in his power to maintain peace. They might be physically stronger than Humans, but Humans had destructive weapons, and outnumbered the Others by millions. The Humans might suffer many more casualties in the event of a war, but their population was in the billions on this earth. Others were in the hundreds. The loss of even one Other was one Malcolm was not willing to incur. He would keep the peace as much and as far as he could. Patterson knew this. “We will do everything we can to locate him,” Malcolm finally said, calmer than Stephen would have managed, and calmer than Trevor could ever have been.
“We want him alive,” the Human spat. “Although he won’t be for very long after,” he sneered. The guards around him chortled. A muscle worked in Malcolm’s jaw, but he held himself back. Even the great Trevor remained still as he stared, but his eyes betrayed him. “You have one week to deliver the person to us.”
Gemma gasped from behind them and Stephen hoped she’d not give in to her rashness and say anything. Too many things were at stake, and making Malcolm publicly reprimand her in front of the Humans would be the ultimate humiliation. Malcolm didn’t even twitch at her reaction, though. Perhaps he had been expecting it.
“One week is not long enough. A month.”
Patterson shook his head curtly. “Two weeks and no more. I have been generous enough.”
Trevor snorted, but he was ignored.
“We cannot deliver someone that fast. There are things that we must do correctly, and our resources are limited in comparison to yours.”
“Are you saying that it is my fault?”
“I am saying that we are at a disadvantage, and so we need time to enable us to do our job properly.”
The Human glared at Malcolm. Stephen watched him closely, keeping an eye out for those tell-tale signs that he was about to do something stupid. Patterson glanced at Stephen and momentary fear flitted across his features at the feral expression on his face. He stepped back from his position behind his lectern, moving closer to Malcolm. Like little puppets, the armed men moved with him in perfect synchrony. Patterson stopped a foot from Malcolm, his bravado only as big as the men with the guns at his side. “For every day that you go over,” he continued, though this time there was a slight tremor to his voice, “you will accrue a debt that will be collected in blood. I do not care whose blood it will be, but it will not be mine.”
“You will bring war onto yourself,” Malcolm replied evenly, not having moved an inch from his place.
“Are you threatening me?” As if on cue, the men beside Patterson aimed their guns at Malcolm. Trevor stood up, and then so did his counterpart on Patterson’s side.
“No,” Malcolm replied evenly, seemingly unaffected by the fact that he had about a dozen guns aimed at him. “I am telling you what will happen.” Stephen recognised that tone all too well. Deep, authoritative, the kind that spoke loudly, even though he hadn’t raised his voice at all. Only a fool would dare to argue with Malcolm now. “We will search for whomever it is that attacked the boy,” he continued in that unflappable tone. “We, unlike you, do not tolerate murder. It is not our way. But we also do not tolerate bullying, and you, sir, I do believe are nothing more than a bully. We met here today with the aim of making a compromise for what we both want—the culprit of this transgression found. But it would seem to me that you are hell-bent on pushing buttons that you really do not want to push.”
Patterson curled his lip in disdain. A look was exchanged with the man who had come along and was sitting quietly to the side simply observing. A curt nod from him and Patterson abruptly turned back to Malcolm. “You will do as I say …”
Malcolm took a step forward and brought himself nose to nose with Patterson, towering at least half a foot above the Human. The guns came up high and all aimed at Malcolm’s head. “Or what?”
Stephen moved forward, standing side to side with his father. Half the guards turned their weapons onto him, but he could smell the stench of their fear nonetheless. They knew that if he decided to act, he’d take down nearly all of them before any of the further-away guards even had time to fire their gun. Others in the room had got to their feet, all in a state of readiness. Even Aaron had moved to flank Malcolm on the opposite side, a sign of protection of his leader, and one which surprised Stephen—though he was pretty sure it was more a dislike of the Humans than actual protection of Malcolm.
Patterson stepped back into his crowd, white as a sheet. Malcolm stayed put, but his gaze never wavered from the Human’s. Patterson nodded to one of his faithful lackeys, and the man came forward with what looked like nothing more than a child’s pea-shooter. He raised it towards Malcolm’s temple, but he never made it far
ther than that. Stephen lunged with feline speed. He grabbed the man’s wrist and twisted his arm around his back so that the gun was aimed at the Human’s spine. It wouldn’t kill him, but it sure as shit would do some damage where it was. “One twitch and your hand is broken,” Stephen growled. His other hand grabbed the man in a chokehold, holding his head back and unable to move. Stephen knew that his eyes had shifted, the green now flecked with gold. His canines had extended and he could feel the tips dig into his lip. He snarled, making no effort to hide them.
“Call him off,” Patterson shouted. “This whole room is armed and ready. Do you think I won’t give the command?” Despite the threat, the underlying panic in his voice was clear as day.
“Go for it,” Stephen sneered as he swivelled around with the Human. “I haven’t hunted today.”
Patterson turned to Malcolm, anger intertwined with trepidation. “This is what you call control? That … your … your …” He waved his hand in the air as if looking for the right word. “Your pet here has one of my men, and you do nothing.”
“Your man was about to threaten me. Had I done the same to you, I have no doubt that you would have attempted to end my life.”
“You’re monsters. All of you,” Patterson yelled. “How do we know that you can control yourselves? Probably why this boy was killed.”
Malcolm took another step forward and Patterson stepped back, eyes widening. The armed guards didn’t know where to aim their weapons, going between Malcolm and the rest of the Others, who were equally as dangerous. Malcolm stopped when Patterson had nowhere else to go. “If there was no control, then my son would have killed your man by now. It takes a great deal of control to hang between the balance of man and wolf. If there was no control, your man would be dead.”
Everyone in the room fell silent. Nervous fingers on triggers, the slightest sound or move ready to set them off.
“We will search for this … person,” said Malcolm, choosing his words. “We will bring them to justice, and then we will give them to you so that you may verify that it is the one responsible. We will take a month to do it. Think, Mr Patterson. Do you really want war when this could be dealt with in a more pleasing manner?”