I purposely let them wait even though it had been my request to meet this early afternoon. Raising the suspense sometimes helps people to become more agreeable, or maybe staring at a watch while nothing happens wears them down. In any event, it can't harm teaching my fellow Sentinels a little bit of patience.

As I stroll along the clammy shaft, the shadow at my feet falls long and skinny. I adjust the torch to shrink it. Now I appear like a round goblin. I snort. I haven't played this type of game in decades, and growing up, it was usually Gideon who had insisted on such foolish ideas. In those nights when Nadja and I had snuck into the woods to draw shadow stories with my hands by the fire, Nadja used to giggle until she had the hiccups. Then we made love on the forest ground.

I shake my head to get rid of the nostalgic sentiment. Thoughts like this haven't haunted me in years, and just the mere presence of the hybrid in the Iomaire Draíochta doesn't justify that I let myself go. I'm not an adolescent warlock who can't keep control over his emotions.

I reach the entrance to the cave, but Asther's voice creeping through the opening halts me in my tracks.

"I'm telling you, he's getting worse. It's all about power for him. He lost his ways."

"Marush has always strived for power. That's nothing new." Izikey's words are firm, as if he's actually the one in charge. Such bullocks.

"I agree, but finding his Na Miodóg is turning into an obsession," Oldor pipes in. "He could destroy the balance of nature."

Izikey snorts. "Let's face it: if someone had stolen our Na Miodóg, we would be searching for it just the same. Nothing would get in our way, let alone werewolves, who are an abomination."

Thank you, Izikey.

At least one thing we can agree on.

"Does that mean you are going to support Marush no matter what?" Asther asks.

"I think we should wait and see what he has to say."

My cue to break up this little conspiracy.

I clear my throat to let them know I'm on my way. With a forced smile, I step into the cave. As usual, my comrades have gathered around a roaring fire pit and glare at me with various degrees of animosity.

"Hello, friends." I add my best sarcasm to the last word to let them know that I eavesdropped.

Drilling my stare into Asther, she immediately drops her gaze. Her face resembles an overripe strawberry. I target Oldor next and he also struggles to keep his eyes locked to mine. With a few strokes of my fingers, I draw a dagger out of the air and give him a good stab in the upper spine just below the neck. It drives him to his knees. Only Izikey manages to hold my glare and even offers me an "are-you-done" smirk.

"Does anyone want to say something to my face?"

My gaze flicks to Delsandra, but she sits on her stone chair with her arms folded as if none of this concerns her. At the moment, she is the only one rooted firmly in my corner.

"We didn't mean to talk behind your back," Asther mumbles.

"A mistake, I bet." I smile to show her I'm not one to hold a grudge. At least not openly. "Could happen to anyone."

"And I'm sorry." She lets out a shaky breath. Judging from her twisted lips, she has a pretty good idea that this betrayal will eventually cost her.

"Let's not waste any more time." Izikey's focus shifts to me. "What is the reason for this urgent meet?"

I claim my seat around the fire before responding. "As you know, I recently traveled with the hybrid to Canada because she had to take care of some personal business and didn't want to go alone."

"That's rubbish. We all know that you manipulated her." Spitting out the words, Asther is once again red in the face.

"Moi?" I clutch my chest as if her claim wounded me. "Would I ever do such a despicable thing?"

I get no answer, but their faces speak volumes. They know exactly what transpired, so no need to pretend that I had no hand in this.

"Okay, let's cut to the chase. While we were there, the hybrid set the main settlement of the Northern Light pack on fire. Judging from the size of the blaze, half their territory burned down. There has never been a better time to attack them to ensure their pack is eradicated. We probably could even exterminate their kind from the American continent."

Silence follows my words as everyone exchanges odd glances. What am I missing?

Izikey is the one to enlighten me. "I'm afraid there is more. After you left, Andrenior rushed to their rescue. He stopped the fire, and as far as I know, he even rebuilt everything."

I stare at him with an open mouth. "He did what?"

"Well, we all knew he was out of control with his need to befriend the werewolves. It shouldn't come as too much of a surprise to you."

"But how did he know?"

Izikey shrugs. "Maybe he was hiding on their land."

Impossible. I would've picked up on his magical powers while I was there. As a blood relative, he can't hide that easily from me.

