Teethmarks and Wolf Pelts

I'm honestly not sure if the next sequence of events happened in the exact order I remember them in. I'm not even sure if what happens next was a dream or not, but I know that my heart feels as if it's been shattered- and it has. There, right in front of me, is the boy I fought so hard to keep his secrets- and then fought so hard to find him.

Well, here he is. A lifeless, breathless, pulse-less figure of a being laying on a disgusting ghetto floor.

"He's dead," I mutter, my voice as lifeless as my best friend. My hands cling to the carpet in exhaustion, possibly from anger- a little bit of regret as well. "Connor."

"Priscilla," comes a voice. At the moment, it's just a voice. I can't apply a face to it, nor do I care to. It's a sound. A meaningless sound. A harmless, soothing hand is placed on my shoulder but I violently nudge it away.

"Don't fucking touch me!" I call out and suddenly crawl forward on my hands and knees to Connor's body. His corpse. I lean my face over his, tears falling to his tan skin. His soft hazel eyes are set ablaze in agony and are still wide open. There's a catch in my throat as I run my hand over his eyes, closing them. Slowly, my hand recedes through that mess of curly brown hair of his, drinking in every last one of his features. This may be the last time I see him. His flesh is still warm but I can feel it's fading fast. "Oh God," I whisper as I wipe some vomit from my lips.

Subtly, my ears register a loud shrieking out the window. Connor's murderer is undoubtedly getting ripped to shreds by Trisha. At the moment I find little satisfaction in this but I know that later, much later, I will enjoy it. I sit firmly on the ground, using all my strength to pull Connor into my lap. I long for it be like the movies. I long for my friend to flutter his eyes open and whisper how glad he is to see. I long for that, long to pull the dagger out and get him the medical attention he needs. But this isn't a movie. There isn't any help for him, not even the slightest chance. He's dead.

The dagger comes into my view and I just stare at it for a moment. The hilt is a sterling silver with the black design of what appears to be a dying wolf carved into it. A slight part of the blade is visible but not much and what is visible is now a deep crimson. There's a feeling of pure anger and adrenaline that runs through me and I reach for the dagger, ready to pull the damn thing out. But, however, as soon as my fingers wrap around the hilt, there's a searing pain that shoots through my fingers and through my whole body. The pain is so intense that I scream and practically fling myself against the wall. It feels as if a line of a thousand knives is running all along my skin, tearing into my flesh and organs.

"Aconite," Elijah mutters.

Holding my hand close to me and gritting my teeth, I ask, "What?"

"The dagger's laced with aconite, Priscilla. Wolfsbane. Connor would have died instantly."

"I want revenge," I mutter with a loud whining sound.

Felix leans over a little and looks out the window. He smiles a little. "Already taken care of."

I nod slowly and sink back to the floor. The aconite is still searing its evil into my hand, but I clutch it close to my chest. My eyes drift over to the dead two natured on the floor. With his eyes shut, paling face, and blood surrounding him, he doesn't even look like Connor. It's easy to imagine it's not. But it is. It won't change. I feel puke rising in the back of my throat again and before it falls to the floor I have time to mange a few words.

"I'm sorry," I say and let the dark corners of my mind take me away from here.



Maybe we went back to Tristan's apartment after that, or maybe back to the hotel. Maybe I'd passed out, or maybe I had blacked out. All I remember from the night before was finding him, limp, on the floor and the pain of the aconite on my hand. In fact, I look down at the white bandage and can feel that the pain is already starting to simmer down. I grip my cup of coffee and look out at the patrons of the café. There's a young couple together, holding hands under a booth. A family sitting down for a nice brunch. A lonely man in the corner of the bar drinking his morning cup of Joe. I sigh and take a sip.

