Moon-Wake (Lone March #6)

Chapter One

Last Rites of a Raven

Raven’s Requiem

Saying Goodbye to Avery

I wasn’t ready yet.

My hair was still dripping from the bath. My body was still naked. I couldn’t put anything on till the skin stopped coming off; it grossed me out to think of it rubbing off on the insides of my clothes. Even after four days of bathing, I was still shedding copious amounts of skin. This, I discovered, was what happened to a body that didn’t bathe regularly. I’d spent a month in captivity with nothing but two hosing-downs with cold water, which did nothing to help my mounting flesh issue. Being a were-wolf didn’t help either. Essentially, having super-healing just meant that our bodies had enhanced cellular regeneration, so that we produced new cells at a much faster rate than humans. That’s why our hair grows faster. Now I know firsthand that it was also why my body was still caked in layers of extra skin, even after so many baths.

I lifted my towel from its draped position over the bed frame and gave myself a third scouring. But my hair was still dripping wet, and the droplets were falling all around me on the wood floor, so I got distracted looking at them. All on their own they formed a lazy, jagged circle around me; but it was a circle nonetheless. Each bead magnified the wood beneath it so that I could see notches and grains that didn’t normally show up at a glance. I bent down and trailed my finger through the dewdrop circle, turning when I had to till I’d completed the finger-trail all the way around. Now, there was a steady, unbroken ring around me, instead of just spatterings; now, it was like a safety circle of water.

Suddenly the door knocked; it was aggressive. I turned my head at the sound and just stared at the door for a minute, then I rose up, careful not to falter and step out of my homemade safety ring. I was about to call out that I wasn’t ready, but the door just opened.

Don’t come in here—I’m not ready yet—I’m not dressed! I shouted.

But Eleanor came in anyway. She looked me up and down, keeping the line of her mouth neutral, though I could see the frown in her dark eyes. Shall I send Althea in here to dress you?

No, you shall not, I said. I can dress myself. But I can’t if I’m being interrupted every five minutes.

You know full well this is the first time I’ve looked in on you.

I know, I said, clenching my teeth, it was Georgiana before you. I need to be left alone so I can get ready, so please just go.

She flicked an eyebrow up, but obeyed my command and turned to leave. Once she’d gone, I resolved myself to step outside of my safety circle so I could lock the door this time.

I plugged in the blow dryer on my vanity and dried my hair. It was longer than I was used to. I had gotten into the habit of trimming it weekly to keep it manageable. Of course, four weeks in captivity had made it grow well past my waist, but Ruthie cut it for me the day after we got back. However, she left it longer than usual and now it had almost been another week, so it was definitely time to trim it again.

When I finished drying it, I stared at myself for a minute, hardly recognizing my gaunt face, then my eyes went to the dress in the reflection. It was hanging from the edge of the accordion privacy screen in the corner. Someone must have laid it out for me while I’d been in the bath. It was a black tea-length dress, made of satin that had embroidered designs all over it. There was a light little matching jacket that fastened by making a bow out of the two ribbons of the collar. I didn’t want to get anywhere near that dress.

I wasn’t ready.

But I made myself move and eventually, I met the screen and tugged the dress off the hanger. I was trying to zip it up with my arms bent behind my back when my door knocked again. I growled and shouted, Still not ready!

Oh, sorry. I’ll just wait downstairs.

I turned my head at Ethyn’s muffled voice and scrambled over to the door. Sorry, I thought you were one of the girls again. You can come in.

It wasn’t till I finished speaking that I actually saw him. For the first time in over a month, I felt a spark of my old attraction for him. It had been so long since I’d looked at Ethyn in that way, but I couldn’t help doing so now. He looked a great deal like his mother, with the blonde hair and green eyes, but his father was also present and he couldn’t deny where the rest of his features came from. All over I caught glimpses of Avery—from the crisp, black suit, to the solemnly drawn mouth, to his rigid posture and the way he kept his fists anchored at his sides. Avery was there; he was everywhere in his son.

I cupped my mouth in one hand. Ohh.

What is it? he asked as I took a step back.

I shook my head. He looked even more like Avery when his face filled with concern.

March, he said, stepping forward and reaching for my hand.

I let him take it, but stepped back to keep him at arm’s length. You just look so much like him, I quavered.

He looked down and clenched his jaw. Sorry.

It’s okay. It’s good, actually. You look really handsome in that suit.

He squeezed my hand before dropping it and sitting in the chair by the door.

Neither of us spoke or moved for several minutes. Finally, he asked me if I was almost ready.

Not yet. Actually, can you zip me up?

He stood up and I backed into him. Once I was zipped, I put on the little matching jacket and took too long tying the bow. Then, I pulled the black tights off the top of the screen and went to sit on the bed, facing Ethyn and the door.

He’d been staying here at Wycherley with me since we’d gotten back home. He said he didn’t know how to deal with his mom during all this and that she didn’t want him around anyway. I felt the same way. I didn’t want to be there either (especially when Avery wasn’t there anymore), and I believed wholeheartedly that Caroline Harper didn’t want to deal with comforting anyone else; she wanted people taking care of her, not the other way around.

