Old Grudges and Treachery - Chapter 10

We switched places with Finella: she climbed onto the stone while I stood back, glancing around with slight regret as the elemental source’s magic ebbed away. My task was complete. Or rather, a complete failure—but that was still a result. My business in the thicket was over, but rushing the others would have been selfish.

I started pacing slowly through the tall grass, careful not to make too much noise and disturb the meditation. Suddenly, the baronet sprang off the stone, arm outstretched towards the thicket of thistles. I reacted instantly, drawing my pistol and aiming in the same direction. Ellie leapt like a coiled spring, drawing her cleaver mid-air. Finella flinched, got tangled in the blanket, let out a squeak, and crashed onto the grass. Oddly enough, that turned out to be the best course of action in this situation.

A thunderous roar tore through the thorny leaves. The shockwave lashed at us with shredded foliage, nearly knocking us off our feet. My finger tightened on the trigger instinctively, the shot kicking up a spray of earth and grass near the left hind paw of a massive wolf.

My mind instantly registered the essentials: over a hundred kilos of muscle, bluish fur, four or five years old—right in his prime. The enormous fangs bared in a snarl and the lightning crackling in his eyes were of secondary concern. That roar alone told me what he was—a thunderwolf. And Kettle proved it by striking the beast square in the head with a bolt of lightning. It didn’t even flinch. Just like the baronet when facing an elemental’s strike. Powerful.

The wolf was closest to Ellie—clearly, it had sensed the soul of a herbivore in her and marked her as prey. Strange. Wolves usually avoid humans… though I had a guess why. The deer pen was guarded. Logan was there, and his spirit was that of a wolfhound. But here? Here were a few strangers, and one of them reeked of prey. And as for the rest of us—how was the beast supposed to know what a wizard or a sorcerer was? To him, we probably looked no different from any other ungifted folk.

And me? I’d grown too used to having a hunter’s mark. Too used to predators giving me a wide berth. I’d let my guard down.

Now that the wolf had stirred up our little group, he needed to act fast. Speed—that was the second defining trait of thunderwolves, right after their roar. He had plenty of time to escape before the real threats arrived. Kettle’s lightning didn’t faze him, he sensed no danger from Ellie, and Finella hadn’t even gotten up yet. But he knew the sound of a gunshot.

His attention snapped to me, and he lunged.

I fired—missed. The bullet clipped his ear, carving a shallow furrow through his coat, but nothing more. Ellie was nearly as fast as the wolf, slashing him mid-air with her blade, leaving a second wound just below the one my bullet had made. Deeper. Bloodier.

In the split second before the beast could knock me down, I threw up a shield from my ring. A shower of sparks erupted on impact, the reservoir stones inside heating up from the surge of magic, nearly drained in an instant. The wolf crumpled and collapsed into the grass.

A furious Finella finally found her feet and immediately unleashed twin streams of fire. The beast went up like a torch, howling in agony before whirling on the source of its pain. I barely had time to push my shield forward to cover her. The wolf slammed into the invisible barrier and rolled across the grass, smothering the flames.

Anywhere else, those injuries would have been fatal. But here—despite the stench of singed fur, charred skin, and burnt flesh—he rose.

Before our eyes, soot and ash sloughed off his body. Blisters swelled and burst, crusted over, and peeled away, revealing tender pink skin and the sparse beginnings of new fur.

There was a cost, of course. The beast had lost a solid ten kilos in the process.

But he didn’t back down. Ignoring the lightning and the fiery whips scoring his back, he charged me again—as if realising that I was the one keeping him from his prey.

The next two bullets from the FN struck the beast—one in the nape, the other in the front left leg—but neither stopped it. The wolf slammed into the battered shield, but this time, it didn’t crumple like before. It braced against the barrier, forehead pressing against the invisible wall, snarling, foam spraying from its bared fangs. A moment later, the shield shattered.

I felt the last scraps of magic draining from the reservoir stones—I was ready for the consequences. That precious instant, I used to aim. The moment the wolf lunged forward, I pulled the trigger.

