Requiem for the Dead

Chapter Seventeen

Hunting didn't happen as soon as I'd hoped. Mostly because I didn't have clue one where to start looking for Vale.

Scratch that. I had a pretty long list, including the decrepit police station where we were held and the old motel where the Marcus/Prentiss showdown happened, but Astrid knew about those places, too. She'd have Watchtower people scouring the locations, plus the homes and businesses of the rest of Vale's family and social circle. I needed to go somewhere my friends wouldn't notice me, and I couldn't think of anyplace.

The pups invited me to join them for dinner, and even though I was still a little queasy from the Juliet Potion, I sat down with three red-headed teenage boys and watched them devour box after box of Chinese food. Wyatt ate a healthy portion of food, too, while I picked at plain white rice with a pair of chopsticks. My lack of attention to the food gave me a chance to watch the men in the room.

Peter was definitely the alpha of the brothers. When we assembled in the small dining room off to the side of the kitchen, Mark had laid out the dozen or so white boxes, as well as a few wax-paper bags, packets of sauces, and pairs of chopsticks. The three of them waited until Wyatt and I had seated ourselves before taking chairs on the other side of the table.

Wyatt helped himself to pork lo mein and fried rice, and once he finished, Peter picked up a container, put a small amount of vegetables on his plate, then handed it to Mark. Mark sniffed and curled his lip. He gave it over to John without comment. They went like that with every container of food. Sometimes Peter took a lot, sometimes he didn't take anything, but he always served himself first. The whole thing was kind of strange, but it also fit with them letting me and Wyatt get our food before serving themselves.

No one really talked at first, beyond grunts and simple commands to pass the soy sauce.

"Mark?" Wyatt said. "In what year was the Treaty of Versailles signed?"

I nearly dropped my chopsticks. I definitely flung some rice across the table. Wyatt was watching Mark over a half-eaten spring roll, intently waiting on an answer to the most left-field question of the month.

Mark picked up a piece of pork with his chopsticks, as though the answer was written on it in brown sauce. "Um, 1918?"

"John?"

"June 1919," John replied promptly.

"Peter, when did the U.S. officially end our involvement in the first World War?"

Peter squirmed.

Wyatt sighed. "Anyone?"

"1921, after the Knox-Porter Resolution was signed," John said.

"I'm so confused right now," I said. "What's with the history quiz?"

"Being cut off from Thackery meant their education stopped," Wyatt said. "They might be orphaned Lupa, but they're teenagers and they still need to learn. We're picking up with an easy subject."

"History is easy?"

"Those who don't study history are doomed to repeat the past."

"Thank you, Aristotle."

"Actually, it was George Santayana," John said, "and what he said was—"

"Will you turn it off before I fong you?" Peter asked. "Geez, we know you're smart, okay?"

John flushed red and looked down at his plate.

"Fong?" I said. "Do I even want to know?"

"It's from a movie," Peter replied. "It's slang for kicking or beating up. Wyatt doesn't have a TV, but we had one when we lived…um, with Dad." He looked away.

Dad meant Walter Thackery, may he rot in hell.

"So is John the only one who did the reading assignment?" Wyatt asked.

"I tried," Peter said. "I really did but I'm not good at that stuff. I never was, even when Dad—Thackery, taught us."

"You didn't like anything he taught you?"

"I liked learning how to fight."

"And I said we'd work on that together."

I almost flung more rice across the room with that little nugget of information. Wyatt was going to teach the kids to fight? He was taking this "under his wing" thing seriously. More seriously than I thought, and that might not be good for him, considering they were wanted by the Assembly. A month ago, I'd have loved to see all three of them dead, and now Wyatt had practically adopted them.

Thumping my head against the table wouldn't change anything, so I refrained.

"We'll find something you enjoy studying more than world history," Wyatt said. "As long as you promise to try."

"I do promise," Peter said. "We all did."

