Blind Rage - Epilogue

Saturday, August 2, 1997, 12:10 pm

Boerne, Texas

Jobe lay on his side on the floor of his bedroom, his eyes roving over the pages of a mystery paperback while he listened to the radio. His left arm propped him up and pinned the novel open on the floor, and his right hand crept toward a bag of pretzel sticks.

He was alone in the house. Rachel and Rosa had gone shopping in Austin. Gavin was taking his first Tai Chi class at a gym in Boerne, and George watched over Lucy while she mended.

Jobe expected no visitors, so he was surprised when he heard a knock on the door. But he was also surprised because he sensed no one outside. He got up, wondering if perhaps his telepathic range was wavering again. Or maybe someone had returned early, but had forgotten their house key.

He thought, But I didn’t lock the door.

There was no way to check his range, so he shoved the nagging concern away as he walked through the hallway to the front door.

Opening the door, he frowned at the unfamiliar group of men who stood outside. All three wore black suits, but Jobe could guess that the two men in the back were guards for the bulges in their jackets. They both carried briefcases, while the man in the middle was empty-handed. His custom tailored suit hugged his athletic frame.

Jobe guessed he had to be nearing his fifties for the random strands of grey running through his hair. The crested wave on the top was darker, but there were strands of silver and grey scattered over the top of his head too.

The man in the middle offered Jobe a smile. “Good afternoon. I’d like to introduce—”

Jobe cut him off. “You’re Wagner’s boss, so that would make you my boss.”

“Yes, exactly. May I come in?”

Jobe stepped back and waved an invitation. “Hey, you’re paying the bills. Might as well, right?”

Ascending the steps, the man offered his hand. “I’m Mark Grissom.”

Jobe didn’t take it. “I guess you know me.” Jobe watched Mark nod and asked, “And where are you on the food chain?”

“Formerly, I was a district supervisor, but I’ve had a fast track promotion after Damien was elected. Now, I report to no one.” Mark followed Jobe into the house and then into the living room. His guards filed in behind him, but they remained in the doorway.

Mark glanced at the two chairs in the middle of the living room, and at the barren surface of the square oak table that sat between them. “It’s rather spartan, isn’t it?”

Jobe shrugged and asked, “What good are decorations to the blind?”

“You might want to put something up to keep yourselves amused. Then again, you could spread the pack out to the other houses in a few months and leave Rosa her own private space. I think you might prefer it that way.”

Jobe shook his head. “I’m missing something here.”

Walking to the living room window, Mark gestured toward the lake. “As of Friday, every plot of land around this lake became government property. I was worried that we might have to force people out, but they all accepted cash offers. The houses will be empty within a month, two at most.”

“Why?”

“I don’t expect that we can keep this a secret for longer then a few months, maybe a year at most. But until someone discovers the truth, we’re calling it a wildlife reserve.”

Jobe said, “So it’s a prison.”

“No, Dave is in prison. There won’t be any guards here, except you.” Mark turned his head to study Jobe’s reaction. “I’m sure you’re concerned about Url and Erick, but they aren’t prisoners either. Erick is staying with the orc to teach him English, among other things. Erick tells me that Url has expressed a desire to be a part of the pack, so we’ll bring him to the lake when you’re ready to deal with him.”

“But Dave’s going away for a while, right?”

“He’s being tried for four counts of aggravated assault of federal agents, two counts of attempted manslaughter, assaulting an officer, kidnapping and, last but not least, possession of an illegal weapon. There’s no need for a trial, because he wrote a confession and signed it immediately after he was offered the chance to do it. He didn’t even ask for a lawyer.”

Mark offered Jobe a weak smile. “I’m sure you think Dave is human scum, but I came to deliver his confession to you. He didn’t require an interrogation. Rosa had already torn into him verbally before she ripped him to shreds physically.”

One of the guards opened his briefcase to pull out a short stack of printed pages. Jobe flipped through them, initially skimming the details.

But Dave’s confession covered more than just the final fight in the woods. He started by explaining how he’d been hunting illegally when the orc-werebear attacked a deer. He acknowledged attacking the werekin first, and Url had reacted in self-defense.

Jobe stopped skimming and started from the beginning to read everything.

Throughout the fifteen pages, Dave took all of the blame for his actions. His guilt showed in the written confession as effectively as if he’d spoken to Jobe himself, leaving no doubt that he ached over his mistakes.

Jobe felt horribly conflicted. Dave wouldn’t have been such an awful person, but the curse affected his judgment just as it had affected Gavin’s. He thought of his past working as a serial bomber. A virus had eaten parts of his mind, making him morally flexible.

Breaking the law was acceptable if he could keep killing the monsters hidden in human society. The disease made him too comfortable with being a criminal. But, if he was not guilty of his crimes for this one excuse, then Dave wasn’t guilty either. He bore the burden of a magical disease, while Jobe was infected with a medical illness. Was there any difference between the effects of the two curses?

But the comparisons didn’t end there. Dave worked odd jobs around town, much like the day labor assignments that Jobe had taken. They were trained in similar styles of Tai Chi, and they were both hunters. They were both fiercely independent. Or, Jobe had been, before the elites broke him and got him back on the pills.

