“I reckon,” said Simon, “you need another rinse!”

  Ellie and Betty exchanged looks, Sally snorted and stifled a laugh, and Finella gave the baronet a hearty smack to the back of the head.

  “Oi!” protested Kettle. “The lad genuinely needs to stop the bleeding before he floods the place.”

  The blood was already too much for my cupped hands to contain. It was seeping through my fingers in fat drops, and my nose was still happily pouring more. Bloody jokers! My head felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to my face, and they were laughing?

  To hell with decorum, I’d had enough!

  I swung my arm in a sharp arc and flung the bloody mess wide, making sure everyone caught a drop or two.

  “Oi!”

  Sally cried out in protest.

  She’d been standing the closest and caught nearly half of what had been in my hand square in the face. That’ll teach her to giggle. The rest of the blood spattered across the ward, speckling the walls and everyone’s clothes. Even Betty, who got the least of it, now had glaring red spots all over her white coat.

  “Out!” I barked, pointing at the door. “All of you — out!”

  “Duncan!” Sally tried to protest, putting on her best ‘older sister’ voice, but I was so furious I grabbed her by the collar and physically shoved her out the door.

  “Laugh at home!”

  Betty vanished of her own accord this time. She slipped through the doorway and around my friends as smoothly as water down a drain. I kicked everyone out and slammed the door shut behind them. Then I grabbed the potion bottle off the bedside table, bit off the cork, spat it aside, took a long swig, and poured the rest straight into my nostril, head tilted all the way back. I had to lower my head again so I wouldn’t choke, most of it ended up soaking my shirt, but it did the job.

  A few minutes later, the bleeding stopped, I’d cooled down, and had to admit I’d overreacted. I shouldn’t have gone straight for the potion. I should’ve checked the nose for broken bones or cartilage damage to make sure it healed properly. The bridge didn’t feel crooked, but it would be easier to tell once the swelling went down. No clue what it looked like on the inside. Sally probably could’ve figured it out, but I’d driven her off. Lost my temper.

  Wouldn’t hurt to wash up, change this bloodied shirt, and clean the mess off the walls before it dried in.

  With that in mind, I headed for the washroom. Once I was done, I made my way to the nurses' station to ask for a bowl and cloth. I braced myself to run into Betty again, but even from a distance, I heard Logan’s angry voice.

  “Just give me the bloody sedative!”

  “No,” my ex said firmly. “The dispensing of powerful or mind-altering substances is strictly regulated.”

  “Are you deaf? I need it for the assignment!”

  “Go to the lab.”

  “I’ve just come from the lab, you daft cow! Making it takes time. I need it now!”

  My dear brother was clearly losing his grip, he was never this coarse with women.

  “Not my problem!” Betty shot back, her voice equally heated. Probably still riled up from our earlier conversation.

  I quickened my pace, just in case it got out of hand. And not a moment too soon. Logan was already half-shifted, fur spreading, claws gripping the counter, and he was leaning over it, growling right into the terrified nurse’s face.

  “I said — give me the bloody sedative!”

  “Oi!” I shouted.

  Logan snapped his snarling muzzle towards me, and I quickly raised my hands in a calming gesture.

  “Easy, brother. Betty, just give the man the sedative.”

  “He wants Dead Feelings,” Betty squeaked.

  The Dead Feelings potion was used only in the rarest and most extreme circumstances, after the death of a loved one, for example, or following torture. It also saw use before particularly grim assignments, to dull the edge of emotion. My brother had been busy the past few days, sure, but I couldn’t imagine Bryce assigning him anything so morally corrosive it would shake him like this.

  Logan was a true protector. Not a paladin of goodness and light, more like the loyal hound of the clan. I remembered the old wolfhound whose spirit lived on in him. The children had adored that shaggy beast, and he’d run around with us as if we were his pups. We’d squeal and hide when he slobbered on our faces, but we always came back for more. That dog never attacked first. Neither does Logan. Uncle knows that, so something else must be going on.

