by Ian Thomas
“Later.”
Ending the call, James pocketed the phone and left the small room in the basement. Ben sat he where had sat for the past few days. Old blood had dried on the floor, starting to smell as new blood dripped on top of it.
The man was a wreck. Worse than he had done yesterday. Will had woken up angry for some reason. It happened. Their pack was used to it. Channeling his anger into torture had been more than James could stomach. But Will’s cruelty seemed limitless, the man a master craftsmen of misery.
At this point it was just sadistic. Ben had no information left to give. He’d had very little in the first place. He’d acted alone and without malice to Matteo or the wolves. No grand plan, no bid for power, no wish for a coup d’état. His idealism of Matteo as some perfect, werewolf nationalist leader was utterly misguided. A wolf so invested in his sire that he didn’t see Matteo could never be that. James wished he could relate. This scenario corroding what little affection and loyalty he had for his own sire.
But then seemed to be the curse of James’ pack. Wolves so predisposed to self-interest they were almost united, nay strengthened by it.
Perhaps it was time for James to make a clean break himself.
“Having fun?” James asked, knowing the words were a mistake the second they came out. As lame as it sounded, talking to Dylan always brought out the snark in him.
“What you say?!” Will barked.
“I meant him,” James corrected, focusing on the man in the chair. He’d lost count of the tortures they’d inflicted. Or more accurately, that Will had inflicted.
Before the second full moon, James had lost his taste for suffering. Ben had revealed himself and that had been enough. He knew the attack on Dylan was cowardly, a sick folly not of his intent or design. And one he regretted.
Since then he’d been Will’s toy to play with. Nothing James could do or say would provide Ben with any reprieve. Any clemency.
“Ever think we’re giving him what he wants?” James said, his mind finally firing as it should have.
“What?!” Will spat.
“Pain. Torture,” James replied. “Ya don’t think he’s so riddled wi’ guilt he sees dis as penance?”
“What you on about?” Will asked uncertain.
“He sold out his sire and his friends. He’s lost de life he had. He’s got nothing else to lose. It’s a catholic thing.”
“What the bleeding hell do Catholics have to do with this?”
“Matteo. De Pack Lord. Renaissance Italy. Pure catholic. De vessel lives in a church. Guilt is like water to dem. And wi’ guilt comes de hope of absolution.” Too many big words, James decided panicking. Dial it back. “Ye torturing him is giving him what he wants.”
“That right?” Will asked. The man was incredibly stupid. What has Blackthorne seen in him to make him a wolf? James had often pondered that question. Usually when he was being brutalized by the Londoner.
“Ya got me,” Ben said, looking up at Will with his one good eye. The other hadn’t started healing as yet, the silver nail Will had hammered through it and into his skull preventing much healing. And his transformation.
“Guess dat’s why he hasn’t asked for clemency,” James sighed.
“What’s that?”
“Part of de accords,” James lied. “Any supernatural being have one kind found to have threatened other supernatural beings could plead for clemency. A compassionate hearing of their deeds and intentions to be held by a supernatural leader have another kind. ‘Til such time as de hearing is held, de offending party is given custodial sanctuary.”
“Where do you get this shite?”
“De Accords. De binding legal document dat afforded de peaceful interaction of three major supernatural communities following de Pack War.”
“Bollicks!”
“Why do ya think we weren’t silvered following de war?” James asked, bluffing. “We were on de losing side. We killed wolves, vampires, and witches. We were de bad guys.”
Will paused for a second.
“So this calamity–”
“Clemency.”
“S’what I fuckin’ said. This clemency would have saved him all this torture?”
“Exactly.”
“You sick fuck!” Will said disgusted, looking at Ben.
“What can I say? I do admire a man who loves his work.”
“At least I hope he didn’t ask for it,” James continued, unsure if he was pushing his case too far. “If he did we’re screwed.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, look at him. His word versus ours. Given his wounds, it won’ look good for us.”