In short, they were cut from the same cloth. When Jobe could admit it, his conscience began to nag that maybe Dave didn’t deserve to have the full sentence for his crimes.

When he raised his head to look away from the last page of the report, his face was weighed down by a troubled expression.

Mark’s smile was faint, and his eyes were filled with sympathy. “Do you want us to throw the book at him, Jobe?”

Jobe’s gaze sank to the confession again. “It’s not my place to decide.”

“It’s not easy being wrong, is it? Before you read that confession, you might have wanted Dave to be strung up for everything he’s done. But if we punish him accordingly, we should punish you too.”

A bitter snort hissed through Mark’s nostrils, flaring them. “And if I hold you to that standard, then I should be in line right behind you for a trip to the electric chair for everything I’ve helped Damien accomplish.”

Jobe said nothing. It occurred to him how there was no good guy in the case. Dave wasn’t a great person to begin with, but it was the curse that made him into a menace. Jobe had been the same before the virus made him into a killer. Everyone in the chain of command above Jobe was corrupted, and yet Jobe couldn’t judge them either.

Jobe looked at his reflection, and the conflicted expression on its face matched his own until it said, “I don’t know what to say. We’re just as dirty for working with Damien’s people, aren’t we? Maybe we should just leave Dave’s fate up to them.”

Jobe considered the idea, and then he asked, “What will you do with Dave?”

“We’re going to keep him in isolation with a high security prison in Woodville. He’s agreed to his sentence, but I’m sure you realize that he can’t be contained if he gets tired of feeling guilty. We’ll work with him in the meantime and assess whether or not he can be assimilated into the pack. We’ll also decide when to release him early, if he’s willing to work for us.”

Jobe nodded. “Also known as the get out of jail free card.”

“It’s the same offer I’ve made to you through Wagner.” Mark studied Jobe’s guilty expression. “He’s not being mistreated, and there’s no need to resort to torture.”

Jobe held out the report, letting the guard take it back. “Did you approve of torture when it happened to me?”

Mark sighed and looked down, shaking his head. “I have nothing to do with the military branch of the elites, and Richter’s actions were a combination of orders from his direct superiors, and from his desire to please Damien. The military branch is too cold-blooded in my opinion, but that’s not my department to run.”

“And how do you feel about—?”

“This isn’t a question and answer session.” Mark didn’t look away from the window. “From now on, you work for Wagner, and you both report to me. I’m giving you the chain of command as you need to understand it.”

He fell silent, waiting for Jobe to answer. “I understood that from the moment you showed up, Mark. What else should I have to say?”

“Nothing, unless you just have to say something. I’m not going to jump across the room and strike you if you talk back. It doesn’t make for a productive working relationship if you look forward to killing me every time we meet.”

“So why else are you here?”

“I’m explaining your circumstances,” Mark said. “If you find our terms agreeable, we’ll begin training the pack to work on certain cases that normal agents can’t handle.”

“So what are the terms?”

“This lake will be sealed off and fenced in. You’ll be able to come and go as you please, with the possible exception of nights when a full or new moon will occur. I say possible because with training the pack may be able to overcome the urge to change with the lunar cycle.”

Mark turned away from the window. “Erick has been explaining the werekin curse to us, and the real problem is, your pack will start changing more often. The longer they stay in their animal forms, the more qualities of the animal they will take on. Eventually, they may choose to become animals almost permanently. Before they reach that stage, we need to have them trained and tamed.”

“You said almost permanently,” Jobe remarked.

“During mating cycles, most of the werekin revert back to human forms. There are exceptions, such as werekin who choose to remain animals permanently. Their children are born as hybrid animals, but for the most part, werekin children are born human and can’t transform until they reach adolescence.”

Jobe nodded and said, “This shouldn’t be an issue for a few years then.”

Mark’s smile returned, but this time it was an expression of mirth. “It’s not an issue until one of the women goes into their first heat. That will happen in a few months. After that, it will happen once a month, and the pack will all go into heat at the same time. Erick also said that it will be harder to train them not to change on the lunar cycle if they mate during the first heat.”

Jobe grimaced, unable to hide his irritation. “Oh, that’s great. You want me to babysit five furballs in heat? There’s no way I’m jumping into a pile of bodies to break up a wereporno.”

“I’m sure it will be challenging to keep them in line.” Mark strained to hide his amusement. “But you are the keeper of the pack, so I wanted to warn you what to expect.”

Relaxing, Jobe raised his hand to scratch the back of his head. “What kind of cases will we be working on?”

“For now, nothing,” Mark said. “Until I can assess the pack’s level of self-control, I don’t want to put them in any stressful situations that might trigger a public transformation. When I feel you’re ready, I’ll drop something in your lap, and I’ll let you make the choice if you want the job.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then we’ll punt the job along to the military wing.” Mark added, “I know what you think of that plan, so I’m sure you’ll think long and hard before you let any case turn into a military engagement.”

Jobe uttered a soundless laugh, shaking his head. “You’re very smooth.”

“I’ve had years to practice.” Mark nodded to his men, who left without a word. One of the guards set down his briefcase, and Mark gestured at it. “The briefcase contains more detailed reports from Erick to help you understand the werekin. I’ll leave you to enjoy the rest of your weekend, and I’ll visit next week to outline your training.”

