Most people kept their distance from me. Lone alpha wolves weren’t exactly known for their social skills or restraint. But here was this tiny witch and her three deadly husbands, offering sanctuary without hesitation. It stirred something in me I’d thought long dead, something warm and too close to hope for comfort.
“Has Arabesque made a move yet?” I asked and got a fierce growl from Brumous.
That surprised me. I hadn’t picked up on a hint of aggression from the lil guy before this moment, but now his teeth were bared, his muzzle wrinkled and quivering as he crouched low.
“Yeah, Brummy doesn’t like hearing that name,” Zane said. “Turns our sweet boy into a murder machine. Just say Harrow bitch when he’s around.”
Bad Hurt Witch comes?the pup snarled.Bad Hurt Witch took Seri worms! Hurt Seri with wrong words!
Then he sent me an image that seemed to be Arabesque siphoning Seri’s lunar magic, which Brumous had translated to silver worms.
See, Alpha Toast? Bad Hurt Witch hurt Seri!
Not this time, pup,I told him.Not if I can help it.
#
Evermere’s security room was a tech lover’s wet dream. Wall-to-wall monitors displaying camera feeds from every corner of the property, holographic terrain maps, and enough blinking lights to satisfy a Christmas tree enthusiast. Casimir was bent over a keyboard while Zane lounged in a chair with his feet propped up on a desk. The only sign that he was actually alert was the way his eyes kept flicking between screens, missing nothing.
Seri sat cross-legged on a leather couch in the corner, Brumous curled up beside her, both watching me with curious expressions. I gave her a nod, which she returned with a small smile and patted the space beside her.
“Feel up to filling in some intel gaps?” Casimir asked without preamble, his green eyes assessing me.
“Sure.” I sat next to Seri just to see him stiffen.
“Gravewrought.” Zane stretched and nearly fell out of his chair, an act to make him seem silly and harmless, just like his “I don’t need a recipe for disaster; I just eyeball it” t-shirt. “What can you tell us about how to actually kill those things?”
“You can’t kill them by destroying their bodies. Arab—” I stopped myself before I triggered Brumous again. “Harrow bitchkeepstheir hearts bound in black thorns inside glass cases. Like trophies. She displays them in her living room.”
“Knew that bitch decorated in murdercore,” Zane muttered.
“So we destroy the hearts, we destroy the monsters?” Koa asked.
“Not quite that simple,” I said. “You can kill their bodies temporarily, but unless you destroy the hearts at the same time, they’ll just keep coming back.”
“And what happens when we destroy the hearts?” Seri asked.
“Not entirely sure. In theory, it should free them to move on. Or at least fully die. But with Arabesque’s magic involved, who knows?”
My mind drifted back to Eluned’s room and the taxidermied kittens playing croquet, their glass eyes gleaming and tiny paws forever frozen mid-swing. Like mother, like daughter.
“The hearts are the key, though,” I continued. “Destroy those while the bodies are down, and they should stay down.”
“At least long enough to burn them,” Koa rumbled.
“What about their habits? Patterns? Weaknesses?” Zane leaned forward, his feet dropping from the table.
“I’ve seen them circling. Like they’re sniffing out something. They don’t obey her like soldiers. They act like they’re hungry.” I paused, trying to find the right words. “But not for food. For purpose? Freedom? They’re bound, but they resist in subtle ways.”
Casimir’s jaw tightened, a muscle twitching beneath his skin. Yeah, he was a cold-blooded killer, but even he had lines he wouldn’t cross.
“Can they be saved?” Seri’s gray eyes widened with an empathy that was far too naive.
“They’ve been warped for so long, I’m not sure what would be left to save. Harrow bitch didn’t just animate these creatures. She bent them. Twisted their spirits, bound them to her in undeath, and warped their memories.”
Koa began tapping at a keyboard, bringing up detailed profiles of each Gravewrought alongside surveillance photos I recognized as ones I’d taken while undercover. A strange quiet fell over the room as we all stared at the monstrosities displayed on screen. The White Dread’s ghost-pale form, Splitter’s mechanized horror, Ashmouth’s twisted organic mass.
I remembered watching from a hidden vantage point as the White Dread paced the perimeter of Arabesque’s property, its translucent form shimmering with something that looked like pain. Itwould pause occasionally, head tilted as if listening to a voice only it could hear, then throw back its head in a silent scream that made the air around it ripple.
