The Wolf & The Witch

It was mostly the old and the young that died from Claire’s poison. Unfortunate. Though stealing was made all the easier- their bodies were the easiest to shove out of the way. They weighed less. And as they made their way around the city of Favoris, stealing gold, weapons, clothes, horses- everything they could find, Claire realized there was one thing they hadn’t talked about yet. At all. And now she was very curious. “Hey. Where’s your house? What’s it like?”

Lestat looked at her, then down at himself- they were wearing all black- black leather pants, black cotton shirt for him, half unbuttoned, and black flannel for her, also half unbuttoned. Their dire wolf cloaks were black, and hooded. He had a longsword and an iron pike, and she had a dagger strapped to her boot, and a new bow and steel-tipped arrows. “I move around a lot.”

That wasn’t an answer. Hmm… But Claire would much rather see his house first. She chewed her lip and thought about her house as they walked. She liked to keep collections of things. But she kept them in jars, and jars weren’t messy, but she had a lot of them. A whole lot. “Well, where were you staying right before we were sent off?”

“An old blacksmith shop in the woods.”

Claire held his hand as they led horses towards the arena, and thought about living in a blacksmith shop. What would that look like? A kiln? A counter to plop horseshoes down and make a sale? Anvils and hammers everywhere? She had never been inside any shop and found a romantic bed nestled under a romantic window. “How close do you live to Uvedge?” Claire’s house was two miles from the village of Uvedge, and about seven to the coven.

Lestat wondered. “Thirty miles? I’ve only been there once.”

“Which direction?”

“West. Ish.” Something was bothering Lestat. A thought was nagging him, flying around his head like a gnat, and he couldn’t catch it. Something was off, and he couldn’t figure out what. Was it James? Lestat found it odd that none of James’ five wives reacted to him making the bold statement that he was taking another wife. Had they known beforehand? Because, there was only so much time before him saying those words and Deth and Bethany losing. Had they known Deth and Bethany would lose? How? And his wives might not care to share, but they should care about the quality of the next woman he was bringing into their bed. Had they all met the priestess of the Moss Coven before? When?

“Does your house have a bed?”

Lestat grinned- leave it to his little witch to pull him back to reality with ridiculous questions. “I don’t sleep standing or hanging from the rafters by my feet. Does your house have a bed?”

She lowered her eyes.

“Interested in beds?”

“No, ass, I’m not.” That wasn’t a lie- what she was interested in was his house- was it neat or clean? Furniture? Mildew on the walls? Romantic? She wanted to see his house before taking him to hers. She didn’t remember how she left her house, but she remembered how she lived in it, and she needed to see his first.

They met James and his wives at the arena, and Lestat reached his hand out, and James did the same, and Lestat gave up the title of Alpha, and all the wolves and witches, and all the men and women- what few were left- were happy and satisfied. Good riddance.

The wolf and the witch rode to the gate, the other horse following at the end of a rope. James and his wives followed, and when they were at the gate, James stepped forward, held his hand up, and the seventy-foot tall bronze doors swung open. There was a large crowd of merchants waiting on either side, and they went rushing past- men, women, horses, goats, wagons, carts. Lestat scanned the crowds- no wolves, no witches. That was odd. And then he wondered: why wasn’t anyone from Itthon on this bridge? Why were none of the packs or covens in attendance, watching the fight? Of all the people that should’ve been in the arena, watching the fight, the alphas of the two packs, and the priestess, topped the list. Deth’s father was alpha of one of the packs. Lestat watched the merchants pass, then he turned back and looked at James, and Beverly, and Soph. They could not have known that he would kill Edward. They could’ve hoped, and prepared, but they could not know that Edward would be dead, and they could not have known he and Claire would win against Deth and Bethany. Which meant their involvement in all of this only went so far. Right?

“Remember,” James said, and nodded. “Take out the packs, light a few fires, but we have a city to repopulate, and I’m picking up wife number six.”

Picking up? Not even asking? Lestat didn’t answer, but noticed he did not add attacking the coven to that short list, and again- attack the wolves. He watched merchants pass by a moment, and felt Claire in his right arm, and he looked back at James. He didn’t trust this son of a bitch, even slightly. And he knew Claire didn’t. He studied James- he had his arms around Olive and Soph, and Em and Emma were beside them, and Beverly stood beside Em. Something was wrong here. The sun was bright, and full, and high overhead, so that they cast no shadows. Lestat clicked his tongue, and the horses sauntered forward, and as they passed through the gates he turned back and looked at Beverly. “I’ve heard this world is dying. What do you think?”