Walking to follow Mark to the door, Jobe asked, “Will I be given some kind of martial arts course? I might need it if you plan to move Dave onto the reservation.”

“No, I hadn’t planned any self-defense classes, but we can arrange for a course if you want. Your courses are meant to train you as an agent.” Laughing, Mark added, “You don’t think we’d let you run around and just guess at things, do you?”

“No, obviously not.” Jobe snorted at an evil thought. “Do I get a gun?”

“Not until you graduate. You can ask more questions next week.”

“Provided they’re appropriate, of course,” Jobe said.

“Of course, but I only expect you to maintain a level of respect appropriate for an employee to their boss, not a prisoner to their warden.”

Jobe nodded, but said nothing as he opened the door. Mark also remained quiet as he descended the front steps and walked out to the black sedan parked in the driveway.

He paused beside the car and turned to offer Jobe another smile. “I almost forgot the most important thing I’d meant to say.”

“What’s that?” Jobe asked.

“You did a good job. This case could have been a lot worse, but you didn’t lose your head. Maybe your reflection might disagree on the matter, but I believe your brain is recovering from the virus.”

He nodded when Jobe opened his mouth. “Yes, also a military project, and no, I didn’t approve. I felt that it had nothing to do with punishing the McCullough clan, but I got voted down. Only one other elite voted with me. She works in the FBI too.”

Mark rested his hand on the roof of the sedan. “Is that good enough?”

“It’ll have to be,” Jobe said. “See you next week, boss.”

***

Saturday, 2:24 pm

Austin, Texas

Rachel returned to the table with the pizza box and set it on the mess of empty baskets and wrappers. Guided by her nose, Rosa flipped open the top of the box while Rachel dropped into her seat. They picked up slices of the extra large meat lover’s pizza and bit into them, moaning their approval.

They had already ordered and consumed two triple cheeseburgers, plus two baskets of fries. They’d each had a pair of corn dogs, and then they’d split another basket of fries, this time with chili and cheese drowning the potatoes.

The pizza was Rachel’s request, but Rosa was just as enthusiastic to continue with their gorging fit.

The food court of the mall was filled with people who gawked at the two women, and Rachel didn’t care. She’d never been so happy to indulge in her most sinful habits.

Around a mouthful of pizza, Rosa commented, “It’s not really a curse if it lets me eat whatever I want without getting fat.”

Being more polite, Rachel swallowed and grabbed a napkin to wipe her mouth before she spoke. “Yeah, but then again, we’ve both gained weight. It’s just more muscle.” Rachel dropped her head, laughing as she admired her improved bust. “Well, there are some places where I’ve packed on fat. Mostly in my chest and my butt.”

Rosa nodded. “Yeah, I’m up a cup size, and my butt sticks out on either side of my panties now. If it weren’t for my scars, I’ll bet I’d look awesome in a swimsuit.”

Rachel was going to comment, but Rosa laughed and said, “What am I saying? I live on a lake, but I can’t go in the water anyway.”

“I...I could go with you,” Rachel offered. “I mean, if you wanted to swim again, I could watch out for you.”

Rosa was about to turn her down, but the thought of swimming was both frightening and exciting at the same time.

Rachel seized on her indecision. “We live on private property, so maybe we can buy you a one piece suit. You and I can go swimming whenever you want.”

Rosa smiled and nodded. “I think I’d like that.”

They returned to munching their pizza, and they were grabbing the last slices when Rosa spoke up again. “Didn’t you have a dog?”

Rachel nodded. “Yes, but AJ is staying with my mom and dad. You weren’t fond of Max, and it is your home.”

Rachel shook her head. “It’s our home now, and I was thinking that maybe we can move Max and AJ into a big doghouse outside. We can put in heating and make it their own fortress to mess up as much as their little doggy brains desire.”

“Are you sure?” Rachel asked.

Rosa nodded. “Pets are just a step above kids, so I can’t ask you to abandon AJ just because I’m a cat-lady.” She grinned when Rachel giggled. “So, why don’t we stroll over to the pet shop and get the dogs some toys? It will be my way of making peace with them. I’ve heard if I feed them, eventually they’ll stop growling at me, so we can try that too.”

“You can talk to them too,” Rachel reminded her.

Rosa’s smile widened into a puckish grinned. “Forget it. I’m never talking to those stupid mutts. We crazy cat ladies have our limits, you know.”

Laughing, they picked up after themselves, and then they strolled through the mall making small talk. People continued to stare at Rosa because the new short sleeve top she wore exposed her arms and some of the scars on her chest.

The werekin curse granted them access to every murmured comment, but nothing fazed Rosa. She had accepted her status as a monster, and she wouldn’t hide on her land just to avoid upsetting everyone else.

In the pet shop, they were still laughing and chatting all the way up to the sales counter at the back of the store.

A clerk rose from behind the counter with a closed cardboard box in his hands. He set it down and picked up a box cutter from beside the register.

The plastic gears ratcheted, and Rosa leaned over the counter, her hand snapping closed over the clerk’s hand. Her grip was painfully tight, and the clerk gasped.

