He held out his hand again, this time for a handshake. Krista, her mind plainly elsewhere, shook it. She could barely feel his hand in hers. All she could think about was Ryland.
She knew she couldn't go to the cemetery alone, and though she felt a tugging in her chest, she wondered if Tristan had been right about everything. Maybe she had been fooling herself this whole time.
A cab came to pick her up next to the overpass. Tristan paid the fare and gave a slight, sad wave as the car drove away. Krista watched him disappear through the rain-soaked window, and then she stared down at the pouch of oracle bones in her lap.
Tristan was right—it had been quite the ride.
Krista just couldn’t come to terms that it was all over now.
16. BROTHERS
The cell was cold, like everywhere else in the tunnel system. Ryland stared hopelessly at the flickering candle beside the metal bars, just barely granting him enough light. He refused to eat, and his head was beginning to feel heavy like the rest of his body. For the past few days, he had wondered where Christoph was. Maybe their first encounter, since their estrangement, was too overwhelming for him. He never liked confrontation, always keeping to himself with his books when an issue arose.
His stay in the makeshift dungeon had been miserable. The cage was made of old bars welded together from old pieces of iron gates, presumably taken from the cemetery. Ryland could no longer tell when the days became nights. The only sounds he heard were the yelps and howls of the mysterious that his brother led.
Some was unlocking a large door near him, which meant that it must be a mealtime. It was the same thing of old scraps, which made it even more difficult to determine what part of the day it was. Ryland sat up. He had not shown any signs of weakness, once, in the presence of these shifters. He was battered and tired, but he held his head as high as he could.
It wasn’t the usual shifter bringing him his meal. Instead, there was a woman carrying a battery-powered lantern. She held the door open for Christoph to walk into the room. It was still so strange for Ryland to see his own brother this way. His face had aged slightly, but he still looked like the little kid with glasses that Ryland used to play catch with.
Although he barely had the strength, Ryland stood to meet his brother’s gaze. “I was wondering when you’d show up,” he said to Christoph. Christoph seemed disturbed. “I needed some time to…prepare,” he said. “They told me it was you, but I needed to see it for myself.”
“What do you mean?”
“Hold out your arm.”
Ryland didn’t have to ask again. He rolled up his sleeve, revealing his now completely blackened arm underneath. It was painful to the touch, almost like horrible sunburn that never went away. Christoph examined it, his jaw tightening in the glow of the lantern’s light. “Damn you, Ryland,” he said through his teeth. “Why did this happen to you?”
"You think I planned for this…thing?" Ryland asked. "A shifter killed himself in front of me and this…curse…latched onto me."
“You interrupted my sacrifice’s ritual,” Christoph said shaking his head. “We recovered the body and the crystal dagger after your pack cleared out.”
“Ritual? What have you been up to all this time?” Ryland asked. Christoph paced back and forth along the bars of the cage. “You remember what great-grandfather used to talk about? About the ancient shifters and how they received their powers from the wolf gods?”
“That was just a fairy tale he’d tell us at family gatherings.”
"See, that's what I thought —until I had some time to myself to think it over. After you and I had…parted ways, I spent some time brushing up on my history. The ancient shifters knew they could awaken something incredibly powerful if they could use a ceremonial knife to harvest wolf souls."
"You're losing me here," Ryland said. Christoph placed his fingers on his temples. "I forgot I have to put things simply for you," he said. "I've been building my own pack since I left the Rogues. There are shifters here without a faction. They wander aimlessly around here, seeking guidance and direction. I've been taking them under my wing, and we've built our base here under the cemetery in Central City."
“What does that have to do with you killing other shifters?”
"We've only been taking the ones that intrude on our rituals. The shifter texts revealed that if one could gather enough wolf souls, they could be joined together in a living vessel to summon an incredible power."
“And I’m the vessel, then?”
Christoph turned from Ryland, and Ryland could sense his brother softening somehow.