Beverly pushed her brown hair off her right eye. “This world is dying. The lands are dying. And if you’re strong enough, and smart enough, you’ll find a way not to die with it.”

Lestat turned away, and knew he did not disagree with that answer, but something about those words stuck in his brain. If you’re strong enough, and smart enough, you’ll find a way not to die. That was a true statement, but a rather odd one coming from the wife of the man who owned multiple houses, and was now the alpha of a land. This world is dying, the lands are- then her words smacked Lestat across the face as if hung-over Claire was standing in front of him. There was only one way possible Beverly had answered his question the way she did, and he fought the urge to turn around in his saddle. He dropped his hand to the hilt of his sword as they rode out, past the gates, past the merchants coming and going, and down the long bridge over a bottomless ravine. The crowds thinned out as they approached the trees of the land of moss, and still- no wolves from Itthon. No smell of wolves.

“Hey, let’s stop.” Claire wanted to stop and hug him as soon as the cuff fell off. But Lestat didn’t stop. As they neared the shadows of oak trees in the noon sun the cuff cracked, and fell away, and clinked as it landed in Claire’s lap, and she collected the pieces. “I said stop.” But he didn’t stop- he urged the horses forward, faster and faster, galloping through the moss-hung forests. Goddamnit- Claire wanted a proper hug, and she wanted a kiss, and she wanted to tell him her two ideas. “Can we please stop?”

Lestat leaned close and put his mouth to her ear. “We need to talk.” There were quite a few things not adding up all of a sudden, and he wanted her opinion.

They rode twenty miles before stopping. The forests of the Land of Moss were deep, and dark. Dull green moss hung the trees, and on the trunks. Moss grew on the rocks and on the roots and speckled the forest floor in heaps between wind-blown piles of brown leaves. Moss was at the margins of the dead leaves. This land was not nearly as dangerous as the wasteland- so long as they didn’t sleep on any of the soft beds of moss that covered the ground, or get badly injured- the moss could smell blood.

Lestat stopped the horses by a small creek and hopped off, and turned to Claire. She hopped off and he caught her in his arms, and hugged her tight, squeezing the air out of her.

She put her arms around his neck, and hugged back, and pulled her upper lip in. She had been nervous, and worried- those words- we need to talk- as soon as the cuff fell off. “What do we need to talk about?”

“Sit down,” he said, and took her hand, and led her to a rock by the stream.

That made her even more nervous. Was he breaking up with her? Surely not. She sat with him, and waited, chewing her lip.

“Tell me about your priestess- the one you want to kill.”

Claire looked at him. This was why he had been quiet? That’s what he needed to talk about? The fucking priestess? Was he now in agreement with James to let that bitch live? “Look, if-“

Lestat heard it in her voice- fire, as if that question was a spark in dry grass; she was starting to burn. He took her hands in his. “I’m worried about something, and want to ask you a question, to see if you have the same thought I had on the bridge.”

Claire paused her anger. The afternoon was crisp, and there were still a few red and yellow leaves rattling high in the oak trees. “What do you want to know?”

“Age, looks, name.”

Claire growled, and he turned to face her, and held her eyes. She huffed. “She’s older, mid-thirties, and has long red hair pulled back, and her name is Rin.”

“She can teleport herself, right- just like she did us?”

Claire nodded. Why the sudden interest in the bitch?

“Did you notice there was no one at the fight from Itthon, or waiting to see who walked across the bridge?”

Claire didn’t notice, but now that he mentioned it, she did. That was odd. Surely the priestess and the alphas would want to know who won. They would at least have people stationed on the bridge waiting. But there were only merchants on the bridge- no wolves, and no witches, from Itthon. Not in the stands, either.

“Did you notice how Beverly answered my question- on the bridge?”

Claire remembered- he had asked her the same question he’d asked Este, and Beverly’s answer? This world is dying. The lands are dying. And if- “Oh my god!” Claire gasped. “No fucking way!” She jumped up, and for the first time in over two months they broke contact- they broke touch. She stood in front of him, her hands held out in disbelief. “There’s no fucking way.” But once the thought was in her head, piece, after piece, fell into place.

Lestat nodded. “I’m pretty sure Beverly is the Moss Priestess."