The Lamb and the Gray Battle

October 30, 2022

It was a long day, then a long night.

This Harold Dethewaite fellow was spindly and his hair was thin and limp. Brantley could have bent this twig, but he had never been a violent person and Dethewaite was holding his phone hostage. Every few hours, Dethewaite pushed a pill at him.

"It's iron, harmless in small doses," Dethewaite said.

Brantley swore under his breath, took the iron. He would start to relax, then the silk ringtone would play from his phone.

"My mother is worried," Brantley complained, his blood pressure spiking.

Dethewaite had the air conditioner running full blast.

"Very well," the middle-aged man said, sliding the phone across the table.

As expected, all the messages were, "Call me right now."

And his mother answered instantly: "Where have you been?"

"Calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down, young man. King Ao Guang is next door and Evie is a monster, some kind of siren or banshee."

"She's the Red Dragon. King Ao Guang's wife."

"I know that! The King of Hell was standing on my front porch chatting with me last night!" She cursed and spit. "He was very personable, goddammit!"

Every sentence his mother spoke was an exclamation and Brantley shut his mouth, let her rant, tell him how worried she was and how the world was falling apart.

"Mom," Brantley said. His hands shook. Harold Dethewaite gave him herbal tea and biscuits, assured him that he was his friend. "Mr. Dethewaite told me I shouldn't go back to Ohio. He offered me a job. With Dethewaite and Sons. They're going to have my credits transferred here and they want me to study law here too."

"What happened to you?"

"I woke up in Canada!" Brantley shrieked. "I have no memory. At. All. Just blank. For hours. Gone!" Brantley gnashed his teeth, shot across the room. "My friends are in jail. President Gable is on TV calling for swift justice. He said the Banned Music Committee is an insurgence of evil."

His mother was quiet. Dylan was in the background, but Brantley couldn't make out what he was saying. He probably thought having King Ao Guang next door was exciting.

"Mom, you should move to Canada too."

"Under no circumstance—"

"Mr. Dethewaite said it would be a matter of time before the government tracked down all of Dethewaite and Sons' holdings. A lot of innocent people are going to suffer. He said that Dylan might get put in a home."

That was enough to drive a wedge of silence down the middle of the conversation. Dylan was eleven, so he should have been young enough for reeducation, but his twelfth birthday was coming up. America, PC, was getting less lenient as more rallies and assemblies occurred.

"Mr. Dethewaite said the government has already been to my dorm room. His people are packing up what's left. Please, Mom. I don't want to lose you too."

The phone went dead. Dethewaite pocketed Brantley's phone and produced another iron pill.

"Our King is still in New Canada. Your mother is safe for now. I will send a text begging Our King to intervene. Or Banrion Aoibh. She actually has a natural talent for it."

As if Brantley could forget so soon. Forget... He smirked. His hands were over his mouth and he repeated prayers to the god of the Pure and Clean.