Rosa made a strained smile and let go of his hand. “I’m sorry about that. I have sharp hearing, and that hurts.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, ma’am.” The clerk set aside the box cutter and asked, “Can I help you look for anything?”

Rosa smirked and lowered her glasses. “What do you think?”

***

Saturday, 3:47 pm

Boerne, Texas

George set down the phone and rubbed his forehead while he debated whether Jobe’s description of the reports was helpful or not.

Wandering out of the living room to check up on Lucy, he leaned against the bedroom door while he watched her sleep.

Since being laid down, it was all she did. When she wasn’t sleeping, she ate a few chunks of raw meat or sipped water from a cup with George’s help. She couldn’t stay awake for more than a minute or two before she dropped into another nap.

The druid curse was healing her faster than he would have expected, given the size of her wounds. But she was dreadfully pale, and her eyes were always glazed whenever she was awake.

George couldn’t remember a time in his life when he’d felt more confused.

Lucy came running to save him without half a clue of what kind of monster she was facing. She’d made his life a living hell, but she exposed herself to John and badgered him into taking her to the woods to track Dave.

Pixie padded through the hall and butted her head on the back of George’s leg. He knelt down to pet the diminutive border collie, and she whimpered, “Mommy okay?”

George patted her head. “Need food, need sleep.”

Behind him, Lucy muttered, “Are you really talking to her?”

George got up and moved to sit on the side of the bed. “Yeah, it’s one of the other side benefits to being a weredog. I can speak the language now.” He smiled. “Actually, it’s more complicated than that. I speak animal now. The funny thing is, I hear words in my head, but what comes out of my mouth is a sound that the animals relate to.”

“So how does that work?”

George laughed. “It’s magic.”

“Cool.” Swallowing, Lucy nodded with an exaggerated slowness. But then she was so devastated that she even blinked slower. “So what am I going to become?”

“I haven’t the slightest clue.” George looked down at his lap. “Jobe will come by tomorrow afternoon to pick us up, and we’ll put you up in my room for the night. Once you transform, it should heal the rest of the damage. Then we’ll have to figure out living arrangements, since Rosa’s house is already full.”

Lucy nodded, closing her eyes while she turned her head to nuzzle her face back into the pillow. “I can always take the couch. It would be fitting, right?”

George didn’t have an answer right away because Rosa didn’t have a couch. But by the time he could think of something, Lucy was already asleep again.

He glanced around at the sound of a truck pulling into the driveway. Getting up, he walked through the house to answer the door, and then he stepped back to wave John inside before the dispatcher could knock.

“How is she?” John asked.

“Cursed and tired.”

John cringed and started to say, “I’m sorr—”

George waved his apology down. “Nah, don’t bother with that, all right? I got the story from Lucy in bits and pieces, so I know she did the full spook show on you.”

John nodded and looked toward the back hallway. “Did you know about this before you married her?”

“Eh, sort of.” George walked to the couch and dropped onto it while he tried to think of a brief explanation. “I knew there was something different about her, but I didn’t realize she was something besides human until she bit me.”

“She told me that she’s bitten you,” John said.

“Yeah, and she only did it once. She apologized profusely for it, and she said she just lost herself in the heat of the moment.”

George paused, thinking his honeymoon over before he sighed. “After that, I can’t think of a time when she wasn’t acting cold toward me. It was like she couldn’t let herself be tempted again.”

George rubbed his forehead, not liking where his thoughts were headed.

John was oblivious to his discomfort. “So she started being a bitch to make sure that she didn’t slip up and bite you again.”

“It was more than that. She pushed me into sleeping on the couch most nights, and she fought with me any time I started to get close to her. So, maybe a lot of that abrasiveness was fear of herself.”

“Does it change anything between you?” John asked.

George stared at his friend uncomfortably before he asked, “Why would it matter to you?”

“I’m just curious,” John said.

It was a lie, and a lie told badly. But George let it slide, reminding himself that Lucy was his ex-wife. “No, it doesn’t change anything for now. Lucy was acting nicer to me right after I’d been cursed, but I don’t know if I want to take back that other curse, if she still wants to fight all the time.”

John nodded, commenting, “Yeah, but now she’s got to move out to the house with y’all, right?”

“Yeah, but just because she’s a packmate, it doesn’t mean we can be mates. We still might not be compatible.”

“True.” John floundered for something else to say. “Sometimes people just don’t work out together.”

George shook his head. “No, I mean we might not be genetically compatible. I just got off the phone with Jobe, and he explained how our...our mating habits work. I’m magically enhanced to be more than human, but I’m still a human when it comes to mating. Lucy isn’t even close, so when she goes into heat, I might not respond to her.”

John nodded, turning his head to stare at the hallway again. “Last week, I thought it was funny that you claimed to be attacked by Bigfoot. This week, I found out that your wife could either be a mutant or a cousin of the vampires. This week, I’m not laughing.”

“Maybe we’ll look back on this later and laugh.” George shrugged, offering a smirk in reply to John’s doubtful expression. “Of course we might need to get drunk before we can laugh about it.”

***

Saturday, 4:51 pm

Gavin sat back in the rolling chair, the seatback squeaking under his weight. After arriving home, Jobe handed him a thick stack of papers and said, “You need to read this.”