"You weren't supposed to be, ” he said, his voice somber. "We sent a shifter to a private space to practice the final ritual. He was our host until you appeared. I was told an enemy pack had arrived and sabotaged the ceremony, but I didn't know that it had been the Rogues. ”
“That’s what this is, then?” Ryland held up his arm. “The wolf souls are inside of me, now?”
Christoph shook his head. He reached into the pocket of his ragged coat and pulled out the dagger Ryland had seen before. It glistened in the lamplight—a long, polished crystallized blade emerging from the decorative handle. Soft pulses of blue energy spread through it, forming patterns in the gemstone.
Christoph admired the shape of it, his gaze following along the sharpened blade. "Great-grandfather wasn't just buried with the oracle bones," he explained.
"The wolf souls are contained in the crystal dagger, our ceremonial weapon. However, the final soul comes from the host, who must lose his own life to the blade. What's taking place inside of you isn't a curse, it's the weakened spirit of what we'd been trying to summon. It's been feeding off of you, searching for a way out."
"Why haven't I heard of this? I've read every shifter text and not one mentions anything about this ritual."
"You should remember where your private library came from," Christoph said, pushing up his glasses. "I knew every title on those shelves by heart, and I knew there was one that couldn't be brought to anyone else's eyes, including yours. So I took it. After all, I was building a pack of my own. That day I left was the day you became my enemy."
He stared straight ahead, deep in his own mind somewhere. It seemed as though there was more he wanted to say, but not with foreign ears around.
"Leave me," he said finally to his shifter companion. The woman beside him left the lantern next to Christoph on her way out, closing the door behind her. The silence between Ryland and his brother was overwhelming, a game of who would be the first to crack.
“This isn’t a pack at all, Christoph,” Ryland said. “This is a cult.”
“I don’t like to use that phrase, but yes. If you must call it something, you could consider us a cult that worships the ancient spirit.”
"I wouldn't have thought a scholar like you would get caught up in brainwashing practices."
"I'm not brainwashing anyone! Not like what you've done with the Rogues! Turning them all into combat automatons for your disposal!" Christoph's voice echoed around the chamber.
"I'm their alpha," Ryland said firmly. "I was doing what's best for them."
"You still don't understand. We were all afraid of you! Do you think the Rogues stayed out of respect? I tried to help you see that, to tell you it should be a community."
“So you left and formed a cult? Is that the community you’ve been seeking?”
“Nothing’s changed, Ryland. I’ve found a way to move on, to prove myself stronger than the others without making a display of myself.”
“What about all those symbols you’ve been leaving? Or the wolf corpses you’ve carelessly left behind in your wake? Your cult killed my strategist. That sounds like quite the display to me!”
“Henna?” Christoph’s voice was softer now.
“You didn’t know?”
“I told them to just take anyone they saw falling behind.”
Ryland couldn’t believe these words were coming from his brother’s
mouth. Christoph had been such a kind spirit when they were younger. Now he had turned into a thoughtless killer, a cult leader hungry for power.
“I should have never kicked you out,” Ryland said. “So many lives would have been spared if not for you. I might have been amongst them.”
“Don’t,” Christoph warned. “Don’t…remind me.”
"About what? How you're going to kill your own brother for power? I may be tough on my pack, but I'd never take life to prove myself worthy of leading it."
"Are you so sure about that? It was reported to me that someone tore one of my members to shreds when they tried to obtain the oracle."
Ryland felt the sting throughout his body. He knew he hadn't been himself when he had killed that shifter, but it was still painful to think about his lack of control over the ancient spirit inside of him, or how Krista had looked at him afterwards. An image of Tristan's face trembling against his fist tugged at his heart. He had done violent and terrible things, and he wondered how much of that was the ‘curse' and how much of it was him.
"I found a picture of us when we started the Rogues," he said trying to shift his brother's thoughts to other places. "If you knew we'd be here today, what would you have said?"