  “Shall we step aside?” I asked.

  “I don’t have time,” Logan replied, turning to leave.

  Something was off with him. Normally so attentive, and now he hadn’t even asked why my shirt was soaked in blood.

  “Wait,” I said, taking a step forward and grabbing his arm. He growled softly.

  “Let go, Duncan. I don’t have time for games.”

  An hour ago, I might’ve cracked a joke or tried to press him. But after my own outburst earlier, I took it as a sign to go gentler.

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “You’re supposed to be resting!” Betty snapped. “And waiting for the doctor.”

  “Doctor?” Logan echoed, looking at me anew. “That your blood? Are you alright?”

  “Just a nosebleed, nothing to worry about,” I said lightly, waving it off. “It’s sorted now.”

  “Except for the earth magic poisoning,” Betty added helpfully.

  “Is it serious?” Logan frowned, his face fully human again.

  “Bit of ointment and I’ll be fine. That’s what the doctor said.”

  “Sorry, brother,” Logan muttered. “We’ll talk about how you managed that later, but right now I’ve got to find where I can get more of that blasted potion!”

  “I’ve got some,” I lied. “In Grandad’s workshop.”

  “Where exactly? I’ll borrow it.”

  “I’ll come with you. It'll take you forever to find it on your own.”

  “You should stay.”

  “I’ll be quick — in and out. Was going to change into something clean anyway.”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “You’ve not been discharged!” Betty objected, scandalised.

  “I said quick.”

  “Just tell me where it is,” Logan said again.

  “And I said I’ll give it to you. Come on.”

  Something was seriously scrambled in Logan’s head if he believed me. Normally he could smell a lie off me from a mile away. Grandad might have had a vial tucked away. To be honest, if you ransacked the old man's stores properly, you could fund half a covert operation, but some of those brews went bad fast. If you were lucky, they just lost their potency. The Dead Feelings potion, for instance, had a nasty tendency to turn toxic. We’d been warned about it plenty of times in lectures.

  We left the hospital in silence, but Logan’s body all but radiated urgency, so I picked up the pace. Five minutes later, we reached the house. Thank God Simon wasn’t in, his idiotic jokes would’ve been the last straw.

  I tried to keep my voice as soft as possible.

  “Why do you need the potion, brother?”

  “Assignment,” he snapped.

  “Liar,” I said, as gently as I could. “Will you tell me what really happened?”

  “You don’t actually have the potion,” Logan sighed and rubbed his face tiredly.

  “No idea,” I admitted. “The cellar’s as well-stocked as Aunt Ailie’s stash, so maybe I actually do.”

  Logan glanced back at me, weary and uncertain, but I caught his shoulder before he could turn away.

  “You were there for me during the worst time of my life. You were one of the anchors that helped me survive losing my parents.”

  I was going to offer him my help, but something clicked in my mind, one of those moments when the pieces fall into place. Logan’s a protector. He doesn’t give a toss about himself, but for family or friends? He’ll fight like hell.

  “So who are you protecting this time?”

  He flinched. His shoulders sagged. Without turning around, he lowered his head and muttered in a hoarse voice, “I’m a shitty protector…”

  But the moment of weakness passed. He laid his hand on mine and lifted it gently off his shoulder. “You’ll understand soon enough,” he said, like a man walking to the gallows.

  There was no competing with his strength, but I wasn’t giving up on reaching him, not his logic, but his heart. If Logan was losing faith in himself, this could end very, very badly.

  “We’re family,” I reminded him. “If anyone knows you, it’s me. You’ve always done what’s right.”

  “Not this time.” Logan turned sharply, eyes burning. “This time, I’m going to kill Sean’s lover.”

  I blinked.

  What?!

  How? Why?!

  Did he have any idea what that could cause? Deaths. Hundreds of them. The downfall of our clan, maybe even all of Avoc.