“Did you ask for calamity?!” Will demanded, punching Ben in the face.
“No,” Ben said, “I can quite safely say I did not.”
“Dat’s a relief,” James sighed, sagging with relief.
“But I do now. Clemency that is.”
“Feck ya clemency!” Will roared, winding up for another hit.
“Wait,” James said, catching the man’s fist. Will looked at him venomously. “Sorry. But dere’s a magic in words. Now dat he’s asked for it pursuant to de accords, subsection A, paragraph four; the invocation of de word clemency by an offending’ party of de first part hereby binds dem to a party of de third part from violation and aggression from a party of de second part.”
Worried that Will would turn on him, James backed up. “It’s all written in de accords. Honestly. Blackthorne had me study dem when dey were finalized.”
The lies kept coming. But would Will fall for it.
“So what? He’s in protective custody now?”
“Aye. Torturers to guards. Load of gobshite, if ya ask me.”
“Well I di’n’t,” Will seethed. “What does this mean now?”
“We take him to de Wiccan coven for his hearing, though de vampire court is closer.”
“I’m not stepping one fucking foot inside that nest of leeches. You can fuck right off if you think that.”
“Liam and I can take him.”
“Look at him,” Will shouted. “We’ll be done for.”
“Not at all. In accordance with subsection B, paragraph twelve; any injury obtained before and or during de request for clemency is inadmissible under de conditions of war and capture.”
“So I can still gut him then?”
“No, subsection B, paragraph thirteen allows for a window of force.” James looked at his wristwatch, trying to keep his hand from shaking. “Dat’s passed now. Any act of force, injury, harm, or similar inflicted outside the window is punishable by extreme force wi’out chance of clemency. Paragraph fourteen.”
“Fucking lawyers,” Will scowled.
“Yes,” Ben echoed. “Fucking lawyers.”
“Fine, whatever, get Liam, get him out of my sight and tell those bloodsucking leeches that they can take their clemency and shove it up their–”
“Subsection C, paragraph two. Any post-clement hostility from de party of de second part against de party of de third part is punishable by extreme force.”
“Fuck off with yourself,” Will shouted, storming up the metal stairs and out of the basement. Several doors slammed in his wake.
“Well done that man,” Ben said, a tear in his good eye.
“Helps when dey’re dat fookin’ stoopid.”
“You do know the accords were pretty much written on a napkin, right?”
“Nope, and I don’ think anyone else does either.”
“I’m sorry about Dylan,” Ben admitted finally.
“Den I’m sorry ‘bout torturing’ ya,” James replied. “Well, maybe only a little.”
“Sorry to say you weren’t that good at it.”
“I’ll take dat as a compliment.” James grabbed the pliers off the table and clamped them around the nail in Ben’s eye. With a mighty tug, he pulled it free. “You’ll heal soon enough.”
“Where’re you gonna take me?” Ben asked.
“I’m actually
thinking de vampires’re a safe bet.”
Ben paused, seeming to weigh up the options. When he nodded agreement, James continued to free him. The injuries were numerous and debilitating but they’d make it to the car at least.
XVII
Enraged, Will kicked open the last door and felt the night air sting his face.
“Those fucking accords.”
He’d never wondered what was in them. Just knew they ended one of the greatest periods in his sixty years as a wolf. More people had died by his claws in that war than in the whole five or so decades beforehand. It was glorious. Then these bleeding do-gooders had won. Of course, Blackthorne had turned out to be a bitter disappointment of a wolf. Kowtowing to Matteo and his lot. Feckin’ gobshite.
Walking out of the building into the construction site next door, he turned and headed to Avenue B. The East Village reminded him the most of London. Squat buildings packed tightly together and running off in either direction. Of course, there were a few more trees here and the sound of loud Americans nearby grated on his ears.
“Found him,” a woman called out. More like a young girl. And what a fit bird she was, he thought, figuring he wouldn’t mind a piece of that. Even if she was a vampire.
