1. Halloween Night #2
“What do you know about jackals?” he asks, then grins at my obvious confusion. “The animal, I mean.”
“I—uh.” I search my memory, dizzy from the detours this conversation keeps taking. “They’re omnivores. Related to dogs, I think?” I chew my lip, not sure what else to say. I don’t even know why he’s asking.
Silas presses a hand dramatically against his chest. “Lord help me.” He heaves a sigh. “See, that’s the problem. Folks hear the word jackal and picture some mangy little scavenger skulkin’ around lookin’ for scraps. Ain’t their fault. That’s the story everybody tells.”
He picks up a cut-crystal glass and swirls the amber liquid in it before taking a sip. He licks his lips and continues in that lazy Southern drawl that makes everything sound like a secret.
“The truth is prettier. More romantic,” Silas says.
“They’re noble creatures. Jackals choose one mate.
One.” He holds up a single finger. “Not three. Doesn’t matter if someone younger or richer comes along waggin’ her tail.
Doesn’t matter if the whole damn world tells them to move on. They mate for life.”
He falls silent. The chandelier sways gently overhead, the prisms knocking together with soft musical chimes. Silas stares into his drink as his expression changes.
Grief. Sorrow. Rage.
One chases the next, transitioning so quickly it’s hard to separate them.
His easy grin slips back into place.
“Extremely territorial, jackals are,” he continues like he never stopped. “Someone tries to take their food? They fight. Invades their territory? Fight. Threatens their mate? They’ll fight to the death if need be. You picking up what I’m throwing down?”
I nod because I do understand.
Jackal isn’t just the name of Silas’s gang.
It’s a promise.
Made to a ghost. To the memory of a love lost long ago, and I can’t help but think about Carrson. About if someone took him away from me. All the things I’d do to bring him home. Once he’d told me he would burn the world for me, and obviously Silas is the same, but that’s a man’s solution.
Men always seem to imagine love as something violent. A war to be won. A city to be conquered. Flames consuming everything in its path.
If someone took Carrson from me, I don’t think I’d burn the world.
I’d walk through the fire instead, following wherever he was taken, breaking down every door and digging up every secret until my hands bled.
I’d descend into hell itself if that’s where he was, because the alternative would be living without him, and I don’t think I could.
Maybe that’s the real danger of loving someone. Not that you’d burn the world for them but that you’d burn yourself. Down to the bones, until the person in the mirror became a stranger, unrecognizable.
So yeah, I don’t like Silas, but maybe we do have some things in common.
“What happened to her?” I ask, refusing to be distracted by his manipulations, his constant shifting of topics like it’s sleight of hand. Curiosity tells me this is the beating heart of his story, the motivation for all his theatrics.
“Who?” He blinks, pretending to be confused.
I give him a look. “Evangeline.”
“Gone,” he says, the word ringing with brutal finality. “Sucked into the machinery of The Order.” His shoulders tense, conviction flaring in his expression like a struck match. “I’ll find her, though. Whatever it takes.”
His eyes snap back to mine. The charm bleeds out, leaving him flat and cold. “Show me your hands.”
The sudden bark in his tone jolts me into action. Before I can think better of it, I lay my palms on the table, facing up.
He leans forward, eyes scanning intently.
“Unmarked,” he mutters. Then he shows me his own, also clean.
“Be careful, Laurel Turner.” His voice becomes quieter, stripped of swagger, like someone killed the spotlight.
The drawl which was pronounced before is now so soft I can barely hear it.
“When Carrson bonds you, The Order ain’t giving you to him.
They’re taking from you. A precious thing. Something you’ll never get back.”
My throat goes dry. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know the whole of it,” he says, shaking his head, “although I got a damn good guess.”
“Then tell me,” I urge.
He smiles, but it’s humorless. “You wouldn’t believe me, and truth be told? Half the fun’s watching you figure it out. I will be watching, don’t you doubt that. I’ve had eyes on you this entire time.”
I stiffen at that, searching my memory for any hint of him, proof he’s telling the truth, but come up blank. If Silas has been stalking me, he’s done a damn good job of hiding it.
He leans back and crosses his arms, openly enjoying my frustration. “You’re the best surprise I’ve had in years, although I should’ve guessed you’d turn up. The Order thinks you’re a pawn, but darling, I think you’re the queen. The endgame.” His eyes go dark. “Unless I finish ’em first.”
“Stop speaking in riddles!” I slap my hand on the table. “What do you want from me?”
“Nothing…for now. Just brought you here to let you know, Good Ol’ Uncle Silas has your back, in case you ever need it.” He pulls out a syringe.
Ice races down my spine. My mind leaps ahead. He’s going to drug me, knock me out, addict me. My breath catches as I prepare to fight.
Silas doesn’t look at me. His hand lashes sideways, jabbing the needle into Jackson’s chest, right over his heart. I jerk back, stunned. The effect is instant. Jackson sits up, coughing and sputtering. Silas yanks the syringe free, grinning, and holds it out so I can read the label.
Naloxone.
“Narcan,” I mutter. “Of course. Kicks the opioid off the receptors, reverses the high.”
“Bingo.” Silas gives the syringe a lazy spin between his fingers. “You know what this means? DD overdoses, easy to fix. One little jab, and they’re back from the brink.” He winks, teeth flashing white against the shadowed hollows of his face. “Ain’t I just the Good Samaritan?”
“You won’t let them die from an overdose,” I say, heat burning up my throat. My hands clench into fists on the table. “You’ll just keep a rope around their necks, tighten it with every hit.”
“A rope.” He repeats it like he’s tasting the word, then laughs, delighted. “Sugar, that’s just good business.”
He spreads his hands out, palms to the ceiling.