  No. My brother couldn’t be capable of that. What the hell could have driven him to it?

  I barely stopped myself from lunging at him, tying him up, locking him in the cellar until I figured out what in the name of the gods was going on. If I’d had a strong enough paralysing spell on hand, I might’ve actually used it. Instead, I clenched my eyes shut, crushed the next surge of emotion, breathed in deep, exhaled slow, and asked one clear question:

  “Why?”

  “They’ve got Jenny.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “The werewolves.”

  “Ah. And they want Sharon’s life in exchange for Jenny’s…”

  “That doesn’t surprise you?” Logan frowned.

  “No. What surprises me is your idiocy. You do realise they’ll kill her anyway? And then Sean will come for every single Kinkaid he can get his hands on: me, you, Uncle Gordon, Aunt Mary, your sisters, Sally and the baby. Brother, I know how much you love her. But what the hell were you thinking, planning a murder? Are you sure you weren’t compelled?”

  Logan winced, blinked rapidly, and wiped away the tears that sprang to his eyes.

  “She’s pregnant.”

  “Sharon? I know. And I can’t believe you were ready to kill a pregnant woman.”

  “Wait...” Logan held up a hand. “Sharon’s pregnant?!”

  “Yes. And you... wait. Jenny?!”

  We stared at each other like two rams who’d just noticed a new fence gate. Then I punched him. Right in his thick skull. Felt like I’d broken my hand, and the idiot just flinched.

  “Congratulations, you bloody dolt! Do you know how much time we’ve just wasted? The werewolves — out with it. How many, where, when?”

  Turned out, my brother had spent the past several days scouring the city, hunting werewolves. That was the main task of a good chunk of the clan’s trackers, and Logan had been drafted in thanks to the spirit of the old wolfhound and his uncanny nose. Two days of patrolling brought nothing, the bastards were hiding well. Just when everyone started thinking they’d really left Avoc, Logan was given a brief break. He got some sleep, and of course, flew on the wings of love to see his girl.

  When he got to her house, he found out she’d been taken. Her parents had been ordered to stay silent if they wanted to see their daughter alive. They passed the same message to Logan and handed him a note with a phone number.

  When he called, they let him hear Jenny’s voice, then gave him a simple instruction: kill Sharon, and call back to confirm.

  “You remember the number?” I asked. “Or did they leave a card?”

  “Card,” Logan replied.

  I held out my hand expectantly.

  Reluctantly, he pulled a thick rectangle of card from his pocket. I didn’t even glance at the number scribbled on it — far too nice a piece of paper for just a few digits you could jot down on any scrap. Instead, I peered into the subtle weave. A complex, coloured pattern flared across the surface: blood, ether, and fire.

  “Tell me, brother,” I said gently. “Did you feel a bit calmer the moment you handed this to me?”

  “What is it?” Logan asked immediately.

  “A guarantee you’d do what they asked,” I said. “The spellwork’s complex, but based on the elemental pattern, I’d say it’s a compulsion, one meant to keep you dangling on the edge of a breakdown until you completed your orders.”

  Logan was tough — strong in mind as well as body. To influence him at all, the werewolves would’ve had to knock his emotional balance off-centre and keep it unstable. I reckoned the fire in the enchantment was fuelling his constant anxiety.

  “You were holding the card when you called them, weren’t you?”

  “No, I’d set it on the table.”

  “Hm. I might be wrong about the trigger, but this is definitely active magic. I’d bet anything the paper’s been treated like my notebook, and the ink’s laced with fine dust from a reservoir stone. Look — see that?” I pointed at a barely visible seam along the card’s edge. It was actually two layers, pressed and sealed together. “The spell’s inside.”

  “We can’t kill Sharon,” Logan said quietly. “So what the hell do we do now?”

  “Why not?” I replied. “We can absolutely send her off to the next world. Just like we did with Robert.”

  Logan scratched his head, looking genuinely surprised.

