Chapter 33 #2
He sighed. “It’s nothing.”
“I can feel the wrongness of it. Tell me.”
The wind whistled at the harshness in her voice, then it trailed down the couch to explore the contents of the apartment.
The trickster let out another long breath and asked, “You know the jackaltooth?”
“Nasty beasts. They killed Mari.”
The trickster made an affirming noise, so the lucky one continued.
“The Bards created them to guard their home. They’re made of a host of creatures. Jackal, wolf, lion—”
“Human,” the trickster said.
The lucky one went to push herself off his chest, but the trickster tightened his arm around her and held her close. “I can’t tell you if you look at me.”
“All right.”
He closed his eyes. The wind didn’t look either. Instead, it trailed over a pile of the lucky one’s clothes and a bag of makeup. It sniffed a bottle of perfume—lemon verbena, grass cuttings, and wet gravel. It sneezed.
“Saying the jackaltooth are a hybrid of animals is just a story. The first jackaltooth were actually . . .” His hand paused on the lucky one’s back. Then, after a moment, he started stroking her again as if reassuring himself. “Trillipton Bard’s children.”
The lucky one stiffened, but the trickster kept on.
“He had eight children. He was a tyrant. They plotted to overthrow him—as you do—and he found out. Because he had a sick sense of humor, he decided to give them a choice. They could die, or they could serve him. Two chose death. Six chose to serve him. He didn’t tell them the caveat.
They wouldn’t stay human if they served him.
He used all his power, every last bit of it, to turn those six remaining children into monsters.
His hounds, he called them. They were loyal to him like dogs are loyal to their master.
When he died, his cousin became the new Bard and inherited his hounds.
Jackaltooth, he called them. He conjured more—ones from illusion—and bred them with the original six.
After that, every few generations, the jackaltooth weakened so much that a Bard had to become a jackaltooth again so the stock could remain strong.
Sometimes, it was a punishment. A death sentence.
Other times, it was seen as the noble sacrifice of a hero protecting the family.
No matter why it happened, the result was always the same.
A Bard who was infected with the original hound’s fur would become a jackaltooth within a few years.
They’d lose themselves and become a hound.
Loyal to the Bard. An animal. A beast. Meant to protect.
To keep the line of monsters strong. That’s .
. .” He shuddered, his skin cold and clammy.
“That’s one of the Bards’ secrets. That our monsters are actually us. ”
The lucky one pushed herself up so she could look down at the trickster, and this time, he didn’t stop her.
He watched her as if this might be the last time he saw her.
The wind knew the look of a man who thought he was about to face rejection from someone he loved.
The boy wore it sometimes, although he hid it better than the trickster.
“Once you become a jackaltooth, you won’t be able to conjure? You won’t be human anymore?”
“No. I’ll be a jackaltooth until I die. A hundred, a hundred and fifty years later.”
Her skin bleached to the color of chalk. “Will you know? Will you remember yourself?”
“I don’t know. I think . . . yes.”
The wind didn’t know if that was true. It thought, if he did remember, after a while, he would make himself forget. No one wanted to remember heaven when they were confined to hell.
The lucky one closed her eyes and leaned closer, the long ends of her hair brushing over the trickster’s cheeks, falling to his chest.
He sighed. “If this is it for us—if you don’t want to watch it happen—I understand. It’s all right if you want to remember this and nothing after.”
She opened her eyes and asked in a soft, questioning voice, “You’ll understand?”
The wind moaned as the trickster’s expression broke. It shattered like glass. Was she telling him goodbye? He swallowed, and his voice was thick as he said, “I understand.”
He went to stand, perhaps to leave. The lucky one’s face turned bright, angry red. She violently shoved him. The wind shrieked as the trickster slammed back to the couch.
“Shove your understanding, Luvic Bard.”
A low, drumming rattle vibrated in the trickster’s throat. Immediately, the noise cut off, then, “Dang it, Cora. I’m sorry—"
“And shove your sorry!” The lucky one leaned close, her nose nearly pressed to his. “Understand this. You aren’t becoming a jackaltooth. I won’t allow it.”
A smile curled over the trickster’s mouth.
“Stop smiling. Listen closely. I’m luck.
I was born in a fountain from wishes and dreams come true.
Do you think I’ll let the man I love become a monster?
I swear it, the only way you’ll become a jackaltooth is if all your luck runs out, and the only way that will happen is if I’m dead.
So understand this. I’m not leaving you. Not ever. I love you, you idiot.”
The trickster wrapped his arms around her hips as if he wanted to pull her closer but at the same time push her away. “Cora. If I become a beast—”
“Then I’ll become a beast too.”
The wind tasted salt in the trickster’s eyes even though no tears fell. He drew in a shuddering breath and then pulled her closer, tucking her head onto his chest.
They lay quiet for a long moment before the trickster said, “Thank you for buying the Silencer.”
The lucky one smiled, pressing her ear to the thudding of his heart. “What’s it for?”
“Oh, nothing. It’s a weapon. You point it and pull the trigger. The usual. I didn’t want it for myself—I just didn’t want someone else to have it.”
The lucky one laughed, then she asked, “How’s Mari? Finn?”
The wind stilled. Perhaps the trickster would tell the solange-eyed one’s secrets. Why did he smell different? Why was he twisted and cruel?
The trickster shook his head. “Not good. Stay away from them.”
The lucky one raised her eyebrows. “Both of them?”
He nodded, sending his hand through her hair, stroking her back.
“She’s . . . she’s a mine. You know what that means.
And Finn . . . he tried to kill us today.
It wasn’t an act. It wasn’t a mistake. He .
. . the look in his eyes. It wasn’t him, but it was.
I think something happened after Mari killed him.
I think it twisted him, or the underworld poisoned him, or—”
“Can we save him?”
The trickster shook his head. “I don’t know if there’s anything left to save. You should’ve seen him, Cora. Mari . . . you know she’s in there. But Finn . . .? No. He wasn’t Finn anymore.”
The lucky one looked down at the trickster, and whatever she saw made her face soften. She stroked her hand across his face.
“Stay away from them. Promise me?”
She nodded. Pressed a kiss to his lips. “I promise.”
The wind slipped under the door, leaving them to a gentle rain, evening mist, I-won’t-ever-let-you-go sort of love.
It knew from centuries of watching humans live and die, that sort of lovemaking was almost always followed by goodbye.