Which only leaves Rikka. Anger heats my chest. Tying her shoelaces my ass. She called him, and his unique skill to location shift brought him on the scene to save the day right after we left. How despicable to stab me in the back like this.

"But it shows that we were right with wanting to take his hands to lessen his strength," Asther says. "Andrenior has betrayed the warlock community and should be shunned. And if he ever returns to the Iomaire Draíochta, he should be killed."

"Let's not go overboard." Delsandra untangles her arms and stretches long to stroke the fire with a poker even though it would've been nothing but a finger snip for Izikey.

Everyone watches her in silence.

When she is done, her gaze travels from face to face. "No offense, but you guys have been quarreling like little children. I confirmed with Sazith, and the old scripts mention nowhere that warlocks shouldn't befriend werewolves. As a matter of fact, their kind is specifically cited as one of the species worthy of our protection. Marush was the one who claimed them to be our archenemies, and only to justify an attack on them because he was hoping to retrieve his Na Miodóg. This has gone far enough. We owe it as the leading class of nature to take our responsibility seriously and not wage war on inferior creatures unable to defend themselves."

"I agree with Delsandra," Asther is quick to add.

I roll my eyes. What a time to turn into pacifists. It's annoying. "Werewolves lost their right to our protection when they hid my Na Miodóg. They shouldn't have interfered with Sentinel business."

"There's no proof that they hid your Na Miodóg."

"Oh, yes, there is." I smile at Delsandra with a sense of triumph. "During my visit to the Northern Light pack, I was able to retrieve a pendant, which holds my Cloch Draíochta. Now all I need is my dagger." I omit that it was actually the hybrid's pendant gifted to her mother by Gideon. Those little details will only complicate matters—and no matter what Raynes claimed, I'm still convinced the rest of my Na Miodóg is hidden on his land.

"And now you want to start a war on the hunch that they're also hiding your dagger?" Izikey shakes his head. "I'm against it."

"Second that." Oldor's smile is smug and he gives me this "I'm sorry" shrug. "It's insane to feud with the werewolves, especially Kendrick Raynes's pack. Centuries ago, they might've been easy to defeat, but things have changed. With Andrenior's insight, they will know how to hurt us."

"They can't kill us," I say.

"Maybe not, but I, for one, am not eager to lose an arm or a leg, or get my skull bashed in. Sure, those things will heal, but some of that can leave permanent damage. And growing back muscle tissue, that's nasty business."

Izikey nods. "I agree. For now I'd say we leave the werewolves alone."

I ball my hands to fists to keep the anger from bursting out of my chest. "May I remind you that you owe me?"

"That's getting old, Marush. You can't keep bringing this up every time you don't get your way. We are all members of the Sentinel Council, and the warlock community looks to us for guidance and leadership. Quite frankly, your shenanigans in the last five hundred years have been lacking in that respect."

"Fine, but don't come whining to me when things fall apart." I jump to my feet. For now, they won, but my comeback will be harsh and swift. And as soon as I have the dagger, I will kill each and every one of them.

Storming out of the cave, I make my way up the steep shaft that leads into the woods. I suck in a deep breath and warm air coats my lungs. As I stroll along in harmony with nature, I soak up the twitching of the birds, the scent of honeysuckle and lavender, the soft breeze caressing my face. At the meadow, I let myself drift on a blanket of leaves, listening to their soft rustle, drawing from the moisture in the air to cool my skin. Slowly, the anger leaves together with my even breaths. I close my eyes to clear my thoughts, the knot in my chest unraveling.

With a jerk, I sit up. I've been going about this the wrong way. Instead of searching for the needle in the haystack that is literally my dagger, I need to trace the origins of the pendant. Find out how it came into Gideon's possession. After that, tracking the rest of my Na Miodóg should be a piece of cake.

With newly found energy pulsing in my veins, I rush along the path to my cabin. My steps slow for the last few yards. Crap, Sazith is waiting for me at my doorsteps.

I smile at him. "How can I help you?"

"Raelyn came to see me and said you took her pendant without her permission. I'm here to get it back."

Oh, really? I wanna see him try. "I'm afraid she didn't tell you the whole story. The pendant holds my Cloch Draíochta, so rightfully, it belongs to me."

"Your Cloch Draíochta?"

