Chapter 19 #2
Malachi stared at him, head tilted slightly, as though trying to decide if Archie was being serious or joking. “Wolf-shifters?” Malachi let the words hang in the air. “I don’t remember wolfing out at a full moon.”
“No.” Archie shook his head. “We’re not werewolves. There’s no moon trigger or rules like that.” He nodded towards Ina. “Our father, your grandad, was the last wolf in the family.”
Malachi turned to Ina, who nodded once.
“Our aunt and uncle too.” Ina’s eyes flashed with anger. “Until there was a falling out and—" She stopped herself, lips pressing thin, deliberately passing the reins back to Archie.
Archie was grateful, the weight was shifting from panic to purpose. He needed to keep going before he lost it.
“And?” Malachi crossed his arms, letting out a huff of impatience. The stance was pure Heather. That same exasperated, coiled restraint that meant she was five seconds from saying something dangerous.
“The last time anyone saw them, they were on top of the cliffs at White Bay.” Archie’s voice flattened. “We assumed they fell into the sea.”
He hadn’t been alive then. Everything he knew came from second-hand stories filtered through Ma before she died and Ina.
“We never saw them again,” Ina cut in, unable to hold it this time. “The Wolfenden wolves protected Latharna.” Her voice wavered. “And when they tore each other apart, they took that protection with them, destroying our pack.”
The crack in her composure startled Archie more than the words themselves. He couldn’t remember the last time Ina spoke of their father.
“There are no wolves left.” Ina straightened up, pushing the emotion back down. “Latharna’s been vulnerable ever since.”
“I never knew that.” Archie had known pieces of the story. But this—this was the first time he’d heard her admit the fracture between their father and uncle outright.
A dull unease settled in his gut.
He’d built his life on what Ina told him. Trusted her to be the keeper of his family’s past because someone had to be. And now it seemed that much of the past was still locked away. Secrets, it seemed, were a Wolfenden habit, passed down as surely as bone and blood.
“What were they fighting about?” He leaned against the metal gate. It clanged shut under his weight, the sound sharp in the enclosed space, echoing longer than it should have.
“I never found out.” Ina’s emotion passed, all harsh edges sanded smooth. “They were the last ones who could turn. After that, the family fractured.” She raised her hands, palms out, as if to say she had no more information to share.
Malachi’s eyes darted between them, then drifted back to the gate. “Are we dangerous?”
He didn’t look at either of them when he asked. His shoulders had drawn in, braced for the verdict.
“Danger is a choice,” Ina snapped, offence flashing before she reined it in.
“No.” Archie stepped forward and placed a hand on Malachi’s shoulder. “We’re not dangerous.”
Malachi’s breath left him in a rush. His shoulders dropped, like a weight had finally slipped loose. The tension didn’t vanish—but it eased.
“But we know things.” Archie gave Malachi’s shoulder a squeeze. “And that makes us a threat to anyone who wants to hurt Latharna.”
Malachi nodded. “Like the Selkie?”
“The Selkie are creatures of habit. But over the years, desperation warped that. They attacked the people of Latharna. They took your brother because they were starving.” His throat tightened. “And now they’re more dangerous… because of what I did to them. They must be stopped.”
“I agree.” Ina cracked her knuckles. “If they aren’t, other beings from the Otherworld will start to push boundaries.”
Archie winced. He understood the truth of it, but he hated how fast she’d said it. How easily she’d leapt ahead with the Otherworld while Malachi was still finding his footing. The door had been opened a crack, but it didn’t need to be flung wide open all at once.
“The Otherworld?” Malachi’s gaze swept the Hideaway again. A locker door rattled as he tried to open it.
Archie reached into his back pocket and tossed him the key.
Malachi opened the locker and froze. The weapons lay neatly arranged inside—blades clean, handles worn smooth by use. Malachi’s eyes traced over them without expression, until they stopped at the axe.
Archie’s gut twisted. The axe had done so much damage. He’d swung it until his arms gave out and mercy finally stopped him.
“Yours?”
Archie nodded.
Malachi closed the locker door. The click of metal felt final. He turned back to Archie, face unreadable. “Who else knows about this place?”
“Only the three of us.” Archie’s voice hardened on instinct. “You can never tell any—”
“Tilly knows.” Ina cut in.
Archie’s spine stiffened, his breath snagged halfway in. Of course she did.
“Ina, I…” The rest of his words jammed somewhere behind his teeth.
Ina had spent his entire life drilling it into him that Wolfendens always stuck together.