Wyatt pop-quizzed them a little bit more while they cleaned their plates and divvied up what was left in the containers. John got everything right. Peter didn't know a thing. Mark was about fifty-fifty. The entire production was sort of adorable in an alternate universe kind of way. Wyatt sounded like any parent making sure his kids were ready for a big test.

"I don't want to die." Words spoken in earnest by a sobbing, terrified boy I'd watched being tortured for information at an abandoned construction site. A boy identical to the three eating dinner with me. A boy who'd died sobbing in a pool of his own blood, sweat, and piss because I'd thought Wyatt was dying, and now we were protecting that boy's surviving brothers.

"I don't want to die."

I pushed away from the table and found the bathroom tucked down the hall from the living room. Closed the door, turned on the faucet, and then sat down on the toilet as the emotion bent me in half. So much that it wasn't able to manifest as tears, because I wasn't sad. I'd done my job, like I always did my job, but the end result was that I'd participated in the capture and murder of a teenage boy. No, three teenage boys. Brothers to the boys I was trying to help now. Boys Wyatt saw as family—he didn't have to say it, because I saw it.

I wrapped my arms around my aching middle and rocked a while, letting the regret worm its way up and out. The shame of looking Peter, Mark, and John in the eye, knowing I'd done the same thing to their brother—I'd looked Daniel in the eye while his fingers were being cut off.

"Shit." I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, needing to rub those images away.

Someone else had done the cutting. Someone else had landed the killing blow. But I'd been complicit. I'd done the asking, and I hadn't stopped anything. I didn't have the stomach for that kind of torture anymore. I could kill goblins all day long to keep them from hurting innocent people and never bat an eyelash at the slaughter. Halfies, too. This was completely different.

Thackery had been given these children to raise as he saw fit. He made them into the villains I'd once hunted. Had they been given to a loving parent, someone who wanted them to grow up sane and happy, they might all still be alive. Their family wouldn't have been ripped in half. They wouldn't be hiding out in the apartment of the man they'd tried to kill and only succeeded in changing.

For the first time, I hated myself for the thing I'd become—the killer that Boot Camp had created and unleashed on the world.

"Evy?" Wyatt knocked. "May I come in?"

"Yeah."

He pushed the door open far enough to slip inside, then shut it. He didn't ask, simply knelt in front of me and gathered me into his arms, a solid presence I'd come to depend on more than I ever thought possible. The tears still wouldn't come, so I clung while he stroked my back.

"What happened?"

"Bad memories," I said.

"Of?"

"Killing their brothers."

"Oh, baby." Wyatt pulled back and cupped my cheeks in his palms. "That was a lifetime ago. You can't—"

"Blame myself? That ship has sailed around the world, so try again."

"You reacted to a situation. You had no choice."

"Didn't I? There's always a choice, Wyatt."

"Thackery had Ava and Aurora. You were protecting your family."

"They thought they were doing the same thing."

"Maybe, but you know more than anyone that you can't change the choices you've made. You have to live with them." The soft growl at the end of told me he was also addressing my most recent choice to "die" without telling him first.

Wyatt knew about living with choices better than almost anyone—except maybe Rufus, who was still withholding a whopper of a secret from Wyatt. "I know," I said. "Really. I guess it hit me all at once, sitting across from the disciples like that."

"The disciples?"

"Peter, Mark and John. Don't tell me it never occurred to you?"

He chuckled. "I guess it did. Evy, there's a lot of blame to go around, but the important thing is that those three are safe, and they want to stay that way."

"They definitely seem to like you."

"I'm an easy guy to like."

I rolled my eyes, which made him laugh again. "You're good with them, Wyatt. I mean that."

"Some of it is Lupa pack instinct. They're young and they want to be led by someone stronger and older."

"Or they need a father figure, and they like you for it." Something warm flashed in his eyes, an affection that wasn't directed at me. "Did you ever want kids?" The question bubbled up and out before I could think it through.

