The Accords Triptych (Book 1): Wolves Without Teeth

by Thomas, Ian

  Initially, her friends’ first response had been much the same.

  What-the-actual fuck?!?!

  However, once the knowledge settled on them, seeping into their daily awareness, their responses had taken different forms. Jason had grown quiet. Completely understandable given his fleeting, sexual involvement with John. Mouth had seemed the most resilient probably because the supernatural was very much in his wheelhouse. While Rebecca attributed Hayley’s nonchalance to the very real fact that her best friend had seen nothing of the actual supernatural. No wolfman transformations, no demonic ritual, no high-powered witchcraft. Somehow she’d escaped those moments.

  All but the aftermath. Namely, Matteo’s brutalized body.

  “I think Jason would beat the shit out of you for saying that,” Rebecca said. “And I’d help.”

  “Your song’s about to finish.” He bolted for the production booth.

  “Hey,” she called out, not about to let him off the hook. “What’s up your butt?”

  Settling back into his chair, headphones back on his head, Mouth seemed to think the matter was closed. Rebecca knew better. With just under four hours left of the radio show, there would be no escaping her.

  “Sophomore year sucks!”

  “Just working that out now?”

  He sighed, eyeing the clock again. “Thirty seconds left. You got a winner yet?”

  “Shit.” Panicking, she returned her attention to her inbox and scrolled through the photos. The competition was highly subjective and somewhat reliant on the photography skills of the audience member. Narrowing the field was relatively easy. Firstly, delete all the selfies. Rebecca hadn’t meant the competition to have a narcissistic bent, but – well, being the Kardashian era – the student audience liked to push boundaries. Which left the rest, one in particular catching her eye.

  “Uh, Mouth,” Rebecca began. “Did you submit a photo?” His blush was confirmation enough. “Pretty sure we have rules on this kind of thing.”

  “Because no one has ever used this show to get a date,” he threw back.

  Was that Mouth’s problem, she worried. He felt left out? Was it something more? Despite having no capacity to self-censor the college sophomore was possessed enough to see jealousy as a pointless pursuit. Or so she had thought. Rebecca knew that Mouth considered them his family – a comment he didn’t make lightly. Thus seeing his friends find love, lust, or whatever they were prepared to call it, may have isolated him somewhat.

  Or was she looking for something to occupy her mind when the rest of her life seemed unfathomable?

  Rebecca didn’t reply. Turning her attention back to the submissions, and very aware of the time, she filed the thought away for later.

  Be objective. Though the irony was not lost on her. After all the radio show was where she’d met McLachlan. Flicking through the photos, she felt a brightness in the early morning hour. With no proper background in radio, designing competitions and segments for the show had erred on the side of self-interest. What was going to allow her to get through the graveyard shift that wouldn’t be bleak, depressing, or a reminder that it was called the ‘graveyard shift’ for a reason? Hence lame sweepstakes like ‘best smile’ always gave her a second wind.

  Buying her some time, Mouth cued a couple of local ads. Turned out she didn’t need it. Objectively, the photo of the young co-ed Mouth had submitted was indeed the best smile of the bunch. At first she wondered if it was the young woman from the bookstore, but quickly dismissed the thought when she remembered meeting her at Matteo’s house.

  During his recovery the house had been full of concerned people from all facets of the supernatural community. Among them, the witches. And among them, Ash from the bookstore. Close friends with Rowan and girlfriend to a werewolf, she had relaxed a great deal when she found Jason in the kitchen, Mouth loitering nearby.

  But this smile submission wasn’t Ash. Rather, a brunette with flinty eyes who looked like she gave as good as she got. The picture itself was awkward – Mouth probably holding his phone up under some other pretense and praying that the shutter sound was muted – yet couldn’t diminish the playful warmth of the young woman’s smile.

  “And we have a winner.”

  II

  And, yet, somehow I lose again, McLachlan decided. Looking at his brother across the room, he knew the shock was registering on his face.

  “This wasn’t the plan,” he finally said, his voice cold.

  “Plans change,” Dylan replied flippantly.