We drove home from Austin in Deckard’s car—Jessi squeezed close to him at the wheel, Ruthie in her fox form to save room, curled up in the floorboard of the front seat, Melissa and who I learned later were Arch and Saxon all in their corvine forms, huddled in the empty space in front. In the back was Grant in his lupine form, sitting backward on the seat with his front paws up to look out the back windshield and make sure we weren’t being followed. And then Avery’s long body bent up into the remaining part of the seat, with me and Ethyn on our knees in the floorboard, clutching him and laying our heads against his side. It was hard—no, there wasn’t a word to describe what it was. But watching the men put Avery in the car, seeing his form so loose and heavy, well, I understood how the term ‘dead weight’ came to be. As Deckard had started driving, Saxon, momentarily in his human form, used a tee shirt from the bag Avery had brought to Austin to make a tourniquet at the top of Avery’s neck, to keep his blood from leaking all over Deckard’s car. It’s strange the things that your mind does when it’s faced with death and trying to come to terms with it. Watching Saxon do this, I had a knee-jerk thought that maybe that would save him. Avery had been gone for ten minutes by that point, but still, my brain automatically held onto hope. Ruthie, before taking her fox form, removed her light jacket and laid it across Avery’s face. Again, my reflexive reaction was to remove it—that he wouldn’t like that; that it would smother him.

It was a tense drive home. Williamson County was notorious for having the police out in full force. We needed to tear down the highway so the cats wouldn’t catch us. But if we didn’t obey the speed limit, the cops would catch us (which would also lead to the cats catching up and then they would get us anyway). And if we got pulled over by a cop, we’d have a hard time explaining Avery’s body in the back seat.

We wanted to keep the windows down, to relieve the thick smell of blood in the air, and also because the wind would be loud enough to make up for the silence within the car, but we couldn’t risk the cats catching our scents on the wind.

When we got to Waco, Saxon offered to drive the rest of the way so Deckard obliged and pulled over, forcing Arch and Melissa into the floorboard with Ruthie and settling himself against the window. Jessi cuddled up next to him and he put his arm around her. Even though I’d never seen them get close like that, it struck me that I didn’t find it weird at all; it seemed as natural as if they’d been together for years. Deckard caught me looking at them and crooked his arm over the seat to rest his hand on my head. After a minute of petting my hair, he dropped it and gestured that he wanted to hold my hand. We rode several miles down the road that way and he just hugged me with his big, brown eyes. I was really glad he was there. And the others too.

Saxon drove us straight to Wycherley Place without consulting anyone, but no one seemed to care. They all trudged inside and waited for further instruction about where they could sleep, except Grant, who broke out in a run, checking the parameters of the grounds and making sure we were secure. Afterward, he sat down right at the entrance of the drive and continued his watch for the few remaining hours of the night. Saxon and Arch carried Avery’s body inside and Ethyn and I followed willfully.

All the Wycherley ravens were, of course, asleep and I was thankful we didn’t have to deal with explanations or rehashing the story of what happened.

They laid him flat on a long sofa in the right parlor and both of us resumed our positions in front of him on the floor. We remained there while Saxon made phone calls and paced the rooms of the first floor, the sounds of his movement the only noise in the quiet house. His steps were like some horrid metronome, adding an emotionless pulsation to the scene, a cold countdown to the final moments of the night. That night would be the end of the first part of my life; the chapter would close automatically. Thereafter, it would be something else, something different.

I didn’t know where the others had gone. Arch had taken them upstairs to guest rooms. After he had them settled he came down and asked me and Ethyn if we wanted to lie down, but we both shook our heads, afraid and unwilling to leave Avery.

But when Saxon finished his phone calls, he came in and fell into an armchair across from the couch. He told us that Harvey Overton, a were-goose and commissioner of the Glenbrook PD, was on his way, handling the report himself in order to keep the were aspect of the case secret. And then he said the undertaker would be coming to take Avery to the funeral home.

I tried to go with them when they took his body to the car, insisted I had to stay with Avery, but Saxon, with the help of Grant, held me back until the car was long out of sight. Grant told me it was dangerous for me to be out in the open in Glenbrook, that I had to stay at Wycherley, where I was safe. I didn’t care about any of that. I just wanted to be with Avery. But back inside the house I saw Ethyn sitting on the bottom step of the staircase. He looked up at me when I walked in. And in that moment, my sadness latched onto him. We were sharing this pain; we were in this together.

We haven’t spent a night apart since.

Now my tights were on and I stared across the room at the patent leather lace-up heels sitting neatly next to the privacy screen. Ethyn watched me and when he realized I was looking at the shoes and saw my reservation, he silently got up and brought them over to me. I took them, held them in both hands, but made no move to put them on. After another minute, Ethyn knelt down in front of me, took the shoes back and began to put them on my feet, still silent. I watched him loop the laces, tie perfect bows with careful fingers, then he placed his palms under the soles, as if viewing his handiwork and presenting my own feet to me. He cut his eyes up at me and mine filled with tears.

Before I said a word, he nodded slowly and said, "You are ready. I shook my head and he said, We’re going to do this together. We can do this together."

He stood up and offered his hand to me. And as I looked at him, his father so present in his appearance and behavior, I decided that I could do this. I wasn’t ready yet; I wasn’t sure I’d ever be ready. But I could do it as long as Ethyn was there with me, as long as I knew I wasn’t going through this particular kind of pain alone. So I took his hand and stood up, and we walked out together.