His eyebrows winged up. "I don't give it a lot of thought, since Gifted can't have children."

One of those weird side effects of being able to tap into the Break and its magical energy source was sterility—boys and girls. Biologically, it made the question moot, especially as a "couples topic." But it didn't do a damn thing to stop adoption. Literal or figurative.

"The Lupa are your family now, Wyatt, whether we like it or not. And even if you don't see yourself as a dad, at the very least you're the handsome, fun uncle who feeds them sodium-laden fast food on a regular basis."

"A high-speed metabolism helps with the sodium and MSG."

"And seriously depletes your bank account."

"No kidding."

"How long are you going to hide them?"

He released a long, uneasy breath. "I don't know. If I can prove they aren't a danger to humans or other Therians, then maybe the Assembly will rescind their kill order."

"What if they don't?"

A flash of silver in his eyes hinted at danger if that happened. "One crisis at a time. They're safe here for now. Our first priority is Vale."

I could live with that. "Okay, so if you were a were-cat wanted by your own people, where would you hide?"

"If I was Vale, I'd leave the city altogether."

"But not before you get your ransom money. So where do you hide while that's happening?"

"Fleabag motel?"

"Plenty of those around here. Vale isn't the smartest big bad ever, but I don't think he's stupid enough to use his real name. It'll take forever to flash his picture at every front desk, and who knows if we'll be lied to."

"You're forgetting one advantage we've got."

"What?"

He tapped the side of his nose. "I know what the bastard smells like."

Sometimes having a half-Lupa boyfriend was kind of awesome.

With no computer on the premises and my pre-paid phone only a few years past the Stone Age, we figured out our motel search grid the old-fashioned way: a piece of paper and a phone book. It took a while, but between the five of us we knew every single street and location, and their relationship to the others. The pups seemed eager to help and disappointed when we told them they couldn't go with us.

"Too many people affiliated with the Watchtower will be out tonight," Wyatt said. "You're still wanted by the Assembly, so I want you to stay here. Promise me."

"We promise," Peter said, and that seemed good enough for Wyatt.

Not me. "You so much as go outside for a pizza and I'll bust your ass, kid," I said.

Peter blinked and nodded vigorously. "We'll stay here."

"Good."

Our next problem was the issue of transportation. Wyatt had fled the Watchtower on foot, and I'd left my car at the Dane compound. Stealing a car was on the list of possibilities, but we both preferred saving that one as a last resort. Stolen cars meant police attention when the owner noticed it was missing.

As I was considering calling Kimset to see if she could help us on that front, Tybalt called me. "Hey," I said.

"I knew you weren't dead. I told you she wasn't dead."

Oh crap. "Milo?"

"Yeah."

"Why aren't you resting?"

"Been resting all day, and then everyone started acting weird. Avoiding questions. Marcus finally told me what was going on, but I didn't believe him. I made him steal Tybalt's phone, since I can't walk."

The mental image of Marcus pickpocketing Tybalt made me snort hard through my nose. "How did you know Tybalt knew anything?"

"Because he came to see me a while ago, and he's not that great of an actor. If he thought you were dead and did what you're accused of, he wouldn't have been so calm."

True. Milo's deductive reasoning skills scared me sometimes. "Is Marcus with you still?"

"Um, yeah. He actually looks kind of steamed, and—"

"Put him on the phone."

My end of the conversation had earned Wyatt's undivided attention, and his expression asked if I thought this was a good idea. I thought it was a fantastically bad idea, but I couldn't let Marcus keep thinking I'd murdered his grandfather and gotten away with my own life. Hell, I hated lying to everyone about my latest death, but especially Marcus. I respected the hell out of him, even though I'd never say so out loud.

The only reason I knew Marcus was on the line was because he breathed really loudly, almost a growl.

"Marcellus is alive, too," I said.

I swear I heard his eyebrows hit his hairline. "What?"

"We cooked up the plan together in about five minutes, but he's fine, and I totally owe him for going along with this."