  “Then I don’t get what we were fighting for,” McLachlan countered. “The Cult’s split this family up for over ten years. I’d say that’s long enough.”

  “And I’d say that’s an emotional reaction.” Dylan took a sip from his beer. The late hour was getting to him. His brother didn’t have a demon stain to go all Energizer Bunny after sundown. No, Dylan was a regular human who kept regular human hours. The only thing demonic about him was being a lawyer.

  “Fuck you.”

  “Real mature.”

  “No, fuck that!” McLachlan sat forward, thumping his own beer on the table. He wasn’t going to let Dylan create tension just so it was easy for him to leave. “We had an end point. Once we knew for certain Julie was part of the Cult, had learned something concrete about them, life’d go back to normal. Isn’t that what you said to Mom and Dad not six hours ago?”

  “Pretty sure normal’s impossible when you’ve used the word ‘cult’,” Dylan said matter-of-factly.

  “So it was a lie?” They may not have been related by blood, but McLachlan was still very much the older brother. Possibly the only times in his life when he took on any responsibility.

  Dylan paused. He took another sip of his beer and then leveled his gaze across the table. “No one gets a happy ending here. This ‘stuff’.” He gestured to McLachlan’s bookshelf, archaeological finds, and the supernatural detritus that littered the loft. “This doesn’t go away because we want it to. I really don’t want to say something corny like ‘evil doesn’t take a holiday’ but you get my drift. I can follow the Cult. You can’t.”

  “This feels like a speech I should be giving you,” McLachlan admitted.

  “And it’s a little worrying you’re not.”

  “Because we stopped the bad guys. We outed them. I melted their fucking ritual bowls.”

  “And yet you’re still stained.”

  Dylan as voice-of-reason guy was unsettling to say the least.

  For the past week the brothers had returned to the peace of their Evanston family home. Initially, the visit was strained as they related to their parents how their eleven-year feud had been a ruse. To say Connie and Frank were angry was a textbook example of an understatement. Immediately the boys were children again as each parent took turns chastising them. And McLachlan thought Matteo’s reaction had been harsh. Connie went so far as to send them to their rooms without dinner. When Dylan laughed at the notion, Frank threatened a good old fashioned ass whipping. Thankfully by the next day the mood had settled and life in the household was…less strained.

  “Dylan.” Sitting forward, the big brother tone thick in his voice. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I really do, but you gotta start living for you now. Your life.”

  Dylan was quiet for a second. McLachlan couldn’t tell if he was processing the statement or working up a suitable retort.

  “I know,” Dylan said, finally. “And up until a couple of weeks ago, I would’ve agreed. But, dude, you grew horns. Shit got real.”

  The cliché wasn’t a dismissal. Rather, by its use, he was being as honest as he knew how.

  From the age of six the specter of the supernatural had hung over Dylan’s family. However, apart from the one time McLachlan’s demon stain had triggered a physical change, he had never seen his brother as supernatural.

  Sure there’d been other stuff, but not horns and hellfire.

  By the time McLachlan had met Matteo and his life had gone ful
l-blown occult, the brothers were ‘estranged’. A ruse engineered to determine Julie’s affiliation with the Cult. The few times they’d had contact McLachlan had ‘worn’ a glamour spell which Dylan rationalized was merely a disguise. Be it different by either ago or race.

  As for life with Julie…well she was hardly one to advertise her satanic connections.

  “So shouldn’t that be reason enough to run a mile. Ya know, set up a normal life and find someone nice to settle down with,” McLachlan said.

  Throughout their eleven-year ruse McLachlan had worried that in committing himself so fully to his ‘mission’, Dylan had denied himself an actual life. Aside from becoming a lawyer and securing good positions in both Boston and London, all Dylan knew was Julie. Wanting to think the positions were earned on his own merits as opposed to her influence, the brothers weren’t fools. She had placed him where she wanted him. Where it suited her. Regardless, he had earned a reputation as a talented and resourceful case lawyer whose idealism was tempered by an acerbic tongue. McLachlan knew the law was Dylan’s passion – as was his mission to shadow Julie and expose the cult – but he was saddened to think his brother had never focused on himself.

