Twenty-seven #2
“I debated whether I should. A lot.”
I still wasn’t confident I’d made the right choice, but I just couldn’t miss this. I really hoped she hadn’t spotted me through the stage lights.
“Same.” Mason squeezed my knee. “The door to the hall isn’t locked. When it’s over, do you want to take a walk?”
“Ah, yes, a romantic moonlit trespass through the hallway.”
“That post-apoc teacher’s lounge is in this building. I’d settle for the boy’s bathroom. Since we’re both here . . .”
He gave his best puppy-dog eyes. Which were good, all things considered.
“A few minutes,” I stipulated. He kissed my cheek noisily and he went back to his seat.
***
I clapped unobtrusively during the curtain call and gave a single, quiet whoop!
when it was Cella’s turn. She swished her dress as she took a bow.
Her mom, dad, and sister were the first to hug her.
Cella butterfly-clapped as Lara gave her the tulips, followed by—my eyes just about bugged out of my head—Blake, with a bouquet of purple roses.
It had only been a couple of months, but I was already missing so many details. Now that I’d been given a peek, I scrambled to fill in whichever blanks I could.
Before I’d gotten far, I tore my eyes away from a scene that didn’t include me. Adjusting my hoodie, I slunk along the outskirts of the room toward Mason. We stepped out into the hallway together, and he took my hand.
“I was super wrong about who was the murderer,” he lamented.
“There, there,” I said, rubbing his back. “I wasn’t, in case you were wondering.”
Mason, the big baby, looked pointedly away from me with a disgruntled hmph. He forgot his petulance a second later, laughing incredulously as we rounded a corner. “Holy shit, that’s a big bird.”
I curiously followed his gaze out the window but saw nothing. “What are you talking about?” I asked, slightly disappointed.
“I swear it was just there.”
My whole body locked up, stopping forcefully enough to tug Mason back. “We need to go back.”
“What? Why—?”
I turned around, dragging him with me, and came face-to-face with my brother.
“Oh shit!” Mason jumped. Then, quieter, “Oh shit.”
“So you’re stalking me now?” I asked, too shaky to carry any edge. I inched a step back; Mason didn’t.
Cedric offered a hand. “I think reintroductions are due.”
We watched his hand warily. I squeezed Mason’s fingers just in case he got any funny ideas.
Cedric frowned. “Poorly mannered.” To me, he said, “I don’t approve.”
He moved quickly. I didn’t process any of it—the snap of his wrist or the lunge—until it was already over.
The hand he’d offered held a silver dagger inches away from my arm.
Mason was several steps behind me, feet planted firmly, his sweater slashed from shoulder to rib. He had jumped back just in time.
I snatched Cedric’s extended wrist before he could try again, bodily putting myself in the way of his knife.
“Move,” Cedric sneered, baring his fangs. His eyes were on my face but not on me. He stared through me, wide pupils locked on his target.
“Stop,” I said. I tugged at his wrist, trying to coax him to see me—the plea and promise in my gaze. Stop now, and I’ll do anything. Really, this time. “You’ve made your point.”
Cedric’s other hand reared back and punched me dead in the nose.
My vision whited out, and I felt myself hit the floor, clutching what felt like a fire on my face.
My vision went, but my hearing didn’t; there was a hellish snarl and a rattling thud, and when my sight blinked back, Mason was baring his teeth too. He held Cedric against the lockers with his forearm. The knife skittered away on the linoleum.
“Touch him again and see what happens,” said Mason. His eyes were the brightest thing in the room.
I struggled, trying to get to my feet through a nauseating rush of dizziness. Cedric definitely had more silver on him.
Instead of drawing another weapon, though, he drove his knee into Mason’s gut, then an elbow into Mason’s shoulder when he keeled forward.
Mason dropped, and Cedric crashed down on top of him, reaching across the floor with the hand not wrapped around Mason’s throat.
Lashing out with my leg, I kicked the knife away before his fingers could close around it.
With the grating screech of ripping fabric, Mason’s clothes rapidly became too small for his body. He swelled in size, dislodging the fingers from his neck. Joints popped out of and into place. Fur sprouted up between the tears until the clothes were nothing but scraps on the ground.
The sight—long arms, hunched back, fangs too big for the mouth to close around—unearthed a memory so deeply entombed I hadn’t known I had it.
My legs seized up, and I couldn’t move. The silhouette was familiar.
The memory passed through me like a shock wave, and I realized I had seen the lone wolf that night.
Seeing its shadowy figure tumble across the floor, grappling with another member of my family, there was a paralyzing moment when my body didn’t know who to be afraid of.
His fur is different, my brain supplied. The lone wolf had been black, not Mason’s brown.
Like this, Mason was twice Cedric’s size. He pinned my brother with one huge hand, claws parted around Cedric’s neck.
The eyes are different too. Glowing yellow instead of icy blue.
Beneath Mason, Cedric was grinning.
“Watch out!” I cried, scrambling toward them.
Cedric slung something over Mason’s neck and yanked both ends together in one fist, drawing Mason’s monstrous face even closer. Mason choked loudly, then began to thrash. Cedric was holding him with a silver chain.
“Was it worth it?” Cedric asked.
I could sense Mason’s pain, a sharp sting that blanketed my senses. It was distracting. I realized too late where the two of them had landed.
By the time I moved, the knife was already in Cedric’s hand.