Ethyn and I rode with Saxon and Grant, who had opted to continue being my bodyguard over the few days I’d been here. After seeing what he was capable of during the escape, I didn’t object. I still didn’t like him much, but the escape made me appreciate him, respect him on a certain level.

The sun was out, a bleak, butter-colored January sun, but a sun nonetheless, and I resented its light. I thought it should have been a grey, soggy sort of day. When the place came into view, Ethyn grabbed my hand at the same time I’d been reaching for his. Woeden Funeral Home it was called. I couldn’t tell if it was Ethyn’s hand or mine that was so clammy.

There were more cars than I would have expected, considering Avery led such a private life. Behind us came Arch, Freeman, Georgiana, and Eleanor in one car. Ahead of us, Wilhelmina and Brainard in theirs. Bertrand and Beatrice had come earlier and Alex was somewhere far behind us all, determined to be last, determined not to be here any longer than he had to be.

Inside, the saturating sound of a pipe organ pervaded the entrance hall of the funeral home, as did the heady, balmy fragrance of fresh flowers and potpourri. It smelled like old ladies in here. At least fifty old ladies. But even more were the conflicting scents of so many weres stuffed into one room; that was more overpowering than the potpourri.

Caroline stood near the entrance of the service hall, waiting, wanting to receive condolences from all the guests. In her black, tapered dress, hat with little veil, and black lace gloves, she looked magnificent—a blonde Jackie Kennedy. When she saw us, she reached out dramatically for Ethyn. I dropped my hand before he asked and turned to sit on a bench by the door, watching as she curved her delicate hand around the back of his head, combing down his hair as she pulled him in for a hug. It was all for show, I was sure of it. And I was also sure Ethyn knew that. But he was such a dutiful sort of person, such a compliant son, that I knew he would submit to her will and play along. It was okay that he wouldn’t stand by me; I knew he would never be far.

Saxon, seeing that I was sitting alone, walked over. He took an uncomfortable breath and, as if the thought had just occurred to him, asked, Would you like to meet the funeral director?

I took a good minute before answering, then I shrugged. I guess so. I knew he was just trying to keep me distracted, but I didn’t mind. I actually kind of appreciated it.

He brought me before a man standing at one of the far sets of doors to the service hall. The man was average height, but his shoulders hunched, so he seemed to loom over me. He was bald with lots of liver spots and scraggily hairs sticking out at odd places. His nose was big and had a hump in the middle of the bridge. His eyes were miniscule—the tiniest eyes I’d ever seen on a full-grown man.

March, this is Ira Woeden, the undertaker and owner of this mortuary, said Saxon. Mr. Woeden, I’d like you to meet March Howe.

Hi, I said, it’s nice to meet you.

He clasped my offered hand in both of his and said, Oh, no, dear, the pleasure is all mine. His voice wasn’t especially deep, but it was resonant. I am very sorry for your loss.

I shook my head quickly and retracted my hand. This distraction was failing.

Saxon noticed this gesture and changed the subject. Mr. Woeden has buried every soul from Wycherley House who has passed since 1943.

With that, I looked up with a start. 1943?? I wanted to ask how he could possibly be that old, but I thought it was rude.

Mr. Woeden got beckoned by a squat little woman leaning out of a door across the room and said, Pardon me. It was only then—when he raised his hand to excuse himself—that I noticed he had six fingers.

My mouth fell open. He has an extra finger.

Extra thumb, actually, corrected Saxon. One on each hand.

He has twelve fingers??

Indeed.

How strange.

Not so strange when you think about it.

I gave Saxon an incredulous look but didn’t say anything else for fear of being overheard. And how is it possible that he’s been doing this since 1943? I whispered. He cocked his head at me, so I clarified my point. He must be at least eighty years old.

Eighty is not such an unbelievable age for a person to be active and keep a job, Saxon hedged.

That guy looks like he’s maybe sixty—maybe.

I’m sure he’d be tickled pink to hear you say that. He’s actually ninety-three.

What?? I asked, looking over my shoulder at the man to size him up with this new information.

I didn’t know Saxon had bent to my ear till I heard him whisper so close. "Ira Woeden is a were-mole. As such, it would be more of a deformity for him not to have twelve fingers. And as for the age, all weres enjoy a prolonged life. You knew that much, didn’t you?"

I just shook my head. I remembered being told something about living longer, but I just thought it meant I would spend an extra few years being an ancient old woman. I didn’t know that weres kept their youth longer (and comparatively speaking, looking sixty was definitely youthful next to actually being ninety-three).

In the hall, where the same incessant hymn was being played on the pipe organ, over and over again, I found Deckard, Jessi, and Ruthie sitting in a row near the back. They all rose in unison when I approached them, hugging me in turn. When I sat in the space next to Deckard, they all followed.

I didn’t know who any of these people were. I realized I didn’t even know if Avery had living parents. That’s when I looked for Bertrand. I found him in the first row, but he sat alone. Filed in behind him were all the other Wycherley ravens, except Saxon, who hadn’t come in yet. Next to Bertrand were Ethyn and Caroline. In the middle section of the room I found all the other were-birds I’d met at the Christmas party and some people around them that I pegged for weres simply by association with the others. The rest were complete strangers, probably some of Caroline’s family, probably Avery’s law firm partners.

When Saxon walked in, he started down the aisle, looking at the family section, but quickly began looking all around till his eyes landed on me. He doubled back and slipped up next to me. March, you should be next to Ethyn.