  “Why didn’t I think of that?!”

  “I doubt I’d be thinking clearly in your shoes either,” I said, trying to reassure him. “You’ve only got the phone number? Didn’t try to get an address?”

  “No… I was focused on… well, you know…”

  I did know. Logan couldn’t bring himself to kill a defenceless person, especially not a woman. But he couldn’t abandon the one he loved either. The potion had been the only solution his exhausted mind could come up with.

  “I’ll handle it,” I said. “You go park near the girl’s house, do a few loops around the block, then stop and sit tight. Just stall for time. Give us at least an hour and a half.”

  “Us?” Logan asked.

  “For a proper con, I’ll need McLilly at the very least. And we’ll have to find out where they’re keeping Jenny, they might’ve moved her by now. If the plan changes, I’ll let you know. Either way, in ninety minutes, you go inside and stay put until I call. No need to kill Sharon, in case that wasn’t clear.” I smiled.

  “Crystal,” Logan snapped, but a flicker of a smile crossed his face too. He grabbed me in a fierce hug. “Thanks, brother. For not letting me… you know.”

  “I know,” I said, patting his back while my ribs were still intact.

  Logan let go abruptly, turned, and walked out the door.

  I’d given him hope. But if I screwed this up...

  No. Don’t even think about that. Not now.

  I picked up the phone and dialled Nicholas Boily. Thank God, he was in.

  “What?” he barked, sounding properly irritable.

  “It’s Duncan. I’ll be at yours in five. I need Uncle and Bryan.”

  “I thought you were still in hospital? I told you to stay out of this!”

  “This is different.”

  “I’m busy.”

  “Five minutes,” I warned. “And McLilly better be there, otherwise, you’ll have nothing left to be busy with.”

  I hung up, threw on a clean shirt and jacket, and rushed to the Clanhall.

  As expected, McLilly wasn’t in the Security Office. Neither was Bryce. Nicholas looked thunderous, and clearly didn’t want to hear me out. But he was going to.

  “You’ve got one minute,” he snapped, then eyed the grey patches on my skin. “You look like hell. You should’ve stayed in hospital.”

  I held out the card with the phone number. Easier to convince with evidence. But Boily didn’t even touch it.

  “What’s this rubbish?”

  “Compulsion. Targeted at one of ours, to get him to kill Sharon.”

  “Bloody hell!” His hand moved toward the phone. “Who? Do you know who’s behind it?”

  “No, but don’t call security. Call Sean instead. And we need McLilly to stage a death, same way we did with Roger. We’ve also got to trace that phone number. We’ve got about an hour.”

  “McLilly’s busy.”

  “This is more important.”

  “I don’t think so. And Sharon will be protected.”

  Something was going on. Something big, and I wasn’t in the loop. No question it was serious, but if we didn’t get Jenny back within the hour… she might not make it.

  What if Nicholas already knew? I had to be sure.

  “Unless you’re planning on hunting werewolves, and even if you are, stop. They’ve got a hostage.”

  “Who?” He glared. “And stop playing games.”

  “Let’s be honest, then,” I offered. “I tell you who the hostage is, and you tell me what you’re rushing off to deal with. This isn’t a game, Nicholas. I’m dead serious. I’m ready to kill if I have to.”

  “That a threat?” Boily sneered.

  “Not to you. I know who the enemy is. But if that hostage dies… I won’t forgive it.”

  “Bryce said to keep you out of this.”

  “Alexandra!” She’s the one I was told to stay away from.

  I remembered how she’d promised revenge on Sean. Swore she’d destroy his ‘whore’. She hated the Kinkaids too, and if the dirty work were done by our hands, she’d take no end of pleasure in it. Then Sean would kill one of us…

  And maybe that’d be the end of it. Or maybe the Feron family would step in, and the clan would split.

  “Don’t touch her,” I said quietly. “There’s a good chance she’s the one who ordered the hit. The werewolves might just be the cover.”