Chapter 23 #2
“Since we’re on the topic, you can help me with an interesting, albeit morbid, task,” Natalie said, resting her chin in her hands.
“What’s that?” Selene asked, part of her brain still mulling Natalie’s words about Fen.
“Don’t hold it against him. He’s a good leader. He loves you.”
He was yet another conundrum. Her feelings for him were so powerful, their connection irresistible, but how could she be with him if he executed her best friend?
The answer was: she couldn’t. She would always resent him for making that choice. That knowledge filled her with sickening grief, another layer over the sorrow that it seemed less and less likely she’d find a way to save her friend.
“How should I die?” Natalie’s question shocked Selene out of her morose thoughts. Nat’s tone was so bright and conversational, she might as well have asked, Should I have waffles or pancakes for breakfast?
“Wait . . . what?” Selene sputtered.
“I can choose the manner of my execution,” Natalie replied. “Fenris extended that courtesy.”
Selene rolled her eyes. “How generous of him.”
“Selene, stop,” Natalie chided, before musing, “Poison would be the most humane, but that would bring Marley into it, and I can’t do that to him, so I was thinking guillotine. It would be quick . . . and the historic angle is appealing. There’s also—”
“Wait,” Selene interrupted. “Say that again.”
An idea glimmered deep within her mind, like a firefly winking in and out of sight on the darkness of nights.
“Oh, well I’ve always been a fan of the French Revolution—” Natalie began.
“No, no,” Selene cut her off a second time. “The first part. About poison. And Marley.”
Natalie frowned and gave Selene a puzzled look.
“The right poison would basically put me to sleep. Forever. I wouldn’t feel any pain.
But Marley would have to make it. He’s the only one in Avondale who could create it without accidentally mucking it up and making my death slow and excruciating.
Or fast, but also very painful. Poison is finicky and unforgiving if you aren’t precise.
Anyway, if I chose poison, it would be Marley who provides it for my execution. ”
“Choose poison,” Selene blurted. Her conscious brain hadn’t caught up with the strange awareness stirring below the surface of her thoughts, but her instincts were screaming at her that this needed to happen. “Choose poison, Natalie. Please.”
“It would break Marley’s heart, Selene,” Natalie argued. “Why would you ask that of him?”
“Please, Nat.” Selene didn’t have the ability to explain herself. She hoped at some point she would. “Just do this for me. Promise you will.”
Natalie gave Selene a long look, then nodded slowly. “All right. Poison it is. I’ll tell Fen tomorrow. My execution is the day after. That should give Marley enough time.”
Selene threw herself at Natalie, who grunted when Selene landed in her lap and hugged her. “Thank you.”
“Um.” Natalie awkwardly hugged Selene back. “You’re welcome?”
Embarrassed by her nonsensical request and irrational reaction to Nat’s agreement, Selene retreated to her chair.
For the first time since learning about Natalie’s intolerable sentence, Selene felt reinvigorated instead of hopeless.
She didn’t understand why, exactly. It was as though a hidden part of herself was stirring, ready to whisper secrets to her that held the solution to this crisis if she could only learn to listen.
The rational part of her brain scolded her, insisting that such thoughts were wild delusions born of desperation.
But Natalie, Fenris, and, inexplicably, the crone at the Beltane ritual all believed some part of Selene was tied to the supernatural.
She’d resisted that idea time and time again, but if there was somehow even a sliver of truth to those claims, and that truth could offer her the means to rescue Natalie, Selene wouldn’t fight it.
These tiny tugs at her consciousness that felt like instinct wanted her attention.
Maybe it was time to stop resisting the paranormal and open herself to the strange and wondrous.
Even as she considered that possibility, she knew it wasn’t as easy as snapping her fingers and comprehending the extraordinary.
The same eerie sense that pushed her toward opening her mind told her that such a cataclysmic paradigm shift would take time and be a revelation by degrees.
She could unlock the door, push it open a crack, and see what slipped inside.
In the meantime, she had no choice but to be patient.
Glancing around the room again, she asked with a frown, “Nat, why don’t you just leave?”
“I’m not following,” Nat said, straightening her shirt after Selene’s overly aggressive hug had rumpled it.
“The door isn’t locked.” Selene gestured to the door. “You’re a witch. Can’t you just, you know?”
She wiggled her fingers in a mystic-ish way . . . or tried to.
Natalie gave her an unimpressed look. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t do that.”