I don’t think anyone wants me sitting up there but Ethyn, I said simply.

They most certainly do, he said. You’re expected to.

I am?

Without another word, he opened his hand to me and I took it and followed. I’ll see you guys after, I said over my shoulder to my friends.

It wasn’t till I got situated next to Ethyn, ignoring Caroline’s almost-concealed look of disapproval, that I got a program in my hands. When I opened it, I saw something curious.

Avery is survived by his wife, Caroline Fairchild Harper, his son, Ethyn Bradley Harper, his adopted daughter, March Greeley Howe, and his brother, Bertrand Stuart Harper.

Adopted daughter? How could they confuse ‘foster’ with ‘adopted’? I elbowed Ethyn and showed him the mistake, but he just shrugged and looked as bewildered as I was.

Just before the service started, I saw Melissa Glasswell slip into the row right behind the Wycherley ravens, as if she was part of the family just because she was a raven too. It put me off right away. I know she’d been with the rescue party and had kind of, I guess, in a weird non-active way, helped save me from the cats, but I still didn’t like her presumption. She had no reason to be here at all—especially not folding in with the Wycherley ravens.

I suddenly realized that this bitterness, this irritation, was the first feeling besides sadness or fear I’d had in over a week. And I liked it. Anger wasn’t good, but since I’d been weak and downtrodden for as long as I had, it felt empowering, it felt good, even if it wasn’t. So I latched onto the new emotion like it was a single drop of moisture in a dessert. And I’d been trapped in the dessert of depression and darkness for too long. I was dehydrated. And resenting Melissa Glasswell was my hydration.

Caroline was not safe from this contempt either, but after so many years of torment, it was so easy to direct the hate at Melissa.

I was scowling at her over my shoulder when a group coming into the service hall caught my eye. It was the pack! All the men from my pack (except Greyson, who still hadn’t returned from Laredo) shuffled in and sat around Grant, at the back. A strange kind of pride swelled up in me then. Pride that the pack would pay their respects to a raven when they all used to hate ravens. Then, pride for Avery that he had been the kind of person in life who made friends of enemies, and maintained the kind of character that incited respect.

I watched them for a minute, trying to hold back my tears at seeing them, and they each nodded at me when they saw me. It was strange to see them all clean and dressed up for the funeral. I didn’t think any of them owned suits but apparently they did. They had all given themselves clean shaves or trimmed their beards, as well as combed their hair. I hardly recognized them to be honest. Only then did I noticed who was at the end of the row with them—Elliot. What was he doing here? Why wasn’t he locked up in the cage anymore? And if he wasn’t a prisoner, why would he want to come to Avery’s funeral? I didn’t have a clue about any of these things, but I knew it pissed me off to see him as much as it pissed me off to see Melissa.

The service was not outlandish or overlong, but elegant and straightforward. When the pipe organ finished (thank Gaia) a string quartet began to play. It was also a hymn, but different, more delicate. After that, a man I recognized as the reverend from Glenbrook First Baptist, which, I remembered Ethyn telling me, the Harper family had belonged to for fifteen years or something, stood up and read scriptures from the Old Testament and the New Testament in turn. He gave a ‘prayer of comfort’ I paid little attention to and then asked if anyone wanted to share a memory of Avery. The last thing I wanted to do was share my private memories of my special relationship with this man with a roomful of strangers. Just when I was asking myself who would be willing to do such a thing, I saw a man get up and walk to the podium. I had to admit, I was eager to hear other people’s accounts of the man I’d been so close to, but when the guy said he was a partner at their law firm, I tuned him out right away. He didn’t know the real Avery, only the work Avery. And I knew the work Avery well enough on my own. But after that, Wilhelmina Frome stood up and this I knew I had to pay attention to. On the way to the platform, she sniffled and wiped her nose with a tissue.

Avery Harper was a good man. Growing up together as we did, he was very much like a brother to me. I have always held him in the highest esteem, regarded his integrity and his sense of duty with utter veneration. From a young age he sought to help others, do right by those around him, protect those he loved, sometimes even those he didn’t know, when he felt they had no other protection. I knew she was talking about me and I bit my lip to hold back a sob. When I was thirteen years old and Avery was sixteen, he rescued me from an attacking wildcat. To this day, I don’t know how he found me when I’d been too stunned to call for help, but he did. And it cost him a great deal physically before it was over, but I never forgot that he put his life in danger to save mine. That was who he was. Good or bad, right or wrong, he made the hard choices to serve those he loved, no matter the cost.

It felt like her speech was just for me. I knew most of these people wouldn’t catch what was really being said. But how had Wilhelmina known that I’d been conflicted over Avery’s past? How could she have known that I was angry with him at the end, that I’d decided, days before his death, that I couldn’t trust him? Anyway, it didn’t matter, because all that was moot when he took his last breath and left his body. My uncertainty and distrust, my anger and hatred had all been washed away by alarm, dread and sorrow. I didn’t know my biological mother, but I had known Avery. And with my remorse over treating him so poorly in his final moments, there came a sense of detachment from it all—emotionally disconnected from the story of his past and how it intersected with my mother’s. Though, a detached curiosity at the real story behind what he’d done, the reason he’d killed her, did remain. Now I’d never know.

