Page 4 of Sharpen Your Claws

He kept rolls of cannabis locked in the top drawer of his desk. He struck a match to one and tapped a finger against the page, wishing to do more, to prove something was happening.

After the second missing patient, he asked around at the soup kitchen. Workers and visitors claimed they saw these people one day, then they were gone the next, having abandoned the little they had behind. On the fourth missing person, he went to the police. They said he was overreacting and there was no proof of foul play. They were transients, so they likely weren’t missing at all. But in his gut, he knew there was more to this.

“William?”

He lurched for the knife secured under the desk. A silhouette crossed the threshold, long-limbed and violet-eyed, a smile wicked and cruel.

Then he blinked, and it was not a monster but Charmaine Tuckerton clutching two letters to her chest. They met during their training days when he saved her from a group of tortuous teenage boys. The two stood out among the military, considered too soft by their so-called betters. They worked together to survive and formed an everlasting friendship that no other could replicate for they had witnessed and lived through terror others wouldn’t understand.

He released the blade, dread fading from his thoughts. His eyes betrayed him, as they so often did these last two years.

A beautiful gown of pale blue draped over Charmaine’s brown shoulders and flowed around her legs. She loved drapery and had since taken to designing apparel for girls seeking courtship and, even more recently, social elites wishing to start the newest trend. She and her mother made names of themselves, and eagerly left behind their old lives. He never asked what happened to Charmaine’s poor excuse of a father. He imagined she wasn’t thinking about her father much, either.

“What are you doing here so late?” he asked, offering her the remnants of his cannabis.

Charmaine finished the cigarette, dispersing the smoke high above their heads. “An excellent question for you to answer, seeing as you should be at home with your family. Lady Vandervult gets distraught when you are out late. I imagine she will be here any moment to retrieve you.”

“I am a grown man. I do not need to be home in time for supper.”

“But your family would like you to be.”

William knew that, but the longer he was home, the more he felt they would be better off without him.

The broken pieces of him refused to mend. Every noise made him jump. His eyes played tricks, believing friends to be enemies and shadows traps. The abrupt appearance of his niece wishing to play had him reaching for a weapon. Luckily, Alice never understood. She thought he wanted to play and tugged eagerly on his pants, filling the rooms with laughter and joy.

He tried to bask in the feeling of being home, of having a family bigger than ever, but he couldn’t cease the somber thoughts of how he could lose all of them in one fell swoop, especially if they learned the truth of all he had done.

He cleared his throat. “Why the surprise visit?”

“I had to see if you received one as well.” Charmaine thrust the letters toward his gloved hands. He recognized the matching insignias on the back of the envelopes, the open one addressed to her and the other to him. “An invitation from His Majesty,” she whispered.

William desired no invitation from King Ellis, lest it was an invitation to his beheading.

Robert Vandervult, his father, dared to call the king out for what he truly was; greedy. King Ellis punished the Vandervult family by sending William, their youngest, to war. All of his suffering had been because of a bastard who took offense to being told about his cruelty. His family’s suffering was due to the king’s overly inflated ego, his desire to show the Vandervult family how easily he could destroy them.

“A ball to celebrate Nicholas Darkmoon,” he said after reading over the invitation. The name tasted of poison on his tongue, acidic and sour.

He tried forgetting the destructive smile and sly words he foolishly fell for, words he dared to believe hadn’t been warped to toy with him, but nothing eased the loss of Nicholas. He would never forget because one could not touch another’s soul and disappear without leaving a scar.

“What foolishness is this?” He dropped the letter into Charmaine’s awaiting hands. “Fearworn has been dead for two years. The king celebrated more than once already.”

He would know, having been forced to attend the balls where he spent most of the evening spitting up in the toilets.

Charmaine’s hands clenched at her waist where her letter wrinkled between her fingers. “He did, but the Darkmoons continued the search for Fearworn’s remaining disciples after his demise. Rumors say Nicholas has been battling shadowed disciples and helping set up monitoring stations around shimmers until anyone learns how to close them permanently. Now the kings of Terra wish to throw a grand affair, probably to thank the Darkmoon family specifically, since they were such a force.”

“Heard all this from the girls, did you?” he asked.

“Our customers love to gossip during fitting sessions. They act like we aren’t even there.” She glared down at her letter. “I received my invitation this morning. After work, I hurried to your home, but you were not there. Lord Vandervult kindly gave me the letter. I assumed it was the same, but wanted to make sure.”

“This is an affair neither of us can decline?”

“Seems so,” she muttered.

He shredded a piece of paper, twirling the thin sheet between his fingers. “If he wishes to thank us, he should do that by leaving us alone. This will dig up bad memories for everyone.”

“I don’t disagree, but we both know the kings cannot fathom our turmoil, nor do they care. We shouldn’t have to stay long, at least.”

That didn’t matter because Nicholas would be there, and William could not avoid him.

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