Felix and Elijah have allowed me an hour here -though half of it has already passed by, and I've been too chicken-shit to do what I came here to do- before they pick me up and take us to the airport. I've been sitting here at this table in the corner, just watching the ginger headed waitress weave up and down the aisles, taking orders on this perfectly busy breakfast hour. I had caught her eye -once- but we hadn't had any farther contact than that. Eventually, I look at my watch and realize that my time is now or never. As soon as Laura comes into my line of view, I gesture her over to me. Her eyes are big, I notice. Big, green, and utterly breathtaking.

"Is everything okay?" She asks, but her eyes give her away. What they ask is entirely different; Did you find him.

"I found Connor," I tell her. Her eyes widen and her mouth goes agape. I reevaluate my plan to tell her about Connor. She's just a girl he knew in Phoenix, right? You know that's not true, chimes Ember. He may have only been here for a week or two, but in that time, he was scared and alone. This one café, this one girl... They made him feel safe. He cared for her. And she, him. "You may want to sit down."

She does as she's told. She smooths out her apron and looks at me with wavering, flickering eyes. She's impatient. Seeing how intent she is, how scared she is- it breaks my heart. "He's," I choke on my words, not wanting the next words to come out. Or to be true. I let a tear escape my eye. "He's dead."

"What? Oh my God," she chokes a little, hand flying up to cover her mouth. She breaks down with me and in that moment, I don't feel so alone. The others in the pack had been sympathetic, but they were used to death. Used to seeing one of their own lying on the floor, lifeless. It's almost comforting to be around someone who will mourn his death the same way I will. "When? What happened?"

"Car accident," I lie very quickly. That's what the boys had told me to tell humans. Connor died in a tragic accident. "He swerved on the road, trying not to hit a deer- ended up in the ditch. He hit is head and died upon impact."

"Oh God," she replies and sobs into her hand. I close my eyes, wishing I could tell her the truth. The truth is always better, but this time it would make everyone feel worse. She looks up suddenly. "Is the funeral..." She trails off.

"It'll be back at our hometown, in Iowa," I grab a napkin and ask for her pen. I sprawl the my address down onto the napkin and slide it over to her. Oddly, she's smiling. "What?"

"He used to come in here, drinking his coffee and scribble poetry on napkins," she laughed slightly. "Most of them, he'd throw away. Others, he'd leave on the table. I think he expected you to find him, you know?"

"Why do you say that?" I ask quietly.

"He told me that he ran from home, from everyone he loved. He told me that he was running out of love. He said, 'If I hadn't run, that bastard would have killed the girl I love. I hope she never finds me for that reason and that reason alone.' Oddly enough, he left you a poem."

"Left me a poem?" I ask. Despite the most thing important in what she just told me -his love for me- I care so much more about his poetry. Sure, it's a surprise to find that he loved me, but it's not a surprise to find that I return the feeling though more of a family-like love. He was practically my brother. I had always known in the back of my mind, somehow, that he had feelings for me. "How can you be sure?"

"He said, 'If she comes in, give her this. She'll be a girl with hair that shimmers in the sun, eyes that break your heart, and she'll be stubborn as hell.' I assume that would be you, right?"

I laugh a little, choking on some of the tears. Laura joins me in my laugh and reaches into her apron pocket and pulls out neatly folded yellow napkin. She places it on the table and using one finger, she slides it to me. I pick it up immediately and open it, peering at the words so untidily written by my old friend.



I look behind me, trying not to cry anymore, but I know I can't stop it this time. Conveniently, I see Elijah pull up in the rental car, Felix in the passenger seat. Elijah spots me looking at him and I nod slowly, turning back to the waitress. She has the softest smile and prettiest eyes, I think again. She truly liked Connor, even if he loved me and not her. She still likes him, despite his sudden demise. I tap the napkin I had given her, adding my phone number.

"The service is in five days," I say, going off of what Elijah had said. "If you want to come, just give a call. You can stay with me."

"Thank you so much-"

"Don't. It's the least I can do," I sigh and wipe the tears from my eyes. With a sad gaze, I stand, tuck Connor's poem in my pocket and leave this godforsaken café.