An Eye For An Eye

Quatre-Vingt-Un

The new moon’s presence in the sky was suffocating, or rather, it’s lack of presence was. A month exactly since Deuc had done what he’d always meant to do. Staring up at it, I sighed, thinking back to the funerals.

A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts and before I was back inside the house, Deuc had already welcomed the visitor inside.

“Ms Morrell, I’m surprised to have not seen you sooner than this,” Deuc said as he motioned to the sofas. “I thought you might have attended the funerals.”
“I did,” she said coldly. She didn’t move to sit down. Her eyes landed on me as I stepped inside the room. She looked partially surprised, but whether it was because I was still here or whether it was because I likely looked like a dishevelled mess, I wasn’t sure.
“Were you perhaps avoiding me, Ms Morrell?”
“I’m sure you’d understand why I might have.” The druid’s voice was cold, and she glared in Deuc’s direction.

Deuc chuckled as he moved to sit down.
“And yet you came here anyway.”
“You requested my presence for a ritual, it’s not like I’m able to decline,” she said, glancing over at me. Did she think I was a willing part of this or did she believe I was scared into submission? While I was neither, I’m sure it didn’t appear that way to her.
“No, you’re not,” said Deuc. “I have ingredients ready in the kitchen for it.”

Morrell nodded and headed through while Deuc remained seated.
“Liza, you can come back inside.” He spoke more softly to me than he did with Ms Morrell. “You must be getting cold standing in the doorway.” Truthfully, I hadn’t noticed the chill but now he mentioned it, I shivered and shut the door behind me.

Morrell returned from the kitchen with several candles, various herbs and what looked like the claw of a werewolf. I had no idea which werewolf, but there was still blood on it that hadn’t quite dried. Had he ripped it from himself or had some poor person been forced to endure it? Gerard had ripped out claws, so I had the feeling it was Deuc’ own.

There were flowers too, roses in the deepest red colour I’d ever seen that Morrell set on the table before Deuc.

While they set up whatever ritual they were doing, I made myself a hot drink to keep myself warm. It had been half a year since I’d drunk hot chocolate myself, but the last time I’d bought one… It had been for Charles. Sighing, I continued making it and sipping the drink even though it was almost scalding.

“Deucalion, you know my thoughts on this.”
“I am aware, Ms. Morrell,” he said sharply. “It is tradition.” Morrell looked like she was biting her tongue as I returned. Tradition? I had the feeling that both Morrell and I knew how he had previously dealt with tradition. Neither of us said anything as they lit candles on the table.

I watched in silence, quietly sipping my hot drink as they closed their eyes and Deuc recalled the names of the pack, of those that he’d killed. The herbs and a few other small things had been placed in a dish that the candles surrounded. There was probably some long magical history behind it, one I had no idea of.

When it was over, Morrell spared no sympathies, only a quick glance in my direction, and left quickly. It left Deuc and I in the living room, with him still sitting and staring at the flickering candles. I wasn’t even sure if he could see them but I moved towards him.

“Was it some kind of remembrance ritual?” I asked. He nodded.
“It is not common in many packs, and is more of a British thing. Many packs in Britain do it, since they’re closer to their celtic origins,” he explained. He sighed and sat up straight. Of course, from Britain. I was so used to hearing his voice I almost forgot about his accent. “Some adopt it, most have long since cast it aside in favour of more… human memorials.”
“I see.”

“You didn’t want to take part?”
“I was happy watching,” I said. You’d been curious, and truthfully I didn’t want to remember while he sat next to me. All I remembered then was that night, rather than all the good things his victims had done, all the times and memories I had of them, even if some weren’t that good. “Besides, I can remember them my own way.”

“How are you feeling, Liza?” I sipped my drink as I stood by the sofa. Why did he ask now?
“As well as anyone can do,” I replied with a shrug. I stared down at the drink, it was starting to cool down now. “Why? What do you want me to say?”
“The truth,” he said. “If you want to leave, Liza, you can. If you need money to do that, I have no problems with it, I will give you money if that’s what you want.”
“What?”
“I know you might not want to stay with me, or join me with the Alpha pack. I can come up with something if you want to change your name and disappear,” he said quietly. His voice sounded strained and I sat next to him.

“I don’t know what I want to do, Deuc,” I said honestly. I’d considered it until I realised I had no money, nowhere to go, nowhere to live. But now he offered money to find somewhere to live and to just disappear. But did I really want it? What if he just wanted me to leave so more people could die without me knowing? “I really don’t know.”
“If you do want, just tell me.” He placed his hand on my arm. “I understand how you feel.”
“I don’t think you do.” How could he understand all the sleepless nights and memories of death?
“Then tell me, explain to me.”
“I don’t think I can.” Despite being a writer, I couldn’t find the words for the despair I pushed away and hid with other things. What words were there to tell him how I pretended I was okay every day and every night was reliving horrors? Horrors he caused. I couldn’t explain how I ignored my restless nights and instead took Briar’s concoction every night.

“When you can, I’m willing to listen.”
“I know,” I said, nodding. I finished my hot chocolate and took a deep breath. “But I don’t know if I can tell you. Maybe in time.”