“I’d say we were making a huge mistake,” Christoph said. To Ryland’s surprise, a small smile cracked on his brother’s lips. Christoph sat down, leaning his back against the cage.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said, keeping his gaze forward. “I’m sorry this has happened to you. If I had known it was you…”
Ryland sensed the conflict forming with his brother. He crouched down beside him, daring to reach his hand out of the cage and placing it on Christoph’s shoulder.
“Then why don’t you help me stop this?” He said quietly. “Help me purge this spirit, and maybe…maybe we could try this whole thing again.”
Christoph didn’t turn around. His shoulder felt cold under Ryland’s touch. “It’s not that simple,” Christoph said.
"We can both be alpha. Help me rebuild the pack. We'd be unstoppable together."
“I have my own pack to think about now. I’ve come so far for this—years of research. So much blood spilled-”
"So what? Let me out of here. We can drop all of this. You can even take your pack with you." He reached again between the bars, handing Christoph the very photograph he spoke of. Christoph held it, unable to tear his gaze away from the two young men staring back at him.
"My pack doesn't serve me alone. Their diligence lies with the Ancient One," Christoph flipped a switch, standing and pulling away from Ryland's touch. "And so does mine."
He picked the lantern off the ground, casting crooked shadows around the chamber. “He’ll be here soon,” he said. “And we’ll prepare you for the final sacrifice.”
“Are you listening to yourself right now?” Ryland cried out. “Please tell me you’re aware of how crazy all of this sounds!”
Christoph froze in place. “I always wanted to be the best,” he said. “You’ve had your chance, Ryland, throughout our entire lives. Now it’s my turn.”
“Christoph!” Ryland clutched at the bars, shaking them furiously. His body and heart ached, and he silently wished this evil spirit would help him rip the cage apart. But his brother kept walking without giving him another glance.
Then, Christoph turned, keeping his gaze on his feet. "We still need the oracle, you know," he said. "Word has spread that you're somehow connected to her. I'll have you know you'll be reunited soon."
“Don’t you touch her,” Ryland growled as he rattled the cage bars.
“I can’t have her power interfering with our final ceremony,” Christoph said.
Ryland remembered the image painted on the wall. The blue woman locked in a cage. Christoph was lost, and though he was furious, Ryland wondered if there was any way to get his brother back. Ryland had lost him once before, but perhaps there was a chance, a chance that Ryland had wished for so long ago.
Once the door slammed and Christoph had left him alone, Ryland sank back down to the ground, holding his head in his hands. “Krista, you have to run”, he thought. He hoped that if only he could think of her long enough, he could somehow manifest his thoughts into hers. If they were as connected as he thought, maybe he could reach out to her. Two spirits calling to each other in the unseen realm.
“Please, Krista. Please, be somewhere safe…”
17. ORACLE
“Alright, Krista, just close your eyes and concentrate on the light.” Her mother, Helene, always had a stern voice with never a hint of charm to it.
“Mom, for the last time, I don’t even see a light!” The sixteen-year-old Krista ran her tongue along her braces, her eyes partially opening to look at the wild-haired woman standing in front of her, dressed in long curtains of eccentric fabric. She vaguely resembled Krista, the same light-colored eyes, full of wisdom, and elfin features.
“That’s why you have to concentrate. The spiritual realm is hard to reach. It requires all of our practice and attention to access it.”
Krista sat cross-legged on a pile of pillows, trying to steady her breathing as she meditated. Her mind kept wandering. What did she eat for lunch today? How many times would she have to study her tarot deck before she finally understood it? When would she finally be able to go back to school and to her friends. She’d probably be in math class if it had been an ordinary day. So many thoughts mingled in her mind, creating a wall of static. Finally, she opened her eyes with a tired sigh. “I can’t do it. I’ve got nothing.”
“Can’t is just an excuse.”