Eulogies were given by Ethyn and Saxon, both of which had me balling relentlessly, and then the reverend gave a closing prayer and started the recessional, where everyone filed out, row-by-row, to view the body, the immediate family last. Again, I scowled at Melissa when she stood up sniffling and gazed sadly at Avery behind the Wycherley ravens. Who did she think she was?

The last few rows went through the line and finally it was time for the immediate family to view him. It seemed an archaic, grotesque practice to me, but at the same time, I couldn’t stop myself from looking in on him when it was my turn. When I saw his face, I had a powerful urge to plant myself there and never remove my eyes from him. But Ethyn turned back and held his hand out to me, so I summoned all my strength and stepped away with him.

It was an indescribably strange feeling to think that, after that moment, I would never see Avery again.

Once outside, Ethyn squeezed my hand and let go. I’m a pallbearer, so I have to go back in and…bear the pall now, he said absently. I could tell he didn’t want to do it—perhaps not to leave me, perhaps because the idea of carrying his dad’s casket freaked him out or made him nervous. But, just like his dad had been, he was always consumed by his duty. He left me there and walked back in a daze.

I watched the pallbearers assemble and was surprised to find that among the Wycherley men (excluding Alex, of course) were Grant and Graham. The rest of the pack, along with a few of Avery’s business associates and a typically surly Alex, were the ‘honorary’ pallbearers, meaning they only had to ‘bear the pall’ if something happened to the main guys. But Grant and Graham were actually ‘active’ ones. It was a testament to how far our groups had come in the last few months and it felt right that the wolves and the ravens were closer to each other, like it was something Gaia definitely approved of.

The interment took place at Wycherley. At the back of the property was a burial plot that held several old headstones bearing the surnames of most of the ravens who lived here now, as well as others unknown. Everything was ready for the burial, the mechanical device in place around the hole, flowers and wreaths sprinkled around. When the casket was in place, the waiting reverend read some more scriptures of hope and encouragement, and then it was over. Just like that, an attendant stepped up to the edge of the device around the casket, bent down and flipped a little lever, and just like that, the coffin was lowering into the ground. And just like that, a hundred emotions rushed me. What were they doing? Why were they putting him in the ground like this? Who started this stupid tradition?! It was cold and dirty and dark down there. And he would be lonely. It was too finalizing—he would be trapped there! I hated this—all of it! These dumb, ancient traditions, the strangers in charge of arranging the service, the strangers in control of the ceremony—all of it! And what about all the strangers who showed up? Like Melissa Glasswell. There she was, barefaced and shameless, standing in the front row closest to the lowering coffin, among the immediate family like she belonged there! That was it—I couldn’t take anymore!

My hands balled into fists, my fingernails making deep indentations in my hot palms. I raked them back and forth over the grooves, a poor attempt to distract myself. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Her hateful face with that shiny blonde mane. What was she doing here? Avery’s casket was almost gone, almost swallowed up by the hole. I felt like I couldn’t breathe—like I was the one being buried. Was she actually crying? Did she actually have tears in her eyes?? Now it was gone. The casket was in the hole and there was no going back. She raised a boney finger and flicked back a piece of hair, a gesture I’d seen her do a million times, a gesture that usually accompanied one of her haughty sneers. She shouldn’t be here.

And I was off, pushing my feet off the ground and diving at her. She wasn’t far from me, so I fell on her in two seconds and she instantly crumpled to the ground. I straddled her. My hands seemed to have a mind of their own, shooting toward her scrawny neck and wrapping tight around it. What are you doing here?! You don’t know him! My fingers were woven together under her neck, like my hands were clasped, only she was in the middle of them. You have no business—you have no right—you don’t know him! Tunnel vision formed around my hands; all I saw was the part of her that I had a hold of. I couldn’t see them, but I felt people trying to pull me off her. Though I was weakened from my month in captivity, my rage gave me some of the were-wolf strength I’d been missing, so I was able to throw them off me. It seemed I had tunnel hearing too, because everyone sounded far away. I heard Quinn trying to talk reason into me. I felt Graham’s hand as he also tried to calm me down. Deckard and Ethyn had a hold of my waist and Ruthie and Jessi were tugging at Melissa, whose face, I only then noticed, was blood-red with bulging eyes.

None of them were making any progress, but then, all of a sudden, I felt like I was the one being choked. The sensation distracted me so my fingers loosened and the girls were able to pull the boney bitch away. The boys tumbled backward with me and only then did I start to hear all the other people screaming and exclaiming. Caroline was balling loudly and shouting something about me ruining everything. I couldn’t respond; I was still being choked. I broke free from the boys and looked all around me as I clutched my pinching neck. But no one was there. No one was choking me. I felt no fingers around me. I couldn’t understand it—I was choking, still felt my throat squeezing shut. My eyes searched the crowd. I didn’t know who I was looking for, but I hoped someone would notice what was happening and help me somehow. I didn’t know what anyone could do about an invisible attacker, but I obviously wasn’t able to handle it myself. My brain was running through all the reasonable explanations, but they were each promptly rendered unreasonable for this situation. I hadn’t been eating anything, so I couldn’t have been choking on food. There was no thin cord cutting into my flesh. This felt completely internal. I fell back to lie on the ground. My head lolled to the side and my eyes rolled onto the murder of ravens.