The heavy bullet crunched into its skull, and by the time its body slammed into me, it was already lifeless.

I managed to grab the beast by the throat before I was completely crushed beneath its weight. Its jaws snapped reflexively, missing my nose by a hair’s breadth—then its head was wrenched from my grasp by the butt of a rifle. The crack of breaking bone and wood told me that whatever was left of the creature was beyond saving.

Logan tore the wolf’s carcass off me and tossed it aside like it weighed nothing. My brother was halfway into his battle form—more beast than man—ready to rip apart the thing that had dared to attack someone his pack considered kin.

“You alright?” he growled.

“Alive,” I said, pushing myself up.

Nearby, the grass was littered with a pair of broken fangs, a chunk of splintered rifle stock, and other remnants of the weapon. Logan pulled a knife from his belt—one nearly as massive as Ellie’s cleaver—but didn’t lunge in, giving Finella the chance to lash the wolf’s body with fire once more.

Simon had swapped lightning for his revolver, but he never got the chance to fire.

“Stop!” I commanded. “He’s dead.”

Logan hesitated. “Here? Now?”

“Bullet’s in his brain.” I pointed to the patch of pink skin. The wolf was still regenerating—the hole in its forehead was already knitting shut, new fur spreading over the freshly sealed flesh. The rest of the body was healing just as quickly. Even now, its limbs twitched, its jaws clacked together as if biting at ghosts.

“Looks like we’ll get a decent pelt out of this after all,” Logan joked.

“Forget the hide. What about the bones? The heart? Think they’ll survive intact? Those are worth far more.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” My brother frowned. “Aunt Ailie loves to experiment with potion ingredients. Best to wait till it’s fully healed before we carve it up. Then we should just take the whole thing back home. First—Aunt Aileen knows exactly what she needs. Second—carving him up here will be a pain. Especially if he keeps healing, don’t you think?”

Finella grimaced. “Ugh. That’s revolting.”

Her voice reminded me of my friends—and the strange way the fight had begun. I turned to Ellie.

“You didn’t sense him coming?”

She looked embarrassed. “I was in a trance. I wasn’t expecting an attack here.”

I shifted my gaze to Simon. “And you? How did you manage?”

The baronet looked uncomfortable, though for an entirely different reason. “I don’t know. I was in a trance too, and suddenly… I felt something familiar. Almost like kin. I reached out—” He hesitated, shaking his head. “I don’t know how to explain it. I was never taught this. I’ve never done it before. It was as if I’d stepped out of my body, reached for that ‘familiar’ presence—and then it struck me so hard with danger that I snapped back instantly.”

“Shifters have a similar meditation technique,” Logan said. “Spirit-walking. We can sense animals, their emotions. But not everyone can master it. Only the strongest and most disciplined.”

“Fire affinity!” Finella gasped, naming fire sorcerer’ equivalent. Suspicion and disbelief flashed in her eyes.

Simon stiffened.

“What? Is that bad? Are there side effects?”

“No, but…” She still looked stunned. “It took me five years to learn that. And you—you just did it by accident? That’s impossible!”

“Why?” Kettle bristled.

“Because you’re an overgrown child, a drunk, and a reckless fool!”

Simon smirked, letting most of the offence drain from his voice.

“I think you’re just jealous of my talent.”

“Excuse me—what?!” Finella flared up, a fireball igniting in her palm. “I’ll show you talent!”

Ellie snorted first, then burst into laughter. Simon followed, and soon enough, so did the rest of us. That was how the reinforcements found us—two breathless Baileys, arriving just in time to witness us laughing over a twitching wolf carcass.

“Is everything alright?” the elder Bailey asked, clearly unsure how to interpret the situation.

“We had a problem,” I said, nodding towards our kill. “We handled it. The wolf—didn’t.”

Finella, realising it wasn’t the right moment for theatrics, stamped her foot and crushed the fireball in her hand with a huff of frustration.

“They never used to wander this far,” Peter Bailey said, frowning as he turned to his father for confirmation.