“No, really mom, I can’t. I don’t know why you keep pushing this on me after I’ve told you. I don’t have the ‘gift’ or whatever you call it.” She tried to stand up from the pillows, but her mother placed her hands firmly on her shoulders and pressed her back down.
“I know you’re too young to understand,” she said firmly. “But my power is fading, and it’ll only be a matter of time before I have to leave you here.”
“Is that what happened to Dad?”
Helene’s eyes flitted away from Krista’s gaze. “There are some people that don’t understand this gift,” she said quietly. “Your father was one of them. If you stay away from men, you won’t have to deal with such things. Now, let’s try again...”
“Please, Krista. Please, be somewhere safe…”
Krista's eyes opened, and for a second she was startled to find herself back in her loft above the psychic's shop. She could have sworn she had heard Ryland's voice calling out to her in her sleep. A cluster of beer cans clattered onto the floor as she sat up on the couch. Last night had been rough. She had forgotten the state the shop was in before she had run away from it. It had taken hours for her to clean it up to a state where her clients would even be willing to return, if they were after she had disappeared without warning.
She cooked herself a quick breakfast with the only ingredients that weren't spoiled in her fridge. As she ate, she took a quick peek outside the window by her bed. There were two shifters circulating around the shop, their eyes and ears open for any suspicious activity. Not only did they make Krista feel safer, but they also brought her a strange sense of comfort that she didn't have to leave the world of shifters entirely behind her.
As she put her bowl in the sink, her attention was drawn to the silk bag of oracle bones on the counter. She reached out for them but hesitated. Ryland's words echoed in her mind, about how she should never give up. She still hadn't heard anything about his whereabouts. She wondered just how long she should wait until she gave up.
The sign on the door flipped from closed to open as Krista unlocked the door to her shop. She glanced at the shelves, now neatly tidied up and filled with her mother’s belongings. Before she could reach out and grab one of the books, the bell on the entryway gave a slight ring.
“Oh, Mrs. Remy! It’s nice to see you come in so early,” she said.
Mrs. Remy’s purse dangled
over her arm as she shuffled her old body into the store. “Do you know how happy I was to see that you were open?” she said with a warm grandmotherly-like smile. “I tried to call the shop many times, only to find you were closed.”
"We had to make some…repairs," Krista said. "I needed the vacation anyway."
“Don’t we all? I hope you had time to relax.”
“Oh, I could still use a few more days of rest.” Krista nearly laughed at the irony. If only Mrs. Remy knew everything she had been through and the things she had experienced in the shifter’s world. The thought of it had only made her sad now. Once again, she found herself back in her shop, carrying on business as usual. Even the devoted Mrs. Remy had shown up. Life was normal. As it should be, Krista shrugged.
"Are you here for a reading?" She asked the old woman and she went to pull out a chair for her at her reading table. To her surprise, Mrs. Remy shook her head. "Not at all, dear. In fact, I'm here to give you a thank you gift." She dug through her purse, and handed Krista a packet wrapped in tissue paper. Krista unfolded it and revealed a lovely delicate headscarf.
She nearly gasped as she unraveled it, staring in awe at the glittering moon and star patterns embedded in the black chiffon. “Oh, this is far too generous, Mrs. Remy-” she began.
“Go on,” Mrs. Remy prodded. “Try it on!”
Krista smiled at the fabric as she wrapped it carefully around her head, letting it drape over her shoulders. She turned to look at herself in the mirror. “My God,” she said. “I’m nearly the spit and image of my mother!” As soon as she realized it, she felt a heavy weight on her—a feeling of power surrounding her.
"Now you look like a real fortune teller," Mrs. Remy said, admiring the contrast of the fabric against the red shock of Krista's hair. "I'm paying it forward if you will. After all, you've done a lot for me to help me find happiness."
“So you asked out that man in the assisted living home after all?” Krista asked with a knowing smirk. Mrs. Remy surprised her again as she shook her head once more.
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