And then, in one instant, I saw one small gesture, an almost undetectable movement. Bertrand, recognition of what was happening to me clear in his face, turned to Beatrice, looked at her for a moment, then nudged her. She looked up at him and suddenly I could breathe. I couldn’t explain it at all, but I knew Beatrice was the one choking me. And when Bertrand had nudged her, he had broken her concentration and she was forced to release me. How she did it, I didn’t know, but I knew it as sure as I knew I’d been doing the same thing to Melissa.

Chapter Two

Two Wakes in Nine Weeks

Window Seats, Wavelengths, and Wounds

A Punch of Red like Wine

Back at the house, I shut myself up in my bedroom, though I had a feeling I would have been banished to it anyway if I hadn’t gone up on my own. The post-memorial gathering, or ‘repast’ as it was called in the service program, was being held here at Wycherley. After my spectacle at the gravesite, I knew I wouldn’t be allowed to show my face again till the guests had all gone.

Deckard, Jessi, Ruthie and Ethyn weren’t far behind me, so they came through the door minutes later. I was sitting on the window seat, looking down on all the people going inside, so I saw the pack, looking hesitant and uneasy, as they made their way to the door, Elliot still among them. Seriously, what was he doing here and why did Quinn think it was okay?

Ethyn sat down next to my feet on the window seat, loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top two buttons of his collared shirt, while the other three closed in around me. It seemed they hadn’t noticed the invisible choking, because, other than looking a little freaked out about my outburst, their faces were mostly blank.

Where’s Melissa? I asked. She seems to be tagging along everywhere you guys go lately.

She went home, said Ruthie.

I was waiting for someone to scold me for what I’d done to her, but no one did. They were still handling me carefully, as a girl who just lost her father figure, as a girl who’d been held prisoner for a month, and, most especially, as a girl who was also a rage-filled were-wolf, who choked people for no apparent reason.

How are you two feeling? Deckard asked, looking back and forth between Ethyn and me.

We looked at each other, hoping the other would have the answer. When we saw that neither of us did, we didn’t say anything. Ethyn just shrugged.

A minute passed and finally Jessi spoke up. How about Ruthie and I fix you each a plate of ‘repast’?

No thanks, said Ethyn.

I’m not hungry, I said at the same time.

Gee, I feel like I’ve been here before, said Ruthie as she gave Jessi a pointed look that I didn’t understand. Look, guys, I know this isn’t exactly a kick. It’s twenty miles outta Fat City and a blink away from Nowheresville. But you gotta keep healthy, see? You don’t have to be bright-eyed, but you gotta be bushy-tailed. At least have some dogs-n-maggots or some moo juice or something.

Deckard opened his mouth to say something, then shot his fist up over it to stop himself. I’m gonna refrain from saying something about that gibberish this time out of respect for March and Ethyn.

Jessi grabbed Ruthie’s wrist and started backing out of the room. Okay, well, we’re gonna go find you guys some…maggots and moo…yeah, whatever she said…

When they’d gone, Deckard said, You’d think the more I got to know her, the more normal all that would seem, but really, Ruthie just seems weirder and weirder every day. Neither I nor Ethyn responded to the comment. He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. Hey, you know, Ethyn, uh, can I have a minute alone with March?

Ethyn looked at each of us and said, Sure, and walked out.

Deckard took Ethyn’s place, putting his back to the wall and pulling his feet up on the seat like mine, so we were mirroring each other. Then he just looked at me.

What’s up? I asked.

I’m not sure, he said, turning to look out the window.

I wanted to smile at him—it was so like Deckard to ask to talk to me without knowing what he wanted to say—but I couldn’t smile.

You’re my best friend, he announced.

And you’re mine, I said.

"I don’t understand any of this were stuff yet, he said, but I will. Just explain it to me. And then I’ll know how to help you, how to…keep being your best friend."

I couldn’t smile, but I could definitely tear up. I want to. I really want to explain it to you and I want us to always be best friends…but, I just—

It’s okay, I know. You don’t have to do it right now. Just when you’re feeling up to it.

I nodded and wiped my eyes. And that’s when I felt my anger really start to melt away and I breathed out a sigh of relief. Yes, my rage had given me more strength than I’d known for weeks, but it had also trapped me, and I was tired of being trapped. Thanks to Deckard, I was starting to get free of it now. I looked at him, squeezed into the window seat, his knees touching my knees. He was so much the same as he had always been, yet he looked so much older than I remembered him from before my kidnapping. Maybe it was just the suit. But then, I didn’t remember him looking so much older at my parents’ funeral two months ago.

My parents.

Their funeral was on a Sunday, too.

Two wakes and nine weeks between them. Three deaths. Three parents gone. Four if you counted my bio mom.

I clenched my teeth, trying to hold back the lump in my throat but failing. I don’t know how I’m supposed to keep doing this, I cried.

Deckard leaned right up, as if expecting my sudden emotion, hooked his arm under my knees and swiveled them off the seat. Then he pulled me into him, an easy task since I’d dropped so much weight over the last month. He wrapped his arms around me and I held onto them and cried and cried.

Jessi and Ruthie brought us some food, but I was too nauseous to eat. Ethyn tried, but after a couple of bites, he couldn’t do it either.