"Can I speak with him?"

"He isn't with me."

"Your parents are safe now. Why haven't you both come forward? Do you know how many people this is hurting?"

I flinched because, yes, I knew, and for once I actually gave a damn. "Marcellus wants to stay dead for a while longer, and his reasons are his own. I'm playing along for him, and it gives me a chance to sneak up on Vale."

"You have to find him first."

"No kidding."

"I have to tell Astrid."

"That's your call, Marcus, I can't force you not to tell her. But no one else, please. Promise me that, at least."

He grunted. "I promise to keep your confidence, and I'll ensure the same from my sister."

"Thank you. Give me Milo again."

The phone switched hands. "I promise to keep quiet, too, Evy," Milo said. "But goddamn, don't do that to me again."

"Sorry, pal."

"I'm glad your parents are safe."

"Thanks. Now listen up and stop playing junior detective. Your only job right now is to heal, you hear me?"

"I hear you."

"Excellent." Wyatt was making turning gestures with his hands, and I remembered why I'd wanted to make my own phone call. "Actually, while I have you, I need a favor."

With our transportation's ETA still thirty minutes out, we had some time to kill. Wyatt decided to kill it by staring at me like he wanted me to guess exactly what was on his mind, but I was too tired and stressed to play guessing games.

"What?" I snapped.

"Are you really certain that keeping up this charade of being dead is worth it?" His voice was measured and calm, asking without being confrontational. "Your parents are safe now, Evy."

"Elder Dane wants it this way."

"I understand that, and I understand his reasoning. But his decision affects Assembly politics much more than it affects the Watchtower. If Therians and humans begin fighting amongst themselves within the Watchtower because they believe you killed Elder Dane, it could have far reaching consequences."

Marcus's tense breathing on the phone before my announcement that his grandfather was alive came back like a slap of cold water. He'd been furious, and I could only imagine those few moments of thought between hearing I was alive and hearing I hadn't murdered Elder Dane.

Wyatt also had the uncanny ability to reframe a question in a way that got me to think harder, to really question my decisions. Had faking our deaths been correct at the time? Yes. Was keeping up the charade a good idea now?

"It's only for a day or two," I said.

"Lives change in a day or two, Evy, you know that. I know that the list of people you really trust is about as long as my index finger, but being part of an organization again is about trusting the people you work with to watch your back."

He was pulling an old Handler trick on me. "Being a Hunter was different."

"How?"

"We were—" I almost said "all human," bringing back a beaten-down prejudice that had sustained me for four years as a Triad Hunter. Hunters were always human, and we were trained to believe specific things about non-humans. We were to never trust them, and even the few non-humans I'd considered tentative allies were never really trusted friends.

"You were what?" Wyatt asked.

The Watchtower was very similar to the Triads in many ways: strength in numbers, in secrecy, and in maintaining anonymity. It also worked on trust—trusting the guy working with you to not get you killed. Everyone who was part of the Watchtower was there because we had a common goal, and we had promised to work together as a unit.

Shit.

"You have to be able to trust everyone at the Watchtower or this thing can't last," Wyatt said. "Telling them, your allies, that you and Elder Dane are alive won't affect the ransom demand from Vale. Keeping you off the radar and out of sight is still the plan. We'll just have a few more people in on the plan."

He was right. Very right. "I should still ask for Elder Dane's permission," I said.

"Agreed."

So I called Tybalt's phone, and the correct person answered. Once I explained why I was calling, he promised to pass my message along to Elder Dane right away and to call back as soon as he got an answer. It was better than nothing.

"Faking my own death was probably the most rash, un-thought-out plan ever," I said to Wyatt after I hung up with Tybalt.

"Your intentions were honorable." His words couldn't hide the twitch in his jaw that said he agreed with me and that he hadn't quite worked through his anger. Not that I blamed him. Wyatt deserved all kinds of emotional slack over this mess.