  “Firstly, do you think ‘someone nice’ is going to settle down with me?” Dylan raised an eyebrow and his beer bottle. He took a sip and then continued. “Secondly, you have gotta stop thinking I was all monastic and shit.” He took another sip of beer, then looked pointedly around the church-adjacent dwelling. “I have friends. I do quiz nights. I go to movies, the gym, sports games, and pubs. This is me.” When he saw the look of doubt on McLachlan’s face, he added, “I kinda had to. Julie’s pretty shrewd. I needed a life – a real one with real friends – so she didn’t think I was playing her.”

  To some extent McLachlan was relieved. The topic had never come up. Their infrequent catch-ups were more focused on general well-being, their parents, and the Cult.

  “And now you’re going after the Cult,” McLachlan sighed heavily.

  “Pretty much.”

  “Why? I mean why you?” McLachlan asked suddenly. Dylan stiffened. “Feels like this should be more my quest than yours.”

  “Quest?” Dylan laughed. “Did you just use the word ‘quest’?”

  “You know I wrote the book in deflection?”

  “Yes, and it should be your quest more than mine. Yet you haven’t exactly been that interested of late.”

  “I’ve been plenty interested,” McLachlan said, stung. He knew the truth though. Where the supernatural was concerned, the Cult of the Eighth House could be considered also-rans. “I just decided a while back I wasn’t going to let the Cult consume me. And I don’t want it consuming you either.”

  “Because you’re afraid.”

  “Dylan, you may have grown some since we were kids but you do know I can take you, right?”

  “Whoa, hey, not being a dick.” Dylan reeled back, stunned. “You have every right to be afraid. This really is some scary shit. And they don’t give a fuck about who gets in the way.”

  “Exactly.” McLachlan saw fear haunting Dylan’s eyes for the first time ever. “So I don’t want you getting in the crosshairs. Not anymore. You’re done with them. Plenty of law firms here in New York. Or in Chicago. Anywhere stateside would have you. No argument. Plus I can look out for you.” McLachlan was trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.

  “My life’s in London now. Need a bit of time to close that chapter of things.”

  It wasn’t a promise, McLachlan decided, but it was a shift in the right direction. Or at least he needed to think so.

  “You know Julie’s probably gonna come after you,” McLachlan said, thinking another tact might work. “Hardly the forgiving type.”

  “Maybe,” Dylan replied, something in his tone caused McLachlan to pause. “Maybe not. Lotta people gotta know she left the ritual to take us on. They’re gonna put blame somewhere and she was only important when you were an asset. With those bowls gone you’re no longer a person of interest.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  “But that’s what I intend to find out,” Dylan said. “You can’t wander in there looking for answers with your demon stain all lit up like Vegas. No one’s going to be looking at me.”

  McLachlan folded his arms. Had Dylan won? Not in so far as dismissing McLachlan’s concern. Yet he did make a good point. With the Cult so divided before the failed summoning, McLachlan had no idea the state they were in now. From all accounts when the ritual failed – McLachlan was barely aware of his surroundings let alone the Cult members – they were more of a threat to each other than the werewolves. Upon hearing that, McLachlan had felt lighter than he had in decades.

  “But they’re the Evil League of Evil?!”

  “And we have their secrets.” Dylan cast his eyes at the notebook on the table.

  “You think I’m letting this out of my sight?”

  Dylan scoffed unimpressed. “Already scanned it and uploaded it to my server. We grew up together remember. I know how anal you are about your shit.”

  “Me?”

  “Right, yeah I meant me but this is Cult-related. And well you gotta admit you do get a little…anal about them.”

  McLachlan took a deep breath. While he would never admit the fact to anyone – even under pain of death – he understood how people got frustrated with his own sarcasm, interjections, and less-than-mature take on most things. Due to the lengthy separation, he had forgotten how alike he and Dylan really were. Originally, he put it down to Dylan making up for lost time but the familiarity of the banter told him they were always like this.

  “So how close to the Cult did you get? Honestly?” he asked. For a second a shadow crossed Dylan’s face. He recovered quickly, but McLachlan cut him off. “What was that?”