Then he smelled wolf. Somewhat familiar though.
“What’s your game?!” he growled. Seeing the young black man beside the vampire, Will’s canines extended, claws sharpening.
“They’re with me,” another man said, walking into view. A voice he recognized.
Colton.
“It’s true.”
“In the flesh,” Colton replied with a smile. Bleedin’, fockin’ hell. It was true Will thought, staggering back. But Colton held his arms open, palms out in peace. “Now, now, we’re all good.”
“Like hell.”
“No, really. In fact, I’d like to make you an offer.”
Minutes later, the four of them were sitting in a nearby bar. Colton and Will in a booth while the wolf and the vampire sat at a nearby table. Being close to midnight the place was winding down, only a couple of occupied tables with the wait staff eager for everyone to just leave.
“How?”
“That’s your first question?” Colton asked.
Will remembered what an arrogant wanker Colton had been. Seems very little changed.
“Right well, you know I use magic. Was just the ultimate of all glamours. Little mind control. Little astral projection. An unsuspecting body. Ya know I had thought about using Blackthorne. Figured he was weak enough not to fight me.”
“He’s pretty bloody weak alright.”
“Glad you think so,” Colton said. “All part of my proposal.”
“Go on.”
“I need Ben back.”
“Shouldna lost him in the first place.”
“I didn’t,” Colton replied, shifting angrily. “Seems your sire decided to exact a little revenge to get in the Pack Lord’s good graces.”
“No one bows and scrapes like Blackthorne.”
“Exactly. And that’s where you come in,” Colton said. “I need Ben back. Alive. And in exchange I’ll get rid of Blackthorne for you.”
“If I wanted rid of that tosser, I’d do it myself.”
“No,” Colton replied plainly. “You wouldn’t. You’d lose everything and you know it. So don’t bluff me. Being the villain puts me in a very unique position to kill who I want, when I want. And you get to inherit everything.”
“Okay, you got my attention,” Will said. “Continue.” But his attention was anywhere but Colton. The vampire was fit. And she seemed to like a bit of wolf between her legs given how she was focused on the black guy. That had to be Somerset. Shit, look at him. Talk about turn back time. He’d shed sixty years. Course he’d gotten kitted out in ridiculous trendy gear but he was a legit wolf. And something of a badass too. Though he wasn’t nearly as smitten with the vampire as Will, her foot rubbing his crotch. Over here luv, Will thought, I’ll see ya right.
“So you in?” Colton asked.
“I give you Ben, you kill Blackthorne. That it?”
“There was more. Little something in the middle about destroying the current Pack Lord, destroying Gracchus, starting a new war, but yeah no, we’re good.”
“May be a slight snag,” Will said, taking a slug of his beer. “Had to get the young ‘uns to take him to the vampires.”
“Why?” Somerset demanded angrily. “Why would you do that?”
“He asked for clemency. It’s in the accords. Section five, paragraph B.”
“What?!”
“Yeah, you can look it up.”
“You’re a fool,” Somerset laughed. “The accords are one sheet. A basic play-nice-with-others piece of shit memo that’s about five lines long. You dumbass. There ain’t no sections. And nothing long enough to constitute a paragraph C, this boy’s playing you.”
Will started at Somerset, eager to take the man down and claim the vampire as his. No one called him a fool. But Colton caught his arm, still smirking
“Gentleman,” Colton said, eyes on Will as he settled him back in his seat. “This actually works in my favor.”
“How so?” Somerset asked.
“That fucking little whelp!” Will fumed, directing his anger at James. “Always thinking he’s better than everyone else. This time I’m gonna gut him proper like.”
“Told ya we shoulda stormed in there and yanked ya boy out,” the vampire said.
“You’re sure that’s where they were going?” Colton demanded, ignoring her. The way she reacted suggested that was happening more than she liked.
