Chapter 3 #3
“You confirmed more than just your presence. You showed the world you’re a female powerhouse with mismatched eyes and hair. That combination hasn’t surfaced since the tremors. Now, people are paying attention. They’re curious. And not everyone’s interest will come with good intentions.”
I swallowed. I thought no one cared because it didn’t change my day-to-day life. It never occurred to me that the consequences could be so enormous I couldn’t see them.
“Everyone? How would you know that?” I asked, suddenly unsure if his words were a warning.
Winston’s expression softened. “People talk. We may have lost instant messaging and access to endless data, but we can still send scrawls. And the Architect… isn’t the only living mentalist.”
Winston’s gaze flicked to Cayden, who responded with a scowl, before returning to me. “I just wanted you to know what I know, so we’re speaking from the same foundation.”
For better or worse, his words put me at ease, and I nodded, thinking.
Cayden rested a hand on my shoulder. “We can leave these walls. Whatever you need. I can help. You don’t need him. Any of them.”
Except Cayden couldn’t. He lived and breathed magic, yet nothing he told me helped.
Winston watched me with his hands folded. The door was still open behind us, and every instinct told me to use it. I messed up. I’d already drawn too much attention. I should run. Hide and start over where I could blend in better.
Don’t do that, I said to myself, stopping my thoughts in their tracks.
My dad’s favorite three words. For the first time in my life, I agreed with them. I had acted and done what made me happy. Instead of cowering because it made me different, I had to embrace it.
I leaned toward Winston. “How did you learn to use magic?”
Winston frowned. “Unfortunately, I am not the right monster to help you with that.”
I frowned and let out a frustrated breath.
“I’ll explain, but only because you deserve the truth, Quinn.
” Winston folded his hands over his belly and leaned back, his eyes fixed somewhere far away.
“I was the youngest son of a whisky blender in the Highlands. We had land, money, and safety… or so we thought. When the tremors hit, we bolted for the panic room. Steel walls, reinforced door, all of it.” He exhaled through his nose.
“Then the lights died. Magic swallowed the power. And the door locked tight. No way out. No way to see.”
He paused, jaw clenched. “I listened to my family die in the dark. Every breath, every scream. And I sat in that black box, too scared to move.”
Winston rubbed the back of his neck. “We had a collie. The family dog, loyal as anything. While my family screamed, their bodies ripping themselves apart trying to handle the magic, the dog and I... changed.” He exhaled slowly, the grimace deepening on his face.
“We got closer. Closer until we weren’t separate anymore. Just one creature.”
He looked away. “I felt nothing. No pain. I was maybe five.” His voice dropped with the ghost of shame. “We survived in that bunker for months. Because the monster I’d become… ate my family. One by one.”
A dull ring thundered through my ears, muffling the world as if I’d been dropped underwater.
Winston’s glowing yellow eyes dimmed, vanishing into the creased hollows of his face.
He didn’t blink. Didn’t move. He could’ve been a statue, frozen in some warped moment of peace that didn’t belong to the living.
I stared, but I wasn’t really there.
The air around me felt too still, like the room itself was holding its breath. My body felt far away, almost like it was floating in a different world. The words he ate his family echoed in a voice I barely recognized as my own thoughts.
And this man just… lived with it. For a hundred years.
“Did you know you were eating your family?” I don’t know why I blurted it out, but for some reason, it was suddenly the only thing I could think about. Absently, I rolled some dog hair—no, Winston’s hair—across the couch.
“Consciously? No. I was something else entirely, driven by instinct, by scent, by the hum of magic shaping my brain before I even understood what I was. But as I grew into this”—he gestured at himself—“I remembered things. Not in words, but in truth. Somewhere, deep down, I knew. The mind protects itself in strange ways, Quinn. We are all capable of monstrous things… when the alternative is breaking.”
I didn’t know I’d started crying until a tear slipped down my cheek. I hadn’t actually eaten my dad, but I might as well have. My mental illness had consumed us both. Cayden slipped from his perch onto the couch and pulled me against his side. I leaned into his support.
“It was a long time ago,” Winston said, his eyes catching the light, just shy of tears.
“I survived. Some monsters got stuck in place; I was lucky. My dog wanted to wander, and so we did, watching the world change. The families grew bold, started butchering anything that wasn’t quite human.
So, I hid. And eventually… I found purpose. ”
He folded his hands slowly. “The point of my story is this.” His tone hardened. “Instinct was my teacher. Magic didn’t come from study. It came from survival. My medium is visualization. Colorless shapes shaped by a hybrid mind. I project what I need… and it becomes real.”
“That doesn’t help me, does it?” I asked. The shock of Winston’s story eased, and I wiped my cheeks.
Winston shook his head. “Not unless you can secretly turn into a dog.”
I wrinkled my nose.
“You need to speak with Morgen.” Winston pulled out his TB.
I shook my head. “No. She’s already told me I’m not worth anything beyond my reproductive organs.”
Winston tilted his head. “Did she now?” He began forming a scrawl without looking up.
“Morgen’s past is her own. Not mine to tell.
But I’ll arrange a meeting. If she said something, I doubt it was truly about you.
” He finished the scrawl and let it vanish into his TB.
“She carries her own fear. She wasn’t as lucky as I was. ”
I bit my lips together. Winston ate his family. How was that lucky?
“What about Professor Holiday?” I asked.
Winston shook his head. “He won’t help you.” His gaze lingered on me, caught in the weight of a decision, before he finally exhaled. “The Architect hasn’t made many missteps… but in my opinion, Professor Holiday is one of them. Keep your distance.”
A shiver ran down my back, and Cayden pulled me closer.
“I will stay away from Professor Holiday,” I said, meaning every word.
“Good.” Winston tapped his TB. “I’ll message you both when Morgen’s ready.” He glanced up at me with a grin. “And if you’ve no pressing matters, Quinn, indulge an old man with your company until lunch?”
I nodded. “I’d like that.”
Winston’s gaze locked on Cayden. His face twisted, jaw elongating into a snarling muzzle, patchy fur bursting across his skin. Thick canines dropped like drawn blades.
I ducked, instinct telling me to run, though I couldn’t look away.
“You hurt her,” he rumbled, voice raw and guttural, “and I’ll rip you apart. Piece by piece.”