The pack came up to my room to give their condolences and my friends left us alone. They could have stayed; I wouldn’t care, but they seemed to think it was rude to hang around. Elliot was there, of course, but stood back by the door, keeping his distance. Graham explained the guard situation: Grant and Dan would stay around the outskirts of the property Monday through Friday, then Zach and Russell would take over for them on weekends while they went back to the den to recharge. I used to feel bad about all their protection details, when they’d guard me at school and at the Harpers’, but I couldn’t think about that now. I was too preoccupied with other things to worry about inconveniencing the pack. For one, why in the hell Elliot was here.

What is this about, Quinn? I pointed at Elliot, without looking at him.

Quinn followed my finger and drew in a breath as he turned back to me. Well, that’s a story maybe we ought to save for another time.

Why is he here? I insisted.

The rest of the pack stirred uneasily, like they’d been expecting this reaction, as well they should’ve.

Quinn stared at me for a long time. I recognized his expression because he’d used it with me so many times. He was figuring out how to say what he needed to say without inciting my rage. It rarely worked.

I could talk to her about it, if it’s alright with you, Elliot spoke up, directing his question at Quinn.

Actually, Quinn started, that’s not a bad—

"No, it’s not alright with me, I said. In fact, it’s not alright that you’re here in the first place!"

Okay, boys, we’re gonna need a minute here, so why don’t you wait in the hall? said Quinn.

All the men left the room, except for Quinn and Elliot, who took a diffident step toward us, but went no further than that.

Alright, darlin’, Quinn grunted as he lowered himself into a chair from the corner that he’d pulled over to the window.

What’s going on here? I demanded.

I’m tryin’ to tell you, he said calmly. He took a minute before he started. Now, I know you haven’t lived much in wartimes, but—

What’s that got to do with anything?

Let me finish, he said, holding up a hand. "War changes things, darlin’, it changes people."

Oh, please! I interrupted again. Don’t even try to tell me he’s a good person now!

Elliot still stood back, looking down with a reflective, withdrawn expression.

Are you gonna let me tell the story or not?

There’s a story? I asked hotly.

You’d know that by now if you’d quit interruptin’, said Quinn.

Fine, tell your stupid story, I said, crossing my arms.

When we set out after you, I wanted the best chance o’ gettin’ you back. That meant usin’ every able-bodied wolf we had. Even Elliot. I don’t know if it helped us get you back or not, but I know it saved my life, bringin’ him along.

My stiff shoulders sagged and I took my gaze from the window to look back at Quinn. I didn’t need to ask what he meant; he could see the question in my face, so he went on.

The trip gettin’ to Austin wore me out somethin’ fierce, he said. I think a stiff wind could’ve blown me over and kept me down, never mind a bunch o’ cats. Well, Brigham was tryin’ to protect me and he got a round full o’ silver in him before it was over. It didn’t take long till both of us were laid up on the floor o’ that lair. And that’s when Elliot here, he said, gesturing at him now, came to our rescue. Only then did Elliot look up and land his gaze on me, those evil eyes pressing into mine. He used his skill for healin’ and put me and Brigham both to rights.

Hah! now I found the hole in the story. That’s impossible! He lost his gift for healing when he turned into the Big Bad Wolf! I saw it happen—he was trying to heal Zach and Russell once and he couldn’t do it!

You’re right, I couldn’t, Elliot spoke up for the first time. I lost The Healing when I lost myself. I didn’t think I’d ever get it back. He stepped closer now. But the battle provided me with an unexpected moment of clarity.

Bullshit, I cut him off sharply.

He pretended not to hear the word and went on. I saw in black and white, when I was in the cat lair. Our two groups clashing—the contrast between good and evil was right there on the surface, screaming at me to see it. And I realized what I’d become and—

With every word he spoke, I got some new image from the past flaring up in my mind—when he seized control of the pack, when he held me prisoner and tried to rape me, when he shot me on that school bus and tried to do the same thing again. Not to mention all the things he did to everyone else, especially the four most important men in my life. One of which was gone now…

I’ve heard enough, I cut in. I’m not buying into your crap even if Quinn and the rest of them are.

I understand, he said quietly. "But I want you to know how sorry I am that I hurt you. I have…I have towering regret and shame for what I’ve done to you and everyone else."

He was good, I’d give him that. His face was almost unrecognizable with its affected guilt and dejection. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was just some good-natured wolf. But I did know better. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say. I don’t want your apology—I just want you to leave and never come near me again.

There was a moment of quiet as they both stared at me, then Quinn said, Elliot, I think it’s best at this point if you wait outside.

He gave a single nod and turned and left.

Don’t tell me you actually let him back into the pack, I said warily.

We don’t have to talk about any of this right now. It’s been a hard day for you, he said, patting my arm.

I wanted to protest and insist on talking about it now so I could dispute his reasoning for letting Elliot off the hook so easily. But he was right; it had been a hard day, and it wasn’t even two o’clock yet.

After a few minutes alone with me, Quinn called the pack back and they filed in, minus Elliot, of course. I inquired about Greyson and Brigham, but they still hadn’t heard anything. I asked if everyone on our side made it out of the Austin fight okay and they said as far as they knew everyone had. Sam said they started their retreat as soon as they got word that I was safely away. He was eager to recount the highlights of the battle and we all humored him. Sam was the next youngest after Greyson and so the second lowest on the totem pole. He was rarely allowed to be involved in the bigger events of the pack and had never been in a cat fight. Neither had Greyson, but that had never bothered him since he didn’t really want to be involved anyway. But Sam was much more like the rest of the pack, so he did want to be involved in everything and really wanted to prove himself. He made sure to tell me that he was sorry I’d been taken, but was glad he got to be in the rescue party.