Gavin read the reports, and his first thought after he’d finished should have been concern for his future. Instead he wondered how Stephanie would react.

He stared at the ceiling trying to clear her from his mind.

He couldn’t, and he thought, Maybe I could use a spell to contact her.

Intrigued by the notion, he opened a word processor to start typing a letter. It probably wouldn’t work, but he wanted to write something in an effort to clear his head.

Steph,

Where to begin? I’ve just finished my first case with Jobe as my partner, but I’m not sure whether to declare it a roaring success or a dismal failure. It’s true that very few people died, and we were able to bring both of the suspects into custody.

But from the beginning, it was looking like a disaster. I got cursed and became a werebear. Jobe and I ended up recruiting a pair of locals, who became a werepanther, and a weredog. Then Rachel Lin became a werefox. (Ask her about how she got turned if you see her again. It’s very funny.)

I’m oversimplifying this, but the short story is, we’ve got a werekin pack formed here in Boerne, and we work for Damien. I think you and Wendy would be furious with us over this, but now that we’re cursed, our options aren’t that great with anyone.

Our new boss dropped off a briefcase full of intel collected on the werekin from an elf named Erick...that’s alliteral, isn’t it? I’ll amend that. He’s a daoine sidhe named Erick.

I’m wandering. The point is, I’m going to become more bear-like as the curse takes over, and it will affect my judgment in the same way that Jobe’s split personalities affects his.

I’ve already been going through changes, and I know you’ll laugh at this, but my voice doesn’t sound like I’m whining now. That’s because my chest is wider and more round. I look like a bodybuilder, and when Jobe and I work out, I can lift more than him.

I guess I’m writing this because it’s dawning on me that your world and mine might no longer be compatible, and maybe they never were. Maybe I was just having a moment of wishful thinking because you were the first coworker I ever had who respected me.

Still, I think about you a lot. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about calling you or trying to write to you. But for now I have to let you go, because you’re what keeps distracting me from my job. It isn’t the werebear and it isn’t Jobe.

It’s you, Steph. I can’t think straight because of you, and I had to let Jobe do most of the field work because I was so lost in my thoughts over you. I have to let you go, or I’m going to get someone killed by being distracted at the wrong time.

I hope you can forgive me for letting go, but then again, maybe you already let me go too. Maybe it’s like you said, and after we solved the viral cases, we went back to being jerks.

But I don’t think so. I think you miss me too, so now I’ll write those five words you wouldn’t let me say in the hospital.

I love you, Stephanie Callaghan.

If you don’t feel the same way then this spell won’t work, and you won’t get this message. Either that, or my faith wasn’t strong enough. (hahaha...sigh)

I’m babbling. I’ll stop.

Until we meet again,

Gavin Alphonse Lebowitz

He printed the letter, leaning over to pull the page from the hutch. He read it over, and decided that it said everything he would have wanted to say, if he knew how to get in touch with Stephanie.

Getting up, he left his room and went into the kitchen to light the stove. Gavin paused to look up at the ceiling. He opened his mouth, then closed it.

For years, he’d paid lip service to his faith, and he hadn’t prayed since his teens.

His brown eyes were glassy as he whispered, “I’m supposed to be blessed by magic now, even though I’m also cursed at the same time. I don’t know if that gives me any pull to cast a spell or not, but I want to ask for your help. Just...help me figure out a way to get this message to Stephanie.”

He nodded, looking down to light the corner of the letter. The spell was done, and burning the letter was a gesture of letting Stephanie go, both from his heart and mind.

In the hallway, Rosa called, “Okay, who’s the fire bug?”

Gavin snorted and whispered, “Amen.” He turned around and raised his voice. “Sorry, Rosa. I was just getting rid of an old flame.”

***

Saturday, 7:58 pm

Washington, D.C.

The oval office was dim save for the lamp on the desk. Damien read over an advisor’s report on his current budget goals, a pen tucked between his index and middle fingers while he read. He sometimes stopped waving the pen to jot a question down on the margins of the report, or to tap it on the desk.

After the budget report, there were foreign intelligence reports to go over, and then he could start to dig into the pile of newspapers beside the recliner.

Then, if he didn’t fall asleep reading them, he could maybe squeeze in a few pages of a political suspense novel in his bedroom. He’d bought the book for a flight to France four months before, but he’d been so busy that he’d only been able to read the first fifty pages.

Damien heard someone cough politely, and he looked up, surprised to find a shadowy figure standing in the middle of the office between the pair of padded leather couches.

He’d heard enough from Mark to know what Erick looked like, and once he recognized the elf, Damien got to his feet.

His lips parted in a grin as he moved around the desk, and he stopped in front of Erick, hesitating before he offered his hand. “I’m not sure what the right gesture is in this situation.”

Erick’s lips pulled into a thin smile as he shook Damien’s hand. “I’m Erick. And you would be Mr. President, if I understand the title of your office.”

Damien laughed, saying, “I think I can let you get away with using my first name.”

Erick nodded. “Damien, then.” He stepped around Damien and sat down on a couch.

Without preamble, he said, “I’ve been watching your past through a scrying shadow, and I know everything you’ve done. I do mean everything.”

