Page 41 of Sharpen Your Claws

Nicholas gave him a stern look, so unlike him. “Experiment all you like, but I fear there is nothing to be done. I will worsen until I don’t have moments of clarity at all, until I forget everything about myself.”

William finished his bottle, focusing on the burn in his esophagus rather than the tears in his eyes.

Nicholas laughed. “Aren’t you a fine drinker? Will I meet a drunk William tonight?”

“Looks like it,” he replied.

“I will take advantage of this moment entirely.”

“I would expect nothing less of you.”

Nicholas smiled, crooked and sweet. In his eyes, a faded hue of pink fought to show itself. This was the real Nicholas, William’s troublesome bastard.

“Kiss me while you still remember yourself,” he whispered, knowing full well it wasn’t the rum talking, although he’d let anyone else believe otherwise.

Nicholas shouldn’t be the person’s whose lips felt like home, but William understood he fell in love not for the right reasons or moral ones, but because he found someone who felt as wrong as he did, who saw the darkness within and didn’t try to bring it to light, but let it exist as it was without shame. He wasn’t sure what peace felt like anymore, but he’d like to think it felt like Nicholas’ mouth on his in the cold of night.

15

Nicholas

ThecitizensofAlogandidn’t sleep. Humans were as content as fae to waste their evenings however they pleased. Three muggings happened in the last hour. Men and women wandered into shadowed streets reeking of spirits and despair. Torches illuminated tavern doorways left open to welcome all. Shanty songs kept the night company.

Nicholas watched all this from the greased rooftops, pacing around the block of Seventh Street near the docks. Evera wandered around the roofs, remaining his shadow while entertaining herself in whatever ways she could.

After the previous night, he didn’t want to leave William’s side. He received a kiss he so desired. He felt so childish to admit that he thought his heart would burst. But afterward, William had that look; one of pain and worry, where he feared their future, same as Nicholas did. He yearned to ease William’s discomfort in any way he could, which was how he monitored the docks.

Charmaine and Evera shared that someone lured people with a false job offer. They warned the men who told them about the job, but none knew how many others may have been approached. The stranger, likely the shadowed disciple, wanted to meet near this dock, so he watched for any peculiar guests.

Dawn approached on the promised meeting day. The older man hadn’t come to the docks. However, a woman in a thin faded green jacket waited, searching left and right. She stood out because of how long she lingered. The dock became busy an hour prior to dawn with frequent comings and goings. Rarely did anyone stand anywhere for long. Then another peculiar figure appeared, one in a long trench coat whose scent carried over the stench of fish and despair. Nicholas would recognize that smell anywhere.

He moved, urged to take the monster’s life, knowing that its existence brought William pain. Ever caught his wrist. Her voice came out stern, “If you want to help that mortal of yours, we follow the bastard, not kill them.”

“William will be upset if we let someone get caught,” he countered, although William implied he could do so if it meant capturing the shadowed disciple.

Regardless, he didn’t want to risk causing a rift. He understood William’s concern having shared it himself, but he couldn’t stay away, either. His path, no matter what happened, led to William alone.

The shadowed disciple spoke with the woman. The disciple ensured no one would recognize him in the large coat with a second underneath; the collar turned up and a newspaper boy hat that shadowed his face. The disciple kept his hands in his pockets too, meaning she wouldn’t notice his claws or the discoloration of his skin. All of Fearworn’s followers took on an appearance that none would be foolish enough not to run from.

“William will be more upset if we miss this opportunity and never discover what has happened to any of the patients,” said Evera.

He hated admitting she was right, that she had the thought process necessary to consider their options. At least she didn’t rub it in when she could have. Instead, Evera scampered along the rooftops. In that way, they exchanged positions where Nicholas became her shadow.

The woman agreed to whatever the disciple requested.

“They’re leaving together,” Evera whispered.

“They’re unlikely to head deeper into the city, especially with the extra surveillance,” he explained. “But we cannot lose this one. The disappearances are speeding up. They’re preparing for something.”

His gut told him it had to do with Fearworn, somehow, someway. The bastard must have laid out a plan, or the disciples peered through his work and hoped to recreate it.

Together, they left the docks, and the fae followed. Evera kept them a street over, out of sight and capable of hiding, should the disciple look back. The disciple took a road that sloped toward the river, where three men huddled around a rusted barrel. Flames flickered within, warming their hands, hovering over the flame. The disciple and his unknowing captive walked past them, with no one offering them a glance.

“How is a disciple getting into the city?” Evera asked. “Don’t the humans have fail-safes to prevent any unwanted visitors?”

“They should. Heign’s Magical Society has formidable mages. They are the ones who learned how to close a scar for a short time, and certainly they can keep their people safe from disciples,” he replied.

“If they aren’t coming through the gates, then they are already here. They may not even be taking the patients out of the city.”

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