"You know, that magic stone that gives the dagger its killing powers?"

"I know what a Cloch Draíochta does. How do you know it's yours?"

"It was in my possession for over a millennium before it was stolen. Trust me, I'd recognize it anywhere."

"Well, can I see it?"

I roll my eyes. He can be so pushy. "Now is really not a good time."

"It won't take long. And if I can confirm it's yours, I can also tell Raelyn that she needs to let this go."

Fine, if this gets him and the hybrid off my back. "Okay, come on in."

Stepping into the cabin, he is so close on my heels that his warm breath grazes my neck. I'm about to tell him to wait in the living room when he heads up the steps. "Is it in your bedroom?"

For a moment, I gape at him with an open mouth, all too tempted to remind him that his behavior is the epitome of rude. Then I decide to cut him a break. He is just an old man without any type of manners. Even my mother used to complain that he has no boundaries.

"Come on up," I shout when I hear him rummaging in my bedroom.

He reappears on the landing. "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you were right behind me."

Maybe he is losing his hearing since I sure didn't follow him up those creaking stairs. "Just wait right there." Running up the steps, taking two at a time, I squeeze by him and disappear in my bedroom.

Despite my request, he peeks around the door; when I catch him staring, his lips split to a wide grin. With my fingertips, I lift the lid of the metal strongbox—my vault to store my most valuable possessions. Only a warlock stemming from a Sentinel bloodline with metal powers can open it, and since I'm currently the only one alive to match this description, it's more secure than the Tower of London.

I carefully take the pendant from its pouch. "Here we go."

Sazith takes one brief glance and confirms that it's mine with a nod. "I'll let Raelyn know."

"Splendid. Now, if you'd excuse me, I would like to get changed. I trust you can see yourself out."

"Of course. Have a good day, Marush, and sorry for the unannounced visit."

Apologizing after the fact? He truly has ridiculous manners. I wait until the front door downstairs latches behind him before removing the other item stored in the box. A metal key—the pathway to my best-guarded secret. I smirk.

Let's pay you a visit, old friend.

Replacing the pouch with the pendant in the box, I seal the lid and grab my coat. Key in my pocket and jacket over my arm, I head for the other side of the Iomaire Draíochta. It's an area made up exclusively of rocky terrain that's only used by earth warlocks for blasting training. Steering off the main path, I trudge through the knee-high grass until I get to an opening between two tall rock walls. Looking to my left and right, I ensure that no one has followed me and disappear in the canyon.

The air is still and cool. Soft sand of the path swallows up my footsteps and a few times, I have to walk sideways to fit through the narrow gap. Once, I even have to suck in my stomach and stretch really tall not to get wedged. After about a mile and a half, I reach the entrance to the cave. The steps I blasted into the rock lead into utter darkness; only a dim light from a torch I store in a cavity under a small ledge leads the way.

Descending down the spiral staircase, my figure melts with the shadows of the rocks. Cold drifting up from the belly of the cave seeps through my clothes and sends a shudder down my spine. I slip on the jacket, but I know from prior visits that it won't help much. The underground glazier formed thousands of years ago emits frigid air with all its might. My breath frosts on my lips. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, the light from the torch reflects off the smooth, glassy surface of the frozen-over, underground lake.

I turn and follow the corridor I carved out of the rock a little over two decades ago. The walls are smooth and glazed with a thin layer of ice. Every so often, I have to stop and rub my cold hands together to be able to hold on to the torch. My legs, fingers, and toes are still numb by the time I reach my destination.

The underground prison is built from the same metal as the strongbox, even though the key gives it the extra layer of protection that could even withhold the forces of a Metal Sentinel. The lock snaps back with a couple of turns and I push with my shoulder against the heavy door. Whining on its hinges, it swings back. I stare at the man hunched over on the cot. He doesn't move or raise his head. A curtain of matted hair hangs over his face. My last visit was almost four months ago and the hole in the ground that operates as a makeshift toilet bears witness to this. The smell is nauseating.

I cross the threshold with a smirk. "Hello, Gideon. I bet your day has been just as shitty as mine."

~~~~

© Sally Mason 2018

This work is protected by copyright and should not be copied, downloaded, translated or used in any way without my expressed consent. Please don't steal it. Thank you!