Damien’s smile fell, and he moved to the couch across from the elf. “I should be used to shocks like this by now. Stephen got into my head to learn all of my secrets, and the daemons use their own scrying spells to keep tabs on me. There really is no hiding things from the mystical races, is there?”

“You can try, but if we want to know what you’ve been up to, we have ways of finding out.” Erick leaned over, curling the fingers of his left hand over his right hand. He rested his narrow, pointed chin on his knuckles. “You helped to start the war.”

Damien nodded. “Yes, I know that now. It was me summoning a daemon that broke the old pacts. I was the one to develop the virus that led to the halfling massacres. I made plots that killed hundreds of innocent mutants and halflings.”

“And what was your goal?”

“Revenge.”

Erick gave the slightest nod. “You’ve achieved your goal, and you destroyed the people who abducted your father. Do you feel better now?”

“No,” Damien said. He knew Erick wanted total honesty. “I didn’t feel anything for what I did until after Stephen merged his mind with mine. Sometimes, I think I’m still adapting to that, even after all this time. Or maybe now that I’m not able to hop out of my body to get away from my emotions, my guilt is catching up with me.”

Damien hunched over and closed his eyes, letting his memory wander. Because of Stephen’s telepathic imprint, many other lifetimes filled Damien’s head, and in none of these lives was there anything good to draw from.

Erick’s voice brought Damien out of his thoughts. “In Lissand, I was the son of a royal advisor. I didn’t care for life in the royal tree huts of Rhyndarhim, and I chose to travel with the dwarfs on their trading convoys across the eastern half of the continent.”

He waited until Damien raised his head. “We were returning from a bloodwine trade with the trolls, and we stumbled into the path of an orc war party. I could have escaped, but that would have left the dwarfs to get slaughtered by a larger tribe of orcs. Instead, I proposed a trade. I let the orcs rob us in exchange for some bone trinkets.”

Erick bowed his head while his mouth tensed in a troubled frown. “I knew only a little orc, but I attempted to say a compliment as we left. I thought I’d said, ‘Burn one down for me,’ which is an orc blessing. It means burn one tree down, as a sacrifice to the chaotic energies that created all life.

“But I said, ‘Burn forest for me,’ and the orcs took me seriously. They burned down forty of your square kilometers before they were stopped and relocated. Dozens of werekin adults were burned alive, and some of the surviving children of a werekin pack followed the orcs. They were intent on having revenge. One of them made Url. Another one of them bit me just moments after I’d collared him. He was the only child I managed to rescue, and he rewarded me with this.”

Erick took hold of the index finger on his right hand, and when he tugged it, the digit and part of his hand pulled away with an audible pop. He offered no explanation for how the finger worked, but he paused to stare at the prosthetic digit curling and uncurling like a reptile tail still twitching after amputation.

The finger deflated, becoming a pouch of black fabric.

“I snuck away from the people watching over me, intending to hunt down the orc myself, so I could take him someplace safe. My handlers tracked me down, and they were preparing to kill Url when I opened a portal to Earth. Through my efforts, I’ve created the first werekin pack on Earth.”

Erick sighed. “It never ends, this process of making mistakes. You try to change, and you end up making another, even larger mistake.”

Smirking, Erick recast the illusion to turn the pouch of fabric into a convincing fake finger. He turned his enchanted prosthetic digit and pointed it at Damien.

“You brought the daemons back to Earth. I’ve brought the werekin back. Soon, there will be others coming, maybe even races that make you and I look like heroes.”

His smile fell, and he shook his head. “But let us not kid ourselves, Damien. We aren’t heroes. We’re part of the problem. To be heroes, we would need to own up to our mistakes and work to fix them.” He sat back on the couch, reattaching his finger to his hand. The seam between flesh and prosthetic blurred, and then Erick curled the digit into a natural relaxed position.

He raised his arm, draping it along the back of the couch while he regarded Damien with a cool expression. “Do you think you can prevent the war?”

“No, and it can’t be contained either. It’s going to get ugly even with our people in place to work damage control.”

“Then what are your goals?”

“I want to prepare my people for what’s coming,” Damien said. “The great equalizer in this fight isn’t raw power. It’s basic knowledge, and any threat can be neutralized once you know what its weaknesses are.”

“Then you hope to kill anything that threatens your people?”

Damien shook his head. “No, that won’t work anyway, and it just wastes our resources. I’d like to try and direct many of these incoming races toward productive goals. With their help, we can curb the damage that the daemons inflict.”

Erick watched Damien for a long time, his white eyes unflinching.

But Damien didn’t look away either. He felt certain that if he did, there would be no chance to work with Erick.

After minutes of silent staring, Erick said, “Do you understand that there will be creatures coming from Lissand that you can’t recruit?”

Damien said, “I would imagine so, yes.”

“What will you do to keep them in check, if you cannot kill or co-opt them?”

“I’ll send someone to persuade them to behave.”

“Someone like Jobe?”

“Sometimes, yes.” Damien sat forward in his seat. “You know I made Jobe accidentally, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Erick said.