That they could never tell anyone about their history or the existence of the Otherworld.
And now she was sitting there, calm as anything, admitting she’d handed their secrets to Tilly—Latharna’s resident chatterbox.
Tilly couldn’t hold a secret any more than she could hold air.
Her mouth loosened if she so much as sniffed whiskey.
“How could you tell Tilly about the Otherworld?”
Ina shrugged. “We grew up together. She knows everything about me.” She waved a hand. “And it’s not like she’s ignorant. Tilly’s dipped more than a few toes into the Otherworld herself.”
“What?” Archie blinked once. Then forgot how to do it again.
“She’s been brewing charms and protection spells since we were children. You know, the things she sells in The Enchanted Thistle.” Ina rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “She’s convinced she’s got a streak of fae blood in her somewhere.”
Ina’s words stacked up without settling, sliding past each other like loose boards.
Archie’s mind snagged on the cluttered counters in The Enchanted Thistle, crammed with homemade remedies; the cauldron in the middle of the shop; the little purple thistle stamps on a loyalty card.
Ten purchases and the eleventh was free.
Magic, apparently, came with a reward system.
“Tilly?” Malachi snorted, rubbing his face. “Fae blood?”
“I suppose it explains the luck,” Ina winked. “And the chaos.”
Archie planted his hands on his hips and drew out a breath.
“Okay, let’s not get sidetracked with Tilly and whatever the hell she gets up to in the Otherworld—although, I am absolutely dying for more information about that.
” He shot Ina a look that promised consequences.
“Right now, we need to focus on the Selkie.”
Malachi nodded, already moving back to the locker.
He unlocked it again, slower this time and stared at the contents.
He reached for a compact round shield, no larger than a bin lid.
The leather grip was scarred and darkened with sweat, the paint worn away where hands, blood and salt spray had eaten it.
The splintered edges and cracks in the wood had survived battle.
“This one.” He picked it up; fingers gripped the leather strap as though it had been designed for him. “What’s it for?”
“That’s not for killing.” Archie adjusted the strap. “It’s for getting out alive.”
Malachi nodded and set it back, with care.
Archie stepped forward and closed the locker. The metal thudded shut. “I showed mercy last time. It only made things worse.” He met Ina’s eyes. “We need to kill them.”
She didn’t hesitate, just nodded, as though she had been waiting for Archie to reach the same conclusion she already knew.
“Why can’t we just ask for help?” Malachi rubbed his temple, eyes closing briefly. Fatigue set in heavy and fast. “If Tilly knows… maybe others…” He exhaled through his nose, already understanding the secrecy of the Otherworld. “What do you need me to do?”
“Drive.” Archie hated the answer for several reasons. He didn’t want Malachi to be involved at all, but they needed him.
“Drive?” Malachi raised his eyebrows.
“We need you to drive us to the Selkie nest.” He held Malachi’s gaze. “Ina and I go in. You stay in the car with the engine running. If anything goes wrong, you are our getaway.”
He wanted Malachi upstairs, asleep and safe. He wanted to lock the Hideaway behind him and shoulder this alone. But he needed Ina on the ground, and he needed someone watching the exit. Right now, that someone was Malachi.
“Lord help us with him at the wheel.” Ina cleared her throat, but the laugh had already escaped.
Malachi shot her a look, but Archie’s hand landed on his shoulder.
“If we survive the drive,” Archie forced a crooked smile, “we end this tomorrow night.”
Ina inhaled sharply, ready to argue.
“It’s the middle of the night,” Archie got in first, eyes flicking to Malachi. “We’re exhausted. We need to sleep and then get prepared. Tomorrow.”
Ina threw her hands up, but didn’t argue.
“Are you okay with that, son?” Archie wasn’t. Not even close.
There was a traitorous flicker of pride at the idea of standing shoulder to shoulder with his son instead of shielding him from shadows. It made his stomach drop just as fast. Pride and terror twisting together until he couldn’t tell which was stronger.
“I’m fine.” Malachi stood tall, arms crossing. “Tomorrow.”
Archie slipped an arm around Malachi’s shoulder and steered him towards the stairs. “Tomorrow.”
He was wired to the bone; sleep wouldn’t come.
But staying awake was a risk they couldn’t afford.
They needed clear heads; their lives depended on it.
As they climbed the stairs, the thought settled heavy in his chest: every step he took to shield Malachi somehow nudged him closer to danger.
Protection wasn’t a straight line. It was bent and twisted.
If Archie wasn’t careful, it led exactly where he was trying to keep his son from going.