“Happened once,” the elder Bailey admitted. “Fifteen years ago. But that wolf, they say, was nearly half again as big.”

“So was this one,” I pointed out. “Regeneration ate up at least twenty kilos.”

The process had finally stopped. Its body was now covered in fresh fur, and if not for that, we would have seen its skin clinging to its ribs.

“Well, that makes my job easier,” Logan remarked, hoisting the carcass onto his shoulders and carrying it towards the pickup.

We all agreed we’d had enough adventure for one day. A quick meal from our picnic supplies, a share left for the deer wardens, and then it was time to head home. Logan dropped Simon and me off at my place, took the girls to Sally’s, and drove on to deliver the carcass to our aunt’s laboratory.

Simon was all for passing the time with shooting practice or some other training, but I refused outright. After an early morning and a fight with a thunderwolf, I was dead tired. Leaving the baronet unsupervised wasn’t an option either. As Finella had so accurately put it, he was an infantile, reckless drunk—even if he had been making an effort lately.

So I found him something to do.

My grandfather’s library was extensive. Half of it consisted of personal journals from my ancestors, filled with family secrets—so naturally, I wasn’t about to give Simon free rein. But there were plenty of rare books on the nature of magic, the elements, the finer planes, energy nodes, and self-mastery. I stacked up a whole pile.

“Here. Read.”

He scowled but didn’t argue.

I cleaned my pistol and collapsed into bed, waking only when the world outside had turned dark.

“Duncan.”

Simon shook me awake. “You’ve got visitors.”

“Yeah… alright…” I yawned, dragging on a shirt and trousers as I shuffled towards the door.

“If I were you, I’d bring a gun,” Kettle remarked.

That snapped me awake instantly.

“What kind of visitors are we talking about?”

Instead of heading downstairs, I swapped slippers for shoes and slung a shoulder holster over my shirt.

“Your clanmates,” Simon said.

I frowned.

“And what makes you think I’ll need a weapon?”

“They’re young.”

I strode into my study and, without turning on the light, carefully peered through the window.

Below, gathered around the front steps, stood five—maybe seven figures. They weren’t banging on the door—proper manners, at least—but there was a distinct nervousness to their stance.

I sighed and unbuckled my holster, tossing it onto the desk. Brandishing weapons would only set the wrong tone for the conversation ahead.

But I wasn’t about to go down empty-handed, either.

Damn it.

“Go downstairs,” I told Simon. “Invite them into the parlour, offer them tea—or something from your own basket.”

“And you?”

“Me?” I grabbed my satchel of potions. “I need to wake up.”

As Simon went down to play host, I slipped a pair of bulldogs into my trouser pockets—hopefully not too obvious. Cufflinks went into my shirt pocket. I drank a potion for speed and reflexes, grabbed a box of reservoir stones, and flipped open my spellbook.

Burning through ether and steel at an absurd rate, I recharged my shield ring, then infused the rear-view spell with magic, sketched it into the air, and activated it immediately.

Only then did I force myself to look a little groggy and make my way downstairs.

There were seven visitors: three Ferons, three Baileys, and one Boily. The very same one who had smashed Robert’s face in—his friend, Hamish. Mark, the other participant in that brawl, was here too, the pair of them lingering near the window. The younger guards from the deer pen, Peter and Irwin, also stuck together, while the Feron sisters, Alexa and Morgan, had settled at the table.

But the most dangerous of the lot was the warlock leaning against the doorframe—Leslie Bailey.

A contemporary of Bryan McLilly, he had gone on his first solo hunt before my grandfather had even died. As for what tricks he had up his sleeve these days… I could only guess.

I took them all in, let my expression darken, but greeted them nonetheless.

“Evening, gentlemen and ladies. What brings you here?”

“You really don’t know?” Alexa asked. She was openly hostile, and the weight of support behind her was obvious.

“This is about Robert,” I said, not bothering to feign ignorance. “But what exactly do you want?”

“Answers!”

“Then you’d best start asking questions,” I advised, taking a seat opposite them.