“Then you also know that I’ve learned how to convert normal people into magi. But, for whatever reason, none of our people are able to tap into their abilities. I’ve suspected that this was a lack of training, and I’ve been looking for a mage capable of teaching my men how to cast offensive spells. If they could tap into their powers, we’d have an army ready to stand against the daemon hordes. As it is, all we have are soldiers who can’t be possessed.”

Erick nodded. “I can show your soldiers how to kill a daemon using a slight modification to some of your currently deployed weapons. Unfortunately, I cannot train your magi. Most of the spells I know involve shadow magic, and what you need is a mage skilled in elemental magic. I’m not just ignorant of the topic. I am incapable of casting even the simplest elemental spell.”

Damien sighed, unable to hide his disappointment. “All right, I understand.”

Erick leaned his head to one side. “I might be able to locate a mage for you, someone who can train your people. But, I must speak with them myself, and I will inform them of your past. The choice to help or not will remain with them at all times. If you betray my selection in any way, I will take it as an act of betrayal against me. Are these terms acceptable to you?”

“Yes, of course,” Damien said.

The shadow under Erick spread out, and he blurred as he dropped into the portal. The shadow melted into the couch crevice. Only a second later, something thumped into the door of his office.

Damien jumped from the couch, spinning as secret service agents flooded into the room. He scowled and asked, “What are you doing?”

The agent gaped at Damien. He closed his mouth and put his gun away before he tried to explain. “Sir, I tried to check on you, but the door wouldn’t open, and you wouldn’t answer me.”

Damien relaxed, slumping his shoulders. “Sorry, Luke, but I had headphones on while I was reading my reports. I guess somehow the door must have jammed.”

The expression on the agent’s face was incredulous. “Sir, are you sure you’re—”

“I’m fine, and there’s no need for all of you to come rushing in here.” Damien walked to his desk. “Please, leave me be. I still have several reports to go through before I can sleep tonight.”

His guards left, and Damien dropped into his seat. As soon as the door closed, he spoke in a low voice. “All right, you’ve made your point succinctly, and you have my word that I won’t betray your trust.”

A hand settled on Damien’s shoulder, and a second later, he felt cool breath on his ear as Erick whispered, “For your sake, I hope so. Because if you do, I’ll port Url into your office during a full moon, and I’ll take his collar off.”

With his message delivered, the elf slipped away without another sound.

Damien sat back in his seat, taking a long breath while he rubbed his face. He conceded that his first meeting with Erick could have gone much worse, under the circumstances.

It was a minor victory, much like Jobe’s decision to work with Damien in spite of what Colonel Richter had done to him. The alliance with Erick could also pave the way to make other allies from Lissand. Then Erick’s knowledge of the returning mystical races would be vital.

Damien’s thoughts returned to Jobe, and his mouth drew into a tight, thoughtful frown. I made him. I ordered that virus to be mixed with a flu vaccine, and yet, I didn’t expect that the two organisms might be complimentary to each other. I was being intentionally ignorant.

Jobe’s disease caused him to wander randomly in search of monsters to destroy with his bombs. Yet somehow, his meandering journey had brought him back to Damien. Jobe demanded Damien’s attention, forcing him to look again and again at the results of his worst failure.

Hundreds died from the tainted vaccine. Hundreds were maimed, or had died from a gradual collapse of their nervous systems. Out of all of these tragedies emerged Jobe, who created more tragedies. Every vigilante act he’d committed poured more blood over Damien’s hands.

But Jobe had salvaged his conscience, and even if he was never sane to begin with, he’d forced himself to ignore the reflection that had been created by the tainted vaccine.

Jobe’s emerging conscience led him to Devine, to Wendy, and back into a confrontation with the same people who had created the monster inside him.

It was poetic justice, and after it was all said and done, Damien lost a full battalion of elites. In exchange, all he got was a mentally handicapped mind reader and five potentially unreliable werekin.

Really, that was more than he deserved after everything he’d done in his quest for revenge.

Damien wanted to say that he was like Jobe. But he hadn’t found his conscience. Someone else had to telepathically imprint their conscience into his mind to make him feel something again.

It had taken so long for the imprint to unfold, and Damien had continued his plotting without giving a single thought to how many lives he destroyed.

Shutting his eyes, Damien tried to recall the exact day when he’d woken up from a nightmare of having his face sliced open. He’d raised a hand and felt scars on his face, and he’d run to look in a mirror, only to be confused by the sight of his own face.

He’d had Stephen’s imprint for a long time before that, but he could still point to each memory and identify them as the halfling’s. After he felt the scars, it had become so much harder to remember what was his life, and what was Stephen’s.

With the invisible scars came the ache of regret for everything he did. It was far too late to back up and correct his mistakes, and he no longer believed that any of his actions could absolve him of his past.

But he could try to take responsibility for some of his accidents. Jobe was an accident, and he needed a sanctuary to recover from his mental wounds. If, after training, Jobe balked and refused his first case, Damien would release Jobe back to civilian life. Then he could have Mark offer Jobe an assignment as a “wildlife caretaker,” or some other such title that would convince him to stay on the reserve with the werekin.

No matter what the job title was, Damien would keep Jobe content. He would watch over his failed experiment, and maybe one day, the berserker could find a way to redeem himself, with Damien’s help.