"At least this way I'll get to talk to the Frosts." Not that the idea thrilled me in any way, shape, or form. I had no idea what I was going to say to them about any of this. The whole "your daughter killed herself and I reincarnated into her body" truth wasn't happening. They'd have me committed to a nut house faster than a gargoyle turned to stone in sunlight.

"You look like you'd rather go six rounds with a shifted were-bear than talk to the Frosts."

"Am I that obvious?"

"Only to me."

My phone rang. The number was local, but not in my phone's memory. I hesitated, then answered, "Joe's Pizza, will this be pickup or delivery?"

"Is this Evangeline Stone? It's Demetrius."

Someone who had absolutely no reason to be calling me. "Yes, it's me. What's wrong?"

"The Coni are gone."

I jolted to my feet, heart pounding, stomach twisted hard. "What? Were they taken?"

"No, there is no sign of forced entry or removal. They simply left."

"Why the fuck would they leave? Joseph's dying."

Wyatt's raised eyebrows reminded me that I hadn't passed along that information yet.

"I don't know," Demetrius said. "I truly don't. Another guard told me he saw them shift together, and then fly away to the northwest."

This was bad in so many ways. Aurora felt abandoned by Phineas. She was waiting for Joseph to pass away from old age. She'd held my hand while I "died" in front of her—shit. "Shit! This is my fault."

"You don't—"

"Yes, I do. I should have told her I wasn't really dead. Fuck!"

Wyatt grabbed the phone before I sent it sailing across the living room. He spoke quietly to Demetrius while I raged at my own stupidity. I could rationally explain this to the people I worked with at the Watchtower. I hadn't given proper thought to what this must have been doing to Aurora. The poor woman had been through so much these last few months—the death of her husband, as well as her entire Clan. Being kidnapped twice. Enduring her child's kidnapping and watching Ava tortured into shifting too soon for her age. Losing Phineas to some idea of finding long-lost Coni relatives. Joseph's mortality.

I seriously considered giving the living room wall a fist-sized hole, but Wyatt got in my way. I didn't realize I was shaking until he pulled me into a hug, and the soft fabric of his t-shirt absorbed the tears that began falling. God, I was getting soft. But Ava was my goddaughter, and I couldn't protect her if I didn't know where she was.

"We'll find them, Evy," Wyatt whispered.

"How? What if Aurora takes them out of the city?"

He didn't reply.

"I did this, by not telling her I was alive," I said. "If anything happens to them, it's on me."

"Leaving the safety of the Dane compound was Aurora's choice."

"She wouldn't have left if she hadn't seen me die."

I knew he wanted to make me feel better, to make it all right, but he didn't patronize me by arguing my very valid points. "I don't know how we'll fix this, Evy, but we'll do our best. We'll try."

"Ava's still so young."

"I know, but she's strong like her mom. Like her Aluli."

"I wish Phineas was here. She'd have stayed if he was here."

Wyatt tensed only a fraction, but I felt it. "Probably. Again, leaving was Phin's decision. We can't change what's happened."

"We just have to deal with it, yeah, I know."

"Demetrius had one bit of good news. The Assembly is calling an emergency meeting in the morning to discuss the new Felia Elder. Apparently with everything happening with Vale, electing a new Elder is a priority."

"That's something, I guess. I'm sick of sitting here in your apartment, hearing about everything second-hand. I hate not being part of things."

"I know." He kissed my forehead, and I inhaled the earthy, wet leaves and cinnamon scent of him. "But you have to admit, this is some personal growth for you."

"How's that?"

"A few months ago, you'd have barreled off on your own, caution be damned, and done what you thought was best. Now you're letting other people handle things and take the lead."

"I don't have a lot of choice." I saw his mouth open, saw the bon mot about to drop, and beat him to it. "Yeah, yeah, there's always a choice. Fine."

"Good."

"My personal growth is your new ulcer, you know."

"I'll take my chances."