“According to section five, paragr–”
Somerset threw his head back and laughed. “You are quite possibly the dumbest fuck I’ve ever met.”
Lunging at Somerset, Holly was on her feet and between them.
“Now, now, there girlie, wait ya turn,” Will said, enjoying the closeness of her.
“As if!”
“Don’t make me kill the three of you,” Colton said, his words startling the staff at the counter. “This is important.”
Quietly, Holly and Will resumed their seats, eyes locked on each, her in hate, him lustfully.
“They may still be in the basement, if you want.”
“I doubt it,” Colton said, getting up. He glanced at the vampire, “pay them.”
“Why does this work in our favor?” Somerset asked, looking up at Colton.
“Because if Ben’s with the vampires, then it means I don’t have to find him, get him back, and take him to the vampire court. Lets me kill two birds with one stone. Well, more like two hundred birds.” He was almost gleeful.
“This mean the deal’s off?” Will asked.
“Depends,” Colton replied, turning back. “Just need to know he’s there.”
“That all?”
“Think you can handle it?” Colton asked. “Perhaps take Somerset with you.”
“Would rather have the girl.” Will didn’t register the insult, fixated again on Holly.
“Fuck you!” she snapped, which only made Will smile lecherously.
“Not gonna happen,” Somerset said protectively. “The vamps’re looking for her. Not gonna hand her over just like that.”
“Fine, whatever. Just make sure Ben is there.”
“Will do, guv.”
Walking out of the bar, Will and Somerset hustled to the basement but it was empty save for the drying blood and soiled tools.
“Well they’re on the move,” Somerset said. “That’s a good thing.”
Seemed he had a plan. Good. Will hated thinking. He only needed to be told where to be and who to kill.
XVIII
At least he was no longer in the basement.
That was something.
But despite all the comfort of the guest bedroom, Jason just wanted to go back to the dorm. Yes, as ludicrous as it sounded he was ready to give up the spacious luxury of Matteo’s brownstone, private room, ensuite, and more f
ood than he thought he could ever eat for his shared, cramped dorm room with ramen noodles and daily threat of foot fungus.
Then why leave?
For starters, he didn’t have his stuff with him. And he liked his stuff.
While Mouth had trafficked a few items from their hall, Jason was finding it hard to settle in. Mostly because he didn’t want to.
So he’d been bit. So what? Sure, he was a werewolf but that was only a couple of nights a month. He’d cope.
Besides if he had to endure more sympathetic looks from Matteo, fatherly pats on the shoulder, and lectures about being a newly sired werewolf, he was going to lose it.
“So apparently another side effect is your increased mirror time,” Mouth said from the bedroom.
Jason wanted to ask if his friend could blame him. But didn’t. Suddenly Jason was the hypermasculine ideal he’d always wanted to be but could never really be bothered to become. Swollen muscles, chiseled torso, rippling abs. There was something almost obscene to him now.
Not that he was complaining. Just took some time to get used to was all.
But preening wasn’t what had stalled him in the bathroom. Well, not the whole time. He was changing. Not completely, just parts of him. When he was brushing his teeth, his canines had extended. When he was marveling at his pecs, he grew a thick pelt of chest hair. And when he was wiping his…well, there were claws.
“Sorry,” he replied, exiting the bathroom. “Wasn’t checking myself out. Just getting used to everything is all.”
“Sure, whatever” Mouth replied, dismissively.
“No, really. Like this is supremely weird. And not the abs and shoulders and underwear model thing – which I do like – but like how often did I used to shave?”
“Uh,” Mouth said, unsure if this was a fact he should know about his roommate. Or indeed, admit to knowing about his roommate. “Not to sound creepy but I’m gonna say once, maybe twice a week. I don’t recall it being that often and does this make us too close?”
“You can dial down the gay panic, but usually once a week.”
“Your point?”
“Now it’s daily.”
“Really?”
“Yup.”
“Well, that’ll be handy for when you go full mountain man hipster for winter.”