Hamish and Mark ended up behind me, but that hardly mattered—I could see them perfectly well, thanks to the spell I had cast earlier.

My response threw them off for a moment. I doubted they even knew exactly why they had come.

“You’re too arrogant and self-assured, Kinkaid!”

“Stick to the point, Alexa, or get out.”

She opened her mouth to fire back something scathing, but her sister kicked her under the table and took over instead.

“Can you prove you didn’t kill Robert?”

“Poison,” I said.

I’d had time to think. And I had come to an interesting conclusion.

“Poison?” Alexa blurted out.

“We were all taught the same principles,” I said. “When does it make sense to use poison?”

The visitors exchanged looks, engaging in a silent battle of stares until the kettle in the kitchen began to whistle.

Leslie was the one who answered.

“Poison is used when prey is meant to escape, to weaken an opponent in battle, or to kill without fighting at all. Plenty of other uses too—insurance, for instance.”

“And why would I need insurance? This was Robert. And he was drunk.”

“Even so?” Leslie smirked. “Perhaps Alexa was right about your arrogance.”

“Oh, he’s as arrogant as they come,” Simon chimed in, nudging Bailey aside to bring in a tray with the teapot and cups. “But the vampires in Farnell are afraid of him—that’s got to count for something.”

“Vampires?” Leslie repeated mockingly, but his eyes weren’t laughing.

Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a folded sheet of paper and placed it on the table in front of me.

“I’ve met a few wizards. Show me what you can do.”

A few reservoir stones landed on top of the paper. I unfolded it cautiously. Four spell schematics stared back at me.

After a minute of study, it became clear what they were—healing, stone skin, ball lightning, and steel blade.

Leslie was testing me.

The first two were simple. Well-known to me. I could cast either without effort. But if I wanted to demonstrate strength, I had to choose one of the offensive spells.

There was a problem. Two, in fact.

Both were far more complex than what I was used to. And Harry still wasn’t letting me practice combat spells—just drill theory.

Well. There’s a first time for everything.

I chose lightning ball. Its core principle was similar to a spell I knew well—the lantern light. Probably why Harry had insisted I study it so thoroughly.

I took a quartz stone aligned with the element, channelled magic into the schematic. Since the paper hadn’t been pre-treated, the inked lines began to scorch, and the quartz’s charge barely held.

I rose from the table and headed for the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?!” Alexa demanded.

Leslie told her to leave it and followed after me, the rest trailing behind.

I stepped off the porch and, without waiting for the spectators to get settled, dispelled the schematic from the paper.

The two-dimensional design of circles, triangles, and runes flared to life, reshaping itself into a crackling orb of violet lightning. It bit into my palm and fingers, the pain sharp and relentless—I had to exert tremendous effort just to hold it together.

I had no idea how to launch it.

I couldn’t rush, but neither could I afford to hesitate. I recalled the theory, extended my arm towards the fence, and willed the orb forward. It shot off like an arrow, covering the distance in the blink of an eye—only to slip cleanly between two fence slats, missing them entirely, and slam into the cobbled pavement, shattering one of the stones.

I turned, clasping my hands behind my back.

My right hand had taken the brunt of the spell, scorched and throbbing, but I refused to show it, channelling my cufflinks’ stored blood into my skin to mend the damage.

“Apologies for the aim,” I said to Leslie. “Never cast that spell before.”

“I understand,” the warlock nodded. “Apologies for the intrusion. And for the foolish test.”

He extended a hand.

I stared at it for a moment, weighing my options—but in the end, I shook it.

By then, my palm was back to normal.

“Care to explain?” Alexa asked.

“What’s there to explain, cousin?” Bailey answered before I could. “For Duncan, poison and a dagger would be pointless. Like using a flintlock when you have a revolver.”

His gaze shifted towards me, suddenly more calculating.

“And here’s what I’ll say—whoever planned this either doesn’t understand how wizards work… or doesn’t understand your actual abilities. Because if they did, Robert would have been killed a very different way.”