Maybe it would be the closest that Damien ever got to redeeming himself, but he would do it, because Jobe deserved the chance to move on from his past.

Jobe had already proved himself by helping Wendy, and in spite of his darker nature, he was trying to protect the werekin from themselves.

For a failed experiment, Jobe was the only thing that Damien had ever done that he could almost feel proud about. If Jobe had more time to recover, perhaps he would be the one good thing that Damien got right.

***

Saturday, 8:34 pm

Boerne, Texas

Jobe leaned over to put the last of the rinsed dishes into the dishwasher, closing the door before he started the machine. He went to the refrigerator to dry his hands on the towel hung from the handle, then opened the door to pull a beer from the bottom shelf.

He wandered out of the house, crossing the yard to stand on the shoreline. He uncapped his beer and pocketed the cap while he took a long drink.

The setting sun lit up the myriad peaks on the lake’s surface, filling the water with sparkling jewels. The sky was awash with a flood of warm colors, and the clouds were caught in the last rays of light, filling them with tones of orange, pink, and purple.

This is home, Jobe thought.

It didn’t sound so bad to him. All he had to do was sell himself out, and he could live in relative peace until he and the pack completed their training.

Jobe heard someone behind him, and he was surprised to find Rosa making her way to the shore at a cautious pace. Her back and shoulders were as tight with nervous tension as her face was. Her cane swept the ground fast in search of the pebbles on the shoreline.

He started to walk to her, but Rosa froze and held out her other hand. “No, stay there. I’m trying to hone in on you by your scent.”

Jobe waited, his gaze staying on the blurring end of the cane. He’d been hit one too many times by it, and he was already dreading the possibility of bruised shins.

But as soon as the rubber tip scattered pebbles, Rosa folded the cane and held out her hand in front of herself. Her steps were even more timid on the shore, but she still made her way to Jobe.

When she laid her hand on his forearm, her palm was clammy. “Good job,” Jobe said. “Why don’t we walk back—?”

“I want to stay here,” Rosa said.

Jobe didn’t need to read her thoughts to know she was lying. She was panting, and her hands shook even though she was holding him for support.

He called her bluff, backing away from the water. “No, you don’t, and you don’t need to scare yourself like this for my sake.”

“I have to do it to get better, right?”

“Sure, but we can take it in baby steps,” Jobe said.

He moved back only a few feet, but even that was enough to calm Rosa down.

Her face was filled with a shamed expression. The fear was too deeply ingrained. She’d changed so much because of the werekin curse. But not even magic could take away her fear.

Rosa raised her head to Jobe, and she held out her cane and asked, “Can you hold this for me, please?” Jobe took the cane, and Rosa ran her wet hands down her jeans to dry them. “I never did ask you about this, but...can I touch your face, to know what you look like?”

Jobe smiled uncomfortably. “Sure, but there’s nothing special about me.”

Rosa raised her right hand, laying it on the side of Jobe’s neck. He was muscular, and his jaw was wide, though not quite square.

She raised her left hand to touch his cheek. He was smooth-faced. “No stubble?” Rosa asked.

“No, I just have peach fuzz on my lip and chin,” Jobe said.

She traced his jaw with the fingers of her right hand, at the same time slipping the index finger of her left hand over his upper lip.

A giggle rushed out of her before she nodded. “I thought you were older.”

“I’m twenty-eight,” Jobe said, perhaps a bit too defensively. He realized it and laughed at himself. “I never got much facial hair. To this day, I shave with a Zippo.”

“They make a ra—?” Rosa’s face cringed in a look of pain. “Oh, ouch. That sounds horrible.”

“Nah, not really. It takes all of two seconds.”

Shaking her head, Rosa laughed and raised her left hand to touch his nose. It was not too large, and it was straight with a small hump in the bridge. She was so far striking out on her every guess about his appearance. His brow didn’t hunch over his eyes, and in fact, he had almost no brow at all.

She raised both of her hands to run her fingers through his hair, and then over it. It was wavy and shaggy. “Black hair?” she asked.

“Brown,” Jobe said. “The same is true of my eyes.”

Rosa sighed. “Well, then I was off base with all of my guesses.”

“Did you imagine that I’d be handsome?” Jobe asked.

“No, I thought you might be ugly, like me.”

Jobe said, “You’re not ugly, Rosa.”

“I think I am, and that’s the only opinion that counts.” Rosa shook her head when he drew in a quick breath. “Please, can we not ruin this? Just...I thought you would be ugly and scarred, and old. But you’re not much older than me. You aren’t what I’d call handsome either. You...you just blend in with everyone else. Nothing on your face stands out too prominently, and nothing is memorable.”

Jobe snorted. “I said I was nothing special, didn’t I?”

Rosa smiled, stepping closer to lean against Jobe. She lowered her arms and closed them around his waist in a loose embrace.

Jobe didn’t know how to react, but in the moment that he hesitated, the berserker took over. His arms closed over Rosa’s back, and he laid his cheek against the side of her head.

The berserker closed his eyes, joining Rosa in the darkness. They were truly equals. She was every bit as powerful as him, and he marveled at the well of strength hidden inside her fragile, scarred shell.

Jobe thought, This is home.

Then he had no doubts that he’d made the right choice.

The End?