Page 20 of Sharpen Your Claws

“Why care about that?” Nicholas’ knuckles brushed William’s cheek. He cursed himself for leaning into the touch. “We will have each other. What more could we want?”

Safety. A life without fighting. Without looking over their shoulders.

To Nicholas, the chance of trouble put a sparkle in his eyes. For William, he wished to yearn for the mundane, to be normal again, and happy, to not wake in cold sweats on the few nights he fell asleep and to not rely on any form of drug or alcohol to make his mind go blank on bad days. Most of all, he wanted to look in a mirror and not hate who he saw. He wanted to be different, someone else entirely.

“I will not have this conversation any longer. There are far more pressing matters.” William freed himself from Nicholas’ grasp. “I have seven patients who have disappeared over the last two months.”

“I can help. You know I can.”

But that meant giving Nicholas permission to remain. To continue showing up with no idea if it would be a detriment to Nicholas’ health and all their lives.

However, saying no meant abandoning his patients. They sorely needed help. Nicholas offered that help. With him, the patients could return alive, or he could risk taking weeks or months and hope not to find corpses. And considering what Nicholas said, he would be around regardless. Much to his chagrin, Nicholas was the best option they had.

“I have spoken with the authorities and the king himself. None truly care,” he said, relenting. “My patients are homeless, so there has been little to investigate. I may not even know their real names or whether they have a family to go home to. All I know is they haven’t picked up their medications and all their belongings remain in the spots they called home through the city.”

“No one has seen them captured?” Nicholas asked.

“No, our best guess is that the abductions happen at night or in private locations. One day they’re here and the next they’ve vanished.”

“What could someone potentially want with these people?”

“I dare not imagine. I fear they are being harmed or killed. No one will do anything until I have solid proof of deviance,” he explained.

“I could acquire such proof. Little in Terra can stop me.”

“Are you not returning to Faerie soon? Surely you have duties?” he asked.

“I believe I earned myself a break. Now, do you have any clothing or personal effects of these missing patients? I may be able to track them.”

He grabbed a worn newspaper boy hat from the coat rack near the doorway. He found it laying in Denison’s tent, the third missing patient. The lad hardly ever took off his hat. He hoped whatever Nicholas needed to track remained.

As he handed the hat to Nicholas, the door opened, and a perplexed Charmaine passed the threshold.

8

Charmaine

ThesightofNicholasin William’s office shouldn’t have surprised Charmaine, but she struggled to contain her whimper. Seeing him reminded her of Fearworn, the overwhelming stench of copper, claws ripping through her flesh, and wild-eyes peering down at her body laying over a cold stone slab.

“Good morning, Charmaine,” Nicholas chirped as if their meeting were as normal as friends joining for an early breakfast. He waved a hat—Denison’s—and meandered toward the door. “I fear I do not have time to chat. I have missing patients to find. Let us catch up later.”

He disappeared. Both gazed at the doorway, their breaths held until she finally faced him.

“What’s going on?” she whispered.

“Nicholas offered his help.” William’s hands shook when reaching into the drawer of his desk.

She accepted the cannabis cigarette he offered. William lit one of his own and fell into his chair, deflated.

“Based on this,” she took a long breath, then released a plume of smoke, “that isn’t all the two of you discussed.”

“No, he’s obsessed, Charmaine, like Fearworn was, but his obsession is apparently me.” William laughed, hollow and cold. He pressed two fingers to his temple where a vein throbbed. “He told me once that becoming like Fearworn was his greatest fear and now he’s down that path because of me.”

“How could you possibly blame yourself for that?”

“My wounds from Fearworn were fatal. The deal Nicholas struck with Laurent was because of me. That’s how I got,” he raised his right hand, glaring at his glove, then let it fall on the desk, “Nicholas fell because he thought I died, because I would have died. Now he’s back and we need the help. He may actually find my missing patients, but being around me cannot be good for him.”

She went over to the couch, moving a few papers to make space to sit. “Do you think he’s in a position to help, given his current condition? Does he feel like a threat?”

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