After Sam’s spiel, we all talked about this and that, little nothings, trying to avoid the events that had taken place that morning—Avery’s funeral, of course, but also my rage-fueled attack on Melissa. Everyone neatly sidestepped that part. I could tell this pack of wolves seemed really uncomfortable being in a ravens’ nest and kind of acted like they were in a museum, where they were afraid to touch anything. They were too polite to say so or take leave early, so eventually, I reminded them that my friends were waiting downstairs to visit some more with me, giving them the out they were all hoping for. But just before leaving, they each gave me a big bear hug, spoke the ceremonial phrase, May Gaia keep you, and a few ruffled my hair. Quinn told me they’d keep me informed about what was happening via Graham’s cell phone. He also told me I would be spending my full moon cycles chained up in the Wycherley storm shelter. It wasn’t safe for me to leave the plantation, but it also wasn’t safe enough for me to be here alone. So Quinn had decided that the whole pack would be going through the full moon cycle right here with me. The storm shelter was apparently big enough to accommodate all of us, they only needed to add the necessary chains and we’d be set. Luckily, I wouldn’t have to worry about being naked in front of a pack of men—Quinn was having the guys partition off a section just for my privacy.

I asked him to let me know when Greyson got back from Laredo and when they heard that Brigham was okay, and he said he would. They started out the door and Quinn gave me one last hug, whispered, May Gaia keep you ever more in any form you take, and then shuffled out.

My friends all came back as soon as they saw the pack leave and we commenced with doing the same thing I’d done with the wolves—talking about nothing in particular and avoiding the main issues. By six o’clock, Deckard, Jessi and Ruthie announced their departure. They had school in the morning; Ethyn and I did not.

It wasn’t long after they left that the door knocked and Saxon came in. He walked to the bedpost, rested his hand on it and cleared his throat. We were on the window seat. He was keeping the bed between us, reluctant to get closer. I have to say something, he announced, and none of us are going to like it, but it must be said. He cleared his throat again. First of all, let me say, I know how hard this day has been…for both of you, of course. The loss you have suffered is great. And far different a kind of loss than that which I have suffered today. My parents died of pneumonia before I was a year old, so I cannot fathom the grief this has caused you. But the Harpers brought me up like their own, thus Avery was my brother, as well as my best friend. I tell you this in order that you not think me insensitive when I reprimand you. He pursed his lips and cleared his throat again. He was looking right at me. I am a raven, so I do not pretend to understand the rage that builds up in you, but I must ask that you try not to let it color your actions so egregiously in the future.

Try? Her voice cut through the silent room like a blade.

Saxon turned to Beatrice. I shot out of my seat.

What did you do to me? I demanded.

She looked right at me, but ignored my words and kept talking to Saxon. I think we should aim for more than ‘trying’, she said. "Because I, at least, will not let Wycherley House fall to destruction under the conflagrations of some wild mutt-bitch." She didn’t exclaim it, but her words were hard and sharp.

I took two steps toward the bed—I wanted to dive over it and strangle her like I’d strangled Melissa—but Ethyn jumped up and grabbed my arm to hold me back.

You’re one to talk! I shouted. Your hate is as destructive as my rage!

Alright, let’s everyone calm down, started Saxon.

You did the same thing to me! I yelled. You strangled me—I know you did! How did you do it?!

Like this, she said, raising her hand and closing her fingers inward till they were pinched together.

Instantly, I felt the same sensation as before. I was literally being strangled with no hand around my neck. I choked and gasped, doubling over and clutching at my throat as if I could possibly help myself.

What’s happening?? Ethyn asked, watching me with horror.

That’s enough—stop this now, Beatrice! Saxon shouted, grabbing her arm and wrenching it downward. But through my bloodshot eyes, I could see her hand was still poised, even at her side. She was still in control of me, like a puppet master.

Black spots were forming in my vision. My body’s processes were slowing down.

Make it stop! Ethyn yelled. Stop it now! He fluttered his hands around me, unsure what to do, like he was afraid if he touched me he’d make it worse.

I said stop! Saxon shouted, grabbing her hand and finally disconnecting it from me.

I sputtered and coughed, gulping breaths and falling back into my seat on the window. Ethyn sat with me, his arm around me.

I will not tolerate any of this! Saxon screamed. March lives here now—I am her legal guardian. I took up this responsibility per the request of my dead friend, my brother.

I was so shocked by that revelation that I could only stutter nonsense. Avery officially turned over his guardianship to Saxon before he died? I really did have to live here permanently now??

Saxon continued before I could say anything. And I will not let it upset the balance of this house. You two must learn to get along. You will be under the same roof, whether you like it or not, for quite some time. He started out shouting, but the decibels tumbled till he was back to his normal register by the end.

This has been my house much longer than it has been yours, Saxon Pierce, said Beatrice. "I won’t have you putting stipulations on how I behave within my home. I know perfectly well the hideous burden that oh-so-beloved Avery has forced on us and I don’t care."

I ripped out of the window and flew over the bed, but all too fast her hand was up and she was using her trick on me again. I slammed to a halt, like a dog caught by the end of its leash.

Saxon grabbed her hand again and squeezed. This time turning to address both of us, he said, Stop this and leave each other alone! Without another word, he