“But can’t you?” Selene hunted for the right word. “I don’t know. Disappear and reappear somewhere else?”
“No.” Natalie smiled ruefully. “Teleportation is science fiction, not magic. The best I can do is fly short distances, which is basically a more advanced form of levitation.”
Fly short distances. Selene got stuck on that for a minute.
“There must be something you can do,” Selene pressed.
“No,” Natalie answered, extending her arms. When she shook her wrists, Selene noticed the woven metal bracelets she wore. “These aren’t for looks.”
Selene peered at the simple braided design. “What are they?”
“Enchanted iron,” Natalie replied. “They don’t hurt, in case you’re worried about that, but they dampen magic.
I can’t cast anything powerful. But even if I could, it wouldn’t make much of a difference.
I might take out a few wolves if I tried to escape, but eventually they’d catch up with me, and I’d die anyway.
I don’t want to kill anyone, so it’s fine.
This way I’m not tempted to try. So to answer your original question: There’s nowhere for me to run.
Fen knows that. So do the other wolves. Locking the door doesn’t matter. ”
Selene ground her teeth. That was that. No way out.
“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Selene.” Natalie smiled at her. “But it’s no use. I love you, and I’m grateful you came. Truly.”
Standing, Selene said, “I’m not giving up, Nat. I can’t.”
Natalie’s smile remained in place, but her eyes told Selene that fighting for her life was futile. “You’re a good friend.”
Selene closed the door to Natalie’s room and leaned her forehead against it. She was so exhausted, and the night was far from over.
Should I go to Fenris? Will anything have changed?
No one besides Selene seemed to think Natalie’s death sentence could be avoided. She couldn’t understand why everyone was immovable on the subject. Were paranormals so locked in to their rules and traditions that they couldn’t even imagine alternatives?
Natalie’s apparent ambivalence about her imminent demise troubled Selene. She’d been hoping Nat might have some ideas about changing her fate. No luck there.
Selene was tempted to give up and go home, where she had allies.
Even though Marley and Tim were doubtful that Fenris would change the punishment, they were at least upset about it.
But she wasn’t ready to commiserate just yet.
She might not have magic, but she wasn’t helpless, and she had other skills to work with.
This is what I do. I bring people onside for the right cause, and I am exceptionally good at my job.
Reframing her end goal as a work-like assignment gave her a new shot of adrenaline. She had to make at least one more attempt to sway Fen, especially since he’d asked to have another conversation. That might be a good sign?
Turning away from the door, Selene walked along the hall toward the staircase that would take her to the third floor. Not his study, and not the conservatory, which was on the second floor.
Why am I meeting him somewhere new?
As she neared the stairs, a figure slid out from a shadowed alcove, startling her so much she jumped back with a gasp.
“Ms. Jones.” The man was huge, emanating raw power the way all Fen’s wolves seemed to, and Selene had no doubt he was a wolf. He wore a black T-shirt, jeans, and work boots, but his demeanor was that of a sentinel.
Assuming the man was warning her away from an exploration of the manor, she said, “Fenris requested that I meet him upstairs.”
He frowned. “That’s his business, not mine.”
When he didn’t say anything else, Selene grew puzzled. “Then why did you stop me?”
His frown deepened. “You spoke with Natalie Lyon.”
Oh god, is this an interrogation? Does he want me to tell him whether Nat and I hatched an escape plan?
She didn’t have the patience for this. “That’s my business, not yours.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Is she . . . all right?”
Selene wanted to snap at him, but the way his gaze flitted from her to the door to Natalie’s room, to the hallway rug, back to Natalie’s door, to Selene again, so restless, gave her pause.
She took a gamble. “Have you considered asking her yourself?”
“That wouldn’t be appropriate,” he answered, too quickly.
Taking a closer look at him, at the stern demeanor yet roguish haircut, Selene could identify the gruff man. This wasn’t any wolf. He was one of Fen’s guard.
“It’s Gabriel, right? We met at the diner.”
“Yes.”
Gabriel, who was chosen for the Beltane ritual the same year Natalie was. And Fen said that was the last time the ritual had taken the form of the sacred union. Did that night mean something to Gabriel? Did Natalie mean something to him?
“Why wouldn’t it be appropriate for you to talk to Natalie?” she asked, eager to dig for information but bracing herself for inevitable resistance. “Because you helped Fen arrest her?”
He looked away and shrugged.
No joy there. Time for a second try.