  “What was what?” Dylan looked around.

  “That – that look. That shadow in your eyes.”

  “‘Shadow in your eyes’? I get that your life is Twilight-adjacent, but can we leave the purple prose to the fan-fiction please?”

  “Fine, I’ll speak plainly. When I asked how close you got to the Cult your face dar– You got a look. Scared almost. Wanna explain that?”

  “Not really,” Dylan replied.

  “Ya know Matteo has a cage in his basement. Real sturdy. Sound proof too. Wouldn’t take much to get you locked up there for a couple of months.”

  “Uh, unlawful imprisonment, kidnapping, abduction. Actual long list of actual laws you’d be in actual violation of,” Dylan stated, then shrugged slightly. “Besides I really don’t want to know how you know Matteo’s cage is sound proof.”

  “Dylan, let’s go back to the part where I said I would win in a fight,” McLachlan said. “No, really I can.” From the look on Dylan’s face – one very much lacking shadow – McLachlan realized his brother was aware of the fact. “So answer the question.”

  With a heavy sigh, Dylan met his brother’s gaze. The shadow returned. “I didn’t get too close. Julie was very good at keeping us separate. And anyone else would have been happily oblivious. Thing is I knew what to look for. She, too, kept a second phone. Not a burner like us. Which actually made it easier to hack and trace. Fed me bits and pieces about what she was doing but nothing real specific. No texts about the demon overlord or anything real handy like that.”

  “But there was something?”

  “More about the very real-world-business of the Cult. There was this firm in London. Advertising or PR or something. Anyway she asked me to look over a contract about job termination – no names – just a good exec they wanted to get rid of. I found the right clause and she got rid of the person. Poor guy or whoever.”

  “And that required you to go all shadow-faced?”

  “Not really. See through her private phone I picked up an exchange between her and, I guess, a cleric. Kinda coded but nothing a genius like me couldn’t crack in under four minutes.”

  “A whole four minutes?” McLachlan chide
d. “How’s that modesty working out for?”

  “Pretty good actually,” Dylan replied, not missing a beat. “Anyway, the exchange boiled down to her telling this person to get rid of someone – someone from the London firm – and make it look like a suicide.”

  “The same guy you got fired?”

  “That’s what I thought at first. Like maybe they’d lawyered up. Found a loophole in the contract that I missed.”

  “But you don’t miss anything.”

  “Exactly. I did some asking around and there had been a suicide at the firm. Young guy. About a week before Julie gave me the contract. I checked the date-stamp on her phone and that held true.”

  They were silent for a moment. A rarity.

  “Was the first real sense of how Evil League of Evil they were,” Dylan said. Then gestured at McLachlan, “apart from you of course.” Without saying as much, McLachlan knew that his brother had been affected by the situation. Julie using him for his expertise to end a person’s career as nonchalantly as she had ended a person’s life. Admittedly, he’d never taken her as a killer. More the manipulative type. Well, he had, but then he’d seen her kill a person in cold blood and decided that hadn’t been the first time.

  “I’m sorry,” McLachlan said.

  Dylan cocked his head slightly. “For what?”

  “For you having to be part of that. For our…missing years. For bringing this Cult into our lives.”

  Dylan got up and walked to his brother, extending a hand to him. McLachlan took it and was pulled to his feet. “You don’t have to apologize. The Cult in our lives, your parents murdered – that wasn’t your choice. My following them then and now, that’s on me.” Dylan drew McLachlan into a hug. “And if you refer to them as ‘our missing years’ again, I’m going to punch you. So hard. Like Mack-truck hard. A demon stain will be the least of your worries.”

  “Come on, you love the drama. You live for it.”

  “Little hard not too when your big bro is Satan’s ass monkey.”

  “Only every second Monday,” McLachlan said.

  “On that note, I gotta head. Lotta connecting flights between here and Kansas.” Dylan picked up his bag and started for the door. “The only thing I’m gonna hate about all this is now I gotta watch my back. Kinda liked playing the oblivious bed pal.”